Page 39 of Confessions of an Apache Pilot

“Mail’s in,” Artie announced, carrying a few packages and letters into the room. “Got a letter for you, Shep.” He set the packages down on an empty cot and handed Mark the letter. He passed a box over to Brady and sat down with the last one, opening it, excitement stamped all over his features. Nothing was better than getting mail from home. It always made our day to hear from family and to get a small taste of what we’d left behind when we’d deployed.

“How the hell did you get your mail sent to Pamir?” I asked, my annoyance temporarily forgotten. I was disappointed that I had to wait until returning to MES to get my own.

Artie paused opening his box and smiled a childishly evil grin. “I bribe Arial every time I swing through Bagram.” He held up a bag of cookies as proof. “She loves Mom's cookies. I always set some aside for her. So every time I have to drop by a place like Pamir, she re-routes our mail.”

I gaped at his cunning. Artie must have taken pity on me because he handed me a cookie. He pulled it back when I reached for it. “Still mad?”

I narrowed my eyes, but smiled slyly, “Depends on the cookie.”

He smiled wide and handed it over. “Then all’s forgiven as soon as you take a bite.”

“You’re pretty sure of yourself there.” I took the cookie from him. My eyes closed in bliss as I took a bite of the cookie. The sugar and chocolate melted on my tongue. No wonder Arial did them favors, these cookies were to die for. And he was right, all was forgiven.

He smiled, “You should know by now, stick close to us and you’ll learn all the tricks.”

I took another bite of the cookie and silently savored the taste. “Oh my God, these are amazing.”

“Yup. Same cookies she’s been making me since I was a kid.” Reaching back into the box he pulled out a package of fruit snacks and juice boxes. He grinned again. “Yeah, Mom has no idea that I’m a grown man.”

I sat down and imagined a five-year-old Artie holding a juice box and setting a field on fire just for fun. So much was making sense now. I sat back and watched Mark studying the letter he had been given.

“Huh,” he said, turning the letter over in his hand before tearing it open. “Hey Brady, it’s from Hush.”

“Get the fuck out! He wrote you a letter? Which letter? Marines can’t write, must be one of the first ones in the alphabet.” He jumped off his cot and ran to Mark’s side. “Bet it’s in crayon.” The others hooted in laughter at his teasing.

“No letter, big surprise. No note, just two patches. Must be one for each of us.” He handed one to Brady. They both turned them over and examined them. Brady picked up his flight vest and put the patch on the shoulder.

“Can I see?” I asked, holding out my hand. As much as I wanted to be mad, I was more curious about his and Brady's excitement. I would have time to be mad later, I decided. Right now, more than anything, I wanted to be in the moment with Mark. He handed his over, our fingers brushing as I took it. My eyes darted up to his and my cheeks heated at the look on his face. He was watching me with that predatory look. The one he’d had when he claimed, in no uncertain terms, that I belonged to him. It was thrilling, but I wasn’t going to talk about it here, in front of everyone.

I studied the object in my hand. It was a velcro patch, same as all our unit patches that we stick to our vests and helmets. This one was a Viking’s head, complete with horned helmet and long, braided beard. “That’s it? No letter? What gives?”

Brady answered me. “Not surprising. The man never said anything that didn’t need saying, at least not to us. He only really ever talked to his wife. Apparently when she was around him he never shut up. Took a lot of work to get a conversation out of him.”

“You said he was a Marine, how do you two know him?”

This time Mark chimed in. “He’s an old Gunnery Sergeant. He saved our asses years ago in our first deployment.” Mark and Brady wore matching grins as they remembered back to whatever had happened.

I handed the patch back and sat down, I could see the look in Mark’s eyes meant that a story was coming. He attached his patch onto the back of his helmet and scooted to the edge of the cot. For a moment, I was about to get up and sit next to him. The urge was so strong I had to fight it off. His body was just so damned inviting. I wondered how it’d feel to just cuddle up on his lap and lean my head on his chest.

“We were working with his team out in Fallujah, in Iraq. Brady and I had barely made Pilot in Command. Brady was my wingman then, just like now. We had spent a few weeks giving them air support, flying overhead of their patrols.”

“So, you guys were close then?”

“Not yet, we only knew him as the meat wagon in the back of the briefings,” Brady said with a smile.

I looked at him, then back to Mark. “Meat wagon?”

Sheppard answered with a laugh. “Yeah, that about sums it up. He was a monster, six two or six three, and a solid wall of muscle. He almost never spoke in the briefings, just nodded. Come to find out later, the man didn’t speak to you until he decided he respected you. Anyway, one evening we were on a patrol with them, supposed to be a sunset patrol. Our aircraft decided that patrol was the perfect time for the number two engine to catch fire.”

My mouth dropped. “Holy shit! Were you guys shot?”

Brady answered, “Nope, just good old Boeing manufacturing trying to kill more pilots. In this war, Boeing’s shitty engineering has killed more pilots than the Taliban.”

Mark continued “Anyway, it caught fire, and the flames were rolling up the engine cowling and making their way toward the tail. I dropped out of the sky like a rock and made for the nearest field, which happened to be right outside the city walls. Not exactly the best place to be.”

Brady chimed in again. “So, I let out the Fallen Angel call over the radio. You know, every pilot's worst nightmare, the call that says a pilot has crashed in enemy territory? I was working on getting the location out, when I saw down on the ground this Humvee make a right turn off the main street and go hauling ass toward Shep’s aircraft. He must have seen the flames in the air and headed that way. Crazy fucker drove straight through a brick wall.” Both men laughed while shaking their heads. “The Humvee must not have been able to handle it because the door flung open and sure as shit, this giant steps out and starts running straight to the crash site.”

I tried to respond, but all I could do was lean in closer. I needed to hear more.

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