Per aspera ad astra, p.5
Per Aspera Ad Astra, page 5
“Resign,” Mike said as he and Tony entered their two bedroom apartment, ending the match they’d started on the return flight. “Good game.”
“Not really,” Tony admitted ruefully. “I think I distracted you, bringing up your grandfather. Sorry about that.”
“It's fine,” Mike said, weariness overtaking him as they squared away their gear. “I’m thinking of visiting him this weekend. You want to come?”
“Hey, yeah, that’d be great!” Tony said, his countenance brightening. “I mean, it sucks he's sick, but to meet an old-school flier…”
“Yeah, I'm sure he'll be happy to finally meet my wizzo,” Mike said as he prepared a late night snack. “I've told him about you a few times.”
“You didn't mention the triple-whammy, did you?”
“Of course not. What do I look like, a Pentecostal?”
Tony snorted. “Smartass.”
It was a glorious spring day as Mike and Tony, after submitting their AARs for the previous night’s activities, left their quarters and piled into Mike's emerald green Charger. The car barely made it halfway to the outer gate, heading for Spokane, when both their phones brayed at the same instant. “Son of a—” Mike grumbled, pulling into the nearest parking area. “Voldemort wants us now?”
“Looks like it,” Tony agreed; he was quickest to check. “The text is marked 'urgent.'”
“I can't figure out why he hates us,” Mike said, pulling the Dodge around to head for the squadron commander's office. Lieutenant Colonel Tom Beeblebrox—callsign “Voldemort”—had been a thorn in their sides since they’d first joined the 391st Bold Tigers. He was always finding some reason to chew them out or criticize them, often in front of the other flight crews.
“He didn’t take too kindly to your shooting that bandit off his six, at Red Flag,” Tony suggested. They shared a grimace at the memory.
“Should’ve been an easy shake,” Mike said. “Why couldn't he do it himself? That Viper driver wasn't very good.”
Trading aspersions on the colonel's character as they drove, for this was all he was good for in their eyes, the two officers headed back to the administration building. Their banter was curtailed out of necessity once they entered; most of the airmen they’d encounter during this visit were firmly in the CO's pocket. The staff sergeant manning his reception desk was much more sympathetic. “Go on in,” she said with a wan smile. “He's about as tractable as he ever gets.”
That got Mike's gut squirming. Tony wasn't happy, either.
“Deacon, Toner, have a seat,” said the colonel, sitting in his chair with its back toward them, once pilot and wizzo entered the spacious, richly-decorated room and closed the double doors. Sharing a quick glance, they did as they were told; Voldemort’s attitude was far too casual for their liking.
“Sorry to interrupt your weekend off,” he continued, not sorry at all, “but I've just received the most wonderful news.”
“What's that, sir?” Tony ventured, shattering the uncomfortable silence following this pronouncement.
“I've finally gotten rid of my problem children,” Beeblebrox said, elation making his voice bubble slightly as he turned around to face his subordinates. “You two get to enjoy the next week off, during which you’ll make preparations for moving—I don’t care how—to RAF Lakenheath. Upon arrival, you’ll report to your new assignment with the 492nd.” The colonel paused for effect, his smile becoming a leer. “That's right, you're joining the Madhatters, which I consider quite appropriate.”
A confusing concoction of emotions nipped at Mike like a swarm of angry horseflies; a glance Tony’s way confirmed he faced a similar ordeal. On one hand, both were elated to get out from under Voldemort's thumb; on the other, neither had ever been to Britain and didn't know much about the place. On top of that, if the various plans and rumors proved true, their days flying Strike Eagles were probably numbered, This implied the Air Force might’ve already decided to break them up. If so, Tony might be able to get into UPT and earn wings himself, but that’d be his decision…
“There's one more thing,” Voldemort continued, reaching into a drawer. “In order to get you two clowns out of my squadron—” he casually tossed a pair of small boxes onto the desk “—you’re being promoted below the zone. Not by much, but still too soon in my opinion. Congratulations Captain, First Lieutenant.”
