Chapter 3

So, between the classroom, the cockpit, and a three-week trip to Washington State to go camping and eat bugs, bleichhhh, in survival school, I was pretty busy. I was given a two and a half week break at Thanksgiving to go home and work with Dad and the crew. General Baxter was there with a project officer from another yet unknown part of the big five-sided wonder, and once we were all settled and my crew gave us a briefing, I was able to show them how to finish the darned thing and turn it over to testing. From there it would go to our fabrication people, then we had to start making them. A lot of them. It was an aftermarket add on to avionics that modified a return radar signal in any of 6 or 7 different ways. Six for fighters, since they already were one, and 7 for larger aircraft, bombers and cargo planes and the like, that sent back a false read out that looked real for all intents and purposes. Selection one sent back a brick wall. Two was a wing of fighters. That would scare anyone. Three was a daisy, to be used on friendly forces in training only. You get the picture. Part of the development was an algorithm in the signals to keep it from being first, ever being used against us, except in training, and second, from looking like a fake radar return. The real process behind it was programmed and actively directed signal steering. I’ll leave it at this. A fabricated return signal turns, is transmitted out and like an arc toward an intended target, their radar antenna, making it look like it came from another source, in a different location than the originator. ‘Nuff said. Not a subject for open discussion beyond that.

In the evenings, my darlings and I spent quality time together, as much as we could, since parents got in the way. We took Amy to her family on Black Friday, our company declaring the two days off. Amy explained the relationship to her mother and aunt. Her brother no longer lived at home, her father was no longer in the picture, and her uncle was a casualty of the early Afghanistan days. Army. They seemed happy about Amy finding us, and companionship, letting us know we were welcome any time. After a lunch of really good leftovers from their Thanksgiving meal and an exchange of addresses and phone numbers, and well wishes, we were on our way home. It was a few hours’ drive each way.

“Amy, your aunt wasn’t just visiting, was she,” Vanessa asked her pet.

“No, ma’am.”

“They’re pretty close, aren’t they, pet?” Vanessa went on to ask.

“Yes, ma’am. When Uncle David died, my aunt kind of lost some marbles. Mom took her in. My sperm donor tried to get in the way, emotionally, romantically, and it drove Mom and him apart. She threw him out. Good riddance. He was a pain in Aunt Martha’s ass, from what I understand, since they were much younger. I heard later that every time Uncle David went somewhere, my paternal unit would try to get in her pants. Then when Uncle David didn’t come back the last time, sperm donor in question decided to make a play for having two wives and lost them both. Good riddance, indeed. It was a terrible time. I haven’t been able to stomach calling him the D word since.”

“Dad?” I asked.

“Yeah. He was a poor excuse as a father. He was never and could never be a D word.”

“But you can call Charlie ‘Dad’?” Vanessa asked.

“Easily, and with conviction. Oh, and Martha is not my mom’s sister. David was her brother. But yes, if you were wondering, they are a couple. A couple of wonderful nuts, but a couple just the same.”

“Amy, darling, thank you for that. Thank you for sharing that story. Thank you for calling our father Dad, too. I know he likes it. So does Mom, by the way.”

“Anything you ask of me, Vanessa. Anything. Take me home and make love to me, people. I have hungry skin and my cunny wants to bite something.” I started laughing so hard I almost went in the ditch. Almost. Not really, it wasn’t even close, but Amy was so funny when she said that. Vanessa went into hysterics.

“Do not tarry, driver, I will feed young Amy’s hungry cunny my tongue for an appetizer then the main course of your manhood should suffice to slake the hunger of the little monster.” Vanessa spoke with the cutest British accent.

“Now we’re talking!” Amy said with an exaggerated New York thing going. Laughter filled the car.

And so it was. Friday evening we shared our day with Mom and Dad, then went to my room and slaked the hunger of the ravenous cunny.

Tuesday I headed off for Texas, a month of intense air to air coming up, then a couple weeks off and a week at the factory, then I think two more months of classroom, simulator combat, and air to air in the planes, then back here with my reserve unit. I still had several months of training, but it would be a week at a time, here and there, and all was well and planned. We thought.

