Lisa
You're drowning me, holding me under the rising tide of your impossible expectations.
Every curse word I'd ever heard came to mind as the instructors jumped ship. Literally. My heart pounded in my ears, and I had the split-second desire to bail with them. Fuck that. This was my dream, and had been since I'd seen rotors against a blue sky thirteen years ago. I could do this.
Dunker training was a heaping slice of hell.
The pistons released, and the mock helo sank. Water soaked my boots, rushed past my knees, into my lap, and then up my chest. Wait. Wait. Not yet.
The pool water hit my collarbone, and I sucked in all the air my lungs could hold. I gripped the seat, my fingers digging in as the water rose over my nose and head. Then they tilted my world on its axis and pitched the aircraft to the right, spinning me upside down. Water forced its way into my nose. This shit sucked.
We stopped moving—it was go time. I fought the panic threatening to force out all my air and concentrated on the harness. My fingers slipped. Double shit. Calm down.
A few concentrated movements and the harness came free. I was out of the seat. Hand over hand, I righted myself, made my way to the window, and popped the seal. My lungs screamed, and I released a small amount of air, relieving the pressure. I pulled myself through the window, making sure I cleared the gigantic helmet. I pushed off the outside of the aircraft and kicked my way to the surface, streaming air from my nose.
At least this time it was only my life at stake and not hers.
I burst through the surface of the water, welcoming the rush of oxygen into my deprived lungs. I'd made it.
"Manoban! That was not the proper hand technique!" the instructor yelled.
I swam to the edge of the pool and hoisted myself up, sitting on the edge. "Well, sir," I answered as I unclasped my waterlogged helmet, "since we're sitting here having this conversation, I'm not dead, so I'd have to say the outcome was satisfactory despite me not using your approved hand technique."
I made it out alive, assface. Jackson sat farther down the pool ledge, shaking his head at me like we were on the ice and I'd landed in the penalty box again. What? I'd held my fucking temper.
"That kind of attitude can get you killed in a hard-water landing."
My mouth opened, ready to overrun my brain. "Right, and—"
"Lisa Manoban?" a captain called from poolside.
"Sir?"
The steel sheen to his eyes said this was anything but a friendly visit. "Major Davidson would like to see you in his office."
I nodded. "We're done here in thirty."
He shook his head. "Get dried off, you're done. He wants you now."
I waited, cover in my lap, outside Major Davidson's office. There was only one reason he'd call for me, a butter-bar lieutenant who'd been in class less than two weeks. He knew. He had to.
The asshole had a long reach. I ran through the possible outcomes in my head. What they'd ask for. What I'd agree to. The inevitable phone call that might keep the shit hole of my family life at bay.
I just wanted to fly. That's it. I couldn't remember wanting anything else. How could I? But one phone call from my father, and it would all end, or even worse—he'd taint it with his help. I'd gotten here on my own merit, lucky enough to do it with my best friend, and I wasn't letting him take this from me.
A cute sergeant gave me the eye as she walked by, but I couldn't muster much interest. One, I knew the fraternization policy and wasn't risking anything for a piece of tail. Two, I'd sworn off women in general. What was the point working my ass off to get here if I let myself get distracted?
Not going to happen. No woman was worth jeopardizing my dream for.
Well, maybe… Nope, not even that one.
Green eyes skipped across my memory. Where was she? I should have asked where she went to school. I should have asked her last name. Yeah, like you're anywhere near good enough for a girl like that.
I beat my father's voice out of my head. It didn't matter anyway. Jennie was long gone.
"Lieutenant Manoban?"
Here we go. "Major Davidson, sir." I stood, ready to face my fate.
"In my office, Lieutenant." He turned in to his office, leaving me to follow.
The room was sparse but orderly. He leafed through a file on his desk with one hand and motioned to the seat in front of his desk with the other. I took it. My uniform squeaked against the pleather of the military-issue chair as I shifted my weight.
He took a deep breath, and I held mine. "Anything you'd like to tell me about last night?"
Last night? "Sir?"
"You have one chance to come clean, Manoban. After that you'll be out on your ass. The CG doesn't tolerate liars any more than he does unexpected lawn ornaments."
Wait, this was all about the bear? My breath exhaled in sharp relief. "What exactly would you like to know, sir?"
He leaned back in his chair. "I'd like to know how a fifteen-foot-tall, fifteen-hundred-pound polar bear wound up on the CG's lawn."
"Fifteen hundred pounds? Huh. It didn't really feel that heavy." That thing was a behemoth.
The major's mouth dropped slightly before he caught himself. "So you admit to stealing Sergeant Ted E. Bear?"
