Okay, this is the last time. Honest. I think I've
got it worked out. At least it now looks right when
I send it to myself. Let's see if either I get it
right or piss off the moderators enough to snuff me.
Sorry about this.
(Who ever thought I would be apologizing for posting
something here?)
*****************
FOX Squadron
Episode 9 - Home, Sweet Home
By: G.L. Sandborn
Less than an hour after activation, FOX Squadron members
were hard at work making final preparations for their move to
Ozark Base. The rest of their Veritechs were painted, the
offices themselves were packed, and everything was either sent to
the rail cargo dispatch yard or stacked on the tarmac awaiting
heavy transports to take them to their new home.
Somewhere along the way, Virginia made off with a treasure
of her own. When she heard that her old Sea Sergeant was just
sitting unused out behind her former squadron's hangar, she had
her sister drop her off within walking distance before dark.
With no one looking, she calmly climbed in and flew her prized
helicopter over to be loaded onto a flatcar for the trip to Ozark
Base. By the time anyone notices or even cares if it's missing,
she'd have it parked outside the hangar at her new base. A
couple of Fox Squadron's aging ground crew even knew how to
maintain rotary wing aircraft, so it would certainly get regular
maintenance.
The next morning, Jeff arrived with his wife and her one
authorized carry-on suitcase. She would be riding to Ozark base
on the same transport as Cindy's office staff and half the ground
crew. While no stranger to flying, Kay Stuart looked forward to
her ride in one of the RDF's huge transports with all the
enthusiasm of a kid on holiday.
At promptly 10 AM, two giant four-engine VC-27 Tunny
transports rumbled up to the tarmac and noisily shut down. With
a hiss of hydraulics and whine of servos, they squatted on their
main landing gear, their massive rear cargo doors swinging up and
in, revealing a two-level interior. Seats occupied the upper
level, leaving the lower completely free for cargo stowage. Four
heavy fork lifts from Base Logistics Command quickly began
loading the squadron's critical supplies and materials. They'd
need them all until a regular supply situation could be
established.
"Hey, Sandi!" a young woman called from the open co-pilot
window high above. "Check the tire pressure in number seven.
The stupid remote pressure gauge is on the blink again."
A tall, thin blonde standing on the tarmac next to the
transport's massive tires acknowledged with a wave and ducked
under the open landing gear doors with a portable tire gauge.
Jeff gathered she was either the pilot or the co-pilot.
Leading his wife by the arm, he approached the hunched over
figure.
"Excuse me. Are you the pilot in command of this craft?" he
asked.
Without looking, the blonde replied: "I don't know about the
'command' part but, yeah, this is my beast."
Jeff was about to ask her another question when they were
all interrupted by a sudden squeal of recognition. Samantha Fox
trotted over, practically colliding with the blonde as she
wrapped her arms around the woman in an impossibly tight hug.
"It's been ages," Samantha gasped, switching to holding the
blonde by her shoulders and looking her up and down. "Sandi,
you're still the best looking pilot in the group."
Sandi just rolled her eyes like she'd heard it all before.
"Sam, you haven't changed a bit. So, you like flying Veritechs?"
"Hey, I'm the hottest thing with two wings," Samantha
crowed. "Even Katherine said she's never seen a pilot like me."
"Excuse me," Jeff said almost like he didn't want to break
up such a touching reunion.
Samantha and Sandi turned and acted like they just noticed
the Colonel. "Yes, sir?"
"This my wife, Kay. I just wanted to meet the pilot who is
going to be responsible for her safe conduct to Ozark Base."
Jeff glanced nervously at the thin blonde then took a long look
up the massive transport's side. It was hard to imagine someone
so delicate in control of something so big.
"No problem, Colonel," Samantha said, draping an arm around
Sandi's shoulders. "Sandi here is the best. That is, now that
I'm no longer flying these winged warehouses."
Sandi cast her friend an incredulous look before turning
back to the Colonel. "I'll get her there safe and sound, sir.
I've got a perfect safety record."
"It will be fine, Jeffrey," Kay said in a reassuring manner.
Turning to Sandi with a big smile. "The RDF has the best
pilots."
Sandi responded with a grin and a 'thumbs up'.
"Come on," Samantha said, pulling her friend away from the
Colonel and his wife. "I'll help you with the walk-around."
"Sure you remember how?"
Samantha bumped her friend with a hip, causing them both to
giggle as they headed for the nose gear.
Jeff watched them go, his unease growing. "I don't know,"
he said to his wife as he watched the girls giggling together.
"They just seem so... young."
Kay took her husband in her arms. "They're the next
generation, Jeffrey. They're supposed to be young. I like that
Sandi girl. She knows what she's doing."
Jeff sighed. "I know. I guess it's just that I'd feel
better if I was flying you."
"That's very sweet but you have a squadron to care for.
Besides, you have to trust people now and then. I trust these
girls."
Kissing the top of her head, Jeff released his wife and
picked up her bag. "Let's get you on board."
"I'll take that, sir," came an eager young voice from
behind.
Looking over his shoulder, Jeff recognized the thin young
man dressed in an RDF private's uniform. "Private Blue," he said
with a nod.
"I'll carry the bag, sir." Private Blue awkwardly tried to
salute and reach for Kay's suitcase at the same time.
Stepping back, Jeff watched with thinly disguised amusement
as the young man practically pulled his arms out of their sockets
trying to lift the bag. "Need help?"
"I've got it, sir," the young man said through gritted
teeth. He awkwardly struggled to carry Kay's bag to the
transport's ramp. Two other members of Cindy's office staff soon
joined him and the three worried the suitcase into the aircraft's
voluminous hold.
"They're an eager bunch," Kay said.
Jeff sighed. "Yup. They are that."
"Kind of weak, though."
"Well, they're still young."
"Maybe I shouldn't have packed my rock collection in that
suitcase."
Slowly Jeff's head turned, regarding his wife with a strange
expression. "You have a rock collection?"
Kay shrugged. "Stuff from home - rocks, herbs, wood - you
know, things I need."
"Kay, you were supposed to pack clothes in that bag. What
are you going to do if the train is delayed?"
"Don't be silly, dear. I packed all my clothes in your
bag."
"And my stuff?"
"There wasn't much room left. I think I packed you a change
of underwear," she replied with a sly grin.
"How thoughtful of you," he said in a flat voice.
"After all, because you wear the same thing every day,
that's all you really need."
Jeff sighed and shook his head. "Get on the plane, dear."
With a giggle, she reached up and kissed him quickly on the
cheek. "I'll see you at Ozark Base," she said, starting for the
open cargo doors.
Jeff suppressed a chuckle as he waved to his wife and
watched her hurry to board. Just in time, too. He could hear
the port-side engines starting.
Daisy, Liz, and Ona were huddled together near the
Veritechs, discussing flight formations and radio discipline when
one of them noticed the late-arriving Nancy heading for her
Veritech. She was carrying a duffle bag over her shoulder and a
strange box by its handle.
"Nancy, whatcha got there?" Daisy called.
Sgt Montoya hesitated, a brief look of panic marking her
face before she recovered and frowned their way. "Nuthin'. Just
some personal stuff," she yelled back over the sounds of
transport engines warming up. She looked and sounded irritated
at being questioned. Without waiting for another question, she
hurried past and quickly disappeared behind some Veritechs.
"What was that all about?" Liz asked, leaning over trying to
catch a glimpse of where Nancy went.
"Beats me," Daisy said with a sigh. "I've never seen her
act like that."
"I'm sure it's nothing," Ona impassively noted. "Everyone's
just keyed up over the move."
"Yeah, that's probably it."
The three went back to comparing notes, Nancy Montoya's
strange behavior soon forgotten.
Jeff watched the lumbering transports as they rumbled down
the runway and slowly climbed into the air. Despite the Tunny's
design as a VTOL aircraft, it was rarely flown that way anymore.
The stresses imposed by VTOL flight on the wings shortened their
life expectancies. Since rebuild facilities for aircraft of that
size were hard to come by, the RDF issued orders for the Tunny to
be only flown as a conventional transport. Good thing both
Yellowstone and Ozark bases have exceptionally long runways. The
flying behemoths were almost guaranteed to use every foot.
"Colonel?" Katherine said as she approached.
His eyes still on the slow-moving transports replied:
"What's on your mind, Captain?"
"I'm concerned about Corporal Crowkiller and Sergeant
Graywolf."
"How so?"
"They're not fully checked out in their Veritechs. While I
don't expect anything unusual to occur on our flight down to
Ozark Base, I'm afraid of what might happen to them should
something go wrong."
Jeff nodded as he mulled over the problem. He knew both
pilots were eager and willing to learn but their skills were not
yet up to handling tricky Veritechs in all flight conditions.
"Good point." He looked around until he saw what he was
looking for. Motioning Dutch and Mad Dog over, he glanced at
Katherine. "I think I can solve that problem."
"What's up?" Mad Dog asked as they arrived.
"I need two volunteers to ride along with Linda and Gloria.
You're it," Jeff said with a serious frown.
"Point of order, sir." Mad Dog held up his mechanical arm
and wiggled his fingers. "I'm not cleared for flight status."
"Neither are they. You'll fit right in." Jeff grinned
between the men. "I don't care how you pick your partner, just
don't let them think we don't trust them. As far as they are
concerned, you just don't like flying in a transport."
