Aces High

Chapter 5

In the few minutes between the end of the briefing and us heading over to our quarters, we had been invited to a celebration that was going to be hosted by the Island's squadrons. Of course, we accepted the invitation. Well, almost all of us. I elected to stay behind. I wanted to get ready for the sortie tomorrow, and we had many of them scheduled. Our first was in the middle of the day, a two-ship recce run followed by a night sortie. Of course, everyone was telling me that I was coming anyways.

"Is that an order, Christopher?" I asked. Bucky and Chip both glanced at me in shock, but Candid kept his cool.

"As a matter of fact, yes. So, you better have packed something nice to wear." He then turned and continued on his way. Chip and Ash both had their mouths agape, but Bucky was smirking.

"There's the pilot I know." He said nudging me on the shoulder. I just chuckled and shook my head. It was going to be a long night.

The room I was assigned was all the way down at the end of the hall, which overlooked the courtyard down below. These buildings were reminiscent of the apartment complexes of the early 2000s, and it looked as such. I tossed my duffel onto the floor next to the couch, walked over to said couch and plopped down. Luckily the air conditioning was working just fine and kept the room at a nice cool temperature. Lazily, I dug through my bag and found a simple pair of jeans and a shirt to wear. One shower and a bottle of water later, I was making my way to the building the party was being held in. I met up with my squad and we made our way over to the venue.

The atmosphere was lively, to say the least. Music was blasting out the hangar doors, and flocks of people were making their way into the building. That building, however, is one of the large hangars. In the center of the building stood a B-1 bomber, and people were using it as a place to rest. Some were sitting on the landing gear; one person was even sitting on the ladder leading up to the flight deck. But the real life of the party was the large crowd dancing on the other side of the aircraft.

"Well, well, well! The photographers made it!" I heard a voice yell. Bucky, Candid and I all turned to the guy, which was the same pilot who had started something earlier. "Well, seems like you forgot your camera."

"And you seemed to have forgotten you brains back home." Candid retorted. The two seemed like they were going to go at it once again, and that's when Chip stepped in.

"Alright, we all came to have a good time. Whatever this beef is, lets just put it aside and enjoy the party." The two of them looked at each other for a moment and nodded, as if she was their mother. "Good, now to the dance floor!" she said, grabbing Candid by the hand and dragging him off into the crowd. Bucky and I just stood there in disbelief.

"Did that just happen?" He asked me.

"Yep. Well, are you going to dance?" I asked back.

"Nope, are you?"

"Nope." We both stood in the silence, wondering what to do next. "Let's say we bounce outta here in a couple hours." He nodded and disappeared into the crowd. I did the same. I walked over to the snack table to grab a drink, which to my surprise, was a bit diverse. Everything from punch to soda and even sweet tea and lemonade. Back on Eagle Island, we'd be lucky to even get a few gallons of sweet tea. I grabbed a cup and sort of migrated over to a bench along the wall. The B-1 was washed with lighting, and the subtle crowd cheering to the beat of the music was oddly relaxing.

"Mind if I take this seat here?" I looked up to see one of the pilots holding a cup of soda standing over me. I shook my head and he gladly took the seat. "Merci. You must be an American pilot, no?"

"Not surprising, that's the majority pilots here. Pretty good chance you'd run into one of us." I stated, taking a sip of my tea.

"Of course. But may I ask, why are you out here and not in there?" He inquired. "I've been here many times and I've rarely seen you Americans sitting out here. Not dancing the night away." His accent was thick, I figured he must be French, or at least come from a French speaking nation. "Whatever the reason, I hope you do not fly as timidly as you treat a party."