Okay, I think I've figured out what's wrong. File size problem.
I'll try again in two parts.
I changed some of the background details in this episode to
better conform to the chronology that I'll post later. Seems
that Col Stuart has been in the service for 23 years instead of
20. Oh, and Leonard is not yet Supreme Commander. He's
just the Commander of the ASC. I'll retrofit the earlier chapters
to reflect this.
- Greg
(BTW, Merry Christmas)
Email: sandborn@kc.rr.com
Or sandborn@microlink.net
Web: www.microlink.net/~sandborn
-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
-- File: C6a.txt
Fox Squadron
Episode 6 - Regulations
by G.L. Sandborn
Colonel Stuart was surprised to see lights on in his
headquarters office when he arrived at 0700. Pulling into his
marked parking place, he squinted at the windows of the building
in hopes of detecting just who was in his headquarters.
He waited several seconds, until certain there was no
movement inside, before cautiously exiting his rover and
approaching the steps. Every fibre of his body was alert and
prepared for an ambush. This was wrong. No one was supposed to
be in the building.
Creeping up the steps, he detected the faint sound of music
playing inside. Music? Could someone have left a radio playing
all night?
His hand gripped the door knob. a gentle test confirmed it
was unlocked and turned freely. With a frown, he pushed open the
door, expecting an attack at any moment. The music got louder as
the door silently swung wide but there was still no sign of
activity.
Cautiously, he stepped inside, his eyes taking in every
detail in the room. The hissing sound of water running in the
bathroom was odd. Perhaps someone was taking a shower.
With a sigh, he shook his head. That was silly. Why would
anyone break into his headquarters to use a shower?
To his surprise, the door to the office along the back wall
closest to him swung open and Ona Parino stepped out wearing a
towel that barely covered her body, her long legs drawing most of
his attention.
"Morning, sir," she said as if walking through the building
wearing only a towel that barely covered her body was a normal,
everyday occurrence.
Jeff just nodded and stared as she padded on bare feet
across the short distance from the office to the bath. Opening
the door, she passed a still wet Cindy Wallace on her way to
their makeshift dressing room.
"Left the water running at just the right temperature," she
chirped. Ona nodded and went inside the bath, closing the door
behind her. Cindy noticed the Colonel and smiled. "A water main
broke last night and the barracks was without water this morning.
We thought we'd just come in early and see if the water was on
here. Looks like we were lucky. Good thing we're so far out
from the rest of the base, huh?"
Jeff smiled incredulously and nodded, noting that she was
dripping on his formerly spotless floor. He also noticed that
her bath towel covered a lot more of her anatomy than did Ona's.
"We'll clean up the mess just as soon as we finish," she
said with a smile.
Jeff nodded again with a slightly bewildered expression.
"Where did you get a key?"
"Oh, that," Cindy answered with a giggle. "Gloria's
roommate is General Emerson's secretary. She got one for us. We
figured that since we're usually here before you, there's no
reason for us to stand in the parking lot." She added a frown
before noting: "It's not safe for two women to be standing alone
in the darkness."
Jeff resisted making a face. He couldn't imagine in a more
secure environment than the company of Ona Parino. Ona was most
certainly capable of handling whatever trouble they might come
across, or might come across them.
He dismissed the whole issue with a smile and turned towards
his own office. He was never going to get used to this.
He'd just begun going over his schedule for the day in his
head when Cindy called in an off-hand manner: "Your first
appointment is 0800."
He nodded and continued walking.
"It's with Lt Cook-Lynn, sir."
That caused him to stop and look her way. "Who --?"
"You remember, Maj Vera's girlfriend."
"Oh, yes, of course."
He started to ask her another question but she interrupted
again: "The morning reports are on your desk, sir."
"Very good."
"The light's out in Captain Fox's office."
"Take care of it."
"Logistics will be by tomorrow morning for the empty crates
in our hangar."
"Good, good."
"Your signature stamp won't be here until next week."
"Meaning?"
"You'll have to continue signing everything by hand."
"Damn."
At that point, Jeff gave up. He figured she would always be
just one step ahead of him, no matter what he was going to ask.
With a sigh, he turned for his office.
The sound of someone slamming open the front door caused him
to pause, looking over his shoulder.
"You!" an attractive, dark-haired young lady dressed in a
rumpled version of a cowgirl outfit growled at him. "Are you in
charge of this band of pirates?"
"Who the hell are you?" he asked, stunned at the sudden
verbal assault.
"I'm looking for Colonel Stuart." The new girl planted her
fists on her hips and glared his direction.
Jeff glanced at Cindy. The poor girl just stood where she
was, gripping the towel with both hands and dripping on the
floor; looking like a deer caught in a car's headlights.
"I'm Colonel Stuart," he said with a frown. "And you are?"
"Pissed!"
"Obviously. Might I ask why?"
She glanced at Cindy. "Not in front of the kid."
"Hey!" Cindy protested, shaken out of her trance by the
insult. "I'm the Admin Officer."
With a snort, the newcomer looked Cindy up and down. "Nice
uniform."
"I was taking a shower."
The cowgirl wrinkled her nose and frowned at Jeff. "Isn't
it a little early in the day for naked chicks?"
Jeff felt the urge to toss this interloper out the front
door and try to forget this happened but his sense of command
dignity precluded such physical responses - but just barely.
"The water is off at Grant Barracks."
"I wouldn't know," the woman snarled. "I slept in the back
seat of a car."
"And you obviously woke up crabby." He gestured towards his
office. "Why don't we finish this discussion in my little garage
over here."
With another glance at Cindy, the newcomer stomped past Jeff
and into his office. Cindy scowled at the woman with all the
dignity a person wearing a towel in the middle of an office could
muster. Jeff took a deep breath and turned to follow. It was
entirely too early for this crap.
He caught up with the fuming young lady as she stood glaring
at his desk. He quietly closed the door and worked his way
around to his chair. "I hope you don't mind me sitting down."
"Do what you want. It's your office."
Jeff collapsed into his squeaky office chair and leaned
back. "Now then, just who do you think you are coming into my
headquarters like that?"
"I'm Captain Liz Littlebear and your Executive Officer
Shanghaied me!" the woman growled.
"Really? Captain Fox is getting creative."
"She conned me into signing transfer papers for this
squadron." Liz leaned over the desk with blazing eyes.
"And just how did she manage that?"
"By waiting until I was drunk and..." Littlebear's voice
trailed off, like she'd just remembered more of last night's
events. Much of her fire dissolved in a flash.
Jeff, however, wasn't going to let her off so easily.
"And?"
Liz blinked a couple of times before frowning at the desk.
"I remember a fight in The Big MAC, then I was running. There
were sirens. a car pulled up and the back door opened." Liz
shook her head, like she was trying to dislodge the rest of her
story but it didn't appear to help. "After that..."
"After that, you signed transfer papers for 13 Squadron,"
Jeff finished for her.
"I remember... I remember signing something." Liz blinked
some more and wore a quizzical expression over her continuing
indignation. "I thought it was for the room."
"What room? You said you slept in the back seat of a car."
"Yeah... I know... But..." Liz tried three times to fit
all the pieces together. She struck out.
"So now you want to back out," Jeff said with a sly grin.
"Yeah... yeah, that's right." Liz focused on the Colonel
and tried to rekindle her anger. It wasn't working. She knew
Jeff now had the upper hand.
"Who do you belong to?"
Liz's mouth opened to answer and just as quickly closed
again. Her eye twitched nervously. "I'm... I'm on medical
leave."
