David McMillan wrote:
Sorry for the delay -- severe RL work time pressure, followed
by a week of "acute asthmatic bronchitis."
And I'm sorry about the ragged formatting -- my my client seemed to
keep changing its mind about the margin sizes every time I wasn't
looking....
That's why I installed Mozilla Thunderbird. It's... unique.
'Fomatting? We don't need no stinkin' formatting!'
GL Sandborn wrote on 1/4/2005, 5:53 PM:
> -----------------------------------------------------------
>
> FOX Squadron Episode 12 - One Lousy Day by G.L. Sandborn
>
URGENTURGENTURGENTURGENTURGENTURGENTURGENTURGENTURGENTURGENTUERGENTURGENT
CINCFFML HAS DECLARED CONDITION 'SANDBORN.' ALL C&C UNITS TO DEPLOY TO
RALLY POINT 'INBOX.' IAW ROE 7.2C ENGAGE TARGETS OF OPPORTUNITY AT WILL
MESSAGE ENDS
URGENTURGENTURGENTURGENTURGENTURGENTURGENTURGENTURGENTURGENTUERGENTURGENT
Okay, before I get too far into this, let me just say this episode was
written over two... three... oh, I
forget how many months. Let's just say: it took me a damn long time.
Anyway, too much of it was
written on the road, on overseas flights, and VERY early in the morning
after too many too long days of
work. So, I expected it to be a hashed-up mess. I think you, Michael,
and DB caught most of the
crap.
It's damned late again, so I'm going to do some snipping. Not because I
don't think your comments
were good, but because I'm having a little trouble focusing right now.
(God, I love German beer.)
I find just about every one of your suggestions spot on. I'll make the
changes in the morning... or
maybe on the plane home.
< snip >
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
What, there's a grade of fanatic above and beyond "raving"?
My Republican friends would say Democrat but you didn't hear that from
me. (They've got their
own set of wackos.)
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.
Nah, you just need a sufficient calibre of discourse.
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.
IIRC what Sam did with Kathy's VT a few chapters back
(MOONWALKING!?!?! Bwahahahahaaaaaa!!!), I'm not sure I'd want to ride in
that bird.
Despite my confidence in Gail's competency...
Ah, yes, if nothing else, Sam's a pretty darn good pilot. She just has
a few... problems to work out.
Of course, so do all the others.
"If this is a game of 'Hide the Veritech', I'm not amused," he
growled.
This happen much in USAF flightlines? I *want* to say that
it's probably rarer in the USN, given the space constraints on a CV, but
then I recall some of the pranks I've seen/heard/read about...
Korat, Thailand. 1972. I was once called to the flight line only to
find someone had removed my
Martin-Baker and replaced it with an infant's high-chair. It was tough
being the youngest EWO
in the squadron.
"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?"
Mumbled or grumbled?
Probably both.
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
Uh oh. The girls have arranged something "special," haven't
they?
Now it just remains to be seen if they've repainted his VT
with the callsign "GEEZER-100," or given his Battloid mode "anatomically
correct" grafitti, or something.
summer sunshine, the shadows of the massive building giving way to
what
the tug was towing. Sporting a fresh woodland camouflage paint job,
>one
Sug: "...the shadows of the massive building pulling back
>from what it
towed like a veil..." Or something. I dunno, I just start hearing
dramatic "grand unveiling" music playing in the background here. Then
again, I'm a sucker for cheap melodrama.
So am I. Most of the crap I write just oozes melodrama.
< snip >
> 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
Wellll... to quote Aral Vorkosigan, "Reality is what you
bring *to* something, not what you take *from* it." There are legit
reasons why that symbol has negative vibes for some people, but it also
represents certain admirable qualities.
OTOH, you *do* have to keep your audience in mind...
Ah, old Aral Vorkosigan. I've got a book of his somewhere in my office
at home. At least, I THINK
I have one. Damn place looks like an out-take from 'Read or Die'. I
swear, every time I come home,
there's more crap in there than when I left. (You don't think the stuff
is breeding, do you?)
< old snipper-o>
> There was no mistaking their urgency. Ambassador Lemieux led the
>way, making her way across the tarmac with quick, sharp strides, her
>robes
Robes? I was kind of envisioning Wall Street Power Business
suit, the kind with razor-edge Corporate Raider pleats. Gotta re-read
Ch11, I guess.
One too many 'Star Wars' episodes, I'm afraid. Think: Jedi robes - or
something like that.
> "I guess we better saddle-up," Jeff said, frowning at the
> procession. "It looks like her highness is in a hurry."
No walkaround? That could come back to bite him. OTOH, if
you can't trust Gail...
Yeah, I'm cutting corners here.
> Settling into his new fighter's cockpit, Jeff noticed Gail had
What, no scene of him discovering the hard way that that paint
job wasn't... *quite*... set yet? Darn. I can just imagine what
Ambassador Frigidaire's reaction would be to having her senior escort
decked out in smeared woodland camo...
Krylon paint, obviously.
>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.
<ominous thunder>
or the sound of something vital falling out the bottom.
> 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.
No FOD? Dang!
> 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.
"Start the fusion turbines, HAL."
"I'm sorry, Jeff. I can't do that."
That's it, HAL. You're fired!
>The
> wail of powerful Veritech engines soon penetrated ground crews' hand-
> covered ears and oversized ear protection affectionately known as
>'mouse ears.'
Sug: "...penetrated the ground crews' 'mouse ears' hearing
protection, even with their hands clamped over the bulky earmuffs." Or
something like that.
Probably right. I've seen too many of those line monkies wearing
'softies' in their ears and supplimenting
them by pressing the palms of their hands over them. I understand
'WonderEars' does a thriving business
with those folks.
> "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."
As opposed to her date face, or her poker face, or her se--
ah, nevermind.
I think you're right.
> 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.
Jeff. You are leading a squadron manned<ahem> by GRRRLZ. Okay,
*women* -- "ladies" might be pushing things a bit, at least in some
cases. What do *you* think? Sheesh...
Hm. Wait'll he finds out about the cat.
He will. The damn thing is going to take a liking to him. Well, at
least his chair. You know what sound
a cat makes when you sit on him?
> 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.
By the time he gets back, Daisy'll have her her VT dolled up
with Chippendales...
Naw, she's too traditional.
You know, the real DW is 6', 195 lbs., and can bench-press a Honda
Civic. She had a boyfriend once.
Didn't last long. I understand he's just now getting some feeling back
in his legs.
< more snips >
>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.
Cue the incoming artillery....
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.
Good instincts.
And I was wrong. Artillery would be a mercy...
"Congratulations on your appointment, Sir. Accordingly, there
are a few things you need to deal with," she said in a firm voice.
