You'll Thank Me Later

Name: Isles, Daniel

Grade: Cadet Technical Sergeant

Age: 16

Branch of Service: Civil Air Patrol

Status: MIA

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A warm breeze blows over my face and arms, pulling the heat away from my sweaty form and whistles in my ears. I hear a helicopter hum off in the distance and a white security vehicle drones by loudly.

"A hero or war. Hey that's what I'll be; and when I come home, they'll be damn proud of me..."

I mutter the lyrics of that horrendously catchy song under my breath as I stand idly by the door to the Captain's office looking at the light shine off of my neatly-bloused and well polished combat boots. Today my squadron was invited flying with the full- time Air Force on a refueling mission in a KC 130. It's sort of a privilege, I guess. Most of the time we here in the Civil Air Patrol never get to go flying OR interact with the military, but the recruiting brochures will tell you otherwise. I shake my head and stand up as tall as I can, trying my best to look like a professional.

As a junior NCO, I am in command of six other cadets that are attending, and by that I mean I'm babysitting some other gung-ho kids in uniform. The CAP's funny like that. You have the overweight, under-motivated little 12 year olds that want to fly model rockets that never make it past Airman, and guys like me that stay in the program and take combat and survival classes until we're old enough to enlist in the actual military. I myself couldn't give less of a fuck about flying or aerospace, I want to go into Special Tactics and be an Air Force Combat Controller. In other words, I want to go out with the Navy SEALs and call in their air strikes. But that's still a ways off, and for now I'm stuck in outdated woodland camo playing search and rescue operative for the chair force auxiliary.

A group of airmen jog past me in double time, clad in their distinctive blue and silver PT jackets; their feet hit the ground in a perfect rhythm as they sing a Jody.

I take off my cover and mop my brow with the back of my tactical glove and run my fingers through my short, black hair cut high and tight. I'm one of those guys they brings his gear everywhere. Not because I want to be prepared, I mean, in the 18 months I've served I've only been on three missions, but because it looks cool as fuck. Of course, now that I'm stuck waiting outside an office building with 40 pounds of gear and a squad radio while the sun beats down on the Tarmac like Chris brown on Rihanna, I'm starting to regret my choices.

After the longest fifteen minutes of my life, my overweight captain exits the office with two air force pilots in olive flight suits.

I snap to attention and salute my commanding officer. The caption hobbles up to me and puts his hands on his hips.

That's cool, sir. Don't fucking salute me back or anything.

"Sergeant, have your cadets been briefed on pre-flight safety?"

Go fuck yourself.

"Yes, sir. We are all briefed and awaiting further orders, sir."

"Excellent. Have them get on board."

"Yes, sir."

A C-5 Galaxy would have a hard time getting off the strip with his ass on board. I look up at the KC 130 sympathetically and then snap to attention, taking off at a brisk pace to my cadets, who I find laying around on picnic tables placed haphazardly around the building.

"Cadets, listen up!"

Man I love using the command voice.

"Get your gear together and hustle over to the plane."

"The only one here with any gear is YOU, dog. Maybe you shoulda joined the boy scouts instead." says Cadet Blake, our squadron's resident smartass and wigger.

"Just get the hell on board so we can get this over with." I reply.

"Screwby."

That's another thing about the CAP I sort of like. We borrow slang from all the branches.

I yawn and walk over to the airplane, pausing to listen to the Captain harass the pilots.

"So what will we be refueling, today?" the captain asks, like an oblivious child.

"We're going to go up to about 20,000 feet, circle for a while, and link with a national guard F-16. We'll get that done as soon as possible and just fly the cadets around a bit." replies the pilot.

I decide to climb aboard and join my cadets; I'd rather hang with irritating pre-pubescent children than retarded adults.

After whet feels like another hour of waiting in the heat, the captain climbs aboard and we taxi out to the massive runway. The pilot gets clearance from the base for our bird, callsign Hercules six-two, and we take off.

I’m chilling on one of the jump seats with my pack between my legs watching the excited little cadets look out the window. I will admit, I do love flying, but it’s all the technical shit that turns me off.

My train of thought is derailed by the pilot speaking into my headset.

