1
BRANDI
I ran as if my life depended on it.
My legs burned and my heart pumped acid as I pounded along the ground. My form was falling apart but I didn't care; I just needed to get another hundred feet and then it would be over. My chest ached with inadequate oxygen, screaming at me to stop.
But I pumped my arms, and kept my eyes straight ahead, and tried not to focus on anything else.
"Time," the speaker from my Garmin watch chirped. "One hour, thirty-four minutes, nineteen seconds. Distance: thirteen point one miles..."
I pulled up and allowed myself to slow down, then put my hands on my hips because if I tried to do anything else I'd probably bend over and retch all over the path. I'd missed my personal record by 15 seconds. Goddamnit.
Still, my body felt wonderful, and it was a gorgeous morning in the Idaho foothills. The Sawtooth mountain range stabbed at the blue sky to the right, with snow still spotted along the surface even though it was April. The breeze that rolled out of the west stirred the tufts of hair that had come loose from my ponytail, and the rising sun warmed my arm and neck.
I walked the mile back to Mountain Home Air Force Base to cool down, waving at the sentry in the guard tower. He stuck his head out.
"How'd you do, sir?"
"Hour and thirty-four," I said, shaking my head.
"Aww. Just missed thirty-three?"
"By nineteen seconds.
"You'll get it next time, sir."
"I'm not letting it bother me," I called. "It's gunna be a good day!"
"Yes, sir!"
A cluster of Airmen jogged along the fence to my left. Most pilots weren't allowed to exit the base except when on leave, meaning they had to run around the perimeter of the fence for several boring laps. Being a Lieutenant Colonel had its perks in that regard; running along the trails next to the Snake River was one of the few luxuries in which I indulged. I hurried along so the men and women coming my way wouldn't have to stop their morning workout to salute.
In the old days, when I was an active pilot, I'd needed to wake up early to get my morning run in before shift duty. It was either that or do it late at night, but by then I was usually too exhausted, and doing it in the morning helped me feel fresh for the day. But as the Support Group Commander, which was essentially the deputy to Air Base Wing Commander Jonathan Elliot, I didn't have such restrictions anymore. I could make my own schedule. Force others to bend their days around my will.
But there was something about getting out there early, watching the sun rise over the mountains and sucking in the cool morning air before anyone else.
The officer's housing was next to the base golf course: neat little houses all in a row with exactly two trees in the front yard on either side of the sidewalk. I strode into my house, gulped down a glass of ice water in the kitchen, and then brewed a cup of coffee.
Not waiting for it to cool, I carried it into the bathroom and began my morning routine, every item of which held exaggerated importance today.
Shower. Conditioner, shampoo, soap. Shaving my legs, just because.
Ten minutes drying my hair while reviewing the resumes I'd taped to the mirror. Then pulling my hair up into a bun that would fit underneath my uniform side cap.
Drinking the rest of my coffee before I got dressed, to ensure I didn't spill any.
Putting on underwear, then the dress shirt that would go underneath my uniform.
And finally, peeling away the dry-cleaning plastic from my outer uniform in the closet. I took a moment to admire it the way I always did, a conscious appreciation of the two decades of work needed to get here, before pinning my LC insignia to the shoulders. Sometimes I felt like I didn't deserve the silver oak leaves, that it should be a Captain's bars instead, but today they filled me with pride.
Base Commander Elliot was on leave, which meant Mountain Home Air Force Base was mine.
And more importantly, it meant I had actual work to do.
As I strode back out into the morning sunlight with a stack of folders under one arm, I thought about the officer interviews I'd be conducting. Usually being the Support Group Commander might as well have been called "Queen of Paperwork," on account of that's all Elliot ever gave me: paperwork he didn't want to do himself. And although I could have delegated it to my own XO, I didn't have much else to do.
But today? I'd be interviewing officers who were applying for transfers to the 366th Fighter Wing.
I'd spent the entire week reviewing each candidate's profile. Memorizing names and nicknames, family members and hobbies. Every assignment they'd been given throughout their careers, every tour in every country, and even each negative mark on their record. I felt like an actor who'd memorized an entire script and could recite it on command.
Opinions had formed in my mind, although I hadn't yet met any of the candidates in person. Kara Gutierrez had a flawless record, but was lacking in combat experience. David Schultz was the opposite: a sloppy attitude in his early years, but an exemplary record flying combat missions out of Qatar in Operation Iraqi Freedom. But I suspected he wouldn't adjust well to returning state-side and flying routine Air Superiority patrols over the Pacific Northwest.
I brushed it off with military discipline. Now was not the time to imagine who these candidates were. Because I'd be meeting them and finding out for myself for the next two days.
I kept my steps steady as I approached the command building, returned the salute of the guard stationed at the door, and strode inside like I owned the place.
My office was at the back of the building next to Commander Elliot's. I gave my Executive Officer a polite smile, hoping that my giddiness didn't show on my face.
"Good morning, sir," he began.
