Cadet - 12. Cadet Second Class • I

When the class of 2022 graduated, Ritch and the rest of the 2024 cadets moved up in rank. The newly minted Cadet Technical Sergeant caught a flight to Alaska shortly after the semester’s end. He had been posted to Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson.

During either their Second or First Class summers, all cadets enrolled in Ops Air Force, a three-week program focused on life at an operational Air Force Base. Cadets could end up anywhere from Korea to North Dakota, and depending on the base assigned and mission requirements, many cadets received incentive flights in different aircraft.

Packing for a summer trip usually meant a backpack with t-shirts, shorts, and flip-flops. That was not the case this time around; Anchorage June temperatures averaged twenty degrees cooler than Colorado Springs. Ritch would have to wait until after the first summer session to enjoy seasonal warmth.

Following what felt like an interminable flight, Ritch caught the base shuttle and reported for duty. Orientation and settling into his assigned quarters took most of the afternoon. That evening, he had dinner with Major Ryan Fitzpatrick.

“I understand you’re already a pilot, Peterson.” The early-forties man had an easy smile on a pasty face.

Ritch assumed the Major had recently emerged from hibernation and not spent much time in the sun. He decided bases in Alaska would not be atop his list of desirable postings weather-wise. “Yes, sir. I’ve had my private pilot’s license since I turned seventeen.”

“Good for you. Your file’s interesting. Decent grades, above average marksmanship, and some excellent write-ups from faculty and fellow cadets. It also says you want to become a fighter pilot.”

“Yes, sir. My father flew F-15s, and I’d like to follow in his footsteps.”

“I’ll assume your experience is limited to prop planes?” The man nodded at the server delivering their meals and attacked the New York strip steak as if he had really spent time hibernating.

“Yes, sir. But I’m familiar with controls for a few jets.”

Fitzpatrick smirked. “Video games?”

“Yes, sir.” Ritch looked down at his plate before meeting the Major’s eyes. “But I’ve read a lot, studied diagrams, and had one session in a simulator.”

“Good. I got me a go-getter. Look, Peterson, I’ve put in my time, and I’m close to retiring. You’re the last cadet I’ll mentor.” The wink and grin were unexpected. “That means I’m not too worried about protocol. You’ll get to experience some things most other cadets don’t get to. I’m gonna make sure you go up in as many different birds as possible.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m looking forward to the next three weeks.”

“Let’s see if you feel the same after I get you up in the air.” Fitzpatrick grinned again. “Enjoy your weekend, cadet. I lined up somebody to take you into town and show you around. Be ready at oh-six-hundred Monday morning wearing your flight suit. I’m taking you up.”

Although Ritch enjoyed the tour, and was thrilled when a moose crossed the road in front of the car, he was dazzled by the skyline. Not as large as New York’s or even Miami’s, the view of the cityscape from across the water, with snowcapped mountains in the background, was magnificent. The selfie in front of it was what he shared on social media.

On Monday, he reported for duty as ordered.

“Tell me what you know about it.” Major Fitzpatrick tilted his head toward the plane on the tarmac.

Ritch was glad he had brushed up on the base’s aircraft. “That’s a Raytheon C-12F Huron. It’s a military version of the Beechcraft Super King Air B200C. Crew of two, room for about a dozen passengers, and a small cargo hold.”

“Well, goddamn! Did you memorize this shit?”

Ritch smirked while trying not to sound cocky. “Not sure I memorized it all, sir. But I did read up on the base’s aircraft. This one interested me, since I’ve never flown a double prop.”

“This is your lucky day, Peterson. I’ll take it up, but you can take the controls once we’re in the air. Depending on what I see, I may let you land it.”

“Where are we going, sir?”

“Fairbanks. Eielson Air Force Base. There’s a training exercise I want you and a cadet assigned up there to be part of.”

It took longer than Ritch initially expected to traverse the 250 miles between bases. “It’s yours, kid. Let’s see what you can do.” The veteran pilot raised his hands off the yoke and nodded for Ritch to take over. Thanks to Fitzpatrick relinquishing control as soon as they reached cruising altitude, the additional flying time was spent guiding Ritch through multiple maneuvers.