The two visitors remained in their seats, unsure how to react.
A sneer of contempt crossed the colonel's face. “By the way, your report-by date is the twelfth of May.”
Anger coursing through him like poison, Mike had to smother the urge to punch the senior officer. “But sir,” he said, barely managing to keep his temper, “that’s barely a month away!”
“Indeed,” Voldemort said, relishing the moment. “You're dismissed. Now get out of my sight.”
Standing and saluting in unison, Mike and Tony snapped up the boxes and beat a hasty retreat, pausing once more before the CO's secretary. “Goodbye Karen,” Mike said, embarrassed as he tried to tamp down his outrage. “Tony and I are finally out of here.”
“So that's why he was so happy this morning,” she replied dolefully. “Sorry to hear it, but I'm glad you won't have to put up with him any longer.”
“You sure he never tried anything?” Tony said, doing what he always did to maintain calm—employ the judicious application of humor.
The staff sergeant's brow furrowed as she leaned forward. “That's the fifth time you've brought this up, Lieutenant,” she said sternly. “The answer is still no—he may be an irredeemable prick, but Voldemort’s not that stupid.”
“C'mon Toner, we can celebrate later,” Mike said, dragging his wizzo away before he could do anything just as dumb. “If we hurry, we can get to Spokane before dark.”
“Copy that Deac,” Tony replied, casting one last forlorn look toward Staff Sergeant Marcelo. As they walked, both men were fully cognizant of the iniquity thrust upon them. No promotion was worth having barely a month to completely uproot their lives to move halfway across the globe to a whole other country. Where was the justice in that?
“That's just…about…it,” Emma said, surreptitiously withdrawing her wand from the catheter and stowing it in her bag. “How do you feel now, Richard?”
Slowly shuffling his shoulders, arms and legs while lying against the adjustable bed that’d been his home for nearly three months, Dick took a deep, experimental breath. “That's…much better,” he said, his subdued countenance brightening as a huge wave of relief blossomed from within. “I’ve no idea how, Dr. Markett, but you seem to have done the trick.”
“I'm just glad we could get here in time to make a difference,” Ben said, patting his wife’s shoulder once she removed the shunt and applied a bandage to the incision. “It's been far too long. I would’ve hated myself if…”
“I know,” Dick said. “It's lucky your autobiography came out when it did, else I wouldn't have any idea Emma might’ve been of help.”
Emma and Ben smiled at the book sitting on the nightstand. “Fortunate we thought to send you a copy, you mean,” Emma said, her expression sobering. “Another month and you’d have been beyond even my aid, I'm afraid. You’re not out of the woods yet, either. Your body is still weak, and while you’ll need to rest for at least another fortnight, you ought to be able to get out of bed tomorrow. You will also need to eat properly, to regain your strength.”
“That won't be an issue, I assure you,” Dick said, supremely grateful. “It still amazes me how young the two of you look. Ben, you're my age, yet you could pass for someone young enough to fly commercial.”
“It's her fault,” Ben retorted playfully. “She keeps doctoring my food.”
Dick let out a bark of laughter that tapered off into a single cough.
“I could draw up a dietary guide for your staff, if you’d like,” Emma suggested. “It'll be easy to make it idiot-proof, given their skills.”
“Thank you both,” Dick said. “How can I repay you? You've come all the way out to Washington from a restful retirement in Britain, after all. And on such short notice, too…”
“Don't be ridiculous,” Emma gently admonished. “You were sick, and I was able to help. That's all that matters.”
Ben grinned as Dick looked at his wife with growing consternation.
“Ridiculous? Me?” Dick said with a snort. “I'm worth nine figures, and if all that money is good for anything in this world, it's for paying those people who’ve earned it—it certainly can't buy life or happiness. Are you going to stand there and tell me there isn't anything you need help with? Any bills or mortgages that need paying off?”
“It’s true,” Ben said with a wink. “We've been very careful with our money. While we can't hold a candle to your success, we haven't had to disturb our nest egg just yet.”