Jeff stood up and leaned over his desk so that their noses
were almost touching. She smelled of stale alcohol and he could
clearly see the dark circles under her eyes from lack of proper
sleep. "From where? The rodeo?"
Liz retreated only enough to straighten up, continuing to
glare at Colonel Stuart. That was all he needed to see.
"Why is it I get the feeling you're not telling me
everything?"
"I'm not in trouble, if that's what your suggesting," she
said in protest. "I really am on medical leave. You can ask my
CO."
"I intend to," Jeff said with a smile as he picked up the
phone. "Right after I call security."
He had just begun dialing when her hand slammed down on the
phone, disconnecting the line.
Jeff said nothing, his eyes narrowed into suspicious slits.
She was anxious to avoid being caught. That gave him all the
leverage he needed.
Liz's face twitched again, her hand slowly recovering from
the phone. "I'm... just... a little overdue."
"Well, well, well, now we're getting somewhere. Just how
overdue are you?" he asked, hanging up the phone.
Liz sighed and stepped to the window looking out at the
tarmac. "I don't know. a couple of weeks, maybe a month."
Sitting down, he eyed his guest. She didn't look all that
in need of a medical leave. There was more going on here than
she was telling. "I suppose now you're going to tell me a real
heart-breaker."
Hugging herself and frowning at the scene outside, she
continued to wear a look of defiance. Such an expression looked
out of place on her. She was a pretty girl, about five and a
half feet tall, shapely with almost black hair that hung limply
down her back. Her beautiful face was marred by a couple of
scars, the largest extending down her right cheek, ending almost
at her jaw line. Her dark complexion and almond-shaped eyes gave
her a suspiciously familiar look.
"Of course, you don't have to tell me everything if you
don't want. Hell, you don't have to tell me anything." Jeff
slumped back into his chair. "Besides, I get the feeling you
don't like us very much."
Her head shook, her lips stretched into a thin line. "It's
not that..."
"Then what?"
Liz sighed, tension draining from her body as she closed her
eyes and made a painful face. "Look, you don't want me. I'm
trouble."
Jeff snorted. "Half the people in this squadron can claim
that honor. What makes you so special?"
Clasping her hands behind her back, Liz looked out the
window again. "You ever hear of the Nord Seven Incident?"
Nord Seven? That name rang a bell but the details were, at
best, sketchy. "All I remember about it is someone screwed up
and a lot of RDF people died."
With a look of resignation, Liz said: "I'm the one who
screwed up. At least, that's what Colonel Martinez says."
"'Bugs' Martinez?"
"Friend of yours?"
"Hardly. I was glad to see him transfer to the ASC. He
departed last month."
"They're welcome to him," she snarled. "The asshole."
"Accurate but disrespectful. I gather your story of the
incident is different from his."
"Yeah," she said softly to the window sill. "Not that
you'll believe it."
"Try me."
"I was a flight leader in Snow Leopard Squadron. One
morning, my flight was assigned to patrol the waters off the
Danish coast. Our orders were to stay within the ten mile limit
and report anything suspicious to RDF Nord command. Two other
flights were patrolling sectors on either side of mine.
Crazy - Sgt Turner, my wingman - picked up a small surface
contact just outside the zone. We thought it was just a fishing
boat or something that had wandered off course. Anyway, I left
the other section for cover and took my wingman to investigate.
At first, we didn't see anything. Crazy spotted a large
periscope about the time we overflew the contact point." She
paused, her body sagging slightly. "By the time we'd turned
around, it surfaced."
"A submersible?" Jeff ventured.
"One of the biggest submersible attack carriers I'd ever
seen. It just popped to the surface like a cork."
"RDF?"
She sadly shook her head.
He'd heard the Reds were working on such things, ever since
the stupid diplomatic overture of 2008 that gave them CVS
Iapetus. They were supposed to be years away from building one
of their own. It was thought they didn't have the capability of
producing hulls strong enough.
"I tried to warn Crazy to follow me out but the first volley
of missiles..." She paused again, her head tilting forward until
it came to rest against the glass window. Her voice dropped to
barely a whisper. "He just blew up."
Jeff closed his eyes imagining what it must have been like.
He'd lost wingmen himself, many he had come to like very much.
It was always like losing a piece of himself.
"I remembered something you said back at the academy about
altitude being life and stood my bird on its tail, going to full
power. I thought that if I could just get enough altitude, I
could outrun the missiles."
Jeff nodded at the reference to one of his tactical dictums;
always hold the high ground. The nod was more instinctive than
reactive. He couldn't recall a Littlebear in any of his classes.
"I popped flares, squeezed the ECM and prayed. Somehow I
evaded the missiles and set off for home. I called Colonel
Martinez, asking for cover but all he would say was: 'stand by'."
Liz glared at Jeff like she was looking at her previous
commander. "I kept calling him for help but he just repeated the
same thing over and over. Stand by. Stand by. Finally, he
stopped responding. As I approached the Danish coast, instead of
the Colonel and a flight of Veritechs, I found the sky full of
MiG-33s."
The mere mention of the Red's latest STOL carrier-based
fighter had Jeff's complete attention. He'd heard of their
fantastic maneuverability and awesome firepower. While he
continued to believe that in the right hands a Veritech was still
master of the skies, it was clear the newcomers were quite
capable, especially in numbers, of being a most dangerous foe.
Liz's story rammed home that fact most graphically.
"The rest of my flight heard my calls and tried to
intervene." She shook her head and made a futile gesture. "The
Reds swarmed all over them. I heard each one of them go down."
"And Martinez still refused to help?" Jeff couldn't believe
a responsible commander would hang a whole flight out to die like
that.
"Donnie and Eric - leaders of Alpha and Charlie Flights -
disobeyed orders and came to help. I don't know what happened to
them. My Veritech was so shot up it could barely fly. I was
able to nurse it closer to the coast but the MiG's just kept
shooting. I must have blacked out because when I came to, I was
surrounded by water, the only light coming from one off-line
display screen."
Jeff nodded. The pilot compartment is the toughest part of
a Veritech. If the canopy held, there was no reason the pilot
couldn't survive a water ditching.
Liz shuddered and hugged herself. "I stayed there for five
days until a salvage ship came to retrieve what was left of my
bird and recover my body."
"They must have been surprised to find you alive," Jeff
noted, looking out the window again.
"I spent about two weeks in the hospital before being
transferred to Yellowstone. I wasn't allowed to return. They
said I needed intensive psychological help." She snorted
disdainfully. "It was just their way of keeping me quiet and
discrediting my side of the story."
"So you crawled inside a bottle and hid," Jeff said, his
eyes glued to Liz, anticipating her reaction.
Instead of vehement denial, she drew a deep breath and
slowly exhaled. "Yup."
For several agonizing moments the room was quiet; broken
only by the muffled sounds of normal office traffic coming from
the other room. Jeff slowly rocked back and forth in his chair,
his hands clasped on top of his head as he tried to piece
together Littlebear's tale. He looked for inconsistencies or
contradictions. There were none he could see. Just a dedicated
flight leader hung out to twist in the wind by her despicable CO.
"Look, I know I can't hold you to whatever you've signed
last night. I'll... talk with Lt Wallace and make sure she stops
it before it goes too far." Jeff turned around in his chair and
regarded Liz with a serious look. "I won't turn you in. You're
free to go if you want. I'll only say that we need you and
you're more than welcome to stay."
He heard her sniff quietly. "Thank you, sir."