Christmas came and I was surprised to find Amy’s mother and aunt there when we arrived. It was really quite a shock, but they were there with Mom and Dad having a good old time and raising Cain telling stories and sipping holiday libations when the girls got me home. I was happy, don’t get me wrong. It was a good thing. It just seemed out of place for the Anne and Martha I met a month ago. Mom explained later that knowing Amy was happy and with someone cheered them up, then with a little more communication, Anne opened up, Martha came out of her shell, and voila. Anne became herself, and Martha became a nut. Just like Amy said. She was crazy funny, and with this crowd, didn’t have filter one. But she was as sweet as she could be.

They stayed several days, proving to be a very welcome addition to the Martin household. They were nothing but happy for Amy, knowing that she was submissive to my Vanessa. It seems the lifestyle wasn’t unknown to them. Martha deferred to Anne in almost every case and waited on her hand and foot the entire time. She was an elementary teacher and Anne was a high school principal, so it made sense ... I guess. In any case, our Amy and Anne’s Martha were kindred spirits.

Anne made it clear to Amy though, that since we no longer had her working, she really needed to make herself useful around the house and in the bedroom. Amy told us about their private conversation later. She said it was hard not to laugh, as her mother was being serious, but all that was already there ... In spades.

New Year’s toasts and togetherness, as well as some voracious lovemaking, started the year off on the right foot. The project delivered its first test platform just after New Year’s Day and was a resounding success. The future for Martin Industries was bright.

Back to flight school I went, in mid-January. Dad flew me down, and I did without a car for the last couple months. It wasn’t that big of a deal. I bought a cheap bike at the Base Exchange and walked a lot. There was a reason. I’d be home by the time the girls were on Spring Break; we could spend some quality time together. I was going to surprise them with a trip. On Sundays, my only fairly sure day off in Texas, I had roped a guy into checking me out in a Pilatus PC-24 business jet. Dad had mentioned buying a plane someday, and this one was about as much as you could get and still have just one pilot. We thought that would be important, since both of us taking off every time we went somewhere was a bit presumptuous. There may be a rule change coming down the pike on the weight limits of single pilot jets, boosting the maximum to 29,500 pounds, dry and empty, or even more, but the necessary controls locations only allowed for a few additional planes to be added. It would be hard to know which ones without the companies jumping out and selling them that way.

I found a plane that fit my wants and needs both, for sale in Kansas City. A company needed to upgrade and was buying a new, but already obsolete and out of production, Cessna Citation X+. They could crew it, so wanted the speed, range, and other improvements it provided over this one. Their Pilatus had been customized in the factory with extra fuel, at the expense of four of the allowed passengers. Hence, with the extra range and payload of the X+, they were making a killing on the upgrade. We didn’t need nearly that much seating and would be fine with only 8 seats, two in the cockpit and 6 in club configuration in the back. Just fine, actually. With our three thousand nautical mile range, at altitude, we could safely make Kauai with a head wind. If you could do that, you could make it anywhere in the world. I wanted that option.

I called Dad, asked him for seven million dollars and he said ‘NO’, unless he got to fly it, too. The discussion, when he heard about the cargo door, the additional range, the maintenance plan already on the plane and recently rebuilt engines, really put paid to the deal. He set up a meeting with the people in Kansas City and started the purchase. The only caveat, he told them, was that everything had to be working, and I had to test fly the plane before the funds left escrow. Once they knew I was flying one and getting checked out at the time, they verified with my civilian flight instructor and agreed to the stipulation. The check was placed in a KC bank waiting for me to get done having fun. I was flying one similar, without the added fuel, on the weekends, and would be able to pick ours up when flight school was complete. Then, I was taking my girls to Hawaii. And maybe the parents, too, if they insisted on tagging along. I was going to insist on separate floors at the hotel or condo or whatever. It was going to be a wild week.

So, mid-March, Dad flew down to spend the last day with me. It was mid-week, and the girls were all in class, or working, in Mom’s case. Dad and I talked about this, that and the other, and over a beer after my last class, we were chatting with a few of the school staff. I brought up that I noticed a few guys that got a touch cocky with the new-found title and asked one of my less outwardly instructors about it. Dad was sitting right next to me at a large round table during the conversation. It was full of seasoned fighter pilots, save one.

“Lieutenant Martin,” Major Daniels smiled, “Carl, for every cocky stick jockey out there, there is an equally grounded XO or squadron commander who has been in the shits. The cocky little snot will run into one of those people with their feathers out and get them clipped. Let nature take its course. Cocky pilots, cocky anythings, learn or perish. It’s the nature of nature. I don’t think you’re due for a trimming. Care to explain?”

