FlyboyStories for on the go!
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AN UNLIKELY SURVIVOR
He waded through the mud in his consciousness. What had happened? He’d been flying... following the river... the Flight Commander had said turn back, too hot... the Ground Commander had said go in... passenger bird and right gunship had turned back but the smoke was popped and the extraction was a sitting duck... two – three? No, only two – people running... only one extra person on the bird... heavy fire... the bird started to fall...
“Just get me across the river!” she yelled.
“We’re going down too fast!” he answered between mayday calls.
“DO IT, FLYBOY!” she ordered.
He forced the bird to limp... the river came up too fast... the far bank didn’t get close enough... something hit him in the back – the front? – and then the controls became part of his helmet... there was water and smoke in the bird when the weight lifted off him... she looked surprised when he sat up...
“We gotta go. Right now,” she said.
“The crew –” he turned and saw them. What was left of them.
They grabbed the tags and ammo and any rations... his head hurt... where was his helmet? His face was bleeding...
“Go! Now!” She pushed him out of the bird and towards the bank.
He carried two packs... the water was cool... the sun was hot... the trees on the bank promised shade... he was knocked to the ground between the roots and something exploded behind him... she was pulling him along as they ran... his head hurt...
He opened his eyes and saw darkness. A shape settled beside him close enough that he could hear it breathing. It stopped moving as the breeze stilled. It looked at him and motioned for him to be silent. His head hurt. A bright light flashed in both his eyes and seared his retinas into the back of his skull.
“It’s a good thing you’re small, Flyboy,” she said.
A wind started up again and the shape lifted him onto its shoulders.
He opened his eyes and saw darkness. A shape was sitting, hunched by his feet, and peering through a slit out to something that looked too bright to exist. He moved carefully and the shape turned to look at him.
“You did good,” she said.
His thoughts felt swollen, the throbbing in his head worse each time he turned it to look around. She crawled up beside him – the ceiling was too close to stand – and pulled something out of the bag closest to him.
“This will probably be uncomfortable,” she said.
She held his head steady with one hand, holding his eyes open one at a time as she shone a miniature sun into his pupils to check his reaction times. It was more than uncomfortable.
“Better than eight hours ago,” she said, and then she smiled at him. “You may just live through this,” she said.
“Oh. Good,” he croaked.
She chuckled. He covered his eyes with his hand, trying not to put any pressure on his head as he did. He listened to her moving quietly as she stayed sitting beside him. She pressed a soft tube into the hand that wasn’t covering his eyes.
“Eat this,” she said.
He waded through the mud in his consciousness. What had happened? He’d been flying... following the river... the Flight Commander had said turn back, too hot... the Ground Commander had said go in... passenger bird and right gunship had turned back but the smoke was popped and the extraction was a sitting duck... two – three? No, only two – people running... only one extra person on the bird... heavy fire... the bird started to fall...
“Just get me across the river!” she yelled.
“We’re going down too fast!” he answered between mayday calls.
“DO IT, FLYBOY!” she ordered.
He forced the bird to limp... the river came up too fast... the far bank didn’t get close enough... something hit him in the back – the front? – and then the controls became part of his helmet... there was water and smoke in the bird when the weight lifted off him... she looked surprised when he sat up...
“We gotta go. Right now,” she said.
“The crew –” he turned and saw them. What was left of them.
They grabbed the tags and ammo and any rations... his head hurt... where was his helmet? His face was bleeding...
“Go! Now!” She pushed him out of the bird and towards the bank.
He carried two packs... the water was cool... the sun was hot... the trees on the bank promised shade... he was knocked to the ground between the roots and something exploded behind him... she was pulling him along as they ran... his head hurt...
He opened his eyes and saw darkness. A shape settled beside him close enough that he could hear it breathing. It stopped moving as the breeze stilled. It looked at him and motioned for him to be silent. His head hurt. A bright light flashed in both his eyes and seared his retinas into the back of his skull.
“It’s a good thing you’re small, Flyboy,” she said.
