Brother's Keeper. Joaquin De Torres

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СКАЧАТЬ and WEPS-designed air-to-air missiles. Jordan Li was already a legend at the age of 26, and nothing could have thrilled and enthralled his younger brother more.

      During that same year, Jason had completed his qualifications in carrier take-off and landings as part of the Carrier Training Wing, aboard the USS Nimitz off San Diego. Like his brother, Jason completed all of his aviation training at or near the top of his class, earning glowing evaluations from the staff of Naval Air Training Command, who gave similar marks to Jordan just three years prior. Jason transitioned into the 23-week Advanced Strike pipeline, which would secure his spot in an F-35C fighter. His dream to join his brother in the fleet was coming to fruition.

      But that all changed when at the latter part of his second year of carrier duty, Jordan was recruited by then DSC head canvasser Commander Rudy Miller. He was given the chance to train in the new F1 Cyclone stealth fighter, and join the ultra secret Black Crow Squadron. At the end of Advance Strike training, Jason received orders to Naval Air Station, Lemoore, California, home of VFA-122-the Fleet Replacement Squadron (FRS) where he would begin training and mastering the F-35C. It was the same FRS that trained Jordan, and the command treated Jason as if he was the brother of a celebrity.

      As his training on the newly modified F-35 continued, contact between the two brothers grew more and more infrequent. On one phone call, Jordan said that the security surrounding his training was so tight, that he had to delete his Facebook, Twitter and e-mail accounts, as the Navy warned that these sites were constantly monitored by cyber squads looking for information that could be useful to enemy analysts.

      DOD scientists, commanding officers, and aviators were heavily targeted, so they communicated via cell phone exclusively. It didn’t take long before the calls and the texts by Jordan began to dwindle. Jason realized that his brother was flying combat and national security missions, and had neither the time, nor the privacy to engage in the social habits of earlier years. This left Jason to find his own life and professional circle among his fellow aviators. Unknowingly to him, his elder brother was learning and perfecting the dark dynamics of black ops missions from the sky.

      Jason blinked hard. He sat up and wiped his tears with the back of his hand. He reached for the bottle and simply raised it to his lips, taking a long swig, remembering when they told him the news.

      “Son,” started Commander Leon Guerrero, full of remorse; “There’s been an accident.” It took only two sentences by his squadron commander to throw Jason into a screaming, crying spasm. Three fellow officers had to restrain him as he howled, wheezing with tears and disbelief.

      “HE CAN’T BE DEAD! HE CAN’T BE DEAD! HE CAN’T BE DEAD!!!”

      The echo of his frantic voice woke him from his dark stupor. He took another swig from the bottle.

      “He’s dead; Uncle Yu is dead; my parents are dead.” Another swig. “Time to close the circle.” He went back to the small kitchen table and put down the bottle just as the doorbell rang.

      “The Last Supper,” he whispered dryly. He took the money he already prepared for the delivery and went to the door. An Asian teenage boy with glasses, holding two plastic bags of Styrofoam containers smiled dutifully at him.

      “Jason Li?” he asked glancing at the order ticket.

      “That’s right.”

      “Szechuan Village. Ah, let’s see; Kung Pao chicken, jumbo walnut shrimp, lobster in garlic sauce, Mongolian beef, scallops in Szechuan sauce, and extra rice. You must be hungry.” The boy smiled.

      “It’s a special meal. How much do I owe you?” Jason took the plastic bags and opened the roll of bills in his hand.

      “That will be $43.55.” The boy raised his head and saw Jason staring at him curiously.

      “You’re a little young to be working, aren’t you?”

      “I’m 15. I’m trying to save up for the mathematics camp this summer at Chico. I need to improve my math scores so I can try to get a scholarship for college.”

      “Mathematics camp?” Jason asked as he took $100 from the roll, intending to give the boy a sizable tip. “What’s that?”

      “It’s a week-long camp of heavy math training; pre-calc, trig, AP math, stuff like that. Six hours a day.”

      “For a week?”

      “Five days. We sleep there, get meals, play sports; and on the last day we have a Mathematics Olympics.”

      “How much is the camp?”

      “Three hundred dollars.”

      “Can’t your dad pay for that?”

      “He died two years ago. My mom’s working two jobs, but she can’t afford the camp, so I’m working. I try to help her out.”

      “Where does she work?”

      “She’s a waitress at two restaurants. La Tapatia on Willow Pass, and Szechuan Village, just down the road.”

      Jason considered the boy’s forthright expression; resolute and noble. There was an intensity about him; in his eyes shown an innocent determination. Without a father, he obviously was forced to grow up fast. . .just like Jordan.

      “She gave me a choice between a used smart tablet or the camp. I’m a little weak in math, so I chose the camp.”

      “Smart choice. Is your mom working now?”

      “Yes, but she’s on her lunch break. She’s actually parked in front of your complex waiting for me.” The boy turned and pointed towards the gated parking area. “That beat-up Nissan!” he laughed. Jason looked out and noticed a woman sitting inside.

      “What’s your name?”

      “Danilo Bantilan.”

      “You’re Filipino.” Danilo smiled and nodded. “Okay, Danilo, go and tell your mother I want to talk to her.” The boy suddenly took alarm. But Jason shook his head. “Don’t worry, just tell her I want to talk to her.” He put the money back into the roll. “I’ll pay you after I’ve talked with her.”

      The boy smirked and left for the car. Jason left the door open but went back inside. After finding what he was looking for, he came back to the front door to see Danilo and a slim Filipina in her mid-30s, wearing the Szechuan Village over-alls skirt and nametag. She smiled at him nervously.

      “Hello, Mrs. Bantilan; my name is Jason.”

      “Is there something wrong with the food?” she asked.

      “No, ma’am.”

      “Was my son disrespectful?”

      Jason was held in pause by the woman’s humble and heartfelt deference. In a society choked with a generation of self-centered, narcissistic and indifferent youth, bought and appeased by their emotionally detached parents, Jason never expected to hear such a rare and honorable question. He couldn’t help feel even more at ease in what he was about to do to himself, once they’d left.

      “No, ma’am; he wasn’t. In fact, it was a pleasure talking to him.” The woman smiled and looked at her son.

      “I’m СКАЧАТЬ