The Flight Deck

It would appear the good Calliope has been working overtime by the looks of these here premises – Lex is refining his embryonic tome, Steve is blowing the dust hither and yon with his offering and fresh off a 72-hr watch cycle stint, YHS has another chapter in the offering:

Smuggler’s Blues (I)

It began with a phone call –

“It always begins with a damn phone call…” the young LT thought morosely to himself. Any other time he would be drinking in the warmth of the Florida sun, enjoying the beach, such as it was, across the highway from Patrick AFB, but not this time.

Two weeks earlier, about two-thirds of the way through a much anticipated honeymoon in the mountains, the real world came crashing in on the newlyweds in the form of a note from the front desk, neatly tucked into the door of their room. “Call the SDO – immediately” followed by the duty phone number to the squadron’s ready room. Thinking it was another prank (he still flushed at the thought of the cryptic “OH NO!” one of his “buds” had surreptitiously painted on the soles of his white uniform shoes; the gasps and muffled laughter from the congregation when he kneeled with his bride-to-be at the altar proved a conversation maker at the reception…), he had called the duty office and connected with one of his roommates from the deployment they had just returned from the previous month.

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And up today – part II

Smuggler’s Blues (II)

“Omaha 51, check right one o’clock, 4 miles, heading 280, angels 3…”

“51, negative contact”

Damn he thought, Is this guy blind or what?

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