A wind started up again and the shape lifted him onto its shoulders.
He opened his eyes and saw darkness. A shape was sitting, hunched by his feet, and peering through a slit out to something that looked too bright to exist. He moved carefully and the shape turned to look at him.
“You did good,” she said.
His thoughts felt swollen, the throbbing in his head worse each time he turned it to look around. She crawled up beside him – the ceiling was too close to stand – and pulled something out of the bag closest to him.
“This will probably be uncomfortable,” she said.
She held his head steady with one hand, holding his eyes open one at a time as she shone a miniature sun into his pupils to check his reaction times. It was more than uncomfortable.
“Better than eight hours ago,” she said, and then she smiled at him. “You may just live through this,” she said.
“Oh. Good,” he croaked.
She chuckled. He covered his eyes with his hand, trying not to put any pressure on his head as he did. He listened to her moving quietly as she stayed sitting beside him. She pressed a soft tube into the hand that wasn’t covering his eyes.
“Eat this,” she said.
SLOW RECOVERY
He was hungry. He hated yogurt. He still squeezed all of it out of the tube and swallowed it. She chuckled again because of the face he made but didn’t offer him anything else but water.
“Sleep more. We’ll try chewing next time you wake up if the headache is better.”
He wondered where the yogurt had come from as he passed out.
This time it was completely dark. His head hurt more than before, but his thoughts didn’t feel swollen. Maybe that meant that his head hurt less. Nothing moved in the blackness. He could hear her breathing, slow even breaths. She was sleeping.
He felt a weight in each of his hands. Feeling with his fingers, there was a canteen in his right, and some kind of soft food in his left. He drank carefully and then bit a piece of the food. It was a Breakfast MRE – Meals Ready to Eat. Eggs. Chewing wasn’t as bad as he expected, but he was exhausted by the end of eating the whole omelet. He took another careful drink, knowing that coughing right now would probably make his head explode, then lay still in the blackness.
“You still alive, flyboy?” she murmured.
“Josh,” he answered, and his voice sounded far away. “I’m Josh.”
Then he fell back asleep.
She was watching the bright slit when he woke up. He felt hungry again, so he must’ve been out for a while. He attempted sitting up and made it, then slumped back to lean against the wall.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she said, not taking her eyes off the slit.
“Hi,” he croaked in response, hoping the world would stop rotating randomly in the next few minutes.
“There’s rations and water right there if you want.”
He looked down beside his left hand and found a pack within reach. He pulled out some food and water. His hands worked well enough to get the wrapping open without spilling, and he could eat without too much trouble. He watched her while he ate. She didn’t move.
“Where are we?” he asked when he finished eating.
“Home sweet home,” she replied.
He looked around. Sand walls, sand floor, wooden plank ceiling, tattered blankets, and enough ammo for maybe a day of fighting.
“You need a new decorator,” he said after taking another drink.
One side of her mouth curled up and he took it as a smile. She never turned away from the slit.
They sat in silence for a long time. He may have slept, maybe not. The only thing that changed was the angle of her shadow from the light through the slit.
“So, what are you thinking?” he asked, hoping to start some kind of conversation to break the stretched silence.
She didn’t respond. He picked a book out of the pack, he’d exposed it when he’d pulled out a ration, and tried to read. It made his head swim. He put it down and looked back at where she was sitting. She was watching him. He suddenly felt like a rabbit under the gaze of a wolf.
“You should get some more sleep,” she said quietly, then turned back to the slit.
He was hungry. He hated yogurt. He still squeezed all of it out of the tube and swallowed it. She chuckled again because of the face he made but didn’t offer him anything else but water.
“Sleep more. We’ll try chewing next time you wake up if the headache is better.”
He wondered where the yogurt had come from as he passed out.
This time it was completely dark. His head hurt more than before, but his thoughts didn’t feel swollen. Maybe that meant that his head hurt less. Nothing moved in the blackness. He could hear her breathing, slow even breaths. She was sleeping.
