I've had to adjust Colonel Stuart's age due to conflicts with the
ROBOTECH Chronology. His real age is 38 and he tried to retire after 20
years.
Hope you all enjoy this.
-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
FOX Squadron
Episode 3 - Friends and Bad Memories
by G.L. Sandborn
The two Fox sisters stood in front of the Thirty-Second
Squadron Maintenance Hangar. In better days this aging structure
would have been buzzing with activity. Today, only a few
Veritechs in various states of repair occupied the maintenance
bays. Strewn about like discarded cardboard boxes, plastiform
crates dotted the floor; some empty others not. One in every
three lights either didn't work or flickered as if in their last
moments of life. Birds noisily announced their residence in the
trusses holding up the roof; their chirping echoing off the aging
metal walls. It wasn't the neat, tidy building seen before the
Zentraedi War. Odors of lubricating fluids, stagnant water, and
human sweat mingled; warning the sisters of what awaited them
inside.
"Geez, and I thought *our* new home looked bad," Samantha
groused. "This is an active Veritech squadron?"
Katherine sighed. "There's not much money available for
maintenance anymore. Not since that idiot Leonard started taking
everything for his precious ASC."
With a shake of her head, Samantha sidestepped an odd-looking
blob floating in a puddle left over from the brief
thunderstorm that blew through an hour before. "Well, where do
you want to start looking?"
Katherine glanced around until she spotted a small office
just inside the main hangar doors. "How about over there?"
Inside the hangar, the smells intensified. Katherine
wrinkled her nose at the odors while Samantha disguised her
discomfort with a well placed handkerchief.
The odors were only slightly better in the small office. A
bored-looking officer reading a trashy novel gave them a rude
glance before turning back to his book and asking what they
wanted. When Katherine told him who they were looking for, he
was less than helpful. Rifling through some papers and glancing
round like he didn't recognize where he was, the man finally and
said he wasn't sure but they might find the person they were
looking for somewhere near the back of the hangar.
Back out in the hangar, they weaved their way around crates
and parked vehicles, probing deeper into the facility. With the
exception of the birds, it was eerily quiet for an active
squadron's maintenance facility. Normally, dozens of technicians
would be swarming over the fighters, performing every sort of
imaginable repair, check, or upgrade. Instead, only a few
enlisted people could be seen. Most of them looked like they
were more interested in finding a good place to nap than doing
anything productive. Their officers were notable by their
absence.
The Foxes rounded a large crate and came to a stop at the
sight of a Veritech standing majestically in Battloid mode.
Towering over everything in the hangar like a metal man surveying
his domain, the forty-two foot wonder of Robotechnology looked
like something that belonged more in a reconstruction facility
than an active squadron's hangar. Its formerly distinctive red
and gold color was smudged off in places, mud splattered its
underside, streaks of fluid cut a network of trails across its
legs, even the squadron insignia looked worn and lifeless. The
craft had obviously seen better days.
"There she is," Samantha said indicating a figure on her
back with her upper torso partially obscured beneath one of the
Battloid's giant feet, looking like someone who'd recently been
stepped on.
The closer they got, the more detail they noticed about the
person underneath the fighter. She was a big woman, not fat,
just big. Katherine estimated her to be at least six feet tall
and powerfully built.
"Excuse me," Katherine said as they approached. "Are you
Lieutenant Daisy Mills?"
The figure under the Veritech's foot slid out and
repositioned a three foot long wrench to a fitting on the outside
of the fighter's massive leg. "Yeah, that's me. Who's asking?"
she said without so much as a glance their way.
"I'm Captain Katherine Fox and this is Lieutenant Samantha
Fox. We'd like to talk to you about your assignment." Katherine
winced when Daisy's knuckles raked painfully against the
unforgiving metal as the wrench failed to hold its grip on an
oversized fitting. She also wrinkled her nose a bit at the way
the girl was dressed. Grease-stained coveralls, worn boots, and
her coal black hair, she guessed to be shoulder length, was
restrained by a grubby-looking hat turned so its brim was facing
backwards.
"Already got one," Daisy said between clenched teeth,
bracing a foot against another part of the Veritech's base and
pulling on the wrench. Her rolled up sleeves displayed powerful
forearms and biceps flexing and straining at the effort.
Samantha tilted her head like she'd just noticed something.
"Forgive me for being a little dense but what are you doing?"
Daisy's muscles all seemed to go lax at the same time. The
girl exhaled hard and rolled her head, regarding Samantha in a
curious way. "I'm trying to remove the blast deflector in order
to replace it."
"Why?" Samantha asked incredulously.
"Because the damn Maintenance Officer refuses to do it,"
Daisy growled, casting a lethal glance at the little office in
the front of the hangar. "Worthless slug."
"I hate to break this to you but you shouldn't need to ever
change the blast deflector." Samantha was obviously not trying
to sound smug but the way she said that sure made it sound that
way. She only made things worse by quoting a section of the
Veritech's Maintenance Manual that suggested a Veritech blast
deflector should last longer than the estimated life-span of the
Veritech itself and thus, should never need to be replaced.
Daisy just regarded the young officer with a scowl. "You
must be one of them 'academy' graduates."
Samantha bristled. "At least I know enough not to try and
replace a part that isn't worn out or defective."
If she was expecting the big Lakota woman to take up the
challenge, she must have been disappointed. Daisy just snorted
and shook her head. "Book learnin', spit and polish officers,"
she grumbled. "You know everything but real life." She took the
wrench and banged it against the deflector. A rather large chunk
of material fell to the hangar floor with a dull 'thud'.
Samantha's jaw dropped. This was impossible. Everyone knew
the deflectors on a Veritech were made of the toughest materials
known to man. How could it have become so brittle?
Daisy flipped the book-sized chunk towards her visitors and
went back to fitting the wrench for another try. "It seems some
'genius' forgot to read the special notice that came out a couple
of months ago about the effects of GF-42 hydraulic fluid on the
structural integrity of standard blast deflectors." She looked
at Samantha with a condescending expression. "It causes the
molecular bonding of the surface layer to separate, to flake off,
resulting in thinning of the protection and eventually a failure
of the deflector. This bucket of bolts leaks like an old
automobile." She paused long enough to cast a smug look
Samantha's way. "I'll bet you don't know what happens when a
deflector fails."
"The leg explodes from the exhaust coming in contact with
the aircraft's skin," Katherine answered for her sister with a
knowing nod. "We had one at the flight school do just that.
