The Flying Eunuchs Part 3: Becky

Jeff had never heard the word “eunuch” in his life; but somehow he understood the term, at least in a general sense. But hearing it out loud, uttered by his friend describing himself, was to say the least shocking. “A... a eunuch?” he echoed. “But Steve...”
“No big deal,” Steve said cheerfully. “The doc says I can live very nicely without my balls if I have to. I can never have kids, but that’s not the end of the world. Besides, it hasn’t happened yet. I’ll deal with it, when and if it happens.”

"Steve," Jeff said, ignoring his happy demeanor, "we gotta talk."
"It's gonna have to wait, 'cause I'm expecting company," Steve said firmly. “I can’t leave till this catheter is out, an’ I’m expecting the doctor any time now to do that.”

"You must be the one man F-14 demolition team I've heard so much about," a female voice behind Jeff said. He looked around to see a very beautiful blonde nurse bringing Steve a pair of boots.
"Lieutenant Allen, ma'am," he stated very officially. She laughed heartily, and the tinkling of her laughter filled the ward with joy.
"Relax, lieutenant, I'm the same rank, so you don't have to be so formal." Then addressing Steve she announced "The doctor will be here in a minute to take your catheter out and the admiral is waiting, so I'd hurry if I were you."

He thanked her and accepted the boots, saying he wouldn't be long. Jeff was stuttering and stammering, trying to be adult without being an officer but not wanting to be there when the doctor removed that catheter. "I'm gonna find a cup of coffee," Jeff told the nurse. "Would you like to join me?"
"I'd be delighted, if you'll tell me your name; your real name. Mine's Becky."

Jeff told her his name, they shook hands, and she led the way to the nearest dispenser of battery acid, loosely referred to as coffee in the Army. "I just got off," she said, "and it gets lonely here. Steve’s gonna be tied up with the admiral for a while, so if you want to kill some time I’m game."

They talked easily, completely relaxed in each other's company. "Steve tells me you and he have been friends forever," she queried. Jeff said that they were, and she told him she was in the Canadian Army, she was from Toronto, but had been stationed in Winnipeg until she'd been shipped over to the gulf. The next time Jeff looked at his watch, they'd been talking for two hours. "I have to go meet Steve," he said abruptly. "He'll think I've got lost."
Again that tinkling laughter. "He'll find us," she assured him. "It's not as if there's that many places to go around here."

"What do you do for excitement?" Jeff asked tentatively. For the first time in his life he was starting to make a move. It felt uncomfortable, but in a strange way exciting. And Becky was giving every indication she was attracted to Jeff, not Steve. Before Becky had a chance to answer Steve appeared. Jeff apologized and told her he had to talk to him "About the squadron," he lied. "Why don't we eat dinner together, that is if you don't have any plans?" he suggested.
"I already told you, nothing ever happens here. See you at the mess in an hour," she replied. And with that she was gone.

"Nice girl," Steve said. Jeff agreed nonchalantly and Steve added, "I mean, really nice girl." His eyes told Jeff he knew what he was thinking. He ignored the inference and went right to his business. "Steve," he said again, "we gotta talk."
"I think I know what's coming. I saw the way you looked at her."
"That's not what I mean, not exactly anyway. Steve, I thought you were dead. One thing led to another, and I ended up telling Adams everything."
"I know."
"You know? How?"
"I dunno. I just know. And I know the outcome. That's why I want to go to Africa."
"You mean you don't mind?"
"Mind? Why should I mind? I’m not any more thrilled with the idea of being gay than you are. I think it's a good idea to check out the alternatives. Besides, I'm under orders. O'Blenis told me some of what you and he discussed, and he ordered me to go to Africa, to a small base we have there, and have a good time; with emphasis on the Good. It's all arranged. We catch a transport in three hours, and it's three days of liberty. Oh, and by the way, I think we might be able to get Becky to go too, if you'd like."

Jeff was once again astonished by Steve. He had been so comfortable with what they’d both thought to be the truth, and now he seemed to have done a complete about face. Of course Jeff was thrilled at the thought of Becky coming with them, and she arranged readily to come along on the pretext of watching over Steve. So almost before Jeff was ready, the trio was hopping off the large Air Force tanker in a tiny fueling base in Africa.

It didn't take them long to find the local watering hole, and it took Steve even less time to find a suitable companion, and from the same base in Bahrain too. The four of them danced and drank, drank and danced, talked and danced, until about midnight. "We're going for a walk," Steve announced. "How about we see ya in the morning for breakfast?"

Jeff and Becky both said okay, and then they were alone. "He's really nice," she said to keep the conversation going.
"You don't know the half of it," Jeff told her. "He's one of the all time greats."
"But I'm confused," she said. "How the hell did you two get into the U.S. Navy, flying jets all around the gulf, at twenty?"
“It’s a very long story,” Jeff told her. “If you really want to hear it we could continue in a more private place”. She laughed at his awkward attempt at the obvious, then agreed it was a good idea.

The visiting officers had quarters available to them at the base, but Jeff and Becky didn't use them. Instead they rented a room in the only hotel in the tiny village, and soon they were settled in less than comfortable chairs with a drink, and Jeff was telling Becky the story of how he and Steve had ended up on a carrier in the Persian Gulf. As he related the whole affair, he thought to himself how incredible it must sound. Becky must've sensed what he was thinking, because she informed him "That's the most fantastic tale I've ever heard. If you were older I'd know it was just a line. But with your age, and all the possibilities of the whole thing being just a big load of potatoes, it just has to be true."