“Major, my father flew Phantoms, Eagles, and finally Falcons, with a stint in DC flying commuters. Lieutenant Colonel when he left to take over our company. I am in his shadow, willingly. No room to be cocky. I’m here at the invitation of General Howard Baxter, who you may or may not know as the Commander in Chief of Materiel Command. He’s a highly decorated Eagle pilot with two kills. He’s also ‘Howie’, to my family. I don’t have room to be cocky. My grandfather was one of Howie’s flight instructors. He retired in an F-4. Sixty F-105 missions, forty-five F-4 missions, and four kills. No, sir, I have no right to be cocky. Oh, and my mother earned a Distinguished Flying Cross flying into fire to save some downed airmen in Iraq. She later lost her life giving me mine. No, sir, I definitely don’t get to be cocky.”

“Wow. What a legacy. Just to let you know, you’ll be receiving an award later tonight. Your father, I understand, will present it to you. Don’t worry, it’s nothing extravagant.”

Dad was already on stage as a keynote speaker for our graduation. He gave a little talk about how flying relates to business and how it helps the executive make decisions quickly insuring the best outcome, yada, yada. Don’t get me wrong, but I’ve heard it in bits and pieces for going on twenty-seven years now. He called me up. “Will my son please come up? I’m very proud of this young man.”

The flight school commander took over. “Busiest Pilot in Flight School History is presented to Captain Doctor Carl Martin.” He saw my eyebrows raise. “Hush. He qualified in five separate aircraft, officially, and a friend downtown called and told me he checked out in Swiss T-39 wannabe over the weekends. Three fighters and three commuters in 16 months. Not to mention, General Baxter, Commander of Materiel Command up in Ohio, added this line to the citation. ‘He also invented something that may well save a bunch of you throttle jockeys from getting a missile up your keister.’ We think that deserves an award. Oh, and your father can put the railroad tracks on you now if you don’t mind.” The room broke out in laughter at my reaction. “I’d also like to note he took first in academics and third in flight, being rated as number two, I mean second, in the class. A round of applause for Captain Carl Martin, please.”

It was of total shock and surprise. Shit, I didn’t see that coming. Any of this, really. At all! Less than two years in the Air Force, and I was already a freaking Captain. And recipient of a gag award. The first one of its kind ever given out, and maybe the last. I didn’t even think they were keeping track of the scores, either. I was under the impression most of it was pass or fail. Oh well, except from being away from my wife and her pet, I will admit, I had fun. A lot of fun.

Dad spent the night, then the next day we both flew commercial to KCI, got a ride to the Downtown Marriott, across the river from the downtown airport, and settled in. Tomorrow we’d go up to Wheeler Airport, check out the plane and then take off for home. The first thing I wanted to do was go down and swim some laps and relax. He thought it was a good idea, so we spent some father-son time doing just that. He asked about flight school and whether things had changed, but they hadn’t. We still got thrown in the tank and treated like plebes for a while, but as we showed the instructors what we could do, it got better. At the end I was treated like a fighter pilot in the United States Air Force, by other like pilots. It was a good feeling.

He brought up the conversation about being cocky, and told me he was, once. He had a flameout and almost crashed. That and a little advice from his squadron’s XO, their executive officer, second to the squadron commander, brought him back down to reality, and his small place in this big wide world. “Carl,” he said, “keep your humility at all cost. You are nothing but a soldier with a really big rifle. You are no better, nor any less, than any of the other member of the armed forces, well, other than being my son. That’s something.” I nodded. I never forgot that conversation.

We did another twenty or so laps then went over and sat in the hot tub for a bit. I asked how the girls were getting along and if anything was going on out of the ordinary. Nothing. Happy, safe, good grades, everything was fine. I took a sip of the drink I had brought in for me. “Just preparing for the June wedding.” I made some unnatural motion, choking, snorting, and gasping, all at once. Not good. Nothing like tonic water in your sinuses.

“WHAT?”

“Yes, son, from what I understand, in June, you and my daughter are marrying one Amy Baldwin. In all but legal terms, that is. Ceremony is to be in our back yard. Anne and Martha are coming in, and we’ll have a few friends that can handle the revelation without choking. As you did.” He laughed at my surprise and reaction. “Son, the husband is always the last to know. Get used to it.” He laughed again.

