Kyle, along with his fellow maintainers, reported to the 9th Maintenance Squadron (9th MXS). They didn't get to their base on a Monday so they were slowly processing into the Wing and then reporting to their respective squadrons.
The maintainers stood at attention in the breakroom.
"At-ease, airman," said Master Sergeant Janns.
The airman took an "At-Ease" pose.
"I'm Sergeant Janns the flight chief for 9th MXS."
Sergeant Janns was of average stature. He had a pencil thin mustache cleanly cut above his upper lip. His uniform was crisply pressed. He probably paid for the iron work instead of trying to press a uniform perfectly on his own.
"You boys won't be starting training until the next class begins which will be two months from now."
Sergeant Janns paced around.
"The rest of this week, you'll be shadowing crew chiefs in the Dock. Then, come Monday, you'll be going through FTAC."
Sergeant Janns glanced over at Fern.
"You got a question, Fern?"
"Sir, Airman Fer—"
"None of that, Fern. You don't have to say that anymore. You're not trainees. You're Airman at your first duty station."
"Yes, sir… um…what's FTAC?"
"First Term Airman Center. Every Airman goes through it. It'll get you situated," said Sergeant Janns. "From there, you'll shadow crew chiefs on your return until you start your classes in the beginning of January."
Sergeant Janns looked around.
"Doesn't seem like you have many questions. Report to the Dock Box. They'll give you a mechanic to shadow," said Sergeant Janns. "Flight! Attention!"
The Airman snapped to attention.
"Dismissed!"
The Airman took a step back and performed an "About-Face" movement then headed to the Dock Box, the hub of the Phase Dock. Kyle and his fellow maintainers were assigned to the 9th MXS at the 9th Reconnaissance Wing. There were two possible assignments they could have received—Phase Dock or Flightline. The Flightline Crew Chiefs worked out on the flightline aiding sorties and doing everyday maintenance on the jet.
Phase was a whole 'nother beast. Phase was in charge of periodic maintenance. They tore the jet apart after every 200 to 400 flying hours to replace parts and perform scheduled maintenance—much like a car. It was a more thorough kind of maintenance.
The crew went to the Dock Box.
"Look at these babies!" exclaimed an Airman. She had three stripes: Senior Airman. She had strawberry blonde hair and was about a head shorter than Kyle. "Airman Basic?! When was the last time we saw one of those."
She was referring to Kyle and his crew's uniforms. They bore no stripes so they were the most basic of ranks: Airman Basic.
"Watch out some people might even salute you thinking you're Officers!"
This made sense to Kyle. Walking around base the first day, he spotted several people in uniform saluting him, squinting and then swatting their hands away because they saluted in error.
At the Dock Box, there was a young-looking man who seemed to be in charge of the other Crew Chiefs. Kyle was taken aback as all the other Sergeants he had encountered that were in a position of power looked aged. He also spotted a guy that looked old but he only donned two stripes: Airman First Class. He looked much older than the Sergeant-in charge.
"Kovak, we got some fresh blood," remarked one of the maintainers.
"Seems we do," said Kovak.
Kovak was the Sergeant in charge all right. Other than the young-looking face, he wore a high-and-tight haircut and was on the skinny-fat side. He was clean-shaven and had his blouse removed. His black, short sleeved undershirt tucked into his Battle Dress Uniform (BDU) bottoms. The crease was barely visible on his pants, but his boots shined phenomenally. Kyle could never polish his boots to shine the way that Kovak's did.
Kyle was a little jealous.
Kovak had two of them shadow a maintainer. For the rest of the day, Kyle and Fern trained with a guy named Cox. He had dirty-blond hair and spoke with a thick Southern accent. Cox didn't seem to mind as long as he got his checklist done. He wasn't supposed to, but he even let Kyle and Fern do the little things on his checklist: remove screws from a line, add chafing pads, check-in and check-out tools.
That was where the fun began for the seasoned Crew Chiefs.
"Fern, come here," shouted Kovak.
Fern darted over to Kovak's location.
"Yes, sir," acknowledged Fern.
"I need you to get some lube from Support."
"What kind of lube, sir?"
"It's a special lube for the aft section. Ask for Kay-Nine-P."
"Right away, sir."
Fern scurried over to the Support window and waited for someone to acknowledge him. The window was opened by this Gollum-looking Airman.
"Hi… um… Sergeant Kovak needs some lube."
"What kinda lube?"
"It was Kay-Nine-P."
The Airman smirked at Fern.
"Verify the lube, again."
"Uh… Kay-Nine-P."
"Hold on a second. I'll get that right to ya."
Over by Kyle, Kovak looked like he was holding in a bout of laughter. Kyle didn't understand. What was so funny about getting some lube for the jet. Unless… it wasn't lube—and, it was a prank. Kyle thought back to what Kovak asked for. Lube… Kay-Nine-P… as Kyle jotted it down in his notepad he muttered it aloud.
