This story was written in response to the Tracy Island Writers' Forum prompt: A military-themed story of precisely 300 words (no more, no less!) involving a brother, a beer and the sentence "Shut up."
Standard disclaimers still apply from chapter One
oooOOOooo
The reunion
"So how was the reunion?" Alan asked as he watched his red-headed brother climb aboard and buckle into the co-pilot's seat of Tracy One.
Gordon pulled a face. "Can we talk about something else?"
"Sounds like someone's got a hangover; was there just one beer too many?" It wasn't often Alan had his brother at a disadvantage and he was determined to make the most of it.
"Just shut up and fly, will ya?"
Alan took one look at his brother's set expression and turned back to the controls, contacting the Control Tower to request clearance for take-off.
As the plane taxied to the runway, Gordon settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. It had sounded such a good idea. He hadn't seen his WASP buddies since he'd been invalided out of the organisation after his hydrofoil accident. Then he'd become involved with all the preparations for setting up International Rescue, and the first year of operations. Two years later, he had been looking forward to catching up with everyone.
It had gone well at first, listening to his friends' tales of chasing pirates and catching smugglers. But then he began to realise that though his mates might be making jokes about how Gordon was now living a life of leisure on his father's sub-tropical island, he could see the condescension, and yes, the pity, in their eyes. Poor old Gordon, no longer fit enough to hold down a real job.
What would they say if they knew what his life was really like now, as a member of International Rescue?
He longed to tell them about some of his recent exploits; capping the gas explosion in the Atlantic, the shoot-out in the Anderbad tunnel, saving the Fireflash from crashing into the ocean.
But they could never know.