'Robotech' is copyrighted by Harmony Gold USA, Inc. /
Tatsunoko Production Co.,Ltd. The copyrighted characters,
environments, technology, and vehicles have been used only
with all the love and respect I can offer to their original
creators.
The story and original characters are copyrighted by G.L. Sandborn
and are for the enjoyment of the readers only.
This story is not to be posted on any other Internet web site
without permission of the copyright holder.
-----------------------------------------------------------
FOX Squadron Episode 12 - One Lousy Day by G.L. Sandborn
The mission stunk. There was no doubt about it. Escorting an
egotistical government ambassador to a meeting in hostile territory
between two parties that couldn't stand the sight of each other was bad
enough. General Emerson made things worse by assigning Jeff to
determine while he was at the meeting the status of the Veritechs stolen
during the Miami Base mutiny. It was enough to drive a man to drink.
That was exactly what Colonel Jeff Stuart wanted most as he stepped
onto the tarmac at Ozark Base. Being the handpicked escorts, it was odd
that he and Captain Katherine Fox were given only an hour to prepare.
They used their limited time the best they could, gathering everything
they could about the attending parties. It wasn't much. Even the
briefing Captain Bobbi Jo Baker provided was disturbingly shallow, long
on guesses and very short on verifiable fact. About the only thing they
were certain of was York had become even more fanatical than before and
there was no way talking was going to solve the issue of a micronization
chamber loaned to the Zentraedi by the United World Government.
With a heavy feeling of futility, Jeff and Katherine headed for
their Veritechs. At least, they headed where the aircraft were supposed
to be. Only one Veritech was waiting for its pilot; Katherine's two-
seat VF-1D. Jeff's modified VF-1A was missing.
"If this is a game of 'Hide the Veritech', I'm not amused," he
growled.
"Maybe they took it in for maintenance," Katherine offered as she
looked around. "This mission was kind of last minute."
"Hell of a time to pull a maintenance check," he mumbled. "Now
what do I do?"
As if to answer him, the growl of an aircraft tug announced its
exit from the south hangar. Slowly it emerged into the bright early
summer sunshine, the shadows of the massive building giving way to what
the tug was towing. Sporting a fresh woodland camouflage paint job, one
of the left-behind VF-1S Veritechs rolled silently behind the tug like a
large puppy on a leash. Its nose art left little doubt for whom it was
intended.
As the tug jerked to a halt next to Katherine's Veritech, Gail Lynn
slid off one of the tug's fenders, a clipboard in hand, and approached
with her characteristic knowing smile.
"Fresh from the setup crew. Checked and double-checked. We even
had time to splash on a little paint," she said, holding the clipboard
out.
Jeff accepted the papers but did little more than glance at them.
He knew everything would be in order if Gail was involved. His
attention was focused more on the Veritech. The more he looked, the
more he noticed little details that personalized the fighter meant for
him.
The nose art, faithfully rendered from the original salvaged by
Steve Friedman, seemed a little out of place, considering the makeup of
the squadron. At one time, the shadowy figure of a cavalry trooper on
horseback, holding his saber pointed forward in full charge had been a
powerful symbol that gave a clue as to the type of man flying the
fighter. Now it was little more than an inappropriate relic from bygone
days. Despite his feelings about the picture over what it might
represent to his squadron, nobody else seemed to notice.
When his eyes wandered to the twin tails, he tilted his head
slightly trying to determine just what the markings meant. "What's with
the four horseshoes?"
"Honestly, Jeffrey, you should know the tradition by now," Gail
said with a mock frown. "When a warrior leads a successful raid to
capture horses, he paints horseshoes on his own, one for each horse
taken."
Looking at Katherine for confirmation or at least an explanation,
he was rewarded with her strange grin. "I think she's referring to the
four VF-1A's we snatched just before getting the training squadron hand-
me-downs," she said.
"Oh," Jeff acknowledged with a nod. "Of course. Be sure to thank
the paint shop people for such an professional job."
Gail began to reply but her answer was quickly swallowed by the
sound of the Ambassador's jet starting up. As both engines spun up to
idle speed, its three VIP passengers emerged from the Command Building.
There was no mistaking their urgency. Ambassador Lemieux led the way,
making her way across the tarmac with quick, sharp strides, her robes
flowing behind her like a the wings of an avenging angel. Her two
assistants scurried along in in her wake, engaged in an obvious debate
that was lost in the howl of jet engines.
"I guess we better saddle-up," Jeff said, frowning at the
procession. "It looks like her highness is in a hurry."
Settling into his new fighter's cockpit, Jeff noticed Gail had been
busy doing more than just preparing a stock fighter for him. The
original targeting computer, while certainly first rate, had obviously
been exchanged with the advanced one from his VF-1A. He hoped he
wouldn't need to find out if it was everything Friedman had said it was.
He also noticed a number of other improvements but had little time to
admire them. The Ambassador's transport was on the move, taxiing out
with only a minimum of engine warmup.
Cursing impatient bureaucrats, Jeff quickly waved for Katherine to
start up before beginning his own complicated series of switch
manipulations to start the Veritech's twin FF-2001 fusion turbines. The
wail of powerful Veritech engines soon penetrated ground crews' hand-
covered ears and oversized ear protection affectionately known as 'mouse
ears.'
"You ready?" he asked after tuning in the inter-aircraft frequency.
Katherine's business face popped up on the right display panel.
"Right behind you, sir."
Jeff did a double-take when he noticed the nose art on her two-seat
Veritech. It was an image of a brown and white spotted horse rearing up
on its hind legs and kicking with its front hooves. He wondered if
everyone was determined to personalize their fighters in such a way.
That reminded him that he'd probably better make a squadron policy of
some sort about nose art when he got back. He knew there wasn't an
entry that covered such things in official RDF regulations. It was
usually left up to the commanding officer.
The Ambassador's transport starting its takeoff run caused him to
curse again. The woman was not waiting around for anybody or anything.
Certainly not poky RDF fighters.
*****#####*****
Major Davis settled into his office chair with a satisfied sigh.
Looking around the room as he rocked back gave rise to a knowing smile.
He had a reason to be happy. Less than a month ago he was in a dead-end
job running a broken-down simulation center. Now he was the commander
of a forward RDF base in a critical region. Life was good.
He was just contemplating a how all this would lead to a promotion
when there came a knock at his door. He barked for whomever it was to
enter and was rewarded by the sight of Lieutenant Wallace, her arms full
of papers. "What is it, Lieutenant?" he asked, not certain he liked the
sight of so many papers headed his way.
"Congratulations on your appointment, Sir. Accordingly, there are
a few things you need to deal with," she said in a firm voice.
"Things?" He certainly didn't like the sound of 'things'.
Cindy plopped the stack of papers on his desk. Two of her young
assistants waddled into the room, both of them loaded down with armloads
of paper. "As you know, the Colonel used to be the acting base
commander. In the short time I've known him, I have reached the
conclusion he isn't much for doing paperwork. His many distractions
have given him the opportunity to avoid doing the unavoidable. Since
you are now the base commander, you get to make up for his lack of
enthusiasm by bringing our records and reports up to date." She smiled
at him in a way that left little doubt his worst fears were about to
come true. "This pile is all the daily reports we haven't filed since
we arrived. I've taken the liberty of filling in the basics. You get
to go through this other pile and sort out all the particulars before
filling them in on the forms in this pile. In addition, the Admin
Office at HQ is screaming about the lack of personnel reports and RDF
Transport Command is livid about our failure to confirm receipt of the
last supply train contents. They are threatening to stop further
shipments until we account for everything they sent the first time."
Mad Dog stared at the pile. This couldn't be happening.
"You also need to report on the protoculture matrix storage
facility, security arrangements for both the base itself and the
munitions bunker along with the number and status of all civilian
employees. Of course, we don't have any civilian employees but you
still need to fill out the paperwork - in triplicate." Cindy continued
to stack paper from her assistants on his desk. They seemed to have a
never ending supply of forms and documents demanding his attention.
"How long do I have to complete them?" he asked, staring in
disbelief at the mound of paper in front of him.
"You have until... yesterday." Cindy dropped the last of the
paperwork on his already overflowing desk.
"I have to do all this by myself? Don't I get any help?" he asked
plaintively.
Cindy turned to leave. "You don't have a secretary and I don't
have anyone I can spare. The only help I can offer is to warn you not
to screw them up."
"What happens if I do?" Mad Dog felt the first twinges of panic.
"You get to do them all over again - in addition to the ones for
next week." Cindy stopped in the doorway and wiggled her fingers his
way. "Have fun," she chirped before disappearing.
Mad Dog's groan was answered by his aging overloaded desk.
*****#####*****
Ten minutes out of Ozark Base, the Ambassador's transport reached
its cruising altitude. Jeff and Katherine took up their positions on
either side and slightly behind.
Despite this being a diplomatic mission, Jeff didn't like flying
into what could be hostile territory without reasonable precautions.
Switching frequencies, he cast a quick glance toward the plain
white transport before opening the channel. "Black Hawk One to Black
Lodge. You there Crittenton?" He wasn't sure just why they had settled
on the call sign. His pilots were most adamant about using it.
Something about 'strong medicine', he was told. Since it was easy to
remember and RDF Command had no objections, it stuck.
Silence and a blank screen greeted his call. Jeff sighed. There
were obviously as few bugs in the system yet.
"Wake up Crittenton. We're working here."
The view screen flickered to life showing the flamboyant English
Operations Officer. "No need to shout, Colonel. I'm right here."
The Commander's soothing English accent did little to calm the
already irritated Jeff. "What's it look like from the high ground?" he
asked, referring to the RDF orbiting surveillance satellite view.
"Well, your little party appears to be attracting a spot of
interest," the Commander replied. "The chaps to the east have several
interceptors orbiting well outside of missile range. A couple more are
flanking and escorting a rather large transport."
"That would be the York Ambassador and his entourage." Jeff nodded
to himself. He half expected such a show of force while the York
representative was traveling.
"The Grays have a small contingent moving up from the gulf." There
was a pause as if Crittenton was checking something. "I make it out to
be one transport and a pair of Veritechs. Good heavens, I didn't know
they had Veritechs."
"You need to talk to Captain Baker more often," Jeff chided. "Will
those parties arrive before us?"
"Oh I should think so. Providing they don't get tangled up with
their own fighters, the Yorkies should be the first to arrive. Bloody
shame if they had an accident."
The Commander's final observation caused Jeff to chuckle. "Let's
hope not. We don't need an incident right now."
"Yes, well, perhaps another time."
"Any sign of Zentraedi activity?"
"Everything in the Protectorate appears quiet. Were you expecting
something?"
Jeff's response was aborted when another face appeared on his other
view screen. "Colonel! You will cease your transmission immediately.
This is a Level One diplomatic mission and I will not have it
jeopardized by your spying on the attendees." The Ambassador's voice
was only slightly angrier than the look on her face.
"I am simply taking reasonable precautions," he said in as calm a
voice as he could.
"Cease your transmission NOW." The Ambassador's image abruptly
blinked off the view screen.
"Good heavens. Who was that?" Crittenton asked.
"The voice of reason and negotiation. I suggest we comply with
her... request." Jeff might have been willing to follow instructions
but being ordered to do so by a third-rate diplomatic drone was enough
to make him grit his teeth.
"Well, I'm certainly glad she's your problem and not mine. I'll
let you know if anything develops. Black Lodge out." The Commander's
calm voice was tinged with disdain. It was obvious he also had little
regard for the Ambassador.
"Thank you. Black Hawk One out." Jeff looked to his right and saw
Katherine staring at him. He couldn't tell if she was waiting for him
to say something or not. He waved her way and nodded. Instead of
waving back, she just returned the nod and resumed looking ahead.
Whatever she thought of the conversation, she was certainly keeping to
herself.
The next quarter hour they flew on in silence, their progress
retarded by the relatively slow cruising speed of the transport. Still
concerned about their security, Jeff busied himself monitoring the usual
RDF frequencies. Confident that either Crittenton or some patrolling
RDF craft would sound the alarm should anything develop that they needed
to know about, he had little to do but fly and worry about all the
things that could go wrong.
They crossed the swollen Mississippi above the Madrid Falls and
entered York controlled airspace. With only one other fighter, both
armed only with their standard GU-11's, he felt particularly naked.
York fighters were not that far away. One determined strike with
missiles and the entire United World Government contingent would cease
to exist. Their own oversized auto cannons would not help them much
should they be jumped by a flock of missile-firing aircraft.
Their little flight emerged from some low clouds to reveal a small
town spread out to the north. It's broken water tower bore the
optimistic name of Metropolis.
The place wasn't much to look at. Devastated by the Zentraedi-
inspired earthquake, virtually every building still bore some sign of
the cataclysm. Here and there, mounds of rubble marked where a
particularly large building had collapsed. Despite this, it was obvious
that life was hanging on. A number of people moved about in the
streets, going about the business of surviving and trying to rebuild
their shattered community.
Northwest of the town lay an open space with a single dark strip of
asphalt. As they got closer, he could see what they were supposed to
land on wasn't in much better shape than the town it was meant to serve.
Much of the area around the paved surfaces had begun to be reclaimed by
nature. Tall grass and weeds surrounded just about everything on the
ground.
Just east of the deteriorating asphalt, a few moderate-sized
undamaged buildings marked the airfield facilities. Jeff hoped they
were the site of the planned meeting. He had no desire to be
transported by the Yorkies to some undisclosed location far from his
fighter. As naked as he felt in the air, it would be ten times worse on
the ground amongst his potential enemies.
