Without any more pleasantries, he picked up his helmet and headed back out to his plane, now refueled, reloaded, and checked over. He’d still do his own walk around because he never took off without getting a visual on every inch of his bird. Even if he did trust this crew with his life. It was just that one more pair of watchful eyes was never too many.
The only place he felt alive and whole was in the cockpit. By fighting fires, he could do what he loved and also continue to serve. He wasn’t sure he could drop bombs on people anymore, especially when you had no way to guarantee the folks on the ground were “the bad guys.” Still, he could sure bomb the hell out of wildfires without one twinge of guilt. These days it was all that made his life livable. Otherwise the ghosts and regrets got the best of him. 3