True Valor by Dee Henderson Read Free Book Online Page B

know. Tagging along with the Bear Cubs would be bad for our image.”
    Wolf flicked his wrist and sent a letter spinning into Rich’s chest.
    “We’ll come along to keep you out of trouble,” Bruce agreed.
    “ We’ll teach you how to get into some,” Wolf offered as he picked up another letter. “Well what do we have here—” He wagged the envelope. “Gracie’s handwriting. What’s it worth to you?”
    Bruce dropped the stack he was sorting. “You don’t want me to answer that.”
    Wolf held it up. “I find it interesting she wrote you and not me.”
    “Your letter got lost.”
    “Nope. I just got knocked down in her priorities. You know on a carrier it’s letters or sleep, rarely time for both.” He relented and handed over the letter.
    Rich and Wolf were both watching him. Bruce tucked Gracie’s letter in his pocket. “I think I’m going to take a walk and stretch my legs.”
    Wolf laughed. “The ducking out is noted.”
    “I’m a smart man.” The few letters he would answer, including the one that had come with the chocolates, Bruce put with his personal papers. He found a notebook. “Come find me if there’s news.”
    “Sure. Rich, where’s that sports magazine?”
     
* * *
     
    Bruce retreated to the bench set up at the end of the flight line, sat down, and propped his feet up on an empty packing crate. It had been ages since he felt this kind of anticipation. The envelope was white, creased, and it showed postmarks over postmarks from the various military stops. He took out his pocketknife and neatly opened the envelope. He was delighted to see the thick contents. He pulled out the pages.
     
Bruce ~
You’re hearing laughter. I know Wolf. It’s a safe assumption that he was the one who suggested the basketball game. Sorry for a less-than-coherent note. I’m trying to wedge this pad of paper on my bunk since my desk has a super-glue experiment drying on it at the moment (don’t ask). I forgot how noisy it is to sleep one level below the flight deck. The squadron is landing literally over my head. I drew a stateroom on the 03 Gallery deck near the dirty-shirt wardroom. I can have lunch in my flight suit and come back to the stateroom for a nap before evening briefings. (That hasn’t happened yet since deployment, but I dream about doing it.)
We’ve been having moderate seas and good weather. I’m loving the flying time and often getting two hops a day. Tell Wolf my landing streak is growing; the recent streak is eight of ten okays. He’s going to owe me a nice dinner next time we meet up. GW had a pitching deck during a night landing and it sent me into the second wire, and I got a fluke bolter last Friday when the hook bounced. I’d already kicked in the afterburners just in case, but there was a heart-stopping moment as I ran out of ship before aerodynamics kicked in. I hate the water, big time. And the ship just about slammed into the rear of my jet.
I’m tired. It is very late. I just wanted to say thanks for your note. I appreciate it. I’m sorry this reply is all about work.
I’m fine with being called Gracie, and I’m only scared of heights when I’m watching Wolf do something foolish. Someone forgot to tell him about gravity.
He likes to jump out of planes. Mr. Parachute Jumper—would you care to explain that fascination? I’ve never understood it. The dread of my life is pulling that ejection handle.
You asked for something on Wolf. That’s easy. Just ask him what he did when he was fourteen that got him grounded for a month. Think fireworks, a magnifying glass, and a microphone. You’ll get the picture. It was quite an experiment. He did shatter the crystal glass on the stoop . . . and the car windows.
I’m listening to The Fly, our very own FM radio station. Navy Seaman Jules Porter just began a trio of fifties’ hits. I do love the old music.
News of the world comes in bits and pieces. I’ve heard the drought is getting worse across Syria and that the