Our Bruised Bodies | Bradley Bradshaw

ACT THREE - PART TEN

Cheers to this chapter!

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"Why are we looking at that manoeuvre?" Grace asked out loud, sitting in her chair slightly leaned back, the screen on which the manoeuvre was shown behind her, while she glanced towards her squad. Some were taking notes, as in every briefing they had, others were hiding their eyes behind their aviators.

"Because you hate how I fly." A pilot in the second row muttered, the very pilot, who had pulled the move. His arms crossed before his chest, aviators in place while he kept watching Grace, but he also glanced over at his weapon system officer every once in a while, as to ask if he could believe what this woman was wanting from them.

"Answers." Grace said, only for some hands to shoot into the air. Grace waited a moment looking at the very pilot, who had pulled the move, who refused to listen to her critic of his flying not even to talk about allowing her to make his critic himself in front of the entire squad.

Grace stood, and stepped away from her desk, before nodding at one of the pilots in the first row, who listed perfectly and in order what the other pilot had done wrong, following the handbook meticulously accurate.

"Correct, a very precise analysis." Grace said after giving one sharp nod, that was the closest one ever get to a praise from the Sarah Grace Kazansky, but then she turned around to look at the pilot, who had flown that manoeuvre. "But not the reason why we're looking at it now."

"Why..." The pilot spoke up and paused for a moment at his weapon systems officer's sharp warning glance. He had looked over so quickly, Grace was surprised he hadn't injured himself, but he did startle his pilot, which made Grace consider rotating the weapon system officers a bit.

"... are we looking at the manoeuvre, if not to point out all the flaws when one is told to follow the rule book?" He added, nevertheless, causing Grace to tilt her head to the side slightly.

"Sassy today, are we?" She wondered while absentmindedly reaching for the chain of her necklace under her uniform, pulling on it, until she had the little airplane charm in her hand. Thumbing over it as if she had to think about her answer.

Then she turned her back to the class and moved back to her desk, picking up the thick book that lay there, more or less a list of all the manoeuvres and a drawn as well as written explanation of it. She lifted the book slightly, before looking over her shoulder at the class.

"I trust that you are all very well acquainted with the rule book. Know every manoeuvre, know your jet by heart." She pointed out, turning around fully and leaning against the front of her table while she was greeted with agreement. Causing Grace to nod, as if in agreement, before she let the book fall back onto the office desk, which made a loud noise.

"So does your enemy." She let them know, only for her squad to grow silent, wondering where she was going with all that.

"Fly unorthodox, it might even give you the advantage over an enemy that flies following every rule, but you need to know your limits still. In a dog fight, you would have lost your life pulling that manoeuvre." She let the pilot know, who was ready to argue, of course he was. They always were if their flying was under critic.

"I had to cover for my wingman. I can't just leave him to die." He pointed out and Grace agreed.

"You had."

"I had to break away left. To pull it around and bring it on." He added and once more, Grace gave a nod and agreed with him.

"You had."