About this time the adrenaline kicked in again. "That's not the most incredible part," he said. He had surprised himself by taking the initiative up to this point, and now his confidence had built to the point that he didn't want to stop. "The thing I want to do now," he went on, "the thing I'd give anything to do, I've never ever done before, or even come close."

Becky looked at her young flier companion blankly for a moment, her gaze saying what the hell are you talking about. Jeff thought he'd blown the whole mission, but then the lights came on. "Really?" she said. "Are you talking about..."
"Yeah, I am, Becky,” he answered breathlessly. “I'm talking about wanting to make love to you."

There. It was out. Jeff started to add something stupid and terribly juvenile like, "Of course if you don't want to," but he never got the chance. "Neither have I," she said. "But you're so sweet, and so incredibly handsome in that flight suit..."

There was no more talk. But there were lots of fireworks. Oh, God, were there fireworks! After Captain Adams' instructions, Jeff had pictured himself getting laid by some whore, or some chick whom he cared nothing about, and he'd had a picture of what it would be like. But that picture was nothing like this! He really cared for Becky even in the short time theyd known each other. And she cared for him in much the same way, so that what happened had nothing at all to do with assignments or orders, experimentation or proving a point. It was natural, and good, and spontaneous. The second time was better, and the third, better yet.

"Are you sure you never did that before?" Becky asked dreamily some time in the middle of the night.
"I'm sure," Jeff answered, almost asleep, "Why do you ask?"
"Because," she said, "you're so unbelievably good at it. If you were experienced, I don't think I could stand it."

Jeff was so unimaginably content it was inconceivable to think of even moving, but he had to set her straight. "Becky," he said nervously, "you have to know, this wasn't just a good time for me. I wanted you desperately from the minute I saw you, but not just physically. The sex was great, but just lying in your arms, being so close..."
"Shut up, Jeff. I know, and I feel it too. If it had just been sex, there wouldn't have been any sex. I didn't make it to twenty-three years old without getting laid by being stupid. I know it was more than that, but we have to be realistic."
"Why? I can get to the mainland quite often, and this war's not gonna last forever."

He told her that he wanted to see her again, to which she reminded him that they still had two days. “Yeah I know,” he agreed. “I’m hoping we’ll have a real great time the next two days. But I meant after that.”

"Jeff," she said with concern, "Are you feeling guilty? Because if you are, there's no need."
"No, Becky, I'm not. I'm feeling a hell of a lot of emotions right now, but guilt isn't one of them. How can I feel guilty when I've just been to Heaven?" Jeff wanted to take yet another trip to heaven, but they both drifted off to sleep and slept soundly until 0700.

Becky’s stirring, preparing him for another trip to paradise woke Jeff with a slight start. "I thought you'd never wake up," she said with a tenderness Jeff hadn't felt since he was a small boy. He was tempted to tell her what she'd done for his ego and self confidence, but he was determined not to let her have any reason to know just how vulnerable he was. He had, he thought, put up a pretty good front, had demonstrated a lot of maturity, he thought, so he kept those things to himself.

"Waking up in your arms is just so nice," he said, "I don't care if I never move again."
"So am I to assume you don't want to move at all?" she teased. Jeff didn't answer, at least not verbally. But he showed her that certain movements, although not necessary, were certainly welcome.

Soon, all too soon, the little holiday was over and the two happy couples were again landing at the base in Bahrain. Steve and Cathy had got along fairly well, though they seemed more content to have enjoyed their time together and let it go at that. Of course Steve was in no condition to have sex even if Cathy had been so inclined, but that hadn’t seemed to bother either of them. Becky and Jeff, on the other hand, were madly in love. They had seen the other two at mealtime because they ate their meals on the tiny base, but the rest of the time was spent paired off, exploring the area, but mostly just being alone with each other. Jeff had wanted, had planned to talk with Steve once the two friends were alone in Bahrain, to make sure he was comfortable with what had happened, but that was not to be either. They had only been on the ground an hour, the four of them sipping coffee in the mess tent, when a sergeant walked up, saluted smartly, and handed Steve and Jeff an envelope containing new orders. "What is it?" Becky said with alarm.

"We gotta go," Jeff replied. "Special mission, and we're to rendezvous with the squadron in the air."
"Why you? I'd have thought there'd be plenty of flyers to take your place, at least temporarily."
"Smart bombs," Jeff answered proudly. "We're the specialists." He was trying hard to be modest, but he didn't feel very modest just then. To be sitting with a newly acquired girl friend, be saluted by a man twice his age and then be told he's needed on the line, was less than a humbling experience. Jeff was beginning to realize that he was still more boy than man, but both boy and man teamed together now to fulfill the mission. "Thank you, sergeant," he said with as much seriousness as he could muster. "Tell them we'll take off right away." The older man saluted again and was gone.

