Blackout by Jason Elam, Steve Yohn

Riley’s faithful bodyguard. He was his most trusted confidant. Time and time again Skeeter had put himself in harm’s way to protect his captain. The deep scar on Skeet’s left arm gave testimony to the big man’s devotion.
    The two men had served together in Afghanistan and had seen things, experienced things, and done things that bonded soldiers in a unique way. Riley had been his lieutenant, but the bond now was much deeper than simply soldier and officer. Skeeter had once expressed an insight about Riley Covington that Riley didn’t even see himself. He’d said that one of the greatest attributes any real leader could have was a heart of servanthood. When you find someone who passionately serves and truly cares for those around him, then you have found a leader worth following.
    Right now, I have a feeling Skeeter’s questioning his commitment, Riley thought with a smile.
    Riley knew the compassionate thing would be to lighten up on the aerial cowboy act and just put the plane down.
    â€œBut what fun would that be? Right, Skeet?” Riley said out loud as he dropped the aircraft down so that the wheels were just above the water.
    â€œPach!” Skeeter yelled from the front.
    The PA-18 Super Cub seemed to be an extension of Riley. He flew with no fear and felt he could do almost anything with it. The little plane, known for its short takeoff and landing capability, was perfectly maneuverable. And its massive tundra tires allowed it to put down almost anywhere, including the small beach just to their left.
    The Super Cub had dual controls, and Riley was sitting in back because he thought Skeeter might enjoy flying the plane. Unfortunately, it became very clear very quickly that Skeeter wanted nothing to do with that special little opportunity. So instead, Riley had given his friend the task of watching for any boulders or set nets that he might not be able to see from behind Skeeter’s hulking frame.
    This small Alaskan beach was littered with ropes that began close to the adjacent bluffs onshore and led out into the ocean to a net system used to harvest the massive salmon run that traveled through the area each summer. The nets were operated and maintained by various native people groups and could be extremely dangerous to unsuspecting pilots.
    Alaska was a truly unique place. It was not unusual to see small aircraft landing on beaches or pulling out onto state highways for takeoff. It was a mecca for general aviation pilots and outdoorsmen, and Riley had made this pilgrimage annually since he mustered out of the Air Force Special Ops.
    This particular beach was one Riley knew well, and he wasn’t as concerned about the obstacles as Skeeter apparently thought he should be.
    Riley slowed the plane to 40 knots and picked a spot directly in front of one of the set-net ropes. He had done this so many times he could tell by the coloration of sand and gravel that it was a firm touchdown point. For added safety he would keep an appropriate flying speed so he could be airborne again in an instant with a quick jolt of the throttle if necessary. If everything seemed fine once they touched down, he’d simply close the throttle and steer the tail-wheel Cub to a stop with the rudder pedals.
    â€œOkay, Skeet, we’ve got a slight crosswind from the left, so we’ll use a bit of right rudder. A little less power—looks good.”
    â€œI don’t need a play-by-play! Just get us down!”
    As the giant tires began to roll across the beach, Riley backed off the throttle, eased the stick into his lap, and applied the heel brakes. A moment later, the plane was still as the propeller came to an abrupt stop.
    Silence. Only Skeeter’s heavy breathing interfered with the sound of waves lapping the shoreline.
    Skeeter struggled to turn around in the small cockpit. “Now what?” he asked, trying to seem tough once again.
    â€œYou okay, Skeet?” Riley asked with a