Priscilla and Winston Pt. 02

WINSTON AND PRISCILLA, Pt. 2

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is based... loosely... on real events... and wild flights of fantasy. Only the names have changed.

*****

"When you loved someone and had to let them go, there will always be that small part of yourself that whispers, "What was it that you wanted and why didn't you fight for it?" ― Shannon L. Alder

"For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these: 'It might have been!'" --John Greenleaf Whittier

*****

End of Part 1

"Yes, I remember a bear named Winston. Priscilla...?" I responded.

WINSTON AND PRISCILLA, Pt. 2

"Is that you? Is Winston still your big, fuzzy travel companion?" I added just before I tapped the 'Send' icon. As I sat there, waiting, in front of my laptop I looked out the window to my backyard. A large wild tom turkey was strutting around, tail feathers on display, gobbling, making a hell of a racket as he tried to impress the hens pecking around my bird feeders. I idly wondered how much trouble I'd be in if I took a shot at him with the.22 caliber break-barrel pellet gun I used to manage the squirrel population. I decided it would be easier to go to the supermarket if I wanted turkey. Besides, I didn't want to waste pellets I might need for my ongoing vendetta against the house-destroying fuzzy-tailed rats.

While I waited and wondered if Priscilla would respond... not to mention what we'd have to say to each other if she did... I thought back through the fifty years since I'd met Priscilla.

*****

Fifty Years Ago

*****

After my two weeks of leave, my mother and her boyfriend gave me a ride south to Maguire AFB. They dropped me off at the Military Airlift Command (MAC) passenger terminal and took off for their vacation in Washington D. C.. I went inside and tried to check-in for the MAC charter flight to Germany. A Staff Sergeant (four stripes) gave me hell because I was still in jeans and a T-shirt. They told me to get my ass to the men's room and get into uniform. I wasn't off to a great start.

After we left Maguire the flight was uneventful... unless you consider the emergency landing we had to make. About five minutes after takeoff I heard a noise. I turned to the guy sitting next to me, "Did you hear that? I wonder if something's wrong with the plane." I said just as the engines rolled back and went nearly silent, the plane pitched nose-down, began a rapid descent, and then made a very steep bank to the right. That turn scared the hell out of me. As we were still very low, and as I was in the window seat, I felt like I was looking straight down at the ground. We landed hard, bounced, and used most of the runway to stop. Nobody screamed or laughed or clapped... we were all U. S. military... too cool to show how scared we were.

Me? Even being a more-or-less devout protestant, I'll admit to saying a few of the Hail Mary's my great-grandmother taught me when I was little... just in case.

We taxied to a hard stand. Maintenance people swarmed around the right-side wing for about 90 minutes. Then we took off again. This time we made it all the way to Germany. We landed at Rhein-Main Air Base in Frankfurt and began our processing into the European Theater.

At Rhein-Main they divided us according to the base we were destined for and then put us on buses. Late that evening the bus arrived at my new assignment, Spangdahlem AB, out in the Eifel Region of the German countryside.

*****

Present Day

*****

My phone vibrated.

'Hello Aiden, yes it's Priscilla. It's taken me a long time to find you. How have you been?'

I'm not much with words. 'I'm fine. I hope you are well?' I responded.

'Very well, thank you... for a woman my age. LOL' I laughed as I read that.

'I'm glad to hear it. If you don't mind my asking, how did you find me?

I waited nearly 10 minutes for her reply. 'Dogged Determination! Aiden, I'm getting cramps from texting. Perhaps we could try e-mail?'

'I'd like that. Mine is: adownell**********.' I replied immediately.

I quickly received another text, 'Response Sent. Priscilla.'

On my laptop... after it started up... I found an e-mail from p. bronsonmp**************.

Dear Aiden,

I am so glad to have finally found you... and to find that you are well. Honestly I have been searching for you since 1992 when I got my first computer and 56K dial-up modem. I found a few mentions of you doing secret Air Force interviews and then a mention as a researcher for some airpower textbook; however, I never found a way to contact you. I even sent a letter to the Air Force Records Center but they refused to cooperate as I was not a relative and knew none of your vital information. Then, last week, out of nowhere, you suddenly showed up on Facebook. Before that, over the years, I'd found seven other Aiden Downells. I sent each the same 'Do you remember a bear named Winston?' Most of them ignored me. A couple tried to bluff but I could tell they didn't have a clue. Only you responded with my name. I can't tell you how wonderful it felt to be remembered after so long. By the by, in your photograph, you look very handsome and distinguished. Sincerely, Priscilla (and Winston, who still sits in a place of honor in my parlor.)

I responded quickly, Dear Priscilla (and Winston), I paused and thought some more about the time that had passed after we parted at Logan Airport in Boston...

*****

1975

*****

Once I arrived at my base in Germany, I spent the first two days doing base in-processing while living in a transient airman barracks. My room had a window looking out over the flightline. The roar of jet engines was constant and sleep was hard to come by. After finishing the base in-processing I moved my things to the Security Police Barracks. The dorm manager threw me a key, handed me a set of bed linens and blankets, and said "Don't make a mess. Welcome to Spangladesh."

I found my room on the second floor at the very end of the corridor and overlooking a parking lot. I made my bunk and put away my things. I fell asleep until I was woken by someone kicking my bed and asking, "Who are you?"

He had three stripes, "I'm Aiden Downell, Sergeant. Just PCS'd in from CONUS."

"Okay Downell, relax. I guess we're gonna be roomdogs. Thank God at least you're not a Jeep. (Jeep (noun): A rookie security police airman just out of basic training and tech school and not to be trusted. Feel free to haze mercilessly as part of their initiation.) "Are you assigned to a flight yet, Aiden?"

"Yes Sir." I told him which flight.

"Good, same flight as me, at least for two months until I rotate back to the world. Oh, and unless we're on duty stop with the 'Sir' shit; I'm A. J. Jonas and we're both enlisted. You hungry? We just got off our 2nd swing shift, let's go to Midnight Chow, you can meet the guys." {Author's Note: I am not being sexist. At that time in the 1970's women were not allowed in the Security Specialist field.} We walked across the street to the chow hall (in later years they became 'Dining Facilities') and got in line. That first meal I had spaghetti and meatballs leftover from the dinner meal, then cherry pie for dessert, along with a glass of chocolate milk. Isn't it funny how clearly I can remember that?

A. J. led me to a large table at the back of the dining room. About 14 men sat there eating, talking, yelling, and tossing insults back and forth. Security Police (SP) for sure... bloused boots, starched fatigues, SP shield pinned to the left breast pocket. I also noticed no other Air Force or Army personnel would sit anywhere near the cop tables.

"Hey Bert," A. J. called out to the TSgt (5 stripes) at the head of the table. Here's the newbie we were told about. Just came in from Bullis and ABGD."

He introduced himself, "I'm Burt Brown, nice to meet you. Besides Bullis where'd you come from."

"North Dakota... missile security."

"Why Not Minot!" Half the table shouted.

"Freezin's the Reason!" Yelled the other half.

"Sorry, I was on the other side of the state... Grand Forks." I grinned... the bases in North Dakota were not highly sought after assignments. "Why is Minnesota so windy?" I challenged the table before I sat down.

