Keep Your Eyes On Me

- 1 -

It felt like falling. Wait a minute she was falling. She was falling fast. Why did her head hurt? Why was it red? she didn't know. All she felt was wetness and the sensation of falling. Falling... falling... falling...

———

"It's worse than War!" The customer said, disgruntled as he paid for his oil change. War? Does he even know what war is? It's hearing the screams of your comrades as they are torn apart by landmines. It's the paramedic, if they're so lucky to have one handy, trying their hardest to saw off the leg without painkillers. The dark squelch and shiny mist of red gracing your senses in the worst way possible. No, this was not like war at all. She watched the man pull out of the shop, mind racing with the various images she hadn't been able to scrub from her mind. Having a photographic memory was only good when it didn't photograph the images of your friends being torn apart.

"Liz!" her boss shouted. Her eyes shot over to the white-haired man. His white beard was complemented by his black and gold Vietnam Veteran hat. His kind eyes showed concern.

"Yes? Sorry, sir."

"You were giving the thousand-yard stare," he says softly, knowing the look all too well. What a shame such a young woman had it. But he had seen younger. "There are a few Navy men here for you."

"Alright, let me get cleaned up here and I'll be right over," she said softly with a reluctant smile. Maybe someone was dead. She didn't know if she could handle someone else dying. She grabbed a rag to clean up her hands before walking through the office door attached to the garage, seeing the two naval officers before her.

"Lieutenant Mitchell?" the first said. Her eyes observed their facial expressions, the way they stood, anything else that might tell her what they were doing here on her time off. They weren't wearing their dress blues. Just normal Navy fatigues, she could relax a bit. At least she knew nobody was dead.

"Yes?" she set down her dirty rag, her blue eyes watching the man hand her an envelope. She couldn't even get two weeks back without being summoned again?

"You are requested to return to North Island," the other officer said as she tore open the envelope.

Elizabeth Bly Mitchell, you are hereby ordered to report back to North Island by 0800 tomorrow morning...

She read over the documents one more time before looking up at the two in front of her, jaw clenching ever so slightly. Moments like this made her want to retire. But this was all she'd ever known. She would have future days off. Besides, did she ever really use her leave as a time to relax? But that was not what made her feel this way.

"TOPGUN?" she looked at the officers before her, their faces not changing. She nodded her head, understanding there was no more information than what she had on her paper. "Thank you, drive back to base safely," she said before turning and walking back to the garage. She threw the envelope onto the counter, grabbed a few tools and slid back under the old run-down Ferrari F40.

Her boss entered the room and looked at the envelope on the counter, then at Liz as she slid back under the car. He couldn't help but frown.

"Go home, Liz," the old man said, standing next to her legs.

"Can you grab me a 9mm? I forgot to grab one." The man sighed. He could pull rank. But he wouldn't. It wasn't like she truly had to listen anyways. He remembered when the young woman first came into his shop, asking to use some of their tools to fix something on her bike. She was a little too good at mechanics not to offer a job. That's when he learned she was a naval aviator who already had a job. However, as they got to talking, she volunteered to help him fix his car and that turned into a part-time job.