Good gravy, she's Radar O'Reilly, but with an attitude!
Good catch.
"Things?" He certainly didn't like the sound of 'things'.
Smart boy. Of course, if he were *really* smart, he'd be running for
the hills already.
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
Cindy Wallace: Enemy of the Environment.
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
"opportunity" = "excuse" maybe?
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
It's not too late to run...
Yes, it is.
< yet another snip >
> "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.
....ghod, she's evil. I think I'm in love.
Pity. She's just about the only 'made up' character in the story.
< more snips >
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.
Heh.
Never ignore 'strong medicine'. At least, that's what the wife says.
< still more snips >
> 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.
Sug: "than her expression."
Yep. She's an idiot. But we already knew that.
And how come she can tap a (assumedly) secure RDF tactical
channel?
Multi-channel monitoring. They used it all the time in the Robotech
series. I suspect it was just a
sloppy writer's way of getting 'cross talk' into the action sequences.
,< snippo >
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.
I am mildly surprised that he can't pull a datalink from the
sattelite net directly -- that's tech that already starting to turn up
in the JSF and F-22. Blame it on the RDF's infrastructure problems, maybe.
I went with this to create a plot point later. You're probably right
but I don't want too many high-tech
things to take away from the story.
And worrying about what can go wrong can save your ass, as
long as it helps to be mentally prepared, instead of just turning you
into a nervous wreck. It's an accquired skill.
I'll say.
> 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.
Gah, no missiles. I forgot. Although, while I hate to agree
with Ambassador Anal, for a diplomatic mission that's probably the right
choice.
Which means, of course, that something is going to go really,
REALLY wrong...
[ cue: dramatic music ]
> York fighters were not that far away. One determined strike with
> missiles and the entire United World Government contingent would
>cease to exist.
And there would be much rejoicing. But only if Jeff and Kathy
made it out alive.
> Their own oversized auto cannons would not help them much
> should they be jumped by a flock of missile-firing aircraft.
Hey, Roy Fokker used to hose missiles out of the sky by the
buttload with his trusty GU. Of course, he usually didn't have any
*choice*...
Jeff could probably do it too. Still, need a threat to have tension.
The Yorkies don't have (or are
not showing) anything too modern - yet.
> 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.
"Faster than a speeding Veritech. More powerful than a
macronized Zentraedi...."
Yeah, the place really exists. A buddy and I flew in there on a
cross-country once. He wanted
to show me what a real American tourist dive looked like. The real
airport is a bit less than I show
here (no real taxiways and NO tower).
< more snips >
> 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.
Somebody needs to talk to the FBO.
Probably the same one I encountered; a veteran of WW1
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.
Wonder how she knew that? Been there before?
Trust me, the ops building at Metropolis is hard to miss.
< one tired snip >
> 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.
Huh. It's only been a couple of weeks since the revolt --
shoddy maintenance couldn't accumulate *that* fast, could it? Maybe the
Florida squadron was getting the short end of the supply stick for a
while. Might have been a contributing factor...
I'm guessing here that the Veritech being such an advanced platform, it
needs constant TLC. Even
the slightest delay in maintenance can lead to breakdowns. I seem to
recall in the series that there
were crew constantly crawling over them every time they weren't flying.
Heck, even my old F4 spent
more time in the shop than it did in the air.
> 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.
Again, I don't think it's been that long. Unless I've really
messed up my understanding of the sequence of events.
Well, maybe they were due a change at the time of the mutiny. If the
aircraft were constantly being used
with insufficient maintenance between cycles, the wear would escalate
exponentially.
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.
And if the one he's touching now blows up on its next landing,
someone's gonna scream "RDF Sabotage!"
> 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.
Somewhere, Jimmy Carter is doing 3600rpm.
And getting another Nobel prize in the process.
> 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
I knew it.
>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
BAD idea. Lying implies guilt, if you get caught. Besides, Jeff,
don't you think he can see the difference between your flightsuit
insignia and the VT's markings?
Umm, flightsuits come with velcro patches. You don't wear them while
flying.
> 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
Sug: "had missed"
>question of why a York soldier was guarding a UCS Veritech.
...that *is* interesting. Of course, the host *does* owe the
guests certain perks. And the RDF VTs have *no* guards at all. Still,
one would expect a delegation *not* lead by Ambassador Brainfart to have
their own security
> "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
Ah. I sit corrected.
Ah, that's where I put that.
< more ships... er, snips > (Damn beer is kicking in.)
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.
<eyeroll> These are ex-TSA agents, aren't they?
They need to make a living, too. McDonalds wasn't hiring at the time.
> Thankfully, a York officer arrived and dismissed their
> concerns, but not without a hard warning glare Katherine's way.
I would mildly object to this, except that I *have* encountered
security that stupid.
I travel for a living. I could tell you stories.
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.
women's
Crap. I always screw up that word.
>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.
Oy. It's enough to make a body miss the UN.
That WAS the UN. All the supervisors took the money for the maintenance
and put it in Swiss banks.
< snipps >
> 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.
"Sir? A little *help*? *Please*?"
"Ambassador, please don't molest my executive officer. Until
after the meeting is over, anyway."
"SIR!!!"
Katherine. Kill! Good girl.
( Okay, that's it. No more 'snips'. I too damn tired.)
> "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.
Volumes of *what,* though?
On second though, don't answer that.
> 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."
Bet he hasn't been called *that* very often.
> "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."
Good instincts.
> "I'm guessing that's what she has in mind - once we get back to
> civilization, of course."
<facepalm> Jeff, you're not HELPING....
> 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.
Okay. But what genre? (:)
> 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
Ah. *That* genre.
>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.
...good grief. The world is falling into feudalism all over
again.
High tech feudalism, at that.
> 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
Either they're good diplomatic actors, or one of them is in
the other's pocket. No bet either way.
>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.
Someone's been reading too many Dumas novels.
Guilty.
> "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.
The contrast is... stark.
> It took several minutes for the two groups to be introduced,
> blessed, and sanctified before they separated to their assigned
Please, PLEASE tell me that was hyperbole on Jeff's part, not
literal narration. "Blessed and sanctified"???? Oy vey...
>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.
Deliberate, no doubt.
> 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.
I can't wait for *this* description.
> 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
You know, they can yank his "Ol' Virginny Boy" card for thinking that
way. It *was* "The Wah Of Nawthen AG-gression," after all.
>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
"these the"? Something's missing here.
At least *these* uniforms aren't *completely* ridiculous.
Actually, I always thought the classic Confederacy dress uniforms didn't
look too bad. Although I'm sure the cavalry boots are severely
misplaced in this situation.
> costumes he had seen so far were a bit much for a serious country's
> military.