Frequent plane rentals and flights in the Colorado Springs area had kept Ritch’s skills sharp. Instructed to follow Alaska Interstate 3 as it meandered through Denali State Park, he almost felt as if he was taking his pilot’s test again. Fitzpatrick even asked him to try a couple of simulated touch-and-go attempts over open, grassy fields.

Apparently, the Major was satisfied with the cadet’s performance. Ritch was allowed to land the plane.

Fitzpatrick, after dealing with required post-landing procedures, pointed at an aircraft on the tarmac. “I’ll assume you know what that is.”

“Yes, sir. That’s a Boeing KC-135 Stratotanker. An aerial gas station. It was the Air Force's first jet-powered refueling tanker. “

“You got it. Want to go for a ride?”

“Fuck, yeah!” Ritch clamped a hand over his mouth before looking at his chuckling superior. “Sorry, sir.”

“I’ve heard worse, cadet. Don’t sweat it.”

The white ladder mounted on the back of a pickup truck was in stark contrast with the plane’s matte gray paint. Ritch’s excitement grew as he climbed it. Inside, orange web sling chairs lined both sides. Ritch was introduced to the small crew as the door was closed. The pilot wound up the engines and requested everyone turn off cellphones and follow standard takeoff procedures.

The noise, which Ritch once again thought of as a symphony, increased as they taxied down the runway. Off the ground, the plane steadily climbed.

“Come on Peterson.” Fitzpatrick unbuckled himself and motioned for Ritch to do the same. He nodded at the mentor accompanying the other cadet. “She lost the coin toss, so you get to spend time in the cockpit first.”

The instrument panel had more analog dials than he had ever seen together; Ritch recognized a few controls but was lost with most. The copilot looked back, noticed Ritch staring at the bank of instruments, and grinned while removing his headset. “Come on, cadet. Have a seat.” He handed Ritch the headgear still plugged in.

“Thank you, sir.” Ritch took the second seat, smiled at the pilot, and strapped himself in. “What would you like me to do, sir?”

“Nothing now, kid. You get to be up here while we refuel the first two fighters. I’ll let you take over for a bit once we’re done with those.”

Ritch correctly assumed he would trade places with the other cadet at some point. However, that did not happen when the captain received new orders from the ground. Their training mission felt somewhat more dangerous when unidentified aircraft approached the border over the Bering Sea.

“Sorry, bud, I need my chair back. Why don’t you take the jump seat so you can see?” The copilot sounded apologetic.

Ritch thought shit had just gotten real. The crew remained visibly calm, although their eyes may have been paying a little closer attention to the instruments and the aircraft they were flying in support of. Adrenalin coursed through his veins as he fidgeted, not knowing what to do, and wishing he could help in some way.

Fitzpatrick’s quiet voice calmed him. “Relax, Peterson. This is normal. The sons of bitches do this all the time. They’re testing us.” He clamped a hand on Ritch’s shoulder and pointed out the window. “Those are Russian fighters, buddy. If you ever encounter one, be ready to fight. The fuckers are unpredictable.”

All Ritch could see was a couple of specks near the horizon. As the Stratotanker flew closer, crossing the border between land and sea, the specks became aircraft. He felt a surge of pride as the American fighters—part of the training exercise—sped ahead to meet the enemy. He was unsure what would transpire, but a tiny voice inside his head cheered and urged them to let their missiles go. Fitzpatrick brought him back to reality.

“Don’t expect fireworks, Peterson. This is a regular event. We fly as close to their border as possible and they return the visits. It’s actually a good way to get our pilots experience without having to engage in battle.”

Ritch watched as the American and Russian jets performed an aerial ballet without coming too close to each other. Although a tad scary, he thought it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. He badly wanted to be at the controls of one of the intercepting F-22 Raptors.

“Guess the assholes are playing nice today,” Fitzpatrick said when the Migs turned and headed west, back to Mother Russia. “Sometimes they get a bit too close for comfort.”