Blew the leg clean off."
"Which is exactly what I'm trying to avoid. So, if you'll
forgive me, I'll get back to changin' it out." Daisy
repositioned herself and put all her strength into trying to
dislodge the stubborn fitting. It didn't yield.
Samantha, still smarting from being proven wrong, made a
face and looked the Veritech up and down. "Why are *you* doing
this? I mean, if you're a pilot and all, why aren't the
maintenance crew replacing it?"
Daisy stopped tugging and hung her head. With a sigh she
waved a hand towards the rest of the seemingly empty hangar.
"You *see* any maintenance crew? I mean, besides those picking
their noses or taking naps."
Katherine had to admit, there was a distinct lack of action
amongst the pitifully few RDF enlisted personnel in the hangar.
It was like they'd simply lost interest in what they were
supposed to be doing.
"Besides, I want the job done right." Daisy dropped to her
back and scooted back under the foot.
The Fox sisters looked at each other and shrugged. "Then
I'm to take it you're happy here?" Katherine asked.
"What's not to like?" Daisy's voice echoed inside the blast
chamber. "I fly escort for a Cat's-Eye twice a week, sit around
in the Ready Room three other days - just in case we're invaded
or something, and get to sleep late the rest of the time."
"Then you wouldn't be interested in a combat position with a
new squadron," Samantha chided.
Daisy's body froze inside the Veritech's leg for a moment.
"Combat? New Squadron?"
"Yeah, we're scheduled to take over a small base in the
Ozarks in thirty days. It's a two year tour keeping the peace
between Earth Government territory, the Arkansas Protectorate,
and the Barony of York. The CO expects we'll see lots of
action," Katherine noted like she was selling a used car.
Daisy stuck her head out and grinned. "Sounds dangerous.
Count me in."
"Really?" Samantha gasped. She didn't expect it to go this
easily.
"Yeah, why not? I'm ready for a change anyway." Daisy's
voice echoed from inside the foot again.
"You're not going without me," came a voice booming over the
Veritech's external loudspeaker.
All three jumped as the voice echoed in the mostly-empty
hangar. Daisy banged her head on the blast chamber walls causing
an avalanche of black, sooty material to coat her upper body.
She slid out from under the foot sputtering and snarling.
"Who the hell is that?" Samantha exclaimed, wiggling a
finger in her ear like the voice from above was still ringing.
"My sister, Virginia," Daisy growled while brushing off her
coveralls. "She's definitely *not* a Veritech pilot."
The head of the Battloid noisily slid forward and a single
seat extended through the opening created. A slightly built
young lady's head poked into view.
"She's a pilot?" Samantha gasped. She obviously didn't
think so either.
"She's a helicopter pilot,' the Daisy said apologetically.
"Helicopter pilot?" Katherine asked, looking at Daisy who'd
switched to reclining against the outside of the Veritech's leg
while continuing to wipe off her clothing.
"She flies the Sea-Sergeant we got parked out back." Daisy
wiped her face with a grubby rag. "They use it for search and
rescue and transporting stuff. It's a boring job, I'll admit,
but she ain't no fighter jock."
Katherine hesitated. She was certain she could teach anyone
with fixed wing flying experience to handle a Veritech but
chopper pilots were a different breed. They didn't play by the
same rules as fixed-wing pilots. "I don't know," she said to no
one in particular.
Samantha leaned against the Veritech and crossed her arms,
regarding her sister with a raised eyebrow. "Wasn't it you who
told me they teach a monkey to fly a Veritech?" she chided.
"Well, she'd certainly qualify," Daisy said glaring up at
her younger sister.
"I heard that!" Virginia's voice screeched over the
loudspeaker causing everyone in the hangar to cover their ears.
"Damn it, Ginnie! Turn that thing off before you deafen
everyone!" Daisy yelled.
"All right!" Virginia angrily yelled back, this time without
the artificial aid. It wasn't much better. For such a little
person, she had a piercing voice. "You're always yelling at me!"
"I do not!"
"Do too!"
"DO NOT!"
"BIG BOOBS!"
"MICROBUTT!"
Samantha, still leaning against the Veritech's leg, rolled
her eyes and looked to her sister. "Are you certain these two
are worth it?"
"Not if you want to go back to flying transports."
"Gotcha."
The Mills sisters continued their verbal assaults,
escalating into linguistic territories Katherine and Samantha had
rarely explored.
"Excuse me," Katherine said pleasantly.
No effect. In fact, the argument seemed to escalate.
"Excuse me!" She tried yelling.
Still no effect.
She was about to try again when Samantha held up a hand,
signaling her to wait a moment. Putting two fingers in her
mouth, the younger Fox sister emitted a whistle that could cut
through any noise.
It seemed to work - too well. The Mills sisters stopped
their arguing and stared, one of the sleeping mechanics fell off
the box he was dozing on, and the Maintenance Officer noisily
fell off his chair up front.
"Thank you," Katherine said with a gracious nod her sister's
way. "If you two think you can control yourselves long enough,
I'd like to discuss the transfer."
Grudgingly, Daisy pushed herself to her feet and stood next
to Samantha, towering over the younger Fox sister. Katherine
blinked at the woman. Daisy was easily six to eight inches
taller and a lot more sturdily built. She also noticed how the
woman's coveralls appeared to be in a losing battle trying to
restrain and contain her impressive dimensions. She swallowed,
blinked again and attempted to guess the woman's bust size. On a
scale from 'Missing In Action' to her own 'Not Bad At All', she
rated Daisy somewhere around 'Oh My God!'.
Daisy glanced between the Fox sisters before abandoning her
grubby rag in favor of an arm, wiping her nose from forearm to
knuckles. Samantha groaned in dismay. This woman was *not* an
academy grad.
Virginia stepped onto an access platform high above their
heads and quietly climbed down to the hangar floor, ending next
to Katherine but still eyeing her older sister. The two sisters
couldn't be more different. Where Daisy was as big as any man on
the base, Virginia was petite, almost tiny in comparison. She
was also strikingly beautiful. Flawless skin a few shades
lighter than most Lakota and otherwise perfectly formed features,
she stood barely five feet tall in her boots and looked like
something seen previously on the cover of fashion magazines -
back when they used to produce such extravagances.
"The offer stands," Katherine said politely before turning
to the younger Mills sister. "To both of you."
"What about the fact she can't fly a Veritech?" Daisy asked,
returning her little sister's glare for mentioning the
discrepancy.
