“I don’t like the position of that strap,” Renzo observed as they went back over one of the loads. It was probably fine, just looked a bit hasty, but probably wasn’t good enough when talking about hundreds of pounds and split seconds separating life and death.
“Excellent call.” Buddinger made Curly and Shiny redo the strapping, then double-checked it again. “Better, Bianchi?”
“Think so. Much tighter now and the angle’s better.” Renzo liked that Buddinger called him Bianchi like the LT did, made him think that maybe eventually he’d outgrow the stupid Rooster nickname.
“Exactly. You’ve got the eye for this,” Buddinger said with approval. “Now I check you and you check me.”
That last carried extra responsibility, knowing that the fate of the whole team rested with Buddinger’s equipment working correctly.
“How’s your com set?” he asked as he checked Buddinger’s straps and buckles.
“Let me test.” Buddinger called over Riddles, their com guy, for last-minute com set adjustments. “Okay. We’re good to go.”
Even after the order was given and the flight crew readied for takeoff, Buddinger didn’t stop checking, observing, readying. It was both exhausting and exhilarating. The day went quickly, not much time to dwell on other things until it was his turn to jump and he was floating down.
Man, he loved this. Loved the freefall, the rush of the parachute deploying, the perspective he gained ten thousand feet above the earth. It was over in a moment, but time did funky things out there in the sky, making each second feel like minutes.
Wish Canaan could see this. Maybe he could. This would be awesome to share together. They could look at their calendars, find a day when they were both free and Renzo could take him to a civilian jump business that he knew was a quality outfit run by a former SEAL. Here, floating above everything, all he could think about were things he wanted to do with Canaan, how much he wanted to try and share. His weird jealousy last night seemed trivial—what did it really matter how many threesomes Canaan had had? Did Renzo really want to be that guy, the one who acted all judgmental, ruined a good thing?
Nope.
As he landed safely, he resolved to call Canaan as soon as he was back, see when they could meet up next. But he didn’t have a ton of time to daydream on the way back as Buddinger had plenty of work for him in taking care of equipment.
When they were finally back at base, everyone seemed in a hurry to go as soon as the LT dismissed them at the airstrip, but Renzo took a moment to thank Buddinger for showing him the ropes and being patient with him that day.
“No problem, man. You did good.” Buddinger rubbed his nearly bald head. He’d worked hard, and it showed in the exhaustion in his eyes. “Have a great night.”
Digging for his phone, Renzo followed the crowd but stopped at the sound of his name.
“Bianchi. Hold up.” The LT’s voice was bombastic as ever, even after a full day giving orders. The senior chief was right behind him, looking grave.
Fuck. This couldn’t be good.
“Yes, sir?” He let the others stream by, following the LT’s example and stepping to the side, under the awning of one the buildings ringing the airfield.
“What did you think out there? Assisting Buddinger go okay?”
“Yes, sir. I enjoyed it. Anytime you need me, I’m your guy.”
The LT’s face scrunched up like he had a rock in his boot. “Buddinger said you did a fine job. Said you’ll make a good jumpmaster.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s high praise.” Renzo’s shoulders lifted, tiredness receding in a wave of pride.
“Your training starts next month. You’ll be with the next class of jumpmasters. Senior Chief has all the details for you.”
“Really?” Renzo’s heart sped up. He’d waited so damn long to hear those words. “Thank you, sir. That’s great news.”
“Not for all of us. You’ll be missed. We hate to lose a man as good as you.” The LT nodded and the senior chief did as well.
“Thank—Wait. Hold up.” Renzo finally caught onto their serious expressions and effusive praise. This was a goodbye. “I’m not coming back after training?”
“You’ll be back to shadow Buddinger and some other teams’ jumpmasters for a few weeks until the higher-ups feel you’re good to go, but come October first, your PCS orders take effect.”
“They granted my permanent change of station request?” Renzo swallowed hard, resisting the urge to sag against the building.
“There’s a team out of Little Creek with a jumpmaster retiring. The brass wants them to have one of the best, and I said you’re the best we’ve got—expect you top of the training class.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you,” Renzo said, functioning largely on autopilot.
“You’ll do good work for them,” the senior chief added. “And you said you wanted the PCS to be closer to family?”