“Shh, Serge, not so loud.” Jean-Paul whispered, reaching out and taking the other man’s hand as he ran up. Serge looked at him, confused, and was about to speak when Jean-Paul carried on, “Thank God you are here.” said Jean-Paul conspiratorially, “Michel and Etienne are drunk, they didn’t know they were scheduled for a patrol. They begged me to take their flight so they don’t get grounded. Now that you are here you can join me, come on, get suited up. It’s just a standard patrol route.”

This wasn’t right. This was a long way from right. Something in Serge told him that this, right now, was the reason that he had been assigned to watch the other cadet. It was happening. But the same instinct also told him that he needed to tread very carefully. He had three choices. Shout out for the guard to come over, go with his fellow recruit and attempt to discreetly alert the guard that something was wrong, or say that he didn’t want to go, and hope that Jean-Paul let him go quietly.

Jean-Paul did not let go of Serge’s arm while the other man considered his options. He stood there waiting, a smile on his face like he was trying to get Serge to do something as innocent as go for a beer.

“I don’t know, Jean-Paul. Maybe I should talk to Michel, make sure he is OK with me going along too?” Serge said, fighting to keep the quiver out of his voice, but Jean-Paul was taking something out of his pocket. Serge looked down. It was the slip the captains were given by fighter command with the clearance code. There were only two ways Jean-Paul could have gotten it from Michel: either he was telling the truth and Michel really did want Jean-Paul to take the patrol duty, or … Serge set the thought aside, to think along those lines was just paranoid.

But in truth, either conclusion brought Serge to the same response. He had to stay with Jean-Paul and try to alert someone when he had a chance.

And so, reluctantly, Serge nodded to the other junior officer, and eventually responded with a weak smile. Jean-Paul’s smile broadened in reply, “Great, my friend, great. Come on, let’s get you suited up quickly and get aboard.” Not letting go of Serge’s arm, Jean-Paul set off toward the locker room once more, and the twenty-three-year-old felt himself propelled along by the powerful grip of his erstwhile friend.

Once in the locker room, they came across two other pilots suiting up. Jean-Paul cursed his luck with inner shouts of frustration, but externally remained beatific. He would have to actually take Serge with him. One more complication, but not an insurmountable one, by any means. Another pest to be dealt with once he was away from this place.

* * *