The greys have at least *some* excuse. The Yorkies have none
at all.
> "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.
After all, it's not like there's any mutiny or treason between
them, is there?
> "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."
...Lee. Oh fer cryin' out loud, I only just now got it.
Confederate. Lee. Hah hah. Oyyyy....
Slipped one in, didn't I?
> 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."
Well, *he's* playing his role to the hilt. But that "young
lady" might just rip his tonsils out and garrote him with the trailing
veins...
> "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.
Ooookay. For one, under the *real* rules, you're not
supposed to actually *kiss* the lady's hand when you're introduced, just
pretend to.
Second, you're *really* pushing it, Donnie-boy.
>Katherine's expression was a cross between surprise and... something
>else. Jeff couldn't be sure but she appeared to blush.
...KATHY! Say it ain't so!
Okay, okay, don't panic. She'll be fine -- she's too
level-headed to be affected for more than a moment.
> "Your servant, my lady," Donnie said, looking up into her eyes
>with a sly smile.
Just *dripping* sincerity, no doubt. Or is that slime?
> 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
<boggle> Not *Kathy!* Oh, geez, the poor girl must be
suffering from a severe lack of attention. We need to find her a decent
boyfriend, ASAP.
OTOH, I have to admit I can't fault Lee's taste, or Ambassador
Bondage's either.
>their way, Katherine fled the room.
She must be *really* off-balance...
> 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.
Sug: "had been"
> "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."
There's a backhanded compliment.
> "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."
"a tiny"
> "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.
Yeah, but did you do anything to stop it?
> "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."
Hm. It says something about the CO that squadron cohesion
could be so bad that the various members were willing to turn on each
other to this degree. Even in the event of rebelling against the RDF
and switching sides, there should have been enough residual loyalty
between members of the same unit to avoid wholesale executions, at
least. They *could* have just kicked them across the border.
> That caused Jeff to raise an eyebrow. "Loyalty? What does a
> mutineer know about loyalty?"
Note to self: don't choose Jeff for diplomatic assignments.
Granted, he's no diplomat. But then, the guys at the pointy end of the
spear usually aren't.
> 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."
In other words, the RDF is a sinking ship, and you decided to
get off.
> "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."
I could actually credit that explanation, especially if the
Florida squadron had reason to feel that they were slowly being hung out
to dry by the UWG. But that still doesn't excuse what happened *after.*
> "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."
Oooh, this sounds bad.
> "Oh, I don't know. I understand some people made quite a
>handsome living buying and selling their fellow humans," Jeff replied.
Yiii! Next they'll be slapping each other with cavalry gloves
and talking about pistols at dawn.
And one has to wonder what that cultural heritage might do to
their relations with the Zentraedi.
Don't ask.
> "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."
The ASC didn't force you to shoot helpless unarmed prisoners
whose only crime was not to side with you.
"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
Okay, he's got a point there.
>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.
...okay. If true, he just won back some credibility points.
> 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."
It *sounds* plausible...
Still, Jeff's point about joining them still stands. Even
assuming Lee is as pure as fresh snow, any unit that could turn on its
own so quickly, so *easily,* is not representative of any organization
*I'd* want to be any part of.
> 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.
So, *why* did he decide to join that side, again? Going from
the RDF to a government that apparently has Stalinesque attitudes toward
loyalty seems like a real step down.
Beats getting shot. Well, almost.
> "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."
Okay, that boosts his credibility more.
"I'll tell her," Jeff replied, the corners of his moth twitching
SP: mouth
up into a brief smile. He wasn't sure just what to make of his former
protege.
Jeff *wants* Donnie's story to be true. Which is, of course,
why he should be cautious about trusting it.
> 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.
IOW, have his wife do it. (:)
Now, I like Jeff, I really do, but he's just not the first
person I think of when the "delicate handling" comes up.
> 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.
As bad as the locker rooms, eh?
> "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.
Sexist... but with a certain degree of truth.
> Jeff eyed her with a raised eyebrow. "You're beginning to sound
> like the Ambassador."
Oooooh, Jeff, you're in TROUBLE...
> 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."
"With hazmat tongs and a biohazard-rated disposal incinerator,
Sir."
Although, frankly, I rather thought Kathy's revulsion was less
because Ambassador Feminazi is a woman, than because of the kind of
person she is.
> "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.
Well, so far Cindy doesn't seem to swing that way, but Ona is
so utterly lonely that she's liable to fall for anyone who treats her
decently.
> "Colonel, they are sleeping together."
<facefault> Now, I wonder if Kathy knows the *truth* about
that...
Not totally. The Lakota have a bit of a 'live and let live' attitude
towards such people. Of course,
that doesn't mean they're fully accepted.
> 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.
This is plot thread is going to turn into a Takahashi-esque
sex comedy, isn't it? I can't wait. (:)
Parts of it, yes. ^_^ (Hey, I gotta have SOME fun writing this.)
> The doors opening nearest them thankfully drove further
> speculations from him. The sound of approaching metal boots on
Sug: "from his mind."
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.
Which is probably the way the Zs want it. Confrontation is
something they *understand* in their bones. Diplomacy is probably still
a bit alien to them.
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.
Your Central Costuming department was having a field day with
this chapter, wasn't it?
Worked overtime. Watching old movies during my time off didn't help.
The German movies were
okay but the Korean ones sucked. Think: Kung-fu kabuki play with really
bad actors.
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
"sizing up" doesn't need a dash, IIRC.
Hm. Echoes of the "boxing ring" feel of the room.
> 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.
<snort> Well, it's about darn time. A day late and a dollar
short, I'd say...
> 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.
In the event of hositlities:
Step One: Throw Kathy flat.
Step Two: Go flat.
Step Three: Abandon Ambassador Deadweight
Step Four: Low-crawl to the nearest exit.
Step Five: Get to the VTs.
Step Six: Make like a bat outta hell.
Step Seven: Think of a good excuse to put in the report for the first
six steps. ^_^
> 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.
Superior, smug, condescending, patronizing. Gotcha.
> "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."
Oh. I hadn't realized these guys took themselves *that*
seriously.
The comic-opera garb suddenly makes much more sense.
Oh, yes.
> "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.
Zentaedi sublty. Oddly enough, they fit in with this crowd
rather well.
Don't they just?
> "I want to also welcome the Zentraedi Ambassador, Sub-Commander
> Tole and his assistants," Ambassador Lemieux said with a welcoming
>nod.
<ahem> No for-whom-the-bell jokes, please.
Please.
> "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."
Translation: They were nice enough to at least make one stab
at getting what they need by talking before reaching for the giant can
o'whoop-ass.
I think they've just about run out of that commodity.
> 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.
No bet.
