Have it all // Dallas Winston

09 | We Read You

A year later, Soviet Union, 1989 January 19th.

Quincey Bradshaw.

Oh how this place has made me so different.

I have a scar that's about two inches on each cheekbone. They're still pressing me for information. I'm being taken to the general's office now. I was preparing myself to be shot in the head today. It would be quicker. Kazansky was right. We should have died on the battlefield.

"Quincey Bradshaw," it was a new general. I smiled at my name as the handcuffs were being tightened. They started putting cuffs on me when I gauged the last general's right eye out with a broken mirror. That's probably why he's not here. Fucking pussy.

As I said, this place has taken all the sympathy out of me.

The guards sat me in the cloth chair and left the room, leaving me and the general alone. My eyes were different. They were crazy. I was crazy. We all knew it. Kazansky was crazy too. Viper also. Maverick was borderline. We were just a pack of psychopaths.

"You've been here two years?" He looked at me, I shrugged. "I don't know. You tell me." I told him, and he smiled. I recognized his voice. It wasn't the harsh Soviet accent they all had. It was lighter. American almost.

"Why is your accent different?" I asked, looking him straight in the eye. "You noticed?" He asked, speaking in an American accent now. My eyes widened, a little bit of logic came into me. Was this really it? Was this an escape?

"Don't get your hopes up too good," he walked over to the closet and opened it. There was the one eyed general, I guess he wasn't a pussy after all. "What the hell?" I asked. He put the blindfold back over his eyes and shut the closet again.

"Okay you need to listen very closely," he spoke softer and walked my way. He undid my cuffs and let my hands free. "To the U.S. and the Union, I'm dead." He whispered. "You know that cargo plane out there?" he pointed to the 8 seater plane, I nodded.

"Here's the key to it." He put the key in my pocket. "Everything works in it. I've had it checked up three times. They plan to use it tomorrow morning." I nodded. "You need to get out. Tonight." We we're actually leaving.

"Here's the key. Everything you need is in there already." He said, putting a key in my pocket and zipping it up. "Why are you helping me?" I asked, smiling as I said that. "I knew your father. He was one of my greatest friends." He said, my heart dropped. My father.

It was like everything came back into place. Dally. Oh my god. Dallas thinks I'm dead. I'm probably dead to America right now. I've probably already got a gravestone and everything. So does everybody else.

"When you leave, you run to the hut and you tell them the plan." He said, I nodded. "What about you?" I asked, he shook his head. "I'll be gone five minutes after you leave." We both knew we couldnt do anything about it.

"Here's this," he handed me two loaded guns. "They have ten Rounds each. Twenty bullets. Do not waste them." He said, I nodded. "Now go." I nodded and got up. He paused at the door. "For good luck," he punched me across the face then threw me out like he was supposed to. He helped me.

I walked to the hut and opened the door. Kazansky was sleeping, so was everyone else. "Get up." I said loudly. They all woke up and looked at me, wondering why the hell I had suddenly gone back sane.

"We're goin home."

-

It was night, so we opened the door and snuck out quietly. It was obviously past curfew, so there would be about two guards in watch. The others would be slumped down somewhere. We just needed to eliminate the two.

Kazansky ran up to the guard, Maverick went to the other. They were both out, so we started running. We ran to the plane and climbed in. We climbed in run in time for the other Soviet scum to come running at us. So I pulled the pistols out.

I shot, two went down. They all stopped for a minute before starting to fire at us. Thank god this thing was a good 300 yards from them, they were missing a whole bunch.

"Both engines started," I said as I put the headset on. I decided not to vocalize my other steps in case other people could hear me. Kazansky was busy getting the radio to the U.S. connections so I didn't have to.

"Goose you realize this is a taxiway, right?" Maverick said from behind me. I ignored him. "A very short Taxiway." He repeated, I ignored him again. I pushed the lever forward and the plane started to move. We were going home baby.

I knocked off the wheels of the place, we would have to be replacing some tracks in California. "Connected," Kazansky put his headset on and began to listen to me calling off any kind of signal to the U.S.

"This is Aviator Quincey Bradshaw, Call sign Goose, can anyone hear me?" I said into the mic. No one answered. I rolled my eyes and repeated myself. It was probably three o'clock in the afternoon there.

American Navy Pov

Hondo

"This is Aviator Quincey Bradshaw, call sign goose, does anybody read me? Over." I heard from the radio. Everyone was gone for the new aviators. Goose.. the girl that left two and a half years ago. She's alive??

I ran over and grabbed the radio. "Goose we read you, over." I said into the radio. "This is aviator Quincey Bradshaw, does anybody read me? Over." Goddamnit. We really need to fucking update our radios.

I ran out to the docks where the class was being taught. "Stop whatever you're doing," the caption looked at me as if I was a crazy man yelling. "What do you need, lieutenant?" The captain asked me. "We have a signal from the Soviet Union."

His eyes widened and he ran with me to the office where the radio sat. Bradshaw was still saying the same thing into the radio that she was saying before. He picked up the mic and repeated what I said earlier, same response.

"Help me get this to the main room." He said, picking the radio up and taking it to the main room where the engineers were. "Drop everything you're Fucking doing!" He screamed, putting the radio down on the desk. "I want this signal to be up here and on the radio. NOW."

After about twenty minutes of hearing the same hearing being repeated about five thousand times, we finally got it working. "This is aviator Quincey Bradshaw, callsign goose. Does anybody read this?" She asked. "We read you goose," she was silent for a while. "Fucking finally. Jesus."

We all let out a sigh of relief. "Ms. Bradshaw, missed the sound of your voice." The captain sat down and put on a headset. "I didn't miss yours." She laughed into the com. Even though we all thought she was dead, she still has that sense of humor.

"Can you see a pissy little puddle jumper on the radar?" She asked, we turned the radar on. "We see you. You're 6700 miles out. About a 12 hour flight." Said into the com. "I know." We all smiled at that statement.