Cathy and Becky wanted to know just exactly what smart bombs are, so the two young aviators explained on the way to the waiting planes. "The bombs are maneuverable," they explained. “We release them, then steer them to a precise target with onboard computers on the plane. You have to go in quite low, and hold your position as much as possible until they land."
"Sounds dangerous," Cathy said with admiration.
"It is, sorta, but lots of fun. You get to control what you hit, and if it's done right, you can land them on a dime. They're usually reserved for special targets that have to be hit dead on. But it’s nothing really. All we have to do is keep the plane steady while the second seat controls the bombs."
“Second seat?” Becky questioned.
“Yeah,” Steve explained. “The RIO... uhhh Radar Intercept Officer. The guy who sits in the back seat.”
“But, you don’t have any second seats,” Cathy reminded them.
“We do now,” Jeff said with a grin as he pointed to a small Navy turboprop transport just landing. “Unless I miss my guess, our second seats will be on that transport.”

Sure enough, before the engines had even shut down, Marty and another man appeared, already in full flight suits and ready to climb aboard the Tomcats. He quickly introduced Jeff and Steve to Boyd, Steve’s new second seat, then the two newcomers scurried off to do a final check of their aircraft and weapons while Jeff and Steve said their good-byes.

They kissed the girls when they got as close to the planes as the girls were allowed, then donned their flight suits, and the two best friends were again roaring skyward in their beloved F-14's. “You might want to think very carefully about getting involved with those two,” Becky advised as they watched the planes diminish to mere dots high in the sky. “Their first love is their airplanes, and I suspect it always will be.”
“You’re a fine one to talk,” Cathy countered. “The look on your face says you’ve got it pretty bad yourself.”

They had lost another plane off the carrier in the time Jeff had been gone, so the new one that was to be Steve's had been reassigned, leaving Steve to pick up his replacement in Bahrain and fly his mission, then both he and Jeff were to return to the carrier.

"If I'm not mistaken," a familiar voice said in the boys’ headsets, "we've just rendezvoused with the baby patrol. Welcome back to the real world, guys." That was one of the names Steve and Jeff had to endure, but it wasn't a problem. They both knew it was meant to be a term of affection, so like their other titles and nicknames, they wore them proudly.
"Thanks," Steve replied. "Now if we could just find a gas station in this freakin’ dessert, we'd be ready to go have some fun."

As if responding to a cue, a huge tanker appeared ahead of the five Tomcats, and they all busied themselves in another of the Navy's little devices designed to fray the nerves: midair refueling. Fighter pilots do it all the time, but it never ceased to amaze Jeff that it could be done at all. It involved flying up to within twenty feet or so of the tail of the tanker, then attaching the nose of the fighter to a boom extending from the tanker's tail. There was a rush of fluid under high pressure from one plane to the other, and the fighter was ready for a few more hours flying. All this, of course, at ten thousand feet and several hundred miles per hour. Because the two planes from Bahrain had flown several hundred miles from the land base, they didn't have enough fuel to complete the mission and still get back to the carrier.

The fueling done, all hands concentrated on the mission. It seems that oil was still being spilled deliberately into the gulf, and they were to take out the pipeline that was supplying the spill. A small target indeed, but one that had to be knocked out, and fast! The rest of the squadron was to fly escort at high altitude while Steve and Jeff went in low and anointed a small pumping station with their special gift of fire and brimstone. "Ready, buddy?" Jeff addressed Steve.
"You bet," he responded. "Feels good to be back where we belong."

Steve hadn't been in a cockpit for six days now, and every pilot knows how good it feels to be back after a layover. There was little resistance from the ground, so the task was pretty easy. Still, though, Jeff found it nerve wracking to watch those bombs as they descended, pretty much ignoring everything else, including the plane he was flying. But their three "guardian angels" were watching them as closely as they were watching the bombs, ready to tell them at the first sign of trouble to abandon the mission and respond to whatever obstacle they'd encountered. They made two passes, although they were pretty sure they'd hit the target on the first. "Bingo!" came the voice from the reconnaissance boys far above them. "I think y'all got it."
"Great," the squadron leader said. "Congratulations, boys, let's go home and have a cool one."

The cool one would have to wait a little longer, because like a hive of angry bees, a squad of bandits appeared as if to seek revenge for spoiling their little environmental game. The ensuing dogfight was one of the most fierce either Jeff or Steve had experienced till now, but the MIG's were no match for the fantastic Tomcats. "I got one!" Steve screamed excitedly as a huge ball of flame erupted ahead of him and slightly above.
"Yeah, and you got another on your tail," Jeff laughed. "Stand still till I brush it off."

Steve responded immediately to his buddy’s instructions. He veered hard right and went into a steep dive, leaving the MIG alone in Jeff’s sights. Marty dispatched their last Sidewinder, and the MIG was no more. The two best friends had developed a code for the benefit of anyone listening to their constant chatter in the air, and it seemed to get them every time. Right meant climb, climb meant left, dive meant hard right, etc. And stand still, as Jeff had just instructed Steve, meant get the hell outta there fast, 'cause a missile's coming your way. Simple; so simple, in fact, that the enemy never seemed to catch on. Within reasonable range, and properly aimed, the Sidewinders were inescapable. They locked on the heat of the target's exhaust, and dodge and wriggle as he might, the enemy seldom avoided the "fireball enema," as Steve called them, which went right up the tailpipe of the unfortunate jet and then detonated.

Back on the carrier, the squadron was informed that the mission had indeed been a success. They were on top of the world again, but Jeff was still very concerned about his friend. I guess I’ll be a eunuch, Steve had said, with no apparent concern or regret. Steve had never experienced sex at all; not with man or boy, not with a woman. Jeff didn’t even know for sure if he had ever masturbated.