With only the briefest instructions from the airport control, Jeff
and Katherine pulled away from the Ambassador's transport, circled
around and followed it in for a bumpy landing on the neglected runway.
A battered old truck with a 'Follow Me' sign mounted on its back guided
them to a parking spot along the flight line. As expected, they were
not the first to arrive.
Jeff took his time shutting down and climbing out of his fighter -
long enough to watch the Ambassador angrily wave a finger at her two
assistants before stomping towards what he assumed was the airport
operations building.
Resisting the urge to follow and find out what put her in such a
mood - or at least where the conference was being held, he noticed
Katherine standing in front of her Veritech, garment bag over her
shoulder, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Perhaps she also felt
uneasy about the situation.
After a quick visual sweep of the area around them, Jeff pulled his
own uniform bag out of his fighter's tiny cargo hold and joined her.
"I sure wish the Ambassador would at least tell us what we're
supposed to do now," he said as he approached.
Katherine just nodded while acting like she didn't even want to
look at him.
"Well, since we brought these dress uniforms, I suppose we better
at least put them on." He watched her for a reaction.
"Sir?" she asked in a voice that sounded like a little girl who'd
done something terribly wrong.
"Yes?"
"I'm not sure if I'm supposed to tell you this," she began before
hesitating. "The Ambassador spoke to me before we left."
"Oh?" Jeff tried to act unconcerned but this had to be something
out of the ordinary to have upset her enough to elicit a confession.
"She said she picked me for this mission because I'm a woman and
she only trusts women."
"Well, that certainly explains her attitude," he replied. "Still,
that's not something you should be concerned with. Once this mission is
over, she goes her way and you go yours."
"That's just it, Sir. She also asked me to join her staff."
Katherine looked miserable making such an admission.
"I see." Jeff took a deep breath and tried to think of how to
handle such a delicate situation. He really didn't have that many
options. "Well, that is certainly your decision to make. I know you've
done as much as anyone to put this squadron together. I also know
you're aware of all the dangers that goes with a combat assignment. If
you're having second thoughts --"
"But that's just it, I'm not!" she gasped with a distraught
expression. "I like my assignment."
"Then what's the problem? You just decline her offer and things
stay as they are."
Katherine sighed. "I know." She may have been telling the truth
but she wore the distinct expression of someone who wanted to say
something else.
Looking past his Executive Officer, he spotted the two United
Confederate States' Veritech's parked further down the flight line. He
knew Katherine was struggling with something right now but it wasn't as
pressing as his need to fulfill the second part of their mission. Her
problem would have to wait until later. With nobody in sight, now was
the best chance he was likely to get to check out the rebel fighters.
Handing Katherine his uniform case, he indicated the operations
building with a jerk of his head. "Look, I'm sure she won't expect an
answer right away. If you want, we can discuss this after we get back
to base. For now, you go on ahead and find out where this peace meeting
is taking place. I'll join you in a minute."
Before Katherine could ask where he was going, Jeff started towards
the former RDF fighters.
As he drew nearer, his pace slowed. He got a strange uneasy
feeling approaching the two former RDF Veritechs, like he was being
watched. Warily, he did a complete turn before angling towards the
fighters. The whole airstrip was eerily quiet. The only movement he
could see was Katherine walking across the tarmac.
With another glance around to make sure nobody was watching, he
edged closer to the UCS craft. While still twenty meters away, he could
see unmistakable signs of neglect. Leaking fluid had created dark
streaks on the fighter's deep gray skin, marking places where fittings
had worn. It wasn't unusual for a front-line fighter to show degrees of
wear due to constant use but these fighters looked more like something
ready for Colonel Friedman's bone yard.
He glanced around again and tried to look inconspicuous before
making directly for the first UCS Veritech. Pausing under its nose, he
knelt down and checked the landing gear tires. There were cracks all
across the tire's sides. They weren't large cracks but unmistakable
signs of overuse. Since aircraft tires were no longer made out of
rubber, it was unusual to see anything other than a slight discoloration
on them. Cracking was rare and could only be the result of using tires
beyond their expected operational life - in this case, well beyond. In
RDF squadrons, even now at the lower levels of standard maintenance,
they were usually replaced long before such deterioration could occur.
The ones here couldn't have more than a dozen landings left in them
before one or both blew on impact.
Examining the gear strut, he noticed more fluid leaking down from
somewhere deep in the nose gear well. It pooled between the twin tires.
He slid a finger along the strut and sniffed. It wasn't what he
expected from hydraulic fluid. It felt right but smelled vaguely of
peanuts. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't RDF issue.
Slowly working his way around the fighter, he could see small spots
that had been patched or crudely hammered out. Popping open an
inspection panel, revealed discolored wiring and more non-standard
replacement parts. It looked like the General was correct. The United
Confederate States obviously had no means to properly care for their
Veritechs.
"You there! What are you doing?" came a sharp voice from the other
side of the second Veritech. A lone figure carrying a pre-war automatic
weapon stepped into view. His faded uniform identified him as a York
security soldier.
"I'm just checking my fighter," Jeff said, running his hand over
the aircraft's side like he was inspecting it. It had the added effect
of allowing him to close the inspection panel while he tried to figure
out how he missed noticing the guard. More interesting was the question
of why a York soldier was guarding a UCS Veritech.
"You one of the Reb pilots?" The soldier tilted his head in a
skeptical way.
Jeff switched to his best 'old Virginia' voice. He was glad his
flightsuit bore no obvious RDF insignia. "Can't you tell? Gotta keep a
keen eye on this here bird. They require a heap of tender lovin' care."
The soldier snorted and lowered the barrel of his weapon. "Yeah,
well, you ain't supposed to be here. My orders are that nobody is to
get near the aircraft."
"Sorry. Didn't know." Jeff turned to leave.
"And tell that other fella - Mr. High and Mighty - that he don't
need to worry none. Nobody is goin' to get near these aircraft while
I'm on duty." The soldier shook his weapon Jeff's direction.
"I'm certain he will be pleased to hear that," Jeff replied,
quickening his pace. He wondered just who 'Mr. High and Mighty' might
be. His former Executive Officer, perhaps?
It didn't take long for him to reach the aging operations building
and find Katherine. Together they endured the indignity of a search for
weapons and explosives. Jeff grumbled through the ordeal but refrained
from pointing out that he had just outside a fighter that could blow the
entire base to hell, if he desired.
The only incident came when the guards engaged in a debate over
whether or not the nail clippers found in Katherine's bag constituted a
weapon or not. Thankfully, a York officer arrived and dismissed their
concerns, but not without a hard warning glare Katherine's way.
Once released, they were escorted to a second building that
appeared to have once been a gymnasium. Inside, Jeff and Katherine were
ushered to separate doors and told they could change inside.
Cautiously pushing open the door, his senses were immediately
assaulted by odors that were better left unsampled. "You have to be
kidding," he said.
"You can change in there or out here in the hall," his escort said,
casting a leer at Katherine who had also balked at using the room
offered her. Obviously, it was in no better shape than the one facing
Jeff.
Kicking open the door again, he snapped a disgusted expression at
his guard before entering. The amount of mold on just about everything
in sight combined with the odor of long abandoned and stopped up toilets
contributed to an atmosphere that left Jeff vowing to wear his uniform
home in place of having to endure the disgusting locker room again.
Changing in record time, he retreated into the marginally better
hallway. Katherine had also changed quickly, stepping into the hall and
gasping for cleaner air. The look on her face confirmed the womens'
locker room wasn't any better.
York guards subjected them both to another round of serious
searches before escorting them to yet another building that contained a
large carpeted meeting room in its middle. It wasn't in much better
shape than the rest of the complex.
The thin carpeting on the floor was stained in several spots, as if
water had leaked through the roof. The room reeked of a mustiness that
indicated gross neglect. The majority of the room's lighting came from
windows high overhead, despite the struggle of a few valiant florescent
lights that hummed and buzzed, adding a pitiful yellow tint to the room.
In the middle of the room, a series of long tables were pushed into
a rough square with three seats arranged on each side. Someone had
tried to match-up the various types and styles of mismatched chairs so
no one would feel slighted, leaving the whole arrangement looking more
like a family picnic than a diplomatic negotiation.
The room had only four doors for access, two on one side and two
more on the opposite wall. Each door was close enough to its own
corner, leaving the impression of opposite corners in a boxing ring.
Jeff hoped his impression wasn't an omen of what was to come.
He was just calculating escape routes, should the need arise, when
he was interrupted by the Ambassador's approach. Ignoring him, she slid
up to Katherine with a kind of expression that suggested she was looking
for something.
"You look marvelous, Captain," she said in a honey sweet voice as
she fingered the shoulder strap on Katherine's coat. "You do credit to
that uniform."
Jeff fought the urge to clear his throat or roll his eyes.
Instead, he pretended to look away, like he was counting the number of
leak stains on the ceiling.
Without moving his head, he caught the Ambassador sliding her hands
down the outside of Katherine's sleeves. The look on his executive
officer's face was priceless.
"Madam Ambassador, the delegates are arriving," one of her
assistants called.
With a disgusted sigh, the woman closed her eyes and appeared
trying to control what could have been a nasty response. When she
opened them, she looked into Katherine's eyes with an expression that
spoke volumes. It was Jeff's turn to suppress a disgusted sigh.
When she turned to leave, she caught sight of Jeff watching her.
Her body stiffened. "As for you, Colonel, you will remain here. You
will not say or do anything that might interrupt the proceedings. Your
presence is only ornamental."
"I'll try to keep breathing to a minimum," he replied with a blank
expression.
The Ambassador's eyes narrowed before she turned on her heel and
stomped back to her place at the conference tables.
"Nothing like a visit from Miss Congeniality to make one's day,"
Jeff said.
"She makes my skin crawl," Katherine replied, her hand gripping the
spot on her arm the Ambassador touched. "Just being close to her makes
me want to take a shower."
"I'm guessing that's what she has in mind - once we get back to
civilization, of course."
Katherine's disgusted expression assured him she shared his
revulsion. He could almost see her shudder at the image his suggestion
raised.
Showers, slimy ambassadors, and dumpy accommodations were quickly
forgotten as the double doors in the opposite corner of the room opened.
What emerged through the opening they revealed could have been right out
of an old Hollywood movie.
The two military escorts marched into the room in a manner
guaranteed to impress all who watched. Dressed like members of Cardinal
Richelieu's guard, the escorts tromped in wearing bright red tabards
trimmed in gold over coal black uniforms. Each tabard was emblazoned
with the York military crest; a blazing sword laid over a gold cross.
Black knee-high leather boots and red broad-brimmed hats turned up on
one side and sporting a white plume completed their ensemble. Even
without stage rapiers, they looked like someone waiting for the director
to call 'action'.
What followed was even better. The portly York Ambassador emerged
from the dark hallway like a pope about to issue a blessing to the
assembled multitude. Dressed in a red robes with a short red cape
trimmed in gold over his shoulders, he approached Ambassador Lemieux
with all the grace of a fat penguin. The warm mutual greeting between
the two could have easily been mistaken as that of life-long friends
rather than political adversaries. Jeff hoped his reaction was due to
his lack of understanding about politics and negotiation.
Compared with what preceded them, the York assistants looked
positively frumpy. Their basic brown monk's outfits, complete with
oversized hoods and simple gold-colored rope binding their waists, gave
them the appearance of common servants.
"There's something you don't see everyday," Katherine said in a low
voice.
"Thank goodness," Jeff replied. Such ecclesiastical arrogance and
religious imagery was a far cry from those of a religious calling he
knew - Aunt Margie, for example.
It took several minutes for the two groups to be introduced,
blessed, and sanctified before they separated to their assigned places
at the table. Jeff glanced at the two escorts who snapped into curious
poses on opposite sides of the door they had entered through. Their
hands on their hips in what he assumed was their 'parade rest' position
appeared a touch arrogant to him.
A second door, closer and on the same side of the room as Jeff,
opened with a loud 'click'. Through it came the United Confederate
States delegation.
As with the Yorkies, the first to enter were the military escorts.
More 'comic opera' clowns, Jeff thought as he evaluated what passed for
dress uniforms to the United Confederate States military. Obviously
copied from those worn by the landed gentry of their 1860 ancestors at
the start of their lost rebellion, their gray waist coats sporting
double rows of gold buttons were accented by sky blue pants with a wide
gold stripe up the outside of each leg and tucked into knee-high black
riding boots that were polished to a brilliant shine. Each wore a short
cape over their left shoulder in the manner of an 18th-century
cuirassier. Jeff wondered if he was the only one who thought these the
costumes he had seen so far were a bit much for a serious country's
military.
"Colonel!" called one of the UCS officers. Jeff immediately
recognized him. It was hard for him to not call back. They had spent
so many memorable years together. Instead, he just nodded towards the
man, the mutiny still fresh in his mind.
"Who's that?" Katherine asked.
"Donnie Lee," Jeff replied in an offhand manner.
"Somebody you know?"
"Once upon a time."
The pair watched as Jeff's former executive officer motioned for
his companion to remain behind before making his way over to them.
Neither made any efforts to acknowledge his approach.
"Colonel, it's so good to see you again," Donnie said with a broad
grin, apparently overlooking the fact his greeting was meeting with
stony silence.
"Captain Lee," Jeff replied in a formal tone. "I haven't seen you
since your last command. It was down in Florida, was it not?"
