Chapter 8: Bombshell

Training to be a fighter pilot was a serious business but sometimes ... well, sometimes it was a little bit funny too.

Drew and Lorne had caught up on the last ACT mission, defended Orangeland after a two day break where both of them were strongly urged – translation ordered - to speak to the base psychologist. Evan didn't really mind too much ... the guy was a professional and Lorne was smart enough to reveal as much detail as was needed for honesty and sincerity without needing to dig too deeply into wounds that were finally starting to heal without the intervention of a third party. The man had finished the session by encouraging Evan to speak to Drew and he'd agreed that he would.

Drew himself appeared to have come through the whole thing with ease, despite the new call sign he'd been dubbed with. Crater. Turns out you could change your call sign, but only if you were dumb enough to do something worse than what had earned you the first one.

The review of his actions had determined the falling leaf had occurred because of a low but usually acceptable speed and an abrupt gust of wind that had combined to send the aircraft out of control. If Drew had been going faster or the wind had been not quite as swift then it wouldn't have happened. The official ruling that came down a week later said accident - a welcome relief to everyone because no one wanted to see Drew ousted for such a bizarre set of circumstances coming together at the wrong time. When the base commander said that Drew was now the property of the Canadian government, that he owed them so much it'd take the rest of his life to pay back the debt he wasn't sure it was entirely a joke. 32 million dollars was a scary number and he hoped like hell there wasn't a number cruncher somewhere docking his pay every week and keeping account of how much he still owed.

Major Baker himself had briefly filled everyone in on the small slice of Lorne's history he'd revealed as he'd argued for Drew to press the ejection button. The way everyone just nodded, hardly paying Evan any more attention than usual said they'd probably already talked it through before the debrief. More than likely John had warned them all off – after all, none of them would have known Evan's history if he hadn't felt compelled to use it get Drew to save himself.

Of course, that unspoken pact didn't apply to Drew ... he'd already known about the fate of Jonathon Lorne – not that Evan knew that – and he'd heard the torment in Evan's voice, up in the air ... seen it on the other man's face before Lorne had walked away without a word. There was no way he could just let that go, even if Lorne seemed quite content to do so.

"Evan ... you got a minute?" Drew stood in the open door of the study room in the early evening a week after their second mission over Orangeland. He'd given Evan a few days to approach him but since that didn't seem like it was going to happen, was taking matters into his own hands. The only other person present was Neil Somerton and he very studiously bent his head over his books, ignoring the sudden tension in the room.

"Ah ...," Evan looked up, saw the determination on Drew's face, and sighed. "Sure, okay," he conceded, getting up and following the other man down the corridor.

Drew chose one of the empty classrooms, waiting until Evan took a seat before closing the door behind them. "I already knew about your Dad," he began without ceremony, "before last week I mean."

"And?" Evan frowned, wondering how but not wanting to ask. He was seeing the conversation as being for Drew, not him, and let his friend guide things where he needed them to go. Lorne had known Drew had things on his mind, things he wanted to say ... Evan just wasn't sure he wanted to hear them, especially if any of it was about thanking him.

"And ...," Drew floundered for a moment, "that doesn't bother you?"

"It's all public record," Evan shrugged. "Anyone could have read the news reports for themselves – if they knew where to look." He met Drew's eyes intently. "I wasn't actively hiding what happened ... it's just not something I'm accustomed to talking about. And I never wanted an easy ride or any favours just because my Dad was killed in action."

"I can understand that," Drew agreed. "I wouldn't have deliberately dug for information about your past ... it was Steph's Uncle Jimmie – he still knows some people 'in the business' and asked about you. Jimmie only told me because he thought it would help me get over the flying in the dark thing."

"It doesn't matter," Evan said. "If that's what you're worried about, forget it. I'd have gotten around to telling you the story eventually ... you know, in a few years." He smirked, sure Drew knew him well enough to see the humour in that truth.

"I'm sorry," Drew abruptly shifted the conversation on. "Most of what happened last week is starting to feel a little blurry but ... I know I wouldn't be standing here right now if you hadn't been up there with me -,"

"Please don't do the gratitude thing," Evan interrupted, his expression pained. "You'd have worked it out on your own in time."

"Would I?" Drew shot back. "I think you know that's not true ... I bet you've done plenty of research on pilots ejecting, just like you learned aerial manoeuvres and got yourself a seat for Hornet training. You more than anyone else here would understand the headspace you get into when you're faced with the real prospect of ejecting. The reluctance to just quit, the fear, the huge $ signs flashing at the back of your mind ... that and the delusional certainty that it's really not as bad as your lead is making out. Time went all weird for a while there too – I knew intellectually that it's seconds rather than minutes for a plane falling like that but at the time those seconds felt long enough to go to the moon and back. Without your brutal reminder of what happened to your Dad I would have stuck it out longer and then who knows what would have happened. Even if I had ejected it might have been too late ...,"

"Just like it was too late for my Dad?" Evan finished.

"Yeah," Drew shifted uncomfortably. "So even though I know you don't want to hear it I've gotta say it anyway." He looked at Evan intently. "Thank you ... you dug into wounds that are still pretty painful to help me, and ah ... I appreciate it."