He turned back around to face the window and watched her
reflection drift towards the door. There, she paused.
"Sir?"
"Yes, Captain."
"Are you really the Colonel Stuart from Butte Ridge?"
There it was again. Butte Ridge. Would he ever live that
down? "Yup."
"I heard you stayed with your people, refusing to abandon
even the dead."
Jeff drew a deep, ragged breath. "I don't abandon those who
follow me. I don't leave my dead behind."
"Colonel Martinez... " She paused like the words kept
getting stuck. "Colonel Martinez abandoned me and my flight. We
were outnumbered. We... we didn't have a chance."
There weren't many colonels left in the RDF and he knew them
all. Some stuck out in his mind for reasons he'd rather forget.
"Colonel Martinez is no longer an issue in the RDF," Jeff said in
a voice that sounded like a low growl. He turned around to look
directly at Captain Littlebear. "I need pilots, Captain. I need
experienced pilots to lead the others."
"Like Captain Fox?"
"She's the Executive Officer."
"And the others?"
"Young, inexperienced, and... female." The last word stuck
in his throat like a dagger. He still was having trouble
accepting the fact that the RDF was down to their last option;
women pilots.
"Are they all as young as that kid out there?" Liz asked,
her head slowly tilting towards the door.
"That kid out there is my Admin Officer and a damn good one.
Yes, they're young and inexperienced. But they're also eager,
perhaps too eager. I need another strong hand to guide them."
"You've got Montoya and Mills. They're good."
"How do you know them?"
"We grew up together."
Jeff couldn't help a little smile. "You're Lakota too,
aren't you?"
Liz frowned at the floor. "Yes, sir. I hope that won't
count against me."
"Why? Outside of myself, Wallace and Parino, the whole
squadron appears to be Lakota, probably from the same tribe."
Liz nodded and peeked up through long bangs at Jeff. "It
would be different being among my own kind for a change."
"I'm sure you'd feel more comfortable."
Liz took a deep breath and sighed heavily. "I just don't
know if I can do it anymore. After what happened..."
"I'll never abandon you, Captain," was all he said. The way
he said it caused her to gaze hopefully into his eyes.
She sniffed again and grimaced at her obvious show of
feminine weakness before her eyes dropped to the floor. "I know
that."
"You want to think about this?"
She paused for only a moment. Slowly her head began to
shake. "No, I can't let them win."
Jeff just nodded. He knew what that meant. If she gave in
and allowed them to pigeonhole her as a 'head case', she'd be
through in the RDF. She deserved another chance.
Before he could call out to Lt Wallace, the door opened and
the young Admin Officer, now dressed in her duty uniform,
scurried into the room carrying a clipboard and a folder.
"Here are the transfer papers and Captain Littlebear's
service record," she said handing them to Jeff.
She turned just enough to frown a challenge at the new
recruit. a flicker of a smile crossed the Captain's face.
"I like that uniform better," she said. "Of course, the
other had a certain charm."
For a brief moment, Cindy's reaction was delayed as she
considered the Captain's change of personality. a broad grin
slowly grew. "Thank you, sir," she said.
Liz nodded without responding. Her head turned enough for
her to look out the window. She frowned as if she heard
something or could detect something amiss.
At first, Cindy didn't understand why the Captain changed
back to aloof indifference. Fingering the clipboard, she leaned
over slightly, attempting to catch a better look of the Captain's
face.
Jeff could see something odd was going on but figured it was
just a case of the already unsociable Liz doing what she should
be expected to do. "Cindy, would you --"
"I've already contacted RDF Personnel and made arrangements.
We've got her a room over at Grant Barracks and Logistics is
arranging for a new uniform," Cindy said, interrupting Jeff again
and handing him the clipboard with curious glances towards Liz.
"Fine, fine," Jeff said as he checked the form. Signing in
the indicated space, he handed the clipboard back.
"I'll finish the roster and have it on your desk in ten
minutes. Lt Cook-Lynn is here. She arrived just after Captain
Fox so I've got them talking about the transfer. I'm still
looking into the delay of our ground transport and the Armory is
being difficult about our small arms weapons request. Sgt
Montoya is handling that."
"Very sensible," Jeff agreed.
"Oh, and Captain Lynn is giving the Rehab Detachment hell
over the delay in delivery of our Veritechs. They said something
about a small change in plans but Gail.. I mean, Captain Lynn
says it's just a minor detail."
"Stay on it," Jeff said nodding.
"Yes, sir." Cindy gathered her things and departed,
frowning at Liz as she went.
Liz closed the door and gave Jeff a curious look. "She's
pretty organized."
"I couldn't run the place without her," Jeff agreed.
"Well, I guess I better go see about that room," Liz opened
the door.
"Captain?" Jeff said, picking up a pen and opening the
folder containing the morning reports. "The next time I see you,
I better be looking at an RDF officer in the correct uniform."
Liz flashed the barest hint of a smile. "Yes, sir."
As the door closed behind her, Jeff shook his head. "This
is the strangest damn squadron I've ever had."
Before he could get back to his paperwork, the door opened
again.
"Sir? Lt Cook-Lynn is ready," Cindy said in an official
manner.
Dropping the pen on his desk, Jeff took a deep breath. If
this was an indication of how his day was going to go, he'd get
nothing done. "Fine. Send her in."
Jeff had met a lot of fighter pilots in his time. Some he
came to admire and others he loathed. There were good pilots and
those who no one could ever figure out how they got past flight
school in the first place. However, they all shared one thing;
they looked and acted like pilots. Even the female pilots he
already had fit the mold. So much so that he had almost come to
accept them. What stepped through the door when Cindy got out of
the way shook his fledgling confidence.
Shy, mousy, looking like a lost little girl, Lt Mary Cook-Lynn
edged her way inside the office. Jeff leaned over in his
seat and stared with a frown. Wearing an appropriate RDF
uniform, right down to the gleaming Veritech pilot wings on her
chest, Lt Cook-Lynn appeared more afraid of facing him than rebel
Zentraedi.
She stopped the prescribed distance from his desk and
saluted.
Jeff blinked a couple of times, waiting for her to say
something - anything, before returning the salute. He had made
concessions to staff this squadron but this pilot taxed even
those standards.
She was clearly an older girl, possibly in her early
twenties, and her physical stature seemed correct for a pilot but
the look on her face raised questions as to the nature of her
transfer.
"Sit down, Lieutenant," he said, reaching for her service
record. Casting a couple of troubled glances her way, he skimmed
her RDF history.
As one of the last graduates of both the RDF Academy and the
Veritech Flight School, she was the embodiment of the desperation
the service had come to. Her record was undistinguished with
only acceptable ratings all the way back to flight school. There
was a brief list of operational mission hours and no mention of
combat training or even flights in a combat zone. In fact,
despite her five years of service, she appeared to have about as
much real Veritech flying experience as he'd expect a raw
recruit.
He cleared his throat, causing her to flinch noticeably.
"Major Vera says you're a Veritech pilot," he said with, what he
hoped was a friendly smile.
The girl just nodded, her eyes constantly in motion, taking
in every detail of the room.
"Well, we certainly need pilots." He tugged at his collar.
Why did it feel so warm in the room? "However, we are especially
in need of combat experienced pilots. Do you have any
operational hours in a Veritech?"
Mary shifted nervously in her seat and nodded.
"More than a hundred?"
Mary shook her head.
"More than ten?"
She shook her head again.
"You *do* speak English, right?"
Mary's chin dropped as she nodded one more time.
