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Summer 1993, at an Airport (Piers aged 6, Chris aged 20)
Noisy, busy, hot and humid. Such was the state of air travel through this major transit hub. To most, flying is a privilege, reserved for the rich and powerful. Few could boast they’ve been on a plane more than a few times.
There are always exceptions of course. On this hot summer day, two of them happened to brush shoulders at the airport arcade, of all places.
The arcade is the place where fame and history is written. With fast reflexes, a decent aptitude at learning, the patience of a saint and enough days of lunch money to spare, one could conceivably claim the throne of Alpha among the cult of the arcade gamers. They are seen as celebrities, role models, and the very best that rampant teenage masculinity could offer.
A boy, no older than five or six, gripped the back of a racing seat in excitement, eyes transfixed on a legend in the making. His jaw was agape, bright hazel eyes brimming with wonder as he followed the red racecar gliding effortlessly through the bends and obstacles on the course of Turbo Racer A3X.
The driver, unaware of his young audience stared intently at his efforts, driving half by instinct and half by forward planning. He was counting distances and seconds under his breath, silently calculating how best to tackle each turn and overtake each car. It had been a near flawless run so far, and days like these are few and far between. He’s in the zone.
The boy nodded in silent encouragement, urging the red car to go just a little faster, as if by repeating it enough times in his head it would come true. He looked at the numbers running on the top right showing a slim gap trailing the current best times. It’s going to be close, and he wondered if his new friend would make it to number one this time.
He was silently mirroring the rhythmic tapping of rubber on pedal, the up and downshifts of the gearstick at each execution. He even tilted his head to follow the screen at the big turns. Of course, he could not reach the pedals if he tried at his height. He does know however, that as soon as he’s able, he’s going to be the best driver he could be.
Although his eyes were transfixed to the action, his ears were also listening for the voice of his mother calling his name. Just in case. They were just resting in an empty gate lounge nearby, and Piers had gotten permission to just look at the games if he promised to remain in earshot. Mamma always said games were a waste of time, and arcades a den of evil where only bad boys hung out and waste their money. Thankfully, dad would sometimes take him to one when mom wanted all the time in the world to pick out a lipstick or a polka dot dress. He’d put in a quarter and held the boy up as he smashed buttons, and they’d both yell in excitement and exchange a hi five if they scored well in a pinball game, in space invaders or even Street Fighter II. At present, Mom’s still quiet. Probably keeping his younger siblings busy.
A particularly hard sounding gearshift bought the latte haired boy’s attention back to the screen. It was the final lap.
“I’ve got this. Yeah!” He heard the young man mutter as he sat up slightly straighter, gently tapping the pedals with pristine white sneakers.
Piers looked at the time difference. There was only breath of difference between his time and the current best. It would be a close one. He always enjoyed watching someone play, and though his had yet to take the wheel, he’d learnt to pick out how well a race was going just by the driver’s composure. His driver remained calm and in control, just like how Piers imagined he would grow up to be. This was the best pre-flight entertainment he could ask for.
For a moment he took his eyes off the screen, admiring the tall young driver who exuded such calm composure. He commandeered the vehicle with large but confident hands and feet, and to young Piers there was nothing trendier than the black leather jacket he wore. His face was set in concentration, but there was almost a hint of a smile on the very lightly stubbled face, and the bangs of his hair were carefully slicked back. Long brows were slightly knitted in concentration as sharp brown eyes remained fixated on the track.
The young man held his breath as he entered the final straight, and the edges of his lips curled resolutely in confidence as he floored the pedal home.
The sound effects of victory broadcasted the new winner to the tiny arcade, and yet only one other would know of his feat.
“Fuck yes!” The man pumped his fist and looked around for appraisal, then he realised the room was empty, save for the hazel eyes of a confused young boy on his left.
“Fudge. Um. I mean fudge. Yeah. Fudge is… good” The man smiled as he slowly worked the buttons to mark the three letter of his name, ‘RWG.’ He smiled when it finally flashed to the first on the scoreboard and stayed there.