Dutch pulled out a coin and tossed it in the air. "Call
it."
"Heads," Mad Dog snapped.
Slapping the coin on the back of his hand, Dutch grinned.
"Tails. I get Princess Slow Reactions. You get the Hyper
Queen."
"I knew I should have called Tails," Mad Dog growled as the
two walked away.
Jeff shook his head and turned to Katherine. "Okay, any
more problems?"
"No, sir. We're ready to go. The only thing we're leaving
behind are those junkers in the hangar."
"Are the hangar doors secure?"
"Not only that but Gloria changed the codes."
"You guys have a mean streak, ya know that?"
"Thank you, sir."
"Call them together. It's time we got out of here as well."
It took only a few moments to gather everyone around the
Colonel. All looked anxious to make their first squadron-
strength flight.
"Okay, nothing fancy," Jeff said looking over his pilots.
"Take off in twos. Form up south of the airfield. At patrol
speed, our flight should take just under two hours. Keep the
radio chatter to a minimum. Any questions?" Hearing none, he
smiled at the girls. "It's going to be a long flight. Has
everyone gone to the bathroom?"
A voice from the pilots, probably Samantha, called: "Yes,
Daddy."
When the laughter died down, he nodded. "Alright, saddle
up."
He watched his pilots scatter to their aircraft as he walked
to his own. While this might be their first test as pilots,
flying in squadron formation wasn't critical to their skills.
Due to their numbers, this might be the last time they would have
to do it.
Climbing into his Veritech, he noticed some of the girls had
painted their flight helmets. Gone were the days of the single
color or red, white, and blue head gear. Pilots were now free to
express their individuality on both their helmets and their
aircraft.
He looked at his own. The crossed sabers were still there
but someone had added an eagle feather to each, giving the image
a distinctly Lakota look. He wondered just who was responsible
for the alteration, not that it really mattered. It represented
their stamp of approval on his old cavalry insignia; proving they
bore no grudges to his wearing it.
Jeff slipped the helmet on and went through his preflight
checklist and radio check. Everything worked as it should.
"Okay, let's heat'em up," he called.
Fourteen Veritechs slowly came to life, their engines
spooling up with a distinctive whine that soon became a deafening
roar, echoing off the sealed hangar behind and announcing to the
base that Fox Squadron was preparing to leave.
On his command, Jeff led the way out to the taxiway, turning
towards the farthest end of the 12,000 foot main runway. He and
Katherine were the only ones taxiing with their canopies open,
the others sealed against the fumes from the fighters ahead.
Odors of lubricants and heating metal overcame fresher smells of
mountain springtime vegetation as the groan of brakes mixed with
the howl of their engines.
At the run-up point, Jeff made one final check of his
instruments. Everything showed normal. He smiled to himself and
silently thanked Steve Friedman for doing such a good job on his
bird. Flying was easy when you had confidence in your equipment.
Punching the canopy button, he was rewarded with the sound
of servos sucking down the hydraulics as the clear dynaglass
bubble dropped into place and latched itself. Flaps and slats
extended to takeoff position, the wings extended full forward.
A quick call to the tower was answered by a string of
settings and information, most of which was already transmitted
to his onboard computer. The last consisted of takeoff clearance
for the squadron. Coaxing the throttle forward he swung the big
fighter easily onto the runway and lined up on the left side. A
quick glance assured him that Katherine was behind and on the
right.
With a call of 'Power', he released brakes and pushed the
throttle forward to its take off setting. As his fighter
gathered speed, a couple of gentle taps on the rudder pedals kept
it in its proper 'slot'. At exactly one hundred knots, the nose
gently lifted and he felt the comforting feeling of being pressed
back into the seat. Out of habit, he left the compensators off.
He never used them outside of combat. He liked to feel his
fighter when flying, relishing the familiar sensation of
thousands of pounds of thrust pushing him through the air. This
was why he joined the old Air Force in the first place; it was
what he was born to do. In the air, he and his fighter were one.
A couple of bumps and he felt the surface effect cushion of
air float his fighter off the ground. At fifty feet, he flipped
the gear lever and heard the comforting sound of his landing gear
retracting into the aircraft.
Clean and free of ground friction, he gently banked his
craft to take up a heading of one seven zero, retracted the
flaps, and set a leisurely thousand feet per minute climb rate.
It was going to be a long flight and he didn't want anyone
getting lost.
Looking back over his shoulder, he saw A Flight, led by Ona
and Virgina, just leaving the ground. Karen and Mary were in
position and starting their takeoff rolls.
Scanning the sky out of habit, there was nothing in the
circuit; no other aircraft to worry about. It was a beautiful
day for flying. With a five thousand foot cloud base and patches
of white, fluffy cumulus clouds dotting a deep blue background,
he could almost forget he was in one the most deadly fighters in
the RDF inventory.
As the squadron assumed their flight positions, he checked
each pilot's station-keeping ability. The veterans were rock-
solid, only an occasional air current bobbing betraying the
notion they were actually flying in formation. The rookies,
however, wavered between wandering out of position and
overcompensating such that they veered dangerously close to other
Veritechs.
Certain either a terrible accident was about to occur or he
was going to be a nervous wreck worrying about what might happen,
he ordered a more spread formation to give each ample room for
error. That seemed to do the trick. Released from close
formation flying, everyone settled down to a comfortable pace and
separation.
As they passed over rich farmlands that were being
painstakingly reclaimed and put back into use, Jeff reflected on
how this part of the country appeared to have been spared the
ravages of the Zentraedi Invasion. He remembered how some
credited the Grand Cannon with taking out those battle cruisers
assigned to this part of the world. The fact that it was less
populated probably had as much to do with it as a lucky strike by
some oversized ray gun buried in the Alaskan tundra. Wiping out
unpopulated farmlands was very likely low on the Zentraedis'
targeting lists.
In any case, it was good seeing the conversion back into
crop land once again. One of the war's lingering aftereffects
had been a lack of food. That coupled with the almost total
collapse of civil transport resulted in hunger and often outright
starvation in various parts of the North American Sector.
Civilization reverted for the most part to the ways of their
agrarian ancestors; relocating to smaller communities surrounded
by life-giving farms. Basic utilities came back on line for many
areas - thanks to the new World Government building thousands of
small but exceedingly powerful Protoculture matrix power plants.
Order was kept by local authorities with occasional RDF
assistance.
Despite all that, outlaws and high-tech bandits roamed the
countryside looking for easy prey. Travelers had to be
especially careful as they were often ambushed, robbed, and left
for dead.
Much of the domestic RDF activities revolved around hunting
down those bandits and protecting the civilians in their
districts. In many regions, they represented the only law for
hundreds of miles. It was a task Fox Squadron would most likely
find itself doing at their new base. Of course, that was in
addition to dealing with religious zealot Yorkies and
aggressively expansionistic Grays to the east, renegade Zentraedi
to the south, rebelliously independent Oakies to the west, along
with the many high-tech, low-tech, and everything-in-between-tech
bandits that came within the jurisdiction of Fox Squadron.
It wasn't the kind of thing Jeff and the others had been
trained for. Combat was one thing, peacekeeping required an
entirely different set of standards and tactics. He just hoped
they would have a chance to learn the job before being called
upon to apply such necessary skills.
The terrain changed as they left the high plains for the
more mountainous region north of the Arkansas Protectorate.
There were fewer settlements and smaller farms associated with
each.
All too soon, the farms stopped altogether. Jeff turned the
flight southeast. Only a few roads cut through the canopy of
green below.
"Look at all the trees," Gloria gasped over the radio.
"I'd sure hate to ditch down there," Linda replied.
"That's easy," Daisy called. "Just pick two trees and aim
for the space between them."
A series of protests and rude comments resulted in Jeff's
admonishment to keep the chatter down.
There was a reason he directed the flight further east than
necessary. Changing frequencies he made contact with a trailing
Cats Eye.
"Looking Glass, this is White Cloud. Did you get what you
were after?"
"Roger, White Cloud. Thanks for the assist," came a strange
voice from the recon aircraft.
"Anything we should know about?"
"Just that the Yorkies scrambled a couple of fighters but
they turned away at two-five-oh miles. Looks like we were right.
They have some kind of advanced tracking system. We'll know
better once the data is analyzed."
"Affirmative, Looking Glass. Safe flight home," Jeff said.
"Good luck, White Cloud. Out."
It was just as Emerson suspected. The Barony of York had
somehow come up with a low-band tracking radar that was hard to
detect and had a range sufficient to track Veritechs outside
their own radar range. This was a development bound to make his
squadron more vulnerable should the Yorkies turn openly hostile
to the RDF reactivating Ozark Base.
Further consideration of what it all meant was put aside by
another of Gloria's observations. "Cool, a lake," she called.
Looking between his Veritech's nose and right wing, he saw
the unmistakable outline of what used to be a large, irregular
lake, now reduced to less than half its original size. The
former muddy lake bottom had been reclaimed by wild grasses,
brush, and small trees. A few worn paths winding their way from
the former banks to the murky-looking water gathered at the
lowest point in the natural valley attested to frequent human
visits.
"That's what's left of Ozark Lake," Katherine noted like a
tour guide. "There's probably more water closer to the dam."