"Whatever," Evan said ungraciously, eyes twinkling at Drew's almost offended expression. Relenting he shrugged. "It was all heat of the moment Drew ... I'm just glad I had something that got you thinking clearly again." He paused for a moment and then grimaced slightly. "I should probably apologise for that walking away without a word thing. I was relieved to see you get out of that truck in one piece but I was also mad as hell about the entire thing ... not your fault though."

"And now?" Drew asked curiously.

"Now I know you've gotta be what you are," Evan said simply. "Even if it means you end up like my Dad, God forbid. If I did help you up there it was more his doing than mine ... I reckon he'd be proud of that."

"He'd be damned proud of you," Drew added insistently.

"Yeah," Evan smiled with a touch of sadness. "So, are we done here?" he asked. "No other meaning of life things you want to get off your chest?"

"Have you spoken to Steph?" Drew took the invitation as sincere even though he knew Lorne had only been jesting.

"Aww, come on," Evan folded his arms across his chest defensively. "What is it with everyone's interest in my love life?!"

"Is that what it is ... a love life?" Drew watched the fleeting look of almost panic that swept over his friends face.

"Steph and I both know what it is," Lorne said dismissively, not wanting to talk about it.

"So ... not quite in touch with all your inner demons then," Drew commented with a knowing look.

"Hey, it took me 16 years to get a little resolution on my Dad," Evan shot back. "Give me a break here."

"Fine," Drew nodded. "As long as you know you can talk to me when you need to ... preferably before you fuck the whole thing up."

"When you've got more than a few casual encounters to talk about you can start handing out relationship advice," Evan suggested pointedly.

Knowing he wasn't getting anything more from his friend that day, Drew let himself be drawn into a teasing debate on his current philosophy of dating.

Evan had known he had a tough decision looming as the last weeks of the course approached. He wasn't ignoring it or avoiding it – he genuinely hadn't known what he was going to do about Steph once his time at Cold Lake was done. What had started as a casual relationship had shifted and blurred around the edges. There was real feeling there ... on his side and probably hers too. Now, after the almost end of Drew, after coming to the realisation that he was more like his father than just his appearance, Evan knew what he needed to do. He just wasn't sure how to do it ... or when.

oOo

So, back to the funny side. They were on week 30 of the training, only 7 weeks to go, and it was time for them to learn about air to air refuelling. It was a necessary requirement for all fighter pilots – they had to have the capability to fill up and go on the go. Without it their flying range and time were severely hampered and in a live combat situation that was a handicap no military force could afford to carry.

At the first briefing, when the rookies saw just how a refuelling was done ... how it looked ... the innuendoes made perfect sense. They called it getting a poke, putting the thing in the thing, or for the more circumspect amongst them 'tanking'. There were probably more lurid references than that but no one had mentioned them in front of the rookies ... yet.

Lorne sat in the classroom watching a video of an F-18 refuelling and thought that it was not unlike a mating ritual. Cast the huge Boeing 707 – modified to be a flying gas station – in the role of alluring female, trailing her hose with the basket at the end to entice her prey. Then cast the Hornet as the male needing to demonstrate his abilities in the air to be granted the right to 'get some'. The 'pop out' drogue on the F-18 only reinforced the mating ritual idea – the red phallic like implement literally rose from the bonnet of the plane at an angle that would challenge anyone to see it as anything other than an eager male very excited by the presence of the right female.

All jokes aside, refuelling in the air was something every pilot had to master, and they all had stories about it. Even on paper it was one of those things that sounded almost inconceivable. Get closer than 50 feet to a huge jet at an altitude of 18000 feet and then line up the drogue to hit a basket about the size of your head at just the right angle while doing speeds in excess of 250 knots. Not only did you have to be able to do it on a peaceful clear day but you also had to do it at night, in rough weather and in hostile skies.

Luckily for the rookies the morning of their first refuelling flight was of the peaceful and calm variety. As Lorne gathered his gear and headed out to the F-18, Major Baker acting as his instructor for the mission walking beside him, he cast his thoughts to the sky. Somewhere up there a Boeing 707 tanker circled, heavy with fuel, manned by an American crew also on a training mission.

Evan was flying the first of two missions for the day, the rookies going in groups of threes. Aside from himself, Neil and John were also flying the first mission, all three throwing each other a thumbs up unspoken 'good luck' before getting into their planes.

The first step, getting up to 18000 feet to rendezvous with the tanker, was second nature now and passed without a hitch. They had radar contact with the tanker before they spotted her circling the skies.

"Scepter three five, alpha five one," Major Baker announced their presence.

"Alpha five one, sceptre three five. Go ahead."

"Requesting to join," Baker replied. Lorne was up first to attempt the refuel and didn't mind admitting, even just to himself, that he was more than a little nervous.

"You are clear to join to the left observation," the tanker crew advised.

"Copy," Baker confirmed. Switching to an in jet channel he continued. "Okay Lorne ... you're up. Make me proud."

"I'll give it my best shot Sir," Lorne replied.