“What does RWG stand for?” The boy asked, with his head slightly tilted to one side.
“Hah, that’s my call sign- Redwing.” The man smiled as he waved the boy closer. “We make a good team, didn’t we?”
“We?” The boy asked, being even more confused as he was before.
“I perform better under pressure. Knowing someone’s watching always brings out my best.”
“What’s a call sign?” Piers blinked.
“Oh, uh… it’s like a name. Not just a normal name. A nickname we get, given by friends when we meet. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes a little rude, but always special, and one we hold onto for the rest of our lives. This one was given to me by my buddies in the air force. Here, I’ll show you.”
The man climbed out of the racing chair and stood up, and to Piers, he looked like a giant standing at full height. He was just as tall as father was. Possibly taller.
“See the drawing on my back?” The man pointed a thumb backwards on his jacket. “That’s RedWing.”
“Wow.” Piers said as he admired the intricate logo and the stylised lettering. “But you have a name too, right?”
“Of course, everyone does!” The man said, spreading his legs open so he could talk down to the boy a little easier.
“You have really long legs.” The boy remarked.
“They’re good for a lot of things. Except when you’re cramped in the pilot’s seat, or jammed in cattle class like this flight I’m about to take, but that’s another story for another day.”
The boy laughed at hearing ‘cattle class.’
“My name is Piers.” He said. “What is your name?”
“Chris. Chris Redfield.” The man smiled, and he beamed at Piers as he bent down and offered a hand.
Piers put his palm in Chris’ hand, fascinated that his hands were so big and mighty and they shook hands as adults did. He giggled. He’d never done that before.
“Your folks are about Piers?” Chris asked, staring around in case the boy had become too engrossed and lost track of time. A flight was not something one should aspire to miss.
Piers pointed to the lounge nearby where mom was having her hands full dealing with his two inquisitive siblings while dad was off buying soda and snacks for the few of them. It had been a long layover. At least, that’s what it felt like to Piers. Flying always meant waiting, waiting and more waiting. He’d already finished his activity booklet.
“So little buddy. You wanna try your hand for a game? Seems you like to race. Maybe you’d be a good racer, like me!” He laughed, heartily. “Well, maybe not quite as good as me. I’m pretty damn go- I mean pretty.. er.. daming? damaging on the track.”
“But I can’t reach the pedals.” The boy said, with the most adorable of pouts on his face.
“Aww look at you.” Chris smiled, and he put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, that’s what these long legs are for. You just help me turn the wheel. Would you like that?”
Piers glanced over at mom. The man seemed friendly enough, and well, he really, really wanted a game.
“That would be fun!” He smiled at Chris.
Chris sat down towards the back of the sit, and motioned for Piers to come close and lifted him onto his lap, letting him sit between the V of his legs. Piers giggled excitedly when his hands could reach the wheel. Chris dropped another quarter in the machine.
“Ready?”
“Yessss. Go go go go go! Wheeee!!” Piers was all smiles feeling Chris’ legs on the pedals and worked the clutch. It’s not particularly comfortable as both of them crammed on the hard plastic seat, but he felt strangely calm and in sync. Chris had a hand on the top part of the wheel and Piers would help him turn the bottom half.
“Woah you’re good Piers! You just know when to turn and not a second earlier too!”
Piers smiled too as he felt Chris’ ribs tremble from his excitement. He is nestled against the lap of someone he’d just met, but he had felt no fear. Rather, there was a sense of embarking on a spirited adventure together, like it was in the movies or storybooks. There was something about the Chris which comforted him. His body was very warm. He was fun to be with, easy on the eyes, as mom would say. Now that he was close, Chris smelled really nice. Something lemony, like smoky lemons, but there was more to the scent that Piers couldn’t place. He was only six after all.
Like all arcade games, it was over all too soon. They didn’t make number one this time, but they did get placed in the top 5.