Donnie's grin only flickered before growing into an almost reserved
smile. "It's been a long time. By the way, it's Commander Lee now."
He looked at Katherine like he was in the presence of royalty. "Where
are my manners? Don't just stand there, Colonel. Introduce me to this
charming young lady."
"Captain..." Jeff caught his mistake and quickly corrected
himself. "Commander Lee, this is my Executive Officer, Captain
Katherine Fox."
Snatching her hand as it rose to shake his, Donnie flipped his
short cape back in a gallant motion. Bending slightly at the waist, he
raised her hand to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. Katherine's
expression was a cross between surprise and... something else. Jeff
couldn't be sure but she appeared to blush.
"Your servant, my lady," Donnie said, looking up into her eyes with
a sly smile.
It took a few moments for Katherine to disengage her hand. When
she did, she clutched it to her chest and avoided further eye contact
with the gallant Commander Lee. "If you will excuse me," she stammered,
"I need to... to go freshen up." Without a second glance their way,
Katherine fled the room.
Donnie watched her go, flicking his finger both ways across his
broad mustache as if to rearrange it after the kiss. "I can see
there's been certain... improvements in the command structure of RDF
squadrons."
Jeff chose not to respond. Donnie was always the 'ladies man' in
his squadron, like a teenager with over-active hormones.
"Colonel, I wonder if you know what this conference is about,"
Donnie said, his expression dissolving from amused to serious.
"It has to do with a certain micronization chamber in the Arkansas
Protectorate."
Donnie grunted a single chuckle. "I guess I should have expected
you would be well informed."
"I understand why the Yorkies are here. Clearly, they don't like
it. What I don't understand is why your government is interested in the
chamber. The United Confederate States has never shown overtly
xenophobic tendencies like York."
"We are here only as observers," Donnie said with a shrug. "Our
brothers in the Barony asked us to attend."
"Brothers?"
"Perhaps that is too strong. However, we do have an interest in
the outcome of this conference."
"So you also wish the chamber destroyed," Jeff flatly replied.
Donnie sighed. "Colonel, we are a small and relatively weak nation
--"
"With almost two dozen front-line Veritechs," Jeff interrupted with
a scowl. Despite their past friendship, he couldn't put the mutiny out
of his mind.
For a brief moment, Donnie hesitated, his face absent of expression
except lips that were drawn tight. A quick glance at Jeff and tiny
smile flickered. "Those were the spoils of war, Colonel."
"Purchased with the blood of their pilots." Jeff felt his anger
rising at the memory of former comrades killing each other. He had
trained many of those pilots. Their deaths were more to him than just a
set of statistics. "The executions were especially cowardly."
"I had no hand in that," Donnie said in protest, holding up his
hands as if in defense.
"You were the Commanding Officer. You had the authority," Jeff
insisted. He struggled to control his growing anger.
"My Executive Officer had the men behind him. I couldn't do
anything. When I suggested mercy, some even questioned MY loyalty."
That caused Jeff to raise an eyebrow. "Loyalty? What does a
mutineer know about loyalty?"
Donnie examined Jeff's face like a man struggling to find an
answer. "You wound me, sir. I was always a loyal and dedicated RDF
officer. But the world is changing, Colonel. The United World
Government is finished. There are new alliances forming all the time.
We... we smaller nations need to band together for our mutual
protection."
"How noble," Jeff said flatly. "How does that square with mutiny
and murder?"
Donnie slowly shook his head. "You don't understand. Almost all
our pilots and crew are from the region. They felt a calling from their
native land. Surely, you can feel it as well, Colonel. You're a man of
old Virginia. Your ancestor was one of the icons of our cause."
"That era is dead as our ancestors. As I recall, it wasn't the
most enlightened culture to begin with."
"Times were different then, Colonel. People did not appreciate the
true worth of a man."
"Oh, I don't know. I understand some people made quite a handsome
living buying and selling their fellow humans," Jeff replied.
"Well..." Donnie's voice trailed off as if he had nothing to say
to such an accusation. "I can understand your bitterness over the
mutiny. It wasn't the way I wanted to part with the RDF but that
decision was made for me by the ASC."
"They can be asses at times, I'll agree, but they will eventually
become the military arm of the new United World Government."
"All the more reason to consider my offer, Colonel." Donnie beamed
with new confidence. "When they do take over, there will be no room for
a loyal RDF officer such as yourself. We can use your knowledge, your
experience, and especially your leadership. We are a young service.
Our pilots and crew are still green and struggling with their new
independence."
"Not to mention struggling with their collective conscience over
what they did. I could never join someone who would execute their
former comrades so callously," Jeff declared in a low voice.
"You must believe me, Colonel. I did try to stop that."
"That's not what Lieutenant Robins says."
Donnie's response to hearing Missy's name was electric. "She's
alive? Oh, I AM glad, Colonel."
"No thanks to you."
With a stunned expression, Donnie slowly shook his head. "Clearly,
you don't understand. Who do you think had her moved to the Day Room
hut next to the hangar where we had parked her Veritech? Why do you
think a certain back door to that hangar was left unguarded? And why do
you think her lone guard just happened to be a sergeant who had an
infatuation with Miss Robins? No, Colonel, I had no hand in her escape
at all," he replied bitterly.
Jeff examined his former Executive Officer's face for a long
moment, searching for any of the signs he knew so well that indicated
the younger man was lying. Satisfied the Commander was at least saying
what he believed, Jeff sighed. "I stand corrected."
"Colonel, you have to believe me when I tell you that I knew I
could save only one of the prisoners from execution but it had to look
like an escape. More than anything, I wanted that one person to be
Missy. I knew she was resourceful enough to make good whatever
opportunity presented."
Jeff looked away from Donnie and frowned at the nearest conference
table. If what he was saying was true, Missy Robins owed him her life -
despite the price she paid for that freedom.
Before he could respond, Donnie glanced at his companion who was
gesturing for him to return. He had obviously overstayed and would be
subject to another round of having his loyalty questioned if he didn't
return immediately.
"I must leave you, Colonel," Donnie said with a sharp bow. "I hope
you will reconsider my offer. And please tell Missy..." His usual glib
nature evaporated as words failed him. "Well, you'll think of
something."
"I'll tell her," Jeff replied, the corners of his moth twitching up
into a brief smile. He wasn't sure just what to make of his former
protege.
As Donnie hurried back to his post, Jeff wondered just how he would
handle this new information. He couldn't just tell her what happened.
She still carried scars from the escape. No, this would take some
delicate handling when and if he chose to discuss it with her.
So busy was he in trying to sort out his former Executive Officer
that he almost missed Katherine's return.
"The bathrooms in this place are disgusting," she hissed.
"I'm not surprised. I don't think York has put much effort into
the recovery effort around here."
"You can tell it wasn't a woman in charge of the cleanup,"
Katherine groused.
Jeff eyed her with a raised eyebrow. "You're beginning to sound
like the Ambassador."
Katherine responded with a scowl. "Now THAT was uncalled for."
"In any case, she seems to have taken a liking to you."
"We have a name for people like her and I'm too polite to use it
here."
"I suppose. I'll bet Captain Parino would know how to handle her."
"Captain Parino has her hands full with our little Administration
Officer," Katherine said in a low voice.
"I trust you meant that professionally," Jeff replied without
looking her way. He had heard rumors but never thought any of them were
actually true.
"Colonel, they are sleeping together."
That was more information than he needed to know. While there was
no regulation directly concerning such activity, Captain Parino's
background suggested this might be trouble if she were to fall into her
former ways. Funny, he never imagined Lieutenant Wallace was like that.
The doors opening nearest them thankfully drove further
speculations from him. The sound of approaching metal boots on concrete
floors echoed through the suddenly silent building. Two micronized
Zentraedi tromped in wearing full battle armor. Nothing else in the
room moved. Even without obvious weapons, Zentraedi warriors could
still instill fear and respect with just their presence.
In spite of the Zentraedi entering with their visors open, a clear
indication of their non-hostile intentions, Jeff's concerns were more
towards how the others might act. He was reasonably certain than no one
else in the room had ever encountered Zentraedi in a non-hostile
setting. Inexperience often led to fear and fear could make even
hardened professionals react in unpredictable ways.
An uncomfortable pause after the guards entered resulted in a great
deal of exchanged glances and nervous shifting of positions. Jeff just
crossed his arms and frowned. He knew well the Zentraedi tactic of
intimidation. He just wished they hadn't chosen now to use it. In this
setting, it was guaranteed to set a confrontational tone to the meeting.
He hoped that wasn't going to be the Zentraedi position.
In comparative silence, the Zentraedi representative appeared
through the door, followed by his two assistants. Jeff suppressed a
groan at what they were wearing.
Dressed in full Zentraedi command uniforms, their high-necked
collars obscuring parts of their faces, the three strode into the room
like conquering masters. Without a word, they glared at the other
ambassadors as if issuing a challenge. Nobody responded. The York
representative just scowled at him as if facing the devil himself.
Ambassador Lemieux was the first to act, welcoming the Zentraedi
with the same warmth she had with the others. It was curious to watch
the Zentraedi Ambassador; a man cloned for the sole purpose of combat
struggling with the delicacies of proper protocol. He awkwardly bowed
to Ambassador Lemieux as he shook her hand.
"Now, I've seen everything," Jeff mumbled, just loud enough for
Katherine to hear. She gave no response but he could sense her
apprehension.
The introductions that followed, were anything but a good start to
the negotiations. When introduced, the York Ambassador refused to shake
the Zentraedi's hand, causing a moment of tense silence. Instinctively,
Jeff checked the various guards around the room. If there was going to
be any trouble, it would most likely begin with them.
The York escorts remained at their posts, but just barely, their
eyes burning with all the hatred of religious fanatics. Donnie and his
companion continued to lounge in their corner, coolly eyeing the
Zentraedi like fighters sizing-up their opponents. The Zentraedi
escorts calmly remained at their posts on either side of and just inside
the door, heir visors still open and their eyes moving from person to
person. Jeff didn't like how this was unfolding.
"If everyone will take their places, we can begin," Ambassador
Lemieux said with a hopeful but distinctly nervous smile. She sounded
like someone just coming to grips with the enormity of her task.
Cautiously, the representatives pulled back their chairs and
quietly sat down. Jeff drew a deep breath and waited for some explosion
that would signal the start of a war.
It was with that oddly tense atmosphere that everyone looked to
Ambassador Lemieux. She responded with a welcoming smile that would
have been right at home in a kindergarten.
"Right, now that we're all settled, I want to extend my personal
welcome to Father Damian from the..." She paused to consult her notes.
"Oh yes, the Holy Kingdom of York."
"The chosen people of God," Father Damien declared with a
condescending smile her way before frowning at the Zentraedi across from
him. For their part, the Zentraedi appeared more interested in counting
the stains on the ceiling than listening. One of the Zentraedi
assistants even yawned, crossed his arms and rolled his head forward as
if to take a nap.
"I want to also welcome the Zentraedi Ambassador, Sub-Commander
Tole and his assistants," Ambassador Lemieux said with a welcoming nod.
"It is to their credit they have accepted this opportunity to clear up
any misunderstandings and by that extend a hand of friendship to their
neighbors."
The Zentraedi Ambassador just grunted and rocked back with crossed
arms in his seat. His expression was anything but conciliatory. Jeff
knew this was normal behavior for Zentraedi. Nothing more than their way
of negotiation. He hoped the others understood that.
Father Damien continued to glare at the Zentraedi, his face turning
red and a large vein pulsing on his forehead. His assistants sat bolt
upright, as if waiting the order to attack. The Zentraedi reacted with
benign indifference, like predators extremely confident of their own
superiority. Jeff again eyed the guards looking for any signs of
trouble.
"I also wish to welcome Governor Will Thomas of the United
Confederate States who is here as an interested third party," Ambassador
Lemieux said with a broad smile. The aged man wearing a version of a
southern plantation owner's short brown waist-coat with tails over a
pair of tan knickers nodded his response with a smile. He removed his
broad-brimmed planter's hat to reveal a healthy amount of white hair and
bowed slightly towards the stone-faced Zentraedi.
"We are here at the request of our brothers to the north," Governor
Thomas said with an acknowledging nod towards Father Damien. "While we
do share some of the apprehensions of the distinguished York
representative, we wish to remain neutral in this issue and feel certain
that some equitable resolution can be reached." Sub-Commander Tole
snorted which drew a reproachful expression from Ambassador Thomas. "We
are a small and weak nation compared to those to the north and west. We
wish no conflict with any of the parties here, only to be left alone to
live our life in peace."
"Like shokah," Tole growled softly. The mention of the sheep-like
creatures featured so often as the main course at Zentraedi celebrations
seemed to go unnoticed among the other representatives.
Governor Thomas, however, obviously knew or guessed at the
reference. "No, like free men," he corrected. "Surely you know what it
feels like to be free after such a long enslavement. We honor your
freedom and wish for you the same as we wish for ourselves; to coexist
in peace."
The Zentraedi Ambassador paused for a moment to consider the
suggestion. "Yes. We can appreciate your desire for freedom, as we are
just coming to understand what that word means."
"Thank you, my friend." Ambassador Thomas nodded towards the alien
with a most cryptic smile. It was difficult to tell if he was sincere
or not.
"But freedom is not given, it is earned. Make no mistake, we will
FIGHT to preserve that freedom!" Tole roared, his fists pounding the
table hard enough to cause everyone in the room to flinch. Such an act
drew only a frown from Jeff. When he noticed that neither of the
Zentraedi assistants even looked up at the outburst strongly suggested
it was just a negotiating tactic.
