Tempting Wind

"Many dream of the sky from childhood. I didn’t dream of it — I clung to it. My childhood was a gray blur within orphanage walls: no faces, no names, no warmth of a parent’s touch. It was me against the entire world.

Life hit me hard, testing my resolve, but every time, I stood back up. At twenty-eight, I became the top graduate of the Air Force Academy. When I put on the uniform, my past is erased. At Edwards Air Force Base, they don’t ask who your parents are. They ask if you can tame a steel bird at the edge of its limits. I could. I joined the 'best of the best,' and now my home is the cockpit of a fighter jet and the endless horizon over the Mojave Desert."

My fear always followed at my heels. Not a fear of heights or death — I was afraid of becoming a nobody. Afraid of dissolving back into the grayness of those orphanage walls I once escaped. Time flies, and I’m nearly thirty; all I have is my callsign and the steel in my muscles. My body was carved by years of grueling discipline, endless takeoffs, and G-forces. I’ve forgotten how to be gentle. I’m not ready for a family because steel doesn't know how to embrace — it only knows how to hold the line.

Today, I’m at Edwards. The runway waited for me, disappearing into the desert haze. My flight starts in a few minutes. I am ready to meet this wind. I am ready to fly to where the stars are born, because only there, at the limit, do I feel alive.

I walked across the scorching concrete of the airfield, the sound of my boots lost in the distant hum of other engines. My F-22 Raptor sat motionless in the hangar, resembling a predatory bird of black titanium.

I climbed the ladder and slid into the cramped cockpit. It smelled of ozone and the dry heat of electronics. I took my seat, buckling the five-point harness — it squeezed my chest, reminding me that in the sky, I belong to this machine, not to myself.

I flipped the battery switch. The instrument panels came to life, glowing with the emerald light of three massive LCD displays. The system began its self-diagnosis, beeping softly in my helmet headset.

My finger rested on the starter switch for the right engine. "Ames, this is Shadow. Requesting start on one," my voice over the comms was dry and steady.

A rising whistle of the turbine followed. The beast behind me woke up. A slight tremor ran through the airframe. When the RPM needle reached the mark, I started the left engine. Now I heard not a whistle, but the low, guttural roar of two Pratt & Whitney F119 engines.

• I moved the control stick. The massive tail fins behind me swayed obediently, slicing the air. The canopy — heavy glass with a golden tint — slid down smoothly, cutting off all sounds of the outside world.

Now I was in a vacuum. Only my breath in the mask and the steady hum of forty thousand horsepower behind my back. I pushed the throttle forward, and the multi-ton machine slowly rolled out from the shadow of the hangar into the blinding sun of the Mojave.

"Shadow, cleared for takeoff. Wind is alluring, headwind at ten knots."

"Copy," I replied, feeling the steel inside me resonate with the steel of the fighter. "Heading for altitude."

I spent nearly 70 minutes in the sky — over an hour. By the end, I was exhausted, as if I’d shoveled five tons of coal. My body and mind were spent; I wanted to return to base. I needed a breather until tomorrow.

The roar of the engines began to fade, turning from a fierce growl into a thin, barely audible whistle. I felt every muscle. Nine-G maneuvers don't pass without a trace: capillaries in the eyes burst, and the spine feels pressed into the seat. Мои fingers, still resting on the throttles, trembled slightly — pure adrenaline slowly turning into fatigue.

I brought the jet to the hangar and engaged the brakes.

"Edwards Tower, this is Shadow. Mission complete. Shutting down, aircraft on the ramp," my voice sounded hoarse. The oxygen mask had left deep indentations on my face.

"Copy, Shadow," the controller replied, a rare touch of warmth in his voice. "Welcome back to the hollow earth, Elroy. The techs say you pushed that bird to the limit today. Get some rest. Debrief tomorrow at 08:00."

"Copy. Out."

I threw back the canopy. The dry, searing air of the Mojave hit my face. It smelled of heated concrete, burnt rubber, and freedom. I climbed out of the cramped cockpit with difficulty, feeling the G-suit finally stop squeezing my body.

