and make it back. But the more things progressed, the more he started to wonder if victory—whatever that was—was even possible.
“Sir?” came the voice.
Peterson looked over. Tag was looking at him, with that wide-eyed expression he always had after he’d asked a question twice, and Peterson hadn’t responded.
Peterson snapped back into it. He saw all his team looking at him, all still pumped up from the battle.
He looked down, and saw that that airfield was already becoming a dot on the horizon.
“Where to now, sir?” Tag asked again, glancing back and forth between Peterson and the controls.
Peterson thought.
“How much gas did you manage to fill?”
“We got lucky. Nearly full. But now the gauges are already reading three quarters of a tank. We’re still losing gas, sir. I don’t know how fast.”
“Didn’t’ find the leak?” Peterson knew the answer, but was choosing to blame Tag for his failure.
Tag looked over to Spooky. If looks could talk, Tag would be ripping Spooky’s head off.
Peterson returned to thought. Armstrong edged up beside him, as he always did in times of trouble. The two of them had been through it all together, and Armstrong had always been one of his closest friends. It felt good to have him at his side. But still, Armstrong liked to overstep his authority, to offer an opinion when it wasn’t his to give. He always thought that because they were friends, he could get away with it. But on a mission, they weren’t friends. Peterson was boss.
“Maybe we should head back to base, get a new bird.” came Armstrong’s deep, bass voice.
Peterson turned and gave him a hard look. But Armstrong didn’t back down. He was too tough of a soldier. And too anti-authoritarian.
“We’re not going back,” Peterson said in an extra loud voice, with as much authority as he could muster. “We are proceeding with our mission.”
“But you heard the man,” Armstrong said, “we ain’t got the fuel.”
“We’ve got enough fuel to make it somewhere,” Peterson said, and that’s exactly where we’re going to go. As close to the destination as we can get. From there, we’ll figure it out.”
Dr. Washington chimed in, shaking his head. “I don’t like it.”
“Well then it’s a good thing you’re not in command,” Peterson said coldly.
Dr. Washington got the message, and slinked back to his seat.
Peterson could feel all eyes on him.
“I’m changing the flight plan,” Peterson announced. “I know it’s not as direct, but we’re not going to fly out over the ocean. If we go down out there, we’re toast. I’d rather fight my way against those things than go down in the ocean.”
Peterson unfolded a map, and surveyed the landscape around them. He held out his compass, and checked the horizon.
“I want you to cut over Manhattan. Cross the rivers, then we’ll fly over Long Island. We’ll have land beneath us, all the way. And gas stations, if we’re lucky. And if we go down, at least we’ll have a fighting chance.”
“But that’s too dangerous,” Angelo chimed in. “We can’t fly over the city. We go down there, we’re done.”
Peterson felt his anger rising. A little chaos and now everyone thought they were in charge.
“And you can’t just go changing the flight plans,” Dr. Washington chimed in. “Not without approval from HQ.”
Now Peterson was really pestered. Armstrong’s initial challenge of his authority was breaking down the entire chain of command.
“Other planes could collide into us,” Dr. Washington continued. “The sky is still full of traffic.”
“Have you seen any other birds yet?” Peterson asked Dr. Washington, staring him down.
Washington paused. “Well, no, not exactly—”
“Then shut your mouth,” Peterson snapped. “I’m the one giving the orders here. You’re the one taking them.”
Dr. Washington, finally leaned back, as did Armstrong.
“We’re flying over the city, then over Long Island, and
“Sir?” came the voice.
Peterson looked over. Tag was looking at him, with that wide-eyed expression he always had after he’d asked a question twice, and Peterson hadn’t responded.
Peterson snapped back into it. He saw all his team looking at him, all still pumped up from the battle.
He looked down, and saw that that airfield was already becoming a dot on the horizon.
“Where to now, sir?” Tag asked again, glancing back and forth between Peterson and the controls.
Peterson thought.
“How much gas did you manage to fill?”
“We got lucky. Nearly full. But now the gauges are already reading three quarters of a tank. We’re still losing gas, sir. I don’t know how fast.”
“Didn’t’ find the leak?” Peterson knew the answer, but was choosing to blame Tag for his failure.
Tag looked over to Spooky. If looks could talk, Tag would be ripping Spooky’s head off.
Peterson returned to thought. Armstrong edged up beside him, as he always did in times of trouble. The two of them had been through it all together, and Armstrong had always been one of his closest friends. It felt good to have him at his side. But still, Armstrong liked to overstep his authority, to offer an opinion when it wasn’t his to give. He always thought that because they were friends, he could get away with it. But on a mission, they weren’t friends. Peterson was boss.
“Maybe we should head back to base, get a new bird.” came Armstrong’s deep, bass voice.
Peterson turned and gave him a hard look. But Armstrong didn’t back down. He was too tough of a soldier. And too anti-authoritarian.
“We’re not going back,” Peterson said in an extra loud voice, with as much authority as he could muster. “We are proceeding with our mission.”
“But you heard the man,” Armstrong said, “we ain’t got the fuel.”
“We’ve got enough fuel to make it somewhere,” Peterson said, and that’s exactly where we’re going to go. As close to the destination as we can get. From there, we’ll figure it out.”
Dr. Washington chimed in, shaking his head. “I don’t like it.”
“Well then it’s a good thing you’re not in command,” Peterson said coldly.
Dr. Washington got the message, and slinked back to his seat.
Peterson could feel all eyes on him.
“I’m changing the flight plan,” Peterson announced. “I know it’s not as direct, but we’re not going to fly out over the ocean. If we go down out there, we’re toast. I’d rather fight my way against those things than go down in the ocean.”
Peterson unfolded a map, and surveyed the landscape around them. He held out his compass, and checked the horizon.
“I want you to cut over Manhattan. Cross the rivers, then we’ll fly over Long Island. We’ll have land beneath us, all the way. And gas stations, if we’re lucky. And if we go down, at least we’ll have a fighting chance.”
“But that’s too dangerous,” Angelo chimed in. “We can’t fly over the city. We go down there, we’re done.”
Peterson felt his anger rising. A little chaos and now everyone thought they were in charge.
“And you can’t just go changing the flight plans,” Dr. Washington chimed in. “Not without approval from HQ.”
Now Peterson was really pestered. Armstrong’s initial challenge of his authority was breaking down the entire chain of command.
“Other planes could collide into us,” Dr. Washington continued. “The sky is still full of traffic.”
“Have you seen any other birds yet?” Peterson asked Dr. Washington, staring him down.
Washington paused. “Well, no, not exactly—”
“Then shut your mouth,” Peterson snapped. “I’m the one giving the orders here. You’re the one taking them.”
Dr. Washington, finally leaned back, as did Armstrong.
“We’re flying over the city, then over Long Island, and
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