They looked around; no one answered. "Because Wisconsin blows and North Dakota sucks!" I laughed.

"So you've been through ABGD? What weapons are you qualified on?" TSgt Brown quizzed me.

"M-16,.38, 12-gauge shotgun, M-60, and a couple versions of the 40mm grenade launcher."

"Good. We're running low on 203 guys."

I guess somewhere during the questioning the group decided I wasn't an idiot; we left the chow hall as a group and returned to the barracks. Back in our room, A. J. pulled out a box and began polishing his boots... the things looked like freaking mirrors when he finished... then he ironed his uniform. "Our flight chief is an absolute demon about appearance. Get used to doing this every night. By the way, do you have jump boots?"

I shook my head 'no'.

"Okay. If you want to, during our 24-hour break after 3rd swing, I'll drive you over to Bitburg. I'll show you around and you can get a couple pairs. Let me see the boots you have now."

I showed him, "Yeah." He said with a grimace, "Missile cops have guardmount once every 10 days, you never learn how to shine shoes..."

"Plus," I felt obligated to defend myself and my missile security brethren, "It was so cold we wore mukluks or bunny boots from October 'til April."

"I hear you but trust me, you need to tighten up your boots and uniforms if you want to keep the boss off your ass... especially if you plan to take college classes. If the boss sees that you've got your shit together he'll help with your scheduling. Here, take this rag and I'll show you how. After the first time, if you take care of your boots, it will be easy."

He walked me step-by-step through bringing my boots, beaten up as they were, up to an acceptable gloss. After that he checked my uniforms... keep in mind, this was 1975, the blue berets, special fur-collared jackets, and fancy camis were still in the future. I had four fatigue uniforms... A. J. told me to throw away two of them because they were worn so thin around the knees you could almost see through them... something else the flight chief despised (who was this fearsome creature?)

Anyway, I got my boots looking half-way respectable and then ironed my uniform for the next day. "Don't skimp with the starch!" A. J. cautioned me. Afterwards A. J. and I went over my two 'acceptable' uniforms with a fine-toothed comb and cigarette lighter looking for, and then burning away, any loose threads. I was disappointed to realize how far my standards had slipped while I was stationed in North Dakota...

*****

Present Day

*****

Dear Priscilla, I restarted my e-mail. Over the years, I've thought of you often. Particularly whenever I'd see one of those trashy TV romances about total strangers meeting and falling in love. I often fantasized about what might have happened if we'd had a little bit more time with each other... or if people hadn't been waiting for us at Logan's arrival gate.

Did you become a veterinarian?

As technology evolved, like you, I hunted for your name using computer search engines but never found a solid match. I, sadly, concluded that you'd married and changed your name. Eventually, in my late 30's I met a lovely woman while I was stationed in the Far East. We dated for over a year before I was suddenly reassigned to a base in Northern California. We corresponded by mail... slowly... until I asked her to join me.

We married in 1992 and our daughter was born in 1995. Four months ago my wife returned to her family to deal with her deceased mother's estate. After those four months she decided to stay and told me to file for divorce because she was not coming back.

I've started the divorce proceedings. At first I was pretty bitter but after the initial shock I don't feel any of the rancor so common in divorce; we're simply two older adults whose lives have taken separate paths. I'll let the lawyers figure out what is fair.

It was only at my daughter's insistence (and her two sons) that I enrolled on Facebook for the first time so that I could stay abreast of their activities. Until then, I'd always worried about my privacy and security. Now that I've heard from you, I'm glad my daughter and grandsons insisted.

Sincerely, Aiden

*****

1975

*****

Following that first midnight chow and getting my uniforms up to standards, A. J. and I went downstairs to the squadron dayroom. It had a regular pool table (where a game of Blackjack was in progress); a bumper pool table; a foosball table; and vending machines with snacks, sodas (German-style Coke mit Limon was, eventually, my favorite), and beer.

In one corner of the room I saw four guys gathered around a board game. I wandered over to check it out. It turned out they were 'playing' a simulation of the battle of Gettysburg. Up to that point in my life the only thing I knew about that critical battle was 'Pickett's Charge'. I tried to ask questions but was told, politely, to shut up so the combatants could concentrate. On the side of the game table I spotted a book titled, "The Killer Angels." I decided to find a copy and read it.

A. J. joined me, "Hey Downell, I'm up next on the foosball table... do you want to be my back man?"

"Never played before."

"Come on then. Watch this game and see how it works." The game was fierce. I was impressed by the speed and power the shooters could apply to the ball; but by the time the game was over I realized that they relied on one quick 'drag and shoot' maneuver to score... and the back men were overreacting.

When A. J. and I got on the table, a crowd gathered to 'check out the new guy.' A. J. was very good and scored often. Playing the back I adjusted my bars not to respond, but simply to cut off the angles I knew the other shooter would use. A. J. and I won six games in a row before we retired. After that we were a permanent team.

For the next two and a half days I went through squadron in-processing and training. I went down to the armory and received the M-16 that would be my personal weapon. I took it to the maintenance table, field stripped it, cleaned everything, and inspected it. I found that someone had put the firing pin retaining pin in backwards. I re-assembled everything, did a function check, and turned the weapon back in. The armorer took my weapon and immediately popped it open and pulled out the bolt group. He looked at it and smiled, "Nice going. You found the bad retaining pin. Good. Hang around for a couple minutes while I get your weapons card."

Done with the armory, I reported to squadron supply. I received my 'hawk' bag, flak vest, helmet, gas mask, web gear, and police equipment. I lugged it all back to my room and found A. J. cussing and kicking his wardrobe. "What's wrong A. J.?"

"Fucking assholes just cancelled my assignment to MacDill and gave me an involuntary one-year extension here. Shit, Shit, Shit!" He kicked the wardrobe once more, then started cussing again because he'd wrecked the mirror shine on his right boot. I quickly retired to the little privacy cubicle formed by the placement of our wardrobes. "Downell, you'd better not be fucking laughing over there!" A. J. snarled as he hurried to re-do the mirror-like shine on his boot.

"Wouldn't dream of it Sergeant." I called back.

I hurried out of barracks and wandered around until I found the mailroom and got a mailbox assigned. The clerk recognized my name and handed me a couple letters from my mom that she'd sent to the base's general delivery without knowing my box number. She just said 'Hi' and wished me good luck. She added that my dog Rowdy was still wandering around the house looking for me.

*****

Present Day

*****

Dear Aiden, As you surmised, I did marry. I fell in love with a 'gentleman' named Bronson. We had two beautiful boys before my husband went in search of greener pastures amongst his firm's secretarial pool. We divorced shortly after he accidentally planted his seed in one of those pastures.

I did get my veterinarian certification. I started as a junior vet in a large Nottingham practice. That's where I met Mr. Bronson. Unfortunately I left front-line vet work after my second son, Aiden, was born. When Mr. Bronson and I parted ways I kept the boys while he kept the family manor. I never cared for it anyway; it was too cold and draughty for me. And speaking of cold and draughty, my mother-in-law lived upstairs. Sincerely, Priscilla

I laughed happily at Priscilla's description. Cold and draughty... drafty... cold. That description reminded me of my senior TI during basic training..