As my boots touched the concrete, the silence of the hangar was shattered by a familiar voice.

"You were magnificent, damn it! That vertical trick... I thought my own spine was going to settle into my boots just watching it from the tower!"

It was Ron. My wingman, my brother in the sky, and perhaps the only person I allowed to get closer to me than a gunshot's distance. We were bound only by the ties of altitude, but in this sterile military life, that was enough to make us family.

"Drop it, Ron," I pulled off my helmet, feeling damp hair cling to my forehead. "It was just a standard stability test. Nothing special."

"Don't be such a drama queen, Shadow!" he slapped my shoulder so hard I nearly buckled after the G-loads. "Listen, let’s grab a beer tonight? I’ll introduce you to some girls. Stop rotting in your burrow."

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, exhausted.

"Ron, we’re never going to get married or find our 'better halves' if all we do is drink beer and watch football on weekends."

"You’ll see, I’m going to get married, brother!" he flashed a white-toothed grin, adjusting his cap. "Soon. Very soon."

"We'll see about that," I huffed, heading for the locker room. "In the meantime, you’re just busy hugging one girl or her friend... what was her name?"

"Jacqueline," he suggested dreamily.

"Right, Jacqueline. You 'hugged' her so hard the day before yesterday that the hickeys on your neck are still glowing like taxiway lights."

"Oh, stop growling!" Ron nudged me with his elbow. "Anyway, eight o'clock at Timmy's. Don't you dare flake out."

"We'll see."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he called after me.

"I said: we'll see. Back off, Ron."

I was driving down Highway 14, Ron’s words still spinning in my head. 'I’m going to get married, brother...' Confident idiot. We were born for speeds that tear lungs apart; what the hell does family have to do with it? I knew for certain that starting a family was not for me. It was alien. Unreachable. I would never be with anyone; I was lonely and would stay that way forever.

The sun hadn't set yet; it hung over the horizon like a massive crimson disk, flooding the desert with heavy gold. I pressed the clutch and braked smoothly. My Mustang stopped a few meters from the shoulder. When I turned the key, the engine died, leaving me in a deafening silence broken only by the clicks of cooling metal.

I saw someone needed help. I couldn't just drive by and leave someone in trouble. Even if my appearance was stern and cold, it didn't mean I was a lifeless iceberg. I had a drop of human compassion left.

I didn't rush to get out. Through the windshield, I watched her.

A girl was pacing nervously around a stalled Jeep. I tried to estimate her age — a pilot's habit of digitizing everything. She was around twenty-seven. Or was I so bad at math that I’d forgotten what women looked like outside the airbase? She clearly wasn't a child, but 'old age' was as far away as the moon.

There was a strange harmony of middle-age in her — that threshold where childhood lightness meets feminine strength. She was younger than me, for sure. She was betrayed by her long, slightly messy braids draped over her shoulder and dusty sneakers that looked so defenseless against this endless, merciless highway.

She looked like someone who shouldn't have been here, alone against the desert. I pushed open the heavy car door and stepped out. The hot air immediately clung to my face, reminding me I was no longer in an air-conditioned cockpit.

"Problems?" I asked quietly, approaching.

She startled and turned around abruptly. There was no fear in her eyes, only an extreme level of exhaustion and irritation. Her skin glistened from the sun — dark, like cocoa. The color was extraordinarily exquisite.

"Apart from being stuck in the middle of nowhere with a child and a piece of useless iron, everything is just wonderful," she replied with a bitter smile.

I looked at her sneakers, then her braids, and then shifted my gaze to the small face in the Jeep's window.

"Let's see what we can do," I said, taking off my glasses. "I'm Elroy. And it looks like I'm your only chance not to spend the night here to the accompaniment of coyotes."

And it was in that moment, in the middle of the burning desert, that I saw her. A broken Jeep and the figure of a woman who looked like the very answer to my argument with Ron — an answer I hadn't intended to find.

I rolled up my sleeves and plunged my hands into the scorching guts of the Jeep. The metal burned my fingers, but after cadet training, I was used to ignoring such trifles. As I studied the oil-covered engine, I caught the sound of her nervously tapping her sneaker on the asphalt, glancing at the empty road. She blinked her long lashes, and every movement betrayed her desire to be far away from here.

