"It's a much more interesting game," he said. "Of course, the headache the next morning can be rather brutal, but we're all used to it and have learned the right mix of water and aspirin." Robert grinned. "I don't think it's the rank per se, but the fact that I'm in charge of the squadron. They seem to think that I'd take their good fortune out on them. I have no idea where they'd get the idea." He really wouldn't have, but he understood where his men came from. "The pilots would, but they are a different breed. Ranks aren't as important, just how well you can fly. I'm lucky because you don't refuse a promotion. If you don't want it, you resign."
The more Mike talked, the less Robert understood how the man could be G's friend. The man was friendly, easy going and ready to joke. G was...not. "I'll do my best to fit in. I wouldn't want to miss the card games," he said, winking at Mike. "And I can pick up some of your investigative skills. I mean deducing my income status based on my address is really so difficult."
Robert nodded. "I know all about following order, man. Don't worry about it. I won't have a nervous breakdown like most of the people here," he said, with an easy smile. "There are always ways. It might not be my bird, but I might be able to get some flying time."
He didn't know what he thought about Mike's job. Actually, he knew. "That sucks. I like my comforts too much. Even at the base, I had what I wanted. I can't say the same here. I miss my big house to go with my rank, and no people around, but I miss the Falcon more."