"Fine, suppose we have a discussion. You know, where I ask
a question and you answer."
Mary nodded between glances from under thick bangs and long
stares at the floor.
He sighed openly and turned his chair around to look out the
window. "So what's your story? How'd you wind up here at
Yellowstone?" He figured that if he wasn't looking at her, she
might just open up. It seemed to work.
"I was assigned to Vermillion Squadron in Australia a few
months ago," she began in the tiniest voice possible. "They
wouldn't let me fly."
Jeff rocked back in his chair. He could certainly
understand that. After all, just how long would anyone want to
fly with a person who rarely talked. "Did you get *any* time in
the cockpit?"
"Well, they let me go on one patrol down near Tasmania. But
after we landed back at base, the flight leader asked I be
removed from his flight."
"Why?" Jeff asked, turning his head to look directly at
Mary. She never looked up.
Instead, she shrugged her slender shoulders and pouted some
more. "I don't think he liked me."
Jeff toyed with the pen on his desk. Why did he get an
uncomfortable feeling talking to her? "I'm going to take a stab
at something here. Were you the only woman in the squadron?"
Mary nodded.
It all added up. An all male squadron, posted to the
wilderness of Australia, receiving a quiet, mousy pilot they
never asked for. He could see why they wouldn't want to work
with her.
He fought a pang of guilt over his previous thoughts
concerning women pilots. a few weeks ago, under the same
conditions, he might have done exactly the same thing as
Vermillion Squadron's CO.
"They're here!" came an excited voice from the other room.
Before Jeff could react, the door flew open.
"The Veritechs are here!" Cindy yelled in a most unmilitary
way. For an instant she hovered in the open doorway, looking
like a kid on Christmas morning, before disappearing in a flurry
of pounding footsteps.
Her enthusiasm was understandable. Without Veritechs, the
squadron was an organization in name alone. It lacked the means
to perform its function.
Jeff shared this enthusiasm. Slamming a fist on his desk,
he bolted for the door.
Lt Cook-Lynn remained behind, alone and looking like an
abandoned puppy.
Jeff stuck his head back inside the room. "You can come
too, ya know," he said before disappearing again.
Mary sighed before standing, smoothing her uniform skirt and
silently following the mad squadron scramble for the tarmac.
Outside, the entire squadron watched in excited little knots
as a small convoy of aircraft tugs pulled a line of six Veritechs
towards the squadron's flight line. Excited voices exchanged
hushed conversations as the convoy drew nearer. Those
conversations died off completely when they got a better look at
what was being delivered.
Stunned silence greeted the tugs as they pulled each fighter
into its parking place. The last hobbled in on a flat nose wheel
tire.
The silence was broken only by Capt Lynn. "They're junk!"
she gasped.
Jeff had to agree. Worn, corroded, with faded paint and
scratched canopies, they represented vehicles more likely to be
scrapped than put back in service as front-line fighters.
He felt rather than saw Gail at his side. Her anger
practically caused the air to crackle. He knew what his wife was
like when angry. He wondered if it ran in the family.
Spotting the convoy commander Gail launched her assault.
"LIEUTENANT!" she yelled at the bored-looking officer dressed in
worn work overalls.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered with only the illusion of a
salute.
"What the hell is this?" she demanded, her arm sweeping
towards the rolling junkyard parked in front of her.
Obviously not intimidated by Gail's verbal assault, the
young officer pulled a small sheaf of papers from the cargo
pocket on his right leg and began shuffling through them.
"Six Veritechs, five VF-1A models and..." He paused to
squint at the fighter closest to them. "And one VF-1S. Sign
here."
Gail stared at the papers, her control slipping with every
heartbeat. "Honey, I'm not signing for these... these... rejects
from a junkyard."
The lieutenant just shrugged and looked past her. "Okay,
where's your CO?"
"He's not signing for them either." Gail gave every
indication of her intent to beat six new fighters out of the
unshakeable lieutenant.
"Well, they're yours anyway," the Lieutenant said, tearing
off the top sheet from the others and stuffing it in the breast
pocket of Gail's uniform jacket. With a tired turn towards his
crew, he yelled: "Hurry up and unhook 'em."
Throughout all this, Jeff stood and stared at the VF-1S.
Its faded paint left little mystery of its heritage. The skull
and cross bones still leered out from its faded black tails. a
personal insignia of a little skunk grinned from its position on
the nose; a fitting comment on what it was attached to. This was
a leftover from Skull Squadron; possibly from the Malcontent
Uprising in South America. In any case, it was obviously not
ready to fly in its current condition.
Without a word, he turned and started back for his office.
Passing Capt Fox, he paused only long enough to issue a single
order. "Assemble the squadron in the hangar in ten minutes," he
growled.
"What?" Katherine said, startled at the menace in his voice.
"Ten minutes," he repeated while walking away. "Everyone."
He could feel their eyes on him as he made the long walk to
the headquarters building. It didn't matter. Once again, he'd
been lied to. Instead of the promised, flyable-condition
fighters, he got six rolling pieces of junk that would have been
an embarrassment if they weren't so disappointing.
Inside, he paused. Taking in every detail of the empty main
room, he felt himself give in to his depression. This wasn't
right. He'd always gotten the best material support when he took
over a squadron. Sure, he'd often had to do with less than he
felt the job required but he never got the feeling that he was
fighting both the enemy *and* the RDF. Something had changed.
Something he couldn't identify.
His footsteps echoed eerily in the room as he marched to his
office. There was only one place he could get answers.
Snatching the phone off its base, he stabbed a series of buttons.
Leaning on his desk, he listened as the phone rang at the other
end.
"General Emerson's office," came a tired female voice.
"This is Colonel Stuart," he said in as controlled voice
possible. "Let me talk to Rolf."
"I'm sorry, sir. General Emerson has been called to a
meeting up in Monument City."
Jeff stared at the phone. "Gone? Why?"
"Not sure, sir. But the rumor is that the General Council
of the United World Government is going to appoint General
Leonard as supreme commander."
"Leonard, a Field Marshal?" Jeff gasped. "You can't be
serious."
"That's what we heard," the secretary said in resignation.
"What about Rolf? What about the RDF?"
"Don't know, sir. Most of the staff here thinks we'll be
absorbed into the ASC."
"Those the ASC will take," Jeff corrected. He knew what
this meant. Leonard was making his move, consolidating his
power. He must have the necessary council votes to have the ASC
declared the sole military arm of the new government. That would
only escalate the animosity of the various city-states in this
sector. None felt comfortable with the overly-aggressive
newcomers who used a heavy hand when dealing with dissent. It
might even spur the EBSIS and Chinese to unite. This was not
good.
Thanking the secretary, he hung up. Twenty-three years he
served, keeping the peace and fighting invaders for the benefit
of all. Now, a military organization with a megalomaniac in
command was going to replace him and the benevolent RDF. He
should have retired when he had the chance.
"Can you believe those morons?" Gail yelled as she stomped
into his office. "They promised to deliver six *flyable*
Veritechs by noon." Gail stomped over to the window and waved
her hand at wrecks parked outside. "I wouldn't put my worst
enemy in one of *those*."
Jeff sighed. "I'm certain there's a good reason for what
they delivered."
"Good reason, my ass. Somebody's gonna pay for this," she
vowed.
"It's probably just a mix-up of some sort."
Gail frowned at her brother-in-law, studying his face.
"What's going on, Jeffrey?" she asked suspiciously. "It's not
like you to give up so easily."
