Their Boy (The Game 2)

“Oh, take pity on the poor boy,” Lucas said. “No more torture. Tell him the MiG story instead.”

I chewed on my bottom lip and glanced hesitantly at Colt. I would like to hear the story very much.

Colt smiled and scratched his scruffy chin on his shoulder. “If you want the story, all you gotta do is ask.”

I let out a breath. He’d already got me talking, damn Sadist, so I supposed I could swallow some pride and keep going. “How did you take care of two MiGs on your own?”

“Oh, funny story.” He grinned. “So, we’re providing air support for a ship off the coast of Iraq when I see two bogeys comin’ in fast on my radar.” That was how quickly he sucked me into the story. “It’s not my first rodeo with one, so I ain’t pissin’ my pants. But when you haven’t encountered a MiG before…I mean, it’s got a notorious reputation. And next to my Viper, it’s big in size too.”

I nodded along, understanding. “You had a wingman, right?”

“Right, and it was his first tour. His first encounter.”

I winced in sympathy, fully aware that I would be his worst wingman too, and took a gulp of my soda.

“He panics when we don’t get our orders right away,” Colt continued. “I figure, it’s up to me. I decide to lure them off by flying like I’m just outta flight trainin’. I make myself an easy target and get the bandits away from Brian, but most importantly, away from the ship.”

My heart started hammering. How many nights had I spent reading these stories from pilots? They were my crack.

“Now, the pros.” Colt ticked them off on his fingers. “I’m better at high-speed, I have greater visibility, and while the MiG is feeding two thirsty engines, I’m only feeding one, and we carry about the same amount of fuel. Lastly, I’m an aggressive pilot.” He paused. “Given that they were hostile, I knew what I thought was the smartest move. And as soon as I received the go, I gained altitude, did a maneuver, and flew past right between them. Then when I came back and they were trying to reposition to follow, I locked on target and launched a missile.”

“Holy shit,” I whispered with my straw in my mouth. “Then what happened?”

“So, one pilot punched out—and one to go.” He was enjoying how enthralled I was. “The other pilot was more experienced. He wouldn’t take my bait to go faster, because he knew he had the advantage in low-speed. Technically, he had more options to take me down than I had to take him down. But…well, I’m me.”

Lucas smiled and shook his head.

“I dragged him farther out to sea,” Colt said. “Remember what I said about the fuel?” I nodded. He lifted a shoulder. “He refused to let me get behind him—I admit, he was good. But sooner or later, he was going to run out of fuel, and he’d do it much faster than me. And that became his downfall. Had he not pissed me off royally—and had I not been given the order—maybe I would’ve let him go when he had to turn back to where he came from.”

“But you didn’t,” I said quietly. “You shot him down.”

He inclined his head. “The MiG’s restin’ at the bottom of the sea, and the pilot got a nice swim with his friend while waiting for rescue.”

I had to see Colt fly. I had to. He was… I mean, Jesus! I had to see him.

“That’s amazing,” I said, clearing my throat. “I can’t…just wow.”

“Wow was not what I said when I had to hear about this on the news,” Lucas drawled. “Thank God it was your last deployment.”

Colt reached across the table and put his hand on Lucas’s.

“How many deployments has he been on while you’ve been together?” I asked Lucas.

“Three,” he answered. “The first one was right after we met—also the longest one. The other two were four-month-long stints, one in Afghanistan and then his last one in Iraq.”

Colt picked up Lucas’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “These days, we go to war together, and our enemy consists of two nieces. We each have one, and they have us wrapped.”

I smiled.

Lucas chuckled softly. “Very true.”* * *I didn’t know why they didn’t have mashed potatoes with garlic at tapas bars in Spain. This shit was fucking amazing.

“Don’t eat too fast, sweetheart,” Lucas cautioned. “You’ll get a stomachache.”

“But this is so good,” I mumbled around a mouthful. It was practically swimming in butter.

Colt handed me another napkin when I got some butter on my chin. “You know what would slow you down a bit? If you took us through your homework.”

Crap. “Okay.” I wiped my mouth and dug out the folded piece of paper from my pocket. On Sunday, they’d told me to come up with three things to complete before next weekend. Three things that would begin the process of breaking some patterns that didn’t make me happy. Or held me back in one way or another. “One, I’m gonna retire ten white shirts and replace them with other clothes. T-shirts, long-sleeved tees, etcetera.”