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Good LandingDick brushed at the folds of his blue flight suit, checking for non-existent lint. The creases were so straight that they might have been ironed with a steamroller. The pin at his breast reflected the morning sun brightly.
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As he examined himself, he wondered if he shouldn't have put his Air Force uniform on instead. But no, his flight suit was more a part of himself, like the olive drab g-suit he wore when he flew T-38's, than any formal uniform. Better to wear something familiar and comfortable today of all days.
When he reached the end of the runway, Virgil was already there, slumped down in a lawn chair, dressed in his usual khaki pants and golf shirt, which was as close to a uniform that he'd tolerate nowadays. A small cooler sat beside him, and four empty beer cans were scattered at his feet.
"Where's Vladimir?" Dick asked.
Virgil looked up at him and scowled. "Over there, with the families" he said, jerking his thu