Strike Eagle by Doug Beason

Author:Doug Beason [Beason, Doug]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General
Publisher: WordFire Press
Published: 1991-07-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Thursday, 21 June

Clark AB

Bruce waited in the car as Charlie got out to get Nanette. Brilliant red-and-yellow flowers dotted the side of the yard, meticulously kept by the yard boy. Lush trees masked the house from direct sunlight. The house was one of thirty on “Senior Officers’ Row,” the private loop that housed all of Clark’s senior ranking officers. A sign by the door read: col bolte.

Bruce slouched in his seat and pulled his sunglasses down on his face. He scanned the house, but no one appeared. He knew it was crazy to try and hide— Colonel Bolte was most likely at Wing Headquarters—but the initial chewing out that Bruce had gotten the day they first arrived at Clark still stuck in his mind.

Charlie disappeared inside, and moments later came out with a slender blond. Her white shorts accented tanned legs. Bruce watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying not to appear interested.

He felt happy for his backseater. The poor guy had been searching for years for the right woman, never finding anyone with the right combination of looks and brains to satisfy him. He hoped this worked out for Charlie.

Bruce made a mental note to be on his best behavior. And with Yolanda coming along, that should not prove to be difficult.

Bruce twisted around as they got into the backseat. “Hi. I’m Bruce Steele.”

“Nanette,” she said, firmly returning his shake.

Bruce started the engine. “Charlie tells me we’ve already met.” He watched her through the rearview mirror.

She threw a glance at Charlie and smiled. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“I don’t; that’s why Charlie had to tell me.”

“A catcall across a swimming pool doesn’t qualify as a formal introduction, so I guess we really haven’t met.”

Bruce dug out a pack of gum. He held it up to the backseat. “Gum?”

“No thanks.”

He popped a piece in his mouth and concentrated on getting to the main gate. Traffic on base was not bad.

It had been a while since he had actually driven. His car had not yet arrived on the boat from the States—a corvette, his “cadet car,” that he had had at the USAF Academy. The rental car he was driving didn’t have nearly the pickup that he was used to. But it beat the heck out of waiting for taxis and riding the bus, especially for a double date.

As they approached the main gate, Bruce pulled over to the side. Parking the car, he said, “Be back in a moment.” He entered the base’s Visitors’ Center and applied for a visitor’s pass, using his identification card as credentials. After the airman pushed the pass to him, Bruce strode back to the car.

“What was that all about?” asked Charlie.

Bruce held up the visitor’s pass as he pulled back into traffic. “I don’t want Yolanda to have to go jumping through hoops if things work out and she wants to get on base.”

Once outside the main gate, he steeled himself for automotive culture shock. Jeepneys screeched precariously near, and pedestrians darted in and out of traffic.

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