Sabrina
Copyright© 2026 by The Outsider
Chapter 30: Ausländer
27 July 2022 – Spangdahlem Air Base, Spangdahlem, West Germany
Sabrina wiped her palms on her uniform trousers, trying to dry them before reporting in. The last thing she wanted to do was offer a damp hand to her squadron commander on her first day. In her most confident voice, she told an admin airman why she was there and presented her orders.
“The squadron’s out training on the new aircraft, Ma’am, so your commander’s tied up. Let me see if the wing or operations group commander is available.”
’A FULL Colonel?’ Sabrina thought. She looked down at her blue duty uniform, checking her ribbons and brushing away perceived lint. ’Shit, did I put my wings on upside down? Oh, for Christ’s sake, Sabrina, f•©king calm yourself... ‘
“The Operations Group colonel will see you now, Ma’am.”
Sabrina stepped into the indicated office. Pictures, citations, and combat awards hung on the walls. Full-sized flags stood behind the oak desk. She expected Grampy Tom to show up any minute. Instead, a compact gray-haired man in a flight suit stepped around the corner. His gaze locked on her.
“Sir, First Lieutenant Sabrina Knox-Jones reports!” she announced with a crisp salute.
“New grist for the mill of the 22nd,” the full-bird colonel growled as he returned the salute. He offered his hand. “Colonel Jack Newcombe, 52nd Operations Group commander. Welcome to Deutschland, Lieutenant.”
“Danke schön, Herr Oberst!”
“You’ll fit right in, Lieutenant,” he laughed. “I understand you just left Tyndall? Finished at the top of your B-course?”
“The Raptor’s one hell of an aircraft, Sir,” Sabrina shrugged. “We clicked. The IPs there know their business, too.”
Colonel Newcombe waved her to a chair. He sat behind his desk.
“I hear you’re the best pilot ENJJPT’s produced in quite some time,” he said casually.
Sabrina was uncomfortable with that statement. Thinking you’re the best leads to problems.
“You’re uncomfortable with that, aren’t you, Knox?”
“Colonel, I may have done well in school, but I haven’t stepped foot in the real world, Sir. USAFA, ENJJPT, B-course ... those are all good, but I haven’t gone up against anyone with a red star on their tail. And that’s not to mention our pilots with stars and wreaths above their wings. I’m a noob, Sir.”
“But you’re a humble noob, Lieutenant.”
He opened a desk drawer and extracted a single sheet of paper. He held it up.
“Pete Cunningham has good things to say about you and how you do your job, Sabrina. Are you okay with me using your first name?”
Sabrina nodded blankly. She knew about the Good Ol’ Boys Network in the military. Messages flew fast, and sometimes that wasn’t a good thing. Major Cunningham, Lieutenant Colonel Cunningham now probably, was Sabrina’s overseer from the 306th Flying Training Group at USAFA – and one of her biggest advocates.
“Ever play aggressor?”
Sabrina’s head snapped back to the other side of the desk.
“Sir? Not as a pilot, no, Sir.”
“But...?”
“My father took me to the Army fort near our house to terrorize Army ROTC cadets on a field training exercise. I was a junior in high school. Kinda reinforced my desire to go Air Force and not Army, Sir.”
“I’ll bet!” Jack Newcombe laughed. “Winter FTX?”
“Yessir. Four inches of snow on the ground, too.”
“Anyway,” Newcombe chuckled while shaking his head, “I want you to strap an F-22 on and help terrorize your new squadron members.”
“Um, Sir, shouldn’t that job go to one of them? I know the basics of fighter operations, but ... wouldn’t I be a safety hazard, Sir?”
“I doubt it. One of the visiting instructors from Tyndall will be your commander while you act as a member of the aggressor flight.” Newcombe smiled at Sabrina. “Plus, the IP asked for you by name, too.”
“Why am I nervous, Sir?” Sabrina asked.
Newcombe said nothing but pressed a button on his phone. His door opened a moment later.
“That’s why I was nervous...” Sabrina said with a sigh.
“Sabrina, I’m hurt!” the visitor said before she turned to the colonel. “Colonel, did you hear that slander? What is my recourse under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, Sir?”
“To suck it up and take her flying, Captain Wallace!”
“I guess that’s that, huh?” Bree Wallace asked while looking back at Sabrina. “C’mon, let’s go to the office they let us use here and start the briefing. With your permission, of course, Sir?”
“You ladies go ruin someone else’s day. Like, the 22nd Tactical Fighter Squadron’s day.”
“I should have never accepted that dinner invitation,” Sabrina grumbled after they left the colonel’s office.
“You’ll thank me later, Sabrina,” Bree Wallace answered quietly.
“’Later? After the pilots I haven’t met yet string me up for embarrassing them, Captain?”
“That’s a very remote possibility, Sabrina. Burning you at the stake is more likely...”