Hand clasped firmly around the stick he powered forward until he was close enough to request contact. The tanker was big and it punched a big hole in the air – the turbulence coming off the wings could be deadly if you approached at the wrong angle. Do it right and with an F-18 – fast and powerful – the ride should be relatively smooth. Do it wrong and you could get sucked into a collision – and unlike the Hornet, the guys in the tanker didn't have ejection seats.

"Scepter three, alpha five one requests pre-contact, left hose," Lorne spoke confidently.

"Five one, you're cleared pre-contact left hose." The tanker had fuel indicator lights that told the refuelling pilots when it was safe to approach. Red meant hang back, and yellow – the colour the lights went once Evan got confirmation from tanker control, meant he was good to begin fuelling.

Lorne acknowledged the confirmation, flying close and getting the plane stabilised just back of where he needed to be. He could feel the vibration of airflow off the tanker – its wake turbulence – but quickly adjusted. His drogue was extended, the hose and basket looming up in his front window. It was time to do the business.

"Alpha five one request wet contact left hose," he said.

"Contact on the left hose," the tanker controller returned.

Evan had studied up – he knew the secret of threading this particular needle was to not look at the basket and drogue. Instead he flew a reference off the wing, taking the odd peek at the basket but trusting that in lining the entire plane up right he'd be exactly where he needed to be. Applying a little right rudder and then a little more power he had the satisfaction of seeing the drogue and basket connect smoothly.

"Five one has contact," the tanker controller confirmed.

Pushing it forward so that the line was pushed back into the tanker a little, Lorne saw the fuel indicator lights switch to green, meaning he was taking on fuel. That was the point at which a rookie could lose the connection – you had to switch from flying a reference to flying formation on the tanker again. If you didn't, you'd lose the basket and have to back off and do the whole thing again.

Evan didn't make that mistake. Flying off the tanker he watched his gas gauge climb steadily upwards ... taking on a hundred pounds of fuel before his tank was full and the basket disengaged. The whole thing had taken less than forty seconds ... which was a marvel in itself.

"Nice job," Major Baker congratulated him as he broke formation on the tanker and dropped back to join his class mates. "Your first poke," he added, the chuckle evident in his voice. "They say you never forget your first time."

"I'm sure that's true Sir," Evan returned, avoiding the obvious innuendo.

His part done, Lorne got to hang back and watch first Neil and then John do the same thing. Neil did it in two attempts, John first time although he had to disconnect and go again when the fuel sprayed across his cockpit, obstructing his view. It happened from time to time and was a good lesson for all three rookies on the various dramas of air to air refuelling. For Evan, watching the others take their turns was fascinating and impressive and a real statement of human endeavour and engineering. Tracking the tanker across the sky he felt again the joy and certainty that he was in the right place doing exactly what he should be doing.

When they were done, Major Baker thanked the American tanker crew. "We really appreciate you guys coming north for us," he said. "Thanks a lot, take care."

"No problem," the tanker controller returned. "You guys have a good flight."

They'd mastered air to air refuelling and extended the range of their flight capability from 1200 miles to virtually any combat theatre in the world. It was a big step forward ... in skill and towards the end of the course.

oOo

"Have you invited your family yet?" Drew asked Evan at lunch one day. It was week 33 and they were preparing to begin the last big challenge of the course. Live ordinance ... strafing and bombing.

"To what?" Lorne was distracted, half his attention on the manual in front of him. He was reading up on the specs for enemy tanks they'd potentially have as targets during live combat. Although they'd been taught to 'dog fight' more often than not F-18 contributions to a war effort were about supporting troops on the ground by taking out threats from the air. Operation Desert Storm – the US land and air campaign in the Persian Gulf war – was a classic example of that. The coalition flew over 100,000 sorties, dropping 88,500 tons of bombs and widely destroying military and civilian infrastructure in Iraq. That was the mainstay of a fighter pilots life and they had to be prepared for precision strikes on designated targets.

"You're joking right?" Drew said incredulously, breaking further into Lorne's concentration.

Looking up, Evan saw the others all watching him with varying degrees of disbelief. "Sorry – did I miss something?" he asked with a frown.

"Graduation," Cade said pointedly.

"That's still four weeks away," Evan pointed out. "Aren't we counting our chickens a little too early here?"

It wasn't an idle statement. Major Baker himself had told them of a guy on his course who'd thought to coast to the finish and ended up failing only three missions away from graduation. It could happen – it had happened.

"What happened to Mr Optimism?" John asked with a smirk.

"I'm just saying ...," Evan trailed off with a shrug. "Okay ... graduation. What about it?"

"You inviting your family to come up here?" Drew restated his original question.

"Ah ...," Lorne hesitated. The question didn't surprise him – he'd been thinking about it since the instructors had explained that traditionally the rookies had members of their families come to Cold Lake to be present for the last mission. Since Drew's almost accident Evan had vowed to be a little more open with his friends – and here was the first time he could put that into practice. "To be honest I don't think my Mom would come ... she hasn't been on a military base since my Dad's accident."

"She didn't want you to be a pilot?" John asked curiously.

