"Mr. Stewart? You ready to go, sir?"
"You bet. Lead the way!"
The 96-year old man didn't need a walker, and only used a cane when he expected to have to walk enough to cause age-related aches and pains. This trip to Washington DC was one of those times, so he grabbed it, stood up, and made his way toward the waiting jet.
"Good morning," they heard a flight attendant say to a boarding passenger as they got closer to her.
"Welcome aboard," she told the next person.
"Have a pleasant flight," she said to a couple traveling together.
It was now their turn, and she smiled brightly at them, then said, "You must be Mr. Stewart. Thank you for your service to our country, sir."
"Oh, well, that was over 70 years ago, young lady," he told her as he showed her his boarding pass.
"Well, you look very good for a man in his 70s," she teased.
Mr. Stewart turned to his much-younger chaperone and said, "That one's a looker!"
The younger man smiled, showed his boarding pass, and got a 'thank you' from her, as well.
"I never served, but helping those who did is my way of giving back," he told her.
He hesitated then said, "Mr. Stewart's right, you know?"
Someone else filed by as she said, "What's that?"
"Mr. Stewart said you were 'a looker'. I agree," he said with a smile.
The woman smiled back and laughed politely before saying, "Have a nice flight."
James Kirk, or more precisely, James Tiberius Kirk, was 26 years old and had been named after the fictional captain of the Starship Enterprise in the original Star Trek series. His late father had been a Trekkie since he was a teenager, and while his wife was hesitant about naming their son after the William Shatner character, she gave in and agreed. She'd always loved the name James, and it was in the top-10 list for boys born that year, so he became James T. Kirk.
James had been asked about it so many times he'd lost track. He'd also heard every possible one-liner from 'beam me up, Scotty!' to 'he's dead, Jim', even though Doctor McCoy never said those exact words. He took it all in stride the way he did everything else in life.
Now in his final year of medical school, James was still never too busy to find ways to help out people in need. He often did whatever he could for single moms, the elderly, or veterans. He bought groceries for them, picked up their medications, hung ceiling fans, painted, and occasionally even cooked meals.
So when the chance to escort a WWII veteran to Washington DC came up, he jumped at the chance. Doing so was his honor and an outright pleasure.
Like most men of that era, Mr. Miles Stewart wasn't much of a talker. He was quiet and thoughtful, and when he felt the need to say something, he was direct without being intentionally blunt.
As a member of a B-17 Flying Fortress aircrew, Miles knew he shouldn't be there boarding the plane. He was on his 18th mission when his bomber was shot down. He was the only survivor and had lived through the ordeal with barely a scratch while the rest of crew had all burned to death.
Miles was the tail gunner, and when the plane hit the ground, the pilot was doing his best to land it in an open field with one engine barely working. It hit hard then skipped. The entire tail snapped off sending the young man flying through the air, then skidding to a halt with him still inside the turret, somewhere in the south of France.
When his section of the plane came sliding to a halt, he was literally facing the rest of the plane that was maybe a hundred yards in front of him. He saw it catch fire after flipping and rolling, and all he could do was look away and pray for some kind of miracle.
One came in the form of a young girl from a local village who found him a few minutes later before the Germans did. None came for the rest of the crew, but Miles had a second miracle after the war ended when he returned to France and married that pretty young girl.
She'd passed on nearly 15 years ago after giving him two sons, a daughter, and six grandchildren, and now a baker's dozen's worth of great-grandchildren.
For Miles Stewart every day he'd lived after that crash was a gift to be cherished. And this day was yet another in a very long line of them; one in which he'd be able to honor his fallen comrades at the World War II Memorial in the nation's capitol.
Miles had been in the Army Air Corps, so when he was told the Secretary of the Air Force, the Air Corps's successor since 1947, would be there to meet him, all he'd said was, "Well, that'll be fine, I suppose."
James found their places in the first-class section then offered Miles the window seat.
"Oh, okay. Well, sure. It might be nice to look out the window of a plane again," he said.
Miles Stewart had never flown since that fateful day in early 1945. He'd taken a cruise ship back to France to find that pretty young girl then the two of them floated their way back to America and taken the train from Washington DC to Seattle, Washington.
Had his oldest son not pushed him to go to this event, he'd have been happy to never fly again.
A different flight attendant walked up to them, smiled, and asked, "What can I get you gentlemen?"
