Of Mail and Wings

by Wiz Ahmad

Turned Down...For What?

I returned home just before sundown, turning into my driveway. With a smooth upwards push I heaved up the garage door and reversed Whiz neatly inside. She fitted perfectly, without bumping or knocking any of the shelving units. Speaking of which, I still had yet to get rid of those. Which probably meant doing some hustling. Except instead of crack, it'd be old paint cans, paint brushes, glue, and a couple tools.
Turning the key in the lock, I stepped through the door and entered. Oddly enough, Fleetfoot wasn't sitting by the couch, although the game application had been closed. The laptop was still connected to the TV and both devices were still running.

"Fleetfoot? Fleety?" I softly called out, but there was no reply. Keeping my cool, I checked the kitchen and patio before heading upstairs. I checked my bedroom. Poster-filled, with the small old desk and bed in the corner as usual. Finally, I peeked into the other, unused bedroom – and there she was, sitting on a pillow reading a book with a blanket draped over her.

"Hey," I whispered, not wishing to disrupt the flow of whatever she was reading.

Fleetfoot immediately recognized my voice and looked up. "Welcome home, Brian. These stories are pretty interesting."

Stories? I thought. I'd been gone only for about an hour or so, and she'd gone through a pile? Damn.

"I have quite a couple I can recommend to you," I replied, opening the door a little wider. "But right now I need to prepare dinner. You'll be fine here, right?"

"I'm not a little filly," Fleetfoot snapped with a stern look.

"Haha," I chuckled. "I know you aren't. Enjoy the book, the story gets pretty epic towards the end."

With that, I skipped down the staircase and dashed into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I discovered my feathered friend had lapped up some of my chip dip. Then as I heated up the leftover stir-fry in the microwave oven, I noticed the bag of Doritos was gone.

"Smart pegasus," I muttered. "But why would she eat chips? Not the healthiest snack on the menu if I'm honest..."

It did put a smile on my face to see that any mess on the tiled floor had been cleaned up and the empty chip bag had been thrown in the trash can. Heading up to my room, I grabbed a few documents and called Fleetfoot down for dinner.

"Just as satisfying as it was the day before," she admitted, wiping her mouth with a rag.

"Must agree," I said, savoring the final spoonful of the delightful Asian cuisine. "Say, would you mind sleeping in the other room?"

"Nah," Fleetfoot shook her head. "I like the couch better. Besides, it'd cost you a ton of bits to get another bed which you obviously don't have."

Bits? I wondered. Was that their currency of sorts back in Equestria? Either way, she had a solid point. The couch was sufficient, and I shouldn't risk breaking the bank. So I moved on to the bigger, more important question to ask her. One that would reshape the whole U.S. Army flight camp orientation and regulation board.

"Would you like to join me in flight training?"

Instantly Fleetfoot leaned back, and her lip turned down in doubt. "Um, I don't know, Brian... will they even accept me, even though I can very fast? You said I'm like an alien in this world, right? So how would they react seeing me amongst them?"

She had a point. But I had an idea.

"I'll get in touch with them and give their proposal. My lead instructor, Sean, is running out of options for a substitute for one pilot who had to make an emergency leave before this year's session started. That's why I was asking."

"Well, if Sean fails to find a replacement and rejects your proposal, then he'll be as stuck as a wagon in mud," Fleetfoot remarked, and we shared a laugh.

"He'll need information though. How about I give him a quick description of you and a picture?" I proposed.

Fleetfoot shook her head. "He needs to see me fly first."

I thought about it for a while, then let out a sly smile. "I don't think that should be too much of a problem. Tomorrow, I'll give him the basic proposal, then come with evidence on the second day."

"Sounds hoof-lickin' good to me," Fleetfoot replied, and we exchanged a fist-hoof bump.

We did a quick exercise routine, then headed off to bed. I shut off my laptop and the TV, disconnected the cable, and brought all the hardware back upstairs to my room while Fleetfoot settled down on the couch with my old blanket. Up in my room, while Fleetfoot slept, I organized some of my cluttered personal possessions, and got my postman suit ready for tomorrow's reappearance on the job.

The following morning, I got dressed in my casual clothes and packed up my flight gear. In the kitchen I quietly made breakfast, Fleetfoot still asleep on the couch, looking cute as ever. I quickly wrote down a note and headed out to the car, my mind still in long-term mode. I kept thinking about aspects of my home and my reacquired job that I really hadn't considered seriously before. Sharing living space and commodities heightened my awareness, and gave me more purpose why I was truly doing them. Stopping at a traffic light, I turned on Siri.