*****

1975

*****

A. J. came back to the room after the flight's 3rd swing shift. We went to midnight chow with most of the other single airmen and NCOs. I had a ham and cheese omelet, toast, and chocolate milk. After eating, and because we now had 24 hours off before the first mid shift, we sat around the cop table shooting the shit and telling war stories... some of which may have been true. A. J. had everyone's sympathy for his involuntary extension.

Another of the older NCOs told a story of his time as a sentry dog handler in Vietnam. "One night I got distracted and my dog bit my hand. Once I put him back in his kennel I went to the infirmary. 'Oh My God!' the nurse exclaimed, 'This is bad.' "Lieutenant... if this was bad... I wouldn't have a hand!" He unanimously won the "Best Story of the Night" award... plus he had the scars on his hand to show the story might even be true.

Eventually the chow hall closed and they kicked us out. We adjourned back to the barracks, changed out of uniform, and then gathered in the dayroom. The blackjack game picked up again... temporarily at a card table... guys from another flight were playing pool.

One thing about Air Force cops... it was us against the world; however, even within the cop shop each flight was its own separate clique and except under the direst of circumstances we didn't mingle very much. So, to make a long story... less long... when we invaded the dayroom, the guys from the other flight quickly finished the game and took off. A. J. and I won our first two foosball games then retired; we had to get up early the next day to go uniform and boot shopping.

The drive to Bitburg Air Base was hair-raising. A. J. owned a 1970 Chevy Chevelle and he delighted in racing along the narrow, twisty, winding road as fast as humanly possible. I was scared shitless and I silently vowed never to ride with him again--assuming we returned to our home base alive. We finished the shopping: uniforms, two pairs of cap-toe jump boots, plus the supplies I'd need to make the boots look like mirrors, a new 220V iron, and several cans of heavy starch. I didn't have enough money and had to borrow a couple bucks from A. J. to pay for it all... promised to get it back to him on payday. Remember, those were the days before debit cards and it was virtually impossible for military members to get a credit card. A. J. also loaned me the money to get a haircut.

The drive back to base was, if possible, even more terrifying. This time it was the passenger side hanging out over the long drop-offs as A. J. slid around the sharp corners. We made it... alive. I went back to my room, said a prayer of thanks and then changed my underwear. After that I removed the stripes, nametags, and all the other insignia from my two worn out uniforms. I walked over to the tailor shop and had the new uniforms fitted so they weren't baggy and got everything sewed on. After that I took the two new pairs of jump boots to the shoe repair store to have new, more comfortable and less slippery soles put on as well as zippers placed on the inside so that I could do an nice, fancy, lacing job and not have to re-do it every time I took off the boots.

Back in the barracks, I covered the window with a blanket and lay down to try and sleep before my first mid-shift.

I woke up at 21:00. A. J. still was asleep so I tried to stay quiet as I stepped out of the room and went to shower and shave. Almost every other guy getting ready for the shift filtered in and out. As I left, A. J. walked in. I returned to the room; music blasted from several different directions (whoever had the biggest stereo won.) That was the night I heard 'Heart' play 'Barracuda' for the first time.

I was dressed and putting on my web gear when A. J. came back. "Shit!" He commented. "I forgot to remind you to get rid of that cheap plastic flashlight and get a 3-cell mag lite. You'll need that when you're on a patrol and have to help break up fights at the NCO club."

"I can do that tomorrow. I forgot to ask, do we get a chance to eat on mids?"

"No. We sell sandwiches. A lot of the guys bring canned goods (beef stew, beans, spaghetti o's... stuff like that) and set them on the heaters in the gate shacks. The sandwiches actually are pretty good. Every few months we use the profits for flight parties. Those are a LOT of fun. Come on we need to get going."

I thought we were a little early. I was wrong. We went to the dayroom and it was already jumping: at least six guys were playing blackjack; several teams waited to play foosball; a couple Staff Sergeants (four stripes) were (loudly) negotiating a deal to swap duties for the night.

"Hey! It's the new guy!" Called out a large, blocky Sergeant I hadn't met before. I walked over toward him.

"Aiden Downell, Sergeant."

"Damn Boy, you've got a big head!" He called out loud enough for the entire base to hear... even with jet engines running... and that's how I got the nickname 'Big Head'.

At 22:30 A. J. pulled me away from the blackjack game I was watching, "Come on, time to get our weapons. We walked down the hallway, exited the building, and went over to the armory window.

"Hey A. J. What's happnin'? You're a little early ain't ya'?" The armorer greeted us.

"Hey Lucky. Got a new guy. I want to show him the ropes before everybody else starts lining up."

I handed the armorer my weapons card. He checked it. "So, 203 and 60 qualified. Excellent. What's he need tonight?" The armorer asked A. J.

"Just the basics: rifle, ammo, and radio. He'll be a floater."

The armorer checked his copy of the duty roster, "Oh yeah. Here it is way down at the bottom. Be right back." We got our weapons and A. J. checked me on proper clearing procedures. By then a crowd had started to line up outside the armory window.

"Come on." A. J. insisted after we cleared our weapons, "I'll introduce you to the boss."

We walked back inside and entered a medium-sized room. The door had a sign, 'Guardmount Room'. I saw the flight chief, six stripes, looking at his clipboard. "Oh Fuck!" I barely kept from shouting out loud. There stood MSgt Jean Baptiste Broussard... my basic training TI... the cold, hard, vindictive NCO who had hated me above all other trainees and tried to destroy me. I stopped and stared.

"Get over here Downell. Do you think I don't remember you?" He snarled. I approached him as slowly as possible. All the insults, humiliation, and punishments he'd heaped on me during basic slowly came back from wherever in my mind I'd tried to bury them.

"Airman Downell reporting for duty, Sir." I came to attention... Jesus, maybe I was still a Jeep.

"Christ Downell, relax son. Welcome. When I heard your name with the rest of the new arrivals I asked to have you assigned to my flight." He slapped me on the shoulder and then we shook hands. "As I said, welcome. I expect good things from you." He checked his watch and turned away. "Alright. Fall In." He barked. I lined up in the back rank and listened as he did roll call.

I was the last name on the list. "At Ease," MSgt Broussard commanded, "I don't know if Airman Downell has told you this but I was his TI during basic at Lackland."

The flight 'ooohed' as one. Someone hollered "And he's still alive?"

"Barely." MSgt Broussard laughed. "But let me tell you, he's one mentally tough SOB. I watched him grow from a first week 'unsat' rating to almost being honor graduate. I kept an eye on him through a friend at SP tech school and damned if he wasn't the 'Overall Outstanding Graduate' there. NCOs, teach him well and expect a lot. Okay... Notices. I'm sure y'all are tired of hearing it but the base expects the NATO Tac Eval any day now... so keep your effing eyes open."

He read several advisories on weather, expected flightline activity, safety concerns, and then issued that evening's challenge codes. "Okay... let's go to work. Flight... Ten hut!" Thirty sets of heels clicked. "Post!"

I stood there for a second, unsure exactly what to do next. Another NCO, came over. "I'm TSgt Halligan, the Assistant Flight Chief, you'll ride with me tonight. I'll show you around and explain all the posts. Pay attention because tomorrow night you'll be out on a post."