"Not exactly ... she wasn't thrilled I followed in my Dad's footsteps even though he'd laid the foundations long before he died," Evan admitted. "We kind of have an unspoken agreement – I don't put her in the tough position of having to say no and we don't talk about it."

"What about your sister?" Drew asked.

"Hey, invite her ... she's hot," Cade flushed when he realised what he'd said. "I mean you should have someone here and she seemed like a really nice girl," he tried to recover.

"Well I'm sure Elaine will be flattered to hear that," Evan said with a smirk. "I'll invite her – as long as we're clear that none of you are anywhere near good enough for her." He said it with a straight face but the twinkle of amusement in his eyes said he wasn't serious ... at least not completely.

"Hey – back at you!" Neil retorted, referring to his two sisters.

That sparked a teasing conversation that shifted attention away from Lorne, just the way he liked it. He might have decided to share a little more but that only went so far ...

oOo

Forty five minutes from 410 squadron was a 90 square mile piece of land known as the Jimmy Lake weapons range. Scattered across the landscape were battered targets – old trucks and tanks painted bright orange and red, bearing the evidence of previous training missions.

Being the guy who helped the guys on the ground required a fighter pilot to have absolute precision ... their job was to become nothing less than airborne sharp shooters because the slightest deviation could be the difference between helping and accidentally killing someone on the ground. The only way to get there was to practice.

The Hornet could carry an impressive arsenal in a variety of configurations depending on the mission objectives. They'd conducted simulated firing of missiles in prior missions using all three missile types carried by the F-18. The AIM-7 Sparrow medium-range semi-active radar homing air-to-air missile, brevity code Fox 1; the AIM-9 Sidewinder heat-seeking, short-range, air-to-air missile, brevity code Fox 2; and the AIM-120 AMRAAM medium-range, active radar homing air-to-air missile with all-weather, beyond-visual-range capability, brevity code Fox 3. It was pretty clever really – the whole brevity code idea – a multiservice set of tactical codes that allowed communication of complex information with just a few words. You announce Fox 3 on approach to an enemy plane in a dog fight and anyone listening knew you'd just fired an am-ram missile at the target.

The bombs used were a little less impressive ... MK82s, MK83s and MK84s all unguided, low-drag general purpose bombs, also called dumb bombs. They were the most common bomb used by the US and Canadian forces. Kitting them out with paveway guidance – precision avionics vectoring equipment – turned them into laser guided bombs which was much cooler but to Lorne's mind not quite as good as the missiles.

Of course you couldn't carry all of that for one run but the Hornet was a 'boys with toys' dream – missiles, bombs, and cannon guns clipping into place like a high tech meccano set. Evan had studied them all, their details easily slotting into place in his mind because it was all just that exciting. Sure, he knew what each weapon was ultimately for – take out an enemy on the ground and leave nothing but a crater behind. He was sure too that the severity of that would stay with him from the instance he dropped a real bomb on a live target. But in the lead up to their first live weapons mission the only thing Evan was really thinking about was that using live rounds and dropping real bombs on pretend targets would be the ultimate in war games.

Walking out across the tarmac the morning of the first mission, another clear day blessing the rookies, Lorne had his eyes fixed on the Hornet he'd be flying. It looked different ... deadly beyond its usual menacing facade because of the bombs clipped to the undercarriage of each wing. As Evan did his walk around he noticed that someone had written something in large chalked letters on one ... "Love's first." Laughing, he ran a hand lightly over the weapon, going through the additional checks required for carrying live ordinance before clearing the plane as ready to proceed.

To go with the bombs he had a Vulcan cannon mounted behind the radar. It looked like a Gatling gun and was a weapon that had been around since the dawn of time ... for a reason. It might be the most rudimentary of the weapons the F-18 could carry but in some cases was also the most effective.

The first part of the mission was a strafing run on a fixed target. It sounded impressive but was nothing more than the practice of attacking ground targets from low-flying aircraft. Their first target was a 20 by 20 flag they'd get one pass to fire at. Keeping score was a machine called a t-bar ... it recorded how many shot were fired through the fabric by picking up the sonic boom faster than sound bullets created when they went through.

"Take us to the range Captain," Major Baker instructed once they'd reached cruising altitude.

"Yes Sir," Lorne acknowledged, setting his heading for Jimmy Lake. Just over half an hour later they arrived. With the Major's instructions fixed firmly in his mind, Evan began his first pass.

Step one ... invert the plane for the start of the dive down. Why? Because a straight up dive created negative G's that would cause blood to rush to the head – the opposite of positive G's. Pilots called it red out and it was exceedingly painful and to be avoided at all costs. Flipping upside down gave you positive G's on the way down where all you had to worry about was the G-loc their flight suits had been designed to prevent.

Step one completed, Evan went straight into step two. Push to hit 510 knots while taking a 15 degree dive. That was the point when you had to sight on the target location ... even though it was a large target at ground level, from 2000 feet in the air it was practically microscopic. The HUD provided assistance in the form of a tiny symbol on screen called a pipper but that was all the help you'd get.

As Lorne closed rapidly on the target he righted the plane at the last possible moment and then focussed on step three ... lining up the pipper with the centre of the target. That's when you got to pull the trigger.