He felt a weight in each of his hands. Feeling with his fingers, there was a canteen in his right, and some kind of soft food in his left. He drank carefully and then bit a piece of the food. It was a Breakfast MRE – Meals Ready to Eat. Eggs. Chewing wasn’t as bad as he expected, but he was exhausted by the end of eating the whole omelet. He took another careful drink, knowing that coughing right now would probably make his head explode, then lay still in the blackness.
“You still alive, flyboy?” she murmured.
“Josh,” he answered, and his voice sounded far away. “I’m Josh.”
Then he fell back asleep.
She was watching the bright slit when he woke up. He felt hungry again, so he must’ve been out for a while. He attempted sitting up and made it, then slumped back to lean against the wall.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she said, not taking her eyes off the slit.
“Hi,” he croaked in response, hoping the world would stop rotating randomly in the next few minutes.
“There’s rations and water right there if you want.”
He looked down beside his left hand and found a pack within reach. He pulled out some food and water. His hands worked well enough to get the wrapping open without spilling, and he could eat without too much trouble. He watched her while he ate. She didn’t move.
“Where are we?” he asked when he finished eating.
“Home sweet home,” she replied.
He looked around. Sand walls, sand floor, wooden plank ceiling, tattered blankets, and enough ammo for maybe a day of fighting.
“You need a new decorator,” he said after taking another drink.
One side of her mouth curled up and he took it as a smile. She never turned away from the slit.
They sat in silence for a long time. He may have slept, maybe not. The only thing that changed was the angle of her shadow from the light through the slit.
“So, what are you thinking?” he asked, hoping to start some kind of conversation to break the stretched silence.
She didn’t respond. He picked a book out of the pack, he’d exposed it when he’d pulled out a ration, and tried to read. It made his head swim. He put it down and looked back at where she was sitting. She was watching him. He suddenly felt like a rabbit under the gaze of a wolf.
“You should get some more sleep,” she said quietly, then turned back to the slit.
ANOTHER YEAR OLDER
He thought of maybe answering, but instead lay back down and went to sleep. The next time he woke up was a repeat on the food and book, but the time after he could read a few paragraphs before the words started swimming. He put the book down again.
“How long have we been here?” he asked.
“Chopper went down four days ago plus one,” she answered.
“So five days ago. And where are we?”
“Three miles from friendlies.”
He thought about it for a while. The terrain that close to the border was well covered, they hadn’t had problems that close for over a month.
“So, why are we still here?”
“I have a problem.”
He waited a few minutes for her to continue.
“Anything I can help with?” he eventually asked.
“Doubt it,” she answered, looking down after a moment and then over to him. “You are the problem,” she said, not unkindly.
That was a confusing response.
“Oh,” he said.
She turned completely away from the slit and settled facing him. For the first time he could see the rifle cradled in the crook of her arm. It was incredibly custom and had the extra parts that proved she’d been off-world, despite the fact that her uniform was standard Earth Unified Government. Then again, the EUG had labeled this war as a local skirmish and ignored it for months now, so even a standard EUG uniform wasn’t something that should be here on either side of the border.
“My extraction was supposed to be three days before you showed up,” she stated. “It was supposed to be a simple pick up. There were also certain conditions of that extraction, the foremost being that no one person be able to make me in a positive ID. Now my problem is that not only did you manage to extract me from a very bad place, you also got me far enough away that I could get here and have so far managed to live through all of it even after injuring yourself rather badly. Now you know not only what I look like but also what I sound like, giving you easy opportunity for positive ID at this location at this time. For me, that’s not a good thing. At this point, though, I would have been a lot worse than dead if not for you. Do you see the dilemma?”
He looked at his feet, unsure whether or not answering would help or hinder his precarious situation. The feeling of being a rabbit returned as he realized all of the weapons in the rat hole were on her.
“Personally, I’d rather not kill you,” she added, watching him expectantly.
“Considering my headache, I’d appreciate it if you did,” he said, trying for humor.