Steve and Jeff were admired and babied by the entire crew. They had each drawn blood today, and they were together again; a formidable team of two, together with their “second seats.” The boy Steve was back as he chattered excitedly with their peers, the youngest of whom was well into his thirties, but Jeff was oddly reserved and quiet. Captain Adams told the two boy pilots to see him in his cabin after debriefing, so they got out of their flight suits and presented themselves in their commander's small quarters.

"Good flying today, boys," he said, all business again. Then he closed the door and was once again a father, not a Navy commander. "How did it feel being back in the saddle again?" he addressed Steve.
"Absolutely great, sir," was the immediate response.
“Are you having much pain from your... err... injury?”
“A little, sir; but nothing I can’t handle.”
“I want you healed ASAP, sailor. Capt. Johnson wants to see you every morning as soon as you get up, and before and after every mission. Then as soon as you’re up for it, the two of you are gonna take some liberty. I’ve arranged for you to take your Tomcats to Paris for a demonstration. You’ll be there about a week."

"That won’t be necessary, sir, at least for me," Jeff blurted out, realizing instantly why the captain was sending them to Paris.
"Not necessary? What do you mean?"
"I mean, sir, mission accomplished." He didn't have to explain to Adams, because the glow on his face said it all. But Steve eyed them both curiously. Of course he hadn't been a party to the exchange with Adams, and he hadn't witnessed his buddy weeping in their commander's arms, had no idea of the bond that had formed.

"You mean..." the Adams said with a growing grin on his face."Yes sir, that's what I mean. But every silver lining has a cloud. You might be bothered with requests to spend a little more time at the Canadian field hospital in Bahrain from now on. I have a girl friend, Dad." Jeff’s use of the term "Dad" put Steve into mild shock. He was expecting a thunderbolt to strike Jeff down, an instant court martial at the very least; but instead he saw a very emotional man embrace his surrogate son. "That's great, son," the captain said. This was too much for Steve. "Am I missing something here?" he quizzed. Jeff and Capt. Adams both laughed and said they guessed he was, whereupon they filled him in.

"What I'm doing is a big no-no for a commander," Adams explained. "I've become emotionally involved with you two kids, but as long as you're prepared to keep it in this cabin, I'm prepared to take the chance. My relationship with my own son is less than I'd like, and you two are so devoted, so loving, and so professional, I guess I've adopted you."
"You almost lost us again," Jeff announced. "The Admiral was gonna send us back to the States."
"He was? What happened?"
"I talked him out of it." Now it was Adams who was shocked.

"Jeff," he said, "No one talks O'Blenis out of anything! How the hell did you manage that?"
Jeff shrugged and grinned ever so slightly. "I dunno, I just told him what you told us: that we were damn good flyers, and you needed us as much as we needed you."

Adams wanted to know all about their meeting with the admiral, and they told him eagerly that they'd found him to be not nearly as intimidating as they'd expected. Jeff said that they had got along so well, he had told him everything. "And he changed his mind about reassigning you?"
"Yes, sir. He asked us if we really wanted back on the carrier that badly, and when we said we did, he tore up the order, then gave us the three days liberty in Africa."

"Well," he said, "I got some feedback on the meeting too. O'Blenis wanted me to tell you that you both told him a lot about the F-14 that nobody knew before. Your dive," he said to Jeff, "was described in such detail that they'll be rewriting the specs about just what that plane will and won't do. They've started a whole new testing program based on your story. And you," he said proudly to Steve, "Flying around the countryside with one wing and on fire! You've caused a rewrite of emergency procedures. You two are nuts, but the Navy thanks you for it." The boys modestly answered that foot soldiers had their rifles, and they had their planes. “We’re just as emotionally attached to those birds as the foot soldier is to his rifle,” Steve declared.

Adams wanted to hear about their dates and the trip to Africa, so they told him all about that too.
"And the other thing?" he asked with interest. "How does that feel now?"
“I think I understand a little more about what you were saying,” Jeff replied. “But Steve...”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Steve offered. “I’m not gonna be having sex with anyone any time soon.”
“So you didn’t... I mean, in Africa...”
“God no! I’m much too sore to even think about it, and I’m all bandaged up anyway. Right now my package is nothing but so much half cooked meat.”
“A temporary situation,” Adams assured him. “Just see Doc Johnson as ordered. He’ll have that thing working again in no time.”

Jeff was feeling no small amount of guilt for the good time, the sex, he’d enjoyed in Africa while Steve had to be content with the company of a very nice girl. He hadn’t said much about what they had done, and Jeff had interpreted his silence to mean he was perhaps envious and probably a little depressed. He was jerked back from his short reverie when Adams was once more their commander. "You two better get some sleep," he ordered. "I expect you're gonna be working pretty hard for the next few days."

They saluted and left, but they didn't sleep. Instead, they spent the next two hours in the galley recounting once more to their mates their four days on the mainland. Jeff had thought he and Steve knew each other pretty well, could read each other's faces about as well as anyone; but those other flyers outdid them by far. To Jeff Steve looked the same as ever, and to Steve so did Jeff; but those guys knew what had happened. They could see the glow of a recently deflowered virgin in Jeff’s eyes, and perhaps more important, they saw dejection in Steve’s face; the dejection of a young virgin man who might never be anything else. "I think," one of their particularly good friends proposed, "this is an occasion for a beer!" The beer was in fairly short supply on the ship, but the others agreed, so the precious fluid was brought out, and once more the carrier angels were treated to one of life's adult pleasures. When they again mounted their F-14's, they both had raging hangovers.