"When the first candidate arrives, you may send them in right away," I said. "I don't want to be the type of person who makes someone wait just to appear important." That's what the leaves on my shoulder were for.
"Yes sir, but--"
"Gutierrez isn't scheduled until the afternoon, but I'm going to dine with her afterwards." I strode into my office, which was spartan with a single desk, two chairs, and a wall of filing cabinets. "So we may need to delay the start of her interview for that. Perhaps a base tour first?"
"Sir," my XO stepped into the doorway, arms held behind his back. His face was a mask. "The interviews have been canceled."
I froze with my hand on the first of the four folders.
"What?"
"I only just found out myself, sir, when I arrived in the office and checked their flight itinerary. Base Commander Elliot canceled the meetings three days ago, but didn't send word until last night."
"That doesn't make any sense," I said. "I assumed he scheduled the interviews while he was on vacation because he didn't want to do them himself."
My XO gave an apologetic grimace. "I thought so too, sir."
I tried to keep the disappointment out of my body, but I knew all it made me look was stiff. "Thank you, Johnson."
"I'm sorry, sir," he said, returning to his desk outside my office.
I lowered myself into my chair and let out a long, shuddering exhale. My disappointment was a palpable thing; it felt like I'd been stood up for a date. It felt like a mule had kicked me in the chest. It felt like a lot of things.
I looked around my empty desk, wondering what to do with myself.
When I'd joined the Air Force, all I'd wanted to do was fly planes. It had been all I'd wanted to do since I was a toddler and my grandpa showed me a model of the P-51 Mustang he'd flown in Japan. While other girls played with Barbie dolls, I built model airplanes with the boys, and attached cardboard wings to my bike to pretend like I was flying down the steepest hill in town.
And when I'd finally made it through basic, and got to fly my own plane... oh man.
My specialty was the A-10 Warthog. It was like flying a big beautiful garbage truck; that thing could take a thousand bullets and lose one of its engines and somehow still stay in the air. And although I'd missed seeing action in Desert Storm by a few months, I didn't care so long as I got to fly.
I was good at what I did, and I followed orders, the latter of which was most important in this line of business. The promotions came steadily, and with them I flew less and less, until eventually the only thing I rode was the chair behind a desk.
And it happened so gradually that I didn't realize it until it was too late.
There was a satisfaction in doing administrative work. But it wasn't what I wanted. And I'd slowly been realizing that over the past two years.
I looked out my window. I loved Idaho. It was a gorgeous place to fly, with the jagged mountains in every direction and the bluest sky in the country. But holy hell was I bored out of my mind. Base operations were the dullest thing imaginable. An Airman's shift changed by 5 minutes? Paperwork. Supply delivery? Paperwork. New benefits information? Paperwork and paperwork and paperwork, with a follow-up of paperwork for good measure.
I still got to fly occasionally, but it was an officer's luxury that I had to request, which upended all the existing schedules, and I felt guilty for doing it. Sometimes I daydreamed about turning insubordinate and getting myself demoted. It was rare, but not impossible.
But of course I couldn't do that. It wasn't who I was.
Lieutenant Commander Brandi Forbes was born to follow rules. It was why the military had been such a perfect fit for me. Hell, I even avoided admiring the chiseled men who were always marching around the base in uniforms that fit perfectly, unlike the other women on base who occasionally allowed their gazes to drift. And not just because it was improper for someone of my rank. Women had dealt with that shit for so long that I refused to take part now that I was in a position of authority.
Which, if I'm being perfectly honest, wasn't always easy. Airmen were hot.
I looked at the photos on my desk. My parents, my brother Jason. I hadn't dated anyone in close to fifteen years, and even that relationship hadn't lasted long once I was transferred. It wasn't easy finding a date when you ranked higher than all the men around you. And I wasn't the kind of woman to go bar trolling up in Boise. Too impersonal.
So I sat at my desk, and stared at the empty chair across from me, and wished I wasn't so lonely.
I'd already completed all the minor work I needed to do in preparation for my meetings today, so I had to find busy-work to fill the time. Double-checking tasks my XO had already completed, and reviewing inventory items two weeks early.
And then I was browsing the internet, and feeling guilty and pathetic for not doing something more meaningful.
Other items came up in the afternoon to keep me busy; with Commander Elliot gone, there were some requests that needed to be rubber-stamped. But they were minor, and didn't last long, and I spent most of the day staring at the clock and waiting for the appropriate time to leave without looking lazy.
I ate in the officer's cantina alone, doing my best not to feel sorry for myself. Tomorrow would be much the same. It felt like Christmas had been canceled.
Now would have been a good time to take up a drinking habit, I thought as I walked back home in the cool night air. But that definitely wasn't who I was, nor who I wanted to be.
I watched some Netflix for two hours, then crawled into my bed with my book: an old copy of Ender's Game. I'd read it a hundred times as a little girl, but it gave me comfort. It made me feel like that little girl again, who just wanted to invade the sky.
But that girl was long gone, and there was only me.
I had no idea my life was going to change that night.