Chapter 2

Lieutenant Bois d'Arc – Max – had said "tonight," but it wasn't, in fact, much past noon. We had plenty of time. She wasn't scheduled to fly the next day, and I didn't go on duty again till Monday, so that gave us time to slowly drink our second drinks, and talk, and eat.

As it happened, we mostly talked and ate. Our beers grew flat, and we eventually had the waitress take them away and bring us soft drinks – Dr Pepper for her, Mountain Dew for me. "You don't drink much, do you?" she asked at that point.

"No, not much."

"I didn't think so. You treated your beer like it was something unusual."

"Beer isn't unusual," I said, "but a second one is. You don't seem to be a fan of beer either."

She laughed. "I am the only one in my squadron who doesn't go out and get drunk on occasion."

"I've never been drunk," I said, "and I don't want to try it."

"I don't either. I never saw anyone drunk till I became a pilot, and what I've seen of it is disgusting. How can anyone want to be sloppy, stupid, foolish, all that kind of thing? I get my high out of flying. I don't need alcohol to do it for me."

"I don't know why people do it, but they do. I have better things to do with my time, and my mind, and my body."

"Me too. In fact, I'll be doing one of those things tomorrow. I talked to my CO and he's letting me show up late."

"Why's that?"

"Because I'm a good pilot, and I do my job and just a little bit more."

"No, no," I said. "Why did you ask him?"

She lifted her soda and looked at me over the glass. "Because I haven't had more than two or three chances to go to church since I got here last month, and I wanted another one."

Somehow that had never occurred to me. Fighter jocks and church just don't seem to go together, not even a fighter jock as normal as this one. "Where do you go to church, Max?" It still felt strange using her first name, even though by then we'd been holding the table down together for a couple of hours.

"I've been hunting around. With so few chances, I haven't found one yet I really like."

"Then why don't you come with me tomorrow?" I felt terribly daring.

"Sure," she said, as though it was just another ordinary invitation between friends. Then she grinned, and I knew she wasn't quite as used to it as she'd seemed. "You know, at church we're all equal. You can call me Max there, too."

I hadn't thought of that. "Yeah, I guess so. I sure won't go around introducing you as 'Lieutenant Bois d'Arc, the officer who pretends the serfs are people.'"

"Who's pretending?" she asked, smiling. "Serfs really are people."

"I ought to smack you for that one," I said, feeling even more daring – and most daring of all when I gently kicked her shin under the table.

"Try it, Derek – I might even sit still for it, as long as you're gentle."

"Not me," I said hastily. "Enlisted men don't smack officers – not even in here, not even when they're pretending they're just friends."

"Who's pretending?" she asked again, but this time with no jesting in her voice.

"Come on, you know that we can never be more than whatever we are."

"I know the regulations, certainly. They're very clear on my responsibility as an officer. But I know the Bible somewhat too, and it's very clear on my responsibility as your sister in Christ. The uniforms we're not wearing right now don't have more power than the blood of Jesus, do they?"

"Max," I said, in my exasperation using her name easily, "we're both in the Air Force. We both have to abide by the regs. And those regs say no fraternization. You're not in my chain of command so I suppose it's all right for us to sit here and eat and drink together, especially since there wasn't much other place for you to sit when you came in. But to be friends – really be friends? No way."

She reached across the table and tapped a finger on my hand. "I didn't get to be a first lieutenant by being stupid. I didn't get to fly a $40 million aircraft by being dumb. I earned my bars and I earned my wings, and I'm going on up until I'm the commanding officer of a fighter wing just like the one I'm in. I'm not going to throw my career away. And so you know that when I say I would like us to be friends, I'm saying it knowing what I'm doing."

I glared at her. "Yes, ma'am, I understand."

"Will you kindly shut up?" She glared back at me. "When I'm giving you an order, airman, you'll know it, and you won't dare take a smart-mouthed tone. I'm trying to explain that I'm not pulling you into something that'll hurt either one of us. Can you accept that I'm not an idiot?"

"A friend is someone with whom you can be a complete fool, and she still likes you, right?"

She smiled, and her finger touched my hand again – gently this time. "That's as good a definition as any I've ever heard. And I do still like you, Derek, even if you're turning out to sometimes be an awful regulations prude."

"Max, I don't want to find myself with an Article 15, or facing a court martial. I do want to be a chief someday, and I'd like to get there sooner than later. I have no desire to forfeit rank or pay, much less get myself booted out of the Air Force. And I don't want you to get into trouble either." I didn't know just how much I didn't want her to get into trouble till I said it.

"I don't want to get either of us into trouble either. I keep telling you, I'm not stupid. I've got a degree in physics on my wall – not a Ph.D., though I might pick that up somewhere along the way. The Academy doesn't turn you loose on the world unless you've put your brains to work – it's not just a ring knocker training school, you know. It's a world class university. I am not going to get us into trouble."

I shook my head. "If I'd known that inviting you out for a beer was going to get so hairy, I'd have kept my mouth shut."

"None of us are perfect prophets, Derek. If we were, maybe both of us would have stayed away from McDonald's."

I looked down at my plate, which had just a few cold congealed fries on it. When I looked back up at Max I couldn't see her well – everything seemed to have blurred. "I don't think I would have liked that."

"Nor would I. Of course we wouldn't have known each other then, and we wouldn't know what we're missing. But I like you – not as a jet engine mechanic, not as a good troop, not as a senior airman, not as a fellow member of the Air Force. I like you, Derek Alba, for yourself. And that's something precious. You don't get many true friends in this life, and I think you're gong to be one of mine. And I'm glad of it, and would hate to think I'd missed out on it."

I was very daring then, and reached out and put my hand over hers. "I like you too, Max. Not as a pilot, not as an officer who's more relaxed than the rest, not even as a fellow Christian, though it looks like you are that. I like you as Max Bois d'Arc – and I'm glad I haven't missed out on it."

Max must have meant it when she said she liked me, for she spoke to me Monday afternoon. I was on a scaffold, poking into the engine of an F-15, when I heard her voice. "How are you doing, Airman Alba?"