It was about two weeks later when Jeff and Steve again got to go to the mainland. They had been skimming the ground relentlessly, searching and destroying mobile enemy missile launchers. They'd had some success, but as often as not they never fired a shot, never dropped a bomb. The enemy had dug a deep trench, a ravine really, which ran for miles in the desert. And in this giant trench, somewhere, were the dreaded Russian made SCUD missile launchers. In the daytime they were hidden and covered in the trench, and at night they were brought out and fired. To see them at all required very low level flying, and quite slow at that, which of course left the high flying Tomcats susceptible to AA fire. It was nerve wracking and dangerous; but it was, as they say, a dirty job that someone had to do.

On a particular Saturday morning Steve and Jeff, together with two other flyers, were on the now familiar missions. Steve and Paul were doing escort at a higher altitude while Jonathon and Jeff were barely off the ground, searching with eyes and radar for the huge metallic masses. Several times they thought they'd seen something, but on closer examination they turned out to be false alarms: bombed wreckages from previous missions, or outright decoys designed to draw fire uselessly. On completion of the mission, the four flyers had been directed to fly to Bahrain and have the planes checked in the more comfortable hangar where spare parts, if needed, would be more available. At the same time Steve was ordered to report to the infirmary to have his genitals checked. They were to spend the night, then refuel and fly another mission, then return to the ship.

Having seen nothing at all, and with Jeff’s and Jonathon’s fuel tanks getting dangerously low, the four planes rendezvoused and headed for the land base at Bahrain. By the time they got there the two planes were running on fumes, so as was customary they radioed that we were coming in low on fuel and in formation, then the four of them landed two by two.

Jeff was excited at the prospect of seeing Becky again, and Steve figured he'd find someone, Cathy if she was free, but he wasn't nearly as stricken as Jeff, and he wasn’t sure how much time he’d need in the hospital anyway.

As soon as the four Tomcats had rolled to a stop, parked neatly next to the hangar, an Air Force Colonel come strutting out to meet the occupants. Jeff was squadron leader that day, so he took his position and prepared to meet the approaching officer. "Lieutenant Jeff Allen, sir," he reported when he was facing the gentleman. He returned Jeff’s salute sloppily and turned his gaze to the planes.

"You still have all your weaponry," he observed. Very good, Sherlock, Jeff said under his breath; then loud enough for him to hear, he answered, "Yes sir. We didn't engage the enemy, nor did we find any SCUD's."
"Then what DID you do, Lieutenant?"
"We scanned the trench, sir, until we were out of fuel. Then we came here as ordered for maintenance." The pompous Colonel eyed the young pilot curiously, then got serious about his abuse.

"More likely, you spent the afternoon joyriding, then came down here to have a party before you go for another joy ride tomorrow. What the hell do you mean, burning a whole tank of fuel and not firing a single shot? Those are fighter planes, not amusement park rides!" There were a few airmen gathered at a safe distance now, and the knowing look on their faces told Jeff they were used to this treatment. No problem, he thought, I've ridden out worse storms than this one. But the good Colonel wasn't near through yet. "I don't know what a snot-nosed kid like you is doing over here anyway. This is a war, you little shit, not some game where you shoot Pacman figures on a video screen and put in another quarter when you lose. Were there any men on this mission of yours that I can talk to, or are you all children?"

Now Jeff was getting pissed off. Steve knew it, and so did Paul and Jonathon; but they were powerless to stop him from what they all knew would happen.

"Colonel, sir, I'm the squadron leader, and I'll be pleased to give you any information you require,” Jeff said defiantly, yet respectfully. “And to answer you previous question, sir, we were not joyriding; we were skimming the ground at three hundred feet, looking for SCUD missiles as ordered. They are hard to find, sir. If you doubt my word I’ll be pleased to take you on a short recon flight, to see if perhaps you can find more of them than we did. Sir!"

There was a brief pause as the Colonel, whose name Jeff noticed on his lapel was Smythe, but that he hadn't bothered to tell anyone, gave his blood pressure time to come to a boil. "Lieutenant, or teeny-bopper, or whatever you are, are you calling me a liar?"
"No, sir!" Jeff fairly shouted. "I'm merely reporting what happened on the mission. Sir. And I also wish to point out that I am a Lieutenant in the United States Navy, and squadron leader on this particular mission, and therefore due the respect that goes with it. Sir!"
"Mister, you just bought yourself being put on report. Who's your commander?"
"Captain Adams, sir."
"Well, you little cunt, your Captain Adams will think twice before he sends children on a man's mission again. Look at your comrades! Two of them are old enough to be your father! One of them is a Lieutenant Commander. Why aren't they leading this mission?"
"We rotate, sir, and it's my turn. Sir." The group of airmen had grown now, and some of them were mouthing signals to Jeff to be quiet; but he was too pissed off to pay any attention and his comrades knew it.