"Or what's left of it," Liz noted.
The radio fell silent as all eyes searched for the concrete
structure that was supposed to be at the south end of the lake.
It took another five minutes before someone sighted it.
"There it is! Ten o'clock low," Mary called like she was
identifying a flight of hostile fighters.
Even Jeff looked. A long, low concrete structure seemed to
rise up out of the deep channel. It was mostly intact except for
its eastern end. What must have been a near miss by a Zentraedi
Rain of Death energy bolt left an ugly blackened scar in the
previously green terrain, crumbling a section of the dam. That
was probably why the lake level was so low.
As they got closer, it became obvious that someone was
making a pitiful attempt to plug the gap with rocks and dirt.
The reason was obvious. The lake represented both a source of
food in its fish and, if they could get the level high enough to
drive a couple of the surviving turbines, much needed electricity
for the surrounding area. The new World Government hadn't
extended their redevelopment plans to the Ozark region, thinking
it too close to the troubled Arkansas Protectorate to protect.
Electric power was the key to any development of the region.
What few hearty survivors still existed in the Ozarks must have
know that.
Katherine noticed the attempt as well. "It'll take them
years to raise the water that way."
"Decades," Daisy corrected. "Maybe never. Doesn't look too
solid."
Jeff interrupted their engineering lesson. "Turning right
to two-seven-zero. There's no one in the tower so we'll have to
sort out the landing by ourselves." He was grateful to see that
whoever was reactivating the base had already turned on the
automated condition reporting system. His computer acknowledged
the settings while he noted the wind was out of the south.
"We'll turn downwind just past the south end of the airfield.
Katherine and I will turn base first. Then each flight will turn
at five second intervals. As soon as you land, clear the runway
and proceed directly to the hardstand area in front of the south
hangar. Park by flight. Use the designated slots painted on the
tarmac."
Each flight leader acknowledged and the squadron began a
slow descent to one thousand feet.
Soon, the impressive-looking single runway airbase came into
view. Jeff could make out the massive hangars and Command
Building with its forty foot control tower. On the west side of
the base, he could see the Destroid troop's hangar and command
building. There wasn't much else to see. Most of the base was
underground.
Crossing the south end of the north-south runway, Jeff and
Katherine banked into an easy turn to north. Each of the flights
fell in behind, one flight behind the other. Almost like
veterans, fourteen Veritechs whistled past the base at reduced
power, dropping to five hundred feet and lowering their landing
gear.
As planned, Jeff broke out of the procession first and made
a slow, easy turn to line up Runway One Nine. Extending flaps,
he throttled back until the engine was barely a whining whisper
as he crossed the security fence on the north side. He glanced
in his mirror just long enough to see Katherine leveling out of
her turn and following him.
He compensated for a faster than expected sink rate with a
slight push on the throttle before settling his engines back to
their near idle state. Over the numbers, he let the Veritech
ride a natural cushion created by the sandwiching of air between
his aircraft and the ground until his speed reduced and the
eighteen ton fighter settled onto the long concrete runway.
Jolted slightly by the main gear touching down, he held the
fighter's nose wheels off the runway until his decreasing speed
allowed gravity to do its job. Despite the relative smoothness
of the barely used runway, the roll-out felt rough as he traveled
down its surface. It was times like this he missed his old
Falcon. At least he could deploy the Falcon's thrust reversers
to quickly slow him to a safe taxi speed. In a fighter-mode
Veritech, all he could do was let rolling friction do its job,
with the help of his brakes.
He passed the first turn-out. Checking his mirror again, he
saw Katherine just touching down. By the second turn-out, his
speed had dropped enough to swing the big fighter off the runway
and onto its parallel taxiway. Unlike normal times when he would
have waited for clearance to taxi, Jeff advanced the throttle
enough to urge his fighter down the taxiway, heading for the
massive concrete parking area in front of the south hangar.
He was a little surprised when a ground crewman appeared,
complete with a high visibility vest and two bright orange
batons, waving him to a parking place nearest the operations
building. Opening the canopy, he drew a deep breath of clear,
mountain air tinged with exhaust fumes as he guided his Veritech
into position.
Shutting down, he noticed a short man wearing glasses and
dressed in an RDF work uniform standing near the Command Building
with his arms crossed. He figured the man must be with the
reactivation team.
After packing his helmet in its bag, Jeff swung out of the
cockpit, feeling for the fighter's punch-ins with his foot. It
had been a long time since he had to exit a fighter that way.
Usually, his crew chief had someone standing by with a cockpit
ladder to hang on the side of his craft. Compared to blindly
fishing for the built-in steps with a foot, it was always more
dignified climbing out of a fighter on a ladder.
Once on the ground, the man he noticed earlier appeared
nearby. Through the howls of A Flight's engines as they taxied
in, the man extended his hand and shouted: "Welcome to Ozark
Base, Colonel Stuart. I'm Lieutenant Colonel Richard Lawson,
head of Engineering Team Seven."
Jeff shook the man's hand and directed him away from the
flight line. "So, how's my base?" he asked, leaning closer to
the man to be heard. B Flight's Veritechs were just landing,
raising the sound level to almost painful levels.
"Let's go in the hangar and I'll tell you."
Following Lt Col Lawson, Jeff watched C Flight land as B
Flight taxied in and the pilots of A Flight climbed out of their
fighters. They were such a pitiful few for such a large base.
It was going to feel strange for them to occupy facilities meant
for four full squadrons.
Entering the hangar through an access door set in the huge
sliding hangar doors, it was odd being in such a large empty
space. He felt like an ant in a warehouse, his footsteps echoing
eerily. When Richard shut the door, the aircraft sounds cut to a
muffled whine.
"This base was constructed eight years ago on the site of
what used to be a small municipal airport," Lt Col Lawson began.
"I'm sure you noticed it's located between what used to be a
large resort lake and the first of many deep valleys. The south
end of your runway is less than two hundred yards from the valley
drop-off."
Jeff held up a hand. "I know all about its history. I've
been here before."
With a look of mild surprise, Richard hesitated. "You have?
I wasn't told."
"That's okay. It was a long time ago - back when this was
just an outpost." Jeff frowned at the far wall and tried to
remember what the place looked like before all the changes.
Sensing he'd unearthed something sensitive, Richard changed
directions of his report. "Whoever put this place in mothballs
five years ago did a good job. Just about everything still
works. You have two hangars big enough for two squadrons each
with maintenance facilities on a lower level accessible by way of
a fifty foot square elevator that can simultaneously transport
one Veritech in fighter mode or two in Battleoid.
"Connected to the Command Building is a full medical
facility and a mess hall. The two eight level living quarters
are directly behind. Each level can house up to sixteen pilots
and crew. Most of the base is underground."
"Power and water?" Jeff asked, still looking around the
hangar, unsure of exactly what he expected to see.
"The Protoculture powerplant is buried out about eight
hundred yards towards the main gate. We had no trouble bringing
it back on line and its matrix should be good for another twenty-
five years or so. Access is by tunnel from the lowest level of
each of the living quarters. It doesn't require much maintenance
so I doubt you'll be going there often.
"The fresh water is pumped from an underground aquifer three
hundred feet below the base and treated by equipment in the
lowest level of the living quarters. That's working now as well.
We've had to install a more modern water treatment unit to cope
with the elevated lead content of the water but we've got
everything well within the safety levels prescribed by RDF
regulations."
"What about security," Jeff noted, thinking of his wife's
safety.
"From a physical perspective, whoever designed the buildings
around here really knew his stuff. Once locked down, it would
take a major assault with sophisticated weapons to cause a breach
anywhere, including the Command Building. Of course, each block
is able to isolate itself from the other so any breakthrough can
be contained. All above-ground structures have walls that are
six feet of hardened plastiform reenforced by a foot of TX-47
armor."
Jeff did a low whistle. "That would resist a plasma-reflex
missile - a big one."
Richard nodded. "Like I said; somebody really knew his
stuff. The windows are double-pane inch-thick duraglass - the
same stuff used in spacecraft - and all have drop-down TX-47
armor shields that can be deployed in less than a second."
"Anything else?"
"The mess hall is fully equipped and functional. It just
lacks food. My guys have been living off field rations since we
got here."
Jeff sighed. "Yeah, we might be doing the same until
regular resupply gets set up. What about the ground-pounders
across the way?"
"The 'Lost Boys'?" Richard asked with a wry grin. "That's D
Troop, 81st Destroid Battalion. They've been here about three
months. Can't really tell you much about them. They keep to
themselves, send out patrols every now and then, and pretty much
stay on their side of the base. I met their CO, Lieutenant Roger
Bickham. Pretty intense young man. I suspect that's because
they're working short-handed. I know one thing for sure; they
have a bunch of maintenance issues. Their only MAC II is just
sitting broken down out in the open."
"Well, maybe we can get them some help," Jeff said, turning
towards the door. The sound of dying engines told him the last
of his squadron had taxied in.
Lawson followed, keeping up his narration about the base as
they left the hangar. "The base security detachment is almost
non-existent. Counting Sergeant Foley, there's only eight of
them."
"How on earth do they guard this place with only eight
people?" Jeff asked, looking around at the distant perimeter
fence.
"That's not my department but my guess would be they're
working long hours."
Shaking his head, Jeff stopped and crossed his arms. "That
has to change. We need more people."
