Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(91)

With her new perspective of last night’s very pleasant memory, that still raised her pulse each time she thought about it, some of the older memories were painting a picture she’d never seen.

So, she sat and remembered and keyed down her family status: none—mother deceased and dad bailed when she was six. Medical status: BK—below the knee transtibial amputation. Procedure: amputation by five tons of crashing helicopter. The medics, who had survived the crash mostly intact, had patched her up before she bled out, but it had been a close thing. The hard rattle of gunfire back and forth as Dusty and Hi-Gear guarded their position was a constant backdrop until one of the big DAP Black Hawks had come over and laid down some serious fire from above. Chief Warrant LaRue had really torn up the landscape to protect the downed CSAR craft.

Lois had learned to roll through these flashbacks, offering little outward sign other than a shake of her head to clear it off. Just part of the “new life.”

Clara, the one-armed AW2 Advocate, met her for lunch. No, she’d snuck up beside the PEB computer station number B-24 and launched a tactical strike.

Lois could see the woman’s determination, so she rolled with it. But that didn’t mean she was above complaining over a BLT.

“I’m getting pretty sick of the ‘new life.’” Lois snagged a potato chip from the bag on her tray. “Where can I put in a requisition for the old one back? Never mind, I know it’s not going to happen, but I don’t want the new life.”

“If you proceed with medical retirement, what are your plans?”

“Well, I sure don’t have the patience you’re showing in dealing with a jerk like me.”

“Then what are your plans?” Clara was tenacious.

That’s why she hated talking to the advocate. If Lois couldn’t fly, she didn’t have a clue.

? ? ?

“Hey, Superboy.” Lois had tracked Kendall down in neutral territory. It hadn’t been hard. He was usually at the hangars or the simulators, and the simulator building was close enough that she could trust herself to walk there despite the long day at PEB.

“Hey, woman of steel. Give me a minute. Got one more run to do.”

She considered going up to the controller’s console and sitting in the observer’s seat, but that felt a little presumptuous, so she found a plastic chair, sat, and propped her cane between her knees.

This glaring white room and its ugly fluorescent lighting was as close to a second home as she had. First was the hangars and sitting in a Black Hawk, but she’d also spent a lot of time in here with the flight simulators. It was a lot cheaper to crash a simulator than a twenty-million-dollar helicopter. They’d cleaned up the remains of her chopper with a set of destruct charges that left behind nothing bigger than a notepad. Thankfully, she’d been under the drugs by then and hadn’t seen her bird go up in a roar of C4 and flames.

The simulator building itself was unremarkable. Outside was standard Fort Lewis white with a steel roof. Inside was white-painted concrete. It was the three tall stations that were the whole point. Looking as strange and clunky as two-legged Star Wars Imperial scout walkers, the simulators were boxy affairs atop spindly hydraulic pistons a dozen feet high. They allowed the simulator’s cockpit to pitch, roll, yaw, and buck hard unexpectedly, just like a real chopper.

Little Bird, Black Hawk, and Chinook—the three choppers of SOAR turned into the three best video games on the planet. She pretended for a moment that everything was normal, and she just sat in the hard plastic chair by the Black Hawk simulator waiting her turn. She tried to recall the casual boredom she must have felt the last time she had sat here, but couldn’t find it.

Training was a constant in SOAR. Thousands of hours in flight and thousands more in the trainer. Old Master Sergeant Jake Hamlin had a vicious bent, like he had it in for all SOAR pilots. She used to wonder if he especially had it in for her: flameouts, engine fires, hydraulic failures. All in the midst of a turbulent thunderstorm that had replaced the sunny day on her windscreen just moments before.

Now, all she felt was a loss as some chief warrant she didn’t know clambered up into the “box.” She should just leave. She really should. But she was tired, her leg—her real one—hurt from being on it all day, and she really did want some words with Kendall. So, she just sat and waited, occasionally looking up when the simulator gave a particularly violent wheeze of hydraulic pistons and a hard lurch. Not a comfortable ride. She closed her eyes and settled in to wait.

“You’re up, missy.”

“I wish.” Lois smiled even before she opened her eyes to see Jake now standing in front of her. He was as big as Kendall. Despite a couple more decades, he was still Army strong, though his hair was now a gray crew cut.

“You’re in my chairs, then you’re up next. Move your behind, Captain. Your trainer says he’s waiting for you.”

More amused than anything else, she climbed up the steep metal stairs to the simulator’s entry level. She could feel Jake close behind her and see that he was carefully gripping the rails on either side. If she stumbled, he’d be braced to catch her. She’d worn slacks today but left the armature exposed. If he had any thoughts about her new foot, he kept them to himself. She made it to the top clean and offered him a nod of thanks.

Kendall was strapped in left-side copilot. She climbed in as right-side pilot, glad she had gone back to pants. Lois braced for nostalgia, sadness, tears… It had been a long six months since she’d been aboard a Hawk, even a simulated one. Instead, it just felt right. This is where she belonged. Through her thin civilian clothes rather than the normal flightsuit, the seat felt closer, more real, more personal against her body. Not even really thinking about it, she buckled on the harness that lay heavy against her skin through the cotton blouse.