VI. Childhood Memories
Peter N. 'Pops' Beagle
—
Lockridge is a character, that's for sure. When you first meet him, you'll either think he's the friendliest guy on earth or a dirty rotten bastard. The truth is, he's both.
I remember when I met the... heh, kid. A twenty-three year old wearing a First Lieutenant's silver insignia.
If I remember correctly, the date was September 25th, 2010. The distant sun was setting, a gorgeous sight that colored everything in it's wake with a dim reddish glare. I believe we were in hanger... A6. Yea, A6, that's right. Right outside was a bench occupied on one side by Captain Jack Bartlett and on the other by Albert Genette, the reporter. They were talking about the current 'diplomat's war', as Bartlett had called it.
There were three new F/A-18E's in that hanger. The mechanics that we had were divided amongst them, giving them a special 'tune-up' with some of my own personal modifications before the flyboys would take em' up for a shakedown cruise... if there would be time for it.
As fate would have it, First Lieutenant Lockridge had decided to overlook the work being done on the fighters. Every department was short of personnel that day, since the base needed anti-aircraft guns, shore batteries, pillboxes, minefields, barbed wire, and every other type of defensive installation imaginable. The war hadn't started just yet, but you could have fooled anybody on Sand Island.
Anyway, being short on manpower, we had to scramble everybody we could to prepare. That included air control personnel, supply crews, cooks, barbers, and anyone else who had two arms and two legs.
One of the makeshift mechanics we had that day was a replacement pilot. That red-headed young fellow was working on the fuselage of the jet in the center of the hanger. He didn't really know what he was doing, since he most likely forgot all of the instructions I had given him. Boy, was he in for a rude awakening. While still fumbling with the wrench,
"What in the name of hell are you doing?!"
It wasn't long before the lieutenant was racing toward him with all speed. The teenage airman froze at attention, dropped the wrench and saluted as Lockridge came to a stop in front of him. The young officer was not impressed.
"Well, not only do you not know how to refit a plane, but you also don't know military protocol. You don't salute indoors unless reporting in. Do you understand that, airman?"
Some of the spectators looked on, including Genette, but the mechanics quickly turned their attention back to their work. Genette resumed the chat with Captain Bartlett, though I think he kept one ear to the proceedings in the hanger.
The teenager lowered his quivering hand.
"Y-Yes, sir."
"Well you do speak Osean, at least. Here, watch closely."
Scooping up the tool, Lockridge began to put on a pretty unique exhibition of aircraft maintenance. His technique is either brilliant or complete madness. He was doing things like a professional mechanic. He didn't have the field experience, but if he wasn't a pilot, Jake Lockridge would have a place in my department, for sure. Thrusting the wrench back into the arms of the teenager, he asked,
"So what's your occupation, airman?"
"I'm a replacement pilot, sir."
Lockridge caught everybody's attention when he snapped back,
"No! You're a soldier! What's you're name?"
"Airman First Class Hans Grimm, sir!"
Nodding, Lockridge gave a neutral expression and commented,
"Grimm, huh? Your employment is looking pretty grim, all right..."
Grimm wasn't phased by this, at least not visibly. He had stopped quivering by now and had straightened up. I think this impressed the future captain. He didn't show it, but I believe First Lieutenant Jake Lockridge saw untapped potential for something in Airman First Class Hans Grimm.
"Just keep working the way I showed you, Grimm. Relax, the manager never cuts anybody on the first day."
Lockridge let Grimm get back to his work. I took no personal offense toward his act of imposing authority, but aircraft maintenance is my department, so I made sure he knew it.
"Lieutenant, you'd best watch where you step in here. Remember, this girl is my daughter."
I pointed to the beautiful F/A-18E Lockridge was working on moments before.
"You just take her out on a date once in a while."
After standing still for a moment, Lockridge began to chuckle. He slowly nodded to me, then finally turned to leave the shade of the musty hanger for the cool breeze of the outdoors.
Lockridge
The day after I met Hans Grimm, I was lounging in a surprisingly comfortable wooden chair in the corner of the Crew Room. It was quiet in the beginning, considering the fact that there were only four fully trained pilots on Sand Island. The room was on the second level, and two fairly large windows were on either side. I had been sitting there for a while, having a long restful day after the previous ones of touring the whole base and settling myself in.
Sometime that afternoon, Second Lieutenant Kei Nagase strolled in, carrying a small red book that had obviously seen better days, if the ripped cover was any indication. Wether she did or not, it seemed I was not noticed by Nagase as she took a seat on the couch on the opposite side of the room. She gently brushed the dust off the storybook and slowly opened it.
"Childhood favorite?"
My question wasn't immediately answered due to the attention payed to the book. Nagase slowly raised her head and shot a look of puzzlement toward me, probably wondering why I had asked.
"Well, yes, actually. It was my favorite story as a little girl. It's funny... I haven't really thought about this book in years. Something today just made me remember it."