*****

Present Day

*****

Dear Priscilla,

I'm still trying to get over the surprise and absolute delight of hearing from you. Before we parted in Boston I think I told you I was on my way to an assignment in Germany. Well, I served two years there. I earned my third stripe and had been selected for my fourth stripe although I hadn't sewed it on yet when it was time for me to return to the states.

When I received my new orders I couldn't believe it... the Air Force sent me back to the same base in North Dakota that I'd volunteered for Germany to escape from. After a couple years there, I did a year in Alaska, almost seven years at two bases in California, two years the Far east, and finally back to California to finish my career. Other than deploying to the Middle East for several months during Desert Storm, that was it for my military career. I retired after 22 years.

My wife and I returned to the Boston area where I worked for one of the major airlines until I retired at the age of 61.

Sincerely, Aiden

I sent off the e-mail to Priscilla and realized I was hungry. I looked at the clock. It was 7 PM already. I put on a jacket and walked to the end of my driveway to check my mailbox. Nothing. Nowadays that doesn't bother me like it did back in the 70's.

*****

1976

*****

As a young airman, though, checking for mail (or should I say receiving mail) from home was always the highlight of my day. By then I'd been in Germany almost a year. I was due to sew on my sergeant stripes any day now but I hadn't received any mail from home in almost a month. Like the other days that month my box was empty.

After checking for mail, I spent the rest of the morning doing 'the circuit': rec center, gym, base exchange, chow hall, and then back to the barracks to get ready for a midnight shift. By now, my uniforms and boots were as sharp as any man on the flight.

A. J. and I dressed and geared up for that night's shift. The zipper on one of his boots broke so I went downstairs alone. MSgt Broussard was standing beside the tall wooden stand that the flight chiefs used as a desk. He looked up and saw me, "Downell, I need a minute of your time."

"Yes Sir?"

"Come with me so we can speak in private." We entered a small room; he closed the door. "Downell, I wanted to tell you this in private... I have good news and bad news."

"Yes sir?"

"Let's start with the good news..." He handed me a sheet of paper, "As of the first of the month you're being promoted to E-4. Congratulations."

"Finally! I've been looking forward to making Sergeant..." The boss held up his hand.

"Sorry, that's the bad news. The Air Force has moved forward the change in the enlisted rank structure, you're going to be in the first group promoted to Senior Airman, not Sergeant."

"Oh, Fuck, Me!" I blurted out before I could stop myself. "Sorry."

"I understand. If it's any consolation, you'll still be an E-4 and will immediately begin gaining Time in Grade (TIG) towards testing for E-5. Also, at a flight chiefs meeting this morning, the squadron commander instructed us that all E-4s are to be treated equally. That means you'll be seeing postings with added responsibilities comensurate with being an E-4. Do you have any questions."

"No Sir."

"Okay. Get out of here." I turned to the door. "Oh! Downell, get over to Clothing Sales ASAP and get your new stripes. I don't want to see you out of uniform on the first of the month."

"Not a chance sir. I've been waiting too damned long for this." I made a mental note to go shopping the next day.

A funny thing happened that evening... call it Karma or fate or damned good luck... whatever. We were on our 2nd midnight shift; it was the quietest, non-holiday, night I ever saw. The flightline was dead. Even the radio net was eerily quiet. My post that evening was as 2nd member of an alarm response vehicle patrol inside a high priority restricted area. At about 0100 the tower alarm monitor, SSgt Whiteman, called down and asked to have a cold soda brought up.

I grabbed one of his Cokes out the entry control point fridge and walked over to his tower. I climbed the stairs and opened the door. I'd never visited the tower before; it had a great view of the area. As I entered, SSgt Whiteman, he insisted that while in the tower I call him Jake, was sitting with his boots off, feet propped up on a second chair, and reading a German-language porno magazine.

I grinned, "Do you read German?"

"Who needs to read? And close your eyes Big Head, you're not old enough to be looking at this stuff." He laughed as I handed him his soda. As he sat back and sipped from the can a buzzer sounded and a light started flashing on the alarm panel. "Shit! I was just getting comfortable. Hey, Big Head, what sector is the alarm?"

"Ummm, 13."

"What color is the light?"

"Yellow."

"Okay. Use the mic to call down to the sentry and have him check it out. You know what to say."

I made the call; the sentry reported no visual reason for the alarm. SSgt Whiteman walked me through the steps to reset the alarm. Then, after checking with the area supervisor that I wasn't needed for anything, Jake handed me the operating manual for the alarm systems and let me read it while he finished his magazine. When I finished with the manual he gave me the tower's operating instructions and special security instructions. While reading I handled a couple more alarms and resets and then used the operating manual to clear a malfunction.

The phone rang, Jake waved and told me to answer it. "Tower, Aiman Downell speaking, how may I help you?"

"Downell? This is Broussard. What the hell are you doing in the tower? Where's SSgt Whiteman?" I explained what had happened and how Jake had shown me how the tower worked.

"So, you think you know what's going on up there?"

"Yes Sir. I've read the manual, OIs and SSIs."

"Well, Big Head, I've got Stan/Eval (Standardization and Evaluation) down here, shall I send them up and have them check you out?"

"Yes Sir. Bring 'em on."

"Let me talk to Whiteman." I could hear Broussard laughing as I handed over the phone.

Jake spoke with the boss for a few minutes. He had the phone jammed between his ear and shoulder as he hurried to put his boots back on and then hide the porno mag at the bottom of his hawk bag. "Yeah boss, he's been handling the alarms, dispatches, and blotter for the last hour. He even cleared a malfunction without my help. He's good to go."

Shortly, I heard thumping and the tower vibrated. "That must be Stan/Eval coming to see you. That noise is one of the good things about the tower; nobody can sneak up on you... unless you're sound asleep... in which case you deserve to get caught. I'll just step outside while they're here. Don't forget to log the visit in the blotter; they love to check for that shit and then ding you if you forget. Good luck." He stepped out. I heard him greet one of the visitors, "Hey Zeke, how they hangin'?"

Two more NCOs entered. I did a formal post report. The TSgt (five stripes) and the SSgt (four stripes) began firing questions on the technical side of the alarm systems. Once I convinced them I knew the system they started with hypothetical 'What if...' questions.

After an hour the NCOs looked at each other, the 5-striper said, "Anything else?" The other shook his head 'no'. The TSgt reached out and shook my hand, "Congratulations. You're now tower-certified. We'll notify MSgt Broussard."

I spent the rest of the night alone in the tower. SSgt Whiteman took over driving duties for the response team. My relief showed up at 0715. "Who the hell are you?" He greeted me.

"Downell. Just got certified last night."

"You're only a two-striper? How the fuck did you pull that off?" He demanded.

"Right place. Right time Staff Sergeant. I sew on E-4 the first of the month." He nodded and we went through the post change procedures until he was satisfied the tower was in good working order.

"Okay. I've got it. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around." I stepped out of the tower and took a deep breath of fresh air then tossed my hawk bag over the railing for the 30-foot drop to the ground. The bag was about halfway down and gaining speed when I remembered my cassette tape player was hidden at the bottom of the bag.

"Crap!" I muttered as I hurried down the stairs to see if it survived the fall. It didn't.

The next morning I finally got the long-awaited letter from home. My mom apologized for not writing but her boyfriend had died of cancer. I'd known he was sick but mom had told me he was getting better. Then one night he simply collapsed and died on the living room sofa. It turned out the cancer had spread to his brain. Then, in the stress of his passing, my mom had suffered a heart attack. She'd refused to let the Red Cross notify me.