Katherine had to admit, that bothered her somewhat. "Have
you ever flown any kind of fixed-wing aircraft?"
Virginia fidgeted before answering in a soft voice: "No, not
really."
"Tell her all of it," Daisy prompted with a frown.
That almost started another argument. If it wasn't for
Katherine raising one finger in a warning gesture, Virginia might
have done just that.
"Well, I had a little trouble in flight school. That's why
I fly choppers," the younger Mills sheepishly admitted to the
floor while she toyed with the zipper on her spotless flight
suit. "I don't know why it happens but I sometimes have trouble
when an aircraft goes fast. It's like the plane is flying me. I
don't feel like I'm in control as much as I do in a chopper."
Katherine and Samantha exchanged looks. "Well, maybe we'd
better discuss this," Katherine said.
"Yeah, like over lunch. It's almost time," Samantha
enthusiastically added.
"Both of us?" Daisy asked casting more of an older sister
expression Virginia's way.
"Sure, why not?" Katherine added a welcoming smile to her
confirmation.
"Why don't you two go get cleaned up and we'll take you over
to the BX for lunch." Samantha provided her own smile. "Beats
eating at the barracks."
"That's for sure," Virginia said with a sigh. "All they
serve there is fat food." She held out a hand to indicate her
older sister. "Exhibit A."
"Why you little..." Daisy growled, lunging at her sister who
escaped by ducking behind Katherine.
Samantha threw her body in front of the charging Daisy only
to feel herself being absorbed by the woman's massive front end.
Moments before suffocation, she came into contact with a rock-solid
chest. Putting her shoulder into the effort, her dress
shoes sliding across the hangar floor, she eventually brought up
short the still snarling Daisy - but just barely.
"Perhaps you better go get cleaned up by yourself,"
Katherine said loudly like a scolding mother. Reaching behind
she snagged the younger Mills sister by the collar and pulled her
around to look directly into the shorter woman's eyes. "Miss
Virginia and I are going to have a little talk."
"Very well," Daisy said giving up her assault and standing
with Samantha's hand still embedded in her chest. She frowned at
the violation before slapping Samantha's hand away and wiping her
nose again. "I won't be long."
"Take as much time as you like," Samantha offered before
turning with a disgusted look at the residue from Daisy's
coveralls that now coated her hands. "Eeeewwww."
Daisy glared at her younger sister then started for the
locker room. It was clear she didn't consider the issue closed.
Once the older sister was out of earshot, Katherine released
Virginia, crossed her arms and regarded her sternly. "If you two
can't control yourselves, maybe it would be for the best if you
stayed with your helicopter duties."
A hurt look flickered across Virginia's face. "I'm sorry,"
she answered, adjusting her collar and glancing between the
Foxes. "It's just that everyone looks down on chopper pilots.
You know, like we're not as good as they are. Daisy sometimes
treats me that way." She pouted at the floor for a moment before
shrugging her slender shoulders. "Look, I don't want to cause
any trouble for you guys. I'll just stay here, shuttling crap
from one shitty place to another."
As the younger Mills sister grumbled on about being left
behind, Katherine's expression melted into complete disbelief.
Here was a devastatingly beautiful woman, one who could easily
grace more posters than the illustrious Lynn Minmei, talking like
an infantry grunt. The more Virginia talked, the worse her
language got. While Katherine was no stranger to coarse words,
listening to such a beauty talk that way certainly destroyed any
illusions she might have had about physical attractiveness. She
was so caught up in analyzing the possible causes to the woman's
horrendous speech patterns that she almost missed her next
question.
"If I work real hard and promise to stay out of trouble,
would you at least try to teach me how to fly a Veritech?"
Shaken out of her introspection by a well-placed nudge from
her sister, Katherine smiled and nodded. "If you have good
enough hand-eye coordination to fly a helicopter, I'm certain you
can be trained in a Veritech."
"How you gonna do that?" Samantha asked with raised
eyebrows.
"The same way I did you - only quicker."
"Great," Samantha grumbled with a disbelieving blink. "We
don't even have any Veritechs yet and already you're thinking of
ways to crash them."
Katherine pretended she didn't hear her sister. "Why don't
we all go have some nice lunch and get to know one another?"
It was Virginia's turn to extend an incredulous look
Katherine's way. "You're related to Pollyanna, aren't you?"
"No, I don't think so." Katherine struck a thoughtful pose.
"There's a Pollyanna Walking Dog over in Kyle. She's related to
my step-uncle. Or was it my third cousin?"
*****
Back at Thirteen Squadron Headquarters, Colonel Lawrence was
just finishing up his morning paperwork. A yawn escaped as he
leaned back in his chair, arms high over his head, and stretched.
He needed to get up and walk around. Maybe even get another cup
of coffee. That was another surprising talent of Lieutenant
Wallace - she made a killer cup of coffee.
He found the coffee pot on the file cabinets out in the main
office and poured some into his cup. He looked up in time to see
Ona and Cindy heading for the front door.
His quizzical expression didn't require Cindy's usual
skills. "Going to lunch, sir," she chirped.
Jeff checked the clock. Sure enough, it was almost noon.
"So I see," he said putting the pot back. "Who's going to answer
the phones?"
"Sir, nobody's called since we moved in."
She was right, of course. Since he'd first arrived, he
couldn't recall the phone ever ringing. He knew the thing worked
because he used it himself for outgoing calls. "Well, okay.
Just don't be too long. I'm expecting a call about the Veritechs
any time now."
With a promise that they'd hurry back, the two were gone.
Jeff sighed and looked around the empty office. Everything was
ready for a squadron to move in. All the computer equipment was
hooked up, all the phones worked, the place looked neat and
orderly, even the proper pictures were on the wall. All it
lacked was people. He still only had Ona, Cindy, and the Fox
sisters. Not much of a squadron.
"Might as well lock up and go to lunch myself," he muttered.
There really wasn't much reason to stay. Besides, being in an
empty building gave him the creeps.
He'd just closed his office door in preparation to leave
when he was startled by the appearance of another person in the
room. Standing in front of Cindy's desk was a short, athletic-
looking young lady.
"I'm sorry. Can I help you?" he asked. She looked like
something just removed from a clothes dryer. Her flight suit was
rumpled, her eyes were sunken as if from lack of sleep and her
shoulder-length dark hair seemed to have a will of its own. Her
name tag read: 'Robins' and she wore the wings of a Veritech
pilot. Where her squadron patch should have been, was a blank
velcro fastener. Either she'd just come in from a combat mission
or she'd been very careless.