Jeff switched to checking the other escorts. All shifted quickly
into defensive postures. If the Ambassadors lost control of their
military consorts, this meeting was going to get messy - fast.
Katherine took a half-step backwards, her eyes going from one potential
enemy to another. Instinctively, Jeff grabbed her arm. She didn't
resist, freezing in place. He could feel her tremble in anticipation of
a fight but knew any such preparation might be misinterpreted, igniting
the very thing they both feared.
"Of course we understand your desire for freedom," Ambassador
Lemieux said in a surprisingly calm voice. "Nobody here desires
otherwise." She paused as the other ambassadors appeared to relax a
bit, glancing warily amongst themselves. "Our purpose here is to assure
that everyone is able to retain their freedoms without fearing their
neighbors."
Father Damien, however, slowly rumbled to life, as if his patience
at sharing the same air as his hated enemies was too much to bear. "So
long as the devil-spawn from the dark realm beyond the stars exist among
us, there can be no peace."
His deep growl caused Lemieux to sigh like a mother who had just
endured her child's indiscretion. "Father Damien, the Zentraedi are the
descendants of humans abducted decades, possibly even centuries ago by
an evil race we call The Masters. Nobody at this table are your
enemies. We are all human --"
"NO!" Father Damien yelled, slamming the table with both hands and
springing to his feet. "By all that is holy, these... these
abominations are evil in human form. They came to our world with a lust
for blood, human blood. They butchered more than half the innocent
souls of our planet. We will NEVER accept their presence in our world.
So long as they have the means to return to their normal size and resume
their dark ways, no HUMANS are safe! And now you have given them the
very means to produce that army of darkness. Soon, our lands will be
overrun by forty-foot giants with a thirst for blood."
Governor Thomas reached out towards the fuming York Ambassador as
if plead with him to calm down. It was a futile gesture. Father Damien
was just getting started. His voice rose, proclaiming his faith and his
hatred to all within hearing. Considering the man's lung power, there
must have been people in the nearby town wondering what was going on.
The Father Damien's flabby cheeks turned scarlet, his whole body
trembled as only a fanatic could when faced with what he considered the
ultimate evil. "It is written: Let he that hath a weapon, let him take
it, and likewise his armor. And he that hath no sword, let him sell his
garment, and buy one. For I say unto you, that this that is written
must yet be accomplished in me. And he was reckoned among the
transgressors for the things concerning me have an end. So saith the
Lord!"
Sub-Commander Tole was instantly on his feet, followed by his
assistants. "Commander Boton was correct," he growled in a surprisingly
even voice. "There is no dealing with the fanatics among you. I can
see now that I was wrong to believe micronians possessed the means for
rational thought. There is no point in further discussion."
Turning on his heel, he kicked his chair out of the way and stomped
out of the meeting. As if expecting an ambush, his guards and
assistants followed, backing their way through the door. Steel boots
rapidly echoed down the concrete hall as the Zentraedi abandoned the
negotiations and headed for their craft.
Ambassador Lemieux scampered after the Zentraedi, her assistants
frantically grabbing all the papers that remained before scrambling
after her.
A deadly silence hovered over the room. The York guards froze,
staring at Jeff and Katherine as if waiting for them to leave as well.
Jeff drew a deep breath and looked at his stunned Executive
Officer. "That didn't go very well, did it?" he said in a low voice.
Katherine, her eyes darting between the York and UCS guards,
swallowed hard. "Not at all."
Taking her arm, Jeff directed her towards the door the Zentraedi
and Ambassador Lemieux had used. "I think we have worn out our
welcome."
As he herded her towards the exit, he chanced a look back over his
shoulder to see if they were going to be pursued. Governor Thomas was
attempting to placate the still agitated Father Damien but his words
didn't appear to be improving the situation. The priest continued with
his loud sermon, his booming voice echoing in the rapidly emptying room,
as Thomas repeated his calming gestures. Father Damien slowed only when
Thomas gestured towards Donnie and appeared to say something emphatic.
In the momentary silence, Jeff quickly shoved Katherine into the
outer hallway where an odd form of confusion reigned. York military ran
up and down the hall in pairs or small groups, their rifles held at the
ready. For the most part, they seemed to ignore the two of them as they
made their way past the abandoned checkpoints. Pausing only long enough
to retrieve their clothes bags, they abandoned the idea of changing into
the flightsuits in favor of just escaping towards their fighters.
Things were deteriorating fast. There was no telling what the chaos
would bring in the way of military action. He had no intention of
facing such unarmed. At least the Veritechs had their lasers and GU-
11's.
The pair emerged into the bright sunshine in time to see the
Zentraedi transport taxiing towards the runway, a pair of conventional
but hopelessly obsolete Earth jet fighters with Zentraedi markings
trailing behind. Ambassador Lemieux stood on the tarmac watching the
Zentraedi depart, her shoulders sagged as the aircraft trundled past.
"I'll feel a whole lot safer when we are in the air," Katherine
said, her quick walk becoming a trot.
"Can you fly in a skirt?" he asked, casting nervous glances at the
guards running towards the buildings or their vehicles. It was obvious
something big was afoot.
"At times like this, I can RUN in a skirt," she replied as she
quickly set about proving her claim.
Reaching his own fighter, he quickly kicked the wheel chocks away
and scrambled into the cockpit. Using every shortcut in his inventory,
he brought his aircraft's engines to life in record time. Judging by
the sounds from Katherine's Veritech, she knew many of the same
shortcuts.
Looking towards the Ambassador, he saw that she was being
unceremoniously hustled by her assistants into her transport. Its
engines were also spinning up, adding their low howl to the scream of
Zentraedi aircraft taking off. This departure had become anything but
dignified.
The Ambassador's transport started to move the instant she was
aboard, its door being pulled shut as it turned towards the taxiway. A
glance at the assembling York troops told Jeff why. Things had
deteriorated - badly. York officers were gathering their men and
ordering them forward. Some had already started moving towards the
Ambassador's transport. The truce was over. Instinctively, he checked
his ammunition supply. Full load with two reloads. Gail had done her
job well.
"Follow the Ambassador," he ordered Katherine. "I'll cover you."
Her terse acknowledgment was answered by her craft straining to
move. Her engines went from a high-pitched howl to a deep throaty roar
as it fought to move forward. Jeff leaned over to see why. Her wheel
chocks were still in place.
"Guardian!" he yelled, reaching for the transition lever himself.
Two Veritechs smoothly reconfigured, popping off the ground and
coming up with GU-11's clutched in metal hands. The threat of such a
weapon was not lost on the York soldiers. Their shouts of warning
drowned in the wail of Veritech engines as they turned and scrambled for
cover.
At first, the soldiers appeared content to remain where they were,
obviously wary of the weapons pointed their way. Jeff checked the
Ambassador's transport. It was just turning onto the end of the runway.
A few moments more and it would be off the ground.
Armored vehicles began emerging from around the corners of several
buildings, their cannon turning towards the hovering Veritechs. A dozen
other armored vehicles broke through the dilapidated chain-link fence
that surrounded the airfield furthest from the Veritechs and ground
their way onto the flight line. It looked like York was calling in
everything they had in the area.
"Cover the Ambassador," Jeff ordered as he opened throttles enough
to send his fighter hovering a few feet more above the cracked tarmac.
Katherine followed, her Veritech matching his.
In unison, the two Veritechs tilted slightly towards the transport
and began skimming sideways down the taxiway. York rifle fire from a
few brave souls bracketed the escaping craft.
"Hold your fire," Jeff ordered when some of the shots pinged off
his canopy. "They can't hurt us with small arms."
"What about the tanks?" Katherine replied when a pair of medium
conventional armored vehicles that would have been obsolete even in the
last war broke through the fence a hundred yards away.
"Unless they have missiles, we're too fast for them," he answered.
At least, he HOPED they were too fast for the tanks. One ninety-
millimeter armor-piercing round in the right place would end their
flight in a hurry. "Just keep moving."
He ordered Katherine to follow the Ambassador. He would bring up
the rear. Her acknowledgment was terse. He could see her judging the
distance between the tanks and the Ambassador's transport.
When they reached their objective, the transport was already
starting its takeoff run. Switching direction, the two Veritechs slid
back the way they had come, skimming the taxiway and screening the
transport from the York military. As they gathered speed, the pair
rotated forward until they were both flying parallel to the runway, one
behind the other, keeping the pace with the transport as it finally
lifted off.
"Stand by on the ECM and flares," Jeff warned. Whatever missiles
the Yorkies might send their way, one or the other would deflect them.
The transport's pilot must have suspected the same thing. It
quickly pitched up into a steep climb.
"Fighter mode," Jeff called and the two Veritechs transitioned into
their sleek fighter form and thundered after the rapidly climbing
transport.
"Black Lodge, this is Black Hawk." Jeff needed more eyes and a
good view of the overall situation. Commander Crittenton was just the
guy to give it to him.
The Commander's face appeared on the video screen. "I'm already on
it, Colonel. What on earth happened?"
"Religion and government just collided."
"Well, it certainly seems to have caused a great deal of
excitement."
"Does York have any fighters up?" Jeff asked, checking his radar.
"Oh my, yes. I count about twenty, fifty miles north-northeast of
your position. From their sensor signature, I make them to be
Falconjets."
"Are they moving or way?"
"At the moment, no. They seem to be just milling about."
"Launch the Alert Team and have them join us at the Nexus," Jeff
snapped, a little more forcefully than he intended. The Nexus was the
unofficial RDF designation for the point where York and UCS lands
intersected with the Protectorate and the United World Government's
territories. If there was going to be trouble, forces at the Nexus
would give the RDF flexibility. "And notify Captain Parino to get a
flight airborne. I a hot flight orbiting at angels ten about twenty
miles west of Madrid Falls."
"The Alert Team is launching now and will be on station in ten
minutes. We have four fighters on standby with full missile loads."
"Good job. Have you got a read on the other representatives?"
Jeff was worried about more than his own little flight. The Zentraedi
were also in danger. If Father Damien's reaction at the conference was
any indication, York forces might just lash out at the UCS delegation as
well.
"The Zentraedi are making good time towards the Protectorate. I
expect them to cross over in fifteen minutes. Another flight is just
leaving the conference site." Commander Crittenton's calmness caused
Jeff to smile to himself. Having a good Operations Controller was rare.
Having one as experienced as Commander Crittenton would give them an
edge in a fight.
"Keep an eye on the Grays. I want to make sure they get home all
right." He wasn't sure why but for the moment, he wanted Donnie safe
back at Miami Base. There was no question that his former Executive
Officer could take on a whole squadron of Falconjets under ideal
conditions. But the UCS Veritechs they were flying were not in their
best condition. That could easily swing the battle in favor of the
enemy. Jeff didn't want anything to happen to Donnie. There were a few
'issues' he still had with the young man.
"Oh, I almost forgot. I've redirected the Yellowstone Cat's Eye
patrol to just north of the falls. They will be on station in ten
minutes to provide direct C3," Commander Crittenton said in his assured
English manner.
"Good job. Black Hawk out." Satellites had their place but it
took something closer like a Cat's Eye with a trained operator to give a
complete picture of a battle zone. He just hoped they would arrive in
time.
"Colonel, does this mean we're heading home?" Katherine asked, her
face etched with concern.
"We'll escort the Ambassador to the falls and then make sure
everyone is behaving themselves before heading back to base."
Instantly, Ambassador Lemieux's angry face appeared on Jeff's
screen. "Colonel, I FORBID you to take any action of the sort!" she
screamed. It was a good thing that RDF radios automatically adjusted
for differences in communications volume.
"Ambassador, we have fulfilled the requirements of our escort
duties. This is now a military matter. Black Hawk out." Jeff almost
surprised himself at how calm his voice sounded. To assure himself
there would be no arguments, he quickly switched to RDF tactical
frequency.
Katherine must had read his move. Her face soon appeared on the
video screen. "Your call, Colonel," she said but didn't look very happy
about it.
"We are going to drop back and keep ourselves between the
Ambassador and any potential threats. Stay with me, Captain. We'll
make it through this okay." Jeff hated to be so abrupt but didn't need
any second-guessing at the moment.
Thankfully, her face disappeared, replaced by the long-range radar.
He saw the blips representing the Zentraedi craft suddenly disappear.
Either they had landed or were flying so low as to be lost in the ground
clutter. That was one of the drawbacks to Veritech radar. It took the
superior look-down capability of a Cat's Eye to sort out man-made
objects among the natural clutter of trees and such. Right now, he
needed that feature in a big way.
For ten nerve-wracking minutes, he diligently fine-tuned his radar,
trying to encourage it to pick up anything unusual below and behind.
Twice he did a slow 360-degree turn as the Ambassador's transport flew
on. He had an uneasy feeling, like something, or someone, was creeping
into position behind him ready to pounce.
"Nexus in five minutes," Katherine called, her face appearing where
the radar screen used to be.
Acknowledging his executive officer, he contacted Commander
Crittenton again. "What's the situation?"
"The Cat's Eye has been delayed. It is still ten minutes from
station. However, the alert team with arrive at Nexus in two."
Crittenton's voice sounded calm, like he was describing the ETA of an
aunt for tea.
"What about the York fighters?" Jeff asked.