The eventual refueling operation was anticlimactic. Maybe if they had not encountered the Russians, watching the boom connect with the fighters mid-air would have been more exciting. Ritch observed first from the cockpit, then from the back, but it was all through an adrenalin haze clouding his mind. He was not about to complain, though. The thrill of facing off against enemy aircraft was something he would not forget any time soon.

A week after his sortie in the flying tanker, Ritch was about to soar again. The morning began with a mission briefing, and Ritch was surprised how loose the involved pilots were. He was sweating inside his flight suit. Recalling the intensity of the previous week’s encounter with the Russians, and how chill everyone acted inside the tanker and afterwards, he wondered if he would ever be so blasé about climbing aboard a plane worth over a hundred million dollars. “Hell, with all my money, I couldn’t afford half a plane.”

Fitzpatrick, sitting next to him in the ready room, dipped his head. “What was that?”

“Ummm, nothing, sir. I was thinking about how much one of the planes cost.”

“Don’t. When you’re in the air, the last thing you need is distractions. You have to learn how to block everything from your mind except for the controls and the mission. It’s why we train so much. The last thing a pilot wants to do is ditch and lose his aircraft.” The man stood, placed a hand on Ritch’s shoulder, and grinned. “Let’s make sure the Norwegians don’t shoot us down.”

Ritch hated having to wear a diaper. Because it was his first time as a backseater, Fitzpatrick insisted the small bag full of absorbent material seasoned flyers used would not be ideal. “Having to pull your dick out to pee in the bag’s not as easy as it sounds.”

He knew the pilot was trying to prevent an accident. If they went supersonic, a rookie could lose bladder control. Ritch made sure to pee prior to climbing on the plane; the thought of walking around afterwards with a soggy diaper reminded him too much of his niece.

During the previous week, one of the things Fitzpatrick made him practice was suiting up. The G suit, survival vest, and the flotation one all went over the flight suit, and he was able to wiggle himself into them without assistance.

The day’s flight would be in an F-15 Strike Eagle, and he was in the back seat. “Fuckers!”

Fitzgerald cracked up. He was obviously in on the joke. “Did the crew leave you a love note?”

Helmet on, and oxygen mask dangling in front of his face, Ritch chuckled. “Yeah… And you were probably in on it, right?”

“Not this time. But they do it whenever we have a new cadet go up. What does yours say? They’re always different.”

Ritch read from the note he found taped to the rear section of the canopy. “It’s a hand-drawn, traffic warning diamond. Baby Pilot On Board. Did you tell them I was a pilot already?”

“I may have mentioned it to a few people, and I’m sure it got around. Buckle up.”

With the engine idling, Fitzpatrick went through final checks. Ground crew personnel did the same, checking the canopy was secured, and doing a final visual inspection. They returned the all clear salute from the ground crew chief. The plane rocketed down the runway and quickly climbed once the wheels left the concrete. Ritch smiled as big as he ever had. Being thrust back in his seat and feeling the G suit tighten did not bother him. He couldn’t wait to be the one in control.

The exercise with the Norwegians was the result of an increase in interactions with allies designed to repair damage done to relationships during the Trump administration. President Biden’s Secretary of Defense had ramped up the number and frequency upon taking office, and Congress continued to approve funds. The Pentagon, of course, never complained about the additional monies.

The flight took them over the Arctic Ocean, close to the North Pole. Looking through the canopy, Ritch could see the tip of missiles mounted under the wings. It reminded him he was in an instrument of war that could easily deliver death from a long distance.

“Next week.” Major Fitzpatrick accompanied his words by pointing upwards.

They were somewhere north of Canada and above them was an E-3 AWACS—Airborne Warning and Control System. The Air Force had four of the radar planes stationed at Elmendorf, and Fitzpatrick had lined up a flight for Ritch.

“Cool.” Ritch did not get the opportunity to say anything else; Fitzpatrick banked left and dove without a word. Ritch realized they had encountered the Norwegian contingent, and the Major was taking evasive maneuvers.

