He backed away to a more reasonable position. “Nice job in the groove, Nitro,” the pilot of the lead bomber remarked.
“I think you’ve just been named, sir,” Grey said.
“ ‘Nitro,’ huh? It’s a helluva lot better than ‘Pappy,’ “ Daren said. He moved away to route-formation position and gave control back to the flight-control computer.
“Shit-hot job, sir,” Grey said. “I got the impression you didn’t like flying.”
“Nah,” Daren said. “Just because I don’t think mission commanders need to be experts in flying the jet, or because I think I shouldn’t be wasting time learning flight characteristics, doesn’t mean I can’t fly. But I prefer dropping bombs, my friend. I’ll get our range clearance, and then we’ll go in and have some real fun!”
Daren had to struggle to keep up with the squadron as they headed down the aircraft-parking ramp for the finish line. His newest squadron joint activity: letting everyone off at 4:00 p.m. on Friday afternoon and doing a five-kilometer run around the runway, followed by a tailgate beer and soda party hosted by one of the squadron’s duty flights, rotated each week. He was heartened to see everyone who was not on critical duty, and even a few others who had a quick-response responsibility, out for the run. He was also pleasantly surprised when Patrick McLanahan, David Luger, and a bunch of other Air Battle Force types joined in the run with Rebecca Furness, John Long, and a few other wing personnel he hadn’t even met yet.
The afternoon air was cold and dry, much different from the humid air in the District of Columbia and Alabama, but his body was finally getting accustomed to the dryness and altitude, and Daren felt he acquitted himself well despite obviously being the old man in the group. He felt that more than just a few folks had to slow up so they wouldn’t completely wax their squadron commander, and there was a big clump of squadron personnel who finished beside Daren and Rebecca. John Long, a three-per-day cigar smoker, dropped out after three kilometers, the minimum distance for the twice-annual Air Force aerobics test; almost no one else dropped out, although a few had to stop and take some deep breaths and rest aching legs.
Daren first chose a large bottle of icy-cold water after the run, but then he took one look at the disappointed faces of his squadron, put it back, and pulled out a bottle of beer instead, then handed one to Rebecca. This gave the go-ahead for everyone else, and the partying started in earnest. “Good move, Colonel,” Rebecca said as they walked along the dirt beside the Security Forces building. “You saw that everyone wanted a beer, but no one was going to partake unless you did first. Very heads-up of you to switch.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ve seen a lot of that lately. You seem very in tune with your troops. I see you playing basketball and having chow with the enlisted people, playing cards with the NCOs, turning wrenches with the maintenance guys, and shooting rifles and pistols on the range with the Security Forces. I know it means a lot to them to see you around.” She paused, then said, “But I don’t see much of you these days. The general’s big project?”
“He’s got me plugged in night and day.” There were lots of generals on base, Daren thought, but everyone knew that “the” general was Patrick McLanahan. “Lots of meetings and trips to TTR.” The Tonopah Test Range was the flight test and research base in southwestern Nevada that served as the medium-security conduit between the unclassified flight testing done at Edwards Air Force Base in Southern California and the supersecret research work done at the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center, or HAWC, near Las Vegas.
“Everything going all right?”
“I think we’ll have it dialed in soon,” Daren said. “The general is a hard-charger.”
“Good candidate for a nervous breakdown.”
“His head is screwed on right, I think,” Daren said. “He’s spending more time with his kid. He even showed up for the squadron run.”
“I couldn’t believe it myself.”
“I wasn’t surprised. He works hard, but he’s starting to gain a bit more perspective, I think.”
“That’ll be a switch.”
They fell silent again, nursing their beers. Finally Daren said, “How about dinner tonight? I think the Owl Club is doing cowboy poetry in the dining room. Should be a rip-roarin’ time in the old town!” That was pure sarcasm. There was not much to do in Battle Mountain after hours; cowboy poetry was a special treat.
“I… I don’t think so, Daren,” Rebecca said uneasily.
“You’re allowed to spend time with your squadron commanders while off duty.”
“I know that. It’s just—”
“This is the first time I’ve even spoken to you outside meetings and briefings, Becky, and we’ve still got several hundred airmen around us,” Daren said. “Something a little more relaxed and private would be nice.”
“I’m not ready to start seeing you, Daren.”
“Not even for dinner and some wine?”
“When did we ever get together for ‘just’ dinner?”
He smiled in spite of himself. “Well, I certainly didn’t mind when things turned in that direction.”
“And that’s why I’m saying no, Daren. I’m afraid our whole relationship outside of work revolves around sex. I’m not ready for that yet.”
“It doesn’t have to end up with us in the sack, Becky.”
“I just don’t want to take the chance,” she said. She motioned to the rest of the large crowd of runners a few dozen yards away. “I think I’m comfortable enough around you right now.”
“You’re not giving me very much credit here.”
“I’ll apologize — if you tell me you didn’t think about it when you asked me out.” Daren smiled again. “I thought so.”
“Hey, it doesn’t mean I was planning to carry you up to a hotel room and throw you on the bed after dinner,” Daren said. “If it happened, then… I’d be very happy. If it didn’t—”
“You’d try again,” Rebecca finished for him. “Problem is, I’m not sure if I’m ready for the pursuit right now… and I’m not sure what I’d be feeling if I said yes.” He looked away. “And if you cared about me at all, you’d respect that.”
“I do,” Daren said earnestly. “But it won’t stop me from thinking about it — or trying again.” She had no response to that. Daren couldn’t tell if it meant “Don’t bother” or “I’d like that.” He looked over the aircraft-parking ramp, wishing he could throw the beer bottle across with all his strength. “Are you ever going to tell me about you and Rinc Seaver?” he asked sharply.
“No. And I advise you not to bring up that topic again,” she said, and she walked quickly away.
As he watched her move off, his mind flashed briefly on Amber back at Donatella’s — and then he shook his head, finished his beer, and went to get another.
While over at the tailgate, Patrick McLanahan met up with him. “Good idea doing a run,” he said. Daren noticed with amusement that McLanahan’s sweatshirt was heavily sweat-stained. “The tailgate party makes it even better.”