"They've moved south towards the field you just left. They are not
acting in a threatening... just a moment." The Commander's face
disappeared. Jeff checked his radar again. He could see the blob that
had to be the York fighters less than one hundred miles behind him. One
blip separated itself from the blob and began moving west. "A flight of
four are headed your way, Colonel. They will be within missile range in
less than two minutes."
If the York fighters were packing serious long-range heat, they
could open fire well before he could respond with only his GU-11.
Sophisticated guidance systems of most missiles, if they launched enough
of them, would do the job of destroying his flight without endangering
themselves.
"What do we do, Colonel?" Katherine asked.
"Let's not overreact. Maybe they are just curious why we haven't
crossed over the border yet." That would certainly account for so few
heading their way. York radars were reportedly quite spotty. Perhaps
his little flight had just entered one of those 'dead areas' in the York
system and the fighters were being sent to verify the RDF withdrawal.
Checking his warning systems, he noted the York fighters had not
yet turned on their targeting radars. If they were aggressive, both RDF
fighters would have been 'painted' by now. "Let's give a few more miles
and see what they do."
Rolling into a tight turn, he led Katherine back towards the Nexus,
scanning rearward as best he could. There was still something that
bothered him about the situation. He couldn't shake the feeling that
someone was stalking him.
"Colonel, I've lost them!" came Commander Crittenton's warning.
"You lost the York fighters?"
"No, the UCS escorts. They just disappeared from my radar and I
can't get a read on them by satellite. Only a moment ago they were
escorting a large transport. I can't understand what happened. You
don't suppose they crashed or something."
"Not likely. Hurry that Cat's Eye. I've got a feeling we are
going to need it."
York fighters advancing while the UCS Veritechs suddenly
disappeared added up to trouble. He just wasn't sure what sort of
trouble it meant.
Could they be after Ambassador Lemieux's transport? No, they had
nothing to gain by killing the United World Government's representative
and such an act would be totally outside the UCS sense of honor.
If they intended to attack the Zentraedi, they were way late. The
Zentraedi had to be safe behind their anti-aircraft belt by now.
That left only one option.
"Captain, I have a feeling we are about to have visitors. Kick
out a thousand yards and do a slow three-sixty. Scan low."
With only a terse acknowledgment, Katherine's Veritech banked right
and began a large circle that would allow her radar to cover hundreds of
square miles around their position.
Jeff trusted his equipment. Its sensitivity was far better than
his own eyes. But he also knew that Veritech search radar could be
fooled.
Banking left, he looked for geography differences that could hide
an aircraft in very low flight. In all the hills, cut through with deep
valleys containing creeks and small rivers, there were too many places
to hide. It would be no trouble for a Veritech under the steady hand of
an experienced pilot to hug one of those valleys, totally evading
detection Any moment, the UCS craft, alone or with trailing York
fighters could pop up from one of those depressions and be miles past
him.
A deep valley appeared a mile or so to the south. Working on
little more than a hunch, Jeff banked his Veritech towards the
depression.
At first, he saw nothing. Just shadows and a creek about 100 feet
wide that interrupted the solid carpet of trees. He followed the creek
with his eyes until he picked up the tell-tale movement of the trees on
either side. Something was down there, following the creek.
He pulled hard back to the right and finally caught glimpses of
two familiar Veritechs, bits of sunlight glinting off their canopies.
Pushing the nose down, he charged his GU-11.
Firing a burst directly in front of the fighters, his warning shots
became a string of dirty brown geysers exploding out of the creek.
As if planned, the two UCS Veritechs burst out of their cover and
split up. It wasn't hard to pick out the one he wanted.
"Give it up, Donnie," he called.
Instantly, his former executive officer's face appeared on his
screen. "I should have expected you would figure it out, Colonel," he
said.
"The game's over. Pull out now and nobody has to get hurt."
Jeff's warning was answered by Donnie's thin smile. "Can't do
that, Colonel. It has become a matter of honor."
"Perhaps but this is not worth your life," Jeff replied as the two
fighters circled each other like fighters in a wrestling ring.
"I had hoped you would understand. I can see now that you have
been in the RDF too long." Donnie added a wide grin. "Don't get in my
way, Colonel."
"You know I can't let you do this."
"Colonel, you can't take me in a fair fight," Donnie said in a
condescending way. His expression was almost that of pity.
"Who said I would fight fair?" Jeff knew the younger Donnie
probably had better reflexes. On top of that, he was once the best of
his young pilots. They had dueled often in practice. The outcomes had
been pretty much even. But Jeff hadn't shown the lad everything. There
were still a few tricks that were his alone.
"Come off it, Colonel. You don't stand a chance. I don't want to
hurt you."
"Then leave now."
"I can't do that. I gave my word."
Gave his word? To whom? Before he could even begin to analyze the
possibilities, Donnie's Veritech suddenly darted down and under him.
The move was so sudden, Jeff had but an instant to roll high and pull
hard on the stick. Losing sight of an opponent, even one he didn't want
to harm, was deadly in a fight.
Tracers danced all around his fighter as Donnie's attack came from
below. Switching the compensators to full, Jeff tightened his turn,
enduring what g-forces the device couldn't handle. He knew his only
chance to avoid being shot down was to keep turning and looking for his
attacker.
More tracers warned him of an attack from above. How Donnie got
there so quickly was something Jeff would have to work out later. Now
all he could do was twist away, standing hard on the left rudder peddle
while throwing the stick hard right. Most of the GU-11 rounds went wide
as he skidded through the air. One however struck his canopy with
enough force it cut a groove on the diamond-hard surface.
He snapped the fighter into Guardian long enough to pull a ZTR
loop, his craft spinning around its wings. Such a maneuver should have
caused Donnie to fly by. Instead, when he leveled off, Jeff found
himself face-to-face, hovering one hundred yards away from his quarry,
their GU-11's pointed at each other.
"Very good, Colonel," Donnie called. "You've been practicing."
"Last chance, Donnie. I won't hesitate to shoot next time." Jeff
swallowed hard and hoped it wouldn't come to that.
With a wry chuckle, the UCS Veritech suddenly shot upwards,
transitioning into Fighter Mode and climbing directly into the sun.
Donnie's reaction to his offer caused his heart to sink. There was only
one way this fight was going to end. One of them would have to fall.
Switching to Fighter, he streaked after Donnie. Snapping his visor
down to cut the glare, he was shocked when the UCS Veritech sped past in
the opposite direction and headed directly towards its eventual target;
a large building not far from the border.
Back to Guardian, Jeff fired a burst of lasers that scarred
Donnie's fighter but didn't stop it. Knowing that to continue towards
his target would result in making himself an easy target, Donnie broke
right to resume the fight.
As the fighters tumbled and weaved about the sky, the g-forces on
the fighters began to take their toll. Jeff's craft groaned under the
stress of every hard change in direction. Shifting quickly between
modes, the transition locks seemed to take longer to engage than before.
He tried to dismiss it as just his imagination but most fights in the
Earth's atmosphere didn't last this long. It was well known that
Veritechs could function faster and with more reliability in the cold
vacuum of weightless space. While the physics of sudden transitions
were the same, the added stress of dense air against the transitioning
surfaces caused even the best maintained RDF fighters to quickly
approach, and sometimes exceed, their design specifications. What it
must have been doing to the neglected UCS Veritech was anyone's guess.
The two combatants pushed their fighters to the max. During one of
the transitions, Jeff's starboard stabilizer was hit. Two feet of
composite material exploded, taking with it the IFF antenna along with
the missile warning system sensor. In desperation, he tumbled into
Guardian and raked his opponent with laser fire. Chunks of skin blew
off the UCS Veritech's port engine nacelle. Before he could follow up
with his gun, his target rolled and dropped back under his fighter.
For a couple of seconds, Jeff frantically searched for his
opponent. When he spotted the Veritech, it was about a mile away and
flying erratically. It appeared to be having difficulty in locking back
into Fighter Mode. The stresses of combat had taken their toll on the
rebel fighter.
Sensing an opportunity, Jeff switched to Fighter only to feel his
craft suddenly lurch to the left. He had to apply hard pressure on the
right rudder just to keep it upright. A quick check behind told him
why. The starboard vertical stabilizer was jammed midway between the up
and down position, the rudder portion of the damaged stabilizer had been
shot loose and protruded at an angle, giving the fighter a constant left
turn. Frantically, he switched to auxiliary and then to manual, trying
to get the stuck stabilizer to move. Nothing worked. When he looked
again at Donnie, his blood ran cold. It was just completing a sloppy
turn and heading straight towards him.
In desperation, Jeff let his own Veritech roll as he pulled back
hard on the stick. It was the worst barrel roll in history but it was
his only chance. Tracers flashed past his canopy. His fighter
shuddered as some struck home.
Then the firing stopped.
Flattening out, he stabilized his fighter long enough to see why.
So intent on finishing him off, Donnie failed to notice the arrival of
the Alert Team.
An RDF fighter with a blood red nose raked the UCS Veritech with a
long burst of GU-11 fire. Caught unaware, what was once a marvel of
robotecnology quickly became a flying wreck.
"Got your back, Colonel," came Missy's call, her face appearing on
his only remaining screen.
"Glad to see you. Stand by." Gripping the stick to keep his
protesting Veritech upright, he toggled communications to the old RDF
Tactical frequency. "It's over, Donnie. Your fighter's scrap. If you
bail out now, you'll come down in UCS territory."
The communications screen flickered and flashed before a washed out
black and white picture cut through with static appeared. Missy's gun
work had done a thorough job. A badly wounded Donnie Lee appeared, his
cracked helmet and shattered visor framing his bleeding face. Despite
obvious wounds, he wore a strange smile.
"Very good, Colonel. I should have known you wouldn't fight
alone," he said.
"The RDF is about teamwork, Donnie. You know that."
"Yes, I should have remembered."
The screen flickered, blinked white before stabilizing again. Jeff
looked away from it just long enough to confirm the UCS Veritech was
still limping in a wide circle.
"Punch out, Donnie. It's over."
Jeff's call was answered by a chuckle. "I told you before; I can't
do that. I gave my word."
"Your word? To whom? For what?" Jeff almost bit his tongue for
asking. He already knew what the young man meant.
"Set honor in one eye and death in the other and I will look on
both indifferently. For let the gods so speed me as I love the name of
honor more than I fear death."
"Shakespeare, Julius Caesar," Jeff mumbled before his eyes went
wide as he grasped the meaning of the quotation.
As if on cue, Donnie's Veritech suddenly straightened out his turn.
Both engines flared to life as the throttles were pushed full forward.
Twin cones of flame tinged with dark smoke trailed behind the UCS
fighter as it streaked down towards a clearing across the river. In the
center of that clearing was a large building, just big enough to house a
micronization chamber.
Cursing, Jeff struggled with his wounded Veritech trying to
intercept but it responded sluggishly. "Robins, stop him!"
His call was wasted. Missy was too far away, recovering from her
earlier devastating pass.
Unable to do more than fire a few ineffective bursts from his GU-
11, Jeff could only watch in horror as Donnie plunged towards the
building.
An instant later, a monstrous explosion leveled the structure,
sending a huge fireball hundreds of feet into the air. All Jeff could
do was stare in horror at the spot where the closest friend he ever had
in the old RDF had disappeared.
In another part of the sky, Katherine was hotly engaged with the
other UCS Veritech. Unlike Jeff's battle, this one was completely one
sided.
As her quarry twisted, turned, and transitioned from one mode to
another, she consistently remained one move ahead. Having trained
pilots for ten years in how to perform and evade combat maneuvers, there
was little chance this pilot was going to fool her.
Her targeting computer repeatedly squealed when it got a lock on
the target. Over and over, she listened to the warning but held her
fire. She didn't want to shoot. She was certain her opponent's fear of
being in her cross hairs would be sufficient to scare him off. All she
had to do was keep dog-tailing the other Veritech until the pilot lost
his nerve and broke for home.
"I'm coming, Sis! Hang on!"
Samantha? Here? A cold finger of fear slid up Katherine's spine.
Her sister wasn't ready for this. Combat was still beyond her
capabilities.
Ready or not, Samantha threw herself into the fight, spraying GU-11
rounds wildly. Tracers filled the sky, some bracketing Katherine's
fighter. Rolling and pulling hard on the stick to twist away from the
danger, she cursed. Worse than almost being shot down by one of her
own, she lost sight of the UCS Veritech.
Chastising herself for such an amateurish move, adding a few extra
curses for an over-anxious sibling, she stabilized her bucking fighter
and turned in a wide arc, searching for her opponent. When she spotted
him, it was over two miles away, curving to attack a new target; her
sister.
The UCS Veritech latched on to Samantha's twisting fighter.
Tracers streaked towards their intended target, only to slide by
harmlessly. It was Samantha's unorthodox evasion techniques that kept
her attacker from scoring a hit.
"Get him off me!" Samantha yelled, her face appearing in
Katherine's communications screen. Her look of abject terror prompted
Katherine to shove her throttles all the way forward. Painting the
enemy fighter with targeting radar, she was certain he would get the
warning and abandon his pursuit of her sister.
So intent was the UCS pilot on trying to down the twisting, turning
target in front of him, he either didn't hear the warning or didn't
care. In either case, he pressed home his attack with single-minded
intensity.
Katherine latched on to the gray and gold UCS Veritech and closed
to well within range. Her gun was on, she could hear the whine of its
loading servos over the roar of her engines. Several times she had the
shot but still she hesitated. There was a live pilot in the target. As
her fighter tailed the twisting enemy, her index finger hovered over the
trigger.
"Kath! Get him off me! He's got a lock."