"Colonel, sir," Jeff said haughtily, "I respectfully object to your language, and I respectfully object to your inference that I'm not fit to lead a squad of fighters."
"Oh, you do, do you? Well, you'll object even more if I have you locked up, and you're pretty fuckin’ close to that right now. Is that what you want, Pamper pants? Do you want to be locked up for the night? You won't get much chance to party then."

There's a certain protocol in the military, and a large part of it is respect for fellow officers. Of course in war time this rigid protocol is relaxed, but only to a point. This man had overstepped the widest of barriers and Jeff knew it. He wasn't anxious for a fight because they had the Iraqi's to deal with, and that was all the fight anyone needed; but Jeff was too proud of his uniform and his squad to let this go any further. "Colonel Smythe, Sir," he said, controlling his voice with all the strength he had, "I'll be glad to give you a written report, if I can be shown to a desk and a typewriter."
"Forget the report. It'd probably be lies anyway. But I want to see these planes out of here by first light tomorrow morning. We’ve got Air force hardware to service, you know, and unless you hadn’t noticed, this is an Air force base."
"That's impossible, sir,” Jeff pressed. “They're scheduled for extensive maintenance, and that, I've been told, will take most of the day. Our plan is to fly another SCUD search mission as soon as the maintenance is finished."
"First light, Lieutenant! Dismissed!" And without waiting for further argument, the Colonel wheeled and was gone.

The airmen were immediately crowded around Jeff and his crew, whistling and remarking at Jeff’s stupidity. "You tired of flying?" one of them asked. "No one, and I mean no one talks to Smythe that way."
"Why not?" Jeff challenged. "I didn't say anything wrong."
"No? Wait'll you see the report."
"But there were witnesses. I had a perfect right to say what I did."
"Yep, you sure did. But when Smythe gets done writing it up, you'll be lucky if they allow you to make coffee by yourself. And at your age..."

That did it! Jeff had heard all the references to his being a kid today that he could take. Even if it were true, he still had the rank that said he was a man. He FELT like a man! He was doing the job of a man! He was respected by men twice his age. What did these people want anyway?

"What the fuck is the matter with everyone?" Jeff exploded. "I'm over here, same as you all, fighting missiles and bullets and flack same as everyone else. I'm risking my life too, and I don't fuckin' have to. I could be back in the States, in a nice safe classroom, but I'm not. I'm here, because I want to help win this thing, same as everyone else. But I have to take flack from everyone else too, just because everyone else is an old fart. Well, for your information, flyboy, I'm proud to be here! I’m proud to be one of the two youngest men to fly a Tomcat, and I’m good at it, goddammit! I'm a Goddammed sophomore twenty year old Navy jet pilot Lieutenant, and I'm fuckin' proud of it! And if anyone’s got a problem with that, then FUCK YOU!"

"You're also headed for the brig, if you don't shut up!" The familiar voice of Captain Adams came from behind Jeff. He turned with his mouth agape, then remembered his position and snapped to attention, as did all the others present. Jeff was sure they all thought he'd gone completely bananas, and maybe he had; but the sound of his own CO's voice brought him back to reality. "Come with me, Lieutenant," Adams said without further fanfare, so Jeff fell in behind him and soon found myself in a men's washroom, the only place they could get some privacy on short notice.

"Now," he said with irritation, "what the fuck are you trying to do, start a civil war?"
"No, sir. I was defending my uniform, and the Navy. The colonel..."
"I know all about the colonel. I heard the whole thing. Ok, we’re agreed, he’s an asshole. You carried yourself very well under the circumstances, Jeff. But that last outburst was uncalled for."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I did nothing wrong. I AM proud of myself, and it's mostly thanks to you and other officers like you. It's the first time in my life I've felt good about what I'm doing and what I am, and I won't take shit off anybody, Sir. I'm proud that I'm a Lieutenant even if I am still a student; I'm proud that I'm a flyer, and a good one; I'm proud that I'm twenty, and I'm proud that the Navy has seen fit to give me a commission. But it wasn’t given to me, I earned it; and I'm not gonna be belittled by some air force colonel fuckhead who has no right to treat any officer like that!

Sir!"

Adams stood and regarded his young Lieutenant for a long time. "You've got another thing to be proud of," he said finally. "You're also quite the spitfire when you get worked up. And you've got one helluva temper that you have to learn to control if you want to get any further in this Navy. I want you to apologize to Smythe. Kiss his ass if you have to, but make up with him. And do it in front of witnesses. We need him, Jeff, especially you, that is if you're still interested in spending time on this base. Now get your ass outta here and go make that apology, and then find your girl, 'cause I want to meet her. And I want to see you as soon as you get back to the ship, sailor."

Whenever Jeff was addressed as "sailor" or "Lieutenant," a wave of pride coursed through his body that made up for everything, and now was no different. It was probably at that moment that Jeff decided that his career would be in the Navy, not some engineering office or computer room. Adams had no way of knowing, but calling Jeff "sailor" at that moment, a pretty simple and common thing, meant more to him than pinning a medal on his chest. He saluted smartly and sincerely, then wheeled and left to find Colonel Smythe. He had his orders.

Jeff was still trembling with rage when he practically collided with Becky outside the hangar. "I saw the whole thing," she sympathized. "I knew he was a bastard, but I had no idea he was that bad," she said as she squeezed his hand. He had just made his apology, groveling meekly and taking another barrage of insults from the ignorant man in the process in front of about twenty people. Jeff said nothing, telling her it was best forgotten. "Besides,” he said, "there's someone I want you to meet, and I want to be cooled off first."

