Page 5 of Air Affair

Hank groaned. “Not you too, Pritchard. I thought I was alone in here. Can’t a man lecture his wayward prick in peace?”

More laughter, but this time he joined them. After all, he was a grown man talking to his willy.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes until the new cadets get here, Hawley,” said Lieutenant Pritchard. “You might want to hurry things along. You know the major will be miffed if you’re late again.”

“I’ll be there.”

He shut off the faucet, toweled off, wrapped his towel around his waist, and headed to the sinks for a shave.

“Who’s got you lecturing your willy this time, Hawley?” Lieutenant O’Donnell called out. “Apparently, it isn’t Dorothy.”

“No, not Dorothy. A society girl I met by accident. Completely gorgeous and completely untouchable. Don’t know what I was thinking even speaking to her.”

He really should stick to girls like Dorothy, who wanted nothing more than an occasional good time, no strings attached.

“Oho! Nice going, Hawley,” said Pritchard. “Get yourself one of those Upper East Side Knickerbocker girls, and you are set for life.”

He lathered his face and began to shave. “Not likely to marry me, seeing how she already has a fiancé.”

“They say forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest,” Pritchard wheedled.

“What did she look like?” O’Donnell asked. “Blonde or brunette?”

“Blonde.”

Hank nicked himself and cursed.

“Blue eyes or brown?” O’Donnell persisted.

“Blue.”

“Thin or…nicely rounded?”

“O’Donnell,” he warned, and he rinsed off his face and put a bit of tissue on the spot he nicked.

But apparently, O’Donnell wasn’t done. While Hank was getting dressed, he asked, “To which fruits would you compare her various assets? For example⁠—”

“Shut up, O’Donnell, before you say something you will regret.”

“Oo, she really got under your skin, didn’t she?” His friend was grinning from ear to ear.

“I said, shut your trap.”

Hank ran a comb through his hair and hurried out to the lunchroom, grabbing himself another cup of heinous coffee, and arrived in the hangar just in time to greet the major and the new cadets. He came to attention.

“At ease, Hawley,” Major Fleet said. They both stood by the chalkboard at the front of the room and watched the cadets seat themselves at lunchroom tables. “Am I imagining things, or is this batch even younger than the last?”

“With all due respect, I don’t think they got younger. I think we got older, sir.”

Major Fleet smiled. “And thank God for that, eh? Another day older. Another day wiser.”

“Can’t complain, sir,” Hank said, taking another drink and wondering if someone swapped the coffee with gasoline.

O’Donnell and Pritchard came in with their own steaming mugs and saluted.

“Time to get started, don’t you think, gentlemen?” Major Fleet asked the three of them, then made his way to the front of the room. “Cadets, welcome to the U.S. Postal Service.”

As usual, there were a couple of quiet snickers. “It’s true that no one is shooting at you here, but make no mistake, this is dangerous work. Every day, we push the limits of what is possible with these airplanes. New York to Philadelphia and Philadelphia to Washington, D.C.: both routes push our Jennies to their maximum range. Lieutenant Hawley, about how often would you say you run out of fuel before you land?”