(Approx. 1 hour later)
"Rory Jackson, your presence is requested in the office,"
My forgetface squadronmate slaps me on the back. "Whad the hell you do this time,"
I really hate the forgeter. The hallway is mostly empty, as it's about dinner time. I walked to the Base Commander's office. The secretary directs me to the Base Commander, who motions for me to come with him. He seems unusually stern now. Perhaps it is because my squadron had been disbanded.
"Sit down Lieutenant," he says, calmly.
There is a moment of silence, which doesn't help the growing feeling of anxiety.
"At, uhh, at about 1600 hours today, your brother, Xavier, crashed on landing," he said.
The anxiety redoubled its presence in my stomach.
"It is my deepest regret to inform you, that he has," the man took a breath, "passed on."
I was crushed, anxiety turned over to sadness. After everything Xavier had been keeping me alive after our parents died, he was the whole reason I joined the Airforce in the first place. I wanted to be just like him, in every way. He was even the reason some of my own squadron mates respected me, because he was in the 86th.
Now fate had stolen the life of my brother. The tears poured from my face. The commander handed me a box of tissues, but it made no difference.
"We, have also approved your transfer request to the 86th. It was in your brother's will. We will send you there, if you accept,"
I choked back some tears, just enough so I could speak.
"I do,"
The commander nodded.
"We've filled out as much of the paperwork as possible, to make it a bit easier. Also, you get to choose your own aircraft to fly," he said.
I chose the Mikoyan 1.44, same as Xavier.
"You will be sent there tonight, if you'd like. We know that you don't work we'll with your squadron mates, so it was decided that you can go tonight, if you like,"
"Yes, yes, I think I'll do that," I replied.
The commander gave me a note, stating when a supply transport would head for Darina. It left in four hours. I walked out of the office, angry, and depressed. I went to my bunk, collected my things, shook hands with my maintenance crew and the few squadron mates a liked, and waited for the aircraft to take off.
I found a picture, Xavier had been at my commission, to my surprise. It was a picture of us, together. It only made me feel worse.
The music certainly didn't help, especially when it was stuck in my head since the commander had told me. I quietly begin reading the letter to me from Frank Estaloo, the squadron leader.
