This Given Sky Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Great . . .”
    Beep .
    The burning APC messing with infrared and heat detectors, but . . .
    “Luger 7 to Luger 5,” radioed Jake. “Contact near your hit. Going in.”
    Jake rolled the Warthog onto its back, rolled out into a fifty-degree dive. The mushroom fire rushed closer, closer . Altitude 11,000 feet. 10,500. 10,000. Radar confirmed motion on ground, lock on , arm a Maverick. 9,000 feet. The half moon lit the ghostly desert floor. Altitude 7,500 feet, heart pounding, confirmed target. Time distortion slowed the universe. Closing in. Don’t die not gonna die gonna fly away home safe home Thel, Steve and Thel 7,000 feet—Visual: burning vehicle like a flame for a moth come here! Radar locked on new target . . .
    Thumb the pickle button /plane shudders.
    Jake looked right: the missile launched off its rail on the wing.
    “Rifle!”
    But then . . .
    Jake held his course instead of Obeying Procedure, pulling out to evade the effects of his attack and any return fire from the ground. He chased his Maverick missile. Flew renegade. Watched his missile hit a second Iraqi Republican Guard APC rumbling across the desert floor. The APC exploded in a ball of flame. Pull up! Pull up! Stall alarms screaming. G-forces crushing him. He fought the joystick: plane shaking, won’t — shudder /wobbles to a flat trajectory flying straight and safe, back to base.
    Where his C.O. chewed him out on the runway.
    Where the Squadron Commander reamed him out in the Ready Room. Wrote him up and sent him to the base psychologist, who asked: “Why did you endanger yourself and your aircraft? Follow your missile?”
    “I guess that was just the direction I was heading.”
    The shrink shook his head. “Try again, Jake.”
    Jake shrugged. “That’s all the answer I’ve got.”
    Watched the shrink note something on his pad that Jake was pretty sure would not bode well for a career in the Air Force.
    But they didn’t ground him: wars need warriors.
    Nor did they send him back to the shrink after he sat with his squadron watching the movie recorded by his aircraft that showed the first APC burning on the ground. As Jake, his plane, his missile, and the camera rushed ever closer, the film showed men on the ground running—running toward the first burning APC.
    They gotta know we’re still out there, thought Jake as he watched the movie he’d made. They’re not running away. Not taking cover, ditching their vehicle they know is probably locked in our sensors. They’re running toward Luger 5’s blasted and burning target to try and help their buddies.
    They’re doing their job. More .
    Then somebody drops out of the sky and blows them all to hell.
    Lights came on in the briefing room.
    The other pilots let their eyes find Jake.
    He sat steady on his metal folding chair.
    These are my buddies. This is my job .
    Jake flew the rest of his missions in the war and never hesitated about pushing the pickle or piloting exactly as he’d been trained and ordered.
    Still, when the war ended with more than 100,000 people killed and all the rulers back in charge of their countries just as they had been before, Jake took advantage of a Reduction In Force, got an early honorable discharge, flew home to civilian life. His parents risked breaking their routine to fly to Florida to see their son. They told their friends they left after a long weekend “so as not to get in the way of Jake & Diane .”
    Who ravaged each other for almost a month before separation’s urgency burned away leaving only everyday obligation. They broke up.
    Jake’s apartment lease ran out. His only friends in Florida wore blue uniforms and he didn’t. He had no job, no plans, a chunk of back pay, and a vintage Ford Mustang. He had time. He’d fought for oil, so why not burn some to go home to Shelby. To his folks. To Steve & Thel . Sure, why not.
    Jake rolled into his hometown with sunset in his mirror sunglasses. Drove to his family home, put his suitcase on his old bed.