Nagase flipped through the pages very carefully, reminiscing on memories from years past.
"I had forgotten..."
She seemed to be... hurt, when she beheld the pages that had been damaged.
"Mind if I take a look?"
Her gazed shifted swiftly upward, and at first she carried an expression of annoyance, though it quickly morphed into a wiseass grin.
"Yea, actually, I do mind."
I returned it.
"Heh. Fair enough."
Nagase went back to her book, and I dozed off for a few hours.
I was awakened by the voice of 'Marshall' Donaldson.
"Lieutenant Lockridge!"
I saw the sun setting outside as I jumped up, half dead on my feet. Donaldson knew I was exhausted. He also knew that I wouldn't bitch about being so. Nagase was still on the couch. She was writing something in that childhood favorite of hers. It had been several hours since she first sat down, and I don't think she moved. In fact, I'm not sure she even knew we were there.
"Come on, I want to talk with you over a drink."
Talk? Who does he think he is, my father?
And yet as I thought that, I saw a small glimmer of that great man in Captain Matthew Donaldson.
I nodded. "Sure, Cap."
We walked the corridors in silence, passing twelve offices, twenty-two windows, and going down a staircase. I knew he didn't want to talk shop, but since I was actually counting these things, and I needed a conversation to distract my mind.
"So how pissed off is Perrault about our little stunt the other day?"
"Trust me, Lockridge, if he was pissed off, you'd know about it."
That brought that conversation to an abrupt halt. I changed the subject to something a little more general.
"This is quite a city you have here, captain."
"Well, I'm just the Flight Chief, but I thank you for the compliment. You are right when you call this a city. Few people realize that an airbase is much more than a tower and an airstrip. Only a fraction of the people here are actually involved in the flight operations."
I think it's fair to say that I liked Matt from the start. A career soldier, he is the prototypical 'silent workhorse'. The tertiary commander of the base, he did most of the paperwork, organization, and was responsible for all of Sand Island's flight operations. His superiors, namely Hamilton and Perrault, knew this was so, but whenever the spotlight shifted his way, Donaldson scurried away and let the previously noted officers have their time in the sun.
"Lockridge! Get over here!"
The voice had come from behind us, from the mouth of Colonel Orson 'Emperor' Perrault.
"Sir!"
Donaldson shot me a look that said "We'll have that drink later."
I followed the Colonel to his throne room which was called an office. He promptly sat behind his desk, reached into one of the drawers and pulled out two cigars. He stuffed one into his mouth and offered me the second. When I declined, he looked quite offended. I quickly endeavored to correct this.
"That just might hurt my mission efficiency, sir."
He chuckled for a moment, then rebounded.
"First Lieutenant Lockridge... I picked your name off the list from McNealy because I'm aware of your pedigree."
I still feel proud that he was telling the truth when he said that. At the time, I was obviously taken by surprise. I didn't know that my father was so famous.
"Well I'm glad you did, sir."
Nice choice of words, jackass.
Perrault smiled wide, revealing how well those cigars did their job on his teeth.
"I trust you've been able to settle yourself into my base."
I believe he expected my eyes to roll at that statement, but I never felt a reflex to do so. Perrault's smile retracted as he sild his chair to a nearby file cabinet and reached into it.
While the boss was doing that, I took a few moments to peer at the many objects which adorned the walls of Perrault's throne room. Photos of the flag raising on Festungsinsel, the image of Osean boys storming ashore during 'Operation: Arctic Wire' to liberate the island republic of Wellow, and the Allied victory parade through the South Belkan capital of Sudentor. Nearby were the portraits of Douglas MacArthur, George S. Patton Jr. , and John J. Pershing.
What stood out most, though, was that beautiful white and blue flag which hung from the wall. That flag of Osea, my country, and a symbol that told of her glory.
"Lockridge, since you're second in command of Wardog squadron, you get to fill out..."
He slammed a stack of papers onto the desk.
"...these."
Though I stayed motionless, my face drained of all color once I saw those damned forms. Truth is though, that the stack was a drop in the bucket compared to the amount of paperwork I would have to do later in the war.
"Is that all, sir?"
Perrault nodded, and I began to walk out.
"Lockridge... the paperwork?"
Damn.
I grabbed the stack of papers and quickly exited the room. I'll tell you right now, though Perrault may have been a pompous ass, that's not necessarily a bad thing for a commander and a patriot.
Anyhow, documents under my arm, I began to make for my quarters to try and finish them before chow time. As I passed through the crew room, Nagase was still seated there. From what I saw, she was writing down the words which had been on the torn out pages of that little red book. This time she noticed me, but not before I heard her say quietly to herself,
"The Demon of Razgriz..."
I stopped in my tracks, myself remembering the old story. She shifted her gaze upward.
"Yes, Lieutenant? Is anything wrong?"
I turned my head and smiled.
"Looks as if we all have our own legends, eh?"
