Sonny was going to go diving, but the weather was looking like that wasn’t going to happen, and then the work piled on heavy and he forgot. Maybe, if he had time before his shift tomorrow, he’d drive down to Capehart Pool and swim laps.
It was never too hot on Guam for some reason.
Sonny thought it had to do with the airflow of the Pacific. He wasn’t a meteorologist – he was a mechanic. It didn’t make much of a difference in the overall scheme of things. A contingent of marines had just finished doing survival training on the base.
People never stayed too long on Anderson.
The 13th Air Force had left to Hickam in Hawaii. All together they had six B-2 Spirits on loan, a few dozen B1B Lancers, and B-52 Stratosphere’s just sitting around, waiting to be decommissioned. The humidity wreaked havoc on machinery. He was always busy. He was looking forward to being employed to Alaska for a change of scenery.
It wasn’t humid in Alaska.
North Korea had sent a missile into the Sea of Japan, and that had caused some interest, but other than that the region was stable. He kind of wished it was the seventies and he was part of project Arc Light or Operation Linebacker II, bombing the hell out of Vietnam and Cambodia for Henry Kissinger and Richard Nixon. The base had a memorial he often walked by.
He wondered if he’d ever be part of anything big enough to have a memorial. He wanted to have some good stories to tell his grand children, should he ever have any.
Senior Airman Jordon Roberts was crouched under Martha Stewart’s belly inspecting the landing gear. He seemed to be the only one around, which made the hanger seem all the emptier.
“Roberts,” said Sonny, his mood slightly improving as he looked at Martha. He was proud of the work his men did. She was as clean as a whistle.
“Where the hell is everyone? I thought Kelly was on duty.”
“Oh hey, Sonny. Well, Thompson started shit this morning, talking to Collins about how good he was at basketball, you know, typical Thompson, right? And they started arguing – you know what Thompson is like, all talk, right? So, Collins bet him a hundred bucks he couldn’t beat her team five-on-five, and Thompson said his team would kick her team’s ass. They almost started fighting in Martha Stewart. The Sarge told them to settle it. They went over to the rec centre.”
“Jesus, what are we, in the fucking Army?”
“That’s what I said, Sonny. What are we, in the fucking Army?” “Did they all place bets?” Sonny enjoyed a good bet. “I believe so,” said Roberts. He looked tired.
“How’s the old bird?” “She’s clean, but might as well be scrap metal, Sonny.”
“No, not Martha. You’re going to a museum, aren’t you, Martha?” He rubbed her fuselage. He’d miss her.
“Roberts, you know, it’s my fortieth today,” Sonny said, very matter of factly. He figured he’d better get this out now, before it came out later.
“No shit?” said Roberts, “Happy Birthday.”
“Thanks, Roberts,” said Sonny. He felt a bit better.
Maybe it was going to be a good day after all.