FOX Squadron
                   Episode 12 - One Lousy Day
                        by G.L. Sandborn



     The mission stunk.  There was no doubt about it.  Escorting
an egotistical government ambassador to a meeting in hostile
territory between two parties that couldn't stand the sight of
each other was bad enough.  General Emerson just made things
worse.  He ordered Jeff to determine while he was at the meeting
the status of the Veritechs stolen during the Miami Base mutiny.
It was enough to drive a man to drink.
     That was exactly what Colonel Jeffrey Stuart wanted most as
he stepped onto the tarmac at Ozark Base.  Being the handpicked
escorts, it was odd that he and Captain Katherine Fox were given
only an hour to prepare.  They used their limited time the best
they could, gathering everything they could about the attending
parties.  It wasn't much.  Even the briefing Captain Bobbi Jo
Baker provided was disturbingly shallow, long on guesses and very
short on verifiable fact.  About the only thing they were certain
of was York had become even more fanatical than before and there
was no way talking was going to solve the issue of a
micronization chamber loaned to the Zentraedi by the United World
Government.
     With a heavy feeling of futility, Jeff and Katherine headed
for their Veritechs.  At least, they headed where the aircraft
were supposed to be.  Only one Veritech was waiting for its
pilot; Katherine's two-seat VF-1D.  Jeff's modified VF-1A was
missing.
     "If this is a game of 'Hide the Veritech', I'm not amused,"
he growled.
     "Maybe they took it in for maintenance," Katherine offered
as she looked around.  "This mission was kind of last minute."
     "Hell of a time to pull a maintenance check," he grumbled.
"Now what do I do?"
     As if to answer him, the growl of an aircraft tug announced
its exit from the south hangar.  Slowly it emerged into the
bright early summer sunshine, the shadows of the massive building
giving way to what the tug was towing.  Sporting a fresh woodland
camouflage paint job, one of the left-behind VF-1S Veritechs
rolled silently behind the tug like a large puppy on a leash.
Its nose art left little doubt for whom it was intended.
     As the tug jerked to a halt next to Katherine's Veritech,
Gail Lynn slid off one of the tug's fenders.  With a clipboard in
hand, she approached the pilots with her characteristic knowing
smile.
     "Fresh from the setup crew.  Checked and double-checked.  We
even had time to splash on a little paint," she said, holding the
clipboard out.
     Jeff accepted the papers but did little more than glance at
them.  He knew everything would be in order if Gail was involved.
His attention was focused more on the Veritech.  The more he
looked, the more he noticed little details that personalized the
fighter meant for him.
     The nose art, faithfully rendered from the original salvaged
by Steve Friedman, seemed a little out of place, considering the
makeup of the squadron.  At one time, the shadowy figure of a
cavalry trooper on horseback, holding his saber pointed forward
in full charge had been a powerful symbol that gave a clue as to
the type of man flying the fighter.  Now it was little more than
an inappropriate relic from bygone days.  Despite his misgivings
about what the picture might represent to his squadron, nobody
else seemed to notice.
     When his eyes wandered to the twin tails, he tilted his head
slightly trying to determine just what the markings meant.
"What's with the four horseshoes?" he finally asked.
     "Honestly, Jeffrey, you should know the tradition by now,"
Gail said with a mock frown.  "When a warrior leads a successful
raid to capture horses, he paints horseshoes on his own, one for
each horse taken."
     Looking at Katherine for confirmation or at least an
explanation, he was rewarded with her strange grin.  "I think
she's referring to the four VF-1A's we snatched just before
getting the training squadron hand-me-downs," she said.
     "Oh," Jeff acknowledged with a nod.  "Of course.  Be sure to
thank the paint shop people for such a professional job."
     Gail began to reply but her answer was quickly swallowed by
the sound of the Ambassador's jet starting up.  As both engines
spun up to idle speed, its three VIP passengers emerged from the
Command Building.  There was no mistaking their urgency.
Ambassador Lemieux led the way, making her way across the tarmac
with quick, sharp strides, her robes flowing behind her like a
the wings of an avenging angel.  Her two assistants scurried
along in her wake, engaged in an obvious debate that was lost in
the howl of jet engines.
     "I guess we better saddle-up," Jeff said, frowning at the
procession.  "It looks like her highness is in a hurry."
     Settling into his new fighter's cockpit, Jeff noticed Gail
had been busy doing more than just preparing a stock fighter for
him.  The original targeting computer, while certainly first
rate, had obviously been exchanged with the advanced one from his
VF-1A.  He hoped he wouldn't need to find out if it was
everything Friedman had said it was.  He also noticed a number of
other improvements but had little time to admire them.  The
Ambassador's transport was on the move, taxiing out with only a
minimum of engine warmup.
     Cursing impatient bureaucrats, Jeff quickly waved for
Katherine to start up before beginning his own complicated series
of switch manipulations to start the Veritech's twin FF-2001
fusion turbines.  The wail of powerful Veritech engines soon
penetrated ground crews' oversized ear protection affectionately
known as 'mouse ears.'
     "You ready?" he asked after tuning in the inter-aircraft
frequency.
     Katherine's business face popped up on the right display
panel.  "Right behind you, sir."
     Jeff did a double-take when he noticed the nose art on her
two-seat Veritech.  It was an image of a brown and white spotted
horse rearing up on its hind legs and kicking with its front
hooves.  He wondered if everyone was determined to personalize
their fighters in such a way.  That reminded him that he'd
probably better make a squadron policy of some sort about nose
art when he got back.  He knew there wasn't an entry that covered
such things in official RDF regulations.  It was usually left up
to the commanding officer.  Still, knowing some of his pilots,
such a guideline would probably be in order.
     The Ambassador's transport started its takeoff run, causing
him to curse again.  The woman was not waiting around for anybody
or anything.