"I'm Lieutenant Missy Robins, sir," the woman said with a
hint of a salute. Her body swayed slightly like she was having
trouble with her balance.
Jeff blinked and added a concerned frown. "Are you okay?"
"Reporting for duty...., sir..." The woman wavered, her
eyes rolling up in her head, before she silently pitched forward
into Jeff's arms.
He frantically looked around for somewhere besides the floor
to put the unconscious woman. It was either Cindy's desk or the
sofa in his office. He eyed the organized chaos that was his
Admin Officer's desk before deciding on the sofa. Scooping the
limp figure into his harms, he struggled to get her through the
door to his office. All the time, his mind was racing with
questions. Reporting for duty? What did she mean by 'reporting
for duty'? And where did she come from, anyway? More
importantly, why did she pass out?
Getting her on his sofa proved to be the easy part. Now all
he had to do was figure out what to do with her.
The hospital. Yeah, that's it. He'd call the hospital and
have them send an ambulance. Perfect.
He dialed the phone. It answered on the second ring.
"Yellowstone Base Hospital," came a female's voice at the
other end.
"Yes, I'd like --"
"If this is an emergency, press 1. For medical records,
press 2. For the pharmacy, press 3..."
He aborted the rest of the list by pressing '1'. He
couldn't believe it, he was getting a damned recording.
"If this is a critical emergency, press 1. If this is an
urgent but not life threatening emergency, press 2. For all
other emergencies, press 3."
He eyed the unconscious woman on his sofa. She seemed to be
breathing okay and her deeply tanned skin gave no indication of
being flushed. As there were no open wounds visible, he guessed
her condition to be a three.
"All of our doctors are currently busy. Please leave your
name and phone number. One of our on-call, doctors or nurse
diagnosticians will get back to you as soon as possible. Have a
nice day."
In disbelief, he hung up the phone. He wasn't going to
leave his name in hopes that some overworked RN or disinterested
doctor would eventually call. Besides, how would he explain what
happened? Yes, doctor, she just wandered in and passed out in my
arms. No, this rarely happens out here. They're usually awake
when they throw themselves at me.
Jeff sighed. Even his sense of humor seemed out of place.
While he was contemplating what to do next, his problem
solved itself. The woman stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
When they focused on his face, she drew a sharp breath and tried
to sit up.
"Go slow, Lieutenant," he offered, extending a hand to help.
She waved it away.
"I'm sorry, sir," she said softly. "I haven't slept in two
days. I left the Miami Base on --"
"Miami Base?" he blurted out, interrupting her. Miami Base
was where the defecting squadron was based. "What's your
outfit?"
She swept her dark hair from in front of her face with a
shaky hand and admitted she was, until recently, a member of the
squadron in question.
"I heard you all decided to join the new government."
Jeff's accusing tone caused her to freeze before a dismayed
expression took control.
"Not everyone, sir." She licked her lips and blinked a
couple of times. "A few of us refused. We claimed no allegiance
to the regional government."
"You look like you haven't eaten in two days either," Jeff
observed. When she nodded, he pulled out one of the survival
ration bars he kept in a desk drawer for emergencies and tossed
it her way.
She caught the bag with one hand and tore it open, biting
off a large chunk. "It all happened so quickly. I don't know
how many died. The XO resisted, I know that much. My roommate
got in a running gun battle when they tried to disarm her." She
sadly shook her head. "I don't know what happened after that.
She was Zentraedi so I suspect they didn't give her much of a
chance."
Jeff raised his hand to halt her story. "You ought to be
telling this to RDF Intelligence."
To his surprise, her reaction was immediate and fearful.
"No, sir! If I tell them what really happened..." Her hands
waved in resignation before her body sagged deeper into the
cushions of the sofa. "What's the use. Nobody's gonna believe
me anyway."
"Maybe. Why don't you tell me what happened?" Jeff asked,
pushing a few things aside on his desk so he could sit down.
"From the beginning."
The tale she told between bites of ration was one of
disenchantment, political maneuvering, and outright arrogance.
For several years, the base had become a hotbed of political
rivalries as more RDF personnel with links to the region that
were assigned to the base. Those not from the region became
outsiders, more often viewed with suspicion than as fellow
members of the same squadron. The base commander kept a lid on
all this dissention as best he could, probably to keep his
superiors at RDF Yellowstone from finding out, but with such an
explosive mixture, all that was needed was a spark. The
unexpected arrival of General Lewellen from ASC Headquarters
became that spark.
Arriving like a visiting head of state, the pompous officer
began demanding things, like the complete plans for the base. He
claimed the ASC would be taking over soon and that there was no
place in the new world order for the RDF. Of course, the ASC
would entertain requests from the pilots for non-flying positions
but the rest would be dismissed as soon as possible.
That was bad enough but when he demanded the RDF Security
Forces clear out a local town to provide a wider free-fire zone
for his Hover Tanks, the *real* grumbling began. Some of the RDF
families were living in that town. It exploded into a full scale
mutiny when the base commander refused. When no one stepped
forward to replace him, the General ordered the arrest of all the
senior officers for insubordination.
Missy trembled as she detailed the horrific twenty minutes
when ASC and RDF alike died in a murderous exchange of gunfire.
"I refused to fight either side and hid under a vehicle. After
it was all over, I was arrested by the mutineers as a traitor and
locked in the Day Room."
"How'd you escape?" Jeff asked as he handed her a bottle of
spring water.
Missy blushed and nervously fingered the bottle. "The
person who was guarding me was someone who'd in the past
expressed an interest in my... company."
"He found you physically attractive," Jeff clarified. When
she nodded, he knew what was coming.
"The mutineers convened a kangaroo court the next morning
for those of us who refused to go along. It took them all day,
arguing and threatening each other before they came up with a
verdict. Unless you had ties to the area, you were considered a
threat to security. As an outsider and loyal RDF officer, I was
sentenced to death."
Jeff's jaw dropped. They were going to shoot her in cold
blood? He'd seen a lot of things in his time, many that could be
counted as atrocities, but the idea of taking another human being
out and killing them with no more concern than snuffing a
cockroach stoked a dislike in him that bordered on hatred. He
never cared for such feelings, thinking them impediments to his
usual sense of control, but visions he had of loyal RDF personnel
being murdered by their former comrades gave him reason for his
hatred.
