Free The Nerdy Dozen by Jeff Miller Page B

at Jones.
    â€œOkay,” Jones said into his radio mouthpiece after the cockpit door was sealed shut. “Let’s fly.”
    Neil couldn’t have agreed more.
    As the towering metal doors of the hangars clanked open, the three fighter jets rolled out onto the runway. Neil’s eyes followed the painted directional lines on the runway below. Soldiers directed traffic with illuminated orange wands, their arms rhythmically turning like human windmills.
    Chameleons were designed not to need a long runway for a smooth takeoff. The directional thrusters below the cockpit let the fighters hover almost straight up, allowing for quick and nearly silent ascents and descents. Even though Neil knew they didn’t need the room, he still felt his stomach twisting in knots as they approached the beginning of the tarmac.
    â€œThis is Chameleon Alpha, requesting permission for takeoff,” Jones said over his communication system.
    â€œYou are cleared for takeoff, Alpha team,” replied a voice from the flight deck.
    Without needing any more encouragement, Trevor fired the thrusters below, and the jet rose with a surge into the air. They had liftoff.

THE JET TORE THROUGH THE CLOUDS AS IF THEY WERE THE computer-simulated clouds Neil was used to facing, leaving only a blue frontier in all directions.
    As Neil eyed his jet’s rapidly rising altimeter, the blood in his temples pounded and he thought back to a night, months earlier, when he’d suddenly grown frustrated with online gaming. He’d stayed up into the wee hours of the morning researching the actual experience of flight so he could know what it felt like to pilot a real fighter jet. That night, Neil spent hours watching online videos, studying flight maps, and reading blog posts of former pilots. The next day, he’d gone back to gaming, feeling more like an actual pilot, having a better idea of the reality of the game he was playing.
    How wrong he’d been. Nothing, none of those videos or blog entries, really prepared him for how cool the real thing felt. It was better than he could have ever imagined.
    Suddenly, the jet fighter shot up at a steeper angle than Neil thought possible.
    â€œWhoa.” Neil held on to the controls in front of him, his stomach dropping to his knees. Maybe having a barf bag around would have been a good idea.
    â€œIncrease the thrust, copilot,” instructed Trevor. “We’ll climb up in altitude and look to roll right.”
    â€œI know,” Neil said, catching his breath. Neil wasn’t thrilled to be taking orders from Trevor, but he felt like he had no choice. He grabbed the grooved metallic control in the thin console between the pilots.
    Their jet leveled while capping hundreds of miles per hour, and Neil was surprised to feel nearly motionless. And yet he sensed, too, that the plane could go faster still. It was being held back, like a boat engine stuck in seaweed, its propellers lurching to break free. It was time to put the pedal to the metal. Or a joystick to the sky.
    â€œRecruits,” Jones said over the radio to everyone, “I want to run through terms quickly, just so you’re familiar. To fly up, it’s—”
    â€œPitch. We know,” Trevor said.
    â€œAnd yaw. What I mean by yaw is—”
    â€œLeft, right,” said the duo of Dale and Waffles over the radio.
    â€œSide to side,” added JP.
    â€œWe have the internet. You’d be shocked at how much we know,” said Neil. The group laughed.
    â€œWell, can the internet teach you what the battlefield really looks like? How it feels to fly a jet engine? Or break the sound barrier? The smell of freedom from a hard-fought victory?”
    â€œWait, you’ve got that scent? Are you sandbaggin’ me on that smell, Mr. Jones?” Biggs barged in.
    â€œHurbigg, it’s Major Jones. Were you raised by wolves or something?”
    â€œIt was only a week, and I’d rather not