Katherine's heart pounded in her chest. Her whole world had become
the two fighters in front of her. The battle in her mind matched the
intensity of the chase. Her sister was in mortal danger. In any second
the Gray fighter would strike a final blow. But she couldn't kill
another human being. She couldn't take a life.
"KATH! HELP ME!"
The UCS fighter began shooting again. This time, his shots were
much closer, some striking the right wing and starboard vertical
stabilizer. Chunks of composite material blew off Samantha's Veritech
and sailed back past both pursuers.
"KATH!"
Katherine's fighter began to buck and heave as its massive GU-11
fired. Time had slowed down for her until she could feel each round
leaving the massive gun's spinning barrel, her tracers clawing at the
one threatening her sister.
A tear rolled down her cheek as she watched her tracers slide just
aft of the huge target now almost filling her windscreen. As if on its
own, her fighter corrected its aim. The UCS fighter's starboard
vertical stabilizer exploded in a shower of composite chunks that swept
back, slamming into her own windscreen. Still, she clung to the control
stick and throttles with a death-grip.
She was taking short, sharp gasps as rounds began to chew into her
target's starboard engine nacelle. The FF-2001 Fusion Turbine quickly
shredded itself, leaving an ugly black smear of smoke in its trail.
Explosions from Katherine's shots walked their way up the spine of
the fighter towards its cockpit, ripping off huge chunks of fuselage and
flinging them away. The pilot turned his head as if he just then
recognized his fate. She saw his face with its expression of fear and
surprise. The scene froze, his crystal blue eyes looking directly into
hers. An instant later, his face was gone in a pink cloud before the
rest of the fighter exploded.
Katherine's fighter flew through the fireball and debris. She
didn't notice material striking her craft. She was still seeing the
dead pilot's eyes. She heard only the sound of her rumbling engines and
her now empty GU-11 still spinning, its servos burning out from
overload.
"Way to go, Sis!" Samantha crowed as her fighter did a sloppy
barrel roll. Katherine didn't notice. Her body shook so hard her hand
wobbled on the control stick. Her lower lip trembled as she began to
cry. She had not only killed but had looked into the eyes of the one
that died by her hand.
"Colonel, the relief flight is on station. Do you require
assistance?"
Still circling the burning building below, Jeff only half-heard the
call. His attention was still on the smoking ruin that contained what
was left of a young man he once thought of as a younger brother. He had
seen hundreds of fighters fall, both friend and foe, but none stabbed at
him like this.
"Colonel? Are you there?"
Shaking his head and cursing himself for his own weakness. He was
neglecting his duties while lamenting his former friend's funeral pyre.
Looking at the communication screen, he saw Of Parino's concerned face
looking back.
"Captain, you were grounded. What are you doing here?"
"I'm leading the relief flight, sir," she said with a calmness that
suggested she saw nothing wrong for her being there.
"Regroup the squadron. We're pulling back across the border."
"Hey, anybody! I need help over here!" came Samantha's frantic
call.
"What's the problem, Fox?" Jeff asked, banking his shuddering
fighter towards the spot he had last seen Katherine.
"It's Kath... I mean, Captain Fox. She won't respond to my calls.
You gotta help her, Sir. Something's fucked her up good."
"Where are you?"
"North of you... I think."
Ona was quick to respond. "I've got a visual, Colonel. You want
me to get her?"
"Negative, get the others home. I'll take care of this."
Wrestling with an already unstable fighter, he worked his way
north. Spotting Katherine's Veritech wasn't hard. It was flying in a
slow, flat turn with Samantha's fluttering around it like a worried
mother bird. Neither craft appeared overly damaged.
Carefully urging his protesting fighter alongside Katherine's, Jeff
could see her staring ahead with wide eyes. She appeared frozen with
fear. It wasn't hard to figure out what had happened.
"Captain Fox, I could use a little help here," he said. There was
no reaction. "My Veritech is damaged. I need your help."
Slowly Katherine turned her head to look his way. At least, she
appeared to look his way. She was facing him but her wide-eyed
expression suggested she didn't really see him.
"Captain, I can't get home on my own," he said in a soft voice. "I
need an experienced pilot to help me."
Her continued stare was just becoming unsettling when she suddenly
shuddered and bent forward. The shock of all that had happened and what
she had done still had her in its grip.
"Everyone form on Captain Parino," Jeff called, still watching
Katherine. "That means you, Lieutenant."
"But Sir...," Samantha started.
"That's an order, Lieutenant. Rejoin the formation. We won't be
far behind."
Parino called the nearby Cat's Eye to verify there was no immediate
threat in the vicinity before forming the rest of the flight for home.
Reluctantly, Samantha obeyed and rejoined the others in a ragged
formation heading west.
"I'm going to try switching to Guardian," Jeff said, still watching
Katherine for any signs of total breakdown. "If it doesn't work, I'll
have to abandon my bird. If that happens, I will make it to a clearing
where you can pick me up."
Katherine looked his way just long enough to nod before edging her
fighter a few hundred yards away. Her simple act of caution was
encouraging. She was aware enough of her surroundings to know that if
anything went wrong during his transition, his Veritech could careen out
of control.
Drawing a deep breath, he gripped the control stick a little
tighter and snapped the configuration control into 'Guardian'.
The transition was quick and almost flawless. Despite it taking
two tries for the locking mechanisms to engage, everything appeared
solid. The fighter settled down and became almost docile.
"Better than flying an old Harrier," he said as he watched
Katherine's Veritech reconfigure into Guardian as well. That was a good
sign, too. She might be suffering from shock but her training left her
with enough presence to follow his lead. "Did I ever tell you how
unstable those old fighters were in a hover?"
Katherine didn't answer but continued to stare his way.
He went on to describe the difficulties and quirks of an old
Harrier jet fighter. In hover mode, it was like trying to balance a
pyramid on one of its points, the aircraft constantly threatening to
fall off one way or the other. Veritechs were a vast improvement on
V/STOL flight. Their computers could be tuned to make it almost
impossible to inadvertently tumble out of control.
He couldn't explain why but just talking to someone, anyone, about
whatever popped into his head caused his concerns about the flight to
vanish. He was too busy to worry. Even as they passed back into
familiar territory, he kept talking.
For the most part, Katherine appeared to listen. When she did
respond, she almost sounded like her old self. She even contacted the
Cat's Eye once to verify they were still not being followed. Jeff's
hopes that whatever happened to her was beginning to wear off.
Their return to base was fairly anticlimactic. Outside of theirs
being the squadron's first Guardian landing followed by Gail's loud
laments over the condition of their fighters, everything went smoothly.
As was the standard procedure, both he and Katherine went through
debriefing with Bobbi Jo. Cindy sat in as one of her younger girls
worked the voice transcriber.
Since he and Katherine were debriefed separately, he had no idea
what kind of response she gave to the questions. Only Cindy's solemn
face when she emerged an hour later suggested things were worse than he
hoped.
Looking past her and into the debriefing room, he was disappointed
to find only their Intelligence Officer, sitting at the table writing in
her notebook.
"I sent her down to Sick Bay," Bobbi Jo said as she finished her
report and slid her pen into a pocket. "She didn't look well."
Running a hand through his hair, Jeff drew a deep breath. "I'm not
surprised. She got her first kill today."
For a few moments, Bobbi Jo was uncharacteristically quiet.
Sitting back in her chair, she eyed him with a strange expression. "I
think she killed more than a bandit. I've seen this before. Two birds
with one stone. When she took that young man's life, she killed
something in her as well."
Closing her notebook, Bobbi Jo stood up. Her expression whenn she
looked at him suggested she wanted to say something else. Instead, she
just shook her head and began to walk past him in the doorway.
Pausing, she drew a deep breath without looking his way. "Y'all
look like hell, Sugar. Maybe you need a drink."
Before Jeff could admonish her for calling him 'Sugar' again, she
gave him 'that look' she was so good at.
"Let Doc have some time with her. The old girl has her ways.
Don't know why but she seems to get on better with girls who are in
trouble."
Jeff knew she was right. For now, it would be best if he left
things up to the doctor. If anyone could get Katherine through her dark
journey to acceptance of what happened, it was Doctor Takahashi.
"Of course, if you were to ask me, I'd say you just lost yourself a
pilot." Bobbi Jo didn't wait for a response. Her footsteps faded down
the suddenly silent hallway.
Sitting alone on the floor in a darkened apartment, Kay Stuart
stared out the window. She had heard all about the mission outcome.
News about such things travel fast on a small base. While she was
relieved that her husband was safe, his absence was something she had
grown to understand. It was a warrior's way. He would mourn the loss
of a friend in his own manner, alone with his memories. He had done
this before when other friends had died. Sometimes he would be gone for
half a day or more, only to return when he felt the time was right to do
so. In that way, he wasn't all that different from her own people.
Mourning the death of someone close was a path that could only be walked
alone.
Sitting on the floor in a pool of moonlight, Kay wiped her eyes.
This was more than just the loss of a friend. She had watched her
husband over the years and saw how each death of a friend seemed to take
a piece of his own life. Her greatest fear was that someday, he would
use up all the pieces he had left, leaving her alone in the world.
Her body slowly began to rock back and forth as she hugged herself.
This was the part of their life she hated most. Donnie Lee had been
like a member of their family. More like a nephew to her than just
another pilot in the squadron. His infectious smile and easy manner had
made him a welcome guest in her home. To know she would never hear his
voice again or be able to admonish him for one of his questionable jokes
stung her deep inside. He had no family that she knew of, like so many
of her husband's pilots, he had lost everything in the Zentraedi War.
She and Jeffrey had become his family. It was not right for someone to
die without there being someone to mourn for him.
Humming softly a death song, she began to pray for Donnie's soul -
and for her husband.
Like a ghost, Jeffrey Stuart drifted through the swinging doors of
the small Officers' Club. Pausing inside, his eyes swept the darkened
room. Its emptiness echoed his own feelings. Only Mr. Chen the club
manager remained, idly polishing glasses behind the bar.
"Good evening, Colonel," Mr. Chen said in an even voice without
looking up. "I was wondering when you would show up. The usual?"
Without a word, Jeff slid onto a stool and slumped over the bar.
With quiet efficiency, Mr. Chen poured the drink and placed it
between Jeff's hands. It was quickly drained.
"Another," Jeff ordered in a low voice. He didn't even care what
kind of watered-down crap was being served. If it helped dull the pain,
it didn't matter.
Time and time again Mr. Chen refilled Jeff's glass only to see it
emptied almost as fast. Jeff knew that soon everything would again
become tolerable. The pain would drown in a sea of grain alcohol - or
whatever it was he was drinking.
It might have taken longer than he was used to but eventually the
pleasant haze of unreality swept over him, dulling his distress and
breaking down the mask of control that so effectively hid his fears.
The Club's doors swung open, paused for a moment before quickly
swinging closed. A tiny voice belonging to one of Cindy's office girls
broke the silence.
"Sir? I have a message from Captain Baker," she said, as if the
sound of her voice had disturbed the sanctity of the bar.
Without looking, his head still bowed to the bar, he held out his
hand and was rewarded with a folded sheet of paper.
"Extend my thanks to Captain Baker." His voice sounded depressed,
even to him.
The girl's reaction was to beat a hasty retreat, practically
exploding through the door and back into the hall beyond. The beat of
her footsteps rapidly receded in the distance.
Mr. Chen chuckled. "Poor kid. They aren't normally allowed in
here. Probably scared to death."
Jeff snorted as he folded open the message. It was more likely
that she was frightened of him than the club. He couldn't blame her.
His appearance was probably enough to scare a Zentraedi.
Reading the paper, his shoulders sagged more as he slumped down
over the bar. It was the initial intelligence report from Bobbi Jo. He
swallowed hard and sniffed, blinking to regain control. It had all been
a waste. The whole mission had been for nothing.
Reaching for his glass again, his hand brushed against something
small and metallic. It took him a few moments to focus enough to tell
what it was.
Slowly he picked up the object in his fingers. Rolling it into the
palm of his hand, it glittered in the subdued light. Someone else had
entered the club with the young office clerk. Even through his alcohol-
dulled senses, he could tell someone was standing just behind him.
Judging by the Veritech wings he was holding, it wasn't hard to figure
out who it was.
"It normally takes forty-eight weeks to train a Veritech pilot. It
requires another twenty before one is allowed in combat," he said with a
slight Southern drawl. Alcohol usually brought out the Virginian in
him.
"I... I'm sorry. I just can't do this anymore," came Katherine's
voice.
Dropping his chin further, he rested both elbows on the bar and
sighed before ordering another drink. "I see," was all he could say.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, her voice little more than a whisper.
"Sit down, Captain. Since you've taken yourself off flight duty, I
don't see why you can't join me." He didn't really expect her to stay.
Usually when someone makes up their mind about this sort of thing, there
was no use in talking about it.
Still, Katherine was good, probably the best pilot he'd ever seen.
She was too good to let go without a fight.
Blinking enough to clear his thoughts, he heard her slide onto the
stool next to him.
Both sat in silence until Mr. Chen delivered another drink between
his hands on the bar. Quickly draining it, he grimaced as the alcohol
burned its way down his throat. Mr. Chen had obviously switched to his
premium stock.
"Captain, what do you think would have happened to Samantha today
if you weren't there?" he asked in a fatherly way.
There was a long pause before she replied. "I... I don't know,
Sir."