"Mom, I'm tired of sitting... when are we going?" a soft, cranky child's voice drifted from the back seat. "And I'm hungry."

I felt my heart skip a beat. That voice... it was too pure for me. Something familiar and yet so distant. Like a ghost from the past. For a split second, closing my eyes, I was back in the orphanage, tears streaming down my cheeks, calling for my mother. But she wasn't there, and I waited like a puppy at the door, calling and waiting until I collapsed from exhaustion.

I opened my eyes and...

"Honey, wait a little," she replied, her voice instantly softening. She leaned toward the window and then looked back at me. "We're being helped. This mister... what's your name?"

"Elroy Walker, at your service," I replied without looking back, my thoughts quickly finding the cause of the breakdown.

I fished a snapped alternator belt out from under the hood. Bad news. It couldn't be fixed here. I straightened up, wiping my greasy palms on an old rag. The sun moved behind my back, and the light hit the chain around my neck, making it glint. The girl froze, staring at my dog tags that had slipped out from under my collar.

"Are you military?" she asked, surprise and a strange relief mixing in her voice. "I just saw your tags."

I instinctively touched the cold metal on my chest. These plates were my only 'pedigree.'

"Pilot," I threw out shortly, finally looking her straight in the eyes. "Stationed at Edwards, just a few miles from here."

I shifted my gaze to the boy in the window. He was staring at me as if I had just landed in a spaceship.

"Listen, uh... what's your name, miss?"

"Sana Amir."

"Excellent, now we're officially acquainted." I nodded toward the broken belt. "Your Jeep isn't flying anywhere else today. The engine's overheated, the belt's in shreds. You need to get to town."

I gestured toward my black Mustang, hissing with heat nearby.

"I have water and a couple of sandwiches in the car that I didn't get to eat for lunch. Put the kid in my car. I'll take you to Palmdale; there’s a decent shop there, and a tow truck can pick up your car. You can figure it out from there. Better to call them now. Before it’s too late."

I opened the heavy door of the Mustang, and the smell of heated leather and a faint, lingering scent of jet fuel — which seemed to be permanently etched into my skin — filled the air.

"Well, Hal, shall we go with the pilot?" Sana gently nudged her son toward the car. "He’ll take us to the city, and then on to grandma’s. Looks like we’re out of wheels and we'll take a taxi tomorrow."

The boy froze in front of my car, looking at it as if it weren't a good old Ford, but a space shuttle.

"Well, okay, if it's with a pilot, then I agree!" he declared, and there was so much resolve in his voice that I couldn't help but smirk. "Mom, is he really a pilot? I’d like to see his planes... How does he fly? Can we see it? Mom?"

His voice fluttered in the hot air, bright and clear. I stood, leaning my hand on the roof of the car, listening. That sound... it was familiar. I used to pepper the orphanage staff with the same questions until I realized there would be no answers.

"Hal, that's enough," Sana blushed, trying to settle him in the back seat. "We can't just go to the airbase. That territory isn't for ordinary citizens. Do you understand?"

Hal pouted, his small fists clenching. He looked at me with such hope that it would have made anyone else’s heart ache. Inside me, something clicked. Something cracked deep under my heart.

'Why not?' the thought flashed.

I remembered the gray walls of my childhood. No one ever took me by the hand and showed me a miracle. Everything I have, I clawed out from fate myself. Но this boy didn't have to repeat my path.

I got behind the wheel and waited for Sana to buckle Hal in and sit beside me. The cabin immediately became cramped with her scent of lavender and that strange family energy I had always avoided.

"You know, Hal," I said, looking into the rearview mirror straight into his inquisitive eyes. "Your mom is right. The base is a serious place. There are guns everywhere and mean guys with rifles."

I started the engine. The Mustang responded with a low, guttural growl. Hal pressed into the back of his seat, his eyes widening.

"But," I paused, "tomorrow morning, I have a training flight. If your mom allows it, I can drive you to the 'public' area outside the fence. There’s a hill there where you can see the whole runway. You’ll see my Raptor lift off and head into the clouds."