> 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
Sug: either "awaiting" or "waiting for"
reacted with benign indifference, like predators extremely confident
of >their own superiority. Jeff again eyed the guards looking for any
signs of trouble.
Predators aren't really a threat until they drop out of sight.
*Then* you need to start worrying.
"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.
Good grief, it's Colonel Sanders!
> "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
Translation: We're waiting to see which way the wind blows
before we jump in to grab whatever the combatants leave not nailed down.
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
Armed neutrality is another concept alien to Zentraedi, I see.
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."
"But this 'peace' thing, that's no good.'
"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.
That last sentance doesn't quite work grammatically. Sug: "He
noticed... outburst, which strongly..."
> 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.
<choke> Are you sure 'consort' is the word you want to use
here? That might suggest things about poor Kathy to Ambassador Electrolux.
> 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
Good reflexes, both.
>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
"assure" or "ensure"?
ensure
>their neighbors."
> Father Damien, however, slowly rumbled to life, as if his
Uh oh. Now the fanatic has to stick his oar in.
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."
Wow. As a negotiating tactic, that's... galactically stupid.
Huh. I wonder if PLO/Israel negotiations go like this?
Before or after they blow up the conference room?
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
<blink> *That's* new. I don't recall ever hearing that
explanation before. I read all the McKinney novels (or so I thought).
Is this from one of the RPG sourcebooks?
Actually, it is just a supposition on my part. I kept rolling around
all the various groups involved and
thought back to Exedore's discovery concerning their own origins. The
abduction theory seemed to
fit.
> enemies. We are all human --"
> "NO!" Father Damien yelled, slamming the table with both hands
Just like Tole. Heh.
>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
Hm. I wonder if the Zentraedi warrior ethic has proscriptions
against killing non-warriors. There might be a bit of a guilt complex
floating around in their society over the bombardment, now.
Don't bet on it. Collateral damage.
>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."
zzzzz<snort> Wha? Huh? Oh, sorry, heard it all before.
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
"*The* Father Damien"?
> 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!"
Don't recognize that quote. And a quick search of my e-text
King James doesn't find it either. Something of a more... recent vintage?
Strange. I found it online. Can't remember where but I double checked
in my King David and sure
enough, there it was. Admittedly, I did clean it up a bit to better fit
the mind of a fanatic.
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."
Understandable, and yet... almost too easy. He's facing
*three* parties of Micronians, only one of whom is arguably fanatical,
another neutral-to-hostile, and the third netral-to-friendly. He gave
up almost a little *too* fast.
For a reason.
> 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.
Combat departure from a diplomatic meeting. heh.
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.
The Greys, no doubt, are just doing their best furniture
imitations, waiting to see which way people jump. Sure, they may be
York's allies, but shooting up some RDF reps at a diplomatic function is
probably a higher level of incident than they want to get involved with
right now.
> 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."
That's one way to put it.
> Taking her arm, Jeff directed her towards the door the Zentraedi
> and Ambassador Lemieux had used. "I think we have worn out our
> welcome."
That's our Jeff -- always acutely aware of these little subtlties.
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.
...interesting. If Thomas feels that Donnie shouldn't be
exposed to fanaticism for some reason....
> 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
Sug: "The two RDF officers"
> 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.
I would too.
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
The Z's didn't bring mecha? Odd, one would think that the
bulk of their arsenal would consist of old Zentraedi gear.
and old cast-offs the UWG provided when the Zentraedi stuff stopped
working. I seem to recall that
individually, they were no mechanics. Their stuff was mostly repaired
by their ships. With those gone,
what they had would eventually all break down.
> trailing behind. Ambassador Lemieux stood on the tarmac watching the
> Zentraedi depart, her shoulders sagged as the aircraft trundled past.
Sug either "...depart. Her shoulders sagged...." or "depart,
her shoulders sagging as..."
> "I'll feel a whole lot safer when we are in the air," Katherine
> said, her quick walk becoming a trot.
Airspeed and altitude, the warp and woof of a fighter pilot's
security blanket.
"Can you fly in a skirt?" he asked, casting nervous glances at the
Jeff, I'll bet she can do things in a skirt that you'd be far
happier never knowing about. Heh.
guards running towards the buildings or their vehicles. It was obvious
something big was afoot.
Odd. Even with people *this* irrational, you wouldn't expect a
tanked diplomatic meet to devolve into violence *this* fast. Unless
someone was *expecting* things to fall this way....
Or it was 'Plan B'
"At times like this, I can RUN in a skirt," she replied as she
quickly set about proving her claim.
Running in a normal skirt is no big deal. Maybe "in *this*
skirt" instead, for emphasis of the uniform skirt's binding?
Knee length, heels, nylons. Tend to slow the female critter down at tad
bit.
Reaching his own fighter, he quickly kicked the wheel chocks away
and scrambled into the cockpit. Using every shortcut in his
inventory,
maybe "bag of tricks"? Or "shortcut he had ever learned"?
> 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.
Dang. Gotta make up some new ones to stay ahaed o' th'young'ns.
> Looking towards the Ambassador, he saw that she was being
> unceremoniously hustled by her assistants into her transport. Its
At least Ambassadors Sluttmeier's *staff* has the brains God
gave little green apples.
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
Oboy. Some people just have no appreciation of diplomacy. Or
basic courtesy, for that matter.
Still... a nation of fanatics, and the ranking fanatic on-site
was foaming at the mouth five minutes ago. Yeah, this could happen.
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.
Oops. Although ISTR an old F-4 "procedure manual" that treated
chocks as nothing a little afterburner couldn't handle....
Yup, just road bumps. Climbed a few in my time. Saw a butter bar
collapse a nose gear once trying
that. I think the's still writing reports about it.
"Guardian!" he yelled, reaching for the transition lever himself.
Okay, so they *can* do that mode change on the ground. I
wasn't certain.
There's a bit of an argument about that. I contend they can pretty much
do whatever they want. Others
insist on applying certain laws of physics that may or may not be
appropriate in this situation. Still, it's
my story... ^_^
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.
As long as nobody blocks the runway, or has a Stinger, or...
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.
All that firepower, and they can't keep the darn bathrooms
clean. Typical 3rd-world military.
"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.
Well, *that's* torn it. Right up until someone started
shooting, there was a chance of things not going completely to hell in a
handbasket. But now...
"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.
Gotta love G mode. My favorite of all the VT configs.
"Stand by on the ECM and flares," Jeff warned. Whatever missiles
the Yorkies might send their way, one or the other would deflect them.
"Would" seems a bit strong...
What, no chaff?
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.
That, and a pipping hot cup of tea, eh guv'nor?
> 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."
My British Understatement Translator says "Holy Hornet's Nest,
Batman!"