I hurried back to the barracks and sat down at my desk. I wrote an angry letter saying that I deserved to be told and make my own decisions whether to ask for emergency leave or not. I signed the letter... then tore it up... I was being a selfish jerk. I wrote another letter saying how sorry I was about her boyfriend and that I hoped she was getting better and doing as her doctor ordered. I also threw in a couple not-so-subtle hints that she should quit smoking. That letter I mailed.

*****

Present Day

*****

Dear Aiden,

It sounds to me as though you had a very exciting career in the military; an interesting job and getting to see the world. I envy you that. I haven't left the UK since the trip to Texas to see my cousins.

Both of my sons are in their 40s now. My youngest, Aiden, followed me as a Veterinarian; my oldest, Marshall, is a solicitor with one of the top firms in The City. I have a place in Knightsbridge for when I'm working, but I prefer spending my time at the family farm I inherited when my father died.

In your travels have you ever visited the UK? It is lovely this time of year.

Sincerely, Priscilla

Wow. Had I just been invited to visit or was I engaging in a little wishful thinking?

Dear Priscilla,

You must be very proud of yours sons. I know how proud I am of my daughter. As a vet and a farm owner do you take care of your own animals? Or is it not that type of farm?

After I left the military I got a job with one of the major US airlines. We had non-stop flights from Boston to London-Gatwick (and later Heathrow). As an employee I could fly on standby for free... all I had to pay was taxes. I have visited London twice and done all the touristy stuff: The Tower, Kensington Palace, St. James Park, Kew, Churchill's War Rooms, Parliament, and more museums than I can possibly remember. Unfortunately, I never got up the nerve to venture outside the tourist areas of London. I was there a total of 10 nights and despite the UK's reputation I never saw a single drop of rain.

But the flying privileges were very handy, especially when my daughter was young. We visited Florida, Pennsylvania, New York City, Texas, Washington D. C., and California... all on free flights. It really was a nice benefit. Now, as I've retired from the airline, I can still travel free... although I have to be careful to watch the availability, as I have a lower priority, so that I don't find myself stranded... which happened once in New York when I miscalculated the odds of getting a flight and had to pay for a coach ticket on Amtrak to get back home.

It's time to eat. I think tonight I'll have a microwave Salisbury Steak TV dinner.

Sincerely, Aiden

As I typed the words 'Salisbury Steak' I burst out laughing... then frowned.

*****

Late 1976--Early 1977

*****

Since joining the Air Force, I'd always hated holidays. I found them lonely and depressing. The days leading up to Christmas of 1976 was no different; at least no different until the flight Christmas party during one of our days off about a week before the holiday.

Our flight had used the substantial profits from sandwich sales to hire an off-base restaurant/bar/dance club for the evening: all food and wine were covered. We had a great time eating, drinking, and dancing. That night I ate chicken cordon bleu for the first time.

When the dancing began I sat off to the side. I didn't know how to dance and didn't want to embarrass myself. I sat listening to the music and sipping a Coke (having gotten my German driver's license I was one of four designated drivers for the evening).

As I sat, SSgt Oliver approached me with his wife. "Hey Big Head, this is my wife Amanda Jo. She'd like to dance with you." His wife was beautiful; long reddish-blonde hair, huge blue eyes, curves in all the right places. "Mandy?" He nudged her.

She held out her hand, "Please? Would you dance with me?"

I glanced at the NCO, "Relax Downell, I don't mind. She wore me out and I need to rest and have a drink. Have fun."

"Ummm, Mrs. Oliver, I..."

"Please, call me Mandy."

"Mandy, I've never danced before... I really don't know how."

"Don't worry, just follow me." She smiled. Like I said, she was beautiful. Who was I to deny a beautiful woman a dance.

I was pretty clumsy during the first song but Mandy was patient and persistant. The second dance I got the hang of it. I'll never forget our the third dance. The first two dances were fast. All I really had to do was watch Mandy and try to mirror what she did. The third dance was a slow, couples-oriented, love song. I tried to keep a respecful distance between us but Mandy wouldn't have it. She had her arms wrapped around me and every time I tried to put a little space between us, she'd simply pull me back to her and grind against me even harder.

I reacted like any other healthy 21-year-old male with a beautiful woman in his arms... I got an erection... and Mandy seemed positively delighted by that. She kept on rubbing against me and refused to release me until the song ended. I tried to apologize as she kissed my cheek, "Don't apologize. That was my fault. I just love... dancing... so much."

We headed back to our table, "Hey Babe, did you have fun?" SSgt Oliver asked his wife.

"It was wonderful. He's perfect... a perfect gentleman. I insist you have him over for dinner when you have time off."

"You're sure?" SSgt Oliver insisted.

"Yes." Amanda Jo Oliver answered and kissed my cheek again. "Thank you for the... dance." She whispered. Then she grabbed SSgt Oliver by the hand and dragged him back to the dance floor.

After that people started leaving. A. J. had been drinking so he handed me his car keys and I began shuttling people back to base. A. J. warned my passengers that anyone, regardless of rank, who threw up in his car would face dire consequences. The car stayed clean... but there were a couple close calls.

A. J. was my last pick-up. Thankfully he was a mellow drunk and didn't argue with me when I pointed him to the passenger seat. "Remember to let me know if you need to puke." I warned him.

December 23rd, 1976, was our last day of break. About noon, as I lazed around my room shining shoes, ironing uniforms (while admiring my three stripes), listening to Radio Luxembourg, and tossing darts at my dartboard, there was a knock on my door. "Downell, you have a phone call, the CQ (Charge of Quarters) yelled even before I could open the door.

I followed him downstairs. It was SSgt Oliver. "Downell, Amanda Jo is making pot roast for dinner and she insists you join us. I'll pick you up at the barracks at 1700. Dress decently." He didn't give me the option of declining... not that I would have. I had a couple hours so I hurried over to the Base Exchange and bought a nice button-down shirt, a pair of slacks, and the pair of Adidas I'd had my eye on for a while.

SSgt Oliver was right on time. "Hey Big Head!" He greeted me. "I hope you like pot roast. Mandy's is to die for!" He laughed. It didn't take us long to get from the barracks to base housing. SSgt Oliver's residence was the end unit of a four-plex; standard quarters for a married junior NCO.

Mrs. Oliver met us at the door. "Hello Aiden. Welcome. I hope you're hungry?" She echoed her husband. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Water... or Coke would be great."

"I have a nice German wine if you'd like?" Amanda Jo asked. "I saw you with a glass of wine at the Christmas party."

I laughed and nodded, "Yes Ma'am. Our assistant flight chief, who fancies himself to be a wine expert, insisted I have a glass. I didn't like it but I kept the glass handy so he wouldn't give me anymore. Besides that, I had to drive."

Mrs. Oliver laughed and touched my arm, "Please call me Mandy. Ma'am makes me feel sooo old." I glanced at SSgt Oliver. He nodded.

"Okay... Mandy. The pot roast smells amazing."