"Remember ... shoot, track and then pull away," Baker told him. "Make your application of trigger as smooth as possible."

Like every other gun in creation, technique was everything – particularly for a first time the rookies would have to contain their excitement because any kind of abrupt movement on the stick, like recoiling, would spray the bullets all over the place.

"Alpha five three, in hot," Lorne announced as he approached the target. Keeping his hand steady he squeezed with controlled force, his only motion being his finger on the trigger.

The shells left the Vulcan gun in a rapid burst of sound and motion ... Evan had to control the desire to flinch at the noise as well as the overwhelming urge to whoop like a cowboy. He'd been right – doing a live fire mission was like the best kind of war game and had him feeling not unlike he had as a kid playing Strike Eagle Jet Sim on his computer.

Evan's bullets hit their destination at a rate of 100 rounds per second. Lorne tracked them to the target, ceasing to fire once he crossed the edge of the firing zone. Swooping low over the area he took the plane straight back up into the sky.

The last part was the hardest – waiting to hear from control whether you'd managed to hit the target.

"Line of fire was steady and straight," the on duty control officer radioed in a few moments later. "Five hits. Forty five rounds. Well done."

"Five hits?" Lorne repeated with a slight frown. From forty five rounds? Was that any good?

"Better than good, Lorne," Baker answered his unspoken question. "Just getting a straight line of fire is impressive for a rookie."

"Good to know Sir," Evan grinned, relaxed again. Now that he'd done his first strafing run he couldn't wait to do another one.

The second part of the day's mission was dropping a bomb on a designated target, an old tank that already bore the scars of past students. They'd be dropping the Mark 82 – with no internal guidance system it was like playing lawn darts with a hand grenade except the MK82 carried 200 pounds of explosives.

Circling back around Lorne craned his head, looking for the target. Spotting it he shifted flight path to begin a pass.

"Alpha five three visual," he announced that he had the target in sight.

As with everything else there was a set of prescribed milestones to help you get from circling the target to nailing it with a precision strike.

Fifteen miles out Lorne's radar marked the target in the HUD with a flashing diamond. At that point he rolled the plane to start his 45 degree dive inverted. The degree was important – too flat and the bomb would fall short, too steep and he ran the risk of flying into his own fire ball when it exploded. Holding that for a few moments he then turned the plane right side up again.

"Alpha five three, in hot," Lorne announced. Lining up the target marker and the velocity vector on the vertical line he then released his bomb. "Alpha five three off hot," he advised as he completed the dive and headed straight back up again.

"Let's see if we can spot her landing," Major Baker suggested. Lorne nodded, changing course to fly over the tank.

They saw the bomb hit the ground, the small ball of flame and a tower of dirt rising up to announce its arrival.

"Looks good," Baker said. "I think you nailed that sucker."

"That was ... awesome," Evan let his excitement at the successful mission colour his voice, not something he usually did but a first like that wasn't something you just shrugged off.

Back on base later that day it was high excitement amongst all the rookies. They'd all enjoyed the hell out of the mission and they couldn't wait to go up again. Strafing and bombing in an F-18 clearly wasn't going to be something that brought anyone down.

oOo

In the end it was Steph who brought Evan's concerns about their relationship into the light. He'd been steadily more and more elusive in the weeks since Drew's incident, something she couldn't have failed to notice. Steph had to suggest dates a couple of times before she finally managed to pin him down one Friday night.

They went for drinks in the officer's lounge, much as they had on their first date. It was pleasant but Evan was distracted, eventually suggesting he walk her back to her room only a couple of hours after they'd arrived.

"Is everything okay?" she asked as they walked in the moonlit darkness.

"I guess," Evan replied, shooting her a glance before looking away.

"No it's not," Steph returned as they arrived at her door. Opening it quickly she turned and took his hand, pulling him inside after her. "Talk to me ... and don't tell me you're fine because I know you're not."

"You probably know everything already," Evan protested, slumping down in one her armchairs and rubbing a hand across his brow.

"But not from you," Steph tried to keep the accusation out of her tone, and the hurt that he'd gone through something difficult and hadn't sought her out for comfort.

"I'm sorry," Evan looked at her, noting the tense line on her shoulders and how stiffly she was holding herself.

"Do you want to end this?" she asked abruptly. Evan was silent for too long and she took that as answer enough. "You do! Because of what happened with Drew?"

"No!" Evan replied insistently. "I told you in the beginning that I wasn't looking for picket fences and forever after. I know you weren't aware of all my reasons but I didn't give you false promises ... did I?" He watched her carefully, concerned and wary of her reply.

"No – you've been consistent the whole way through," Steph agreed sadly. "I let myself believe it was more ... because I ...," she stopped, taking a shaky breath.

"My Mom struggled just getting up in the morning for months after my Dad was killed," Evan spoke in a low tone, leaning forward to take Steph's hands in his. "Every now and then I see her watching me and it's all there in her eyes – memories of my Dad and pain even so many years later, because he's not here with her. I grew up with that and I swore to myself I'd never be the cause of anyone feeling like that."

Steph kept her eyes trained on his, listening as he told her more about what made him tick than she'd learned in all the months of being his 'girlfriend'.

