The training track was located in a small area of land about the same size of a baseball field, and consisted of a simple oval with several lines. Each runner had to conform to his or her specific line, yet still be able to run smoothly and swiftly without bumping into other runners and complete a lap under a certain time.
I had taken this course before, but it had been a while since I'd moved swiftly. Owning Whiz had taken its toll on my muscles, though I still hit the gym occasionally.
"To the starting line for the first warm-up lap!" Shane barked, and we – four of us pilots – stepped in line, fully dressed in our running outfits. I'd chosen a outlier-type color – light pink. I balled my hands into fists and braced my legs for a long stretch and rapid flexing.
"GO!" Shane bellowed with a strong whistle blow, and we all took off. Being one of the slow ones, I took my time off the line, slowly picking up my pace, until I was at running speed. Even so, it was not enough. By the time I caught up to the other team members, the lap was over. I was sweaty and panting like a greyhound, which caused more than a few snickers from the others.
"I will have the last laugh," I muttered under my breath as we all took a short walk to cool down before refreshing ourselves for the next lap.
We all lined up, and Shane raised his hand, before throwing it down and blowing his whistle simultaneously. All of us took off at speed, but I took my time, with a little more speed than before. As the other team members neared the turning point, I picked up more speed from my jogging trot and broke into a full-long run, nearing the second last runner. As all of us came around to the home stretch, I kept increasing my speed, soon placing myself in fourth place. Yet after the lap was over, Shane gave us all a stinging reminder.
"This isn't the Olympics guys. No winners or losers. In fact I'd bet y'all that the slowest of you will be the best aerial performers. Now let's get our butts back out on that track for one final lap before we lift off."
Shane blew the whistle and we all ran, but this time I decided to go at my own pace; a running speed which I felt comfortable with, rather than trying to be perfectly in line with or beat the others. Surprisingly I ended up in fourth place, beating my lap record from the previous rookie attempt last year by a good two and-a-quarter seconds.
With all three warm-up laps complete, I headed off to cool my hot head and surging legs down along with the other pilots. More of the military routine began to revive itself within my head, and I had little trouble remembering routines and important actions to take.
After the brief cool-down session, the clock struck seven-fifteen. We all had checked our breathing and heart rates, and were preparing to outfit ourselves for a good two-to-four session up in the clouds.
"You okay about all this?" Steve inquired.
"I...I'm good, really," I replied, slipping on my flight suit and triple-checking all my pockets and adequate information. Opening my portfolio I pulled out any important information that I'd need and slid them into my pockets. Then I zipped my duffel bag shut, held my verification paper in one hand and my helmet in the other, and together Steve and I joined the other two pilots waiting at the launch pad.
The door slid upwards to reveal an open paved area. At the other end lay a fence with a large gate, and beyond it, the open-concept hangar where each aircraft was waiting.
Shane then appeared, having made all pre-flight arrangements and alignments. One by one, each one of us handed over our paper slips, which were then checked very thoroughly by him. For a moment he wore a face of possible suspicion, but all of us passed successfully. Having completed our first pre-flight check, all four of us proceeded across the open area along a lane formed by two bright yellow lines, eager to begin what we had truly come for – flying aircraft.
The gate was already open, and so we proceeded through, where Shane and the other five team members were already waiting.
"How did you get around so fast?" I wondered, trying to hide my bewildered look from Shane's ever-watchful gaze.
"Listen up everyone!" he bellowed in his unmistakable announcer voice. "Each one of you will be assigned to a specific aircraft. That aircraft is yours. By that I mean that you – and only you – will fly it throughout the rest of this training program. If you choose to accept the career of serving in the military, then you may keep the jet for usage as part of your assigned military duties."
We all fell silent and thought through what Shane had just said for a second, before he continued, in a slightly softer but equally instructive tone.
"Now each one of you will go through the pre-flight checks with your pre-assigned instructor, before heading off into the skies for a review flying session. Just as last year, but with swapped seats. Everyone understood?"
"Yes sir!" we all replied simultaneously and loudly.
"Excellent," said Shane, a pleased yet concerned look on his face. "See y'all in three hours."
One by one, each of the instructors approached us and introduced themselves. I was paired up with a kind-faced man by the name of Rafael. As he and I walked down the taxi airstrip in front of each plane, I gave a quick inquiry.
"How long have you been involved with aircraft within the military?"
"Twenty-five years so far in total, but ten within the aircraft department," Rafael replied expressively, a blissful smile over his face. "Prior to my involvement with aircraft I used to work as a manager of vehicular organization. But planes had been the figure of my dreams since I was a kid, and so I strove harder to achieve my true dream, and finally landed myself mastering high-speed aviation. Now I teach it."
We arrived at my pre-assigned fighter jet: a Eurofighter Typhoon.
"Awesome", I breathed, staring up at its huge long pointy nose and wide, swept-back wings. I'd ridden in a fighter jet before, but that was an F-16, which was nowhere near the beauty and power of this beast.
"Come on," Rafael growled, pulling me away from the front of the aircraft and towards the wings. We began the pre-flight check as I had been shown before, but with far greater detail, as this was a different aircraft with more behind its design and features. Whereas the checks on the F-16 last year took around forty to sixty minutes, examining and checking every nook and cranny on the Eurofighter took Rafael and I a lot longer. By the time a group of assistants arrived to provide a boarding ladder for both of us, eighty-five minutes had passed. My brain was worn out from all the details of the plane's internals, though my body was more than capable of hoisting itself up the ladder after Rafael.
I carefully climbed into the cockpit, making sure not to knock or bump any switches or buttons. There were a ton of them, even more than the F-16.
"Kill the fright," Rafael responded, already somehow sensing my feelings. "It'll all make sense in a moment once you read the flight manual, which shouldn't take too long. We still have until about noon before the flying session begins."
I settled down in my seat and fastened all the safety straps and properly linked up the wires and connections from my helmet and suit to the aircraft, while Rafael flashed the OK signal to the ground crew, indicating that we both were good to go and they could remove the boarding ladder.
As the other trainee pilots got their pre-flight checks under way, I wasted no time ripping deep into the flight manual, understanding every bit of the Eurofighter's dials, gauges, switches, and most importantly, the DUI and HUD. I was just about to go through the Helmet Mounted Symbology System details when...
"Attention all pilots and instructors, this is your air traffic controller speaking..."
"Damn it!" I cursed under my breath. Taking note of what was said over the radio, I continued reading quickly, skimming over the info and tossing all the basic commands into a spare corner of the already full rooms of the quick-retrieval memory storage bank in my head.
One by one, each pilot and their corresponding instructor were directed by the air traffic controller to begin taxiing towards the runway. I, being the third to last aircraft, stayed put until told to move.
"You'll only need about fifty to sixty percent of the book," Rafael reminded me. "The other half is in what I'll be showing and directing you to."
"Got it," I replied confirmatively, sliding the book back into its protective case. I did a final recap of the main controls and instrument panel features, slid my helmet over my head, and strapped it on securely. Then I checked the radio, plane data receiver, and oxygen lines, ensuring they were all working properly. Finally, I sat back in the seat, and patiently waited for my turn.