Sabrina
Copyright© 2026 by The Outsider
Chapter 32: Holding Pattern
11 January 2024 – Spangdahlem Air Base, Spangdahlem, West Germany
Sabrina watched maintenance crews work hard to clear the airfield. A two-day snowstorm had deposited nearly six inches – fifteen centimeters in local parlance – of the cold white stuff across the landscape. January was the coldest month in Rhineland-Palatinate, West Germany, and it was living up to its reputation.
Sabrina hadn’t been surprised by the letter before Christmas telling her she’d been wait-listed at Test Pilot School for the January 2024 class. She felt that being accepted was a long shot from Day One. Her online Master of Aerospace Engineering classes were going well, and she was halfway to her degree. Tom’s Master of Accounting would wrap up by June, regardless of where they were stationed.
She glanced to her right to see Griffin Hebert standing at the entrance of his aircraft shelter, checking the airfield like her. Pilots would rather be in the air over anything else. Not stare at piles of training records as she had for the past two days. It would be another six to ten hours before anyone from the squadron got airborne.
The mechanics could at least perform the job they were trained for. All twenty of the squadron’s fighters – eighteen front-line fighters and two spares – would be in service by the end of the day. Parts had been standing by before the storm even appeared on the radar. Operations tempo hadn’t allowed for extra maintenance activity.
The Soviets and their puppets had calmed down during the past months. After the Pleckensteiner Wald Incident, as it became known to those few in the know, NATO flooded the border from Austria to the Baltic Sea with fighters and reconnaissance aircraft. They lashed anything that moved with radar. More than one Warsaw Pact pilot had ear damage from missile lock warnings sounding in their helmets. Technical Sergeant Hawthorne caught Sabrina’s attention.
“She’s all set, Ma’am,” the sergeant said, waving at Sabrina’s plane as she walked over. “New tires, full checks on all flight controls and systems, and the canopy’s been freshly polished. Not a blemish on her!”
“I’ll try to keep her that way for you, Sarge. Catch you tomorrow. I’ve got training records for an entire squadron of pilots waiting on my desk.”
“Rank hath its privileges, Ma’am!”
“‘Privileges,’ like locking up insolent grease monkeys?”
Susan Hawthorne knew Sabrina’s grandfather had been an auto mechanic for five decades before retiring. She smiled back at Sabrina.
“Truthful grease monkeys, Ma’am!”
Sabrina gave an irritated wave over her shoulder as she walked away. She wore a smile, however. She had the best crew chief in the squadron, maybe in the wing.
The smile lasted until Sabrina saw her desk. Eighteen thick folders containing training documentation on all pilots in the 22nd covered the surface. Sabrina moved half before she could use the keyboard or see the monitor for her computer. The folder needing the most attention belonged to her flight leader, Major Dawson. Recertification in many areas was required.
How had Dawson slipped through the cracks for so long? Any of the issues identified were enough to raise an eyebrow, but so many? Sabrina got another headache just thinking about it. Did she bring it to someone else’s attention? Did she speak to Dawson himself about this? Speak to Colonel Doherty as the squadron commander? Both Colonel Doherty and Colonel Newcombe? She couldn’t see any other way around it...
“Sir? Do you have a minute?”
Tim Doherty looked up from his desk.
“Hey, Raikou! What’s up?”
“I’ve got something here that I need some guidance on, Sir.”
Sabrina approached the colonel’s desk and placed Major Dawson’s training documentation on its surface. Tim Doherty raised an eyebrow in question before opening the folder. The other joined the first when he saw the top document.
“Are you serious?”
“There’s more, Sir.”
Raised eyebrows turned progressively downward-sloping as Doherty went through the paperwork.
“Who the hell signed off on all this bullshit? These dates are all wrong!”
“Those signatures look funny to me, Sir. Not smooth. I’m willing to bet they’re forged, and the dates don’t match the ones in the computer.”
“Who entered the info into the computer, then?”
“Someone with a stack of other folders to go through?” Sabrina replied with a shrug.
“Dawson’s off the flight line, that’s for sure!”
Doherty picked up his phone and punched a number.
“Trevor? Tim Doherty at Spangdahlem ... Yeah, later, buddy. I got an issue ... Not that one, dumb-ass! An issue that requires one of your teams... No, I’m not bullshitting you! ... When? ... Okay, sounds good. Thanks, Trev ... Huh? ... Yeah, probably next month ... I’ll call you next week ... Bye.”
Sabrina raised an eyebrow herself.
“Trevor Dunbarton,” Doherty explained. “He’s one of the bosses for the Air Force Office of Special Investigations teams at SHAPE. We were in the same AFROTC detachment together.” He fixed her with a gaze. “Don’t look down on me now, you high-and-mighty Academy graduate. Some of us worked for our commissions!” Doherty laughed when Sabrina scratched her nose with a middle finger. “Trevor’s sending one of his OSI teams tomorrow. Weather should clear tonight.”
“So, ‘fly casual’ until then, Sir?”
“You got it, Chewie. Leave that folder with me, though. I’ll lock it in my safe.”
The drama started slowly. A nondescript C-12K Huron transport landed shortly after 0900. Officers and airmen from Spangdahlem’s 52nd Security Forces Squadron met the plane and its passengers at the hangar. A serious-looking bunch in that hangar before they moved out. Dawson was summoned to squadron headquarters at 1000 and arrested by 1020. It ended before most on base knew it started.