The big arms gave the boy in his lap a hug and a light tickle, then they exchanged high fives.
“What letters do you want to put in there?” Chris asked. “What is your full name?”
“Pierson Scott Nivans.” Piers said, watching as Chris punched in P as the first letter.
“Wait.” He held a hand to Chris’ arm. It was firm and muscled. Even stronger than dad perhaps.
“What?” You don’t like PSN?”
“It’s both of us. It should be both our names.”
“Haha. You’re a smart cookie aren’t ya. How about err, PNC? Piers and Chris? You and me?”
“Yes!” Piers worked the buttons to punch in the remaining two letters and pressed the confirm button. He looked at Chris and then at his name and score proudly on the screen.
“We did it!”
The large hand gently stroked Piers’ hair. “You’re a natural at this! You’re gonna be an awesome racer when you grow up. Is that what you want to be, Piers?”
Piers couldn’t help but smile back. Chris has such an easy going manner. He didn’t treat him like a kid as all the other adults did. It’d only been minutes but he almost felt they could be friends for life.
“I want to be lots for things when I grow up. I want to drive. I want to learn to shoot rifles. I want to be in the army like dad and grandpa. I want to help people. I want to be tall and kind like you.”
“The army eh?” Chris pondered this for a moment and he glanced at the family and shook his head. “Well, I’m sure the world could use a soldier like you.”
“Are you in the army too, Mister Chris?” Piers asked.
Chris pointed to his decal. “I’m military, but I’m not a soldier. I’m RedWing.”
“So?” Piers tilted his head again.
“What are wings for?”
“To fly, of course,” Piers answered, and then his jaw hung open in bewilderment as the realisation hit him “Oh wait! You fly! You’re a pilot! You’re—“
“in the air force.” Chris finished the sentence together with Piers.
“Wow.” Piers was staring at Chris with such wide eyed intensity it was making him a little uneasy. He’s just a pilot. Right? Then again, everything was fascinating to him when he was 6 too.
“Piers, you should head back now, daddy’s coming back soon!” Mamma Nivans yelled across from the lounge.
“I’ll just be a moment, mom, I’m OK.” Piers replied, then he looked at Chris and lowered his eyes.
“I’ll have to go soon. I’m sorry.”
Chris held a palm to Piers’ cheek. There was something about this boy’s pout that touches him deep within. He looked around the room and saw a claw machine filled with plush toy keychains.
“How about a quick game. A parting gift?” He ushered Piers to the claw machine.
“Wow.” Piers said, eyeing the cute plush toys within. “But I don’t have any money.”
“You do now.” Chris smiled, pushing a quarter in Piers’ palm.
“But…” Piers stared at the coin. “I can’t take a stranger’s money…”
“Hey now.” Chris gave an upwards nod. “I’m not a stranger anymore. We raced together. We’re co-pilots!”
Piers ran a finger over the coin for a moment as he pondered his decision, but finally smiled, taking it from Chris’ palm and pushed it in the machine.
“Go on. All yours.” Chris said. He watched with interest as Piers positioned the claw and walked around to check its position. Then he looked to Chris for affirmation, and pressed the button when Chris shrugged.
The claw dug down, and at first it looked like it was going to be a miss, but it managed to hook the keychain of one of the figures.
“We won something!” Piers jumped excitedly, smiling as Chris held the flap open and he reached in for his prize.
“It’s a little puppy!” He said, gently stroking the fur on the Shiba Inu pup and clutched it to his chest.
“He’s cute. Like you!” Chris said, “all bright eyed and bushy tailed.”
“Piers, come on now!” Mom’s voice was insistent, but she couldn’t come over and watch both the children and baggage.
“Coming, coming!” Piers yelled back.
“Here, you take this.” He took another look at the puppy, but offered the plush toy out to Chris.
“You won it, it’s yours!” Chris said, patting Piers on the shoulder.
“Yes, but I want to give it to you. A gift, because… because you’re my friend. My co-pilot” He said. Perhaps deep down, he wanted to be remembered by his new friend.