The planes from both nations bobbed and weaved in the air, trying to lock onto the enemy. Missiles were not released, but the alarm indicating someone had fire resolution on you meant you were out of the game. Ritch watched the contrails of the F-15, as the practice dog fight took place. Much too soon for his liking, he and Fitzpatrick were shot out of the sky.

“Fuck!” Fitzpatrick was not happy. “That plane came out of nowhere. I have a feeling the Norwegians hid a couple of them when we first engaged. Keep that in mind in the future, Peterson. You can’t blindly focus on what’s in front of you.”

Ritch thought that was good advice not only for flying a fighter jet. Their return to base was somewhat enjoyable; Fitzpatrick performed a few aerobatic maneuvers while providing a running commentary about what, when, and how. Ritch thought the man would make a great instructor.

On Friday, Ritch was summoned to the base’s administrative offices.

“Come in, Sergeant.” Colonel Kirsten Aguilar beckoned Ritch into her office with a hand motion. She acknowledged his salute with a nod. “Have a seat.”

Ritch was still trying to figure out why the base commander wanted to see him. He had received a message the matter was urgent, and he was to report to her office immediately. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The woman shuffled the files on her desk to the side and retrieved two envelopes from a drawer. “Have you spoken to anyone in your family in the last week?”

“No, ma’am. Last time I talked to my parents was when I was still at the Academy.” Ritch was now worried. “Is something wrong, ma’am? Is anyone sick?”

“I don’t think so. As far as I know, your brother, his husband, and their daughter are safely back in the United States.” She must have realized she was making him nervous. “Sorry, I should have led with something different. I have new orders for you. But I think you should read this first.” She slid a single sheet of paper towards him.

Ritch literally jumped out of his chair halfway through the State Department’s press release. “I need to call home.” He gave his superior a pleading look, hoping to be dismissed.

“In a minute. Here are your new orders.” She handed him an envelope. “You’re being granted special leave as of this minute. We can handle travel arrangements home if you want us to. I’m sorry you won’t be here for the last week of your rotation, but I’m glad your family’s safe. Please thank your brother for his service to our country on my behalf.”

“Thank you, ma’am. May I say I enjoyed my time at your base? Maybe I’ll be back one day.”

“You’re dismissed, Sergeant.”

He calmly walked out of her office and the building, before running full speed back to his quarters, where his phone was. There was a tightness in his chest and his eyes watered. He knew everyone was fine, but his body reacted to the emotional stress. The call to CJ went straight to voice mail. So did the ones to Owen and César. Brett picked up on the second ring.

“What up, cadet?”

Ritch lost it. “What the fuck? This shit’s going on, and you guys don’t tell me? Why won’t CJ and Ozzie answer their phones? I had to find out about this from the base commander? I don’t know who I’m pissed at most, the Mexican asshole or you guys!”

“You done?”

“For now.” Ritch took a deep breath trying to relax. He realized Brett’s flippant remark was actually funny. Hell if he was going to tell him that, though. He was definitely pissed.

“First, nobody was told anything. We knew because we had to fly down there, but the grandparents didn’t know until we landed in Miami with Ozzie and Liebe. Second, you were in Alaska and I decided you should not be told until this thing was over. I didn’t think it wise to interrupt your stint at the base.”

“Shit!” Ritch looked at the phone’s screen, shook his head, and decided to ignore the new call.

“What’s wrong?”

“Mrs. Obama was calling me.” Ritch was surprised this time caller ID showed her name. “I’ll call her back.”

“Okay… It’s probably about CJ. Anyway, third, CJ and Ozzie have their phones turned off. They got a new, temporary one. I’ll give you the number. César’s in the pool with Liebe, so he may not have taken his down there.”

“The pool?” Neither the parent’s place in Georgetown, nor CJ’s house in Capitol Hill had swimming pools.

“Oh, yeah, we’re at the Biltmore in Coral Gables. We flew into Miami last week, and your brother got in this morning.”

“Fuck! You realize the base commander called me into her office, handed me a press release from the State Department, and that’s how I found out?” Ritch stopped pacing in his small room. The deep breath was an attempt to calm himself. “Okay. I just got leave, so I’m flying out on the first available flight. Guess I’ll get in tomorrow, get me a room at the hotel.”

