She went to the caravan entryway for camels, now disintegrating. The brickwork was bad, crumbly lattice. But it provided enough cover and enough of the moon. She slid down so her back was against the inner wall.

This is how you fly. You are shortcutting pathological. That’s right. You heard me. See I know you have an idea that you’re the careful one and I’m the crackpot. I’ll let you in on a little secret. I got the word on your call sign. How it went down when the TOs took the powwow to mull over the choices. First out was Psychette. Mary “Psychette” Goodwin. That’s right. Couple of reasons. One, you never opened your mouth. Nothing scares an aviator more than a stoic individual with a rack. Sorry, that was disrespectful. You’re kind of flat up there, really. But that’s the trippidy on you. Second up, one LT points out, she Swazilicrashed every single time she landed first week of training. Except you never washed out. I don’t mean a little trimming on the edges. I mean a controlled crash to where each on ground watching is saying: She’s goner, she’s crispy.

But someone got the idea that this was sexist, this –ette business. The air force is no way the navy. So bombs away on that one. (Squadron already had a Psycho.) Next came Awful. That had a lot of variations. Very. Can you imagine? Mary “Very” Goodwin? Definitely. Truly. Highly. Really. Mightily. Majorly. But they seemed too namby-pamby. So someone said, what about Mega? Ultra? Real? Way? It almost was Way. Almost. But someone said that was Wayne’s World and that’s tired and there was a vote, and Way lost. After the tally, objectors shout out there ought to be some Evil Knievil in your handle. We got it. Mary “Banging” Goodwin. (This was judged by all concerned to refer too clearly to the nasty.) Slamming and Ramming were offered up. (Ditto.)

Suddenly it’s all quiet over the beers. A song goes up. It’s one of those World War II pilot ditties I cannot stand. Natch, it’s “Mary Ann Burns.”

She’s a great big Son-of-a-Bitch, twice as big as me, With hair around her asshole like branches on a tree. She can swim, fish, fight, fuck, fly a jet, drive a truck, Mary Ann Burns is the girl for me!

And some joker says, but Goodwin’s not X-rated. And in the middle of this tripe, they all stop. Right there. And say that’s it. Extra. We’ll just call her “X.” They high-fived. Mary “Extra” Goodwin got born. Dumb story, right? But wait. Did I tell you there’s a rumor Goodwin’s not your real name?

Here was her favorite part.

Something made her look up. Will was standing there.

She folded the letter into its smallest size and scrambled to her feet. Will looked like he didn’t know what to do. He came a stitch nearer, as if going for her palm, then reached for her shoulder, as if he might whisper in her ear. She stepped off and away from him. Her eyes asked, What the fuck?