For a few uneasy moments they stared at each other. Jeff
knew the answer. Something wasn't adding up. Why would he be
asked to raise a squadron and then be denied the means to do so?
"Gail, I don't think those Veritechs were meant to be used.
Somebody is sending us a message."
"You think we've been sabotaged?" she gasped, her eyes
reflecting the betrayal she felt.
Jeff shrugged. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled hard.
"Directly? No. I don't believe in conspiracies."
"Then what?"
"I don't know," he said, hanging his head and running a hand
through his hair. "I've got less than three weeks to pull
together a squadron. I don't have enough pilots, I've got no
material support, and now I don't even have operational
Veritechs."
Gail's eyes narrowed. "I hope you're not going to take this
lying down."
"What can I do?" he protested. "We can't do the job if we
don't have the people or the tools. Someone doesn't want us
around."
"What about General Emerson? Surely *he* knows what's going
on."
Jeff shook his head. "He got called to Monument City.
Rumor is they're going to promote Leonard to Supreme Commander."
"That toad?" Gail snarled. "His solution to everything is
to kill them all and let God sort it out. He makes Khyron look
reasonable."
"I know," Jeff said with a sigh. "I've been afraid of this
for some time. Leonard, whatever we may think of him, is a good
politician. Looks like he pulled off the coup he wanted."
Gail shook her head and began pacing. She always paced when
trying to work out a problem. "Well, we *need* those Veritechs."
"Yes and I've been working on that."
She stopped and shot Jeff a challenging look. "What do you
have in mind?"
Jeff picked up a couple of folders off his desk. "You're
coming with me," he said walking towards the door. "Right after
we have a talk with the girls."
"The girls?" Gail chided as she followed.
"Okay, the rest of the squadron," Jeff corrected.
"That's better."
They made their way back out to the hangar. All the way,
Gail kept mumbling about timetables, parts, and ground crew.
Jeff knew they were behind schedule for just about everything;
especially the training of new pilots. But he also knew that the
key to getting back on schedule was getting flyable Veritechs.
As they entered the hangar, Katherine called the squadron to
attention. To her credit, she was able to get them into some
semblance of a formation.
"At ease," Jeff said in his best command voice. "I'm sure
you are all as disappointed as I am with the material support
this squadron has received thus far. I have to admit that I've
never encountered this much resistance in forming or leading a
squadron in the RDF. I'm not sure exactly why this is happening
but I want to assure you that this latest setback is *not* going
to stop this squadron from going operational *or* deploying on
schedule."
He paused to gauge their reaction. Despite the few who
looked angry, they appeared to be receptive to his declaration of
continued effort. In fact, they appeared down right prepared to
go the distance for the squadron. That was good, he thought.
Maybe this kind of adversity was just what they needed to come
together.
"Captain Lynn and I are going to pay the Rehab Detachment a
little visit. In the mean time, I expect you to get those...
those monstrosities in the hangar and out of sight. We'll figure
out what to do with them later."
"Sir?" Katherine said hesitantly. "How do we move them?"
"Use the powered hand movers," Jeff answered waving his hand
at the devices stored along the far wall. They were little more
than t-bars with small electric motors that drove an attached
aircraft tire. Once connected properly, the aircraft tire would
be in contact with the nose wheel of the Veritech and provide
just enough forward or backward motion to move the heavy fighter
at a slow walk. Steering was done by pushing the t-bar left or
right. It wasn't the easiest way to move an eighteen ton fighter
but it could be done.
"But sir, what about the one with the flat tire?"
"Improvise," Jeff growled, a little stronger than he meant.
Chastising himself for being so hard on 'girls', he took a deep
breath to regain his quiet composure. "The nose gear arrangement
on a Veritech has dual wheels. Remove the flat one and use the
hand mover on the other tire. If you go slow enough, you
shouldn't have any problem."
Katherine glanced at the others before nodding. "Yes, sir."
"Alright," he said, clapping his hands once. "Let's get at
it. Captain Fox is in charge. Get the fighters stowed and check
out the overhead hoist system. I've got a feeling we're going to
need it."
He didn't wait for a response. Turning on his heel, he left
the hangar with Gail in his wake. Behind him, he heard
Katherine's voice ringing above all the others, issuing
instructions and generally getting things organized. He smiled
to himself. She was growing into the Executive Officer position
quite well. Learning how to lead takes time. Some never get it
right. Katherine, however, appeared to take to the role with
ease.
They were halfway across base in Jeff's rover before Gail
rolled her head his way and asked: "Just what do you hope to
accomplish at the Rehab Detachment?"
"Steve Friedman is an old friend of mine. We taught at the
academy together. If anyone knows what's going on, it'll be
him."
Gail eyed Jeff critically. "Can you trust him?"
"Completely. Outside of being - present company excepted -
the best wrench and socket man in the business, he's also plugged
into the shadow-net."
"What's that?" Gail asked, brushing some loose hair from her
face.
"Well, you know what the grapevine is?" Gail nodded. "The
shadow-net is sort of the same thing only it involves more
'spooks'," Jeff said referencing the common name for Intelligence
personnel in the military.
"I get it. He gets his information from better sources."
"And vice-versa. They use him as much as he uses them."
Jeff chuckled. "I always said he would have made a fine Intel
Officer if he wasn't so good at fixing things."
Gail slumped deeper into the rover's bucket seat. "Hope
he's a straight-shooter."
"He always has been."
The Rehab Detachment was located on an even more remote part
of the base than 13 Squadron. If it wasn't for the faded signs
pointing the way, they might have missed it altogether.
Turning onto a well-used gravel road flanked by tall weeds,
they soon came upon what would in better times have been called a
junk yard. a pair of massive hangars and a series of smaller
workshops sat in front of the 'bone yard' of disabled, wrecked,
and abandoned mecha; some alien but most RDF issue.
They parked next to a six-wheeled wrecker and cautiously got
out. The place smelled of cleaning solvent and metal shavings
tinged with hints of paint and the distinctive odor of sun-baked
leather. Jeff immediately began looking for Lt Col Friedman.
He really wasn't all that hard to find. Outside a recently
painted light blue cinder block workshop, Steve Friedman was
supervising a couple of young mechanics as they disassembled and
cleaned a supercharger.
Steve's face lit up when he saw his old friend approaching.
"Ah, Jeffrey," he crowed with a wide smile. His white teeth
offsetting his dark complexion. "I was wondering when you'd be
paying me a visit."
"Then you'll understand when I punch you in the nose," Jeff
replied with a challenging look.
Steve held his hands up. "Whoa, big guy. You got me all
wrong."
"If those six rolling pieces of junk you had delivered are
your idea of a joke, I'll reconsider but only after you give me
the six I was promised." Jeff stepped a little closer and was
rewarded by Steve's backward retreat.
"You gotta let me explain," Steve said waving his hands back
and forth in front of him.
"Better make it fast. You're running out of room." Jeff
walked a little faster, like he was actually going to attack his
old friend. The two mechanics dropped the parts they were
working on and backed away.
"I had no choice, Jeff," Steve protested. He stopped his
retreat only when his back encountered the cinder block wall of
the workshop.
"Why? Why didn't you have any choice?"
"I had my orders."
That declaration caused Jeff to jerk to a halt. "Orders?
>From whom?"
Steve licked his lips and cast a nervous look at the
mechanics that were still backing away, their eyes wide. "Why
don't we finish this in my office?" He held a hand up,
indicating a door leading into the nearby hangar.
"After you," Jeff insisted.