"Probably the same thing that happened to a certain girl buried out
back, third grave from the end. She, too, had an older sibling. He
wasn't around when she needed him," he said, his voice dropping into a
growl with the memory of his sister's death. He drew a deep, ragged
breath and tried to control the wave of guilt he had lived with since
the incident. Just thinking of how she had died alone with nobody,
especially her older brother, protect her was enough to make his blood
boil. Alcohol only lowered the boiling point.
What anger he might have felt towards himself and those who had
killed Jen quickly evaporated when he chanced a glance at Katherine's
reflection in the mirror behind the bar. It was obvious that Dr.
Takehashi had been unsuccessful in helping her work out her feelings.
She probably wasn't even supposed to be here. In the club's dim
lighting he could see her eyes were red from crying. She was still
wearing the wrinkled uniform from the conference.
He silently cursed himself for not seeing it earlier. It really
shouldn't have come as a surprise. She had spent ten years teaching
pilots how to kill, never imagining she would ever have to do the
killing herself. Now faced with the overwhelming guilt at having taken
a life, she was choosing the only option she felt open to her; quitting.
"Mr. Chen, another drink and my partner here will have the same,"
he said, still fingering the tiny silver wings in his hand. "And make
it a double."
The club manager quickly complied, setting two drinks on the bar.
Unlike the ones before, these were larger. A single ice cube floated in
four inches of rust-colored fluid.
"I can't change your mind about this. I'm not sure I should even
try." He paused to gulp down everything in his glass but the ice cube.
Setting the glass back on the bar with a 'thunk', he exhaled hard as the
alcohol again burned its way to his stomach. "The harsh reality of what
we do sometimes involves unpleasant things. It's a hard job and often
a thankless one. But we can't change the way things are. We're the
professionals, the ones they call for when reason doesn't work.
"Today, reason failed. I'm not sure why but we were left to cover
for that failure. Unfortunately, it resulted in two deaths, one of them
a good friend."
Katherine's expression switched to subtle apprehension, as if she
realized she wasn't alone in regretting what happened today. Misery
loves company and knowing that her commanding officer disliked killing
as well seemed to offer her a lifeline that wasn't available before.
"I know how hard it must be for you to believe but, no, I don't
like taking a life either," he said. Rocking the glass back and forth
so the lone ice cube slid around, he tried to think of what else he
could add. The alcohol was beginning to make it difficult to collect
his thoughts.
"Sir? What was it like? The first time, I mean," she asked,
frowning down at her still full glass.
"The first time? I was young and stupid then. I didn't want to
think about there being a real person on the receiving end of my
bullets. I convinced myself, it was just a machine I was destroying. I
think it was the death of one of my friends that made me realize what I
was doing."
"And?" she prompted, looking his way with apprehension.
Jeff shrugged. "By then, it had become automatic. Oh sure, I knew
I was killing another human being but I guess I rationalized it away by
insisting to myself that he was trying to do the same thing to me.
Given that option, I'd rather it was him that had to die."
"Like with Samantha," Katherine added.
"Like with Samantha," Jeff replied. "You did what you had to do to
protect her. You probably detached your feelings from what was going on
and did what was necessary. Because of that, you and your sister are
both still alive. I think that's about the best way to look at it."
"It all seems so pointless now," she replied with a shake of her
head. "He didn't have to die. He could have broken off and made a run
for it. I would have let him go."
Jeff wanted to counter that with how it would have been a mistake
when his hand brushed against the paper delivered earlier. Perhaps
Katherine was right. If her sister hadn't blundered into the fight,
maybe she could have just let him go. Things might have turned out
differently. At least, for one of the pilots.
Snatching Captain Baker's report off the bar, he slid it in front
of Katherine. "Today, everybody lost. The United Confederate States
lost two of their precious Veritechs, along with two good pilots,
attacking something that wasn't really there."
"What?" Katherine gasped, staring at the document in front of her
like it was a horrible creature.
"Sometime around midnight last night, our government assisted the
Zentraedi in moving the loaned micronization chamber thirty miles
further away from the border. It's now at a Zentraedi military base
where it should have been all along. Sub-Commander Tole must have known
about it when he arrived at the conference. Ambassador Lemieux was
probably aware of it as well. I don't know. I can't keep up with these
things anymore."
Jeff signaled for another drink and glanced at his Executive
Officer. She was now frowning at the paper, reading its contents.
"I don't understand," she finally admitted with a shake of her
head.
"Our people also knew of last night's coup in York. Judging by
Captain Baker's reaction when she overheard me talking to General
Emerson on the phone, they were keeping that information from her for a
reason. I can only guess why. They probably figured the more radical
regime of Father Damien would try to do something about the chamber.
Whether or not they suspected some collaboration between York and the
UCS is anyone's guess. The fact is, we were all fooled into a no-win
mission that was guaranteed to end in violence."
"But why?" Katherine gasped.
"That's the question, isn't it? Maybe they wanted us to fail.
Maybe they wanted us to get into a fight, draw in enough of our
inexperienced pilots to create unacceptable losses. It is no secret
that somebody up in Monument City doesn't like us. If the commanding
officer and his exec were to die on their first mission or enough of our
pilots were to be killed, the squadron would be finished."
"But the UCS pilots were trying to destroy the chamber. If we were
the target all along, why did they die trying to destroy it instead of
us?" Katherine's expression had changed from dismay to indignant
confusion.
Jeff shrugged. "That's the part that makes this whole affair so
tragic. I think they actually believed the chamber was still there.
Unfortunately, I also think they were just bait.
"Now, why didn't the York fighters finish the job and attack us? I
don't know. The York Air Forces were certainly massed and ready to
strike. They were probably prepared to get close enough to fire a flock
of missiles at a pair of under-armed Veritechs but when faced with a
whole flight of Veritechs, aircraft they could only assume would be
armed with the latest missiles that could take them all out long before
they could get within firing range, they knew the effort would have been
fruitless. They had been presented with the opportunity that someone
had told them would be available and blew it." He snatched Mr. Chen's
latest offering from the bar and gulped it down. "Anyway, that's just
my read on the situation. I'm not as good at this intrigue stuff as I
once was."
"Then, if I quit -"
"They will have accomplished half their objective with the loss of
only two expendable UCS pilots and their Veritechs. Somebody would
probably count that as a success as well," he grumbled.
"I can't believe our own government would do such a thing,"
Katherine said sadly, shaking her head and closing her eyes like she
didn't want to see what was before her. Jeff couldn't blame her. She
had spent her whole career trusting her commanders and her government.
To think they would purposefully betray her was too much to handle. The
whole thing was pretty unbelievable even for him. It explained why an
incompetent ambassador was sent, why he and Katherine were picked to fly
escort and why they had to do it armed only with limited, short-range
weapons. It also explained why the Yorkies were so aggressive when the
conference broke up. The respect they showed in facing two Veritechs
armed only with GU-11's only confirmed catching them on the ground was
the backup plan. It was a good thing none of the local Yorkies wanted
to die in the attempt.
"For now, I propose we keep our eyes open and keep this information
to ourselves." He paused to flash Mr. Chen a warning look.
It obviously worked as the club manager nodded. "What is said in
here, stays in here," he replied before turning to wipe some more
glasses.
Pushing himself to his feet with a groan, Jeff regarded Katherine
with a painful smile. The poor kid had gone from a cushy training job
to a cold war where you never knew for sure where or who your enemy was.
He really felt sorry for her.
Dropping the wings in Katherine's untouched glass, he watched them
settle to the bottom.
"I'll tell you what, Katherine," he said, with a sigh. Using her
first name felt appropriate, considering the circumstances. "You drink
yourself down to those wings and think about what I've said. If you
still want to quit, leave them on my desk. In the morning, I'll sign
the transfer papers." He turned to leave, taking a couple of steps
before stopping. "Go upstairs and give your sister a hug. And thank
whatever spirits you hold holy that you can still do it."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and gingerly worked his
way out of the club. It was late and talk of Jen left him with an urge
to walk out to her grave. He wanted to console himself for failing to
do for his own sister what Katherine was able to do today. It wouldn't
change anything but somehow he felt he needed to apologize to her again.
Silently walking the second level hallway, he passed the Situation
Room. Through its open door he saw another of Cindy's young office
staff manning the communications console. It struck him how young the
boy looked and reminded him how the kid really had no business being
there. He should have been home, going to school and worrying about his
grades instead of monitoring important RDF communications equipment.
He thought about how night duty was still the same. Long boring
hours with little to do but be available should an emergency call come
in. How he envied the boy, sitting comfortably in an office chair, his
feet propped up on the console while he munched popcorn and read a book.
Jeff drew a deep breath and moved on.
Topping the stairs to the first floor, he caught sight of the
little office girl who had delivered Bobbi Jo's message. She was
sitting alone in the Administration Office, typing on a computer,
pausing occasionally to smile at what message replied to her. Probably
chatting with someone back at Yellowstone, he thought. Just doing the
things young girls do when faced with the loneliness of long-distance
separation from friends. She should be back there gossiping in person,
not stuck in the middle of nowhere and working late into the night.
His mind swimming from alcohol, he tried to remember what Jen
looked like at that age. It wasn't working. All his mind could conjure
up was a broken young woman, her lifeless body drenched in her own
blood. Blinking back tears, he started for the back doors that led to
the small parking lot between the twin barracks.
Pushing open one of the glass doors, he drew a deep breath of fresh
early summer Ozark air. A cool breeze swarmed around him bearing the
fragrant scent of fresh vegetation.
As the breeze swirled past him, he clearly heard someone whispering
his wife's name. His hand tightened on the door handle as he listened
for it again. He had lived long enough with his wife and her ways to
ignore such an obvious sign.
A strong gust of wind rushed past him bringing with it a swarm of
leaves. They swirled about in the hallway, forming a small tornado that
danced about for a moment before collapsing into a loose pile. The
temperate evening air suddenly turned cold, causing him to shiver.
Again, the whisper hissed in his ear. This time there was no
mistake. He clearly heard his wife's name as the air rushed back out
the open door.
Closing his eyes, he shuddered. Was he dreaming all this or had he
finally had one drink too many?
"Are you all right, Sir?"
He peeked in the direction of the voice. Missy Robins had just
emerged from the Day Room in shorts and a t-shirt and was bending over
with a curious expression on her face.
"Uh..." He swallowed hard and regarded the leaf mess on the floor.
"I'm sorry about the mess. I didn't expect..." His voice trailed off.
"I just coming up to check tomorrow's duty roster when I noticed
you standing there. Is everything okay?"
Glancing the door he was still holding open, he frowned at the
darkness outside. "Does it feel cold to you in here?"
"No, Sir. In fact, I was just thinking how hot it is on this
level," Cindy replied with a shake of her head.
With a ragged sigh, Jeff pulled shut the door and regarded Missy
with a concerned frown of his own. "Lieutenant, how well did you know
Donnie Lee?"
Missy sniffed and rubbed her nose. "Well, he was always nice to me
back at Miami Base. I think he probably had a little crush or something
but then I think he had a crush on just about all the girls at the
base."
"What did you think about him?"
"I don't know. He was the CO. I looked up to him, I guess." She
paused as if considering something. "Now that you mention it, I
sometimes go the strangest feeling that he wanted to say something to me
but couldn't."
Jeff nodded while looking down at her feet. "I guess now we will
never know what it was."
"Yeah, I'm really glad it was Captain Fox that shot him down and
not me. I don't think I could have lived with myself if I was the one
who killed him," she said in a soft voice.
Regarding her with an incredulous frown, Jeff swallowed hard.
"Where did you hear that?"
"Captain Baker showed me the official report. It said she shot
down the element leader in a dogfight involving her sister." Missy
paused with an anxious expression. "That is correct, isn't it?"
Jeff barely considered her question before nodding. "Never
question the Intel Officer's official report. It is thoroughly
researched and copiously documented," he said.
"You know, you're very lucky, Sir. You've got someone that loves
you. I don't think any of us here have anyone like that to hold on to
when things get rough," she said, dragging one slippered foot across the
floor in front of her. "I hope someday I have someone who loves me
enough to worry about me when I'm flying."
All Jeff could think of was how little she knew and how grateful he
was that Bobbi Jo was smart enough to doctor the record.
"Well, I gotta get to bed now, Sir. I'm probably flying again
tomorrow," she said with a tiny smile.
"Good night, Lieutenant," Jeff said, looking towards the stairs.
Someone who loves me enough to worry, he thought. A sad, painful smile
grew. Maybe Missy knew more than she was letting on. Maybe what she
said was more of a subtle hint than a personal lament.
With a silent apology to Jen, he started for the stairs leading to
Kay.
Annie slumped on a sofa in the day room, her leg over one of its
arms. Working a giant wad of gum, her jaw was in constant motion as she
leafed through a year-old magazine that she had read many times already.
She wasn't really reading it. Instead, she was trying to look
disinterested as she listened to Samantha holding court on the other
side of the room. She had already heard Samantha's story three times.
Each time, the story took on new elements. This fourth retelling was
approaching that of an epic legend.
"You should have seen it," Samantha crowed. "Those guys thought
they had the Colonel and my sister but me and Missy punched it had and
got there as the fight was just turning against our guys. Missy told me
to follow her but, naturally, I saw my sister in trouble and figured she
needed my help more than the Colonel." Using the time honored method of
pilots describing their exploits, Samantha used her flattened hands to
show how the fight progressed. "Man, I was all over that punk but he
musta been one of their aces. He pulle d a move I've never seen before
and the next thing I knew, he was glued to my six spittin' lead."