"If you're hoping for help from RDF Command, I'd say forget
it."
Jeff nodded. "I agree. Looks like we may have to double-up
some of our duties."
"Or stock up on some of those new sensor gizmos," Lawson
offered, his attention drawn by three of Jeff's pilots walking
past. His head tilted to allow his eyes to follow their shapely
hips.
"Yeah, I might be able to obtain some."
"Some?" Richard asked absently before blinking back to the
conversation. "Oh, yeah, right."
"You okay?"
"Huh? Yeah, sure. Ummmm.... we've cut the grass back and
created a mobile track along the fence line," Richard added, his
voice trailing off as a couple more pilots wandered past.
Daisy's impressive dimensions and Karen having unzipped her
flight suit almost to her navel caused his jaw to drop.
His expression caught Jeff's eye. "Is there something
bothering you, Colonel?"
Richard quickly looked back at Jeff. "Huh? Oh, well,
actually there is. You see, we updated all the living quarters
and..." His voice trailed off as more of Fox Squadron's pilots
wandered past, his eyes taking a visual tour of each. "Excuse me
for asking, sir, but how many pilots do you have?"
"Counting myself, fourteen."
"And how many are women?"
"Thirteen."
You could almost hear Richard's brain scream: 'Doh!'. "I
guess I better get a crew working on ripping them out," he said
with a sigh.
"Ripping what out?"
"Nobody told me you had all women pilots," Richard lamented,
pulling out his little notebook and flipping through the pages.
"We installed new urinals in all the bathrooms."
Jeff chuckled. "I wouldn't worry about it. I'm sure my
pilots will find something creative to do with them."
Richard frowned as he closed his notebook. "If you say so."
"Anyway, from the looks of things, you've done a top-notch
job at getting this base back in shape."
"Thank you, sir." Richard bent over slightly to see Liz and
Ona walk past, his head tilting again as he admired the view.
Jeff caught Richard's stare and sighed. "Anything else?"
"Huh?" Richard quickly straightened up and blinked like his
mind was really somewhere else. Jeff's frown quickly brought him
back. "Oh, yeah, one other thing. I'm curious what you want me
to do with the Veritechs."
Jeff glanced at his fighters and back at Richard. "If
nothing else, my girls are neat. We'll put our own toys away."
"Oh no, I don't mean your Veritechs. I'm talking about the
ones we discovered down on the maintenance level of the south
hangar."
"The WHAT?" Jeff gasped.
"Eight new Veritechs. I think they're 'S' models. Looks
like somebody just shoved them in there and walked away. Really
strange, if you ask me." Richard scratched his cheek, his jaw
dropping slightly open when Ona looked over her shoulder and
smiled at him. He smiled back in mid-scratch.
Not in the mood for flirting, Jeff grabbed Richard by the
shoulders and turned him until they were face to face. "You mean
there's eight brand new VF-1S Veritechs stored here?" he
demanded.
Slightly shaken, Richard blinked and nodded.
"And they don't belong to anyone?"
Richard switched to shaking his head, his eyes still wide.
"What are they doing here?" Jeff said more to himself than
Richard as he released the smaller man.
"I'm sure I don't know," Richard answered, adjusting his
grip-rumpled shirt. "One of my guys checked them out. They've
got between six and fourteen hours on the engines, so I'd imagine
they were shuttled here straight from the factory. From the
looks of everything around them, they've been down there for
three or four years."
Jeff grinned at his parked Veritechs. Eight of the baddest
boys built for the RDF were abandoned in one of his hangars.
That means they were his for the taking. He was sure Steve
Friedman had a few spare serial numbers he could have. Yeah,
this could just work out.
He reached over and slapped Richard on the back. "Eight NEW
Veritechs," he said like a proud father.
Richard returned a worried look. "Yes, I know."
Jeff was still chuckling conspiratorially when Richard's
radio crackled to life.
"Yo, Colonel," came a voice from the radio. "We're ready
for another try at starting the waste treatment system. You said
you wanted to be here."
Richard unclipped his radio. "I'm on my way." Turning to
Jeff he added: "I've got a few things to finish up. The living
quarters are ready for you to move in. My people have been
living in the portables to keep 'em clean."
"Stop by when you're done. I'll buy you a drink."
"That might be a little tough. The bar is dry," Richard
replied, starting for the far end of the base. The man had his
notebook out, checking the things left to do and tossed a brief
wave back over his shoulder as his radio crackled again.
Jeff just stood in the middle of the tarmac taking in his
new home. It was quite a place, probably more modern than any
he'd ever served at before. The girls were going to like the
living quarters and Gail was going to go nuts over the Veritechs
left behind.
"Captain Fox," he called. Katherine ended her conversation
with a couple of the pilots and worked her way over.
"Yes, sir?"
"Let's get all our personal items out of the fighters. I
think everyone is going to be happy with the living arrangements.
Have you worked out the room assignments?"
"Yes, sir. I paired them up based on who got along with
who," she replied with a serious expression. "I know I should
have done it by flights but --"
Jeff interrupted her with a wave of his hand. "That's fine.
I'd rather they be happy with their roommates than follow some
rigid requirement. Let's get them organized and moved into their
rooms. The transports are due in thirty minutes. I want all
hands ready to help unload. We don't have any fork-lifts here."
"Yes, sir," she answered with a sharp salute.
Jeff gathered his own flight bag out of the small cargo
compartment of his Veritech and headed for the Operations
Building to check out his office.
He paused at the double doors and looked closer at the
building's construction. Just as Richard said, it was an
impressive building. Well within the safe zone and inside an
almost impenetrable bunker, his wife and Cindy's young office
staff would be as safe as possible.
He pulled open one of the doors and stepped inside. Taking
a deep breath, he recognized the fresh smell of recently cleaned
floors. A full tour of his new domain could wait for later.
Now, all he wanted was to see his new office.
Turning left, he noticed the door to his office was open.
There was also someone inside.
Cautiously, he peeked around the corner and spotted a slim
red-head bent over, searching through drawers. Drawing back, he
wondered why someone was snooping in his office? It couldn't be
one of Richard's people, they already cleaned and checked
everything here.
Noiselessly stepping into the doorway, he dropped his bag
and asked in a loud voice: "Finding what you're looking for?"
The figure immediately spun around and dropped into a
fighting crouch. Their simultaneous mutual recognition caused
both to relax.
"Hiya, sugar. Long time no see," the figure said.
Jeff just sighed and eyed the red-headed female. "What are
you doing here?" he demanded, moving his bag over by the sofa.
"I come all this way and that's the only thing you have to
say?" she asked with a pout.
"You didn't answer my question." He continued eyeing the
woman like she was some kind of enemy agent.
She just shrugged. "I've been assigned here."
"I see." Jeff stopped, keeping the desk between them.
"It's gonna be just like old times - you and me, together
again," she said with a sly look.
"I don't recall teaching you to report like this at the
academy."
The woman pursed her lips before sighing and moving around
to the front of the desk. Jeff moved opposite her, still keeping
the desk between them, stopping only when he stood in front of
the comfortable-looking swivel desk chair.
Picking her folder up off the desk, she snapped to attention
and saluted. "Bobbi Jo Taylor, Captain, RDF Intelligence
Service, reporting as ordered, SIR."
Returning the salute, Jeff pulled up the chair and sat down.
It was every bit as comfortable as it looked. Holding out his
hand, he waited until Captain Taylor gave him her folder. "At
ease, Captain."
He opened the folder to her orders and quickly scanned them.
Everything appeared in order.
"Like I said, sugar, just like old times," she said sweetly.
"First of all, Captain, drop the 'sugar'," he answered in a
business-like voice without looking up from the woman's service
record. "This is an RDF base, not the dorm of a girls' school."
When she didn't respond, he glanced up to see her grinning
slyly. "You used to be much more fun down on the Rio Grande,"
she said.
"That was a long time ago. My advice is to forget it."
Bobbi Jo sighed and swept her long, red hair back with both
hands. "If that's what you want."
"That's the way it has to be, Bobbi Jo," he replied like an
irritated father. "So, why did they assign you to be the base
Intelligence Officer?"
Her hands went to her shapely hips and she rocked over onto
one leg. "I 'spect its because I wuz born in these here hills,
Colonel," she said in an exaggerated Ozark accent. "I lived haff
ma life down'n these here parts. Pappy used ta be da sheriff
here 'bouts. Momma took in washin'. Dat was befo da a-lee-uns
comed and messed it all up."
"Very amusing, Captain."
"Did ya really like it, sugar?" She bent forward, her hands
on her knees and the gap of her uniform blouse parting just
enough to display ample amounts of her cleavage.
Jeff sighed and closed her file. "Captain, I don't think
you grasp the situation we're in down here."
Bobbi Jo straightened up and crossed her arms. Her pretty
face wore a scowl. "What happened to you, sugar? You didn't
used to be so serious."
"Things are going to get a lot more serious some people if
you don't do your job well." He rocked back in his chair.
"Bobbi Jo, I've got thirteen of the greenest pilots you've ever
seen in your life. Most of them aren't fully trained. I don't
have enough of anything; pilots, ground crew, base staff,
security, medical personnel, --"
"You really are in a pickle, aren't you?" she interrupted
with a serious expression, her voice returning to that of a
respectable RDF officer.