“Okay, Cadets. We’re coming up to our target now; you may feel the aircraft jerk a little when we extend the boom, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

Eventually an old F-16 starts to break through the cloudline and begins following the KC 130. That’s pretty cool.

The aircraft whines loudly and I watch the boom extend to the front of the Falcon. The pilot adjusts his speed as the connection is made. The KC jumps slightly and the aircraft starts to hum.

Is it just me or is this thing shaking a lot?

The aircraft jumps again and rattles loudly.

Seriously, what the fuck is up with that…?

Without warning I hear a loud screaming noise from outside and the F16 accelerates closer to the large tanker aircraft. This is seriously starting to bug me out, that damn pilot needs to chill.

There’s a loud crack from beneath my feet and I jump up.

“Sit down, Mr. Isles.” Says the Captain, laying across two seats with his leg stretched out.

It’s SERGEANT you fat shithead!

Suddenly a thunderous boom erupts from underneath me and the boom separates from the aircraft. The F16 slams into the KC and erupts into a violent torrent of fire that engulfs my window.

My cadets start screaming and the pilot cracks in over the radio, but I can’t hear him. I grab a seat for support and try to hold myself steady as a red light begins flashing. There’s another extremely loud boom from outside and the radio goes silent.

The captain grabs my belt and tries to pull me back. I jerk away and a section of the bay wall rips away, revealing a trail of burning flames. The gust pulls him back and throws him to the floor violently. I almost feel bad, but I have my people to worry about.

The wind screams in my ears as I shuffle toward the cockpit of the burning KC130. The aircraft jerks violently and throws me into the wall, smashing my face against cold and unforgiving metal.

A panicked voice calls to me from behind.

"Sarge! What's happening!?"

Swafford!

I grab hold of one of the jump seats and brace against another violent shock of turbulence as I turn to face my second in command.

"Stay here! I'm going to go check the pilots!" I call back.

"Jesus Christ, the Captain's fucking dead!" he screams looking at the gored body of our commanding officer.

"Just do as I say and STAY with the fucking cadets! " I scream.

There's a brief pause as Swafford takes in the situation. "Yes, sergeant."

I turn around again and work my way to the cockpit. The aircraft lurches and throws me off my feet as I grab the metal door and roll it open. The sight that meets me causes my blood to run cold.

The pilots are slumped over the controls, blood spatters on the windshield. The radio is clutched in the copilot's hand. I stagger to him and take the radio from his grasp.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday! Hercules six two is going down! Repeat: Hercules six two is GOING. DOWN."

The radio buzzes and crackles, I am met with only static. I swallow hard as my breath starts to come quickly and shallow. I can’t panic now, or we’re all fucking dead.

I pull the 9mm sidearm off of the pilot and slip it into my pants, grabbing the copilot's extra magazines: Wherever we crash I need to keep my Cadets safe and I have no idea how long it will be before rescue finds us. I wrap my arms around his chest and pull the pilot out of his seat, slipping the PDA off of his suit; if we crash I want to know what the hell happened. I grab the intercom:

"Swaf! The pilots are goners, I'm going to try to get control of this thing!"

There's no reply, but I'm sure Swafford hears me. All Civil Air Patrol cadets, regardless of their positions or interests, are required to take classes on aerospace physics and aircraft handling. Although I'm a squad radio operator, I have had experience flying single engine aircraft under supervision numerous times. However, this behemoth has four engines, a burning fuel tank and my supervision is comatose or dead.

I swallow deeply and grab the controls. The only instruments I recognize are the altimeter and barometer, which tell me that not only are we losing altitude rapidly, we're falling through an area of extremely high pressure. Not good.

I ease the nose of the KC 130 up by pulling back lightly on the wheel, the display in front of me me shows me that I’m missing two engines and we’re leaking fuel.

Of course we’re leaking fuel, the tank is on fire.

I hold the plane as steady as I can as it begins to lurch and shake erratically again. Something else is propelling this thing. I suddenly realize that the F-16 is still attached to this thing. That’s what’s ripping it apart; the engines are melting the fucking plane!