“Will do. I’ll text you the new number. Oh, and Ritch? Everyone’s really fine. Stop worrying, okay?”

“I’ll try. Let me book a flight and finish packing. I’m not coming back here. I’ll text you my ETA.”

Flying between Alaska and Florida was inconvenient to say the least. All flights involved at least one stop, and all landed in Fort Lauderdale Instead of Miami. The Delta flight Ritch booked a seat on left Anchorage shortly after 11:00 p.m. After a stop of less than an hour in Minneapolis, and thanks to distance and time zones, he landed just before 1:00 p.m. the next day. César had told him there would be a car waiting for him to take him to the hotel. Ritch spotted the man, holding a sign with Peterson on it, when he stepped outside the security checkpoint.

“You guys are all assholes.” Ritch shouted as soon as he stepped into the Biltmore Hotel’s Merrick Presidential Suite.

“Nice to see you anyway, bro.” CJ, with Liebe in his arms, rose from the sofa and took a few steps in Ritch’s direction. “Liebe too? Or is she excluded from your categorization?”

“Watch the language in front of her, cadet.” Owen did not appear overly upset about the cussing.

Ritch realized after what they had been through, their daughter picking up colorful words was not something to be concerned with. “Hey, Liebe.” His frown really did turn upside down as soon as the girl was in his arms. “How’s my favorite niece?”

“Your only niece.”

Behind the girl’s back, Ritch aimed a middle finger at Brett. When she tried to grab his Ray Ban Aviators from atop his head, Ritch tossed them onto the nearest couch. “Not my sunglasses, Liebe, I need those for flying.”

“Put me down, Tio Ritch. Quiero jugar con la pelota.” The girl wiggled in Ritch’s arm, until he complied. She did want to play; once on the ground, she ran behind the couch, and reappeared carrying an inflatable beach ball. “Vamos a la piscina.”

César motioned for her, balancing his granddaughter on a knee once she reached him. “We’ll go to the pool in a few minutes. Let’s give Tio Ritch a chance to change into shorts. I’m sure he’s hot wearing long pants and that sweatshirt.”

Ritch did feel warm. He had removed his overcoat when he boarded the plane and never put it back on, but he wore a couple of layers. Realizing the men in the room all wore board shorts and nothing else, he grinned. “Who has my room key? Time for me to get naked too.”

“That’s your bedroom.” César pointed at the one closed door in the room. “We’ll get you a key when we go back downstairs.”

“Okay. Don’t anybody go anywhere. I’ll change into PT shorts and be right back. I want to hear everything that went down in Mexico.” He stopped at the door, grasping the handle, and turned. “Hey! How come your phones are off?”

“Mate, within ten or fifteen minutes after the State Department issued the press release, my voicemail was full. CJ warned me it would happen.” Owen steadied Liebe when she nearly stumbled on her way between César and CJ. “By the way, consider yourself lucky Liebe let you pick her up. Since CJ got in yesterday, she barely leaves his side.”

“Welcome back to Cypress House, guys.” Aaron Marante’s gaze slid over CJ and Owen but focused on Ritch; he held Liebe in his arms. “I’m not much for kids, but she’s adorable.”

“Thanks for waving your adults only rule.” CJ attracted the man’s attention sufficiently to get a handshake. “The guy holding her’s my brother. Ritch, this is Aaron, the owner.”

“It’s the least I could do when Owen called and told me what happened.” Aaron shifted his attention to Ritch. “Nice to meet you, kid. You staying with us?”

“Same here, sir.” Ritch wondered why older people often called him kid. He had not shaved since Alaska, and he thought the scruff made him look older. The shirtless proprietor obviously had a few years on him. “If you have room. If not, I’ll end up at La Concha. Our dads said it’s a good place.”

“It is. For a new building.” Aaron laughed when CJ gave him a questioning stare. The wrinkles around his eyes probably the result of years spent outdoors in the Florida sun. “Local humor, guys. La Concha opened in 1926, but Cypress House was built in 1888. We have room for you, Ritch. We’ll put you on the first floor. In the library.” It turned out the room was lined with built-ins filled with books, therefore the name.

