It was now three months since Tom and Sam had started dating and six weeks since I'd first hooked up with Pete.

Tom and Sam were falling deeper in love and spending more time together, though mostly at his place as it was larger and had the spa.  When I wasn't away with work, I was spending time at his place too - albeit in the annex at night and our friendship was growing too.

While I was enjoying the attention, and action, of my FBs, I realised that compared with a BF which I was still looking for, it was akin to local cheap takeaway vs authentic high-end curry: the cheap curry was full of chili heat that gave you a quick, fast burn whereas the high end was full of succulent spices that layered sweetness, heat and sour. And no chili, for this South American plant, was a European introduction to Asia, and I couldn't eat hot curry each night anyway.

In food for my soul, Steve was my Chili curry whereas Pete was more of a basic Ham Salad: a dish that was sweet and good for my basic needs that I could consume often, but not particularly varied.  Tom's Ham Salad though was like all the products of his Love Shelf: varied and fulfilling as it had the basics, plus his homemade Pesto, olives, fresh basil, and sweet, crunchy baby carrots from the garden.

Though Tom's Christmas Cake...

Last weekend we had done a 15k Sunday run from his house and they had dialled off the pace so I could keep up. In the evening, we finished the day with a post-dinner spa, putting a bottle of wine on the poolside. 

I texted Pete a final time, saying that if the launch went well, hopefully, we would meet on Thursday evening when I got back from the Pad. 

The next morning, I joined them in the main house for pre-work breakfast.  The mood was bright, but as the dishes went in the Dishdrawer, mine turned Grey: I was flying down later for Home Cooking is Best. There were two firsts to this launch: we were trying out the new in-house kick stage and Reaction Wheels. Secondly, we would try to catch the falling core with a chopper.  To do this, we hired the only S-92 in the country, though we weren't keen on the Mi-26 which was even larger!

We had an EcoStar (Squirrel) that would be doing overwatch and recording the attempt. We knew that if things went well, the footage would be on BBC and other channels that evening our time.

During my masters, I had periodically ridden the choppers out to the Bass Platforms and so was Offshore qualified. When we had planned this mission, I was the natural candidate but had to do my re-qual.  At least it’s a S-92 not a Puma, but still… I had thought, as ditching a chopper isn't something you wish for, but I knew that re-qual isn't much more fun than qualification!

For once, we didn't have the news on the radio. 

The anticipation of the launch uplifted me, but the worry about riding the -92 to do the catch came over me. 

Just then, Alison Krauss' cover of When You Say Nothing At All came on.

Tom saw me go Dark and came over to me and rubbed my arm, looking at Sam who then came over and we all hugged: Tom and I had our Darks: his was his ongoing love for his Jen, late Fiancé that he sometimes had to reconcile with his growing love for Sam. We knew that group hugs at this point lifted the dark and dripped a deep, sweet liquid into the respective jars on our souls' Love shelves.  Love Multiplied, not divided as Miss Voldemort (Sam and my nickname for Kelly, his jealous ex) had thought, in action. 

Nothing was said, but it meant everything. The loving group hug and Alison's lullaby-like cover soothed my soul, sending me out of my Dark.

During the mission prep and practices, I had grown close to the -92's pilots as we were similar in age, gender, and status and we trusted each other implicitly.  The hotel's Specials were now no longer Special, so we invited the EcoStar crew out for dinner to get to know them better and as they were similar too, we knew they would be good company  

The crew were locals, but also female which was unusual. We met at the hotel bar and had two vodkas to set the mood, then headed out, wearing T-shirts, jeans, and no makeup.  We were in a happy mood as we got to the suggested The Runway Train.  The board said, Mexican Tuesday. I said, "No way, last time that happened, I slapped a guy hard and got rooted hard by another on a bridge."

We heard music playing in the background, but our chatter drowned it out.

Jenna, the -92-pilot laughed and hugged me.  Sandy, the EcoStar co-pilot called out, "Table for five and two large pitchers please!" as we went inside the quiet bar.

The margaritas went down quickly and more followed as the nachos arrived.  Initially, we talked shop, then more Margaritas arrived, and we got louder and looser. We covered relationships: Sandy and Alex, the -92 Co, had boyfriends but weren't sure that they were long-term; Pilots Jenna and Ani were single.  We concurred that the mix of education and careers badly interferes with the ability to sustain long-term relationships. I got cheers when I said I was single but had recently acquired three FBs!

We saw two local couples looking at us with side eyes. They are wondering where these loud ditzes came from, we realised, knowing that four of the ditzes could explicitly explain what happens over our heads in flight and the fifth [me] knows that isn't Rocket Science, but what is!

More Margaritas and food flowed, and we grew louder as we cut loose as I discussed how I'd hooked up with Pete and Kev. Ani asked me, "Tell me what did happen?" 

I explained about Mex At The Marina. How, at the peak of merriment, Tom had suddenly remembered his late Fiancé and had slammed deep into his Dark. In desperation to bring him back out, I had slapped him hard on the arm which worked.  At that point, the flyers hugged me.  I then explained about Steve and the Bridge Root, causing more booze and "Cheers."

I concluded by observing that, "FBs are like a good takeaway, whereas a long-term relationship is home cooking: takeaways are nice, but not sustaining long-term; quality home cooking is the best.  And Tom and Sam are expert home cooks."  