Jeff swiveled around to look out the window. "Bobbi Jo,
I've been in enough tough spots to last me a lifetime. This is
by far the toughest."
"Don't worry, sugar. You and I know what it's like. I
won't let you or them down."
Captain Taylor's soft voice drew him to look back over his
shoulder. "I know you won't. You never have." He smiled at
her. "I also know your 'Daisy May' routine is just that; a
routine. I suspect it's your way of coping."
"Like the way you drink?" His raised eyebrows caused her to
grin. "I know all about you, Colonel. I also know all about
your pilots, your ground crew, and everyone else associated with
this squadron. Believe it or not, you have a tougher group here
than you think."
"I hope you're right, Captain. I sure hope you're right."
Missy Robins and Annie Twotree slipped away from the others
to explore the north hangar. Both were probably a little more
curious about their new home than they should have been at the
moment. They left their stuff on the tarmac with the others,
hoping it would delay any concern over their absence. Entering
through a small door set in the massive hangar doors, they groped
around in the semi-darkness until Annie found the lights.
In a blinding burst of light, the room lit up like a
gymnasium. Rubbing her eyes, Missy squinted and scanned the
mostly empty interior. A smile slowly grew as she spotted what
was stored along the back wall. Annie soon joined her and the
two grinned at each other knowingly.
Katherine was still getting everyone organized when the
sound of heavy transport engines approaching from the north
caused her to stop in mid-sentence and look. They were early.
Like two lumbering whales, the transports made a low pass
over the field and banked into a climbing turn that put them on
the downwind leg of their approach.
Gloria nudged Samantha. "Pretty good flying, huh?" she
chided.
Samantha shrugged. "Eh, I can do that."
"Maybe your friend would like to join the squadron."
"No, I already asked her," Samantha said with a sigh.
"She's not looking for excitement. She has everything she wants
right now."
"Too bad," Gloria replied. "We could sure use a couple more
pilots."
Samantha switched from watching the transports to scuffing
her boot on the tarmac. "Yeah, I guess so."
With pin-point dexterity, the first transport touched down,
its engines revving as the thrust reversers deployed. Slowed
enough to make the first turnout, it cleared the runway in time
for the second to land. Samantha smiled to herself. That Sandi
really knew her stuff. Both pilots were true professionals.
"Alright, everyone!" Katherine called over the howl of
transport engines as the first aircraft approached the tarmac in
front of the north hangar. "When they shut down, I want everyone
to lend a hand unloading." She glanced around quickly with a
frown. "Where's Missy and Annie?"
"They were here a minute ago," Daisy said, glancing around
herself. "Want me to go find them?"
"No, I'll deal with them later," Katherine replied with a
disgusted expression. Those two knew better than to slip away
like that. Maybe they had to use the restroom or something.
Anyway, they could wait. There were aircraft to unload.
As the first transport slid into its parking spot, the north
hangar doors began to open, their rumble competing with the
transport engines whine. Everyone covered their ears.
When the last transport engine died, two forklifts emerged
from the hangar and made straight for the cargo door of the first
transport.
Liz was the first to recognize the forklift drivers. "Hey,
you guys! Where did you find those?"
Stopping her vehicle, Missy waved and pointed to the hangar.
"There's all sorts of neat stuff in there. You ought to see the
cool little rovers they got."
"You mean: WE got," Daisy noted with a grin.
"Whatever." Missy dismissed the issue with a wave of her
hand. "We've got real aircraft tugs, a couple of trucks, and
these things." She added a slap to the forklift's side.
"Well then, let's get at it. Your cargo awaits." Daisy
indicated the transports with an outstretched arm.
"Hop on." Missy waited until four of the girls found places
to stand or sit before guiding the forklift over to the first
transport. Annie was already there, waiting to unload.
Jeff stepped out of the Command Building and smiled at the
transports. It looked like everyone got there safe and sound.
Just as Sandi promised back at Yellowstone.
He watched his ground crew waddle down the ramp and into the
bright sunshine, stretching cramped joints and sore muscles.
Cindy's office staff bounded off the transport like kids on a
school outing, excited over what had to have been their first
airplane ride.
He continued searching until he saw Kay emerge from the
transport's belly looking like a den mother who had just gone
through an overnight camp out with a pack of cub scouts.
Somehow, he got to the ramp's end before his wife. Helping her
down, they hugged.
"So, how was the flight?" he asked.
Kay drew a deep breath of clean air. "Indescribable."
Her response confused Jeff for a moment until he noticed
Sandi following the last of the passengers. She didn't look
happy.
"Something wrong?" he asked as she got closer.
"I just spent two and a half hours locked up in a large
metal tube with fifty people who redefined the word: airsick,"
she groused. "My aircraft smells like --"
"I can imagine," Jeff said, interrupting her.
"I'm going to have to hose it out," she groused. "We ran
out of barf bags in the first thirty minutes. We ran out of
drinking water a little after that. I'm not even going to tell
you what the toilets smell like."
"I appreciate that," Jeff replied. He glanced at Kay who
was slowly nodding agreement with Sandi's situation report.
"We'll help clean it up."
Sandi just shrugged and turned away. "I've hauled livestock
that didn't make this much of a mess," she grumbled, walking back
to her aircraft. Just in time to see the loadmaster coming down
the ramp with two full trash bags held out at arms length.
Jeff turned his wife away from the scene and guided her
towards the Command Building. "We get one of the two apartments
on the second floor. You pick which one you want."
Still nodding, she glanced up at him with an odd look.
"Something's wrong," she said.
Kay could always tell when there was something not right
about her husband. Jeff usually chalked it up to that spooky
sixth sense some of her people seemed to have. With a sigh, he
slowed his pace. "Bobbi Jo is here."
"That woman is on MY base?" Kay snarled as she jerked to a
halt. "What's SHE doing here?"
"She's the Intel Officer," he replied, continuing to look
straight ahead. He couldn't face his wife with such news. He
knew how close she came to hunting the young woman down when
rumors reached her about the red-head and her husband along the
Rio Grande.
"You know how I feel about that home-wrecker. I don't like
this. I don't like this at all."
"I told you before, there's no truth to those rumors. She
tried, I refused, and that's all there is to it."
Kay crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed. "Oh, I believe
you. It's the attempt she made that bothers me."
"It won't happen again," Jeff insisted. "I've made that
clear to her." When Kay continued to frown, he shook his head.
"And don't give me that look. Bobbi Jo knows these hills better
than anyone in the RDF. Like her or not, we need her
experience."
"YOU may need her but I certainly don't." Kay started for
the Command Building again, her pace just short of a jog. "Just
keep her away from me."
"I will," Jeff promised, knowing full well that on a base of
any size, it was impossible to guarantee they wouldn't meet
sometime. He just hoped Kay wouldn't do something unfortunate
when they did.
He watched as his wife stomped into the building, her face
hard and threatening. He hoped Bobbi Jo was down in her office
or checking out some other part of the base. He wasn't ready for
their meeting just yet.
Still holding his breath in anticipation of an explosive
meeting between his wife and the red-headed Intel Officer, he
flinched when someone grabbed his shoulder.
"What's going on?" Gail Lynn asked with a concerned
expression.
"Bobbi Jo Taylor," Jeff replied, still watching the
building.
"She's here?" Gail gasped.
"Yup."
"I thought she was at New Albuquerque Base."
"So did I. Seems someone remembered she was born and raised
around here and thought she would be perfect for Ozark Base."
"Well, she is one of the RDF's best Intel officers. We once
tried to get her assigned to South America but RDF Command
refused." She paused, glancing at Jeff. "I'll talk to Kay, if
you want."
"Carefully," Jeff warned.
"Naturally." Gail started back towards the Command
Building.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Jeff called. "Check out the
maintenance level of the South Hangar. I think you'll be
pleasantly surprised."
Gail hesitated, looking between the Command Building and the
South Hangar.
"Staff meeting in one hour. Be there," Jeff called as he
headed towards the transports. There was a lot of stuff to get
unloaded and he wanted the tarmac cleared before dark.
Daisy finished securing a pallet loaded with supplies and
waved for Missy to pick up with her fork lift.
"Have you seen Nancy anywhere? She's supposed to be
helping," Gloria grumped while juggling a stack of computer
equipment boxes.
"Yeah, now that you mention it, where IS Nancy?" Katherine
asked everyone in the transport.
Linda used a semi-clean rag to wipe her forehead as she
stood in the relative comfort of the transport tail's shadow. "I
saw her grab her stuff and head inside right after you made the
room assignments."
"She knows better than that," Katherine grumped.
"Want me to go find her?" Daisy asked, setting a large box
on the tarmac.
Katherine looked around at the unloading progress and
lightly chewed on her lower lip. Things were progressing faster
than expected. Most of the first transport was already unloaded
and the second was well underway. "Yeah, you better do that.
Take Missy as well. You'll cover more ground."
Daisy nodded and called for Lieutenant Robins before heading
towards the Command Building. Nancy had been acting strange ever
since they formed up this morning. It wasn't like her to skip
out of a work detail.
The two passed through the Command Building and out onto a
fairly large parking lot. Bordered on two sides by the first
level of the two living quarters and a third by the Command
Building itself, the lot looked almost new. There appeared to be
available parking for at least two dozen vehicles. Daisy took a
moment to muse how she might not need to send her car back home
after all.