I just love British understatement. Always wished I could talk like that.
"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?"
SP: "our"
"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
"I a hot"? Maybe "I want a hot"?
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?"
Oy. It just hit me -- Jeff's girls are about to get their
baptism of
fire, as a unit. Okay, a lot of them have combat experience, and I'd
bet the alert crews will be made up from that group. But, still...
Alert Crews are cycled. Some have more experience than others - as we
shall soon see....
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.
And a thing to be cherished.
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
After all, Jeff could always hate him later.
> 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.
Yeah. Nobody gets to kill Lee until after Jeff decides
whether he wants to or not.
> "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
Sug: "Crittenton added in"
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.
Ten minutes, eternity, what's the difference in air-combat
time, really?
"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.
<eyeroll>
"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.
Ah. *That* explains how she got on the line.
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.
Sug: "radar display"
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.
That old "in the crosshairs" feeling again.
> "Nexus in five minutes," Katherine called, her face appearing
>where the radar screen used to be.
Sug: "her face momentarily replacing the radar display."
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."
IOW, before Jeff's own missile-armed backup arrives. Figures.
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.
That last line could use some cleanup: Sug: "A sufficient number of
missiles, launched from range, could destroy his entire flight without
the York pilots ever 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.
Maybe "coverage" for "system"?
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."
"give them a few more miles"?
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.
But it would have to be someone the sattelite can't see, *and*
who is off his own radar. Somone flying NOE could maybe manage it, but
playing catchup to high-altitude targets while flying at that level is
usually a bad proposition.
Unless whoever it is *isn't* playing *catchup*...
> "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."
That should probably be a "?"
"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.
Gunning for Jeff and Kathy? But why?
"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.
Past him? On the way to where?
And if he's looking for the Greys, what about that flight of Yorkies
that was coming their way a minute ago?
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.
Hm. If the Greys were headed south, and the RDF was headed west, for
the last ten minutes or so, this seems awfully quick for Lee to have
made it all the way to the Nexus while flying NOE.
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."
What? When? And why didn't I get the memo?
"Perhaps but this is not worth your life," Jeff replied as the
"Perhaps, but"
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.
Hmm... hi yoyo vs a low?
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
And without his poopy suit, Jeff's personal G-limit is going
to be lower, too.
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
SP: "pedal"
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.
In the old days, that would've ended things right there.
"One, however, struck... force that it..."
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.
Classic.
Sug: "...found himself hovering a hundred yards from his quarry,
face-to-face over their GU-11s."
"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.
The Grey's maintenance problems don't seem to have crippled Lee's
performance, so far.
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.
I was almost tempted to insert a Transformers or Highlander joke here...
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.
Ahhhh.... NOW we're getting somewhere.
Sug: "eventual" = "true"
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.
two "target"s in close succession. Maybe "would give Jeff an easy
shot, Donnie..."
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
Repetition of "fighter". Sug maybe "their airframes"?
stress of every hard change in direction. Shifting quickly between
modes, the transition locks seemed to take longer to engage than
before.
Sug: "With every rapid shift between modes, the transisition
locks seemed to take longer..."
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.
It's the man, not the machine. Right up until the machine
fails....
The USAF used to count it as a kill if you forced the enemy to
run out of gas. I wonder if forcing him past his airframe limits would
qualify?
The two combatants pushed their fighters to the max. During
one of
the transitions, Jeff's starboard stabilizer was hit. Two feet of
Two *square* feet, maybe? If we're talking about a circular hole...
Linear feet?
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
Sug: "a quick look/glance over his shoulder"
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.
That read a little awkward. Sug: "...stabilizer was jammed
halfway
back to vertical/its Fighter mode position. The rudder surface of the
damaged
stabilizer had been shot loose and protruded at an angle, producing a
constant turning and rolling force on the fighter."
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.
Donnie is an "it"?
'it' was his fighter. He can't see Donnie at this range. (Yeah, I
know, it's a stretch.)
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.
Sug: "had failed"
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.
SP: Robotechnology
And, yes, it appears that Jeff's "official policy" on nose art,
whatever it would have been, has been officially OBE.
With more to come.
"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."
Possible plot hole: the "old RDF freq" wasn't mentioned when they
started talking, earlier, which would imply that their entire duel
conversation so far has been over either the "open" freq that Ambassador
Abbattoir kept butting in on, or on the "new" RDF tac freq.
This is fixable is Jeff switches freqs at the beginning of his fight
with Lee, and then at this point flips back to the Fox freq just long
enough to acknowledge Missy before switching back to Lee. That keeps
everything private between Lee and Jeff.
Yeah, this has become a problem. I was so intent on showing the action
that I kept slipping (or skipping)
the tech details that fill in the gaps. You and others caught the
dicotomy I created by not defining all the
frequency shifts. I'll go back through and try to map the 'when and
where' and then try to fit proper language
to the actions. Good catch.
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."
And the critical difference between "soldier" and "warrior."
"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.
"it's turn"
Both engines flared to life as the throttles were pushed full forward.
Sug: "slammed/shoved all the way open" -- "full forward" just
sounds...
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.
...oh, felgercarb. I completely forgot about that. *That's*
what the target has been all along.
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.
My squadron for an AMRAAM... or even a crappy AIM-7....
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.
I dunno, "closest friend" seems a little heavy, compared to
Jeff's thoughts about Donnie in prevous chapters.
I suppose so. Perhaps 'last operational friend' or maybe 'the little
brother he never had', or something like
that.
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.
*Not* a good decision, unfortunately. She's got no way of
knowing how Jeff's fight is going -- the tactically smart thing to do is
smoke this bandit, then move to support Jeff. If she had, she might
have been in a position to keep Donnie from fragging the Chamber.
"I'm coming, Sis! Hang on!"
Oboy. Not just lousy comm technique, but entirely the wrong
attitude -- since Kathy's clearly handling things, Sam oughta hang back
and cover Kathy's six. But obviously you know that... (:)
Yup
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.
Leeetle bit late for that line of thought, Kathy...
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.
......oooooooh, boy. Sam's ass is GRASS when they get home....
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.
Gah. Naturally. At this point, Sam would be *lucky* if she
gets killed, compared to what Jeff and Kathy will do to her...
You've got a him/it mismatch again.
[sigh] Writing, editing, rewriting, and spot editing, all in the weeee
hours of the morning will do stuff
like that.
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.
Of course, she can't *get* that lucky. The kid can *fly,* no
denying that. She's just got all the tactical common sense of a
10-year-old otaku.
Also, panic will negate just about any skill factor. Samantha has never
been in a situation like this
before. It was all simulations where you just hit the 'reset' button
when you screw up. Facing
someone who's going for 'game over' right out of the box will cause
panic in the best trained
pilot.