Every muscle in my body contracted. Do not laugh. Don't do it. "That's really his name?" I kept a straight face. Booyah.
His jaw flexed. "That polar bear is part of Fort Rucker tradition, Lieutenant, something you show a fatal lack of respect for."
I kept my mouth shut. Sure, I liked to stir the pot, watch the shit fly. But when it was my career on the line? I knew when to play the good boy.
"Did you vandalize the bear?"
"Technically, he came to no harm. He's standing guard." With about twenty-three PT belts wrapped around him.
Major Davidson took a large breath. "Last chance."
Shit. I couldn't lie. There was no one else out there in the hallway; they already knew I'd done it. How? Wait… I was the only one out there. They don't know about Jackson and Taeyong.
"Yes. I relocated Sergeant Ted E. Bear from his post to the CG's lawn." Boom. Fell on the grenade. I just hoped it didn't blow my future to pieces.
"How?" The major's eyes were wide—surprised I'd told the truth? Yeah, it was a novel concept to me, too.
"With my truck."
"You expect me to believe that your truck hauled a fifteen-hundred-pound statue three and a half miles?"
"Three."
"I'm sorry?" He leaned forward in his chair.
"It's exactly three miles, not three and a half." They happened to take forever when hauling a fucking statue.
"Right. And you did this with your truck?"
"It's a very powerful engine, sir. You'd be amazed what a super winch and a trailer will do."
"Why?" His tone rose in blatant curiosity.
"Never could back down from a dare, sir. Gaping flaw and whatnot."
"A dare? You did this on a dare?"
A wry grin escaped. "Looks like it."
"And the PT belts?" He arched a sardonic eyebrow at me.
My thumb grazed the Manoban tag at the back of my cover. "Social commentary on the new uniform policy."
His lips twitched upward, but he stifled it before I could call it a grin. "On a dare. Right. And who helped you?"
There it was. My gaze didn't leave his. My jaw clenched once. Twice. There was no way in hell I was ratting them out. Not going to fucking happen. But I couldn't lie, either. "I didn't need any help."
He laughed. "Daughter, there's no way you did that alone. Name the others, and there's a slight chance you'll be able to stay in flight school."
And for thirty silver coins… "I alone strapped the bear to the winch. I alone towed that thing exactly three miles."
He smoothed his hands over the papers in my file. "And you alone lifted a fifteen-hundred-pound statue onto the lawn?"
Poker face. "I'm freakishly strong, sir."
"Daughter, I admire your loyalty to the others, but you need to start naming names, or it's going to get very bad, very quickly."
"Mine is the only name I'll be stating, and I have not spoken a single lie." I didn't. I hooked up the bear. I unhooked the bear. I drove the Defender. The others had nothing to do with those parts. My file slammed shut, smashing my dreams to smithereens.
"You have until end of duty day to change your mind."
Four years of ROTC, a private pilot's license, endless nights studying for the flight aptitude test, and I was about to get kicked out of flight school over a fucking polar bear. Sure, it had been stupid, but seriously. A statue?
The sun beat into my uniform as I sat outside HQ my last five minutes before reporting to Major Davidson. Fuck, I wanted those wings on my chest. I wanted to climb into an aircraft, fly into battle, defend something larger than myself. Now I'd be packing my shit before the weekend.
For the first time in my life, I'd felt like I could do it—break away and make something of myself. As usual, I'd gone and fucked it all up. It was my specialty, after all.
Time was up. I savored the walk to his office, breathing in the scent of possibility for what I feared would be the last time. I knocked on his door.
"Come in."
I hardened my resolve and opened the door. What the hell? The seats in the office were already occupied. Shit. No. "Wang? Lee?"
Jackson made a face that was half smile, half grimace. "Did you really think we'd let you take the fall for this?"
"No chance. You're not falling on the sword," Lee added. His knuckles were white where he gripped his cover.
"How did you know?"
Major Davidson answered. "Your friends came forward about an hour ago." He turned his back to us and stared out the window. "What am I going to do with you?"
We stayed silent while he deliberated. "You clearly disrespected and vandalized a cherished piece of Fort Rucker tradition, but you showed unwavering loyalty to fellow officers. On the other hand, they came forward of their own volition, showing remarkable integrity. What to do?"
A thousand smart-ass remarks raced through me, but I kept them all to myself. Now was definitely not the time to let my mouth loose.
His head cocked to the side. "You guys have any experience working with your hands?"
"Yes, sir. I grew up building boats," Lee answered.
"Yes, sir," Jackson echoed.
"Yes, sir," I added. If you counted the hours I'd put into the Defender, taping my hockey stick, or assembling my dorm room Ikea furniture, then sure, I had experience.
"Perfect. You'll be working off your insult."