"When Drew almost went down ... when he didn't eject the instant Major Bond ordered him to I realised something else," Evan continued. "All these years a part of me has been angry at my Dad ... because he chose flying over his family, not just the job but in those final moments when he left it too late. He chose the plane over us and it killed him. When Drew walked away without a scratch I was angry at him and at myself too."

"Why? It wasn't your fault," Steph pointed out in a soft voice.

"No," Evan agreed. "But when I thought about it I knew my Dad would have made the same choice even if he had known how it would end up ... just like Drew would." He paused, his expression intent. "Just like I would. That makes me a great candidate to be a fighter pilot but a shitty choice for those picket fences and two point five kids."

"And it doesn't matter that I love you anyway?" Steph almost whispered the words, looking down at their joined hands.

Evan thought for a moment before answering, ignoring the twinge of something almost like pain in his chest at her words. "It matters to me that there's more feeling here than I ever intended when we started out," he said carefully. "But ...," he trailed off.

"But it doesn't change your mind about what you want," she concluded sadly.

"No," he said simply. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Steph urged, trying to smile. "You've been nothing but honest with me Evan. It's my own stupid fault for buying into my own press." When Evan looked confused she explained. "Remember – the rookie your Mom would most like you to fall in love with," she quoted her own words.

"I thought I'd lived that one down," Evan teased gently.

"Not quite," Steph squeezed his hands before resolutely letting go and standing up. Evan followed suite, not sure what more he should say.

Stepping closer, Steph reached up and put her hands to either side of his face. On tiptoe she pressed a hard kiss to his lips and then stepped back again. "You need to go now," she said firmly.

"Are you ... okay?" he asked uncertainly.

"No," Steph said starkly. "But after I've had a good cry and kicked the wall a few times I will be." She smiled and Evan wasn't sure if she was serious or not. "Not now ... but sometime down the track ... I'd like it if we were friends again," she added lightly.

"Me too," Evan agreed, not really sure how likely that was going to be in practice. He'd hurt her ... completely unintentionally and despite every warning he'd repeated along the way about where he was heading. Did that mean he was off the hook for feeling responsible? Or was it something he should have known would happen, despite Steph's reassurances that she was comfortable with their caring but casual relationship?

"Stop thinking," Steph ordered. "I'm fine ... you're fine. And hopefully in a while we'll both look back on this fondly."

"I will," Evan promised. "I really am sorry Steph."

"Me too," her voice wobbled a little and Evan took that as his cue to leave her to handle things in her own way. He knew she wouldn't want him to see her cry ... and even if she was okay with it Evan wasn't sure he could handle that much emotion right then.

Putting a hand to her cheek, he stroked a thumb across it gently before leaning down and kissing her one final time. "Goodbye," he said in a low tone, turning quickly and heading for the door.

"Bye," Steph whispered, free to let the tears come once he'd disappeared from sight.

oOo

"How was your date?" Drew asked at breakfast the next morning.

"We broke up," Evan said abruptly.

"What?" Neil's chin almost dropped in surprise. "I thought you guys were great together."

"I'm only here for another year, 18 months tops," Lorne didn't want to share all the gory details but he knew some explanation would cut off further questions. "And we never meant for it to be permanent. Ending it was a mutual thing."

"And you're okay with that?" Drew frowned, looking for something hidden in Evan's careful facade.

"I'm okay with it," Evan confirmed, his tone and expression bland.

Drew didn't say anything else but Lorne could tell he didn't quite believe him. Evan was comfortable with his choice even though a part of him still wondered whether he'd just made a colossal mistake. Years down the track when he was long done being a fighter pilot, if he got to the old and still alone stage would he look back and wonder whether Steph had been 'The One'? God he hoped not because there was no going back.

oOo

More live ordinance missions followed the first until abruptly they arrived at week 37 and were staring the finish line in the face. Nine months, 175 hours of ground school, and 50 missions in the F-18 Hornet all came down to one final mission.

It wasn't a tough one ... in fact it wasn't really a mission at all. The last time Cade, Neil, John, Drew and Evan went up in the F-18 as rookies all that was required of them was to do a formation fly pass over the base. It wasn't a tough mission ... but it didn't need to be because it wasn't what they were doing that was important, it was who was watching them do it. Parents, siblings, and family had come from all over the country to get just a small taste of what had kept their sons, brothers, nephews and grandsons so busy for so many months.

The main office was full to the brim – eager faces pressed close to the windows, eyes straining to catch sight of a loved one. For Lorne, catching a brief glimpse of Elaine as he made his way across the tarmac, it was bittersweet. He ran through his pre-flight checks like a pro, aware on the periphery of nine other men all doing the same thing. They all took off in quick succession, five almost fully qualified fighter pilots and five instructors, all flying solo.

There was joy and exhilaration in forming up ... Majors Baker and Bond in the middle lead, Drew, Lorne and Captain Reed forming the right side of a large V with John, Neil and Cade lining up on the left. Slotting into the middle trailing the lead instructors were Majors Wilson and Bickford.

