I awoke well before Fleetfoot did. It was only when I began preparing a hearty breakfast of eggs and toast did she get awoken by all the noise.
"Good morning," I said, pausing my cooking and sitting on the couch next to her. "Did you sleep well?"
"Just as peacefully as at the Wonderbolt headquarters," she replied happily, shuffling into my lap. I stroked her soft white mane, and we shared an affectionate hug.
Over breakfast, we discussed our plans for the day. I would be heading back to the Air Force base for more training and get into the prelude of more advanced techniques, before returning in the afternoon to meet up with John and confirm my return to my old job. In the meantime, Fleetfoot would ride out the time – but with what exactly? I couldn't just flip on the TV and let her stare at a screen for six to eight hours. There had to be something more productive I could give her to do to occupy the time.
As I forked the last of the eggs into my mouth, my eyes widened as a solution occurred to me. While Fleetfoot brushed her teeth, I quickly washed the dishes and raced upstairs to my bedroom, returning sometime later with my laptop and a bunch of cables. I dragged a large upside-down box in front of the sofa and set all my stuff down.
"What's this?" Fleetfoot inquired, re-entering the living room.
"It's my computer," I replied proudly. "It obtains, converts, and displays information. It'd take too long to explain all the details on how it works though."
"Perfectly mine, sir," she replied, and I leaned back a bit in shock. A pony – a cute, fast-flying pony, had just called me "sir".
Just as a soldier does to his/her general or team leader...
"Now, I have three simulation games I'd like you to try – Strike Fighters 2, Flaming Cliffs 3, and DCS World 2.0. They will give you a sense of what the world above is like when I fly."
"So, they provide a sense of flying without actually flying?" Fleetfoot said with curiosity. "Even the Wonderbolts Academy didn't even have that type of training."
I smiled and loaded up Strike Fighters 2. "It's pretty easy to replicate the real thing in this world, Fleety."
Fleetfoot turned and gave me a tiny endearing smile – the kind that clearly had some loving intent behind it. "Sounds nice," she whispered.
I connected my laptop to the TV and reset the whole game, so she'd start from the very beginning and not have to struggle with all the high scores and levels I'd racked up over the months before. Fleetfoot sat upright on the couch and studied the game's layout.
"So...how do I control it?"
"With this." I said, holding up a wired joystick. I plugged it into the laptop and set it down beside her. For a good half-hour, we played the game together, and I showed Fleetfoot the basic controls, how to fly the aircraft, and the various ways to maneuver the aircraft.
Just as we were about to advance to the next level in which taking out enemy targets would be explored, I glanced at the clock. I had only an hour before the first part of my pilot training session would start.
"Damn it, time strikes again," I muttered under my breath.
"What's wrong, Brian?" Fleetfoot slowed her flying speed and went into a glide, before looking over at me with an adorable inquisitive look. Even in my brief moment of distress, her sweet face was like fire to butter.
"Nothing, just gotta leave right away otherwise I will be late, and—"
"—No late policy!" Fleetfoot finished.
"Exactly," I said, getting up from the couch. "I should be back by the afternoon."
I ran upstairs to my room and got dressed. I simply stuffed my flight suit into my duffel, figuring I could simply change into it later when I got to the Air Force base. Double-checking that I had everything with me, I skipped down the stairs and headed for the door.
Before leaving, I pulled a sheet of paper from my notepad and wrote a number on it.
"Here's my cell number," I said, handing the paper to Fleetfoot. "In case of anything dangerous or emergencies, you can call me with that." I pointed to the landline desk phone by the kitchen counter."
"Ok, and Brian?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks for sheltering and supporting me. You've been so kind."
If Samantha (a cute brunette) was gorgeous, then Fleetfoot was hotter than lava. I couldn't help it – I blushed. "Y-you're welcome, Fleety. See you soon."
I dashed out the door and ran down the block, duffel over my shoulder, to the old parking lot. I hopped into Whiz and sped away, leaving a noisy rumble in my wake.
Forty minutes later I arrived at the Air Force base, with my suit and other arsenal ready for the next training session.
Our team's first task was covering the art of ejection seats. Back when I first learned about jet fighters as a kid they seemed pretty straightforward: you opened the canopy mid-flight, pulled a lever, and then released a big parachute. Now in real life, however, it looked more complicated.
And it was. There were certain ejection pressures that had to be set for certain heights at which an emergency would occur, and the action had to be performed very quickly. Now my team and I had done this before, but that was just the basics. Now the in-depth stuff took place – the two types of chutes activated, and at which time.
"And... now!" Shane's voice boomed over the intercom, and I instantly yanked the chute release pull without thinking twice. The curved sheet of synthetic fabric ballooned over me as the ground below came into view, larger and larger by the second. Yet my falling speed was slowing by the minute. I braced myself for a hard impact, but amazingly I floated down gently onto a rocky grass-filled slope. Upon landing I bent my knees and used my hands to steady myself. My shoulders and back hurt badly from the G-forces, but at least I'd made it to the safety of the ground alive.
As the sound of truck engines in the distance signaled the arrival of the pick-up assistant crew, I walked about slowly to ease the tension in my body, all the while reflecting over the seriousness of this section of training. At first it seemed rather frightening and pretty painful, but having ejected from a smaller plane that was deliberately tampered with to produce a "flight problem", it became all the more significant to me why the ejection training routine was so vital.