"Get him off me!" Samantha yelled, her face appearing in
Katherine's communications screen. Her look of abject terror prompted
<eyeroll> Okay, I don't want her to *die,* but my sympathy is somewhat
limited...
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.
What, has she forgotten the *last* five minutes of furball?
Kathy needs to get over this problem she has pulling the trigger.
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.
Buck fever cuts both ways. Of course, sometimes it *succeeds.*
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.
<sigh>
"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
Sug: "at any second/moment"
second the Gray fighter would strike a final blow. But she couldn't
kill another human being. She couldn't take a life.
Kath... it's time to pull the trigger, or find another line of
work. I'm sorry, but that's it.
"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.
Gail is gonna be Soooo pissed....
"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.
This is three different starboard vertical stabilizers hit in the space
of one engagement. Is Gail putting magnets in them or something?
Yeah, I need to start hitting other parts. Maybe a wing or something.
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.
...not much one can say to that.
Repetition of "chunks." Maybe "pieces" or "debris" to break up
the pattern a little?
Maybe "moment froze" instead of "scene"?
Kath must have downright eagle eyes to make out his eye color,
even at a range where his debris would FOD her engines. But maybe her
mind's eye is filling in details from when she saw him at the negotiations.
Exactly.
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.
Yes, Gail will be *pissed.*
"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.
I suppose that's something her culture and "mainstream" American
culture share -- they don't talk much about that part, in all those
stories that make kids want to grow up to be soldiers, and fighter
pilots, and Marines....
The first time you see the person you kill changes you forever.
"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
Whose call? Chrittendon's?
Wait for it.
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.
Kathy never killed anyone before. Jeff never killed a friend
before. It's a day for firsts all 'round.
Yay.
"Colonel? Are you there?"
Shaking his head and cursing himself for his own weakness. He was
That sentance lacks a subject.
aaaaand pretty much a point. Needs to be rewritten. Or killed, stuffed
and mounted on my mantle.
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.
ITYM "Ona"
"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.
Sug: "wrong in/with her"
He *did* give orders for her to organize a flight. He never orered her
not to lead it. And given the number of qualified pilots the Foxes
*don't* have...
I need to elaborate on this a bit. I got the first reaction okay but
need to follow up with the thoughts
a good squadron CO would have in his situation.
"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."
Way to maintain that situational awareness, Sam.
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."
<boggle> Jeff, you've got one wounded bird, and one pilot in
unkown but certainly infirm condition. Hadn't you better keep the rest
of the planes where they can support you if anyone *else* pops out of
the woodwork?
Speaking of, where are those four Yorkies?
It should be: 'We need to get the others home.' The Colonel eats
wounded birds for breakfast.
He's the kind of pilot the best test pilots come from. He always thinks
he can handle whatever the
bird throws at him but ALWAYS knows when to get out. Remember, he WAS
once a test pilot
in the early Veritech program with Roy Fokker.
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.
Now *there's* an image...
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."
Good move. Push her "responsibility" button, get her out of
that guilt-trip loop.
That's why HE had to go get her. I can't think of any other method of
getting through to her in her current
condition.
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."
Sam... when the Big Dog uses *that* tone, you *don't argue.*
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."
Assuming he doesn't get a broken back, end up hung up in a tree,
lands in a lake...
He's also an incurable optimist.
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.
Hallelujia. Somebody owes Gail a kiss. Of course, she'd
probably rather have a couple experienced mechanics...
Save a hug for the designer of the Veritech. Also one for the guy who
tested them before they
were mass produced and knew from the beginning that it would fly just
fine in Guardian. ^_^
"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?"
AIUI the Harriers actually *hover* pretty well -- it was the
*transition* that got a lot of newbie pilots killed, before they ironed
out the training procedure.
Depends on the version. The AV8B was pretty stable in hover. The GR1,
however, killed a number
of folks in its early days. My description came from one of the test
pilots in the early Harrier. He
hated the beast.
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.
The first-gen models did have that problem, IIRC.
Just like the Harrier.
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.
*He's* too busy talking to worry? I thought he was just
chattering to keep *Kathy's* mind occupied.
He's got a lot on his mind as well. It's helping both.
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.
That last sentence doesn't hang together. I suspect you
probably meant something like "Jeff began to hope that" or "Jeff's
hope... began to rise."
Oy, did I screw up that sentence.
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.
Poor Gail. God only knows what she's going to do for spare
parts --
k-balling any of the active fighters is right out, they can't muster
enough airpower as is.
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.
Sug: "than he had 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."
Ah, to Dr. Takahashi's tender minis...trations.... QUICK! If
you run, Jeff, you can still save her!
Hey, Doc, that was a joke! Put the needle down, okay? Doc?
Uh, *Doc*? Heeeeeeelp!
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."
Her innocence.
Most socities and militaries have some sort of institutional
"ceremony" for handling this kind of thing. I'd be surprised if the
Lakota didn't.
OF course, sometimes those customs consist mainly of just
getting blind stinking drunk with friends....
They do but that doesn't include the women. Something I've neglected
badly in this series is how
these girls were raised. In many ways, Lakota women are not all that
different than Japanese
women. They kept the home, they cooked the meals, they had the children
and raised them. They were
trained to 'get out of the way' when it came to fighting. A female
Lakota warrior is a VERY rare
thing to find. What you got here is a dozen who are having to make up
the rules as they go along,
with the knowledge that it won't be accepted back home. What we have
here are women doing
extrodinary things that will only be known amongst themselves. Their
people won't know and
won't care.
Closing her notebook, Bobbi Jo stood up. Her expression whenn she
SP: when
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."
Takahashi: "The first person who makes an Akane Tendo joke
gets to experience my expertise at high colonics."
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.
Man, I hope not.
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.
I suppose there are some things you shouldn't carry home,until
you've rounded the edges off a bit.
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.
Run-on sentence. Sug: "...knew of -- like so many..."
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.
Well, I guess he had someone to mourn for him after all.
The girl's carrying a lot of baggage. Probably more than any of the others.
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?"
They've been established long enough for him to *have* a "usual"?
Well, never argue with the bartender....
After one or two visits, it has become obvious to Mr. Chen that 'the
usual' consists of just about
anything liquid that fits in a glass and has an alcohol content just
this side of acid.
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.
Booze-flavored soy milk. It's good for you.
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.
Here's one drawback, Jeff -- you shouldn't let the kids see you
like this.
"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.
Well, he's not slurring or falling off his stool, so I guess his
god-like image is still mostly intact.
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.
So, if they photo him now, and paste blow-ups onto their VTs...
What? Waddaya mean, that violates the Geneva Conventions?
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.
The balloon's gone up?
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.