The balding master of the Rehab Detachment nodded with a
nervous grin and adjusted his glasses before turning towards the
hangar. Gail slid up to Jeff but said nothing as they followed
Steve to his office.
Inside, Steve closed the door and indicated a pair of worn
chairs in front of his desk. His own chair, made out of a
Veritech ejection seat with a few castors attached, squeaked as
he settled his plump little body into it.
"Now, just let me explain what happened," he said pulling
himself and his chair closer to the desk. It squeaked in
protest.
"Make it good," Jeff warned, collapsing into one of the
office chairs. Gail wrinkled her nose at the condition of her
chair before settling uncomfortably onto its seat.
"I had six good as new Veritechs sitting outside yesterday
afternoon. This morning at 0700 we received an urgent request
for six Veritechs from the base in Australia."
"My Veritechs," Jeff noted with an evil expression.
Steve nodded. "Yes, and the request had the highest
priority meaning they were to be delivered immediately."
"How lucky you just happened to have six ready to go," Gail
noted with a sour look.
"Right you are, young lady." Steve hesitated when he caught
Gail's warning expression. "Anyway, by 0800 six pilots showed up
to transport them to their assigned squadrons."
"Okay, you had to fill an emergency request," Jeff said with
a shrug. "Where's mine?"
Steve took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Opening a
drawer on his desk, he glanced nervously at the glass windows
that overlooked the workings of the hangar. "Oh, you know, how
things go," he said pulling a small box out of the drawer and
placing it on the desk. "Veritechs are very hard to come by."
He flipped a switch on the back of the box and watched as a
series of lights began to sequence back and forth along its top.
With a heavy sigh, he slumped back into his chair. "Good.
Now we can talk freely."
Gail eyed the box with its sequencing lights. "What is that
thing?"
"A scrambler. It detects the frequencies of a bug and
matches its exact frequency sequence, rendering the device
useless," Steve answered with a tired smile. "Five thousand
credits on the black market."
"You've been dealing on the black market?" Gail gasped.
"Sister, I get the parts I need however I can. And if I
have to 'bend' a few rules now and then, what difference does it
make?" he asked with a shrug of his meaty shoulders.
"Well, it looks like your spook friends have been taking
pretty good care of you," Jeff noted, his own eyes scanning the
room suspiciously. "I'm curious just why you need such a thing?"
"Jeff, right now Veritechs are very valuable. Everyone
wants them and those that leave this facility do so under the
utmost security."
"Like the ones for Australia?"
"Curious thing about that. After they took off, we tracked
them." Steve said leaning over the desk to look Jeff in the eyes.
"They flew north."
"Funny way to get to Australia."
"I'll say." Steve rocked back in his massive seat. "What's
even more interesting is the request didn't come through normal
channels."
"Then where did it come from?"
Steve chuckled. "I had Tommy trace all the network jumps
the request took back to its point of origin. It came from a
computer located in the Cultural Affairs Office of the new World
Government. Funny place for Veritech requisitions, don't you
think?"
"I'll say," Jeff replied.
"I doubt there ever was a real need for those fighters in
Australia."
"Then why the request?" Jeff asked. He already knew the
answer.
"To keep them away from you," Steve said with a yawn. "At
the risk of further inflating your already over-inflated ego,
you're something they fear."
"Me? Why would they fear me?"
"Simple. You're one of the 'old guard'. You know, one of
the guys who still has a sense of duty and honor. You're just
lousy with it." Steve grinned.
"Okay, I'm a nice guy. Big deal. Why should that scare the
big shots up at Monument City?"
Steve shook his head with a pitiful look at Jeff. Turning
to Gail, he asked: "Has he always been this naive?"
"No more than I am," she responded with a frown. "I believe
he asked a legitimate question."
Steve sighed. "I suppose he did. There's things happening
in the Arkansas Protectorate that shouldn't be happening. RDF
aircraft have been disappearing, Destroids along the border get
picked off, and a small number of unauthorized flights have been
tracked going in and out of the area. On the surface, it all
looks like accidents, small-time bandits, or penny-ante
smugglers. You know, the usual."
"Isn't it?" Jeff asked.
"Certain individuals in the Cultural Affairs department have
been living rather well as of late. There's a new drug on the
streets in Monument City and New Detroit. Civil authorities are
at a loss to explain where it's coming from and our people are
suspicious but can't prove a thing. You do the math."
"So, what's all this got to do with 13 Squadron?" Gail
asked.
"Your squadron is scheduled to take over a base in the one
place that could put a severe crimp in someone's drug running
plans."
"No Veritech squadron means no one watching the stuff come
over the border." Jeff turned to Steve. "Am I warm?"
"Couldn't have said it better myself," Steve replied with a
grin. "That base fills a gap in the RDF defense perimeter. They
will find smuggling drugs through York to the east or the Okie
territories to the west impossible unless they initiate some kind
of military action. The Yorkies will just shoot them down and
the Oakies will hijack them for the cargos. Not good for
business."
Jeff rocked back in his seat and rubbed his face. "And I
thought all we'd have to deal with was the militant Yorkies,
renegade Zentraedi, and the odd high-tech bandit."
"This still doesn't address our lack of Veritechs," Gail
noted. "We need those birds."
Steve took a deep breath and checked his little electronic
gizmo. Satisfied their conversation was still private, he looked
at Gail. "Well, I can get you four."
"Four like the six you sent over this morning? No thanks,"
Gail growled, adding a disgusted look.
"No," Steve said with a chuckle. "You ever hear of Lone
Rock?"
"Yeah, it's a deactivated emergency base up in the hills
somewhere," Jeff said thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "It's
supposed to be abandoned."
"Supposed to be but isn't," Steve said pulling a folder out
of his desk. "I've been piecing together Veritechs, mostly 'J'
models, using parts we claim were junked and some odds and ends
from the black market. I always knew they would come in handy.
They're yours if you want them."
Casting an unsure glance at Gail, Jeff cleared his throat
and asked: "Are they flyable?"
"Flyable? Jeff old buddy, they're better than new. Plus, I
dropped in a few modifications of my own. Nothing special, just
targeting computers intended for the new VF-4 that got shipped
here by mistake and my own version of the new Tactical Life
Support System." Steve locked his hands behind his bald head and
beamed. "The Stonewell Bellcom unit is okay but it only protects
a pilot up to 9G's. Mine will take you to twelve."
Jeff's low whistle caused the Rehab Detachment master to bob
his eyebrows. "That would make it possible to stop in mid-flight
and turn on a dime."
"And give you a nickel change," Steve added with a satisfied
look.
"Why are you doing this?" Gail asked suspiciously.
"Simple. I don't like what's happening to the RDF, I know
your Colonel will make good use of them, and..." He paused to
take a deep breath. "I've got a feeling we're not going to be
around much longer. I don't fly Veritechs and I certainly don't
want the ASC to get their hands on them."
"What about serial numbers? I have to account where I got
them from," Jeff asked.
"Why do you think I sent those wrecks over this morning?
Just take the numbers off of four of them and paint 'em on the
four from Lone Rock and leave the wrecks behind in your hangar
when you move. By the time the folks up in Monument City figure
it out, it'll be too late." Steve shifted around in his seat and
put his feet on the desk. He was obviously enjoying putting
something over on the new World Government masters.
"Well, that's four more than we started with," Gail said
hopefully. "Thanks."
"Sweetheart, I don't know how much longer I'm going to be in
charge of this here junk yard but if you ever need a part, just
give me a call and I'll send a truck your way." He winked at
Gail. "Of course, it won't be overnight or nothin' but I'll get
it there."