Turning right, the pair entered the South Living Quarters
building through its dura-glass doors. The security station just
inside the doors was empty.
"Rooms are on the lower levels," Missy noted, looking into
the large Day Room opposite the security station. "Cool, a pool
table. Looks new."
Ignoring her find, Daisy attacked the stairs, taking two at
a time. The winding staircase soon led them down to the second
level.
"Nancy was assigned Room 21. Let's start there." Daisy
glanced at the room guide opposite the stairs and quickly turned
right. Halfway down the hall, they found Nancy's assigned room.
The door was open.
"Nancy, you in here?" Daisy called as she poked her head
inside.
There came a sound from the far bedroom like someone hastily
hiding something. Daisy stepped inside the main room, Missy
following, her eyes sweeping back and forth like she expected an
ambush.
When the bedroom door snapped open, the missing Nancy
quickly stepped through. Hesitating a moment, she slammed shut
the door behind her.
The two searchers froze when the door opened and stood in
confusion at the sight of their squadronmate's behavior.
"What are you up to?" Daisy demanded. "We're all out there
humping crates and you're down here playing house."
Nancy nervously glanced at the door behind her and tried to
assume a posture that looked more like her usual confident self.
"I wasn't doin' nuthin'," she said with a hard expression.
"You know better than to run off during a work detail,"
Daisy admonished, while walking towards her friend. "What's
gotten into you?"
Nancy fidgeted, scuffing a boot on the soft carpet. "I had
to do somethin'."
"What did you have to do that was more important than
helping us unload the transports? Why are you guarding that
door? What's in there?" Daisy made a move for the door knob.
Sliding over to block her friend, Nancy continued to look at
the carpet. "I said there's nuthin' going on."
Daisy paused, her hand hovering in front of Nancy's body as
she studied her friend's face. She saw embarrassment, irritation
and even a little fear. Slowly, she pulled her hand back.
"Okay, there's nothing going on. Suppose you tell me what you're
hiding in there."
Licking her lips and glancing once at her much larger
friend, Nancy frowned. "None of your business. It's personal
stuff. That's all."
"So personal you can't tell me?" Daisy asked with raised
eyebrows. "Since when are you keeping secrets from your old
friend?"
Nancy grimaced at the question. "It's nothing... It's just
some personal stuff. Please..."
Missy sighed and shook her head. "Ya know, Nancy, we're
going to find out sooner or later. You're sharing that room with
Daisy. You have to let her in sometime."
A plaintive 'meow' came from the other side of the door.
Nancy seemed to sag at the sound.
"You've GOT to be kidding," Daisy growled, sweeping Nancy
aside with her arm. Pushing open the door, she paused to let it
swing completely open before looking down at the floor. Staring
back at her with big, yellow eyes was a little cat. Actually, it
was more kitten than cat.
Nancy dove past her friend, scooping the tiny orange-striped
body into her arms, before retreating deeper into the room. "You
can't take her. She's MINE!"
Daisy's entire posture seemed to relax as she stared at her
friend with a curious expression. "Nobody's going to take your
cat."
Poking her head between Daisy and the doorframe, Missy
frowned. "I donno. Pets are against regulations. The Colonel
isn't going to like this."
Nancy slid deeper into the room, her little cat pressed
against her chest. "I don't care! Tiger stays! She's mine."
Holding up her hands in a non-threatening gesture, Daisy
eyed her friend in a compassionate way. "Okay. Take it easy.
She's yours. Where did it come from anyway?"
Still on guard and protecting the cat, Nancy sagged onto the
bed, her hand stroking the feline's little head. Its purr could
be heard clear across the room.
"I found her." Nancy frowned at the carpet. "No, that's
not true. I rescued her."
Daisy sighed and settled onto the end of the other bed. "I
guess you better tell us about it."
For a few moments, Nancy just stroked her cat and avoided
eye contact with her friend. When she finally drew a deep
breath, both Daisy and Missy anxiously awaited her tale. "You
already know I was suspended from flight duty and confined to
base pending results of an inquiry."
"Yeah, something about insubordination," Daisy replied,
nodding her head.
"What you don't know is why. I was newly assigned to 98
Squadron. We were just passing through Yellowstone on our way to
South America. My flight was scheduled for a dismounted exercise
on the live-fire range. I guess the brass thought we ought to
know how to fight without our Veritechs should they get damaged
and we have to abandon them.
"Anyway, we'd also just gotten a new flight leader. He was
a real hard-ass, over-the-top would-be warrior who'd never been
in combat in his worthless life. He kept telling us how you had
to be totally ruthless and without mercy when dealing with
renegade Zentraedi. The guys were all nodding their heads while
listening. It was freaky. All these guys, who ought to know
better, were agreeing with everything the creep said.
"Anyway, there was an old shack down at the start point.
The flight leader was droning on and on about how we had to
harden ourselves for the fighting ahead, when he spotted a mother
cat and three kittens over by the shack."
Nancy sighed and shook her head. "I guess he wanted to
prove how tough he was. He said the only kinds of people he
wanted in his flight were killers. That's when he shot at the
cats."
"He killed them?" Missy gasped.
"Fortunately, he was as good a shot as he was a flight
leader. His shots were high and to the left. All he did was
scare them back into the shack." Nancy's voice lowered. She
hunched over her cat. "That's when he ordered me to go in a
prove how 'tough' I was by killing all four of the cats."
"Even the kittens?" Missy had gone beyond being shocked and
was fast approaching angry.
Nancy slowly nodded. "I couldn't believe he was serious.
Crazy, yes, but crazy enough to want to kill innocents just to
prove how 'tough' he was? That went beyond crazy."
"I take it you didn't go through with it," Daisy said in a
low voice. It was obvious that even she was angered by the
story.
"Naturally, I refused," Nancy said. "We've been taught
since childhood to not take the life of an animal unless it was
food or we were threatened by it."
It was Daisy's turn to nod. She remembered how the tribal
elders repeatedly drilled the young about living with the world
the Great Spirit had given them. They killed only to survive in
a harsh environment. Nothing else was acceptable.
Nancy sighed and stroked her cat. Its purr changed pitch as
it offered its throat to her gentle scratching. "When I refused,
he ordered one of the others to kill them. I could tell by their
hesitation they knew it was wrong. That's when Tiger returned to
the shack's open door and stared at me. It was like she knew our
ways." She drew a deep breath. "It was really freaky. I've
heard about spirit animals but never really believed that stuff.
When I saw Tiger's eyes, I became a believer. I knew then, she
was my spirit animal.
"Anyway, when no one moved quick enough to suit the flight
leader, he raised his weapon again. Tiger never ran. She just
stared at me, like she was willing me to do something."
"What did you do?" Missy asked.
"I wrestled the weapon away from the lunatic and told him he
was not to hurt my spirit animal. That just caused him to go
berserk, calling me a superstitious coward and a disgrace to the
RDF. He said he knew my people were cowards and having one in
his flight was trouble.
"That afternoon, I was officially suspended pending charges
of insubordination."
"Didn't any of the others speak up?" Missy asked.
Nancy looked up at her. "They were never asked and they
never offered. The flight leader told his story and I told
mine."
"That should have ended it," Daisy declared.
"You don't understand," Nancy said, sadly shaking her head.
"They'll ALWAYS believe a white man before they'll believe one of
us. I was grounded a week, still waiting to hear the CO's
decision when Katherine came to offer me a chance to join this
squadron."
Daisy drew a deep breath and rubbed her face with a hand.
"Well, that explains why you were so willing to join. It also
explains why you were still available. The squadron CO probably
knew he couldn't charge you, a winner of the Silver Eagle for
Valor. And he certainly couldn't charge you on just the word of
a new flight leader. He was probably happy you solved his
problem by transferring squadrons." Daisy stood up and sighed.
"However, we still have a problem with the cat... I mean, Tiger."
"I'm NOT giving her up," Nancy insisted, hugging the little
animal a little closer.
"There's no reason you should," came Katherine's voice from
the bedroom door. Everyone quickly turned to look her way.
"How long have you been there?" Daisy asked.
"Long enough. When you didn't come back, I suspected
something was wrong. So, I came to find you myself." Katherine
stepped into the room, stopping next to the bed. She looked down
at Nancy and her cat with a serious expression. "Article thirty-
seven states that pets are not allowed in living quarters.
However, Article one fifty-one clearly permits a squadron mascot
- if approved by the squadron commander."
Instead of being happy with the decision, Nancy just hung
her head.
"That is, if you're willing to share," Katherine added.
"Tiger is mine," Nancy repeated with a frown.
"Agreed. However, all that means to the RDF and this base
is that you are responsible for the care and feeding of Fox
Squadron's official mascot." Katherine crossed her arms and
returned Nancy's frown. "That's the best I can do. Take it or
leave it."
Nancy continued to hunch over her cat, scratching its head
with her fingernails, while she considered the offer. "Can Tiger
stay with me, in my room?"
"I think that would be best," Katherine replied. "This is a
big base - at least, to a cat - and since you are going to be
responsible for Tiger's care, keeping her here would solve the
problem of control. We don't want her wandering off and getting
lost."
"What about Colonel Stuart?"
"You leave that to me," Katherine said with a thin smile.