Louder cheers and toasts followed.

Just then, we heard Cindy Lauper's Girls just wanna have fun in the background. Sandy smiled slyly and said, "Flying a Chopper is like riding a…chopper!"

I was stumped by her comment.  My knowledge of them is that if you're over water and something above or behind you BANGS, you're fucked and fast. Rockets though…

Ani said, "True, a jet is like being Missionaried, most of the time you just make tiny adjustments 'til he lands you."  More booze flowed

Jenna replied, "But a Chopper is like a Cowboy, I'm in control, with mostly gentle movements, but sometimes some hard yanks!"

Alex finished, "Ever tried a [MD]-500? It's [turbine] behind you and you always feel it. Bird is hard, fast, rough and you can get soo close up," she loudly cooed as her hands motioned controlling the chopper and her eyes rolled suggestively, "and you can get it into tighter holes than anything else!"

I said, "I've got a chopper linked up when I get back.  And I'm taking control this time," and we hooted at this as the final drink was poured.

The couples were left stumped at these ditzy talking bird!  But it was closing time, so we paid up and went back to the hotel.

Four days later, I had been at the airfield at the chopper shed with the crew, watching the countdown.  "92 mins to go, systems good" came over the Tannoy: this was our cue to power up and head offshore. We did a quick brief on where the birds would go and what would happen, then we zipped up our orange survivals and headed outside where the S-92 dwarfed the EcoStar. 

Pad up and counting down - mine is too. Hope your chopper is fully serviced, I texted Pete.  

I got a message on the house chat from Tom and Sam wishing me well, which was nice as I put my kit in the locker.

Launches are like sex: anticipation, build-up, and hoping for orbit, I thought.

After take-off, the EchoStar formed up at our side and we made a full-speed run out to the drop zone, with Mission Control in our headsets, "Q" [max airframe stress] was called, then "First Stage Shutdown ... Separation, Second Stage Ignition." My heart beat faster and I got hotter in the orange suit.

"Separating," called out the EchoStar pilot: she increased her spacing from us to give us a free rein and both birds moved into a slow obit. 

"Hook deploying," the 2IC called out over the radio.  In the frigid bird, I got hotter still and my heart beat faster as I called out from the telemetry.

"Parachute success," called out Control and I could see it bloom in laptop's my feed.  Soon we started to see the red chute high above us and I concentrated on the telemetry, guiding the -92's pilot.

T+25 min said the chopper clock as Launch Control and I guided us into the falling core.  I was sitting in the jump seat at a workstation, giving guidance to the pilot as we intercepted it, with the EcoStar orbiting nearby to help and film us.  Soon we snared the white core's red parachute with our hook, but the core wasn't behaving as we'd practiced. I heard the powerful engines above spool hard and the pilot worked the cyclic hard to stabilise the core without much success. 

I saw the co-pilot's gloved hand reach for the dump lever.

"Dump," the pilot called out and her colleague's hand pulled the lever, cutting the hook, causing the core to drop into the cold Pacific. The bird shuddered as the weight on the winch departed and the pilot moved the throttles back, so we didn't shoot off with the reduction in drag and weight and we stabilised.  

As the core sank below us and the chopper briefly rose with the reduction in drag, my heart sank. I put my hands on the pilots' shoulders in commiseration and they scrunched their shoulders in acknowledgment.

"Super to Control: Homebound" called the pilot.

"Echo to Control and Super: Hanging on to mark her," was the EcoStar pilot's reply": they would try to drop GPS beacons on the core and its chute when it hit the sea so that hopefully one of our boats could get it.

"Control to SuperHawk: Super Job."

I felt sad that we hadn't succeeded, but there was a next time, though that meant more time in the -92!

This hadn't gone as practiced.  But Elon never tried this either!

"Good try - ejection in 3" called out Launch Control. The satellites were nearly ready to be ejected from the orbiting Kick.  Success, I thought, and I felt a mix of relief and disappointment.

We got back to the airfield and, still feeling off, I went inside to the changing room and stripped off.  I messaged Pete "Pad closed, mine will be open in 3 hours," and selfied him my naked body, showing my DDs and shaved pussy that was ajar in anticipation of tonight's horniness, then put on my clothes from earlier. 

Tom had dropped a picture on house chat: [grey clouds = three Oranges] which made me smile as Orange was our codeword for Jen when we needed to lift him out of his Dark.  Sam replied, "Love u xx."

We had chartered an ATR from Island Air so we could all head home in one go, and so it was on our clock, not us on its.  The mood was sunny as the mission was a success, but I still felt off as my part hadn't completely worked. The hold was full of our gear. and chilly bags filled with free range, coastal reared lamb that was butchered onsite from the station that the Pad rents off, plus other goodies that we had pre-ordered from local suppliers, including Crays from the fishermen that our launches periodically impeded their work. One of them said Kate.

On landing at City Airfield, I texted Pete again to say we'd landed, and I was on my way home.  The first song the Zoe played was I Hope You Dance by Leann Womack + Sons of The Desert.  I smiled as I was going to be going dancing with Pete's later if I got my way after dinner.  I still have my sense of wonder, I realised. 

I got home and saw Sam and Tom's cars in the driveway.  As I opened the door, I heard chatter - they were in but were dressed for running.  Briefly, but slightly deeper than normally, they hugged me to comfort me from the catch as they headed out on their exercise.