*****#####*****

     Major Davis settled into his office chair with a satisfied
sigh.  Looking around the room as he rocked back gave rise to a
knowing smile.  He had a reason to be happy.  Less than a month
ago he had been in a dead-end job running a broken-down
simulation center.  Now he was the commander of a forward RDF
base in a critical region.  Life was good.
     He was just contemplating a how all this would lead to a
promotion when there came a knock at his door.  He barked for
whomever it was to enter and was rewarded by the sight of
Lieutenant Wallace, her arms full of papers.  "What is it,
Lieutenant?" he asked, not certain he liked the sight of so many
papers headed his way.
     "Congratulations on your appointment, Sir.  Accordingly,
there are a few things you need to deal with," she said in a firm
voice.
     "Things?"  He certainly didn't like the sound of 'things'.
     Cindy plopped the stack of papers on his desk.  Two of her
young assistants waddled into the room, both of them loaded down
with armloads of paper.  "As you know, the Colonel used to be the
acting base commander.  In the short time I've known him, I have
reached the conclusion he isn't much for doing paperwork.  His
many distractions have given him the opportunity to avoid doing
the unavoidable.  Since you are now the base commander, you get
to make up for his lack of enthusiasm by bringing our records and
reports up to date."  She smiled at him in a way that left little
doubt his worst fears were about to come true.  "This pile is all
the daily reports we haven't filed since we arrived.  I've taken
the liberty of filling in the basics.  You get to go through this
other pile and sort out all the particulars before filling them
in on the forms in this pile.  In addition, the Admin Office at
HQ is screaming about the lack of personnel reports and RDF
Transport Command is livid about our failure to confirm receipt
of the last supply train contents.  They are threatening to stop
further shipments until we account for everything they sent the
first time."
     Mad Dog stared at the pile.  This couldn't be happening.
     "You also need to report on the protoculture matrix storage
facility, security arrangements for both the base itself and the
munitions bunker along with the number and status of all civilian
employees.  Of course, we don't have any civilian employees but
you still need to fill out the paperwork - in triplicate."  Cindy
continued to stack paper from her assistants on his desk.  They
seemed to have a never ending supply of forms and documents
demanding his attention.
     "How long do I have to complete them?" he asked, staring in
disbelief at the mound of paper in front of him.
     "You have until... yesterday."  Cindy dropped the last of
the paperwork on his already overflowing desk.
     "I have to do all this by myself?  Don't I get any help?" he
asked plaintively.
     Cindy turned to leave.  "You don't have a secretary and I
don't have anyone I can spare.  The only help I can offer is to
warn you not to screw them up."
     "What happens if I do?"  Mad Dog felt the first twinges of
panic.
     "You get to do them all over again - in addition to the ones
for next week."  Cindy stopped in the doorway and wiggled her
fingers his way.  "Have fun," she chirped before disappearing.
     Mad Dog's groan was answered by his aging overloaded desk.