“If it means that much to you,” Emma added, taking Dick's hand in hers, “we shall accept a token payment. And a chance, once you’ve recovered, for Ben to get reacquainted with an old friend and the country you served.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Emma,” Dick countered with a much healthier-sounding chuckle. This was the last of five such treatments, conducted over as many days, and he was finally starting to feel like his old self—pun intended. “I'll call my son, he’ll have our people make the arrangements. In the meantime, I’d love it if you’d continue to stay and enjoy what the house has to offer. Spokane is lovely this time of year.”
“We’d like that very much,” Emma agreed. Ben nodded somewhat meekly, hands clasped behind his back, fairly giddy with anticipation.
Grinning, Dick was reaching for the phone when it began ringing. “Hello?”
“Granddad?” his grandson said, noticeably anxious. “How are you?”
“Michael?” Dick said happily. “It's so good to hear your voice again!” He covered the handset mic. “My grandson, the one I told you about.”
Ben and Emma returned his smile with happy nods.
“Yeah, it's me Granddad. Is it okay if we stop by?”
“Does your use of the word 'we' imply that I finally get to meet your 'wizzo,' I believe you call him?”
“Yeah, he's driving over the state line,” Mike confirmed. “Hey, Granddad…you sound different. Did the doctor give you some new meds?”
“It's much better than that, Michael,” Dick said cheekily. “Come on over, I've got some friends over I’d like you to meet.”
“Well, that was cryptic,” Mike said, slipping the phone into his pocket.
“You don't sound happy,” Tony observed.
Mike heaved a sigh. “You'd think we’d be happy as squids scrubbing decks during a hurricane, but I can't shake a sense of foreboding. It’s got nothing to do with Voldemort’s little games, either.”
“You ate too many curly fries,” Tony deadpanned. “Better pick up some antacids, then you can tell me what's really on your mind.”
Several minutes passed in spiraling silence as the Charger cruised merrily down the highway, through gorgeous mountain vistas beneath a crystal clear sky. Finally, Mike could bear it no longer. “All this time I've been afraid of Granddad kicking the bucket,” he said in a rush. “Then I talk to him and he sounds as healthy as he was the last time I saw him, before he got sick. He also has friends over, and says it's better than getting new meds.”
There was a beat. “You think something's up?”
“Tony, I know something's up.”
“Relax, Mike. We'll find out when we get there.”
“I guess so,” Mike said, morose. “I missed my grandmother's funeral because of flight school. Ever since, part of me has wondered whether Granddad might resent me for it. We used to be so close.”
“That's enough of that,” Tony declared, the ironclad resolve in his voice taking Mike by surprise. “I know you don't think you're the only one who's lost family, you're not that arrogant or retarded. But if I've only ever learned one thing from twelve years of Catholic school, it's that no matter what happens or what you do, blood’s thicker than water. You get what I'm saying?”
Absently taking in the scenery, Mike turned that thought over in his head, slowly coming to the conclusion that his friend was correct. It was time to stop bemoaning his lot in life, to instead take it as it came and enjoy the ride. This was how he felt whenever he flew, and it hadn’t failed him yet. “You know what, Tony,” he said, his tone far more confident. “When you're right, you're right.”
The rest of the trip passed in blithesome speculation about what it’d be like living in England. Since Air Force bases were virtually interchangeable in their organization and culture, their conversation centered around the differences in the society and lives of the locals. Finally, after stopping at a gas station and trading places, they arrived at the Parsons house. Built in a colonial style, it approached but didn’t quite meet the level of mansion, though it featured plenty of lawn and well-tended landscaping with numerous flower beds. It was also fairly old, having gone through several renovations over the decades. Mike fondly remembered his childhood visits.
“That Toyota has rental plates,” Tony observed as Mike pulled up the drive, stopping behind a compact sedan. “Must be those friends.”
“They probably flew in,” Mike said as they approached the broad, open porch. With the sun sinking behind them, he pressed the chime; less than a minute later, the richly-stained mahogany door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman with dark blonde hair. Dressed in a neatly-pressed maroon pantsuit, her icy blue eyes shifted from the slightly shorter captain who somewhat resembled her, to the much darker-skinned first lieutenant standing to his left.