Miles was looking out the window at the ground crew and hadn't heard.
"Mr. Stewart?" James said.
"What's that?"
"Would you like anything to drink?"
"Oh. Well, do they have any of that V8 juice? I really like the taste of it."
"Coming right up," she told him.
Then she looked at James and said, "How about you, gorgeous?"
James Kirk was used to being flirted with. He was one of those fortunate enough to born with all the features women loved in a man. His face was very symmetrical, he had a perfect smile, great hair, and thanks to regular workouts with resistance bands, a very toned body.
He'd lifted weights in high school and college, but medical school had been so demanding, he started looking for an alternative that didn't require travel time to and from a gym. Just the thought of using 'rubber bands' seemed downright 'girly' to him, but after trying a friend's just one time, he was hooked. He could do everything he'd done in the gym right at home and only needed one small box to hold everything required for a killer workout.
"Some orange juice, please?" he said with a smile.
"You got it," she told him.
When she came back, she handed Miles his salty, red drink, then set James's down on a napkin. She smiled again, tapped the corner of the napkin where her phone number was written, then said, "Call me—anytime."
That didn't happen very often, but it wasn't rare, by any means. James looked at it, then looked back up at her and said, "Sure," which was what he normally said when he had no intention of ever doing so.
By the time they'd finished their drinks, the plane was getting ready to be pushed back, and the same flight attendant stopped by and picked up their empty cups. James made sure she saw him keep the napkin which seemed much nicer than crumpling it up or handing it back to her.
She was an attractive woman, but he just wasn't interested. Hooking up had always been a breeze, and James had done more than his fair share of it over the years. In fact, he'd done so much of it, that it had recently lost its charm.
He still had another semester of medical school plus residency to finish, but the thought of settling down was finally beginning to appeal to him. Just not with this pretty, young flight attendant.
"Here we go," Miles said as the plane began to move.
"Are you excited, sir?" James asked him.
"Excited? No. Not really. I'd say the better word is 'melancholy'."
He didn't offer any explanation, and James didn't ask.
The flight attendant who'd greeted them was now asking for their attention as three other flight attendants stood in the aisles doing the safety demonstration. She was standing just in front of James, and he noticed her name tag said 'Kimber' on it. She was quite a bit older than the girl who'd served them, and yet he found her to be even more attractive. She had a kind of sophistication about her that James found interesting and appealing, and he also found himself staring at her without being aware he was.
At some point, Kimber glanced down at him and noticed. She held eye contact until he finally blinked before realizing he was being rude. He was grateful he'd been fixated on her pretty face rather than her ample breasts, which he could see quite well from just two feet away. Then again, he could see everything quite clearly including her very nice body and perfect...derriere.
James Kirk wasn't a 'butt guy', but Kimber's was unmistakably nice. Then again, everything about her seemed nice. Very nice, indeed.
He was trying to think of who she reminded him of, but it wouldn't come to him. Although her dark hair was up he could tell it was at least shoulder length. She also had a beautiful smile, and two very kissable lips, and that's when it hit him.
Kimber looked like a younger Anne Hathaway in a movie he'd watched back in 2008 called Passengers in which, ironically, she and the male lead had both died in a plane crash. The resemblance was strong, but it wasn't quite accurate as Kimber was, in his opinion, at least, even more attractive than the actress had been in the movie ten years ago.
After getting caught with his eyes in the cookie jar (to mix metaphors), he made sure not to do more than glance at her as she continued running through the script. James was wondering how many times she'd done that over the years as she rattled off one line after the other without a hitch.
His thoughts were interrupted when she lowered her left arm, and right in front of his nose was a very large diamond ring on her hand.
"How did I miss that?" James said to himself just as he heard Kimber say something that interrupted that thought.
"Ladies and gentlemen. We have a true hero on board our flight today. Sitting next to me on my left is Mr. Miles Stewart, a WWII veteran heading to Washington DC to meet the Secretary of the Air Force. So please show your appreciation to this man who made it possible for all of us to live in freedom."
The plane virtually exploded in the loudest applause James could ever remember as he enthusiastically joined in.
"Is that for me?" Miles asked as he tried to turn his brittle body around.
"Yes, sir. And well deserved," James told him.
He raised a hand in the air that was nearly purple, the skin so thin it almost looked like wax paper.