Yeah, now that he's had five minutes to notice...
Fogged mind. Kind of like me, at the moment. (What the hell time is
it anyway?)
Judging by the Veritech wings he was holding, it wasn't hard to figure
out who it was.
....Ah, *hell.*
"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.
You know... I just can't shake this feeling that the other girls
are *not* going to take this well.
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.
Tense mismatch, "makes/was."
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.
JP-5 cut with cleaning sherry. Oboy.
"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."
Baloney.
"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
The "with the memory" bit is almost redundant. The whole thing
might be smoother without it.
Geez, I'm writing now like I'M drunk.
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.
"to protect," I suspect you wanted.
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.
Who else is she going to talk to? A few of the other pilots
have comat experience, but despite being relatives, they're all her
subordinates.
Well, not really relatives. Of course, in their culture, just about
everyone is related in some way to
everyone else.
And Jeff *is* the closest thing to a father/mentor figure around...
And I *know* she doesn't want to give up flying, she's too good
at it.
She's just not sure she can pull the trigger again...
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."
Jeff better slow down, or he'll be a puddle before Kathy gets
sufficiently loosened up.
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.
Uh oh. He's pulled out the fermented dregs from the VT
fluid-test sample valves. Things are getting serious now.
"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.
I told you to slow down...
"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."
You gave him the option, Kathy. It's not your fault he didn't
take it.
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."
Sug: "irreplaceable" for "precious"
"What?" Katherine gasped, staring at the document in front of her
like it was a horrible creature.
Damn. I *wondered.*
"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."
Some kind of litmus test? Someone wanted to see how far the Greys
would go for their allies? Or how willing the sides might be to at
least *try* to talk things out?
You're getting warm.
> 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."
As if Ambassador Slaphappy's chances with Katherine *needed*
another
nail in their coffin...
> "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."
Uh, Jeff, aren't you supposed to be talking her into *staying*?
"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
A tad awkward. Sug: "...assume would be armed with missiles that
outranged their own (by a large margin)..."
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."
...somehow, I'm having trouble seeing Jeff as *ever* having had a
Machiavellian phase....
Every officer I ever met had a Machiavellian side to him... or her. I
think it's taught in the part of Squadron
Officer's School that I slept through.
> "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.
Oooohhh... if this pisses her off enough....
"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 circle of trust is starting to break down. Feeling that happen
probably helped the Miami mutiny.
Of course, the nasty question is... how long can the Foxes keep going,
before the wheels come off entirely? Rolf can only do so much to
protect them, and if their enemies in Monument City decide to move more
decisively...
They will band together tighter than before. That's the Lakota way.
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
Sug: "had been the backup..."
>the local Yorkies wanted
> to die in the attempt.
Sug: "had wanted"
"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.
It's like Vegas.... (:)
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.
And dissolve into a metallic whisp of smoke floating in the
rotgut. Now *that's* some *real* booze!
"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."
And think about what happens to her (and the others) if you
leave. Because Sam won't quit, and I doubt any of the others will either.
If you have to, Kath, can you pull the trigger again... for them?
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.
Sug: "had been able"
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.
The world doesn't have room for childhoods, anymore. But if you and
your do your jobs well enough, Jeff, someday that might change.
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.
No responsibilities, no worries, aside from staying awake.
> 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.
Although, IIRC, these kids are here because their alternatives
back at
Yellowstone were *worse.*
That becomes somewhat of a subjective issue. They had no future there,
that's for sure. However,
serving in a squadron based in a potentially explosive environment could
be even worse.
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.
You know, Jeff, you need to let this go. She wouldn't want your most
frequent memory of her to be that one.
That's going to haunt him to the end.
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.
Sug: "swarmed" = "flowed"
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.
ITYM "He had lived too long with"
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.
....spooky.
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.
"bending over"? Why? He's not sitting down. Is she just
leaning in his direction or something?
(You'll note I'm manfully *not* making any of the many hentai comments
that just *spring* to mind, here.)
He's looking at the floor (well, his eye are closed but if they were
open, he'd be looking at the floor) and
she is bent over at the waist trying to see up into his 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?"
"I was just"
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.
Cindy? ITYM Missy.
Yeah, you're right. This was originally written as Cindy's scene.
However, I remembered that I
had a few loose ends to tie up in this episode. One of them was Missy's
relationship with Donnie.
Sooooo, I switched the dialog and some of the action around and got my
'Missy scene'. Looks
like I had a leftover.
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."
Yeah, that sounds like him.
"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.
<ALERTALERTALERT>
> 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.
And a better-crafted mix of truth and falsehood you will never
find. Good job, Bobbi Jo.
It's just a good thing Jeff and Donnie were speaking over a different
channel than the Foxes were on.
Okay, I got it. You're right. I need to go back and fill in all the
frequency changes. ^_^
"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."
Get the message, Jeff? GO HOME! Leave your dead to their rest, and
take care of your *living.*
Missy is one sharp cookie.
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.
After the little whisper on the wind, I'd say... yeah.
With a silent apology to Jen, he started for the stairs leading to
Kay.
Jen'll forgive you, Jeff. She might *not* forgive you for neglecting
her favorite sister-in-law.
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.
Oh, yeah. This is gonna be rich.
"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
SP: hard
> 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
Missy and Jeff went to bed, so that leaves Kath to walk in, hear this,
and rip Sam into long bloody strips.
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
Extra space.
>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.
Yyyeah. Notice, there's no *pilots* in that group.
You caught that, did ya?
> 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.
Of course, Kathy will probably spot the problem with this
version of events really quick. Which might lead to Missy finding out
something she shouldn't. Someone needs to plug that hole (probably
Bobbi Jo).
"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."
Ah, so "KATH GET HIM OFFA ME!" is part of the "Fokker", eh?
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
Sug: "...Battleoid (Battloid?), go into a forward tumble and
fire between
her legs
as the enemy fighter passed overhead, AND THEN..."
>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.
My ghod. A grain of actual TRUTH in this "no shit" story.
> 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.
And since in this case the kid was playing with matches, I expect a
upcoming hug to be followed by the Great-Grandmother of all ass-rippings.
> 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.
It's like watching a train wreck, isn't it?
> 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.
Oh, ghod, it's even worse than chewing her out -- she's
*hugging* her
in *public*! Oh, the humiliation! (:)
> 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.
Aw... no world-class ass-ripping?
Next episode. When eveyone is a little more 'centered'.
> 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
"before being overcome"
> 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.
I'm losing count of just how many Foxes feel this way -- alone,
cut off, cast out...
Cut off from their people with only each other to rely on and not
everyone there can be relied on.
Yup, they're a pretty screwed up bunch.
> 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
No revetments or hardened hangers?