"Cindy will draw up the papers and I'll get him to sign."
Nancy looked between her friends before nodding her
agreement.
"Good. Since that is settled, I have other business to
attend to. Colonel Stuart has called a staff meeting in ten
minutes so we can get organized. You three deal with Tiger and
I'll check in on you this evening."
Katherine turned to leave. She was almost to the door again
when Nancy said: "Thank you."
Captain Fox hesitated, then continued out of the room, a
small smile gracing her pretty face. That wasn't such a bad job
for a new Executive Officer, even if she did say so herself.
Kay Stuart wandered through the furnished apartment on B
Level above the offices in the Command Building. It was as nice
a place in which she could ever recall living. There was one
bedroom, a modest kitchen, a large living room and even a good
sized dining room. Probably for entertaining, she mused. It had
everything she could ask for in a home. Yes, it would do nicely.
Large windows bordered two sides of the living room, giving
it a light, pleasant atmosphere. The only thing that gave away
the fact it was part of a military base were the large red
buttons to drop the window armor in case of attack. She would
have to see about some material for curtains and the boring beige
walls would have to be painted, but that would just give her
something to do while Jeffrey was working.
Checking out the spacious bath, she worked up a sly smile
when noticing that the shower was big enough for two.
"All the comforts of home," she said with a giggle. She was
glad she allowed Cindy to talk her into shipping some 'personal'
effects on the train carrying the rest of Fox Squadron's
supplies. In a day or two, this place would be the best home
they ever had.
Jeff dropped into his office chair with a sigh. In ten
minutes, he would be holding the first of what he presumed would
be a long series of regular staff meetings.
He wanted this one to be more of a 'general introduction'
and situational overview for all parties concerned. He even
arranged for Lieutenant Colonel Lawson to give a base activation
report.
Dutch and Mad Dog arrived first, followed closely by Dr
Takahashi. He couldn't help but notice her rub against Mad Dog's
butt with her hip and wink his way when he looked. Jeff reminded
himself to go over the fraternization rules with everyone.
Gail Lynn arrived, grinning like a kid who just discovered
where her parents hid the Christmas gifts. Katherine held the
door for a serious-looking young lieutenant. Jeff figured he had
to be Roger Bickham, the Destroid troop commander. The young man
nodded Jeff's way and continued to an isolated corner of the room
where he remained standing, with only an occasional shifting of
his weight to indicate his discomfort at being confined in such a
small office with so many superior officers.
Richard Lawson arrived with a sergeant Jeff didn't know.
Either he was one of Richard's team or possibly the enigmatic
Staff Sergeant Scott Foley. Richard continued scribbling notes
in his little notebook, his glasses pushed back on his head as he
frowned at what he'd written. Jeff wondered why he clung to the
old notebook when there were much more modern electronic devices
available.
Checking his watch, Jeff was about to start the meeting when
Bobbi Jo, fashionably late, glided into the room, flirting with
every male that caught her eye. She especially concentrated on
Lieutenant Bickham - the poor guy.
"Okay, now that everyone is here, we can get started," Jeff
said, rocking back in his chair. "I know this is crowded, but
until we are able to empty all the boxes currently stacked in the
conference room, it will have to do.
"Today, all I intend to do is let everyone get to know one
another - to put faces with names and understand what it is they
do."
Those that weren't eyeing Bobbi Jo nodded as if they
understood.
"I've asked Lieutenant Colonel Lawson here to give us an
update on the base activation and anything else he might think
important. Richard?"
Clearing his throat, Richard thumbed through is notebook
until he found the page he was looking for. Glancing up at his
audience, he launched into a long and detailed description of his
team's efforts to reactivate Ozark Base. Having heard all this
before, Jeff swiveled around in his chair and looked out the
window.
A small utility transport jet was just taxiing in.
Expecting a couple of Friedman's shuttle pilots to pick up a pair
of former training squadron Veritechs for refitting and
modernization, he wasn't surprised when the jet jerked to a halt
and two young men in flight suits clambered out. What followed,
however, caused even Jeff to lean forward slightly.
Stepping onto the tarmac, swagger stick under one arm and a
white silk flying scarf wrapped jauntily around his neck, the
mustachioed man wore a uniform Jeff had never seen before. It
looked almost like an RDF uniform but there were certain
differences that gave it a truly strange look.
The sound of Richard getting to details about the
surrounding community, caused Jeff to reluctantly turn away from
the odd-looking little man. He figured the guy was probably on
his way somewhere else and just stretching his legs.
Richard paused his report long enough to flip through a
couple more pages. "The only major town within two hundred miles
is less than a mile north, towards the lake. The locals call it
Ozark City but it's little more than a village of four to five
hundred people. The local economy seems to be based on lumber,
small farms, fishing in nearby rivers, and the recovery of mid-
level technology items for sale in places like Louis to the
northeast and New Kansas which is northwest of here. There
appears to be a thriving business of trading with humans and
micronized Zentraedi in the Arkansas Protectorate."
"Trading?" Jeff asked, not certain he liked the sound of
that.
A thin smile flashed across Richard's face. "The locals
trade home-made alcohol for items of technology. This region has
more stills per square mile than anywhere else in the North
American Sector. They get grain from the Okies in the west and
corn from farms further north. I'd warn everyone to avoid the
stuff. To the uninitiated, it can rip your stomach out. I had
to evacuate one of my men to a medical facility after he tangled
with a jug of the stuff."
Jeff nodded and was pleased to see Cindy taking notes. He
would want a complete report to file with General Emerson and a
list of things to post.
"The worst part of all this is the political situation,"
Richard continued. "Just about everything within twenty miles is
owned either partially or in total by a man named Bill Kidd - Big
Billy, he's called by the locals. He's a ruthless bully who used
to be a petty thief and part-time maintenance man before the war.
This region used to be a resort area and there are hundreds of
homes, vacation motels, and shops that were just abandoned when
the Zentraedi attacked.
Big Billy declared himself mayor, petitioned the new World
Government for their approval. When he got it, he set about
identifying all the abandoned property. He was supposed to hold
them for two years so the rightful owners or their next of kin
could be found. Instead, he named himself the local magistrate
and altered the laws so he could claim all the property for
himself."
"How much does he own?" Jeff asked.
"About half of all the buildings, almost all the businesses,
and it is rumored he is in complete control of the black market,"
Richard replied. "He's a nasty little bastard who controls about
thirty of the meanest men you've ever met. They act as his
muscle. He uses them to shake down businesses, run out
competitors, and guarantee that he gets a cut of just about
everything around here. It's believed he was behind a series of
train robberies a year ago. But when he staged a public capture
of the 'bandits', the government up in Monument City rewarded him
with the title of governor for the region. He now controls an
area between the lake and the Arkansas Protectorate for about a
hundred miles east and west."
"My men have encountered that weasel a couple of times,"
Lieutenant Bickham said with a firm expression. "One wound up in
the hospital, another died from injuries. None of us like him.
It takes everything I've got to keep my boys from storming the
town and killing the bastard."
"We'll have none of that, Lieutenant," Jeff said in a low
but controlled voice. "However we deal with Mr. Kidd, we'll do
it legally. I have no intention of running a military base in
World Government territory surrounded by a hostile force that be
identified from the average civilian."
"Yes, sir," Bickham said abruptly, like he didn't care much
for Jeff's position. "My solution has been to not let the troop
leave base anymore."
"That probably would be a good idea for your... pilots, as
well," Richard added, hesitating when it came to describing
Jeff's squadron.
Jeff shook his head. "My girls can take care of themselves.
We can't do our jobs by hiding on the base. They will be fine -
so long as they stick together and keep their eyes open."
For a couple of seconds, an uncomfortable silence hung over
the room. Sergeant Foley was the first to voice what was on the
minds of those unfamiliar with FOX Squadron. "Uh, sir? Did you
say: 'girls?'"
"Women. Young ladies. Females of the species. You pick
the one you prefer." Jeff scanned the new people with a serious
expression. "They are RDF Veritech Pilots sent here to do a job.
I have no doubt as to their abilities to do that job.
Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Sergeant Foley replied, his back stiffening
instinctively.
Lieutenant Bickham, however, still harbored some doubts.
"And you're going to allow them to go off base?"
"Lieutenant, knowing how resourceful they are, I seriously
doubt I could stop them if I wanted to. If there's any trouble,
Mr. Kidd will quickly discover the meaning of 'being in deep
shit'."
"Very well, sir." Lieutenant Bickham still didn't look like
he was convinced.
Jeff was about to follow up when there came a knock at the
door.
"In," he snapped, rocking back in his chair. He expected it
to be one of Cindy's office staff or one of the other RDF people
at the base.
To his surprise, the odd little man he saw earlier getting
off the transport poked his head inside. "I say, is this Colonel
Stuart's office?" he asked in a clipped English accent.
"That's me. What can I do for you?" Jeff asked.
"Oh, well, it looks like I'm supposed to report to you,
then." The man entered and closed the door behind him. Everyone
in the room eyed his odd uniform and white silk flying scarf.
"Report? Report what?"
"Actually, I've been assigned here."
Jeff scanned the man's unusual uniform again. "Assigned as
what?"
