The Mercenary

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Blurry curtains of rain dropped from the sky and obscured everything around the airfield. Layers of oily gray clouds tore away from the overcast and rolled heavily toward the nearby coast. Beyond the coast lay the sea. Blown flat by the wind, only the white crests of the breaker line flickered through the night.

From the shadows on the far north side of the airfield a dark shape slowly crept forward. A big twin-tailed jet fighter taxied deliberately through the rain and slid to a stop at the end of the long runway. Showing no lights, the aircraft swung around and crouched on the concrete. Vapor wafted upward from the hot tail section and rain streamed from its gray metal body. Inside the warm, dimly lit cockpit the pilot barely spared the shining wet runway and black night a thought. It was a terrible night to fly by most standards but that was one reason he was doing it. Weather and bad conditions were just variables to him. Not obstacles.

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