“Thanks, Aaron.” Owen was at last able to shake the man’s hand. “We owe you. When Ritch flew in from Alaska yesterday and heard we were coming down for a few days of R and R, he insisted on tagging along.”

“You don’t owe me anything. He’s family, so I’ll always find a bed for him if he needs one.”

“Yeah, don’t even think it you old perv.” A grinning CJ poked the guy’s hairy chest.

The carpet of white on his torso, and the gray prominently flecking his beard and head made Ritch guess Aaron was older than his fathers. “Sorry, sir. I’m the straight one in the family.”

“I won’t hold it against you.” Aaron leered for a moment, staring Ritch up and down and licking his lips. “What a waste.”

While Ritch blushed and CJ and Owen laughed, Aaron opened the screen door and ushered them inside. “Ritch, I hope you realize the pool area and the roof deck are clothing optional. Owen said that wasn’t an issue with the girl. You okay with it?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve seen plenty of naked men in locker rooms. I ain’t embarrassed of what I’ve got.”

The comment and grin earned him a head slap from Owen. “Stop being cocky, cadet.”

Aaron walked to the end of the hallway and opened the last door on the left. “This is your room. The bathroom’s right here.” He tapped the door facing the entrance. “Cadet?”

“Yes, sir. The Air Force Academy. I just started my third year.”

“Good. I hope I get to hear some about it.” He moved aside so Ritch could enter. “Drop your stuff in there and then come up to the third floor. That’s where your brother and Owen will be.”

After settling in, Ritch insisted on going shopping. He had flown from Colorado Springs to Alaska, intending to return to the Academy when done at Elmendorf-Richardson. The only clothing he had suitable for the tropics were PT shorts and white t-shirts.

As he had done during previous visits, Aaron offered to take them scuba diving. They did so on Tuesday. His only stipulation was he was not to be left alone with Liebe at any time. He claimed he had no idea how to deal with kids that young.

The four days spent on the island paradise were a welcome respite for the adults. Ritch escaped colder weather, while CJ and Owen doted on Liebe. Everyone spent most of their time in or around the water. One night, Aaron found them a babysitter, and they went bar hopping. Ritch had no trouble walking in, but was not willing to risk drinking in public.

Ritch was in the pool, holding Liebe afloat, while encouraging her to kick her legs and use her arms to slice through the water. She was used to being in it and appeared fearless. The swimming lesson eventually deteriorated into a splashing contest.

CJ and Owen sat on the edge with their feet dangling in the water. “Are you coming back to D.C. with us?” Owen asked.

“Nah… I have to report to base on Friday. I think I’ll fly to Denver, catch the shuttle to Vail, and drive Heinrich down to the Academy.”

“That’s right!” CJ sounded excited. “You get to have a car on campus now. My baby brother’s growing up.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… About time you noticed I’m not a kid anymore.” Ritch lifted Liebe out of the water and sat her on the coping. The girl immediately jumped back in. “What are you, Liebe? Part fish?”

“She does love the water.” Ozzie stood when their new phone rang, and walked the few steps to the table under the tiki hut. “Shit! How did they get this number? I thought only the dads and the grandparents had it.”

“Answer it already.” CJ’s quizzical expression made his husband smile.

“I think it’s for you, Ceej. It’s the White House.”

Drying his hands on a towel, CJ reached for the phone. “Hello, this is CJ.” His expression went from amusement to surprise. “Yes, he’s here with me. I’ll put the call on speaker.” He grinned at Owen. “The President would like to talk to both of us.”

The experience was surreal. The President was warned Ritch was listening in, and the Commander in Chief promised to speak at his graduation in two years.

There was a brief conversation about the events in Mexico City, and the call ended after CJ and Owen agreed to visit the White House once they returned to Washington.

“How the F did they get this number?” CJ looked perplexed.

“Duh!” Ritch splashed his brother to Liebe’s delight. “It’s the government, bro. They can find everything out.”