It felt impressive in the air. Evan's heart was beating rapidly even as his mind turned to Elaine watching back on the ground. They flew as one, making a wide turn and then heading towards the base, flying low enough for their spectators to feel and hear the power of ten Hornets shooting by. Once they'd passed the base, individually each rookie rolled away to break formation, one after the other. All that was left was to turn around and land and they'd be fighter pilots for real.

Back on the tarmac there was a round of hand shaking and congratulations between trainees and instructors, those who'd gone up in the air with them and those who'd waited on the ground. They formed a group with the instructors standing behind them for the requisite group photo.

And then it was the families turn to share some of the limelight and excitement. Lorne was aware of the increase in noise as Cade, Neil, John and Drew were greeted by their parents and siblings. Elaine practically threw herself into his arms as she congratulated him.

"That was just ... thrilling," she exclaimed, stepping back and running her eyes over him as though she expected him to look different now he was a fighter pilot for real.

"Glad you got to see it," Evan replied, keeping his arm around her shoulders as he steered her over to one of the planes. "Want to take a look inside?" he offered.

Nodding, Elaine stood patiently beside him, listening as he gave her a run down on the Hornets attributes. "I'm sorry it's just me," she said softly, turning to watch the scenes still unfolding around them. "I think Mom really did want to come but she couldn't get away from school."

"Doesn't matter," Evan said simply, appreciating her efforts even though they both knew that wasn't entirely true. "I'm glad you're here and the rest of it I understand."

"She's proud of you," Elaine stated firmly. "So am I."

"Well thank you kindly Ma'am," Evan smiled. "Wanna come over and meet the guys again?"

"Okay," Elaine wrapped a hand around his arm as they started walking. "Are you sad it's over?" she asked curiously.

"You know what? I think I am," he admitted with a hint of surprise. "What you just saw is probably the last time we'll all fly together like that. You spend nine months living in such close quarters, going through what we've been through, and it forms bonds. I wouldn't have gotten through the whole thing so comfortably without them."

"You'll miss them," Elaine concluded.

"Sure," Evan agreed with a grin as they rejoined the main congregation. "Not everything," he added in a louder voice, noting when Drew turned to look at them curiously. "You remember Drew?" he asked Elaine, getting a nod in return. "He's a pain in the ass who likes the cold – won't miss that at all."

"Hah, knowing my luck we'll end up stationed together," Drew shot back, directing a friendly smile Elaine's way.

"We'll find out tomorrow," John came over, shaking Elaine's hand lightly when Evan reintroduced her. "What did you think of the fly past?" he asked her.

"It was great," she smiled. "Exciting and ... loud."

"You should hear the noise from inside the plane," Drew replied.

"Maybe one day I will," Elaine looked at Evan hopefully. "You do joy flights, right?"

"In an F-18?" his eyebrow rose sharply. "Not likely Sis. Besides, you'd be puking your guts up before I even had the chance to do anything interesting."

"Don't listen to him," John countered, holding out his elbow gallantly. "I'd take you up there ... if you're serious."

"That's very nice of you," Elaine took John's arm with a pointed look at Evan as if to say 'see – this is manners'. Evan just smiled, happy to see her getting on so well with his friends.

That continued into the evening and their official graduation dinner. It was mostly informal, the new graduates gathering with all the instructors, their partners and family to celebrate. The only official part of the event was each being called up to receive a certificate that said they'd survived 410 squadron and were fit to be let loose wearing the title of 'fighter pilot'.

"There's one final task I need to complete before you're all free to drink and be merry," Major Baker stood at the dais, acting as speaker for the night. He'd began the night with a short speech so they knew that wasn't his intent. "The Top Gun award," Baker announced. "Each course it's awarded to the rookie with the highest combined strafing and bombing scores. Now I could try and build up the suspense but I think all the rookies know who's getting the award this year." Holding up the plaque he looked at Lorne. "Captain?" he said. "You wanna come up here and get this?"

Grinning, Evan put a hand over Elaine's and then jumped up, striding quickly to the front of the room.

"Congratulations son," Baker said, handing over the title with a firm hand shake and a fond slap on the back.

"Thank you Sir," Evan replied. Turning to face his classmates he held up the plaque, getting a round of applause. "This might have my name on it," he said in a louder voice, addressing the whole room, "but you don't get to the end of training by yourself. This is as much for me as it is for Cade, John, Neil and Andrew ... and for Marcus Price and Paul Merlin too. Since I'm up here anyway I'll take the opportunity to thank my fellow classmates ... you were all pains in the ass at times but I wouldn't have it any other way. You welcomed a Yankee interloper into your midst without complaining too loudly ... which can mean only one thing. I'm gonna have to be nice to every Canadian I meet for the rest of my career," Evan saw Drew laughing and grinned in return as he finished up. "But if they're anything like you guys that shouldn't be a problem."

Nodding to Major Baker again, Evan quickly walked back to his table and a proudly smiling Elaine. He wanted to thank Major Baker personally for his support and for giving him the chance to fly the F-18 but knew there'd be time once he'd found out where he was going.

