Page 32 of A Miracle for the Reserved Flyboy

Reaper’s gaze darkened, a flicker of warning in his expression. “There are secrets in places like these, Casanova. The walls have ears, and not everything is as it seems. Be careful who you trust.”

Gary felt a shiver run down his spine. “Should I be worried?”

“Just keep your head low and stay focused. And remember, sometimes, the most dangerous secrets are the ones in plain sight.” Reaper clapped him on the shoulder, the weight of his words sinking in. “Good luck, Gary. Maybe one day, we’ll have a barbecue together. Somewhere safe. Somewhere real.”

Gary nodded, his heart heavy with a newfound resolve as he watched Reaper disappear into the crowd, leaving him alone with his thoughts once again.

The van marked “U.S.A.F.” was waiting just outside the terminal, a stark reminder of the duty he’d sworn to uphold. As he climbed into the back, the driver barely glanced at him, the tension in the air palpable.

“Congratulations on the promotion,” Gary ventured, trying to break the silence.

The driver’s eyes flickered in acknowledgment, though the expression remained stern and emotionless. “Thank you. But don’t get used to this chauffeur treatment. It’s not going to be a regular thing. I had a few things to discuss with our departing leader.”

Gary stifled a smile, settling into his seat and clutching his rucksack, feeling the weight of the journey ahead of him. “I won’t.”

They rode in silence, the air thick with unspoken tension as they sped through the dusty streets, each second bringing him closer to base—and one step further from Krista. He clung to the thought of her, the vision of a future just out of reach, and promised himself that one day, he’d make it back to her, to Sweet Bloom, to the life waiting for him on the other side of duty.

“Congratulations on your new rank, major.”

“Thank you.”

Gary squinted against the afternoon sun as he listened to the familiar hum of jets screaming across the sky, leaving white contrails that seemed to burn through the bright blue above them as they left the airport in Kabul far behind them. He could almost feel the adrenaline thrumming in his veins just watching them. But then he caught sight of his friend—standing with a rigid posture, fists clenched, brow furrowed deep enough to cast shadows across his face. The sight made Gary pause.

“You don’t sound happy.” He kept his voice steady and neutral, a fishing line cast out to see if he could reel out whatever was storming beneath his friend’s stoic exterior.

The man turned, his jaw clenching. “I’m not,” he said tersely, eyes darkening as they stared unseeingly at the runway ahead.

Gary tilted his head, studying him. “You aren’t happy about making rank?”

The silence that stretched between them was almost tactile, thick and tense. A few seconds passed, filled with nothing but the distant roar of engines and the low murmur of ground crew checking their planes. Then he let out a bitter, hollow chuckle, the sound devoid of any real humor.

“Would you be happy if everyone else popped one or two ranks – and you barely jumped?” Cavalier asked, his voice lined with bitterness that he was struggling to suppress. “Plus,” he hesitated, as though the next words carried a weight that made them difficult to speak. “My wingman, Piranha, got the position I was fighting for.” His shoulders slumped for a moment, the flash of vulnerability surfacing before he quickly pulled himself back to that mask of composure. There was a bitterness in Cavalier’s voice that couldn’t be missed.

Gary took in a sharp breath, realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. He understood in an instant what his friend was implying, the deeper implications of it all.

Captain Stephanie ‘Piranha’ Ely had stepped into the role Cavalier had been striving for, someone who would now be commanding the squadron—a position he’d been so close to, a position he’d poured his heart and soul into achieving. Now, his friend would be answering to someone he knew, maybe even respected, but who’d beat him to the finish line.

“Did they shuffle the units?” Gary asked, keeping his voice low, the words carrying a weight of genuine concern.

The pilot’s expression darkened further, lips pressing into a tight, grim line. “It’s happening on Monday,” he answered, his voice a low, frustrated rumble. His eyes were shadowed, a look of frustration and disappointment etched deep into his expression. “New units, new wingman, new rules… all to go with a new boss that’s got an ax to grind and a lot to prove to Colonel Bradford.”

Gary's stomach twisted as he absorbed the reality of it all. He’d seen what this kind of situation could do to a man’s spirit—to have poured everything into something, only to have it yanked out from under him at the last minute. He watched as his friend’s hand flexed, the frustration visible in the strained movement, like he was fighting the urge to punch something just to release the tension coiled within him.

There was a rawness in his friend’s eyes that Gary had rarely seen—a kind of hurt buried beneath the layers of stoicism and professionalism. This wasn’t just about a promotion. It was about respect, about validation, about feeling like the years he’d given, the blood, sweat, and sacrifices, had all led somewhere. To have that stripped away, to watch someone else receive what he’d been working for, was like watching a dream crumble in his hands.

“Guess this is just how it goes,” his friend muttered, his voice barely a whisper, almost as if he were speaking to himself more than Gary. “Work hard, keep your head down, do everything they ask, only to watch them hand the reward to someone else… a girl, too.”

“Hey,” Gary interjected softly, stepping closer, catching his friend’s eye. “I get it. I know what this meant to you.”

His friend looked down, and for a fleeting moment, there was a glimmer of something raw and unguarded, before he blinked it away, returning his gaze to the runway, his face hardening. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to gather the words, only for his voice to catch in his throat, the frustration still simmering there, so close to the surface.

“Yeah… well,” he finally managed, his voice hoarse, almost broken. “Doesn’t change anything now, does it? The decision’s been made. I’ve just gotta live with it, adjust, follow orders.”

Gary saw through the resignation, though; it was the bitterness of a man who knew he’d done everything right but had still been passed over. “You’ll handle it. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

His friend’s laugh was sharp, humorless. “Easy to say when you’re not the one walking into a squadron that’s been completely turned on its head. New guys, new rules, and new boss, with no love lost for the way things were done before.” He let out a shuddering sigh, his shoulders rising and falling. “But you know… maybe this is just the universe’s way of saying I need to learn to live with what I’ve got…. or find a new place to call home.”

There was a raw, restless energy about him, like a caged animal pacing, struggling with the weight of what he’d just lost. Gary wanted to say something—anything—that would ease the sting, the frustration radiating off him in waves. But he knew his friend wouldn’t hear it. Not now. Not with the wound so fresh, the sense of disappointment so sharp and cutting.

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