An hour later Jeff and Becky had dinner with Adams, Steve, and Cathy. Marty and Tim, Steve’s RIO, had joined the other crew members and were off looking for girls. Adams said he had come over to sign some important papers, but Jeff was convinced he was checking out his "sons'" new girl friend. And his actions and attitude toward the two young ladies said loud and clear that he approved, which made up for the whole thing in Jeff’s eyes.

“Have you been to the hospital yet?” Adams inquired of Steve.
“Yes, sir,” Steve replied. “He was busy, so I said I’d check in after dinner.”
“That’s fine,” Adams answered. “Just see that you do. I have to get back to the ship as soon as we eat, so I’ll see you all in about 24 hours, after your mission.”

Two hours later Becky and Jeff were in her quarters, in bed. Steve had gone to the infirmary, saying he’d see them all in the morning. But there would be no sparks tonight. As they snuggled together, Jeff was once more a little boy in his mother's arms, and he began to weep softly in spite of himself. "Jeff," she said softly, "Do you think maybe they're right?"
"Right? About what?"
"About your age. You are only twenty after all, and you're carrying an awesome responsibility."
"Now don't you start," he bristled. "I can carry the responsibility just fine, if folks'll just get off my case and let me carry it and do my job."

"Can you, Jeff? I mean, can you really do all you’re expected to do and survive? There'll always be a Smythe around to give you a hard time, you know. Maybe you should just tell them to shove it, if that's the way they want to act."
"Not a snowball's chance in Hell! I had to take that crap all the time I was growing up and I couldn't do anything about it. Now I can, and I will. I have talents and abilities, and by God I'm gonna use them, and no one, NO ONE is gonna stop me, Becky, just because I'm a little younger than they'd like."

Becky lay still for a long time, evidently thinking over what Jeff had said. "Well," she said, "you have at least two people that think you're the greatest."
"Two?"
"Yes, two. You should hear Steve brag about you when you're not around. It's almost embarrassing."

Jeff could not say in all honesty he was really surprised, but it felt good to hear the words anyway. He explained the whole thing to her, including how the two young students had thought they were lovers. She said she thought as much, feared it really, but that was in the past. He told her of his background, and how he had a brother back in the States with whom he seemed to be getting closer almost daily since they’d been apart. "And that's why," she commented, "you drive yourself so hard. You think you have to be the best to measure up, to fulfill all the admiration your brother is heaping on you. Well, you need to know, Lieutenant, you're the best in my books, and I don't care if you never fly another of those killing machines in your life!"

The happy couple lay and talked for a long time, then Becky asked, "What are you gonna do in the morning?"
"I’ve got a direct order, Becky. I'll have to leave at first light, then go back to the ship."
"What about the maintenance? Are the planes safe?"
"I think so. They’re all overdue for routine maintenance, but as far as I know all four are working all right. And even if they're not, I have no choice. Smythe has a perfect right to kick me out of his airport; but once I'm out, I follow the orders my own CO gave me. I’m still in command of the mission once we’re in the air, so if any of the planes shows trouble I’ll just send it back to the ship."

"You like Adams a lot, don't you?"
"Becky, he's the closest thing to a father I've ever had. He gave me hell for smarting off to Smythe, but coming from him I knew it was good advice, not just military bullshit."
"Does he know you're taking off without the maintenance?"
"I guess so. He said he heard the whole thing. We never discussed it because there was no need. I was given a direct order, and he'll expect me to carry it out without question."

There was another silent pause. Jeff felt so safe, so protected in this Canadian nurse's arms, it was hard to remember that he had a job to do, and not a particularly pleasant one. Little did he know how unpleasant it would be.

"Becky," Jeff said tentatively after they had lain together for another hour, "can we make love?"
"I thought you'd never ask," she responded. "But I thought you'd rather just be close?"
"I guess maybe I would; but we see each other so seldom... the time’s so short..."

Becky laughed lightly, but it wasn't a mirthful laugh, just a release of tension. "Jeff, baby, there are no quotas, no tally sheets. If we want to make love, we do. If we don't, we don't. Nobody is watching, Honey, and no one’s gonna judge us if we just lie here like this and enjoy a few hours of peace and quiet."

Jeff really didn't want to make love, in the physical sense, but he knew it would be expected of him. But right now it would've been difficult, because he had started to cry again. "I'm sorry, Becky," he sobbed. "You must think I'm a baby."
"No I don't," she said. "I think I'm honored that you feel free enough to release some of those emotions and tensions when you're with me. I loved you from the moment I met you, Jeff, but I was afraid. You were so capable, so efficient, so confident. I was afraid you were just another of those pompous little over-achievers. You’re not the first whiz kid to ever hit the military you know, and usually they’re so full of themselves they’ve got no time for anyone but themselves. But what I see now is just another little boy, who's never had the chance to be a little boy. I see a person who's willing to be a homosexual rather than hurt his best friend, and I see more loyalty than I've ever seen in my life in one human being. But you're all stressed out, Jeff! You have to let it out or you'll explode! So if you don't want to have sex, it's all right. I survived all this time without sex, and I can certainly survive a little longer. The memories of those three days in Africa will sustain me for years!"