"Kay-Nine-P… K-9 P… canine pee. Canine Pee!"
As Kovak heard Kyle speak the words, Kovak burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. It wasn't terribly funny, but Kyle sensed there would be more tomfoolery before the day ended. He'd have to be on alert to be sure he didn't fall for anything.
Fern returned with a bottle filled with some liquid that looked carbonated and a fluorescent color.
"Got it, sir," said Fern.
Kovak laughed uncontrollably. Tears were forming.
"Fern, that's not lube. They're messing with you. It's probably Mountain Dew."
"Oh…"
Lunch came around after the morning giggles. They had brought the Airman to a local spot for Mongolian BBQ. Each customer made their own sauce and added noodles and meat of choice. The cooks had a giant griddle to cook on and two cooks cooked food at the same time. It seemed like flavors would mix easily. In any case, if it tasted terrible, it was probably because the wrong sauces were mixed.
After lunch, they all returned to the Phase Dock. Kyle was still on alert. Kovak must have noticed so he had to be a little bit more clever on what he asked Kyle.
"My, do you know what this is?" asked Kovak.
Kyle peered into the aft section of the aircraft. He actually didn't know what Kovak was referring to.
"I'm not sure what I'm looking at, sir."
"It's mounted in the middle of the aft section."
"It looks heavy."
"Exactly. It looks heavy. They're weights."
Weights in an aircraft? Kyle thought the aircraft had to be as light as possible. He didn't understand.
"What are the weights for, sir?"
"Good question, My. The airframe needs balance," said Kovak. "Weight is a very important thing on an aircraft. Improper distribution of weight could spell disaster."
"Ahhh…. I understand."
"Now, we need to be sure the proper weight ratio exists. There are long ones, there are short ones, heavy to light-heavy ones. This one needs a long one."
Kyle nodded in agreement and jotted it down in his notepad. He was learning all he could.
"All right, My. Go chit out some long weights."
Chit was the term they used for checking out items from Support. Kovak spread his hands to about two-feet width apart and held the distance of his hands in front of Kyle.
"It should be about this long."
Kyle understood and headed over to Support. The same Gollum-looking Airman came to his aid.
"Whatcha need?"
"I need a long weight. About this long."
Kyle made the same gesture Kovak showed him to the Airman.
"Be right back."
The Airman walked away. He seemingly disappeared. A minute had passed, and Kyle was still waiting. The weights were heavy after all. The Airman in Support didn't look like he was particularly strong so maybe he was having trouble with the weight.
A short while later, Kyle spotted the Airman. He had been waiting for about 10-minutes. Kyle waved him down, and the Airman approached the window.
"I'm getting the weight. Don't you worry."
Kyle acknowledged what he said and looked back at the aircraft. He spotted Kovak. Kovak gave him a thumbs-up and Kyle shot one back at Kovak. Kyle surmised Kovak just wanted a confirmation that everything was good-to-go. Kyle looked into Support and, again, the Airman had disappeared. Where had he gone? This was borderline ridiculous. How could the Airman have been assigned to Support if he couldn't even move the weight.
Just then, Kyle remembered that Fern was pranked earlier in the day. He was asked to get a long weight.
"Long weight…," Kyle said aloud. "Long weight… a long wait!"
Kovak successfully tricked Kyle. He walked away from the Support window and back to the aft section of the aircraft.
"A "long wait" … really?"
"I was wondering when you'd figure it out, My."
"Too long."
"You're a good sport, though. Some people get really angry."
Kyle was fuming on the inside. He didn't have time for this. Was this all a joke?
Then, something dawned on Kyle. They're… normal. Normal people living normal lives with normal jobs. The only difference he could spot was the military uniforms and the fact that they had a ranking system.
This was a relief to Kyle. He thought he would have to live an extremely regimented life for the next six years. He might be able to be relatively normal.
After the fun was had, the dayshift ended. Kyle and the guys were dismissed to their dorm. They were assigned dorm rooms as soon as they reached Beale. The dorms he stayed in were one of two types of dorms, and they were originally built for Officers to occupy, but no Officer wanted to live a dormitory lifestyle so they were repurposed for the Enlisted folk.
Kyle's room was like a studio apartment. It was on the third floor, and it was fully furnished. He had a sleep area, a media center (minus the media), a kitchen with a refrigerator, pantry and a table area connected to the wall so he didn't need a separate dining table. He had his own bathroom and closet. There was even a recliner.
All the rooms in this dorm were like this. The only difference from room-to-room would probably be décor which was subject to whomever the occupant was.
If today was any indicator on how his life would be stationed at Beale, it wasn't going to be bad. He just had to suck it up—just like any other job. Do well and excel.
The week flew by and Kyle and the crew were ready to take on FTAC.