Sabrina didn’t respond. She didn’t say anything until she sat in Bree’s office.
“How many of you came over here, Ma’am?”
“‘Bree,’ Sabrina. We’re alone in the office, so relax. Zero, Tiger, and Smokey joined me on this TDY jaunt.”
Dale ‘Zero’ Connaughton, Jack ‘Tiger’ Bengali, and Tyler ‘Smokey’ Robinson were other IPs from Tyndall’s 43rd Tactical Fighter Squadron.
“And they’re out causing grief for the 22nd right now?”
“They’re waiting on the ground here for us to meet them, and we’ll all take off and help them add to the misery.”
“Great...” Sabrina muttered.
Rubbing your forehead doesn’t relieve a headache, by the way.
“The noob calling herself a god? A recipe for disaster, that’s what that is!” Sabrina threw up her hands. “Actually, this whole thing is! I gotta spend three years here, remember?”
“Sabrina, it’ll be fine,” Bree assured her. “I’ve done this before, okay?”
Sabrina put her head in her hands before Bree continued speaking.
“Anyway, the day’s just about over. What are you and Tom doing for dinner tonight?”
The morning dawned clear and warm. Bree Wallace picked Sabrina up at Eifel Arms, the temporary lodging facility, and took her to the easternmost hardened aircraft shelter at Spangdahlem.
Sabrina shook hands with Zero, Tiger, and Smokey in the half-cylindrical building. They briefed her on the day’s plan, her role, and her responsibilities. Sabrina glanced at the 22nd TFS patch on her arm and wondered how long it would be before the squadron stripped it off her.
Like the disgraced Army cavalry officers her father once told her about.
Putting on her G-suit and climbing into the F-22 cockpit calmed Sabrina. As concerned as she was about angering her unmet fellow pilots, Sabrina was born to fly. Any plane became an extension of her, but the F-22 was more a part of her than any other.
With the checklists completed, Sabrina gave her crew chief the sign to remove the chocks. Once removed, he gave her the command to roll. She then positioned herself behind Bree Wallace’s aircraft at the Runway 23 threshold and listened to the transmissions.
“Spangdahlem Tower, Nymph One, flight of five, on Taxiway Echo requesting permission to take off. I have information Zebra.”
“Nymph One and Two, take position on Runway Two-Three and hold for instructions. Other Nymph aircraft will take positions as Two-Three clears.”
Bree and Sabrina took staggered positions at the end of Runway 23 and awaited clearance.
“Nymph flight, clear for takeoff. Turn left once airborne, heading one-eight-zero, climb to Angels eighteen.”
“Nymph One, roger. Turn one-eight-zero and climb to Angels eighteen. Nymph is rolling.”
Once in the air, Zero, Tiger, and Smokey joined their flight. They pushed south until they made radar contact with the 22nd TFS as they trained.
“Nymph Three and Four, execute.”
“Three.”
“Four.”
Dale and Smokey pulled up and climbed toward twenty-five thousand feet. Tiger, in Nymph Five, drifted east to monitor.
”’Red Five, standing by... ‘“
“Thanks, Luke,” Bree responded with sarcasm. “Two, follow me.”
Major Caleb Bryson flew east, training in his new F-22 Raptor. He missed his F-16 Falcon, but the Air Force wanted what it wanted. It wasn’t his decision. The 22nd TFS was now an F-22 squadron. The 480th at Bitburg remained an F-16 one.
“Skip, how are we looking?”
“Starting to see more than the regular commercial traffic on the scope, Tank. Standby.” A pause. “Contact. Unidentified bogeys fifteen miles at our eight o’clock low, closing fast.”
“‘Unidentified?’ What about our AWACS and ATC coverage?”
“Dunno. Twelve miles ... Raptors! Raptors ten miles, now at our seven o’clock low and climbing.” A screaming warble. “THEY JUST LIT US UP! RECOMMEND EVASIVE!”
“BREAK LEFT!”
Skip Stedman went left, and Tank Bryson dove right. A glance over his shoulder told Tank the bogey wingman was on his tail, settling onto his six.
Tank tried every trick he ever learned, but that bastard stuck to him like he was painted on. Tight, reversing turns did nothing to shake the attacker, and the enemy crept closer. Rolls, Immelmanns, Split S, all futile maneuvers. The missile lock alarm sounded in his helmet, and he sagged.
“F•©k!” Tank cursed.
“Nymph Two, that’s a kill,” came a female voice.
Most of Tank was angry, but part of him acknowledged that some women were skilled pilots.
“Adler Seven, returning to Spark,” Bryson grumbled. ‘Spark’ was the pilot’s local nickname for Spangdahlem.
“Adler One to all Adler units, operation concluded,” came the order from Lieutenant Colonel Tim Doherty, commander of the 22nd TFS. “Return to base. Operation concluded.”
The other pilots acknowledged.