"They were going to... do it the following morning. I had
to think of something quick or..." She sniffed and shuddered
before continuing. "That night, I... told the guard I didn't
want to die a virgin."
As her voice faded away in embarrassment over what she was
admitting, Jeff turned to look out the window. He'd always
advocated that should life deal you a losing hand, you just upset
the card table and take the initiative back - by whatever means
necessary. The world since the Zintraedi War had taught him that
when left to their own devices, most humans were little better
than the animals they shared this scarred world with. The fact
this officer had used sex to gain her freedom only meant she was
more resourceful than most.
He turned back to the now silent Lieutenant. "Did he let
you go?"
Wrong question. Her eyes squeezed shut. He could see her
teeth clenched and her hands ball into fists. "I... I let
him..." She appeared to be on the verge of crying, sweat crowned
her forehead. "In the middle I..." She swallowed hard. "I used
his knife..." she said with a hard exhale.
Jeff stopped her with a hand on her trembling shoulder. He
already knew all he needed. She responded by hugging herself,
her arms squeezing her small breasts in a protective embrace. It
had to have been the hardest thing she'd ever done. Lull a man
into thinking she was submitting to sex and then killing him in
the middle of the act itself.
"How'd you get here?" Jeff hoped memories of her flight
would somehow mitigate the horrific sights and sounds of what she
did to escape custody.
She took a ragged breath. "My Veritech was in the
maintenance hangar. I knew there were only two others in there
with it. There was only one guard out front." She looked Jeff
directly in the eyes. He could see her determination. "I snuck
in through an unguarded door in back, powered up my bird and shot
my way out of there. I don't think my wheels touched the ground
outside the hangar."
"Pretty fancy flying."
"Desperation, sir, is a great motivator."
Touche, he thought. Nothing like a whole airfield full of
hostile guns to make you fly close to the edge. "So then you
came here," he prompted.
"Not directly. I was going to head for our emergency base
in Cuba but decided that being the most obvious escape route, it
was the one they would most likely check first."
"Why didn't you go for the fleet off shore?"
"I knew they'd be submerged and figured they wouldn't
surface for a suspicious lone Veritech anyway. Besides, I didn't
know how to contact them."
"So you made a bee-line for Yellowstone."
"No, I went south just enough to give anyone tracking me the
impression I was heading for Cuba. Then I killed my IFF and
anything that emitted a signal, dropped flat on the deck and
headed out over the Gulf of Mexico."
Jeff leaned back stroking his chin. Smart cookie. Turning
off her electronics so pursuing fighters, Veritech or not,
couldn't electronically interrogate her bird and get a fix on her
position. Hugging the waves would make her hard to detect for
anyone but a Cat's-Eye.
"I made it to Mexico just before dawn and hid in the rubble
of an old church there. I didn't dare sleep, the Mexican
territories are crawling with high-tech bandits and people eager
to betray an RDF pilot for some Unification credits."
That made sense. Hiding in a place few would think to look
until she could resume under the cover of darkness proved she had
cunning as well as courage.
"Anyway, by dusk, I was starving and barely able to stay
awake. By the time I took off, I'd made up my mind where to go."
"Where?"
"Home, sir."
"Home?"
"I'm Lakota, sir. My home is Pine Ridge."
Jeff nodded. That also made sense. In moments of
desperation, he'd known others who considered the safety of home
the only option.
"Somewhere over the Arkansas Protectorate, I was jumped by a
flight of Pod Fighters."
"Jumped? How did they get a jump on you?"
"Sir, I had all my electronics off. Anything that could
have given an enemy a fix was deactivated. That meant I couldn't
see anyone as well. No radar."
"Of course," Jeff admitted sheepishly. He rubbed the back
of his head and grimaced at his oversight.
"From there, it was a four hundred mile running battle with
Fighter Pods, old Falcon jets, and even a pair of, I think,
Migs."
"What were Migs doing over Arkansas?"
Missy shrugged. "That's not my department, sir, but they
sure looked like EBSIS Migs. At least, what look I did get. I
was pretty busy ducking, if you know what I mean."
Jeff did. He'd been there many times himself. However, the
news that the latest version of the venerable mainstay of the
EBSIS and its precursors was operating in the Arkansas
Protectorate was a sobering thought. One he better check out
before the squadron is posted to its Ozark base. If what Missy
said was true, odds were good they were going to encounter them.
"I took a few hits, couldn't transform, and lost an engine."
Missy's voice switched to sad, like she was describing the loss
of a close friend. "I had to punch out fifty miles short of
home."
"Lost her, eh?"
"Very expensive lawn dart, sir."
Jeff almost chuckled at the age-old reference to the end
result of an ejection. He knew how hard it was to abandon a
craft that had saved your life. He'd done it himself. Luckily
he never saw any of his actually crash. That probably would have
been too much.
"Anyway, I hitched a ride part of the way and hoofed the
rest." Missy seemed to relax at the end of her story.
"That still doesn't explain how you got here?"
"When I showed up at home, not everyone was glad to see me.
Especially the elders. To them, I'd run in battle. Not
something that endears you to my people."
"Yeah, I know," Jeff said, moving around to sit in his
office chair.
"Oh, your wife," she said apologetically. "I forgot you're
married to one of us."
Jeff chuckled and leaned back in his chair. He'd spent the
last eight years being thoroughly indoctrinated in the Sioux
culture. First and foremost, they were a warrior people. Next
to the Apache the hardest people to bend to the white man's
'civilization'. The old ways die hard. In many cases, kept
alive by the sheer will of the older members of the tribe. His
wife's family was strong in the ways of the Lakota and spared no
effort to make certain he understood. He knew how Missy's
actions would be perceived.
"So they marked you a coward," he said, leveling a serious
look Missy's way.
She blushed and shuffled her boots on the floor. "My family
wouldn't even let me sleep under their roof because of what I
did." She sighed and shook her head. "My brother was kind
enough to drive me to Aunt Margie's mission just outside the base
here. Before I went in, I overheard her talking to someone about
your need for pilots."
Jeff eyed the Lieutenant. There was something she wasn't
telling him.
She must have sensed his distrust. "The only way I can
redeem myself in the eyes of my people... my family is to go back
into battle and prove I'm no coward. You're going somewhere
dangerous. That's where I want to be, somewhere I can regain my
dignity." She hesitated, her eyes dropping to the floor. "And
maybe I can even forget..."
