"I don’t think he planned that far. You missed him trying to get Rose’s help, through an odd mix of begging and barking." Jake’s tone was light, and Jim grinned. The crop sprayer pilot had never been good at asking for help, even when he needed it.
"You know she’s not qualified to work on it, right?" he asked and Jake nodded.
"That’s what she said. Think you might know anyone who could give him a hand?" Jake’s suggestion was deliberately casual and Jim sucked his breath through his teeth in mock thought.
"A few. Say ten or so." He knew her old crew would be more than happy to have a quick look up here and see what had happened to their old lady. Looking down at Matt, now shifting the stepladder along the wing to a new spot, Jim smiled. She might not be his, but his grey lady had definitely found a good home.
And that's the end of the story. This short story preceeds the novel by a few years, but if you want to know more about them, and what they do with their odd acquisition, you'll need to read Firestorm (excuse the gratutious shill).
The story, about 1,200 words was run as 83 seperate tweets, released daily through my twitter feed, under hashtag #vhfstr1.
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