Samantha's small audience, three of Cindy's office girls and Gloria
Graywolf, oohed at the appropriate moments.
Annie flipped a couple of pages in her magazine and suppressed a
snort. According to Captain Baker, he was the best the UCS had. Girl,
you were lucky your sister was there to rescue your ass, she thought.
"You must have been terrified," one of the office girls squeaked.
"Naw, I knew I could take him," Samantha replied with a look of
confidence. "I was just about to pull a 'Fokker' when I heard Kath's
radio call."
Annie stifled an irritated cough and flipped a few more pages. A
'Fokker'? That girl can barely get her fighter off the ground and back
safely without killing herself. The idea of her pulling one of the most
demanding aerobatic maneuvers a Veritech is capable of was pure fantasy.
Annie was pretty sure even she wasn't good enough to transition from
fighter to Battleoid, tumble forward bent at the waist and strafe the
trailing fighter, shooting her GU-11 between her legs as it passed over
AND THEN transitioning back into fighter before crashing into the
ground. She had only seen animations of how it was supposed to work but
NEVER felt brave enough or foolish enough to actually try the stunt.
What a blow-hard.
"Man, Kath was all over him, like tan on buckskin. Just chewed him
up and spit him out." Samantha finished her story with an exaggerated
look of relief.
Annie growled softly and flipped furiously through her magazine.
This was ridiculous. She needed some air.
Tossing the magazine on the little coffee table, she sprung from
the sofa and started for the door. Her pace slackened and came to a
halt at the sight of Captain Fox standing in the doorway, her eyes fixed
on her sister. The expression on her face was like that of a mother who
had just seen her child rescued from a fire.
Ignoring the others, Katherine slowly drifted past and headed
straight for Samantha.
"Hey, champ," Samantha called. The others turned to regard the
Captain with expressions of awe.
Curiosity as much as apprehension glued Annie to where she was,
watching Katherine approach her sister. There was something wrong with
their Executive Officer. Annie held her breath.
Without a word, Katherine glided up to her sister and placed her
trembling hands on Samantha's shoulders, like she was assuring herself
her sister was real and not a ghost.
"What is it?" Samantha asked, her cheerful expression dissolving
into a concerned frown.
In a flash, Katherine gathered her sister into her arms, clutching
her tight against her chest. Stunned, Samantha didn't resist. A few
moments passed while the younger Fox sister glanced between her sister
and the others, unsure of how to respond. Katherine's grip tightened.
As if resigning herself to what was happening, Samantha slowly wrapped
her own arms around her sister's body.
At first, the others stood in stunned silence, tentatively
exchanging glances. When a couple looked Annie's way, she indicated
with a jerk of her head they were to leave. Silent signals passed among
the girls before they silently slipped past Annie, out the door and into
the hall beyond.
When Annie tried to turn and follow the others, she found it
difficult to look away from the sisters. Frozen in the doorway, she
watched as Katherine's whole body began to tremble, her shoulders
lightly shaking. Was she... crying? That didn't make sense. She just
shot down one of the best pilots the UCS had to offer. That was cause
for celebration, not sobbing in her sister's arms.
Swallowing hard, Annie slipped out of the room. She only made it a
few steps before overcome by a wave of nausea. The feeling was
punctuated by a sudden realization of why watching the sisters bothered
her so much. It exploded in her heart with an empty pain that rivaled
anything she could remember. It brought back the many nights she
cowered alone in some abandoned war machine with only the sounds outside
for company. No, she wasn't going to relive that now. She wasn't going
to go back no matter how alone she felt.
Steadying herself against the wall, she drew a deep breath.
Everyone here had someone to hold on to. Everyone except her. Other
than Karen Crowkiller who acted as if she didn't want any friends, Annie
was the only other 'lone wolf' in the squadron. She really didn't have
anyone she could call a 'friend' at Ozark Base. Sure there were people
she liked or at least understood but nobody she would feel comfortable
enough to talk to or, like Katherine, hold when it all became too much
to handle alone.
Maybe she didn't really belong here. She wasn't sure she really
belonged anywhere. All she could feel was the need to get away, to
escape.
Breaking into a run, she exploded through the doors leading out to
the flight line, the cool evening air wrapping itself around her, its
chill giving her a renewed urgency to flee.
She turned left and ran past the fighters lined up wing tip to wing
tip. Her eyesight began to blur as she blinked back the results of her
own fears. She couldn't react like that. She wasn't a little girl
anymore.
Leaving the paved surface of the tarmac, she plunged into the
waist-high grass that bordered the taxiways. Stumbling a bit, she
continued to run, the deep prairie grass grabbing at her legs like some
creature born of her own fears trying to drag her down and consume her
in a dark pool of remorse.
Her foot struck something solid and she pitched forward, tumbling
into the grass before coming to rest on her back. Gulping air like
she'd just run a marathon, she stared up at the stars. A gust of cool
air felt even colder as it washed over her moist cheeks. Repressing the
urge to sob like a child, she stared at the stars and tried not to
relive her past. It didn't work.
For as long as she could remember, she had always been a loner,
depending only on herself. She had no memory of her parents or even if
she had any siblings. There were obvious bits of her early life that
stood out, mostly bad memories that accomplished little more than open
old wounds.
She remembered wandering through some town, she couldn't remember
which one, dressed in shabby clothes too small for her growing body.
She could still feel the hunger and desperation. It was autumn and the
first hints of winter had left her chilled to the bone, the cold wind
cutting through her light jacket.
Then there was the old woman who acted so friendly at first and
took her in to her own home. A warm bed and hot food seemed like heaven
at the time. However, things quickly changed with the first frost when
it was impossible for her to escape. Instead of caring for her, the
woman turned to treating her with contempt and working her like a little
slave through the worst winter anyone could remember. When not
supervising her work, the woman ignored her, spending her evenings in
front of the fire and listening to the radio. Annie was never allowed
such luxuries. There was always more work to be done. Too often, the
old woman was roused from her leisure by Annie doing something wrong or
otherwise breaking some random, unwritten rule. That usually brought
nasty beatings and banishment to a small, cold closet under the stairs
until the old woman needed more work done. It was with little regret
Annie escaped in the spring to live again on her own. Then came the
endless street fights with other abandoned or orphaned children, some
much older than herself. She learned how to fight the hard way.
Only Lieutenant Colonel Friedman ever showed her any kindness.
After his men had found her living in what was left of an abandoned MAC-
2, he gave her a place to stay, good food, and even let her learn how to
repair things. When he discovered she had a natural talent for flying,
he got her certified as a pilot. She sniffed again and squirmed in the
itchy weeds.
Despite all the kindness Friedman and the others showed her, she
still missed something. She missed a family, parents, maybe even
siblings that she could love and feel loved in return.
"Are you okay?" came a tiny voice from nearby.
Turning her head, Annie saw one of Cindy's young office girls,
dressed in a blue and white jogging outfit, coming towards her from the
tarmac. She was probably the youngest member of the squadron, farthest
from the sixteen years of age she and the others had claimed to enlist.
"I saw you fall," the girl continued as she gingerly stepped into
the tall grass. "You have to be careful in the grass areas. There's
all kinds of junk hidden in it."
The girl stopped in front of Annie and bent over, her hands on her
knees. The hangar lights behind her passed through her reddish hair
forming a bright halo around her freckled face.
"I'm okay," Annie said as she drew a deep breath. "Just tripped,
that's all."
"That's good. I was worried when I saw you fall," the girl said
cheerfully. "Do you run every night?"
Annie shook her head. "No."
"Well, I try to run every evening after dark. It's cooler at
night. I run all the way to the end of the runway and back again. It
feels good and I sleep better after running," the girl declared.
Annie just grunted an acknowledgment and started to get up.
"Here, let me help you. Take my hand."
Annie stared at the child-like hand extended her way. It was such
an innocent gesture, borne of kindness and generosity. Slowly, Annie
took the girl's hand and allowed herself to be helped to her feet.
"It's best to stay on the taxiway," the girl said. "Just follow
the little blue lights."
Standing almost a head taller than the girl, Annie regarded her
with a sense of wonder. The girl seemed completely at ease in this
strange environment.
"Who are you," Annie finally asked.
"Oh, I'm sorry. We don't hang out with the mechanics much, so I
guess it's not unusual you wouldn't know me. I'm Heather. I work in
the office with Lieutenant Wallace."
"Oh," Annie said, brushing off the seat of her pants. She didn't
feel right correcting her. It wasn't like the girl was a little sister
or anything.
For several seconds, there was an uncomfortable silence, like each
was waiting for the other to say something.
"Maybe we better get out of these weeds," Heather suggested. "It's
full of bugs and stuff."
Heather slowly led the way back through the deep grass, choosing
her steps carefully. Annie still didn't quite know what to make of
Heather. The defensive wall she always constructed between herself and
anyone she met was firmly in place. It wasn't that she didn't like the
girl, she reasoned. It was just how she protected herself from...
Annie abruptly jerked to a halt and stared blankly ahead. Protect
herself, she thought. Was that what she was really doing? Was she
really protecting herself when she ran from the scene of Katherine being
comforted by Samantha? Was she really afraid of letting someone get
close to her?
"What's the matter?" Heather asked, as she too had stopped walking
and was now facing Annie. "Did you hear a snake or something? I'm
scared of snakes."
"It's nothing," Annie said, almost ashamed to admit what was going
on inside her head.
She allowed Heather to lead her back onto the paved tarmac. In a
way, it was kind of embarrassing to be escorted by someone so young and
innocent who was trying to act like the brave one.
"I was just coming out for my evening jog. You want to run with
me?" Heather asked as she stretched her arms above her head.
"Run? With you?" Annie considered the offer, biting her lower lip
as she thought.
"Yeah, it'll be nice to have someone to talk to. I really don't
have any friends here. The others just want to sit around and gossip or
watch TV." Heather stopped stretching and regarded the taller girl with
a hopeful expression.
Annie finally nodded. Why not? A run might feel good right now.
It would certainly give her a chance to figure out this young girl who
acted like she wanted to be friends. Nobody had ever shown they wanted
to be her friend before. "Sure."
Together, the girls slowly jogged towards the taxiway, following
the blue lights.
The next morning, Jeffrey slowly made his way down the steps from
his second floor apartment. While everything that happened the night
before was still alive in his mind, it hurt just thinking about it. In
fact, just about everything caused his head to hurt.
His wife had welcomed him home in her usual way but what he saw in
her eyes hurt more than his head was hurting him now. Even through the
haze of alcohol, he could see her concern and something else. He saw
how his behavior had hurt her. He cursed himself and vowed he would
never do that to her again.
Stepping into the main hall, he grimaced and rubbed his temple.
The bright morning sunshine streaming in through the glass doors and the
usual bustle of activity in the Command Building seemed to aggravate the
pain. It was going to be a lousy day.
There were other memories of last night, one in particular that
concerned him. Steeling himself with a deep sigh, he headed for his
office. The future of his squadron depended on what he found on his
desk.
Pausing in is office doorway with a fresh cup of Maggie's coffee in
his hand, his eyes swept his desk before falling on a single object,
sparkling in the morning sun.
"Well, I guess she made her decision," he muttered.
He took only a couple of steps into his office when a commotion
behind him caused him to turn.
"Colonel, you gotta do something," growled Dutch DeWitt.
"About what?" Jeff took a sip of coffee, his eye twitching at how
strong it was. Obviously, Maggie felt he needed a little something
'extra' this morning.
"Every night. I can't take it anymore." Dutch stormed into the
office, waving his arms. Wearing his black and white work jumpsuit, he
looked like a giant penguin attempting flight.
"Could you be more specific and try to lower your voice when you
do." Jeff rubbed his forehead. He did NOT need loud noises of any kind
this morning.
"Mad Dog and that woman," Dutch groused. "Every night. In the
bedroom next to mine. I need my sleep, Jeffrey."
"I trust you are referring to our Flight Surgeon." He took another
sip of coffee and winced. No doubt about it, Maggie obviously spiced
his coffee with something strong. It left a strangely familiar
aftertaste in his mouth.
Before the animated Dutch could reply, they were interrupted by
Maggie.
"Excuse me, Sir, but we just got a report that the septic recycling
system shut down. I've got maintenance on it but they only thing they
said was to not flush anything," she said.
"Have --"
His response was disrupted by an angry Gail Lynn stomping into the
office, waving a wad of papers over her head. "Jeffrey! After what you
people did to my babies yesterday, I'm surprised any of them still work.
If I don't get these parts pretty damn pronto, you are going to find
yourself without five birds. I can't get anyone in Maintenance Command
to even respond to my requests!" she shouted, elbowing her way in front
of the others.
"Colonel, we need to talk about the grass along the runway," said
Captain Parino from the doorway. "Sergeant Mills missed a turn on the
taxiway this morning and ended up in the grass. We tried to walk her
Veritech out but she tripped over some piece of junk. The servos in its
left leg burned out when she tried to get up. It's currently on its
back in the weeds."
Taking one last sip of his coffee, he fired off is responses to
each, pointing a finger as he went. "I'll talk to them. Notify all
levels not to flush. See Lieutenant Wallace. Rent some goats."
Stunned silence prevailed for only a moment, long enough for him to
turn towards the desk. A bedlam of voices broke out as the little mob
vied for his attention. Picking up the empty bar glass from his desk,
he held it up and smiled. They were still a squadron.
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| Unsubscribing - ffml-request@anifics.com |
| Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject |
`---- http://ffml.anifics.com/faq.txt -----'