Jeff stood up and extended a hand. "Steve, I don't know how
to thank you."
As they shook hands, Steve grinned and turned off his little
scrambler. "Still feel like punching me in the nose?"
"Not even a slap on your shiny bald head," Jeff said with a
grin of his own.
When Gail extended her hand, Steve took it and gently raised
it to his lips. "Sure you wouldn't rather stay here with me,
dahlin? You'd certainly brighten up the place."
Gail blushed and cast him a wary look. "I'd better not.
There's too many I need to take care of as it is."
"Ah, pity," Steve sighed, working his way out from behind
the desk. "I'll bet you could field strip an inducer pump in ten
minutes flat."
"Seven," Gail corrected.
Steve looked impressed. "Hang on to this one," he said to
Jeff. "The best any of my monkeys can do is twenty."
"Got any of those 'monkeys' that want a transfer?" Jeff
asked as they walked to the door.
"Naw, they're too comfortable working for me," Steve
answered before his face lit up with a big smile. "Hey, are you
still looking for pilots?"
Jeff and Gail jerked to a halt. "You got any?" Jeff asked.
"Well, I've got one," Steve admitted. "Pretty good too.
She's been shuttling around Veritechs, Falcon fighters, and just
about anything with wings. She's only been doing it alone for a
couple of months but, wow, is she good."
"Sounds promising," Jeff said with a glance at Gail.
"Now, I know you probably don't want a girl pilot in your
squadron but this one's special. Just last week she was ferrying
a Veritech back from the Panama Canal Zone when one of the
variable geometry wings flat fell off in transition." He paused
at Jeff's stunned reaction. "Yeah, I know, she should have
punched out but this kid's tough. I don't know how she did it
but somehow she transitioned into Guardian and saved the fighter
using the foot thrusters alone. Once down, she skated the junker
home."
"Pretty gutsy thing to do," Jeff admitted.
"Yeah, that's her strength AND her weakness. She's young
and head-strong. Takes her flying real personal-like."
"I can handle that," Jeff answered with a look towards Gail.
"There's also one other little thing," Steve said, leaning
in closer and looking around like he didn't exactly want to be
overheard. "Now, you know I'm not into all this 'ethnicity'
business. Heck, who am I to judge. I've got a Jewish father and
an African mother. But I gotta warn you she's one of them native
girls from out east."
"East?" Gail asked.
"Yeah, about a hundred miles or so. They call themselves
'Lakota'." Steve winced at the mention like he was embarrassed
having to say it. "Nice kid but I just can't figure out those
people. Kinda spooky, if you ask me."
Jeff caught Gail's quiet smile. "I'm sure we can somehow
fit her in."
"That's great," Steve gushed like a relieved man. "She's
been bugging me for a transfer to an operational squadron since
Christmas. I would have honored her request except... well,
she's kinda young."
"How young?" Jeff asked with narrowed eyes.
"Despite what her papers say, she turns sixteen next week."
Jeff made a pained expression and softly said: "Ho boy."
"She's prepping a Falcon for delivery now if you want to
meet her."
"Why not?" Gail said, deciding for Jeff.
Jeff shrugged and let Steve lead the way. Why not? It
wasn't as if he'd agreed yet or anything.
They had just reached the tarmac bordering the facility when
Steve called out to one of the people clustered around the nose
gear of a Falcon fighter. The figure wagged her finger at one of
the others before, helmet in hand, she turned to acknowledge her
CO.
Steve was certainly correct when he called her young. She
looked like a pre-war junior high school student. Wearing a
flight suit two sizes too large for her slender body, she clomped
towards them in boots that made her feet look big. Her dark
hair, streaked dirty blonde, was restrained in a pony tail and
further bound by a soiled white headband. a set of headphones
connected to a new-looking CD player hugged her ears. As she
walked, her head bobbed in time to the music coming from a CD
player connected to her flightsuit webbing and her jaw worked an
oversized wad of gum. When she reached Jeff and the others, she
pulled off the headphones and looked at Gail like she was in the
presence of royalty. Faint strains of what back in the twentieth
century used to be called 'acid rock' came from her headphones.
"Anne, this is Colonel Stuart and Captain Lynn," Steve said.
"They represent a new squadron across the base who's looking for
pilots."
"Cool," the girl gushed around her gum. "You got
Veritechs?"
"Well," Gail began. "We're working on it."
"You fly combat?" she asked Jeff.
"I've been there."
"Way cool."
There was an uncomfortable silence as the three tried to
interpret Anne's last pronouncement. It seemed positive.
Gail hoping for further clarification, glanced between the
two bewildered-looking males and ended with a smile Anne's way.
"So... would you be interested in joining our squadron?"
"Colonel Friedman?" she asked with pleading, little girl
eyes.
Steve chuckled. "It's what you wanted, Anne."
She glanced back at the rebuilt fighter and the two young
men going over their checklist. "I guess so but what about the
bird?"
"Michael will take it. Anne, all you've talked about for
six months is transferring to an operational squadron. You've
been begging for it. Here's your chance." He paused at Anne's
distressed expression. "Naturally, you don't have to go but this
is probably the last chance you'll get."
The girl stopped chomping on her gum and lowered her eyes.
"Yeah, I guess so. But what about you? I don't want to leave
you short."
Steve patted her shoulder. "You're not leaving me short.
I've still got Michael and Kurt."
She glanced between Jeff and Gail like they were adoptive
parents. "You think I should?" she asked.
"Anne, I'm telling you to get out of here before you don't
have a choice. Colonel Stuart is an old friend. He's one of the
good ones." He looked up at Jeff. "You could do a lot worse."
"How about reporting tomorrow?" Jeff suggested, adding a
friendly smile.
Steve sniffed like a father sending his daughter into the
cold, cruel world. With almost a painful smile he said: "Why
don't you get your things and report this afternoon? I'm sure
Colonel Stuart won't mind giving you a ride."
The girl, still mulling over what all this meant, shrugged
without looking up. "'Kay." Slipping the headphones back on her
head, she slowly slid between Steve and the others, heading
towards the Rehab Detachment's locker room; her head bobbing with
every step.
"Interesting girl," Jeff said, once the shock had worn off
at seeing such a non-military person in uniform. She was even
worse than Gloria.
"Yeah, I know. She's not very regulation," Steve said
apologetically.
"She's not even 'optional issue'," Gail corrected. "Where
did you find her?"
"She was kinda like a prize in a box of Cracker Jacks,"
Steve said, rubbing the back of his head. "A couple of years
ago, we picked up an old abandoned MAC II up north. When we
cracked open the crew compartment, there she was. As near as we
could tell, she'd been living in it."
"So why is she still here?" Gail asked.
"That's even a stranger story. At first, I was just going
to toss her off base. You know, unauthorized civilian and all
that. Well, she begged to stay, saying she had nowhere else to
go. Made it real convincing. Since it was the dead of winter.
What could I do?"
Jeff cast a glance the direction the girl had taken. "What
about her family?"
"What family?" Steve said with a shrug. "She claims her
family are all dead and she's been alone for years."
"Poor thing," Gail said softly. Orphans tended to bring out
the mother in her.
"Anyway, we had a small unused room in the back of the
electronics workshop. So, I let her bunk there and put her to
work cleaning up around the place." Steve smiled like a dark,
balding Santa. "When she demonstrated a gift for diagnosing
electronic problems, I let her hang out with Sparky and the gang;
fixing and installing gizmos in the rebuilds."
