Chapter 8: Hand Job

A few mornings later, as the fog was lifting, one of the planes failed to start for its morning mission. The accumulated pressure in the F-16 Jet Fuel Starter system failed to start the engine, and they had to break out the T-Handle and pump up the pressure in the accumulator. It’s like hand pumping a hydraulic jack, and when the accumulator is pressurized, it will spin the Pratt and Whitney F-100 engine, so it will start and the flame throwing lawn dart could fly. Pumping it up manually is a pain in the ass job, but if the aircraft crew chief is nice to the folks around him, he’ll get help.

Normally Wedge would ignore hand pumping an accumulator if he had other work to do, but this time it was a special mission on the D Model, which is a two seat F-16. A special mission on the two seat F-16 meant that the person in the back was not a pilot, he was some kind of passenger. You always try to give those guys the best ride because the pilot is going to get the guy in the back seat to puke, which is always entertaining.

The passenger in this case was Father Leonard, the chaplain, and the crew chief had to get the T-handle out. Pumping up the accumulator was equal to 150 push-ups, and for some reason, they were doing it individually. The specialists had a line of people waiting their turn and only one person was on the handle. Even Roxy was in line to take her turn at the pump handle. “Bitch! Watch the radio,” called Wedge and whoever was Truck Bitch slid into the driver’s seat as Wedge hopped out. He took a crew with him and as Roxie crawled under the plane, she grabbed the T-handle and got ready to pump.

Wedge crouched down facing her and grabbed the handle along with her. “First one to quit buys dinner, ready?”

“What?” she asked, but Wedge started pumping the handle and immediately she caught on and began pumping. It’s a dual action pump, so it pumps in both directions.

“It’s easiest if you put everything into pulling,” said Wedge as he gave the handle a solid yank that nearly pulled her off balance.

“That’s as fast as you can go old man?” she said with a grin. She gave the handle a solid yank that nearly caused Wedge to hit his head on the belly of the plane. Her pretty eyes sparkled with mischief, and they picked up the pace.

“I hear they have rib-eye at the club tonight,” said Wedge as he urged her to go faster.

“Oh, I like rib-eye,” she said, “I may need two after this,” and she started pumping faster.

“You think you’re going to be eating my meat?” he said to see if he could freak her off the pump handle.

“You’re not going to be eating my meat tonight,” she gasped, and they went faster. Back and forth, they teased as they pumped the accumulator up. The kidding and joking took her mind off the agony of pumping that handle.

Suddenly, the handle stopped. “Done!” cried the crew chief, who was watching the accumulator level gauge. “Get out of here so we can fly this pig.”

Wedge and Roxie crawled out from under the plane on wobbly legs and headed for the shelter entrance. “You can’t say that you ain’t never got a hand job from me,” she taunted.

“Ain’t nothing like a handjob on a crisp autumn morning, ain’t that right sir?” said Wedge as they walked past their squadron commander.

Of course, Lieutenant Colonel Walker was there at the side of the shelter entrance in full flight gear, shaking his head. Before he could say anything, the F-16’s engine began spinning, and it roared to life. “Now that’s what one of MY hand jobs will do for ya,” laughed Roxie as she hit Wedge with a well-swung hip.

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