OK, it's probably not the best thing I've ever written, but I need to get into the swing of things. This is rather like '...Pieces of a Broken Heart'!
Flypast
He carefully adjusted his cap in the mirror above the sinks in the slightly grimy toilets. The light flickered above him. Then he stepped out into the chaos of the hangar. He loved this chaos- he told Pete he didn't miss anything about The Force, but the chaos wasn't even matched by the madness of London- and as he strode across the hangar floor to his plane (ER-442-TRF Bluebird- those letters were burned into his soul) he breathed in the wonderful smells: fuel, clutch fluid, smoke, sweat and aftershave. He grinned. "You ready, Barât?"
He turned to see Group Captain Francis. They quickly saluted. "Yes, sir."
Group Captain Francis nodded and sniffed. "Good to have you back, lad. Now, go on- get in."
He closed the cockpit roof and lifted the receiver. He flicked a switch on the radio by his knee. "Good morning, this is Wing Commander Carl Barât, AKA 'head' to fleet, fleet, do you copy?"
One by one the flight responded.
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Taxiing onto runway," he eased the plane forward and out the hangar onto the tarmac. "Fleet, are you ready?"
Six "Yes, sir,"s.
"Head preparing for liftoff." He moved forward, gaining speed. Then he was flying. It was the most wonderful feeling. Like breathing out after a holding-your-breath-for-the-longest-contest with Pete. "OK, fleet, on this fine, fine morning we will be performing Operation 3, variation Delta. Do we all remember that from Cranwell?"
Six "Yes, sir,"s.
"Very good. We will be over the Thames in approximately twenty minutes and it is then manoeuvres begin. This is head to fleet, over and out." Then he gained height and watched as the ground beneath him slipped away. He sighed happily and shifted in his seat. As he flew, his thoughts turned to Pete, and the past. A flashback hit him like a bullet.
It was his first day at Cranwell...