The evening was nice. We hadn’t spent this much time together in ages. He asked me about flying the F-22s and F-35s. He already knew about the F-16 so I could give him a realistic idea of what they were like in comparison using the differences. Those were the three fighters I was trained in. He understood the term heavier, immediately. It wasn’t all about weight. Making it an early night, I made a call to my honeys, both of them on the line, and let them know about the conversation with Dad and the tonic water. That brought laughter from both. They told me not to worry about it. The only thing that would change was the amount of jewelry we all wore. Everything else was already there. The love, devotion, and permanent joining of three people into one were already cast in stone. I could hear the seriousness in each of their voices. With a tear rolling down my cheek, I told them I loved them both without limits, and I’d see them tomorrow late afternoon. We said goodnight with phone kisses.

At the airport we saw the plane. Pretty. Very pretty, and very, very blue. Let’s say beautiful. We walked around, checking everything out, doors, seals, struts, pitot tubes, everything I could think of that was attached, moved, latched, or painted. Dad had hired a jet mechanic and surveyor to come in as a silent party. He was just there to watch and prompt Dad with questions if he thought they were necessary. Other than that, we wanted this to be a friendly deal.

One of the cup holders had a scratch in it where it looked like someone put a travel mug in on top of a set of keys without looking. That was it. Even the sheepskin had been newly replaced for the sale. It was unbelievably nice for a jet with four thousand hours on it. The surveyor said if we didn’t buy it, he’d have his brother-in-law do it. The additional range was worth every penny of the extra half million on the price of the used aircraft. And it was immaculate. The cup holder was a twenty-four dollar drop in replacement and would have been, had the owners known about it.

The short test flight out, down, and around the Lake of the Ozarks gave us enough time and activity that we could put the plane through its paces. Everything felt great so we landed, let the owners off and released the funds. Thanking the sellers, we shook hands all around, and prepared to take off for home. The surveyor would handle the paperwork and have it all mailed to us legal like with applications for registration number changes and the like, if we wanted that. Not a biggie to me, so I didn’t know yet. Dad said he might have an idea, but I let it go.

We filed a flight plan, got clearance and I took our new ride home. At our airport, I was asked on approach if we’d be able to handle getting back out, but when I told them as long as we weren’t heavy I wouldn’t need but just over half of it, they were satisfied. One thing this plane was known for was its short take off and unpaved surface capabilities. The requirements were minimal for an aircraft in this class. The last owners used Wheeler and its shortest runway was way less than a mile. They said they used it, even heavy, full fuel, crew, passengers, and luggage, all the time. Comfortably.

My girls were there and after a very brief kiss and the lightest of hugs, much to my disappointment, they ran up the stairs, inside, and checked the plane out. That’s what they were excited about. Getting their man back was second, at best. Boy, were they impressed. The first things they looked for? The potty and the microwave. Happy campers.

Dad had arranged for hangar storage short term, until he could lease some ground and put in our own. I questioned that, but he told me long term, privacy and cost factors would outweigh renting and sharing this one. And, he said, “Remember what we do for a living, son. We like to keep things private.” I had to agree. “I need your help designing and building a hangar, too. Get your wife involved. From a business standpoint. Oh, by the way, she asked if she could learn to fly. That, dear boy, is your problem now.” He laughed, and we went home.

After a dinner of pork roast, potatoes, carrots, and onions, with pecan pie for dessert, I knew I was home. The food at the cafeteria on base was fine, as were several other places I went, but this was home. I kissed Mom and thanked her for the homecoming meal. She asked how I knew.

“Dad and the girls don’t use pearl onions. Vanessa always said...”

“They’re too much trouble,” came out in perfect four-part harmony.

She blushed. “Well, they are. What’s wrong with slicing a sweet onion and laying it on top?”

“Nothing, Pumpkin. We love the way you cook. You know that,” Dad told her then hugged her.

A movie, some chit chat about life in general, a welcome home knowing it would be some time before I’d be gone much, and we were done for the evening. Victoria kissed me and while hugging me whispered to me, “Congratulations, young man. You’ve made your father very happy, and very, very proud. Goodnight, son.” She kissed my cheek and hugged each of the girls goodnight.