He had to get a certain number of hours flying every month to stay qualified.  Of course he was up there somewhere, at night, when I had our daughter.  I don't remember how I got to the hospital.  I do remember how alone I was.  And everything that could go wrong went wrong.

But things began to look up.  Ken got orders again.  To a squadron at El Toro.  He was thrilled.  I was glad to get off that hill.  This was my fourth move in two years.  It was a sign of things to come.  We made nineteen moves in fifteen years.  Some together, some not.  You could never really get moved in before you moved out again.  It ate up every dime you had so we were always broke.

The plane he was flying was a triangle--I think it was an F4D.  They called it the widow-maker.  Ken said it was like riding a rocket.  You went from ground zero to altitude in seconds.  Problem was that when you got there, you were out of gas.  One year later, he took the entire squadron aboard the carrier and in the two weeks they were qualifying landings, they destroyed four air-craft, broke one pilot's back and killed another.  And then the entire squadron got orders to Japan, or Okinawa--I don't remember.  Somewhere far away.

By then we had another daughter.  Both in diapers when he left.  I was twenty-one and on my way back to Oklahoma for thirteen months.  Not the same girl.  Wiser.  And learning about what real love looked like.

The squadron was tasked with intercepting anything that penetrated the Russian border heading South. Ken said the Migs would test them, they would intercept, fly up along side them and give them the finger--just to say,"See, we are faster and quicker than you are."  Not a very Christian communication, but effective? Then everyone would go home with a clearer knowledge of what the other side could do.