Marine Corps Stories: Wingers

“You’re the worst Marine. You didn’t know he was his great-grandson?” Corporal Dalton Stetson asked.

“Alright, so I didn’t know his kin, but do you know the first name of ‘Young’ Livingsboro?” PFC Lisa Bartiromo said.

The two other Marines drew stares.

“Now, who’s the worst Marine. The both of you have no clue.”

“So what is it?” Lance Corporal Ferdinanad Coyle said.

“I don’t know, but you two should. Claiming people are the worst...I do know why his call sign was ‘Young.’”

“Oh, yes? Enlighten us.”

Lisa cleared her throat. “He was the youngest and first African American to fly a Harrier. He was nineteen.”

“Goddamn. When did he graduate high school?”

Lisa shrugged. “I guess thirteen or so. He finished college at seventeen and went straight to OCS afterwards,” she said.” She shifted gears. “Have you heard they're getting rid of the Harriers?” she asked.

“Damn shame. They’re probably the coolest aircraft the Corps has ever encountered,” Stetson said.

Coyle made a motion with his hand being flat and lifting off of the table where they smoked.

“They just arose right into the air,” he said.

“I know.”

“What do you know, Boot?” Coyle asked Lisa.

“I know they’re going to convert the airwing into a Marine Fighter Attack Squadron,” Lisa said.

“It won’t be like any other era. The Harrier’s been in movies for Christ’s sake. The F-35’s been in films, too,” Stetson said.

“We’ve all seen the guts of those mothers. She was wired right,” Coyle said.

All of them had been basic avionics Marines, and looked at each other with mutual melancholy for the retirement of a Marine legend.

“The bird still has enough history left in it to bring to it the Marine Corps Museum,” Coyle said.

“I think the aeronautics museum would be a better fit. More visibility,” Stetson said.

“What we did to the jet is beyond any kind of display it may grace in the future. We made sure those officers flew high,” Lisa said.

“Yes. We helped to keep them in the air and get back to a base or carrier with speed,” Coyle said.

“It was like making more than just a resumé. This was part of the lifestyle. And I know the rest of the Corps likes to dump on us for being wingers, but I don’t care. I wear the name with pride,” Lisa said.

“Boot, you barely even got a chance to fully experience the richness of working on a Harrier. Ferdie and I had been clocking hours while you were still at MOS school.”

“This may be true but did you learn how fast to best reconfigure the FACE-based software systems in just two weeks?”

Coyle and Stetson grew silent.

“Okay, so you’ve got faster training on something we already knew about. Ho-hum.”

Lisa pulled on her e-cigarette. “I’m going to miss it no matter what either of you say.”

“The F-35 is supposedly sleeker and a meaner weapon. Plus it has vertical takeoff like the Harrier,” Coyle said with a knife hand.

“Yes, it’s going to continue to be an asset to the Corps. With the Harrier out of the way we can concentrate on this new badass killer. It should be something to see the entire fleet of fighters which once held the AV-8B’s spot will fly even faster and higher than the zoomies and squids.”

“How do you figure?” Lisa asked.

“Because, Boot, we Marines are going to actually give a damn. While they’re dreaming about their nonexistent job in the civilian world, which corresponds with whatever the hell they’re doing on these jets, we’ll be high speed. We’ll take those F-35’s and make sure we do our goddamn jobs knowing full well we will not be worrying about transferring what we do here into a filthy civilian role.”

“All we have to do is make sure we apply the same amount of focus to these birds which had already been in the Corps. In our way of getting rid of the AV’s, we’re just pushing forward our capabilities.”