TWENTY-ONE - STAND TO YOUR GLASSES

The wing gathered in the tavern that night, but no one was drinking.

Off in the corner three squadron leaders sat with their heads together, talking in low tones. Occasionally one of them would make the hand motions which are the universal language of fliers. Some of the others gathered in twos and threes to talk quietly as well. Most of the riders just sat. Occasionally there would be an outburst of wrath and the sound of a mug shattering as it was thrown against a wall. Dragon Leader stood alone by the bar, sunk in a brown study.

You could have heard a pin drop when Charlie walked through the door.

Seemingly oblivious to the mood of the place he bellied up to his accustomed spot at the bar.

“Heard you boys had a little scrap today,” the old pilot said. “How many did you lose?”

“Six,” the man at the bar said shortly.

Charlie gave a low whistle. 'Tough. Really tough. But I've seen worse, believe me. One time in Korea we were still flying P-5ls, we got jumped by a bunch of Migs and lost half our squadron.”

Still no one said anything.

“Aw, hell. Come on boys, the drinks are on me. Bar-keep, set 'em up!”

No one moved. No one said a word.

“My Lord.”

Charlie turned and found Dragon Leader standing too close behind him. This is not the time or place for you,” he said quietly. “It would be best if you go somewhere else.”

Charlie opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, and Dragon Leader moved even closer. “Now,” he said.

Charlie closed his mouth and left.

Karin was late getting home that evening and for some reason that troubled Mick. She had been working with Stigi as she did every day. Since the first time Mick had stayed away from the aerie.

He had heard about the battle and the losses, of course, and he expected she'd spend some time with her squadron mates in the complex, wordless process of pilots' grieving for those fallen. But it was very late indeed when she finally returned to their quarters.

“Hi, beautiful,” he said and took her in his arms, only to feel her tense.

“Mick, we need to talk”

Uh-oh, thought Gilligan, who had been married long enough to know what that meant.

He sat down at the table. “Would you like some tea?”

Karin shook her head and settled into the chair across the table from him. “I've asked to rejoin my squadron.”

“What?”

That means I must move back to the barracks,” she rushed on, “so I can be ready to fly at an instant's notice.”

That's pretty heavy,” Mick said at last.

Karin leaned forward to put her hand on his arm. “It won't be that bad. There'll still be time to see each other and I'll only be at ready six or seven days out of ten.”

“You know that's not what's worrying me.” Well, not the main thing, he thought.

She hesitated. “Mick, we lost too many riders to the zombies. We need every dragon and every experienced rider now.”

Mick didn't say anything.

“This is not like the machines you flew. It is no more dangerous than riding horseback.”

And how many people have been killed falling off horses? But he didn't say it.

“There's a big operation coming up,” he said finally.

“And you thought I would stay out of it?” The color drained from her cheeks and she pressed her lips together in a tight line. “What do you think I am? Did you honestly believe I would desert my mates at a time like this?”

Gilligan gave her his best winsome, little-boy smile. “Well, I could hope.”

As soon as he said it he knew it was wrong. Karin went even whiter and stood up so fast she almost knocked the chair over.

“I must return to my squadron,” she said woodenly. “I will be back later for my things.”

Gilligan opened his mouth to apologize, to say the words that would make her stay. But there were no words, so he just nodded and looked at his hands.

Sometimes it's worth freezing your buns off just to be alone. Jerry stood on the battlements and stared off into the night. The stars were back again, shining like bright, hard bits of metal in a crystal clear sky. The air smelled of cold and nothing else. Even the sounds were gone.

Jerry slipped one hand out of the relative warmth of his heavy cloak and pulled the fur-trimmed hood closer around his nose. The fur smelled faintly of cedar even in the nose-numbing cold. He made no move to go back in.

So stand to your glasses steady… This world is a world full of lies.

It was Charlie, obviously very much the worse for wear. From the way he was staggering Jerry was afraid he was going to fall off the walkway into the courtyard two stories below.

He was bareheaded and wearing only his flight suit and flying jacket; not even gloves. The old pilot must be freezing in this weather but he seemed too full of drink and his own concerns to notice.

“How ya doin'?” he slurred as he came up to Jerry.

“Okay,” Jerry said neutrally, hoping he'd take the hint.

He didn't “I got my ears pinned back good an' proper tonight,” Charlie told him with an air of alcoholic confession. “I butted into something that wasn't my affair, squadron business, and I got what I damn well deserved.”

Jerry nodded and didn't say anything.

“A squadron's like a family, son. There's times outsiders are welcome and there's times they ain't. Forget that and you're gonna get slapped down.”

Some comment seemed called for. “You must have run into that in Vietnam,” Jerry said.

Charlie leaned on the parapet and stared out into the freezing night.

“I wasn't in Vietnam,” the old man said softly. “Hell son, I didn't learn to fly until I was thirty-two.” He turned back to look at Terry.

“You know what I was? I was an accountant. A goddamn accountant! But I got lucky and I was in the right place at the right time and when we went public I walked away with nearly twelve million bucks.

“A good chunk of that went to my second wife, but I was still left with more money than any normal human being can spend in a lifetime of trying. The day we closed the deal, I came out of the lawyer's office, tore off my coat and tie, threw 'em in a trash can and I vowed I'd spend the rest of my life doing exactly what I wanted.

“Oh yeah, I got what I wanted.” He smiled off into the darkness but there was no humor in it. “Maybe what I deserved.”

Charlie hawked and spat out into the crystal night.

“Thirty years of doing just what I wanted and you know what that adds up to? Not a bucket of warm piss.

“I'm sixty-three years old, I got a drinking problem, diabetes and a cardiac arrhythmia that's probably gonna kill me if the other stuff don't get me first.”

“Sounds like you had fun, anyway,” Jerry said neutrally.

Charlie turned to face him. “You know what I found? Too much fun ain't fun any more. You need some kind of purpose to make it all mean something.”

He waggled a finger under Jerry's nose. “Now you, you've been dragged from pillar to post. But you know what? All of that was for a cause. It means something.

Take this here. You're gonna go charging off to rescue your lady love and maybe save the world

“Maybe you'll win, maybe you'll lose. But when it comes to the end you're gonna be able to look back on your life and say it meant something.

“Son,” the old man said, “from where I stand you've got nothing to complain about.”