The corner of her mouth turned up in that small smile. She shifted and settled back to looking out the slit. He fell asleep sitting up.
She was gone when he woke up, as were the packs and rations. A single canteen of water sat where the bags had been, an off world unit crest stamped in the side confirming that the sniper and her rifle were not EUG standard issue grunts like he’d worked with before. There were two 10mm side arms, generic, loaded, and eight extra magazines, all full, in the middle of the floor beside what was left of his flight helmet; it had been split in half from the crash impact. The tags from the rest of his flight crew were sitting in one half of his helmet. He sat forward and realized that he felt… fine. The middle of his chest was tingly in a hand-print shape, but his head was good. There was a small, yellow envelope in the other half with ‘Flyboy’ written neatly across the front.
The card inside had a picture of a puppy in a birthday hat on the front. He opened it carefully. The card was printed with ‘Happy Birthday!’ and didn’t have anything inside. A note had been written on the back in the same tidy printing as on the envelope:
Josh,
Your tags have your DOB.
Happy Birthday.
Eva.
He thought of maybe answering, but instead lay back down and went to sleep. The next time he woke up was a repeat on the food and book, but the time after he could read a few paragraphs before the words started swimming. He put the book down again.
“How long have we been here?” he asked.
“Chopper went down four days ago plus one,” she answered.
“So five days ago. And where are we?”
“Three miles from friendlies.”
He thought about it for a while. The terrain that close to the border was well covered, they hadn’t had problems that close for over a month.
“So, why are we still here?”
“I have a problem.”
He waited a few minutes for her to continue.
“Anything I can help with?” he eventually asked.
“Doubt it,” she answered, looking down after a moment and then over to him. “You are the problem,” she said, not unkindly.
That was a confusing response.
“Oh,” he said.
She turned completely away from the slit and settled facing him. For the first time he could see the rifle cradled in the crook of her arm. It was incredibly custom and had the extra parts that proved she’d been off-world, despite the fact that her uniform was standard Earth Unified Government. Then again, the EUG had labeled this war as a local skirmish and ignored it for months now, so even a standard EUG uniform wasn’t something that should be here on either side of the border.
“My extraction was supposed to be three days before you showed up,” she stated. “It was supposed to be a simple pick up. There were also certain conditions of that extraction, the foremost being that no one person be able to make me in a positive ID. Now my problem is that not only did you manage to extract me from a very bad place, you also got me far enough away that I could get here and have so far managed to live through all of it even after injuring yourself rather badly. Now you know not only what I look like but also what I sound like, giving you easy opportunity for positive ID at this location at this time. For me, that’s not a good thing. At this point, though, I would have been a lot worse than dead if not for you. Do you see the dilemma?”
He looked at his feet, unsure whether or not answering would help or hinder his precarious situation. The feeling of being a rabbit returned as he realized all of the weapons in the rat hole were on her.
“Personally, I’d rather not kill you,” she added, watching him expectantly.
“Considering my headache, I’d appreciate it if you did,” he said, trying for humor.
The corner of her mouth turned up in that small smile. She shifted and settled back to looking out the slit. He fell asleep sitting up.
She was gone when he woke up, as were the packs and rations. A single canteen of water sat where the bags had been, an off world unit crest stamped in the side confirming that the sniper and her rifle were not EUG standard issue grunts like he’d worked with before. There were two 10mm side arms, generic, loaded, and eight extra magazines, all full, in the middle of the floor beside what was left of his flight helmet; it had been split in half from the crash impact. The tags from the rest of his flight crew were sitting in one half of his helmet. He sat forward and realized that he felt… fine. The middle of his chest was tingly in a hand-print shape, but his head was good. There was a small, yellow envelope in the other half with ‘Flyboy’ written neatly across the front.
The card inside had a picture of a puppy in a birthday hat on the front. He opened it carefully. The card was printed with ‘Happy Birthday!’ and didn’t have anything inside. A note had been written on the back in the same tidy printing as on the envelope:
Josh,
Your tags have your DOB.
Happy Birthday.
Eva.