I jump out of the pilot’s seat and bolt to the back, running as fast as I can through the massive belly of this monster. On my way out I grab the Aircrew Survival Kit off of the wall and throw it into my pack.

“Swafford! Get everyone out of here, the fuselage is on fire! Come on, we have to-“

There is a deafening boom and the rear of the aircraft is completely ripped away, along with my cadets and officer.

“SHIT!”

I grab my pack tightly and hold on as tight as I can to the threshold. The plane jerks violently and lurches itself to the right side, throwing me into cockpit.

I sit slumped against the controls, dazed. My boots rest in a pool of the pilots’ blood and I feel my own begin to run down the side of my face.

I hear the engines frying beneath me accelerate again and the KC-130 shakes faster and more violently. I struggle to stand and turn to face the blood-spattered windshield. The F16 rips itself free and screams ahead of the aircraft. I jump back into the pilot’s seat and grab the wheel again. Maybe I can fly this thing on one engine…

The F16 suddenly stalls and flies backward. I duck behind the control panel and the glass above me shatters. My wrist smashes into the metal seat. I stagger to my feet as the plane falls into a steep dive. I feel the engines tear off as more flames engulf the frame.

I am thown into the back of the cockpit and the G-force of the fall holds me down. I hear the straining of metal and the wall beside me tears away, sucking me and all of my gear out of the aircraft and throwing me into the freezing, open air. I suddenly can’t breathe and my body locks up as I fall away from the burning aircraft. Only now do I see the extent of the damage caused by the explosion:

The fuel tank leaks thick, black smoke and the underside is burned away. I strain to keep my eyes open as I watch the flames completely engulf the aircraft.

Suddenly a huge boom rips through the air, deafening me. I can no longer hear the air screaming through my ears as I plummet to the ground. From the fuel tanks a black swirling mass appears, growing and spinning as it sucks away the clouds around me.

I’m too dazed to realize what’s happening as a second explosion causes the mass of black matter to engulf me completely. I close my eyes and brace for a sudden and very painful death.

I feel a warm gust wash over me, followed by a squeezing sensation. I open my eyes and am nearly blinded by the sudden re-polarization of the sky around me. Everything is brighter, bluer, more colorful. Maybe I’m oxygen deprived and my head is fucking with me, I DEFINITELY should have hit the ground by now. I look down at an even more colorful landscape and realize I’m still MILES off the ground. I spin myself around to look for the KC-130 but it’s nowhere to be found.

I didn’t realize it, but I’ve been screaming this entire time. My voice fries out and I close my mouth as the ground flies closer and closer to me. I close my eyes once more and prepare to meet my end.

This isn’t how I want to go, I didn’t earn my red beret, I never got laid, and I never even finished high school.

Suddenly I feel the wind get knocked out of me. Blood flies out of my mouth and I feel my bones crack: IMPACT.

I open my eyes. Wait, what?! I’m still falling, no I’m FLYING. My motion is horizontal. Something slammed into me and is holding me at what feels like Mach One speed. There’s a black trail of smoke behind me and it sounds like a jet has me pinned. No, the body around me is warm, and sweaty. I can hear shallow breathing, not my own, as I slip into unconsciousness.

I wake up on the ground in what feels like warm grass. My entire body is numb and warm. The colors look wrong, too bright, too… cartoony. Six forms approach me at a gallop. Wait, seriously. They look like fucking Technicolor horses and they are literally GALLOPING to me. I grab the tree I’m lying against and struggle to one knee. The brightly colored forms draw nearer. I put my hands up in front of my face and spread my fingers: Don't shoot.

I keep my arms raised to show that I am unarmed before I feel a sudden sharp pain in my lungs and collapse to my stomach, laying on the cold steel on my hip as I feel warm blood spill out of my mouth.

I hear the creatures talking before consciousness leaves me again.

“What the hay is that?”

“He looks hurt…”

“Maybe he’s new in Ponyville!”

“I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“And just WHAT is he WEARING?”

“Uh, girls? Ah think we should git him on over to the hospital.”

I slip under again as I feel my form being lifted by an unseen force, the pain in my chest overwhelms me…