"How long did that last?" Jeff asked.
"Till someone from HQ caught wind of it. He turned out to
be a good guy, though. Had her enlist as a Corporal - you know,
under those old RDF field enlistment rules." Steve beamed.
"She's getting a regular paycheck and everything. Naturally, we
had to lie about her age."
"Well, that explains the mini-CD player," Jeff said with a
sigh. "How did she learn to fly?"
"That was the easy part," Steve replied. "You remember ole'
Earl 'Tex' Boyd?"
"Yeah, he was a flight leader in Gold Squadron up in the
Yukon somewhere." Jeff got a warm feeling hearing the late
Texan's name. They had more than a few rowdy nights together in
local bars when they both flew for Tiger Squadron. The man was a
rare combination of brains and brawn marred only by a hair
trigger to insults about his part of the country. Drinking only
made him more volatile. The man flew in cowboy boots and kept a
Stetson in the cockpit to wear while taxing in from a mission. a
real character.
Jeff's pleasant recollections were only marred with the
memory of how the man died defending his new homestead down near
the gulf from a bunch of bandits. He had been only two months
into retirement when it happened.
"Ole' Tex wasn't the same after they replaced both his legs.
Couldn't fly combat anymore. So, while he served out the
remainder of his time working for me, shuttling aircraft around.
Started taking little Anne with him when she expressed an
interest in flying. He taught her everything he knew. Made her
study the books as well. She hated that part but did it anyway.
Anything to keep flying. After the RDF released him last fall,
she took over the business, so to speak."
They started walking back towards the hangars, Steve giving
an impromptu guided tour of the facility along the way. By the
time they reached Jeff's rover, he knew the complete history of
the Rehab Detachment and the types of things it was capable of.
"Oh, before you leave," Steve said with a snap of his
fingers. "I found something I think you'd like to have."
Jeff looked at Gail before asking what it was but their
chubby little host had already disappeared into one of the
massive hangars.
"What do you suppose he's up to?" Gail asked, squinting into
the hangar's interior.
"Who knows?" Jeff answered with a shrug. "He's always
finding odd little trinkets and stuff. Three years ago, he found
Jennifer's flight helmet in a box of stuff they were going to
recycle. Gave it to me for Christmas."
"Quite a guy," Gail said softly.
"His whole life is the RDF. If they shut him down..." Jeff
took a deep breath and shuddered to think of what would become of
the his friend should the RDF decide he wasn't needed anymore.
"Maybe, you could get him for the Squadron?"
"As what?" He shot Gail an amused look. "I'd have to make
him the Maintenance Officer, at least."
"Oh, well, in that case..." Gail smiled back with an
exaggerated sweet look.
"Right. My wife would never forgive me."
Steve stepped back out into the sunlight holding something
behind his back. From Jeff's angle, it appeared to be a two foot
square sheet of metal.
"We were breaking up a couple of old birds for scrap last
week and this caught my eye." Steve turned the artifact around
and held it up. "Just thought you might like to have it."
On a white background was the faded image of an old cavalry
soldier astride his charger in full gallop and holding his saber
forward in a full charge. Behind him, painted in exact detail,
appeared an old Confederate battle flag.
Jeff's jaw dropped. "Where did you find this?"
Steve handed the sheet to his friend and shrugged. "Here in
the grave yard of forgotten aircraft we see lots of unique
things. I understand this was taken off a Falcon fighter that
saw action in Hawaii."
"That was twenty years ago," Jeff said, more to himself than
the others. He couldn't believe it survived all these years.
"Yeah, well, I guess they forgot to tell you how that
particular fighter was rebuilt and used by the Civil Defense
Flying Corps. The guy who had the bird last musta liked that
picture because they didn't paint over it."
Jeff just stared at the nose art that once adorned his last
fighter in the Global Civil War. He had it done after his
grandfather reminded him of his famous ancestor; the greatest
American cavalry general in history and his namesake: J.E.B.
Stuart, CSA.
"Thank you," he said self-consciously.
Steve placed a meaty hand on Jeff's shoulder. "Use it as a
guide when they paint you a new one on your next Veritech." He
leaned closer. "And you be careful out there. I'm losing too
many old friends. I gotta have someone to sponge off of when I'm
old and unwanted. Besides, you promised to teach me that fishing
stuff."
Jeff chuckled at the reminder of their first, and last,
fishing trip at a nearby stream. In less than an hour, Steve
hooked a bush, the rover, and even his own pants before giving up
in disgust. It was then Jeff figured out his friend was no
outdoorsman.
Steve turned to Gail. "And you can visit me anytime,
sweetheart."
Gail chuckled halfheartedly. "I'll be in touch," she said.
Catching his wink she added: "For parts only."
Steve just shrugged. "I'll settle for that."
"Hey, Steve!" called a technician from one of the workshops.
"You wanna take a look at this? Carlos thinks it's shot but I'm
not so sure."
Lt Col Friedman shook his head and chuckled. "Never a dull
moment." Turning again to Jeff he said with a smile: "One more
bit of advice; have your office swept. If they're listening to
me, they're surely listening to you."
"Count on it," Jeff replied with a look at Gail.
With a grunt of acknowledgment, Steve started for the
workshop. Waving as he walked, he said loudly: "And watch your
six."
"Can do," Jeff replied before lowering his voice so only he
and Gail could hear. "And you do the same, old friend."
Jeff put the sheet of aircraft skin in the back of his rover
and stared out at the distant airfield. "Maybe I am getting too
old. It used to be so simple; just fight the bad guys and don't
worry about anything else. Now we have to avoid getting screwed
by our own people."
"Hey, it's not that bad," Gail said, leaning in close enough
so he could smell her perfume. He made a note to remind her
about regulations on fragrances.
"I wish I had your confidence. I'm beginning to wonder if I
did the right thing taking this squadron."
"If you didn't, they would have found someone else. You've
got people counting on you."
"That's what I'm worried about. Look how long it took me to
figure out what was happening. Am I really someone they should
be counting on?"
Gail snorted and rolled her eyes. "Jeffrey, you're
*exactly* what those girls need."
"Now who's calling them 'girls'?" he softly chided.
Gail's reaction was a roll of her eyes and elbow in his
ribs.
Little Anne appeared outside one of the workshops, looking
like a lost waif. Her jaw continued to nervously work the wad of
gum in her mouth as she glanced around like she was unsure what
to do next. She'd changed into a duty uniform that almost fit
her. Jeff stifled a chuckle at how it made her look. The skirt
hung low over her bare legs, ending below her knees. Her uniform
tunic looked more like it belonged on her; the sleeves were the
right length and it fit around her almost flat torso. On her
head, the well-worn headband had been replaced by a bright red
ball cap with the Rehab Detachment's spider symbol adorning its
front.
"Ready to go?" Jeff called.
The girl hesitated and looked around again like this was
going to be the last time she would ever see the only real home
she'd ever had. With a noticeable sigh, she picked up her
pitifully small bag, supposedly containing all her worldly
possessions, and trudged towards them.
"She's gonna need a real mother's touch," Jeff said softly
to Gail.
"Then I hope your wife's up to it. Because 'Momma' ain't in
my job description," Gail said back.
Jeff took Anne's tiny bag and worried it into the back end
of his rover. All the while, she said nothing but kept casting
curious glances at both Jeff and Gail. Each time Gail responded
with an encouraging smile while Jeff tried to maintain his
command bearing. He reminded himself he shouldn't change his
relationship with his squadron members just because they happen
to be girls... er, women.