It was a fitting end to nine months of continuous effort and unrelenting pressure. But as quickly as their last day had arrived it was done, and there was no time for vacations or reflection on what they'd achieved. The very next day they got their new orders.

Neil, John and Cade were all going to the 425 gun squadron in Baggotville, Quebec. Evan and Drew had both been assigned to the 409 gun squadron, located 300 feet across the tarmac from the 410. Lorne was staying in Cold Lake with Drew. He couldn't have asked for more, except for the others to also remain there which was never going to happen. When he reported for duty at his new post it all felt a little surreal but Lorne knew that within days he'd be feeling like he'd never worked anywhere else.

oOo

Ten Years Later ...

"Love Lorne?" the voice calling out too loudly had Evan turning with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. It couldn't be. He'd seen the latest transfer list and James Reed's name hadn't been on it.

"It is you!" the now Major laughed. "Evan "Love" Lorne himself. Thought you'd dropped off the Earth years ago. How the hell you been?"

Looking around with the futile hope that no one else had heard Reed's words, Evan had to smile. He moved forward and was enveloped in an enthusiastic trade of fond back slapping with someone he hadn't seen in almost ten years.

"What are you doing here?" Evan asked.

"Last minute reassignment," Reed replied. "Called to duty to help train -,"

"Love Lorne?" Colonel Sheppard's amused voice interrupting them had Evan freezing in dismay. Damn!

"Sir?" Evan turned from Reed, going for confused innocence.

"Your call sign is 'Love'?" Sheppard's lips twitched in amusement.

"That's kind of irrelevant here, don't you think?" Lorne commented, hoping to head things off before anything else was said.

"Yes Sir," Reed said at the same time, straightening in the presence of a superior officer.

"Relax Major," John addressed both men at the same time. "So ... Love ... what's the story behind that? Because I'm sure there is one!"

"You know call signs Sir," Evan dismissed. "They're usually made up by a bunch of guys looking for revenge and trying to be clever."

"So this is nothing more than a play on your last name?" Sheppard asked.

"Yes Sir," Evan said firmly, stepping back on Reed's foot when he scoffed in disbelief.

"Major?" Sheppard looked at Reed for an answer.

"That and the fact that Lorne was quite ... popular ... with the female population during training Sir," Reed said quickly. "And then there was the whole 'my girlfriend is an F-16' conversation ... as rumour had it."

"Colonel Sheppard doesn't need to hear the details," Evan said quickly.

"Maybe not, but he's interested just the same," John said with a chuckle. "So you two trained together?"

"Major Reed was an instructor at Cold Lake," Lorne explained. The Colonel had seen his record so he knew Evan had done his fighter pilot training in Canada.

"Ah, so you were one of the guys behind 'Love' getting that tag?" Sheppard shot Lorne a grin, clearly enjoying the chance to see him even a little flustered.

"Do you have a call sign Sir?" Lorne asked, hoping to turn the tables and crossing his mental fingers that it wasn't something cool like 'Maverick'.

"You know Major," John said. "You're right ... call signs aren't as important here on Atlantis. I'll leave you and your friend to catch up."

Evan thought he'd gotten through the worst ... Colonel Sheppard turned and took a couple of strides down the corridor but then he stopped, and turned back.

"'Shep'," John announced his call sign with a smirk, "for obvious reasons." He chuckled at the dismayed look on Evan's face that it wasn't more damning even as he turned back to Reed. "Major ... I expect you to fill me in on the full story about Love here ... after you've settled. Welcome to Atlantis."

"Thank you Sir," Reed said, trying not to laugh.

"Carry on," John said, turning and continuing down the corridor.

As he watched the Colonel walk away, there was only one thought in Lorne's head. Even Atlantis hadn't been far enough away to escape his call sign.

Sometimes being a pilot really sucked!

The End!

Authors Note:

So there it is ... the end. I hope it lived up to expectations! One final thank you to the Discovery Channel in Canada for making such a fantastic series in Jetstream and to Kavan Smith for lending his voice to narrate it, thus inspiring me to write this story. There are a LOT of quotes included in this chapter, particularly in air cool pilot speak. I used wikipedia for quite a few things in this chapter, mainly to confirm that things like the missiles mentioned were actually around in 1997. I also found an excellent forum at www dot airliners dot net slash aviation-forums slash military that had an excellent discussion about refuelling which helped a lot with that part. I wasn't sure about the very last part of this chapter which I wrote way back after the first chapter ... so I may end up 'taking it back' if I find it messes up my plans for other stories. Apologies for any errors that made it into this chapter - it's VERY late here right now but I wanted to post tonight so it's all done.

Big thank you's to the people who've read and reviewed this story ... I need to mention Elaine and sb4ever here specifically because I couldn't reply directly. All the review comments helped motivate me to keep going with what was quite a difficult story to bring together.

The hopefully good news is that I have the next story in Lorne's background already written and ready to begin posting. I'll give you guys a few days break before I launch - it's called Grand Tour. While I'm posting that I'll be writing more Forlorn Hope.

I don't usually do this but if you liked this story please take the time to review this chapter ... it'd be nice to hear from you but also I'm keen to hear if I'm on the right track with my creation of Lorne's more detailed background. Thank you.