I caught a glimpse of Sana. She was staring at me, her eyes full of bewilderment. She clearly hadn't expected such generosity from the 'Man of Steel.'

"Are you serious?" she asked softly.

"I never joke about flying, Sana," I replied, shifting into first gear. "A child needs to see that the stars aren't just dots in the sky, but something you can reach for."

The fact that Sana fled a civil war in Sudan adds depth to her. She is a survivor. She sold all her gold to save her son, which makes her Elroy’s equal in spirit. He fought for his life in an orphanage; she fought for hers in a war.

The Mustang hummed steadily, devouring the miles of the scorched highway. In the rearview mirror, I kept catching Hal’s gaze. The boy was glued to the window, sipping from the water bottle I’d given him. He was remarkably fair — paler than Sana, with chestnut curls and eyes of such a piercing green color found only in Alaskan forests after rain.

"So his name is Hal?" I asked to break the lingering silence.

"Khalid," she replied shortly. "He’s mixed. I understand, you look at us and wonder why he’s so fair and I’m... darker."

I glanced at her. Her voice held that habitual defense used by people accustomed to sideways glances.

"I don't care who's darker or lighter," I said honestly, adjusting the wheel. "A mix of blood makes people beautiful. Your boy... he’s special. You can see it right away."

Sana relaxed her shoulders slightly, her gaze softening.

"He's half Irish, half Sudanese."

"So you're from Sudan?" I was surprised. That explained her exotic, deep beauty.

"Yes. Fled the civil war. Sold all the gold my mother and I had to buy one-way tickets to the U.S. We’ve lived here for five years."

She spoke calmly, but I felt the weight behind those words. Five years in a foreign country, alone, with a child... that required more courage than ejecting from a burning plane.

"And Hal’s father?" the question slipped out before I could think.

Sana turned sharply to the window. Her brown eyes vanished from my sight, hidden in shadow. The atmosphere in the car changed instantly, becoming heavy like the air before a storm.

"Sorry," I added quickly, feeling a pang inside. "I asked the wrong question. I apologize."

"No, it's fine," her voice was quiet and dry like the sand outside. "He’s just not around anymore. Hal doesn't even remember him."

I gripped the leather wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. Damn it, Elroy, what an idiot. You pushed on the most painful spot. I, who grew up without a father myself, should have felt that boundary, but instead, I trampled it with my army boot.

"I'm sorry," I managed. And it wasn't a hollow phrase. In that moment, I felt a strange connection to that little green eye in the mirror. We both had a void where a father's name should be.

We entered the outskirts of Palmdale as the sky began to turn purple.

"Where should I take you, Sana?"

She gave me the route to their home. We drove into the residential quarters of Palmdale. Cookie-cutter houses with low fences and manicured lawns flickered past, drowning in the twilight.

"My mom... she lives here, a few blocks away," Sana said quietly, pointing the way. "I was coming from Lancaster. There was a pharmacy there that had the medicine she needed. She’s in severe pain, and the local hospital refused our prescription."

I looked at the dashboard. So she had made this trip in the heat in that old junker just to ease her mother’s suffering. The steel inside me continued to melt. This woman was a real fighter, tougher than many guys in my squadron. She was stronger than she seemed; her body was slender, almost like a stem, but with a slight, graceful shape. A miniature chest, a straight back, and the glutes of an athlete. She was toned and very attractive. And the long braids gave her even more exoticism and unreality. Honestly, I hadn't seen such women in a long time, and I hadn't admired one as long as I did Sana.

Unfortunately, masculine feelings under my heart were igniting, no matter how much I denied them.

"This house," she pointed to a small, neat, but clearly repair-needing building at the end of the street.

I stopped the Mustang and killed the engine. Hal was already nearly asleep in the back, cheek pressed against the glass.

"Sana," I turned to her before she could get out. "I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow morning. We’ll get the medicine if you left it in the other car, or I’ll take you to the base hospital — they have the best doctors and any medications. And I haven't forgotten about Hal. He’ll see the takeoff."