Jeff grunted and closed his eyes. Here was another decision
he had to make. He needed pilots; combat experienced pilots.
She certainly fit the bill. However, she came with a truck-load
of baggage. The biggest of which was how the RDF was going to
react to her showing up like this. He couldn't just turn her
over to the authorities. She'd disappear into the RDF
bureaucracy, probably never to fly again. On the other hand, if
there was some way he could get her assigned to his squadron, he
could protect her, somewhat, and maybe give her the chance to
redeem herself to both the RDF and her family. This was going to
take some thought.
"You do know we'll have to deal with RDF Command at some
point," he said as a warning. He knew how suspicious the RDF was
to those they considered disloyal. Her 'escape' could be
interpreted as a rouse to get someone deep in the RDF, to report
back preparations, deployments, and intentions of the new world
government.
"I understand, sir," she said softly. "But if you were to
accept me in the squadron, it might..." Her hands swept outward
in a pleading gesture.
Jeff sighed. He needed time to think about this one. "Do
you have anyplace to stay? I can't chance putting you up at
Grant Barracks. Someone's bound to check your name."
"Aunt Margie usually has a couple of spare cots at the
mission." She shrugged. "If not, I'll sleep on the floor."
"Are you certain she'll take you?"
"Aunt Margie is a Christian missionary. Her job is to
provide comfort for those in trouble. She'll take me in, if only
for a couple of days."
"I'll see what I can do. You get your butt off base before
someone notices you. I'll contact you at the mission tomorrow,"
he said standing up.
"Yes, sir," Missy replied, standing and snapping a tired
salute. "And thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me yet, young lady. You're not out of the
woods by any stretch of the imagination."
He watched Lieutenant Robins leave. Either she was the
bravest person he'd ever met or the best story-teller. The
problem was, he had less than twenty-four hours to figure out
which.
*****
The Base Exchange at Yellowstone RDF was even better than
most pre-war facilities. Nestled in the rolling hills on the
west side of the base, it featured everything from a clothing
facility to a post office. Naturally, it was the focal point of
the base community.
Katherine discovered the little sandwich and coffee shop at
the BX soon after her assignment to the base. Run by a couple of
ex-RDF mechanics, it turned out a respectable lunch menu. During
good weather, its cluster of outdoor tables were a magnet to off-
duty personnel.
The Fox sisters had no trouble with Daisy and Virginia once
they were out of the squadron area. It was like the moment the
women were on neutral ground, they no longer felt the urge to
fight. In fact, they seemed to grow closer in an act of
defensiveness to the outside world. Katherine had seen this
countless times among the various tribesmen who joined the RDF.
Often they were ridiculed for their standoffishness. In reality,
it was just a defensive measure for their own protection.
Commandeering an empty table, the four quickly bought their
lunch and settled in to enjoy the late spring sunshine in an
almost picnic atmosphere.
Talk drifted from rumors about RDF deployments to where
mutual acquaintances from back home were assigned to eventually
the new squadron. Katherine enjoyed just being 'one of the
girls', despite her new role as the Executive Officer. The time
was coming when she'd have to make hard decisions about these
people she was having lunch with. She looked from face to face
and wondered if she'd have any better luck ordering them to kill
than she would if it were her doing the killing.
"Ginnie!," came an excited voice from the entrance.
Virginia stiffened before sagging into her seat.
"Who's that?" Samantha asked, leaning forward so as to not
be heard outside their group.
"My roommate," Virginia said apologetically. "The nerd."
Their excited visiter bounded up to the table like an
excited puppy. Snagging an empty chair from a nearby table, she
plopped down between Virginia and Katherine.
"Hey, you gonna eat that?" she asked, pointing to Virginia's
pickle spear.
Before Virginia could answer, the bubbly young lady snatched
it from her plate and took a loud, sloppy bite.
"Mmmmmm, I love a good, natural pickle," she cooed with a
full mouth. "You can't find them anymore except here."
Virginia introduced everyone and was about to introduce her
roommate when the girl snatched Katherine's glass and took a long
drink. Setting the glass back down with an authoritative
'thump', she wiped her right hand on her uniform skirt and
extended it Katherine's way. "Gloria Graywolf," she said
proudly. "All my friends call me GeeGee. Get it?"
Katherine interrupted Gloria's attempt at explaining how she
came by her innovative nickname. "I think we all 'get it'," she
said, shaking the eager young woman's hand. She critically eyed
GeeGee as the girl snagged half of Virginia's sandwich.
Gloria was young, very young, possibly no more than sixteen
or seventeen. She had about as much military bearing as a
cheerleader in high school. Short and a little plump, her duty
uniform gave no hint as to her occupation at the base. There
certainly were no wings on her chest. Her short, dark hair had
been artificially frosted to give her a distinctive two-tone
look.
"So,... GeeGee, what is it you do?" Katherine asked
politely, like an indulgent mother meeting the adolescent friend
of her own daughter.
"Oh, I work down in the computer center. I'm a networking
coordinator. I link all the squadrons to headquarters," she
crowed. She got an excitedly mischievous look on her face as she
glanced between Katherine and Samantha. "Say, what squadron are
you from?"
Katherine smiled another motherly smile. "We're with
13-Foxtrot Squadron. We were just discussing its future before you
arrived."
Gloria absently snatched half of Virginia's sandwich and
took a big bite. "Thirteen-Foxtrot, eh? You have my
condolences," she said, spitting bits of sandwich as she talked.
"Why?"
"First of all, whoever hooked up your computers is an idiot.
I'm surprised they work at all." Having dispensed with the
sandwich, she ran each of her finger tips through her lips to
clean them. "You have no idea what I had to do to make them even
talk properly to our stuff. I mean, the encryption code you're
using has to be ten years old."
Katherine nodded politely. "Well, thank you for all your
work. Of course, the Colonel hooked up our computers before any
of us even arrived."
"Ah, that explains it." Gloria absently reached for Daisy's
plate only to quickly snatch back her hand when the bigger woman
growled. Wrong plate. "That wouldn't be Colonel J.E.B. Stuart -
Loony 'Light-Horse' Stuart - would it?"
The Fox sisters exchanged looks. "Why do you call him
that?" Samantha demanded.
"My best friend is General Emerson's secretary and she told
me all about him," Gloria said a bit smugly. "Especially your
Colonel's visit last week. He practically tore the general's
office apart. Security guys had to go in and break it up. All
because he had to take Thirteen Squadron." Gloria leaned
forward, looking left and right, like she was letting them in on
a secret. "I know what's really going on."
