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Flying empty, the 747 gained altitude far quicker than it normally would. If it weren't for the fact that we carried no passengers, the flight might have been a vacation charter to a fishing resort on an island. The crew, too, was oddly different compared to our earlier rescue flights. There wasn't the usual friendly atmosphere. Maybe the others didn't like Jennie on board, or Igor, or disapproved of her kissing me before I sat down. Nobody said a word for some time.
At cruising altitude I got out of my seat and introduced us. First I introduced myself, then Jennie, then the Russian. I made no excuses for being with Jennie and for bringing the Russian on board. I played it straight. The truth is the truth. I gave them the bare facts. I loved Jennie. I respected the Russian. We were human beings with plenty to love and respect. The time had come to stop 'honoring' one another with lies. We had a long flight ahead of us, six hours and some minutes before refueling. It seemed imperative that the atmosphere be cleared up.
In introducing Igor, I realized that I knew very little about him. He had to tell his own story. Slowly, the atmosphere began to change. I gave everyone a short familiarization of the plane, which helped a little to break down the barriers. I focused on safety, on the need to make this mission a success as if there would indeed not be a tomorrow, so that the success of this mission actually mattered in a big way. It dawned on me, that this was in effect what we had done all along since the nightmare began. We had gone through the motions of rescuing people as if there was an absolute hope. I talked about a hope which common sense seemed to deny. I promised myself to make sure that this trend would continue.
We were a mixed crew. Next to me in the cockpit was a fellow in shorts and a bright green T-shirt. He introduced himself as Jack Steele, an ex-SAC pilot who had retired from the services and become a professional in spiritual matters. He described himself as someone akin to a priest.
"You are a preacher then?" I asked.
He smiled, but denied it. He said I was close enough, though.
Our navigator was born in Thailand. He had earned the right to become a US citizen during the Vietnam War. He called himself Orlando, since few Americans were able to pronounce his real name.
Igor had the most interesting story to tell. He had come to Hawaii for a chess tournament. "For this I had to win every major competition in my district, back home," he said, "and then win against the best of Russia and few republics of the old Soviet Union."
"Hey, a whiz-kid!" Orlando mocked him.
Igor ignored the remark. "I was the very best!" he continued proudly. "I had to be, to be representing our country against the elite of the world. But it wasn't supposed to end like this!"
"Nobody believed that such a thing could ever happen," mumbled Jack, cynically.
"Our government assured us that our missiles existed for no other purpose than to deter the Americans from starting a war," said Igor.
"That's our story," replied Jack. "We have Peacekeeper missiles to prove it, didn't they tell you that?"
Jack had a way of shutting every one up. Jennie tried her best to get some conversation going. "What did you do in Vietnam," she asked Orlando.
"Military intelligence," Orlando replied shyly.
"Military intelligence," Jack repeated. "That's a contradiction of terms. That's what Nam was, a blood-gut mess! It was a contradiction by intent. Now it's happening all over again, and again, we have to clean the mess up. It's always the same."
Again there was silence. Jack had succeeded once more.
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Stories about
Love
from novels by Rolf A. F. Witzsche
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