Chris felt a little pang of emotion. The boy clearly loved the puppy, but he also clearly wanted Chris to have it. He knew that a boy would only entrust his most treasured possession to one he considers a true friend, and he couldn’t really refuse. In that case… there was only one way.
He slotted another quarter in the machine.
A couple of moments later he pulled out a plush bear. It had some brown fur on its head, wearing a small military style flak jacket.
“I’ll accept your gift only if you accept this. As a gift. From a co-pilot and friend.” He smiled.
Piers’ eyes lit up again and took the bear happily, exchanging it for the puppy, which he placed in Chris’ hands.
“Thank you. He’s a big bear.” Piers said as he held it to his chest. “A bit like you too, Mister Chris. Strong. Tall and…” He paused for a moment and blinked slowly, trying to think of the right word.
“…Cuddly!”
Chris chuckled at that one. His baby sister Claire would tease him to no end if she heard that!
“Let me walk you to your mom. Best not get her too anxious. I know how the womenfolk are!”
Piers took Chris’ hand readily as they met up with his mom. He didn’t know the sight of him holding hands with a strange man nearly made her panic, until they approached her directly.
“Piers! I was starting to get worried! You’re usually more responsible than that! In an airport of all places!”
“Mom…” Piers let go of Chris’ hand reluctantly as Mamma Nivans pulled him to a hug and a kiss.
“Thank you Sir, I hope my boy wasn’t troubling you. He’s usually very easy to get along with. Doesn’t say much.”
“He’s a fine boy ma’am, and fine company. You have nothing to worry about.” Chris smiled as Mamma Nivans appraised him slowly, but eventually approvingly.
“My apologies. I’m Martha.” She held out a hand.
“Mom, meet my friend Mister Chris. Mister Chris, this is mom.” Piers did what he could to help introduce them.
“Chris Redfield. It’s an honour, ma’am.” Chris shook the hand.
“Where are you off to Chris?” Martha said, tucking her hair back behind her ears.
“Catching a flight upstate. Then back to our base at Point Z.”
Martha surveyed him again. “But of course. I should have known you for a zoomie! The bomber jacket, the James Dean hair. You’re a charming one, like you just walked off the movies. They told you that right?” She laughed. It was clear where Piers got his laughs and inquisitive nature.
“Well, um, about that…” Chris was at a loss for words. How does one reply to a comment like that?
“Mom, Chris and I broke the top 5 on Turbo Racer A3X!!”
“Piers! You’re too young to be playing that. Games aren’t good for you! I’ll get you to join little league once we settle down to our new home, How’s that for a real game?”
“Yes mom.” Piers said, but he added “Mister Chris is really, really good.”
Martha’s brows furrowed slightly.
Chris could tell she was considering whether he was a bad influence. Someone excelling at games probably meant someone who failed at school to a mother. She’s not too far wrong, he did scrape by for a couple of his subjects. Still, if his mother was still around, he know she would be supportive of him and his career decisions no matter what.
“Just a way of training my reflexes.” Chris shrugged, look at his palms. “Every split second counts in a dogfight.”
To Piers, Chris was radiating pure confidence and manhood while Martha’s eyes gave him another once over.
“I see.” She finally acknowledged, and looking back, Piers thinks it was perhaps this moment that finally broke her stigma against the gamer stereotype, recognising that games may actually hold transferable skills beyond mere entertainment.
“Just how many dogfights have you been in?” She took a small step towards Chris, trying to call his bluff.
“I’ve been on the fronts of multiple times ma’am. In fact I’ve just been back from a tour weeks ago.”
At this point Piers heard his father’s footsteps, louder and bolder than usual encroaching upon Chris and mom.
“Hey sweetie. Did you miss me?” He leaned down, not caring that he was interrupting Chris’ conversation to give Martha a peck on her cheek. She was flustered at the attention, but smiled, taking the large brown paper of food from him while he finally gazed over at Chris.