"Oh, terribly sorry," the little man said as he pulled out a
large regulation RDF envelope with a standard personnel record
folder and handed both to Jeff. "Commander Thomas Crittenton
reporting as ordered, Sah." He snapped to attention, adding a
little double-stomp of his feet and an odd palm-forward salute.
Jeff opened the envelope and quickly read the orders. "It
says here that you're assigned to Ozark Base as the Operations
Officer."
"Quite right, Colonel," the man replied.
"There appears to be a mistake. I've already got an
Operations Officer." Jeff pointed to Mad Dog.
"Oh my, that is a bit of a cock-up, eh what?" Commander
Crittenton glanced at the heavily bearded Mad Dog and raised an
eyebrow. "Still, I'm certain you can find other suitable duties
for him. You will note by my record, I have over ten years of
experience. My last posting was with Norge Command in the
Scandinavian Quadrant."
Mad Dog practically shook with anger. "Look, you --"
Jeff stopped him with a raised hand. Reluctantly, the
burley Major backed down.
"This might not be such a bad idea," Jeff said, leaning back
in his chair and staring at the ceiling.
"Aw, Colonel --"
"Hear me out. I've been thinking about the setup here. I
can't run a squadron AND a base at the same time. One or the
other would get neglected. As I have no intention of neglecting
my squadron, I need a good base commander." He grinned at Mad
Dog. "Why don't I just give that job to you."
Mad Dog blinked a couple of times. "Me?"
"Why not?"
When Mad Dog looked at Dutch, he got a knowing wink in
return. A thin smile stretched itself behind his beard. "What
the hell. Do I get a promotion, too?"
"I'll work on it," Jeff promised with a glance Cindy's way
to make sure she was taking notes.
"Smashing idea, Colonel," Commander Crittenton said. "Your
reputation is well earned."
"We'll see about that as well. Find a seat, Commander. I
doubt you have any idea what you've just gotten yourself into."
Jeff indicated an empty spot next to Dr. Takahashi. The English
officer went through all the usual graces of a cultured gentleman
before settling in next to the grinning doctor. Jeff was about
to continue the meeting when Commander Crittenton jumped to his
feet with a yelp.
"I say," he gasped while rubbing his posterior.
Jeff never looked up from his notes. "Rope it in, Doctor.
We don't have time for that today."
Commander Crittenton glanced between Jeff and the doctor
before moving over to stand next to Cindy. She at least looked
safe.
"Okay, let's make it quick once around the groups. Sergeant
Foley?" Jeff asked, looking up at the security NCO.
"I'm short of everything, Colonel," he replied.
"We all are, Sergeant."
"Yes, well, I only have eight security people. Since they
have to eat and sleep sometime, that means I can only put three,
counting myself, on duty at any one time."
"How many do you need to do your job?"
Sergeant Foley thought for a moment. "I need five on duty
at any given time."
"That's six more people." Jeff looked over to Cindy. "Cindy
--"
"I'll check around and see what I can scare up," she said
without looking up from her notes.
"Good. Until we get enough people, I'll augment your three
with two of my pilots."
"They're not going to like that," Cindy said as if talking
to herself.
"Can't be helped. That means one flight handling patrol
duties, one flight on stand-by, and one flight splitting their
time between being off and helping guard this place." Jeff
looked at Richard. "In a day or two, my people are going to get
hungry. What's the mess situation?"
"The section immediately north of here contains a small club
on the surface. One level down is a Mess Hall that seats forty
at a time and the bottom level is some sort of small arms firing
range," he said, scanning his notes. "All are fully equipped but
without supplies. In short, you're dry and without edibles."
"Cindy --?"
"On the train, sir. Containers seven and eight," she
replied without looking up.
"Fine. Doctor?"
"From a facility standpoint, it's a dream come true," she
said, pushing her glasses back up on her nose. "However, we're
out of vital supplies; medicine, sterile items, bandages, and the
like."
Jeff only had time to look at Cindy.
"Also on the train. Container eleven," she said absently.
"A whole container?" Doctor Takahashi gasped.
Cindy shrugged. "Gloria got a little carried away."
"I'll say," the Doctor muttered. "I hope our storage is up
to holding all that stuff."
With a nod, Jeff looked at his Intel Officer.
"I'll have an overview ready in twenty-four hours and be
ready to answer threat specifics in forty-eight," Bobbie Jo said
before adding: "Sugar."
Jeff didn't waste a reprimand. He cast her a warning look
before turning to the Destroid Troop Commander. "Lieutenant?"
"I can put four Excalibers, four Gladiators, two Raidars,
and two Spartans in the field. We've been running night patrols
a couple of times a week at varying times south and east of the
base. We're short of spare parts, mechanics, and ammunition."
"Cindy will take care of the spare parts and ammunition.
Gail, can you loan a couple of your mechanics for a short time to
help Lieutenant Bickham get his Destroids up to full
functionality?"
Gail nodded. "A couple of Colonel Friedman's people have
worked on Destroids. I can get by for a week or so without
them."
"Thank you, sir," Lieutenant Bickham said with a smile.
"We're all in this together, Lieutenant. I need your
walking tin cans fully operational." Jeff sighed and closed his
meeting folder. "That just leaves a couple of loose ends.
Cindy, I hate to do this to you but I can't see any way to avoid
it."
"That's okay, sir," she replied as if she were still reading
his mind. "The office is too small for everyone as it is."
"Good. I need a couple to learn the Crash Team duties and
man the Fire Station out front. I also need one for
Communications and one to train in the tower."
"Sir? Troy Dodson used to run the crash team in Alaska.
I'm sure he could be convinced to train some new people," Gail
offered.
"Michael knows just about everything there is to know about
radios, sir. And Courtney is about as assertive as anyone her
age," Cindy said thoughtfully. "I guess they deserve a chance to
be something better than office drones."
"Good. Then it's settled. Mad Dog, your first duty as Base
Commander is to train them both."
"Figures," Mad Dog mumbled. "I knew this job was too good
to be true."
"One final thing, folks," Jeff called as everyone began to
leave. "The supply train is due tomorrow at noon. I expect
everyone to turn out and help unload."
"Everyone?" Lieutenant Bickham asked.
"Everyone, Lieutenant. I want that train unloaded before
dark."
"If there is a train," Sergeant Foley noted with a concerned
frown.
"It'll get here," Jeff said. "General Emerson has the
Thirty-Second Squadron running a rolling overwatch all the way."
Foley just shrugged and turned to leave. He had a new duty
roster to work out.
"Uh, Richard, if you could just wait a moment," Jeff said to
the Reactivation Team Commander as the others filed out of the
office.
When they were alone, Jeff leaned against his desk.
Crossing his arms and legs, he scowled at the floor.
"What's on your mind?" Richard asked.
"When your people were cutting back the tall grass, did they
happen to come across anything that looked like... discarded
building material?"
"What? You mean like headstones?" Richard looked over his
glasses at the Colonel.
"Yeah, like headstones." Jeff scuffed the toe of his boot
on the carpet.
"Southeast corner. Fifty yards from the fence. Halfway
towards the rail spur." He paused to see if Jeff reacted to his
announcement. When there wasn't any, he elaborated. "We just
noted its location and moved on. I'm afraid the area is pretty
neglected. It wasn't on our list of things to do, you see. I
mean, our orders were only to get the facilities ready."
Jeff stopped him with a soft hand on his shoulder. "I
understand. Thanks."
Richard nodded and flipped through his notebook. "Maybe we
can schedule --"
"That's okay. We'll take care of it." Jeff patted
Richard's shoulder. "You've done a good job."
Richard nodded absently and turned to the door, jotting a
few notes as he went. There was no way he could be sure but it
seemed to him that the headstones meant something to Colonel
Stuart. While his curiosity was raised, he knew it wasn't any of
his business. He'd play it safe and leave their meaning to the
Colonel. Besides, he had more than enough to do and little time
to do it.
Drumming his fingers on the edge of his desk, Jeff debated
his next move. Not that he really had a choice. This was
something he had to do and he knew it.
With an irritated grunt, he pushed himself to his feet and
headed for the Admin Office.
"Cindy, I want you to advise Captain Fox that we will begin
flight operations in seventy-two hours," he said almost in
passing. "Until then, I want one flight on stand-by at all
times. She can handle the schedule."
Before Cindy could reply, he was gone, out the door leading
to the circle parking lot.
He never hesitated, crossing the sun-baked blacktop and
passing between the single above ground level of the twin living
quarters as he headed towards the main gate. Just before he got
there, he veered off and followed the twenty foot wide perimeter
track cut by Richard's team towards the southeast corner of the
base.
Just before he got to the corner, he caught sight of a
couple of brown and gray objects poking through the tall grass,
exactly where Richard said they'd be. With growing urgency, he
pushed his way through the thick undergrowth until he reached the
first of the little cemetery's headstones. It had been only six
years since he was last here. It seemed like a lifetime.
Working from memory, he pushed through the grass until he
reached his goal. On the far edge, closest to the buildings, he
found what he was looking for. Brushing some dirt from the clear
plastic-enclosed granite block, his fingers traced the carved
name: 'Jennifer Stuart, Captain RDF'
Slowly sinking into the weeds, his fingers still resting on
the letters, he forced a painful smile. "Looks like I'm back,
Jen."
Email: sandborn@kc.rr.com
Web: http://home.kc.rr.com/sandborn
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