Spaceman

Cranston, dressed in his flight jacket, slicked his dark hair back as he stepped into the officers’ barracks - He just needed to pick up a few things before he headed out for the night. The bomber pilot had a date with a proper English bird, and if he was reading the signs right he’d have a good night indeed. 

He smiled, it wasn’t often he and the rest of his crew had time to themselves, the former auto salesman thought. Every day was filled with danger as they dodged flak and German aircraft. Cranston shuddered involuntarily, best not to dwell on the missions and focus on the rare bit of peace. 

He had chocolate and nylons stashed away that was sure to get him in his date’s good graces, as he made his way towards his bunk though he spotted a curious sight. His copilot tossing things out of his footlocker frantically. 

“Hey, Jack, what’s with you?” Cranston asked. 

The straw-haired man regarded him with wide eyes. The look even stopped the normally swaggering-and-debonair Cranston. 

“You punchy or something?” 

“I’m in dire straights, Cranston! We all are unless I can find it!”

Cranston held his hands up. “Slow down there, Jack, what are you talking about? You lose your razor again?” 

Jack shook his head frantically, “It’s worse, so much worse! I lost my lucky charm! If I don’t get it back by the time we fly next, we might not make it back in one piece! If at all!” 

Cranston scowled, “Oh, Jack, come on! That’s just a lot of hokum.” 

The copilot stared him down, “It. Is. Not! Remember when Terry bought the farm?” 

Cranston folded his arms and gulped. “How could I forget. I’d never seen someone I knew die before.” 

“I didn’t have my lucky charm the day we flew that mission.” 

Cranston wanted to tell him off initially, perhaps explain causation and correlation. But he could see the desperation in his partner’s eyes and knew it would all fall on deaf ears. The pilot looked at his wristwatch and noted the time. He could spare a few hours before his date. 

“Alright, Jack, alright. I’ll help you look for it.” he paused. “Uh, what are we looking for a rabbits foot? A rosary?” 

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m a bit embarrassed to say.” 

“I can’t help you look if I don’t know what I’m looking for, can I?” Cranston pointed out.  

 “Oh, that’s true I guess.” Jack sighed. 

Cranston motioned for him to continue. 

“It’s a Flash Gordon rocketship.”

“What?” Cranston chuckled. “I didn’t know you read comics.”    

“Just shut up and help me look: it’s a diecast rocket, but a few inches high. I always keep it in my breast pocket when we fly.” 

“Have you checked your clothes from yesterday?” Cranston asked. 

Jack raised a hand and then lowered it. “No.” 

“Why don’t you do that, I’ll check under your bunk.” 

The two looked at the perspective places but both came up empty handed. 

“Not here! I swear if one of the guys stole it or hid it for a joke!” Jack pounded his hand with his fist. 

“Easy, Spaceman, easy!” Cranston sighed. “Let’s retrace your steps. Where were you yesterday?” 

Jack looked ponderous, “The O Club, the plane, uh, here.” 

“Let’s try the club first.” Cranston suggested. “I, uh, borrowed a jeep for today.” 

Jack rolled his eyes. “‘Commandeered’ is more like it.” 

“Jacobs at the motorpool owed me a favor.”   

The two drove across the field and observed the daily activities going on: An impromptu baseball game was taking place on the field, mechanics were scurrying over B-17s like ants on a sugarcube - no doubt cursing the pilots who caused their machines to have so much damage; A few bombers lumbered above on training flights, their engines dronning in harmony. 

Finally the two arrived at the officer’s club. Being the afternoon the place was pretty dead, only a few men were inside playing cards. The battered and abused piano lay silent, and the shabby furniture seemed to sag in exhaustion from all the wild parties that filled the place at night. 

“I’ll check lost and found,” Cranston offered. 

Jack merely nodded as he started pacing through the shabby building, eyes downcast as he looked under every table and chair. Cranston approached the bar. 

“Fancy something?” the bartender asked, leaning against the bar.

Cranston flashed his smile. “You fellas have a lost and found?” 

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Hope you didn’t lose something important, most these guys are all finders keepers.” 

“Just show me what you have.” 

The bartender brought up a crate and there, admittedly, wasn’t much inside: A few hats, and coats, a coffee mug, even a lighter, but no small rocketship. Cranston even went so far as to check the pockets of the coats. 

“No, not here,” he sighed. Jack was under the piano by then. Cranston sighed as he checked his watch again, they were running out of time. “Jack, are you satisfied it’s not here yet?” 

The copilot nodded sadly. 

“Alright,” Cranston grunted leading his dejected friend out. “Come on.”

As they drove the dejected copilot spoke up, “We’re all going to die. It’s lost and it’s my fault, and we’re going to buy the farm.” 

“Stop talking like that!” Cranston scolded. “I really don’t think your rocket is magic! You’re just screwing with your head. Besides, we still haven’t checked the plane.”

The MPs waved the pilots through as they drew closer to their plane. The bomber stood silent and ready, the green paint bore the scars of the many missions, and the redhead in lingerie painted on the nose winked flirtatiously at the men. 

The plane had seen much, death, triumph, fear, camaraderie, it was surreal to see the craft so silent then. Usually the engines were roaring, the guns blazing, and the shouts of commands echoed throughout the interior. 

Climbing up into the interior the two men searched throughout the plane, high and low, in the dark recesses, their feet echoed hollowly. 

“Sure is different when we’re not on a mission.” Cranston observed. 

“Yeah,” Jack sighed. “Kind of eerie.”  

The search continued but there was no sign of a rocketship, and the hands on Cranston’s watch kept ticking away. Eventually they began wrapping up their search in the cockpit. 

“Well, I’m sorry Jack but I think we’re going to have to call off the search.” Cranston sighed. Jack sat in his seat in a slump, then bolted straight up. 

“What?” Cranston questioned stepping back. 

Jack reached under the control yoke and held up a shiny rocketship. “It was right here the whole time!” 

Cranston shook his head. “I should strangle you. Don’t you go losing that again!” 

Jack nodded tucking away the ship. “I won’t.” 

Cranston checked his watch, “Hey, I gotta get moving! I’ll drop you off and head on out.” 

Jack nodded, “Yeah, don’t want to be late for your date. Uh.” 

Cranston frowned. “What?” 

“Thanks for helping me find my lucky charm.” 

The pilot patted his friend's shoulder. “Sure thing, Spaceman.” 

Jack sighed. “Oh, no stop calling me that!”

“Too late, I’m calling you ‘Spaceman’ from now on.” 

“I hate you.” Spaceman grumbled.