The Adlers of 22nd TFS landed first, then the five Nymph aircraft. They taxied to opposite ends of the base. The pilots would gather in the 22nd’s briefing room in one hour.
The four 43rd TFS pilots talked animatedly about their actions during the training exercise. Sabrina stood silent. She didn’t want to accompany her former IPs into the 22nd’s briefing room. She’d prefer to show up like any new pilot and ease into the unit. That wouldn’t happen now.
The five aggressors stood along the side wall of the briefing room. Colonel Doherty listed the items the 22nd needed to work on as they transitioned to the Raptors. Sabrina noticed Colonel Newcombe at the back of the room and paled when he nodded at her. Colonel Doherty completed his list and motioned the aggressor flight to the front of the room.
“These are the aggressor pilots you faced today,” he said. “While they all came from Tyndall, only four are currently assigned there. One is the newest member of our squadron. Lieutenant Knox-Jones, please step forward.”
Sabrina swallowed and did so.
“This is First Lieutenant Sabrina Knox-Jones, a graduate of ENJJPT and the best pilot to pass through Tyndall’s B-course in years. She’s assigned to Charlie Flight under Major Bryson.”
Sabrina saw a man’s head jerk around, and his eyes locked on her. Those eyes narrowed. Sabrina knew she was in for it after the meeting concluded. Just what she needed. Major Bryson stalked over when Colonel Doherty dismissed the squadron. Sabrina braced to attention.
“YOU were on my tail today, weren’t you? A brand-new, just-out-of-school shavetail?”
Sabrina was silent while Bryson stared at her.
“I asked you a question, LIEUTENANT.”
“Yes, Sir! I was on your tail in Nymph Two!”
Bryson’s look softened. Slightly.
“Colonel Doherty was right, shavetail. That had to be some of the slickest flying I’ve ever seen. You stuck to me like you’d been painted on. What’s your callsign?”
“Sir, my callsign is ‘Raikou,’ which is the Japanese thunder god.”
“’Raikou?’” Bryson asked in confusion. Sabrina nodded. “You certainly ruled our slice of the sky this morning. I’m glad you’re assigned to my flight. Welcome to the 22nd, Raikou.”
Bryson nodded to her and walked away. Sabrina stopped sweating as he did. Then Colonel Doherty walked up.
“Was Caleb giving you shit, Raikou?” he asked.
“No, Sir! Welcoming me to the squadron, Sir!”
“Don’t try to kid a kidder, Lieutenant,” Doherty laughed. “He’s been the king of the walk here since he reported, but you schooled him during that flight without breaking a sweat!”
“Oh, I was sweating just now, Sir...”
“I’ll bet. I’m glad you’re in our squadron. You’re humble and talented. We need a little of both here. I’ll see you ‘round the shop.”
“You’ll do well here, Sabrina.” Bree Wallace said. “You know how to balance your skill with humility, which isn’t always true with fighter pilots.”
“Present company excepted, Ma’am.”
“Oh, definitely not!” Bree laughed. “I’m a cocky little shit!” She pushed Sabrina’s shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s finish cleaning up and have lunch. You need to be in your flight’s office this afternoon.”
Sabrina transitioned to the receiving end of the 43rd TFS’s spankings in Charlie Flight. Bree Wallace liked jumping all over her aircraft anytime Bree flew near. Bree would hand off to the other members of the American Hornets – as 43rd TFS from Tyndall was known – to keep the pressure on.
Sabrina didn’t know it, but the Hornets were impressed with her ability to perform under that pressure. The Hornets also saw improvements across the 22nd TFS. The 22nd had seasoned pilots and knew US Air Forces-Europe needed top performance.
The senior pilots’ attitude toward Sabrina thawed over the next month. They watched her work to become the best wingman (wingperson?) in the 22nd. Members with longer tenure in the 22nd – all of them – knew they were the best but welcomed Sabrina’s efforts. They were all bold pilots at their ages.
Tom and Sabrina settled into an on-base townhouse in the northeast corner of the base. They did everything American servicemen and women do on foreign assignments: opened new bank accounts on-base to align with West Germany’s system, got new phones to work on European cell networks, and got passports so they could visit other Western European countries. They also made sure to ask about local restaurants and shops.
While Spangdahlem tried to offer service members as much as possible, there’s only so much you can pack into two square miles. The small town of Spangdahlem offered some diversions from US-standard food and activities, while the larger cities of Trier and Bitburg offered more. Tom and Sabrina quizzed each other after using German language teaching CDs and streaming services. They didn’t want to be ‘Ugly Americans’ outside the gates.
“Can you believe this place?” Tom whispered while eating at a restaurant in Spangdahlem one night. “They put a lot of ‘Italian’ restaurants back home to shame!”
“There’s a reason Mom’s has been in business for nearly seventy years, Honey. And they’re a lot closer to Italy than those restaurants at home.”
“Yeah, smiling at our bad German might be one of those reasons you mentioned!”
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