I was hungry, and my stomach let me know that. I had less than three hours to prepare for this strike. Though planning was more or less looking at a map, then comparing it with where the target was. Such is the life of a Special Pilot. Briefings don’t take an hour over a flight path a blind grandmother could fly in ten minutes. Nor there was too much red tape to deal with. I knew I needed as much fuel as possible, as since it was probably going to be on the Georgian/Russian border, I wanted as much as I could get. To include my stomach. I pushed the door into the cafeteria with Dimitri in tow, and stood in line. Dimitri nudged me, and pointed like a schoolboy.
“Look! There is that female, they call her ‘Sacha’ or something like that.”
I glared at him, shook my head, then glanced at the woman. She was fit and trim, even in a baggy flight suit, and to my disgust, a MiG-29 patch on her shoulder. Leave that plane for the dogs, it was not a true fighter, just a toy. I picked up some lettuce, and a couple hamburgers. I found ketchup to be very good with hamburgers, and if the opportunity presents itself when you are with Americans, I would suggest you taste it as well. Dimitri took pretty much the same, a piece of chocolate cake added to his tray. I took a couple glasses, setting them on my tray, sliding it down to the cashier, and paid for the meal. Happily I walked towards an empty table.
I set the tray down, taking the two glasses in my hand, walking towards the beverage dispenser. Taking some tea, I walked back nonchalantly, as if people were staring at me. I noticed some of the American pilots sat away from us, and the more I thought about it, we all separated to our own groups. Me and Dimitri, the 586th, and the Americans, and the few field grades in here grabbing a meal. Such openness these days eh? Dimitri sat down, a large smile on his face.
“Look Comrade, real meat! I have never eaten it in so long, perhaps it’s from the Americans?”
He was really acting childish, but that was his way of dealing with the nervousness I felt too. But I was more serious as I planned out the route, weapons loadout, and where to go, how, why, and these hamburgers do taste good with ketchup!
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed this ‘Sacha’ stand up, and I would be accused of staring, but was caught by someone else. He stared back. Like a male wolf protecting the sheep. He wanted it, but not anybody else. I nonchalantly looked away. Right into Dimitri’s smiling face.
“Do be careful Alexsei Emenivich, you may get into trouble.”
As if on cue, one of the MiG pilots walked over and leaned towards me, resting his palm on my left shoulder.
“I would think you would have respect for a woman.”
Vasily, he read on the name board. Ahh, her wingman. I shrugged his palm off. I looked at him.
“And I would think you were a real pilot comrade, perhaps when you grow up and fly a real plane, you may speak to me.”
I moved my patch into his view, the wolf’s head with a silhouette of an Su-33 on it. On the bottom portion read ‘Su-33 Driver’ with the 503rd in red in the middle of the patch.
“You must realize we are Wolves comrade, and I will eat your rabbit of a plane for a snack. If you do not mind, I must eat.”
Turning away, I felt the jerk leave. I rolled my eyes with Dimitri laughing, his meal finished. I looked at mine. Only one hamburger left to go. I will keep it, I must get ready.
“I am leaving now, this place is not healthy for the lung, too much rabbit in the air.”
Dimitri shrugged, and followed, chuckling to himself.
After disposing of the tray, I wrapped the hamburger in some napkins, and walked to the UAZ-469 parked outside. I hopped in the drivers seat, and Dimitri followed, lit cigarette in hand. I chuckled as I turned the engine, and drove to the hangar.