Jeff was aching to tell her what was really bothering him: that even as they lay there cuddling, Steve was in the hospital enduring the indignity of doctors and nurses poking about his genital area, making decisions that would affect Steve his entire life! Steve had confided in him that he didn’t seem to be healing very well, and he had obviously been concerned about what the doctor might have to say. Thankfully he was no longer in pain, but his private parts just didn’t look all that healthy.

Jeff couldn't believe how passionate, how close two humans could be. They made love, all night long. But they did it without his body entering hers; he learned that making love was more, much more, than purely sex. He didn’t know it at the time, but he would use this newfound knowledge sooner than he could ever have dreamed. He knew the guys would assume they'd banged away all night, and he knew he'd never be able to convince them otherwise; but it didn't matter. Becky and Jeff had discovered what most people never learn: that making love was a helluva lot more than physical penetration, and both were comfortable with what they'd learned.

When Jeff arrived on the ramp just before daylight, the rest of the crew were already there, except for Steve. “The doctor kept him overnight,” Tim explained. “He’s not gonna be able to go on the mission.”
“We’ll have to cancel,” Jeff said. “The whole thing was set up for four planes. It just won’t work with three.”
“And why not?” a voice came from behind Jeff. It was Colonel Smythe.

“Colonel, the entire mission was set up for four planes,” Jeff explained. “We all have our jobs to do, and without any one of us the mission simply will not work.”
“So there are two of you to a plane,” Smythe said smugly. “Surely at least one of your second seats is qualified to fly?”
“Only one,” Jeff replied as he eyed Marty, his second seat. “Lieutenant Baxter can fly a Tomcat.”
“Then I don’t see the problem,” Smythe said smugly. “Baxter can fly Price’s plane. Problem solved.”

“Sir, I need my second seat,” Jeff protested. “My job is to fly low and slow over that trench. I need Lieutenant Baxter to watch the radar and instruments while I fly the plane. And when we encounter something, it’s his job to operate the bomb and missile sights to hit the target. At that altitude, I have all I can do to keep the plane steady. Tomcats are much more at home flying high and fast, sir, just like your F-15's.”
“A second seat sure didn’t help you much yesterday,” Smythe retorted. “You have access to the bomb sights and firing controls from your seat, don’t you, Allen?”
“Yes, sir, I do. But...”
“Then it’s settled. Baxter, you’ll be flying Price’s bird, and Allen, you’ll be flying solo. Better get aboard, you guys. It’s almost sunup.”
“Yes, sir,” Jeff seethed as they all watched Smythe walk off toward the hangar.

One of the mechanics told Jeff the maintenance crews had worked feverishly all night trying to finish their work, but they had only done two of the four planes. Jonathon's and Jeff’s hadn't been touched. Jeff found the duty sergeant and thanked him for his efforts, assuring him that the planes had been working fine so they'd probably be all right. "No problem, sir," the sergeant replied. "Smythe gave you a pretty bad time, but from what I hear, he paid for it."
"Paid for it? How?"
"Your CO, Lieutenant. After he was done with you, he went to Smythe's office and ripped him to shreds, telling him if he ever treated one of his men like that again, he'd have him court-martialed. And Smythe took it, too."

Jeff asked him how he knew, and he replied that the walls aren't very thick in these buildings, and Adams was far from whispering. He thanked the sergeant again and got ready for takeoff.

As it turned out, Jeff’s plane was not all right. He was once again skimming along the ditch, zooming along at three hundred feet above the deck, wondering why the doctor had kept Steve in the hospital, when the engines just stopped. There were no warnings, no instrument malfunctions, no alarms, just loss of power. At that altitude he couldn't eject, had almost no time to tell the others. He knew he'd drop like a stone, so he veered to starboard away from where he knew all the activity would be, lowered his landing gear and radio’d the others that he'd lost power and was going down.

He had barely braced himself for the crash when it came. The sand was soft, too soft to support the three tiny wheels, so it tore up the underside pretty good as the wheels dug into the sand and the gear collapsed. When the Tomcat finally ground to a stop in the desert, Jeff wasn't hurt at all, but he could smell fuel pretty strong, so he got out as quickly as he could and made a hasty retreat. He was still carrying a full load of bombs and ammo, so he threw a lighted match into the leaking puddle of fuel, then ran like hell. As the plane exploded behind him, Jeff began looking for some place to hide in the desert until his comrades could get back, probably after dark, with a rescue chopper. He knew they'd heard him even though they hadn't acknowledged his transmission, and they knew his exact position; but he also knew the Iraqi's would be looking for him too.

By late afternoon Jeff found himself in the very trench he had been searching from the air for days. The desert was so barren and flat there was absolutely no place to hide, so he hoped there'd be some crevice here that would conceal a very frightened young aviator. He shuddered as he assessed his situation. He was alone, a downed pilot behind enemy lines, unarmed except for a small handgun, miles from any shelter or friendly troops. He had a small beacon transmitter, but he chose not to turn it on until he heard the sound of a chopper, reasoning that the enemy would pick up the signal too. In the trench, which was a huge affair about one hundred feet wide and over thirty feet deep, he found lots of irregularities and tiny caves to hide in. So he selected one that was, he thought, harder to detect than the others, and there he settled in to wait for darkness.

To be continued...