It tasted as good as it smelled. I had to struggle not to make a pig of myself; as good as the chow hall was, there is nothing like a home cooked meal. For dessert Mandy served peach pie. Damn, the woman was a treasure. "Okay. Jace, you and Aiden have a chat while I clean up." Mandy ordered. I offered to help but she said it was insulting to have a guest do clean-up.

She patted SSgt Oliver on the shoulder, "Go on Sugar."

He led me back to their living room. I sat on the couch while he turned on the TV. The only station available back then was AFN (Armed Forces Network). At that moment, on the TV, SSgt Joe Schmitberger was detailing the day's sporting results. After he reported that the Celtics had won again, I looked away and found Mrs. Oliver watching from the kitchen.

I checked; SSgt Oliver also was watching me. "Have I done something wrong?"

He, sort of, smiled. "No Aiden. I..." He paused and rubbed his face.

"Go on Jace. Ask." Mrs. Oliver had come over and sat on the couch next to me.

"Aiden I have to ask for a favor. A favor that no man wants to admit needing."

"I'll help in any way I can."

"I... we... Mandy and I... want you to get her pregnant and give us the baby we so desperately desire."

"WHAT?" I looked back and forth between SSgt and Mrs. Oliver. Neither was smiling. "You're serious?"

"I wish I wasn't but I am... We are. Mandy and I have been married 10 years with no children. Just before PCSing to Germany we went to a civilian clinic for privacy. Mandy is fine; I'm not. I had mumps when I was 11 and they left me sterile."

"Jesus! I'm sorry." I hesitated, trying to gather my thoughts. "Have you thought about adoption? Surely there are babies out there that need a..."

SSgt Oliver held up his hand, "Good idea, Aiden, and that was our first choice. Unfortunately military families are viewed very unfavorably as candidates for adoption; agencies claim there's too much instability. They could be right... we do move around an awful lot.

Mrs. Oliver took my hand, "Please Aiden, won't you help us?"

"But why me?"

"Because you're the one Mandy chose after the party."

"But like I said. Why me?"

"Well... like Mandy, you're blonde with blue eyes. Your baby should look enough like Mandy to avoid questions. Also you have type A blood like both Mandy and me..."

"How the hell... heck... do you know that?"

SSgt Oliver grinned, "Remember that spot-check of dog tags we did before the last mid shift to make sure everyone was ready for deployment if necessary? Blood types are on the tags."

"Oh." I'd forgotten about that.

"Plus..." Mrs. Oliver took over the conversation, "Do you remember when we danced at the Christmas party?"

I blushed and stared at the floor.

"Oh yeah, he remembers," Mrs. Oliver laughed and squeezed my arm, "Those dances were an... audition. I danced with five potential partners. All of you got... aroused... as I teased you. You were the only one honorable enough to try and keep a space between us. You are the one I feel most comfortable with."

"Well Aiden... will you help us?" SSgt Oliver asked. Mrs. Oliver squeezed my arm.

"Rules?"

SSgt Oliver nodded, "No kissing. No talking except to avoid injury. Only enough touching to keep your balance."

"Understood. If you're absolutely certain... I'll help."

Mrs. Oliver jumped up and threw her arms around my neck, "Thank you, thank you, thank you Aiden." She kissed me and I pulled back mindful of the rules SSgt Oliver had just established. "See? Honorable." Mrs. Oliver laughed. "Relax Aiden those rules only apply when we're in the bedroom. Right Jace?" She turned and smiled at her husband.

"That's right." He tried to smile but he looked faintly ill. "But please, remember you're trying to make a baby... not making love."

"I understand." I said to SSgt Oliver. "And your body is ready for pregnancy?" I said to Mrs. Oliver.

"Yes. My basal temp is up and I'm showing all the signs of ovulation. My body is ready."

"I think now we're just stalling," SSgt Oliver said. "Mandy, Honey, why don't you go to the bedroom and get ready." He stood and hugged his wife passionately. I tried to understand how he must feel... asking another man to impregnate his wife. They separated and Mrs. Oliver left for the bedroom. "Sarge, are you absolutely certain about this? If you want to tell your wife I chickened out and ran away I won't contradict you."

"No Aiden. Mandy and I discussed this for many, many hours. We're certain."

I sat still and stared at the wall after SSgt Oliver's statement. He tried to relieve my anxiety by asking about my military experiences before Germany. He laughed as I related a story from one of my first three-day tours in the NoDak missile field. My response team leader and I were 'babysitting' a missile launch facility where one of the alarm systems wouldn't reset after we'd done a weekly LF security check. We'd been waiting nearly three hours despite repeated attempts at a reset with no luck. We were standing outside our truck waiting for either a maintenance team or security camper team. As we waited the leader was idly tossing rocks toward me. I'd found a piece of wood and was trying to hit the rocks.

"Hey Downell," The team leader yelled as he tossed another rock, "Remember what the Colonel said at Commander's Call... Be Professional... there are Russian spy satellites watching us." We both looked up and simultaneously flipped them the single digit salute.

SSgt Oliver laughed, "Perfect. Just what you'd expect from a rude American enlisted man."

"I'm ready." Mrs. Oliver called. I'm not sure if I was proud or ashamed that I was suddenly as hard and erect as I'd ever been.

We stood up. "Aiden... thanks again... please respect my wife."

I nodded. My throat was suddenly too dry to speak.

SSgt Oliver pointed me to the bathroom and said I could undress in there and then come to the bedroom when I was 'ready'. I stepped into the bathroom and found they were taking no chances; they had three different porn magazines laid out for me. I was focused on Mandy Oliver so the porn was superfluous.

I finished undressing, took a deep breath, and walked into the bedroom. Mandy lay nude on the bed. She'd shaved her privates; something I'd never seen before. I almost had an orgasm right then. SSgt Oliver sat on the edge of the bed holding Mandy's hands, his back turned to me.

Mandy scooted down the bed and spread her legs giving me an even better view of her sex. I felt my erection twitching. "C'mon Aiden, before I change my mind." Mandy spread her knees apart. God! I wanted to lean down and kiss her smooth pussy.

Mandy was positioned with her legs hanging over the end of the bed so I didn't need to get onto the bed. I stepped forward, spread my legs a bit to to get lower, and slid my cock into Mandy's warm and slippery pussy. I gasped in pleasure as I slid between her smooth labia. That was the moment in my life when pubic hair became anathema to me. Hoping I wasn't breaking the rules, I placed my hands on Mandy's hips to get settled.

I thrust forward slowly once or twice, "Wait!" Mandy insisted. "You need to be as deep as possible. Lift my legs and put them over your shoulder." SSgt Oliver turned his head and met my eyes, "Go ahead."

I did as ordered and pushed myself forward again, "Oof! That's more like it" Mandy called out. She grabbed SSgt Oliver and pulled him into a kiss. I began once more and climaxed violently in just a few strokes. I could have held back but I knew that's not what the Oliver's wanted. I grunted and stayed deeply imbedded... to give my sperm their best chance of a successful journey.

I eventually slipped out and wiped myself with a towel. SSgt Oliver placed a couple pillows under Mandy's bottom for elevation. While he and Mandy hugged, kissed, and chatted comfortably I stepped back and went to the bathroom, washed myself, and got dressed.

I checked myself in the mirror. I was surprised. I'd just lost my virginity but I still looked the same. Then again I hadn't had to engage in dating, seduction, or foreplay so I wasn't sure if it even counted.