Katherine mimicked the younger girl's actions and asked:
"What's going on?"
"He's retiring in a month."
The Fox sisters sat back in their seats, stunned. "What did
you say?" Samantha demanded.
"All he's supposed to do is recruit a squadron. Someone
else is taking over before the end of the month." She hungrily
examined Katherine's plate. "You gonna eat that?" she asked
pointing to the other half of Katherine's sandwich.
Katherine and Samantha stared at each other as Katherine
slid her plate towards Gloria. This can't be right. The Colonel
never said anything about retiring. In fact, he made it sound
like he personally was going to lead them at their new base.
They signed on because of him and his reputation.
A darker thought occurred to her. It was based on a woman's
age-old dislike at being seduced and abandoned. She felt she'd
been lied to. It was a feeling of being violated, abandoned
after he'd gotten what he wanted from her. In this case, her
name on a transfer. She began to do a slow burn.
Samantha was only slightly less angry but she could still
see the warning signs in her sister. "I'd think this over," she
warned. "Don't go do something stupid now. It's not his fault
we weren't told. Remember, Aunt Kay was the one who told us
about the squadron."
"She didn't tell us everything," Katherine answered,
standing up. "She probably didn't know everything."
As her sister started walking away, Samantha stood and
called out: "Where are you going?"
Katherine spun around and glared at her sister. "To get
some straight answers from him. If that weasel thinks..." She
stopped when she noticed everyone had interrupted their meal to
stare at her making a spectacle of herself. She must have
sounded like a jilted lover.
With a forced smile in hopes of disarming the situation, she
turned and fled the cafe.
Samantha dropped back into her seat and shook her head. "I
had no idea."
"Well, don't feel so bad," Gloria said stuffing the last of
Katherine's sandwich into her mouth. "I mean, after what he's
been through, you really can't blame him."
"Why?" Samantha said in a low snarl.
Gloria's eyes went wide. "You don't know?"
Samantha sighed. "Apparently, there's lots of things I
don't know about this squadron."
Gloria scooted closer and leaned over the table, her eyes
shifting between her three remaining lunch companions. "Did you
know Colonel Stuart had a twin sister?"
"No," Samantha replied with a frown. "So what?"
"Then you don't know the story." Gloria squirmed like
keeping this to herself was a torture. "Ten years ago, your CO
was an instructor at the RDF Academy. They put him there because
he shot down all those Zentraedi during the war or something.
Anyway, his twin sister, Jennifer, was a flight leader for a
Veritech squadron down south. I think it was somewhere along the
Arkansas Protectorate. Anyway, he decided to pay her a surprise
visit for their birthday. When he arrived, she was already gone,
taking her flight to check on one of the locals who'd reported
suspicious activity nearby." Gloria paused to see if she had the
attention of her audience. They were hanging on every word.
"Yeah, so?" Daisy asked with a distrustful look.
"So, there was an ambush by rebel Zentraedi. Jennifer
Stuart and her entire flight got wiped out." Gloria dropped back
in her chair, taking Virginia's cold drink with her as a reward
for such a good story. "They say, he was the first to fly there.
He even beat the Rapid Response Team from the base. I also heard
she died in his arms. He hasn't been the same since."
Samantha looked to Daisy and Virginia. Daisy looked like
someone ready for revenge. Virginia kept glancing at her rapidly
disappearing drink. "So that's why he's reluctant to take women
in his squadron," she said.
"There's another reason he's not taking the squadron,"
Gloria added before stifling a tiny belch. "It's headed for the
same base where she died."
*****
Jeff tilted back in his office chair, his feet resting on
the window sill. With the visit of Lt. Robins, he gave up going
to lunch. There was simply too much to think about.
To begin with, he was racking up an impressive score of
women pilots. While such numbers should have made him happy, the
fact they were female gnawed at him. Only the fact they were
Lakota women gave him any comfort. He knew how capable they were
from his wife.
With a sigh, he ran a hand through his still full dark hair.
He reminded himself his job was to put a squadron together.
Nothing more. It shouldn't matter who, or what, they are. Just
so long as they're qualified Veritech pilots. That thought left
him feeling uneasy. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was
doing something wrong.
The slamming of the front door shook him back to the here
and now. The girls must be coming back from lunch. He sighed
again and figured he'd better look busy. Swiveling around in his
chair, he picked up a pen and studied the papers on his desk.
There was a knock at his door - actually, more like someone
pounding.
"In," he barked.
The door swung open and Captain Katherine Fox just stood
there, glaring.
"Is there something I can do for you, Captain?" he asked
after a cursory glance her way. She certainly didn't look happy.
"Request permission to speak freely, sir," she growled.
Jeff dropped his pen and eyed his XO. "Within reason."
"At what point were you going to tell us the truth, sir."
Jeff rocked back in his chair. "I don't know what you're
talking about."
"Come off it, sir. You know exactly what I'm talking about.
Just how long did you intend to keep it a secret?"
"I'm assuming you mean my thirty day assignment here," he
said with narrowed eyes. He didn't like this sort of
interrogation - especially in his own office.
"Yes, your... 'assignment'."
"That is none of your concern," he snapped, picking up his
pen and going back to his paperwork. "I'm just following orders.
Everyone in the RDF follows orders, even Colonels. Whomever RDF
Command assigns to command this squadron will find twenty-four
qualified Veritech pilots willing to follow orders. Now, if
that's all, Captain. You're dismissed."
"No, sir. That's *not* all." She took a step closer to the
desk. One step was bad enough. Two would certainly be trouble.
Three could be grounds for severe discipline.
He tried to look unconcerned but knew full well how
passionate Lakota women could get about things. Katherine,
despite her years of RDF training and conditioning, was still
Lakota and might just be reckless enough to take that third step.
He had to play this carefully. "Very well, what else is on your
mind, Captain?"
"Why didn't you tell us you were only here to recruit.
We... I thought you were commanding the squadron." Her voice,
while still harsh, had lost some of its edge, like she was more
hurt than angry. "I agreed to a transfer because I'd heard of
your reputation. You care about those you command. You find
ways of doing the job with the minimum of casualties, especially
your own. I believed you would give me a chance to see action
and still get home alive."
"Every squadron commander does that," Jeff said in protest
with a wave of his hand.