Only the Alert Post.
>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.
I'm not certain "remorse" is quite the right word here. Maybe
"despair" or "hopelessness," or just plain "loneliness"?
I'll work on that.
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.
It doesn't sound like she was so young at the time as to "naturally"
not remember. Traumatic amnesia of some kind, perhaps?
Probably.
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
Grrr... There are, in the world, some people I would feel less pain
over putting down than I did over my last dog.
Lots of "the woman" and "her." Sug: "...when not supervising Annie's
work/labor, her 'host' ignored..." Just to break up the chain.
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
Annie Potter? Sorry, the "closet under the stairs" parallel was just
too strong to resist.
And, Grrrr again.
was with little regret Annie escaped in the spring to live again on her
Sug: "...regret that Annie had escaped..."
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.
Sug: "endless series of street fights" and "older and larger"
Only Lieutenant Colonel Friedman ever showed her any kindness.
Well, any that wasn't a cover for some ulterior motive.
Now, be nice.
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
Sug: "he had given"
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.
Sug: "he had gotten/arranged for her certfied/certification"
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.
Sug: "loved by"
"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.
Hm.
"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."
Sounds like the voice of experience.
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.
Sug: "the backlighting from the hangars turned her reddish hair into a
bright halo..."
"I'm okay," Annie said as she drew a deep breath. "Just tripped,
that's all."
<whistles innocently>
"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.
*How* old is this kid?? She sounds mature well beyond her years. Then
again, the post-bombardment, post-war world can have that effect...
I can't tell you how this is going to end but you will probably come
hunting me when it does.
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.
Sug replacing second "the girl" with "she"
"Who are you," Annie finally asked.
"you?"
"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."
She doesn't *talk* like a pre-16yo, either.
"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."
Again, the voice of experience.
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?
Well, yes. It's that "cat and screen door" thing.
"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.
Need two spaces before "Heather"
"Run? With you?" Annie considered the offer, biting her lower lip
as she thought.
*That* could have come out better....
"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.
Sounds like the pilots in the dayroom, actually. (:)
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."
At least, no one she had any reason to believe. But the Foxes are all
in this lifeboat together, now...
Together, the girls slowly jogged towards the taxiway, following
the blue lights.
Hmmmm....
Some families you're born with. But some you duct-tape together out of
whatever broken bits and pieces you find close at hand...
Heather is not what she appears.
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.
I *told* you drinking that fermented JP-5 would rot your brain, but did
you *listen* to me? Nooooooooo...
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.
But this is normal behavior for him, from Kay's thoughts earlier.
What's changed? Was it that this time, it was someone close to *both*
of them?
Sometimes a male just doesn't see the things that are right in front of
his face. Last night, Jeff
saw something that should have been obvious all along. Call it
character development.
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.
"I hate young people. Especially young morning people. *Especially*
young morning people who look bright and cheerful and DON'T HAVE
HANGOVERS...."
Yep, that hair done grown inta a full-grown dog an' bit 'im, yessir.
There were other memories of last night, one in particular that
concerned him. Steeling himself with a deep sigh, he headed for his
Only one? I count a whole bunch.
office. The future of his squadron depended on what he found on his
desk.
Ah. *That* one *would* occupy the top of the list. And the Foxes
simply *cannot* survive losing Kathy at this point. Period.
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.
Oh, crap. I'm afraid to read any further.
"Well, I guess she made her decision," he muttered.
....damn. I really thought -- I mean, I was *sure*....
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.
<snicker> You gonna say she's wrong? Heh.
"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.
Excuse me, I have to go ROTFL for a minute.
"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.
That's when the explosions started, the air-raid siren went off, and
someone decided to put Spinal Tap on the stereo.
"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.
Sug: "Maggie had obviously"
Just a little gunpowder filched from some deadlined GU-11 reloads.
Clears out the pipes something wonderful of a Monday morning. Of
course, it may also make the Old Man a tad psychotic, but we all knew he
already crazy to begin with, so...
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
ITYM "the only"
they said was to not flush anything," she said.
"Have --"
Oh, NO. I *know* what's coming next. In fact, I've been there -- on
BOTH ends.
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.
Sug: "elbowing her way to the front of the line that seemed to be
forming rapidly in front of Jeff's desk.
Heh. I was half-expecting her to storm in covered in, um, excreta, but
I suppose that base plumbing is (thank goodness) outside her jurisdiction.
"My bairns! Me puir bonnie wee bairns!"
"Psst! Gail! Wrong *series!*"
And... don't they still have a bunch of stuff from Cindy's last <ahem>
"requisition"? Even after they had to give some of it back...
That's true but two tons of cotter pins right now isn't going to help.
"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."
I take it she did a ground conversion to B or G and tried walking? Ouch...
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."
And THIS, ladies and gentlemen, is why they pay him the BIG bucks.
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.
...
.......
!!!!!!!
SANDBORN! You-- you-- Oooooo, I *hate* you! That was BRILLIANT! You
*totally* had me going, there. DAYum. For a couple of minutes, I
really thought Kathy had turned in her wings.
Empty glass. Hah. That's a message in and of itself...
Whew! This was a long chapter. And it ended up being a loooong C&C --
I think I started over three weeks ago. Oy. Anyway, I hope my
blathering notes in the margins are of some use. This was a fun one --
some real plot motion, some more character development, a few
bait&switch incidents. But... what happened to Sam's huge ass-ripping?
I wanna see ass-ripping, dang it! Err, that is, much as I like Sam
(how can I *not* like a girl who *breakdances* a Battloid?), it would be
a failure of her senior officers and instructors not to rub her nose-- I
mean, show her the error of her ways and whip-- I mean, encourage her to
shape up.
Next episode. I promise. She won't like it.
Somebody just threw a match into the powderkeg in the strategic
situation, and the Foxes are about to find themselves neck-deep. Kathy
is going to have to turn the tyros into survivable pilots in jig time,
or things are going to get hairy.
It's going to get worse - much worse. You forgot about the local thug.
He's coming back - in a
big way. Then there's that drug thing taking place through the Arkansas
Protectorate. And what
was a Mig doing over the Protectorate? Who did it belong to? And
don't forget the guys on the
other side of the base. Oh, and security is about to take a nasty
turn. Somebody is going to pull
most of their guards. Then there is Nancy and that stolen pig.....
(Uh, forget I said that.)
David, this was what writers dream about, someone taking time to go
through a story with a fine tooth
comb. I can't thank you enough. You, Michael, and DB make submitting
this to the FFML worth every
moment of lost sleep. (Just what the hell time is it, anyway?)
Stay well,
- Greg
(Oh SHIT! I have to catch a flight in six hours. I gotta find a better
way to make a living.)
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