SSgt Oliver came out of the bedroom. He reached out and shook my hand. "Mandy says thank you. I say thank you. So... tomorrow... do you prefer before or after our shift?"

"Huh?"

"That's what I said too. Mandy insists that charting ovulation is not an exact science. She wants a session tomorrow and another the day after to give her the best chance of conception."

"You're sure?"

"Honestly Aiden I'm not thrilled but Mandy and I truly want a child. You've followed my rules to the letter so I'm pretty sure I can trust you. So... tomorrow? Mandy promises to have fried chicken."

I nodded, "I think after the shift would be better."

"Thanks Aiden. We appreciate this. Oh, and Aiden, this never happened, right?"

"What never happened Staff Sergeant?"

"Excellent. Good man."

The next two evenings were pretty much the same: we ate, talked, Mandy excused herself to the bedroom, and I followed and did my thing. Only the third night was different; Mandy had read a pseudo-scientific book on conception and got it into her head that her chances of conceiving a baby boy would improve if we tried 'doggy-style'. It took a little extra time for us to work out the best way to accomplish that... but we managed.

After the third encounter SSgt Oliver and I returned to a strictly professional relationship. We spoke when necessary; however, we certainly didn't socialize. By unspoken agreement whenever MSgt Broussard assigned us a riding patrol together, one of us would trade off.

In early March our flight was on its third swing shift. That evening I was posted as an entry controller near one of the flying squadron headquarters. It was always a busy post... not as bad as the flightline entry posts which were manned by one and two stripers (or anyone else on the flight, regardless of rank, who'd gotten in Broussard's doghouse)... but busy. Pilot's wives, although not permitted to enter the area unaccompanied, would stop at our gate, have us call inside, and the spouse would come outside and escort them in. It wasn't a big deal; we did it 10-15 times a shift.

Anyway, that evening my entry point as well as every other post was particularly busy... make that evening insanely busy. About 1700 MSgt Broussard announced over the radio net that we would not be relieved from our posts for a chow break. Our dinner would be brought out to us... not unusual for a weekday swing shift. When it arrived my dinner consisted of two slices of bread, a hot foil pack with Salisbury Steak and gravy, an apple, and a carton of milk.

I gulped down the milk while it was still cold and then set out the meal and prepared to eat... just as a vehicle approached. I went out, let them in, and went back to eat. Another vehicle approached before I could pick up my plastic knife and fork. This scenario repeated over and over for almost an hour until I said, "Fuck it!" and slapped the now cold meat (minus most of the congealed gravy) between the two slices of bread, wrapped the mess in the napkin, and hurried out to check the vehicle that had just driven up.

It was a pilot's wife. She asked me to call inside for her husband, a captain. Unfortunately, there was an aircraft running up its engines not too far from us and I had a terrible time understanding what she was saying. I had to ask three times before I understood the captain's name. I went back to the gate shack and called inside. The duty NCO said that the captain was in a flight simulator session and would be at least another 30 minutes.

I took a quick bite out of my sandwich as I walked back outside to advise the captain's wife.

"I understand." She replied. "Is it okay with y'all if I wait?"

"That's no problem. You can back up and park in that little area over there." I pointed to a small, paved area outside the fence line. I stepped back and took a bite of my sandwich as she backed the car away. While she parked, two more vehicles approached. I checked their credentials and allowed entry. I was still trying to eat my sandwich as the captain's wife got out of her car and approached me. "Is it okay if I wait here? My husband's been gone TDY for four months and I need someone other than my three-year-old to talk to."

"That's fine, Ma'am. Just watch out for approaching cars." I took another bite of my sandwich.

"Don't y'all get to eat dinner?" She asked. Without the jet noise her deep southern accent was unmistakable.

I held up what was left of my sandwich. "We're pretty busy tonight; this is my dinner."

"That's it!?" She exclaimed. "Oh you poah thang!" I nearly bit my tongue off to keep from laughing. She turned away and marched back to her car, started it, and drove off. She was back in 20 minutes... her husband still had not come out of the squadron.

She parked, walked over to me, and handed me a foil-wrapped plate. "Growin' boys like y'all need good, healthy food." Thank the Lord her husband came out just then. He led her back to their car; she was still complaining about what I'd been given for dinner.

I took the package inside my gate shack and unwrapped it. She'd given me three pieces of fried chicken, a couple biscuits... and a napkin... with her phone number on it. Call me anytime. Jenny Lou. I stopped laughing. I kept the napkin but never called. The chicken was delicious.

That evening at midnight chow I won the best story of the night award and for the rest of my tour in Germany anytime someone on our flight would complain about anything the standard commiseration was "Oh! You Poah Thang!" I did catch a bunch of crap though. Half half the guys refused to believe she had given me her phone number... the other half thought I was an idiot for not calling her. "Sorry guys..." I said calmly, "But avoiding married women is part of my grand plan to live to a ripe old age."

"Jesus Big Head!" TSgt Brown declared from the head of the table, "You need to get laid!"

He was wrong on that count. I just smiled but stayed quiet. As those around the table laughed, SSgt Oliver came into the chow hall with a big, shit-eating grin on his face. "Congratulate me fellas. Me and Mandy are pregnant!" He crowed as he started passing around a box of cigars. I stood and congratulated him. Then left, saying I didn't like cigar smoke.

The next day around noontime there was a knock on my room door. It was SSgt Oliver. "Airman Downell, I need to speak with you." I started to sweat. We went downstairs and into the empty guardmount room. He turned and grabbed my hand and shook it. "Thank you Aiden. Thank you. By the way, the doctor says it's twins." Even though he seemed happy I was silent and still as a statue as he walked away. Before I went back inside to my room I said a silent prayer that our... their... kids would be healthy.

*****

Present Day

*****

I was still chuckling about the Salisbury Steak incident when I received another e-mail from Priscilla:

Dearest Aiden,

In my last note I may have been too subtle. It was an invitation to visit. I start my vacation on 22 July and don't return to work until 1 September. I would love to have you visit as my guest for some... or all... of that time. You needn't worry about lodgings as my Knightsbridge townhouse has three bedrooms with en-suite baths...

The e-mail continued on but I wasn't really paying attention. Priscilla wanted me to visit. I absolutely wanted to see her again. I worried, though, that I'd be a disappointment... let's face it I was 70 years old now, and comfortably retired. Unfortunately, while I'd stayed in good physical condition, certain parts of my body didn't work near as well as they did when I was 21. I hoped she would appreciate a nice, companionable, and platonic visit.

Dear Priscilla,

Thank you for the invitation. I didn't miss the significance of your previous e-mail. But I wasn't certain how to respond... breathlessly eager or shy and demure. I'm not the same brash, overconfident kid that I was 50 years ago. Maybe that's a sign of maturity and wisdom... maybe not. Because I travel standby, I'll only know for sure that I'll be on a particular flight about an hour before takeoff. How much notice would you need that I've cleared the standby list and am on my way?

Wait. I haven't answered your question, have I. I would love to visit and I can't wait to see you.

Sincerely, Aiden

I sent off the e-mail. It had been more than 10 years since my last visit to London so I opened my search engine. I was surprised to see that I now had to pay for an electronic visa. Then I logged onto my airline's retiree website and began checking flights and stand-by lists. It looked like it would be at least 12 days before I had a reasonable chance at getting on a flight.