"No, sir. That's not true," came a voice from behind
Katherine. It was Ona. She and Cindy had returned from lunch
just in time to catch their squadron XO's verbal barrage. "I've
seen how some commanders throw away the lives of their pilots on
futile and unwise actions." She stepped up to stand next to
Katherine. Folding her arms, her feet slightly apart, she looked
every bit the warrior Amazon her people were known to be. Behind
her, he could see several more, mostly new faces, gathering in
the main room. Jeff didn't like the odds. All it would take is
one or two more in his office and he'd feel trapped. He wondered
if this was the way Custer went.
"Sir, I joined ready to follow you anywhere. I think I can
speak for everyone --"
Katherine's voice was interrupted by the phone ringing.
Jeff glanced between the women in his office and the phone,
debating which offered the least irritation, before picking up
the phone.
"Thirteen Squadron, Colonel Stuart," he said while still
eyeing the women. He momentarily slid a hand over the
mouthpiece. "Can I have some privacy, please."
He meant for them to leave and close the door. Instead, Ona
kicked the door shut with her heel and continued to glare his
way.
"Jeffrey? This is Rolf Emerson." Jeff grimaced. On top of
everything else, he *didn't* need Rolf calling to see how things
were going.
"Yes, sir?" Jeff swiveled his chair around to give himself
at least a little privacy.
"I hear you're doing a bang-up job over there."
Jeff glanced over his shoulder at the still angry pilots in
his office. "I'm glad you think so, sir."
"The reason I called is I have good news for you."
"I could use some right now."
"I've found a commander to replace you."
Jeff sat speechless for a few moments. Here was the break
he'd prayed for and it's timing couldn't have been better. "Not
that it matters but who did you get?"
"I think you know him. Lieutenant Colonel Steven Summers."
"'Screwball' Summers?" Jeff gasped. "You can't be serious."
"Why not? He's rested and ready to go."
"Rolf, he's rested because he had a nervous breakdown six
months ago. They had to haul him to the 'nut house' kicking and
screaming."
"True, but the doctors assure me he's feeling much better
now. And don't call it a 'nut house'. That's insensitive to the
loonies they've got locked inside."
Jeff shook his head. "I must respectfully disagree, sir.
He's not a leader. He sits in an office and orders people
about."
Rolf's voice became condescending. "Jeff, that's what
squadron commanders do these days."
"Not where *I* come from. Squadron commanders are supposed
to stay in touch with their people. He's supposed to endure what
they endure, eat what they eat, stay awake as long as they do.
How else can he tell when they've had enough? How else can he
understand what they're going through? He can't do that from
behind a desk."
"Very impressive, Jeffrey. You ought to put that in your
book," Rolf said coolly. "What's the problem? I thought you
wanted out? I've just provided you with the chance for
retirement. A month from now, you'll be happily camped along the
Little Big Horn or whatever, with your lovely squaw at your side
waiting for the buffalo to roam."
Jeff gripped the phone in one hand and ran another through
his graying hair. There was no way he could retire on Lakota
lands after abandoning his squadron right before they were to go
into battle. If he was lucky, his wife might still talk to him.
It was a sure bet no one else would.
"I really wish you're reconsider," he said softly.
"I can't do that. Squadron commanders don't grow on trees,
you know."
"Isn't there anyone else?"
"Nope. No one is scheduled to rotate, there's no one ready
for promotion, and there's no one awaiting assignment. Summers
is it." There was a pregnant pause before Rolf added: "Unless
you can think of someone else."
"There's got to be someone else," Jeff gasped.
"Oh, you can do better than that."
Realization slapped him like a cold towel. "You son-of-a--"
"Colonel, be careful," Rolf warned. "I'm still RDF C-in-C
and you're still under my command."
"You set me up," he growled. This must have been Rolf's
plan all along. Or maybe the General just figured getting him
involved with a squadron and letting nature take its course.
Either way, he felt screwed.
"Now you know me better than that," Rolf said pleasantly.
"I still remember the time you conned me into holding a
position for twenty-four hours and let me think I was just
holding on until you could organize a relief when all you were
really doing was putting together a major offensive," he said,
the pain of those hours coming back.
"Okay, maybe I did take advantage of your sense of duty but
you gotta admit, the Battle of Butte Ridge was a major victory
for Unification Forces." Rolf sounded smug - too smug.
"For which you became a hero," Jeff snapped bitterly.
"Hey, you received your share of honors. I believe you won
the Diamond Star that day." Rolf's voice began to take on an
edge, like he was irritated at the way Jeff still viewed the
battle where Khyron's lieutenants were soundly defeated.
"I paid for that lousy bit of tin foil with the lives of
half my squadron." Jeff was practically vibrating with rage. He
could still name every man who fell at Butte Ridge, still see
their faces and hear their voices. How dare Rolf bring that up.
"So, you gonna take this squadron or do I send Summers
over?"
"Damn right, I will!" he growled. Slamming down the phone,
he shot a withering look Katherine's. "What?"
The attractive XO wasn't fazed by her commander's sudden
redirection of his anger. She smiled sweetly, her arms still
crossed. "Welcome back, sir."
"Get outta here," he snapped and turned around to face the
window again.
"What about Butte Ridge?" He heard Ona ask Katherine.
"Come on," Katherine answered while turning Ona towards the
door. "I'll tell you all about it."
He heard the door open and close. The excited voices
outside as the two rejoined their companions gnawed at him.
"Yeah, tell them about Butte Ridge," he mumbled at the
window. "Tell them how I could have pulled out a hundred times
and saved lives. Tell them about the odds and how we were
written off. Don't forget to tell them how we had to steal
ammunition from the dead to keep fighting or how we had to use
destroyed Veritechs with their dead or wounded pilots still
inside to hide behind. Tell them about the young ones who looked
up to me, hoping I'd see they got home alive. Tell them about
having to face their mothers, their wives, their children and
explain how their loved ones died so Rolf Emerson could become a
hero. Go on. Tell them everything. See how that fits with my
'reputation'. Maybe you'll go back to your safe jobs and live
long enough to tell your grandchildren your own stories."
Jeff closed his eyes and bit down hard on his lower lip
until he tasted blood.
Not this time, he thought. Never again.
-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
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G.L. Sandborn
Keeper of Uncle Fester
Guardian of 12 Foxes
Ersatz Cardinal Richelieu
Home on the range at: sandborn@microlink.net
sandborn@burnsmcd.com
All my stories can be found at:
http://www.microlink.net/~sandborn/
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