Supersonic Youth

The hangar erupted with activity as alarms rang across the airfield, my boots slamming against the hard concrete as I ran toward what was basically my entire life. A sleek tube mounted on spindly wheeled landing gear, with small wings jutting out slightly behind the center at a downward angle, dominated the space. Its sharp nose, tipped by a pitot tube, pointed toward the hangar doors, slowly sliding open with a clattering that couldn’t drown out the alarm.

I sprinted toward the rear of the aircraft, a high-speed interceptor built to go fast, shoot hard, and get out. Above the gaping maw of the jetpipe rose the vertical stabilizer, a towering sentinel over my 1.7 meters, tipped with horizontal stabilizers stretching like eagle wings. I ran past the main wings, which seemed far too small to support this nine-ton bird in flight, past the symmetrical air intakes with spiked shock cones jutting like insect horns, and up to the cockpit at the very nose, sloping sharply downward.

The transparent canopy was already open, a short ladder leaning against it. I vaulted up, my mechanic’s belt clinking around my hips as I ran through my checks. Straps correct, seat primed, nothing loose. Satisfied, I glanced over my shoulder and caught sight of a drab green uniform hurrying across the jet - male, young, clearly inexperienced. A rookie. His soft light-brown hair and nervously flicking eyes contrasted sharply with the deadly machinery beneath him. Features like his belonged teaching children in a small school, not piloting a multi-million-dollar supersonic fighter into war. My heart melted.

His uniform hung a little baggy on him, the body suit slightly oversized, though at least the helmet was custom-fitted. His eyes met mine, flickering with hesitation. I decided he hadn’t expected a pretty girl to be waiting beside the cockpit with a sticker pad clipped to her belt - swinging casually as if it were the most natural thing in the world. One of my quirks.

He reached the ladder, and I offered a hand, which he took. I hauled him up as he mumbled thanks, carefully avoiding bumping me with his heavy boots, and settled into the seat. I fastened his straps, adjusted the seat, and gave him a simple hand signal - wait a moment.

I hopped off the ladder, ran around to the nose, and peeled a sticker from my pad. One deft motion and a small pink flower adorned the dark gray paint. I hurried back, climbed the ladder again, and resumed the pre-flight procedure.

“What was that for?” he asked, almost yelling above the hangar din.

I grinned. He looked far younger than me, maybe only a year or two older.
“It’s for good luck!” I said, helping him connect his oxygen tube. Then, teasingly:
“I’ve promised myself I’ll marry the first man to come back with the sticker still on the nose!”

His face flushed under the helmet, pupils dilating as possibilities flashed across his mind. I stifled a giggle. The chances of a sticker surviving a mission at supersonic speed were practically zero. But I held onto hope. It was all I could do.

I finished my checks, gave him a thumbs-up, and jumped down. He was so new the cockpit didn’t even have his name under the canopy. I dragged the ladder away, listening as the turbojet roared to life, ignitors clicking, fuel catching, the idle revs climbing steadily.

I joined the other ground crew at the hangar edge, cowering slightly as we watched the monstrous pencil taxi out. My thoughts flickered as the canopy closed, the engine pitch rose, and the brakes released with a soft hiss. Missiles mounted underwing, armed and ready, gleamed in the sunlight. The jet rocked gently on its suspension as the nervous rookie eased it out onto the apron, beginning his first mission in a new, unfriendly environment. I whispered a small prayer, hoping my superstition - the stickers - would hold true.

The air sang as the pipe-like contraption rolled to a stop outside the hangar, the engine cutting out with a heaving groan. A tractor hooked onto the nose wheel, and the magnificent machine was pushed back into the hangar - a bird of steel returning to its roost.

The canopy swung open as I dragged the ladder toward the marks on the ground designating the jet’s resting spot. With well-practiced movements, I maneuvered it into place as the aircraft came to a halt, the brakes sealing audibly. I climbed up, already noticing the missing sticker.

I helped the boy remove his helmet. His first words were almost flustered.
“Is… is the sticker still on the nose?”

I smiled warmly and shook my head.
“Not this time. But keep trying! It looked like it gave you the luck you needed. You got back!”

I ignored the fact that one of the missiles was gone. He’d seen combat - and on his first sortie, no less. That was incredibly bad luck. But he’d returned, by some miracle, and that was all that mattered. My superstition felt justified.

I offered him a hand, and he took it as I helped him out of the cramped cockpit. He stammered as he followed me down the ladder.
“Um… what’s your name?”

I grinned.
“Kori. You?”

“R-Raphael… Raffy for short.”

I offered him a handshake as we reached the concrete floor.
“Nice to meet you, Raffy. I look forward to working with you.”

He nodded, a small, tentative smile appearing on his boyish face as he forced out the next words.
“Y-you t-too. Uh… can I get you a drink or something?”

I smiled sweetly.
“Not right now. I need to attend to your mount. But come find me in a few hours, and I’ll take you up on that offer.”

His eyes lit up, and a warm flutter rose in my chest. I liked this boy.