James Huston - Fallout

Thud nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

“I’ve got a cross-country scheduled to go to Ohio to check out the MiGs. Want to come?”

“Ops O approved?”

“He doesn’t know why I want to go to Wright-Patterson. It all looks normal to him.”

“I thought you were grounded.”

“That was until after the board. Now I can fly until I’m gone.”

Thud thought about it. “Why the hell not?” he asked enthusiastically.

Petkov lay in his bed in his uniform and lined boots and stared at the dark ceiling. He had been on base security for two weeks. The Colonel hadn’t changed his mind, and everyone on the base knew it. All the pilots knew he’d been assigned to security for the duration of his natural life, which, they also knew, without flying, wouldn’t be long.

He looked at the clock on the table next to his bed. One more hour. He had the night duty again, midnight to eight in the morning. The worst watch of the worst assignment on the base. The only things that happened to an officer in charge of security were bad.

Every morning he’d come back to his room after his watch and try to sleep, while his fellow pilots headed toward their MiGs to climb into the cold morning sky to their freedom. He couldn’t explore how he felt, knowing he would never climb into a MiG again. It had been the only thing worthwhile in his life. He had ruined everything else.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Petkov rolled slowly off the soft, noisy bed, walked across the concrete-floored room to the door, and opened it. It was Leonid Popovich, the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of all security on the base. Petkov immediately assumed he had somehow missed his watch. He was about to begin a profuse apology when he noticed another man with Popovich.

“I want to introduce you to someone,” Popovich said in his distinctively raspy voice as he stepped through the door into Petkov’s room. The second man followed closely behind. He quickly surveyed the room with the expertise of someone who always watched his back.

Petkov noticed that the visitor was wearing a Russian hat against the cold, but not the hat of the Russian Air Force, or even the Army. He was a civilian, and his hat was made of seal fur. Beautiful, dense, black seal fur. Very expensive and hard to find. The man himself was short and ugly and had mean eyes.

“Sergei Alexei Gorgov, this is Major Vladimir Petkov, the one I told you about.”

Gorgov looked up at Petkov with his mouth open. “Ah,” he said slowly, with a deep, penetrating voice, “you’re the drunk.”

Petkov tried not to show the impact the comment had on him. He chose not to respond.

Popovich closed the door. “He works for me now,” he said to Gorgov.

“So,” Gorgov said, removing his gloves, “what do you want?”

Petkov was confused. “I don’t understand.”

“What do you want?” Gorgov repeated. “What do you want from life now that you have pissed it away?”

Petkov wanted to yell at the man, to strike him. “Just to do my job.”

Gorgov smiled, revealing his yellow, uneven teeth. “Your job,” he laughed. “Your job.” He shook his head. “From what I hear, you were one of the best pilots in the wing. Part of your job, then, was to not become a drunk, and you couldn’t do that, could you?”

Petkov said nothing.

“You want to do your job? What job?” He looked around at Petkov’s small room. “That’s all you want? To do your job? And then what? Become an old man and retire somewhere to sit alone and hold your dick?”

“What do you want?” Petkov said angrily. “Why are you here?”

“Colonel Popovich and I have been working together for some time now. He told me you were interested in a similar arrangement.”

Petkov’s eyes darted to Popovich, who was staring back at him, warning him. They had never had any such conversation, and Popovich knew it. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“An arrangement of mutual convenience. You have many skills. You can be of great value to me and my friends.”

It suddenly hit Petkov where he’d seen the black seal hat before. Riding in the back of a black Mercedes, with the tinted window down just enough for him to see the hat on a short man sitting in the backseat of the car, the sign of a member of the Russian Mafia. “In what way?”

“In your current position, by doing nothing. Or, I should say, at least doing nothing at the right time. The Air Force does not fully appreciate your skills. You, like most others, are underpaid. I can provide you the pay you deserve. You can own a car, you can own a dacha . I can get you all the women you want. You can live the life you’re entitled to live.” He studied Petkov’s face. “To get drunk every day, if that is what you want.”

“I will never get drunk again—”

“Major, please,” Gorgov said slowly. “Please.” He paused. “Have you ever said that before?”

“It is hard.”

Gorgov nodded, then paused, waiting for Petkov’s attention. “When I say so, you make sure your security watch does not interfere with my friends.” His mean eyes were locked on to Petkov’s. “Understand?”

“I’m not interested ,” Petkov replied angrily.

Gorgov looked at Popovich, then back at Petkov. “I don’t think you understand. It has already been decided. Tonight will be the first time. At three in the morning, my friends will be coming onto the base to complete one small transaction. You will make sure they are not bothered. Do you understand?”

“I won’t—”

“He understands perfectly,” Popovich said, glaring at Petkov.

Gorgov smiled his yellow smile and put his gloves back on. “Excellent. I knew you were a man of integrity.” He opened the door and turned back to Petkov. “If you do these things well, I have much bigger plans in mind for you.” He could feel Petkov’s resistance and knew where his temptations lay. “It will be very lucrative for you. I can get you out of this shithole. Perhaps even to the West.” Popovich held the door as they headed out. “If you do your job. Your new job. For me.” Gorgov walked to his Mercedes without looking back.

Petkov took a deep breath as he closed the door behind the two men. He felt as though he were suffocating. When dealing with the Mafia, you did what they asked or you ended up dead. He couldn’t see a way out of the downward spiral his life had become.

Luke looked down through his visor at the green, tree-filled terrain of central Ohio around Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. They had slapped tanks on their planes and flown cross-country from Fallon to Wright-Patterson. The Operations officer who had approved the cross-country flight felt that he owed Luke one last good deal. Everyone knew he was getting out. They all felt sorry for him.

“TOPGUN 23 cleared to break.”

“Roger,” Luke replied. He checked the downwind leg for any other traffic he hadn’t already seen. He looked over at Thud flying tightly on his wing and started nodding slowly. He was counting, as he always did. Then he put his left hand up to his oxygen mask and kissed Thud off.

He pushed the stick slowly but steadily to the left, putting theF/A-18 into a slow left roll until it reached a ninety-degree angle of bank. He pulled back hard, and the Hornet bit into the air and turned sharply from the runway below him as he reduced throttle to slow down his jet. Thud counted to four, then put his own Hornet into an identical five-G turn behind Luke.

As Luke leveled out downwind, he lowered his flaps and landing gear. He waited until he was parallel to the runway and at its end. “ Tower, TOPGUN 23 at the 180, three down and locked .”