She looked at me with a long, searching gaze. It seemed that in this moment, she saw not just an Air Force pilot, but a person who, for the first time in a long time, offered her not just help, but protection.

"Why are you doing this, Elroy?" she asked so softly I could barely hear. She was definitely surprised, and so was I. I don't know what's happening to me.

I looked at my hands on the wheel.

"Because I know what it’s like when there’s no one to fix your car, Sana. And because Hal needs to see the sky."

"Thank you so much. I appreciate your help." She looked like a person who was ready for anything, and in that lay a vulnerability, not just a woman's strength.

"It’s nothing. I think everyone should show the courage to help those who deserve it."

A soft smile flickered across her face, and I caught it.

I got out of the car to help her unload the things. The Palmdale air already smelled of coolness and the night desert. When they disappeared behind the door of the house, I stood by the Mustang for a long time, looking at the light in their window. Watching for a long time as the boy and his mother vanished behind the door, the child's look in my direction sending a crack through my soul.

Could all this have happened in three hours? Am I feeling something that hasn't been there for a long time?

Мy empty house waited for me three streets away, but tonight the silence in it promised to be especially loud.

I killed the Mustang's engine, but that cursed high-pitched whine of turbines was still in my ears. I sat in the darkness of the cabin, gripping the wheel until my joints ached, and just breathed. Deeply. Greedily. Trying to displace the smell of artificial oxygen from my lungs with the smell of the real, dusty California night.

The day had been too long. Too... human.

I stepped out of the car, and the silence of my Palmdale neighborhood felt deafening. I entered the house, tossed the keys onto the console without looking — the sharp crack of metal on wood grated on my nerves. My house. My fortress. Everything here was sterile: not a speck of dust, not a superfluous detail, not a single photograph on the walls. A life packed into functionality, where every object had its place, like the switches on a cockpit panel.

I walked over to the player. Fingers, still trembling from residual adrenaline, touched the sensor. Beethoven’s "Moonlight Sonata" filled the apartment. I loved the classics for their mathematical precision — there was no chaos in them, only pure harmony that helped me 'land' after nine-G loads.

Stripping off my sweaty T-shirt, I lay down right on the cold floor of the living room. My body demanded discipline.

One. Two. Forty. Eighty.

I did crunches, concentrating on the burn in my muscles, trying to cauterize the extra images from my mind. But as soon as I closed my eyes, I saw her again. Sana. She was in my flight jacket, which hung off her shoulders like a shield of my efforts, and those eyes of hers — brown, deep, and large, reflecting the sky I was used to considering mine alone.

And Hal. Damn it, that boy. His delight when my Raptor lifted its nose off the concrete pierced me through. I’d never really thought about how it looked from the outside. For me, it's work, risk, numbers. For him — magic and wonder.

I stood up, staggering from fatigue, and went to the shower. I stood under the icy streams, forehead pressed against the tile. Water flowed down my back, washing away the sweat and the weight of the flight day, but it couldn't wash away this strange, itching feeling in my chest. Something was catching, and I couldn't deny it.

I was used to being alone. Solitude is safety. No one is waiting for you on the ground, which means you aren't afraid of not coming back. That rule helped me survive in the orphanage, helped in the Academy, helped in the sky.

But today, drying off with a towel in the empty bathroom, I caught myself looking at the clock. Ten at night. They were only a couple of miles away. Did she get the medicine? Did the boy fall asleep? What are they doing right now? Is Sana herself sleeping? Or is she also immersed in her emotions like me?

I lay in bed, and the sheets felt too cool, as always. The house I had always considered my temple suddenly felt oppressive, like a G-load in a steep dive. I closed my eyes, trying to recall tomorrow's flight plan, but instead saw only Sana's thin fingers adjusting her braid. How long had it been since I had a connection with a woman, and when did I ever even hug or kiss? Keep your thoughts to yourself, pal. She’s a refugee, and I’m a pilot. We have nothing in common, nothing alike. Or am I wrong?

Tomorrow, I thought, falling into a heavy, dreamless sleep. Tomorrow I’ll just stop by and see how they are. And that’s it.

But I already knew I was lying to myself.