“Good evening Michael,” she said warmly. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“Hello, Aunt Tab,” Mike said somewhat sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. His father’s older sister, she was a respected accountant and money manager who made a good living as a consultant, having started out with her father’s financial portfolios. The two got along well, since her family visited often, but they’d had little contact since his Academy graduation. “This is my backseater, Anthony Martinez.”
“Just call me Tony.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Tabitha said, shaking his offered hand. “Will you two be staying for a while?”
“Probably,” Mike said as he and Tony followed her inside. “Weren't you still working with that booking agency in LA?”
“Your mother had to return to New York to work on some project,” Tabitha explained as the trio strolled through the foyer. “Someone had to make sure your grandfather was getting the right care, so I arranged for some time off.” She chortled. “Turns out I needn't have bothered.”
“Too bad,” Mike said as they ascended the stairs. “I was hoping to see Mom or Dad before leaving on my transfer order.”
“They kicked us out of the squadron, so we're going overseas,” Tony added, his gaze zipping about as though tracking a particularly energetic bogey. “These are some prime digs, I gotta say!”
Tabitha ignored him as she led the two officers down the upstairs hall. “I hope you two don't mind sharing,” she said, opening a door to reveal a well-appointed bedroom centered around a pristine king-sized bed. “The other guest room’s occupied.”
“Nah,” Mike assured her. “We’ve bunked together before.”
“Oh, I forgot.”
“Is Granddad awake? He mentioned having friends over.”
“As it happens, yes,” Tabitha said, tilting her head in thought. “I take it that was you who called earlier?”
Mike and Tony nodded in unison. “Yeah.”
“It's alright, Michael,” Tabitha said, placing a gentle hand on her nephew's shoulder. “He's my father too, and I care for him just as much as you. Perhaps more so, in fact. Now go in and say hello while I get the kitchen to set places for the two of you.”
Chapter 4
Opening the door and gently shuffling inside, Mike couldn't believe his eyes. Dressed in pinstriped pajamas and covered to the waist in blankets lay the sickly, barely-moving body of his grandfather, but the face that locked its gaze upon his looked twenty years younger. His brown eyes shone with a life and vigor more befitting a man in the flower of youth. With a quick, furtive glance, he knew Tony was equally astounded by the contradiction.
“You look like you've seen a ghost,” one of two strangers standing to his grandfather's right said, the wry smile on his face matching the crispness of his voice. The couple looked to be in their late fifties. Both were clothed modestly and conservatively in nondescript casual attire, in stark contrast to Mike and Tony's carefully-maintained service dress. “Michael Parsons, I presume?”
“Yessir,” Mike said, utterly nonplussed. “And you are?”
The clean-shaven man, his silver hair cropped in a pilot's cut, grinned even wider as his intensely questing hazel eyes fell upon Mike's green gaze. “Benjamin Markett. This is my wife, Emma.”
“Charmed,” said the woman. Her long plait, bearing significant traces of a much darker hue, was bound at the neck to frame startlingly deep blue irises.
“This is my weapon systems officer, Tony Martinez,” Mike said as polite handshakes were exchanged all around. “I take it you’re the 'friends' Granddad mentioned?”
“Somewhat more than that, Michael,” Dick said with an amused chuckle. “Ben and I attended flight school together, later flying in the same squadron.”
“You're shitting me,” Tony blurted, earning a reproving glare from his pilot. “Uh, sir.”
The old man in the bed let out a guffaw that would’ve caused a severe coughing fit only a few weeks prior. Now, it only made him wheeze a bit. “Oh no, Lieutenant. I’m dead serious.”
“The years have been kind to us, true,” Emma said, her tone betraying her amusement at the young officers' discomfiture. Mike was thrown further off course by her manifestly British accent. “But it takes a great deal of hard work and careful monitoring of one's diet, exercise and other factors. Fortunately for us, as well as your grandfather, I am a doctor of not inconsiderable skill.”
