At 25,000 feet my mind drifts back to the last six months. My deployment to Operation Baltic Hammer is over. 147 combat missions and I'm still alive. My plane and body are still in one peace and I'm coming home. I scan the inside of my cockpit as I have done a million times before. The heads up display tells me I am on course at 25,000 feet and the final waypoint marches to the center. I scan outside of my plane. Yup. Razor is right where he should be. A steady 36 inches and to the right of my wing tip. Razor. What a character. He will be off to Nellis in a few weeks to begin the flight phase of selection to the Thunderbird team. When he found out he had been selected for trials, he started hanging his helmet upside down in the classic number five opposing solo position. He swears he is going to make it onto the team. Ah youth. Hell, he is only twenty-seven. Not much younger than I am.
The sunlight shines through my canopy in a bright glow. It is good to see the sunlight after six months of clouds and rain. The mountains of Arizona are barren compared to the mountains in the Baltic States. I'm almost home now. "Strike Eagle Lead, this is Luke tower. We have you on radar showing 25,000, heading 112 degrees, range 45 nautical miles. Air traffic is commercial at 31, 050, heading 270 degrees, range 22 nautical miles. You are cleared into military air space and is free of other traffic. Winds are 2 miles per hour south by southwest. Visibility 75 miles, ceiling is unlimited. Cleared for landing, runway two one north, over. Roger Luke tower, this is Strike Eagle Lead. Thank you and requesting missing man formation flyby for squadron. "Roger, Strike Eagle Lead. Permission granted. Luke tower out."
The squadron forms up on my wings. I look out my canopy and see Razor looking at me. I know what he is thinking. The same thing we all are. The missing man formation is for Spade. Shot down in the Balkans. His body was never recovered. Spade was Razors roommate in the academy and flight school. He was also Razors best man when he and Samantha got married.
We see the base up ahead as we drop our altitude to three hundred feet. Lined up on the runway. Air speed 180 knots. I can see the people on the ramp. Ten miles and closing. Five miles. One mile. Center ramp and Digger pulls hard on the stick as the crowd passes under us. We all separate now heading back to the south end of the runway. Razor kicks it up to the afterburners and rolls inverted as a signal to Samantha that they are going to Nellis. Eight ball is next in the flyby. It looks like he is going to drop out of the sky he is moving so slow. The nose is up forty-five degrees and the speed breaks are out. I Kick the afterburners and am greeted by the slam into the ejection seat. The crowd passes in a blur and I kick the rudder hard left. Grunting hard now. 9 G's now. G-suit is tightening around me. One turn, level and pull hard on the stick and kick the rudder. Strait up and roll. Watch the altimeter. 25,000. 30,000. Roll it over. Level out. Head back to the end and land this thing now. Wheels down. Steady on the nose gear. Down.
I roll to the ramp and raise the canopy. The crew chief directs me to park. Slow on the breaks. "Strike Eagle, welcome home sir. Luke tower out." I smile. I power down and remove my gloves and helmet. The ladder is up and the crew chief helps to unbuckle me from the ejection seat. He climbs down and I follow. American soil. I haven't felt it under my boots in six months. I look around as the families' race to the planes to hold their loved ones. I turn to look at my plane and touch her skin. She has been faithful to me. She carried me into battle and brought me home. The crew chief extends his hand and says, "Welcome home sir. It's good to see you and my bird." It's good to be home Tom. I shake his hand and hand him the logbook from my flight bag. The air is hot and humid and the smell of jet exhaust is strong.
I smell a light perfume and hands coming over my shoulders to my chest. Distantly familiar hands that race to the front of my memory. I turn to see a tearful, smiling face. I take you in my arms and hold you close. These arms kept me going for so long. The memory of your touch. Our lips meet in a kiss that tells on each other. We have been apart for too long. The kiss is mixed with different emotions. I miss you. I need you. I was worried. I am happy. I am relieved. I want and desire you. Our kiss ends and I step back to drink you in. You turn like a runway model. Your dress covers your body and hugs your every curve. I am amazed at the sight before me and smile at you. I take your hand and walk towards the waiting bus to take us back to the squadron.
The wives have decorated the squadron with welcome home banners and balloons. The cold air conditioning is refreshing as I walk through the doors. The smell of real food is strong in the air. A caterer has come in to feed us. We all mix and mingle with the other wives and pilots. I leave you to change clothes. In the locker room, I sit and think about the last six months. A flood of emotion hits me. Razors locker and Spades are next to me. A yellow ribbon on Spades locker tells it all. I open the door and see the pictures taped to the inside of the door. Not. Much left inside the small locker. He had most of his stuff with him. I see the pictures from Razors wedding. The tears flow as the memories flood my mind. I see the fireball as the SAM missile hits his plane. It was a strange mix of colors. The brilliant green mountains, the dark, gray, overcast sky, the red and yellow fireball and the black smoke. I never saw a parachute. I can hear the sound of his voice as he raced to dodge the incoming missile in my ears. I remember the gut wrenching feeling I had when I saw the missile hit. It was instantaneous, but he was scared. He knew the missile had him. I can't imagine what went through his mind with the missile tone getting louder in his ears. I shut the door and sit down.
