Adventures of a Drunkard Pilot

Chapter 4: Start of a New Day

“Hey, uh, Delta?” I asked.

“Yes, Corporal Maxwell?” the green figure on my desk replied.

“I’m not so sure I can do this,” I said as I leaned back in my chair.

“Are you referring to the testing tomorrow?” Delta inquired. His figure walked from the table and into the middle of the bunk room.

“Yes, and no,” I replied as I spun to face him. The only light in the prison cell-sized room came from the desk lamp and Delta’s glowing figure. “I know everything for the qualifications tomorrow, but I’m just afraid ill seize up again once I get in the cockpit.” I covered my face with my hands. “I’m also afraid for the other guys.”

“I do not see why you are afraid, Corporal,” Delta replied. “Your scores over the 17 days have shown nothing but steady improvement. And if you are afraid of the other recruits fairing the Pilot Qualification Course, you should not be.”

“How do you know?” I asked, letting my hands drop back to the chair side.

“Well, for starters, I calculate that you have a 97.9% chance of acing your final test, leaving a 1.8% chance of satisfactory scoring, and only a 0.2% chance of failure, only possible from a failure in the testing program.” His figure started pacing the room. “And as far as Corporals Pendrake and Vega, I calculate they have a 99.6% chance and a 97.4% chance of acing their tests, respectively.”

“You sure about that?” I asked, but my mind was at ease now.

“As certain as I possibly can be,” Delta replied, “I would recommend sleep, however. For every minute you spend awake past 9:41 pm your chances drop by seven hundredths of a percent.”

I looked at the clock. It read 9:32pm. “Shit, I gotta crash.” I got out of the chair and plopped down on my twin bed. “Thanks Delta.”

“You're welcome, Corporal Maxwell.” Delta replied properly, “And good night.”

I woke with a start. I sat up with a jolt. The memory was so strong it was almost painful. I looked around the large room our cots were set up in. Arthur was still asleep, but Mitchell was sitting on the side of his cot. I made eye contact with him.

“Bad dream?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied as I swung my legs over the side of my cot and faced him. “Night before Pilot quals. You?”

“Tunisia,” he said with sadness. I just shook my head, remembering our disastrous mission that left Tunisia nothing more than a crater.

Suddenly, Arthur sat up and screamed in fear, flailing and falling off his cot. He landed on his side and immediately scrambled to his feet. Mitchell and I both jumped to our feet and went to him.

“Hey, it’s fine, it’s just a memory,” I said, grabbing his shoulders. His eyes locked in on mine, and for a second it looked as though he was a wild animal. He looked at Mitchell, then back to me, before his eyes returned to normal and he relaxed a little.

“Fucking Berlin, man,” was all he said. We both remembered the slaughter that went on when the Legion Frames stormed a refugee shelter. Arthur was the first to walk into the room filled with over a thousand bodies of women and children who had been torn apart by the Legion.

“Fucking Berlin,” Mitchell replied.

“Let's get some fresh air,” I said. We stood up and walked to the door. On our way out of the room, I grabbed a bottle of scotch and some Gurhka cigars. We walked out the door and down the hallway. We passed some nurses and an engineer, all women. They smiled and blushed as we walked by in just our boxers. Mitchell winked at them and smiled. As they walked by they glanced back at us. We looked back and saw them laughing and blushing harder.