“That’s it?” Sabrina asked Major Ingersoll, commander of Bravo Flight.
“Well, that’s all we’ll see,” he replied. “We won’t know anything else unless we see it on the news.”
“So, who’s in charge of Charlie now? Kian Wells as the senior officer?”
“Temporarily, yes,” Colonel Newcombe agreed as he walked up. “Interim, acting, or temporary commander ... whichever phrase you’re supposed to use until someone is permanently assigned.”
“Grease is gonna be thrilled.”
“A seven-year captain will welcome the chance,” Jack Newcombe replied. “An acting command position above his pay grade will look good to the promotion board when he goes for major in three years. We’ll have someone to fill the billet before Grease transfers out this summer.”
“And me?”
“You get the reputation of being detail-oriented regarding administrative things, over and above the one you have for flight,” Bill ‘Ingrid’ Ingersoll said.
“So, ‘anal-retentive bitch?’”
Colonel Newcombe shared a look with Major Ingersoll.
“Do you want to point out to our best pilot that she has a reputation for calling down the thunder to punish those who dare defy the rules, or should I?”
“You should, Colonel, as the senior officer present.”
“Thank you, Major.” Colonel Newcombe turned back to Sabrina and slowly cuffed the side of her head. “Consider it pointed out.”
“Well, Jack,” Tim Doherty said from behind Sabrina. “Raikou hasn’t struck you dead yet, but you might want to ask her how long you have to get your affairs in order.”
“She likes me, Tim,” Newcombe said with a dismissive wave. “I’ve got at least a week. Anyway, what’s the fallout?”
“Nothing OSI would tell me,” Doherty shrugged. “They might go after the people who helped fudge his records if they’re still in the service. With everything else going on, that might be a stretch.”
“What did OSI hook him with?”
“What he did falls under the glorious catchall of ‘any other illegal activity that undermines the mission of the Air Force, Space Force, or the DoD,’” Colonel Doherty said. “Forging your training records when you’re a pilot kinda fits. Especially if you don’t measure up when the time comes to do your job.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sabrina said.
“Oh, please!” Major Ingersoll laughed. “You could fly your Raptor in the middle of G-LOC! Tell us another one!”
“He’s right, Raikou,” Colonel Doherty confirmed. “There’s no question on that one. There’s also no question Grease will need a deputy flight commander until someone new is assigned to lead Charlie Flight. Care to guess who I’m appointing to that role?”
“Well, that didn’t take long! Congratulations!”
“Sabrina, it’s the end of March! It’s been eight months since our wedding!” Anna Rosado Knox cried. “It has taken too long!”
“I’m so happy for you, Anna. But, I’m sorry you have to raise a baby and deal with my big brother. When are you due?”
“December sometime.”
“Does that mean you’ll stay in the Midwest for Christmas?”
“Yes. Mom and Dad will come to spend the holidays with us too.”
“I’m hoping to take leave around that time. It’ll be my first Christmas home since I graduated from the Academy.”
“I hope it won’t be long before you meet your niece or nephew.”
“Me, too. What’s next for you, professionally?”
“Honestly, Sabrina, I might stay home and be ‘Mom.’ Alex is working hard on his doctorate, and he has the potential to break some real ground with his findings.”
“Like, ‘Neptune’s Forge’ kind of breaking ground?”
“Possibly.”
“My big bro is wicked smaht!”
“That he is!” Anna laughed.
“Let me talk to that blockhead!”
“I understand I have been summoned by a goddess?” a different voice asked.
“You’re gonna get smacked by one, Alex!”
“You’d have to come home first.”
“Blah, blah, blah. I understand you’re working on some hotshit stuff for your doctorate?”
“We think it will be, but I can’t say much about it until we publish.”
“I understand.”
Sabrina understood. She hadn’t been able to tell Tom the stories about last January or October yet, and she might never be able to, either.
“Do you think you’ll get the leave you mentioned to Anna?”
“We’ll see. I’m not as junior as I was last year, and I’ll make captain before then. The chances are better this year.”
“Anna will probably give birth just before Christmas, so we won’t be able to get to Lancaster or Enfield.”
“Timing, Alex. It’s all about timing, and ours won’t line up this year. It is what it is. I likely won’t have enough leave to get to Chicago, either.”
“We’ll get together again soon, Sabrina. I can feel it.” Alex paused. “Have you heard from the other one at all?”
“Ryan? No. Haven’t even thought about him in a while. Been kinda busy over here.”
“With the Russians acting the way they have? I’m not surprised. Mom and Dad haven’t heard from him, either.”
“That’s gotta be hard on them. Ryan’s still their little boy, regardless of what we think of him.”
“You can hear it in Mom’s voice when she talks or asks about him. Dad’s Dad.”
That meant their father’s feelings weren’t evident from the sound of his voice.
“Not that you have to tell me, but are you and Anna already talking about names?”
“Yes, but nothing we’ve settled on.”
“And you wouldn’t tell me if you had.”
“Exactly!”
Spring returned to West Germany in early to mid April, later than in the rest of Western Europe. Colors exploded across the landscape, which looked spectacular from the air. The Soviets and the rest of the Warsaw Pact didn’t seem interested in restarting the games they played last year. Their forces stayed well back from the border unless they were actual border troops. NATO’s operational tempo returned to what Sabrina remembered from her first year on the continent.
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