First Term Airman Center. They arrived and sat in a classroom. It was supposed to last all week with all kinds of life skills taught to the Airman. It wasn't just Kyle's crew, there were plenty of Airman from different units and AFSCs.
Master Sergeant Snee was heading up the FTAC classes. He was a tall, pale man with a flat-top cut. He always had a smirk on his face that curled his lip upward on one side of his mouth. It was kinda creepy.
It seemed the other Airman were solo in their trek to Beale. Kyle and his crew were the only ones that seemed to know each other. As Kyle cracked jokes with the guys, he noticed one of the Airman seemed to be annoyed. It didn't matter to Kyle. He was trying to enjoy his time. They had some downtime in-between classes so Kyle was having conversations with his crew.
"Can you imagine?" Kyle asked. "Master Sergeant My."
"You think you'll be in that long?" asked Burr.
The guys laughed. Sergeant Snee must have overheard. He chimed in.
"You know, My. That's a real possibility," pointed out Sergeant Snee. "Eighty-percent of the Enlisted force retire at Master."
Snee said it like he was proud of the statistic and his knowledge.
Kyle just thought it was interesting. He wasn't planning on retiring from the military. That was at least twenty years away; he was only trying to get through today!
The classes in FTAC were actually helpful. The Airman learned about the Thrift Savings Plan for retirement, how to balance a checkbook, how to manage credit. These were the things Kyle thought everyday people should learn and know. Some of the things the class covered Kyle already knew because his mother taught him.
A few days flew by, and FTAC was halfway complete. It only lasted a week and then Kyle would return with the other Airman back to the Phase Dock. Kyle saw a piano open after he had eaten chow and sat down. He began to play—only what he knew. He didn't really know how to play the piano, but his playing caught the attention of the other Airman.
The one Airman that seemed bothered by Kyle and his crew earlier in the week walked over to Kyle.
"Man, that's awesome that you play," he said in a Southern accent. "We could be like a music duo."
"Oh, yeah?" asked Kyle.
"You could be like Chad Hugo, and I could be like Pharrell."
Kyle continued to play what he knew, but he didn't know how to react. Was that a proposal to start a music duo together? He didn't even know the guy!
The reference was apt, though, as Kyle was always mistaken for Filipino, and the Airman was a light skinned Black man. They could be their local version of The Clipse or N.E.R.D.
"I'm Jor. Short for Jordan."
"I'm Kyle. Nice to meet you."
"For real, though, it's cool you play. Which dorm you in?"
"The top of Gold Country."
"Oh, I'm there, too. Maybe we'll hang out some time."
That was unlikely. Kyle didn't want to attach himself to too many things. Sure, he had almost six more years until he separated from the service, but anything that created more anchors for him and his military life, he wanted to avoid.
"Cool," answered Kyle.
FTAC quickly finished up and the week was rounded out. All the Airman that were in FTAC together ended up bumping into each other all around the base. Beale was huge, but there weren't many places to actually go. It was the just so spread out. The base Speed Limit was 50 MPH and was nicknamed the Beale Highway.
Kyle did end up bumping into Jor. The two had a lot more in common than he thought. They both enjoyed anime and video games so they struck up a friendship and hung out in each other's dorm rooms from time-to time. Jor would often opt to go to Kyle's room. For some reason, T-Mobile had reception in Kyle's room, but not in Jor's room so when he wanted to call home, he would end up heading up to Kyle's room and hang out.
"You got a lady, Kyle?"
"I did. She dumped me right after Basic."
"That sucks, man."
"It's all good. Wasn't meant to be."
"You ever think about finding chicks to hang out with?"
"How? Where? There are girls in the dorms, but there may be one good-looking one."
"We gotta go exploring the town man. How'd you meet your old chick?"
"The internet. Don't judge me!"
At the time, it was rare to meet someone on the internet. Jor was made of questions.
"How'd you even find a girl on the internet?"
Kyle spent a lot of time recounting how he had met Jeni. He saw her picture on a website called Find-A-Pix and thought she was cute. He liked her picture, and she gave him a link to a site that was for blogs called Xanga. After messaging for some time, they ended up meeting at one of Jeni's color guard performances and hit it off.
Seemed fairly straightforward: find someone you're interested in and strike up conversation—just like in real life. Maybe Kyle should give that another shot.
Jor left for his own room after they chatted for a bit.
Kyle headed to the computer lab on base. He logged into a website he hadn't been on in a long time: Asian Avenue. It was basically a place for Asian people to connect and share lived experiences. It was not a dating website like Match or eHarmony. There was, however, a spot that said "Meet People Near You."
Kyle clicked on the link, and it brought him to a page that had pictures of both guys and girls. He clicked on a picture of a girl he thought was cute.
"This is dumb," muttered Kyle. "These chicks probably aren't even real."
The link pulled up a page that had a girl's name under the header picture.
"Erin."
Kyle clicked on the message bubble and introduced himself.
End of Chapter 7