"Notes, please."

"Okay."

"Goals: Sort out items no longer needed, repaint garage, organize empty room for pegasus friend, separate books, clean room, vacuum house, set up plans to sell items, do laundry."

"anything else I can help you with?"

"Set an appointment for 3:30, and remind me half an hour early. Thanks Siri."

"You're welcome."

I continued on to the Air Force base, where I unloaded and headed into the training building. Today was another session of flying, where the instructions from our trainers would be minimal, and more focused on refining our basic flying techniques. I could roll fairly easily, and climbing and diving was a breeze. My main issue was staying on top of all the dials, numbers, and signals coming at me every hundredth of a second through the HMSS. On top of that, I had to constantly activate the infrared sensor to scan for "potential enemies" even though we were in a controlled area and not in Afghanistan. And a tiny section of my brain was still thinking about Fleetfoot.

"Just take 'em one at a time," Rafael's reassuring voice came over the intercom. I slowed my thinking frame rate, aligned my eyes with all the necessary information, and started to take in what I needed to learn and understand. After a good ninety minutes of flying, I'd got the basic arsenal down-packed. Later on in the third and final stage of the program I'd be sent out to an even bigger training ground in Iraq to actually practice using the jet's real weapons. At the end of the second session, I met Shane in the conference room.

"You asked for a short meeting, Mr. Spilner?" he said, fingertips together and arms atop the head desk. Fighting my shakiness, I strode forward with my bag, nodding as I sat down in the chair across from him.

"Yes, I did, sir," I replied politely, setting my bag down on the floor and facing him at a slight angle. I learned from an old friend at high school that this was a way to show keen interest without giving an intimidating impression.

"Is there any issues that you've noticed?" Shane inquired, tilting his head slightly.

I smiled and shook my head. "I, actually, have come on concern of our missing fifth pilot. I have gotten in touch with an old friend who is willing to take her place."

I unzipped a compartment on my duffel and held up a photo of Fleetfoot hovering in mid-air with a cute cheeky grin.

Shane froze, gazing in absolute shock. Before he could think of what to say, I took out a slip of paper and slid it across the desk to him.

"That's her information. I have yet to see her actually fly, though she says she can fly really fast."

"IS THIS SOME KIND OF JOKE?" Shane snapped, pushing my hand aside. His face was so close I could smell the Angus beef burger he'd eaten during our noon break.

"No, sir, I am not joking at all," I replied firmly, standing my ground. "Not in the slightest bit. She is real, she's a good flier, and she's...she's my best friend."

Shane backed into his chair and cocked an eyebrow. I gave a slow, serious nod, and he looked over the paper slip. For a full sixty seconds the room was so silent you could hear an ant crawl across the floor. Finally Shane spoke up.

"I know you mean well, Spilner," he replied, still sounding disappointed, "but this just doesn't look feasible."

"Good luck telling your bigger boss that you had a clear opportunity to complete a well-oiled team of five pilots and you backed out," I thought, but crushed it like a soda can in a garbage truck. "May I ask, when should you expect to have a substitute by?"

"By the end of tomorrow," he replied, shaking his head slightly. Surprisingly, Shane's complexion turned from one of shock and anger to one of concern and despair. "I know there are good committed aspiring pilots out there, and I'll find one. I... just hope it isn't too late."

I bit back an exasperated sigh. "Well, good luck to you then. I hereby request permission to leave, sir?"

"You may go, Mr. Spilner," Shane replied.

As I stuffed the papers back into my bag, I couldn't help but look back at my pilot squad leader and feel a tiny pang of pity. Here I'd presented him with a solution that had a streak of potential, and he'd turned it down in hopes of being able to find a "proper" replacement.

Author's Note:

In spite of its alleged reference, the title seems to fit the chapter itself. Just finished exams and won't be back in school until 2nd week of February so expect more chapters very soon. I know this story's giving a "slice of life" feeling but hold your finger from hitting the dislike button - things are about to get exciting.

edit - fixed a continuity error.

Comments

[Bronycommander]

Given that Fleetfoot is a elite flyer, she would make a Good addition to the team. But I'm sure it would remind her of her wonderbolt friends and become sad. Question is, can a pegasus keep up with a jet fighter?