*****

Fifty Years Ago

*****

My roommate and best friend A. J. Jonas died the same night SSgt Oliver revealed Mandy's pregnancy. When we got off our last swing shift he immediately took off to see his girlfriend over at Bitburg AB. He was leaving Germany in less than a week and he wanted to say goodbye to her. He laughed as he told me not to wait up for him. It was the last time we spoke.

The next morning, after SSgt Oliver's visit, my shoe shining session was interupted by someone pounding on my door. I walked over and opened it. MSgt Broussard. stepped in. "Downell... I wish there was an easy way to do this... A. J. was killed in a car wreck last night."

"What? How?" I knew how; the way he drove it was inevitable. Even though he was my friend, after that first trip to Bitburg I'd steadfastly refused to ride with him. I'd always hoped that when he crashed he wouldn't be injured.

"Downell. Casualty Assistance will be here in a few minutes. You need to stick around and help them gather his possessions to be sent to his family. Make damned sure nothing embarrassing gets into the box." I knew where A. J. kept his porn stashed so I moved it under my bed. 'For a rainy day.' I thought to myself.

Two months later my time in Germany ended. My friends and co-workers threw a small going away party at the NCO Club. Our Assistant Flight Chief once again tried to explain the different varieties of German wine. A couple guys asked where I was headed. I told them I was on my way back to North Dakota. "Oh... you poah thang!" Everyone shouted.

The next day I arrived at Rhein-Main and went to the MAC terminal. I caught the plane back to the world with no trouble. As we taxied I saw a strange aircraft parked on the ramp, completely black, propellar driven, with no discernible markings. "What's that plane?" I asked the guy sitting next to me.

"What plane?" He asked as we went right past it.

"Are you blind, that one!"

"Airman... that plane doesn't exist. You never saw it." He turned away and ignored me after that.

*****

Present Day

*****

I never forgot about that black plane; however, even with modern search engines, neither did I ever find a picture of it or a description of what it was.

Anyway, four weeks after Priscilla's invitation I was sitting at a Logan Airport departure gate waiting to hear if I cleared standby. I thought I had a good chance as there was only one person ahead of me on the list and the computer showed five seats available. Shortly, the gate agent called the two of us up, cleared us, and issued boarding passes. We were both in first class.

Dear Priscilla,

I've cleared standby and am waiting to board the aircraft. Assuming we take off on time, we're scheduled to arrive at Heathrow at 07:00 BST. See you in a bit.

Yours, Aiden

As soon as I sent it I realized that with the time difference Priscilla was probably already asleep. I shrugged... too late to worry about it now. I closed my laptop and did a couple sudoku puzzles on my phone before they started the boarding process.

The flight went quickly. As soon as we were in the air the flight attendants came around taking dinner orders. I declined as I intended to sleep. I reclined my seat until it was flat, grabbed a pillow and blanket, and laid down. I didn't wake up until the flight attendant tapped my shoulder, "We'll be landing in 45 minutes. Would you like breakfast?"

"Coffee and a muffin? I'm a non-rev so make sure everyone else gets what they want."

"Whatever you'd like. You're the last. I didn't want to wake you."

"Thanks. Just the muffin and coffee. I'm so nervous I don't think I could eat anything else."

"Oh? Business?"

"Nope. Personal. Meeting a woman I haven't seen in 50 years. She tracked me down using Facebook."

The call bell dinged, "I have to go. I'll be right back with your breakfast." True to her word, she was back in just a couple of minutes. I ate and drank quickly and then went to the lavatory to get myself straightened out: brushed my teeth, shaved, combed my hair, and fixed my clothing.

I returned to my seat and found another cup of coffee waiting for me. On the napkin the FA had written, Good Luck. Relax, the coffee's decaf. I looked up and caught her eye, 'Thank you!' I mouthed silently.

The aircraft landed shortly after that. After we parked and the door opened, being a non-rev, I sat still for a few moments to allow the first class cabin's paying passengers to go first. Then I grabbed my carry-on and strolled down the jetway. I was so nervous my hand was shaking as I thanked the FA for the flight. As soon as I stepped out of the jet way I saw a man wearing a dark suit with a small sign reading Mr. A. Downell.

I approached him, "I'm Aiden Downell."

"Good Morning Sir. What is the purpose of your visit to the UK?"

"I'm here on vacation. I hope to get re-acquainted with... someone... I haven't seen in a very long time."

"Very good Sir. My name is Richards. If you'll follow me, please." For a few meters we followed the crowd of fellow passengers. Then the man named Richards peeled off to the right and into a nondescript, empty corridor, and then into a small, but tastefully arranged office.

"This is Mr. Downell." Richards said to the man sitting behind the desk.

"Ah! Mr. Downell, I'm Inspector Williams of His Majesty's Home Office Border Force. Welcome to the UK. How was your flight?"

"Excellent. Ah, Mr. Williams, Mr. Richards, I'm supposed to be meeting someone; is this going to take long? Have I done something wrong?"

"Oh heavens no, Mr. Downell." Mr. Williams replied. "In fact, I'm here to expedite your arrival. May I see your passport?"

I handed it over; he flipped through it. "You have an e-visa, I assume?" He asked. I turned on my phone and displayed it. "Excellent. I'm not going to have to bypass the system. He opened my passport to a blank page, stamped and signed it, and handed it back. "There! Your visa has been amended granting you an unrestricted visit of up to one year. If for any reason you decide to seek employment this visa becomes invalid and you must process your request through normal channels. Enjoy your stay sir."

"Thank You. Umm, my luggage?"

"That's been taken care of and will be waiting for you." Mr. Richards answered. "If you'll follow me?"

We entered the corridor, walked about 15 steps, and entered a second room. Time stopped. I recognized Priscilla instantly... even after 50 years I knew it was her. Mr. Richards cleared his throat, "Dame Priscilla, it is my pleasure to introduce Mr. Aiden Downell. Mr. Downell, may introduce Dame Priscilla Bronson, Commander of the British Empire and member of House of Commons."

I stared; Priscilla was older, yes, but her beauty had not diminished in the least. She was stunning: her ash blonde hair was shorter but perfectly coifed; her suit was obviously tailored to fit her; I felt like the frog sitting on a water lilly waiting to meet a princess.

"Hello Aiden, I'd recognize you anywhere." Her smile took my voice away. "Richards, step outside. We are not to be disturbed for any reason. Understood?" She ordered.

"Understood Dame Priscilla."

The slamming door finally shook me out of my trance, "Dame Priscilla..." I began.

She stepped forward, took my hands, and we kissed for the second time. Priscilla broke the kiss; I'd have been happy to continue for another hour or so. "Aiden, please, just Priscilla... or Pris... or whatever you prefer." We kissed again. I began to let my fingers wander a little. Pris didn't seem to mind... in fact her fingers also were on the move.

"Oh God, Aiden. I've never gotten over you. Why did we wait so long?" She gasped before we kissed again. As our tongues met I felt a surge of... energy... that I hadn't felt in several years.

"What's done is done. Let's make the now memorable." I laced my fingers into her perfect hair and pulled her to me for another kiss.

The End