“The airport’s a big place lad. Do you need directions?”
“Dad!”
“Scott!”
Both Piers and Martha were shocked at Scott’s hostility. Piers felt bad especially, dad was usually very friendly and inclusive, but he didn’t seem to like Chris.
“Dad, this is Chris. He’s my friend.” Piers said, with an emphasis on friend. He did his best to hide his fear.
Scott shot a look at Martha, who smiled apologetically and nodded.
“Right. Well. It’s an airport thing. Everyone always seems stressed or lost. Something about flying.”
“I can assure you sir, that’s the last thing on my mind.” Chris said, with a small smile.
“Until takeoff anyhow.” Scott said, taking a sip from his soda and giving Piers a small cup of his own.
“Daddy, Chris is a pilot. He flies jets!” Piers said, blinking as the ice chilled his brain for a moment after taking a sip.
Scott’s gaze lingered over the USAF badge on Chris’ jacket. “Ah, the junior service. Where everything is handed to you on silver platters while trying to build a real history.”
“We’re just miles above the rest.” Chris said, holding his ground.
“Do you guys still play frisbee for PT?” Scott asked.
“Yeah it gets boring training in properly equipped gym all the time!” Chris laughed.
“Honey, mind your manners. Chris has just been back from a tour.”
“Yeah, you know what, you guys did push a few good buttons in the gulf. Got us home sooner than we needed.” Scott said, finally breaking into a sincere smile.
“Don’t mind the banter, it’s just how we bond, ain’t that right son? Scott Nivans. US Army. You’ve already met the rest of the gang.” Scott extended a hand. He no longer looked threatening, and Chris could already see Piers was going to grow into a handsome fellow like his father.
“Yes sir. Well met” Chris nodded and shook hands with Scott, giving Piers a wink to keep him at ease.
“Well Scott and Martha, it’s been an honour. Good day to you. I best get ready for my flight too. Safe travels!”
He bent down and held out his arms, and Piers threw himself in. He hugged the boy and his bear plushie tightly.
“You be a good boy. Listen to mom and dad. I just know that you’ll excel at many things. Go do your best. The army needs men like you. Or perhaps, the air force, the sky’s the limit!” He stepped back and saluted.
Surprisingly, Piers stood up straight and returned the salute with proper form.
“That’s my Piers.” Martha smiled.
“One day, the bear and the puppy will meet again.” Chris said. “By then, you might have done great things—“
“As have you.” Piers said, stroking the fur of the pup one last time, and he held the bear over his head for Chris to do the same.
“Captain Bearfield will watch over you. Till we meet again, Piers.”
Piers smiled, even as a single tear ran down his cheek, joined by another. “I love my Captain Bearfield. Thank you, Chris.” He clutched the bear to his chest, not knowing why he was feeling all these emotions well up. It’s hard saying goodbye.
He couldn’t bear to watch Chris walk away anymore, so he hid his face in his mom’s lap till he was out of sight. He wished there was a way to keep in touch, but they had only just met, and at that that day and age, a chance meeting remained exactly that.
“What is it, Captain?” The young lieutenant asked, his head was slightly tilted to the side.
“I just remembered something I… no, both of us… should have remembered a long, long time ago.” He opened the locked compartment of his desk, reached to the innermost corner and pulled out a small plush puppy, still almost in mint condition...
The hazel eyes blinked in disbelief. He was silent, covering his mouth with his hand, lightly thumbing over the pale scar on the right side of his face.
“So how’s Captain Bearfield?” Chris said, as warmly as he had twenty years ago to the boy whose eyes had once held so much in awe and wonder. He placed the puppy in Piers’ hand. Their bodies, their lives may have been battered and torn by the ravages of war, but their friendship had been true from the beginning.
The hazel eyes began to mist over as they looked over the gift and memories reawakened. His co-pilot. Their promise.
“He’ll always have a special place in my heart. As will you….
“Captain.”