*****#####*****

     Ten minutes out of Ozark Base, the Ambassador's transport
reached its cruising altitude.  Jeff and Katherine took up their
positions on either side and slightly behind.
     Despite this being a diplomatic mission, Jeff didn't like
flying into what could be hostile territory without reasonable
precautions.
     Switching frequencies, he cast a quick glance toward the
plain white transport before opening the channel.  "Black Hawk
One to Black Lodge.  You there, Crittenton?"  He wasn't sure just
why they had settled on the call sign.  His pilots were most
adamant about using it.  Something about 'strong medicine', he
was told.  Since it was easy to remember and RDF Command had no
objections, it stuck.
     When only silence and a blank screen greeted his call, he
sighed.  There were obviously as few bugs in the system yet.
     "Wake up man.  We're working here."
     The view screen flickered to life showing the flamboyant
English Operations Officer.  "No need to shout, Colonel.  I am
right here and can hear you just fine."
     The Commander's soothing English accent did little to calm
Jeff's irritation.  "What's it look like from the high ground?"
he asked, referring to the RDF orbiting surveillance satellite
view.
     "Well, your little party appears to be attracting a spot of
interest," the Commander replied.  "The chaps to the east have
several interceptors orbiting well outside of missile range.  A
couple more are flanking and escorting a rather large transport."
     "That would be the York Ambassador and his entourage."  Jeff
nodded to himself.  He half expected such a show of force while
the York representative was traveling.
     "The Grays have a small contingent moving up from the gulf."
There was a pause as if Crittenton was checking something.  "I
make it out to be one transport and a pair of Veritechs.  Good
heavens, I didn't know they had Veritechs."
     "You need to talk to Captain Baker more often," Jeff chided.
"Will those parties arrive before us?"
     "Oh I should think so.  Providing they don't get tangled up
with their own fighters, the Yorkies should be the first to
arrive.  Bloody shame if they had an accident."
     The Commander's final observation caused Jeff to chuckle.
"Let's hope not.  We don't need an incident right now."
     "Yes, well, perhaps another time."
     "Any sign of Zentraedi activity?"
     "Everything in the Protectorate appears quiet.  Were you
expecting something?"
     Jeff's response was aborted when another face appeared on
his other view screen.  "Colonel!  You will cease your
transmission immediately.  This is a Level One diplomatic mission
and I will not have it jeopardized by your spying on the
attendees."  The Ambassador's voice was only slightly angrier
than her expression.
     "I am simply taking reasonable precautions," he said in as
calm a voice as he could manage.
     "Cease your transmission NOW."  The Ambassador's image
abruptly blinked off the view screen.
     "Good heavens.  Who was that?" Crittenton asked.
     "The voice of reason and negotiation.  I suggest we comply
with her... request."  Jeff might have been willing to follow
instructions but being ordered about such a fashion by a third-rate
diplomatic drone was enough to make him grit his teeth.
     "Well, I'm certainly glad she's your problem and not mine.
I'll let you know if anything develops.  Black Lodge out."  The
Commander's calm voice was tinged with disdain.  It was obvious
he also had little regard for the Ambassador.
     "Thank you.  Black Hawk One out."  Jeff looked to his right
and saw Katherine staring at him.  He couldn't tell if she was
waiting for him to say something or not.  He waved her way and
nodded.  Instead of waving back, she just returned the nod and
resumed looking ahead.  Whatever she thought of the conversation,
she was certainly keeping it to herself.
     For the next quarter hour, they flew on in silence, their
progress retarded by the relatively slow cruising speed of the
transport.  Still concerned about their security, Jeff busied
himself monitoring the usual RDF frequencies.  Confident that
either Crittenton or some patrolling RDF craft would sound the
alarm should anything develop that they needed to know about, he
had little to do but fly and worry about all the things that
could go wrong.
     They crossed the swollen Mississippi above the Madrid Falls
and entered York controlled airspace.  With only one other
fighter, both armed only with their standard GU-11's, he felt
particularly naked.  York fighters were not that far away.  One
determined strike with missiles pressed home in a determined
manner and the entire United World Government contingent would
cease to exist.  Their own oversized auto cannons would not help
them much should they be jumped by a flock of missile-firing
aircraft.
     Their little flight emerged from some low clouds to reveal a
small town spread out to the north.  It's broken water tower bore
the optimistic name of Metropolis.
     The place didn't fit its name.  Devastated by the
Zentraedi-inspired earthquake, virtually every building bore some sign
of
the cataclysm.  Here and there, mounds of rubble marked where a
particularly large building had collapsed.  Despite this, it was
obvious that life was hanging on.  He could just make out a
number of people moving in the streets, going about the business
of surviving and trying to rebuild their shattered community.
     Northwest of the town lay an open space with a single dark
strip of asphalt.  As they got closer, he could see what the
airfield they were supposed to land on wasn't in much better
shape than the town it was meant to serve.  Much of the area
around the paved surfaces had begun to be reclaimed by nature.
Tall grass and weeds bordered just about everything on the
ground.
     Just east of the deteriorating asphalt, a few moderate-sized
undamaged buildings marked the airfield facilities.  Jeff hoped
they were the site of the planned meeting.  He had no desire to
be transported by the Yorkies to some undisclosed location far
from his fighter.  As naked as he felt in the air, it would be
ten times worse on the ground amongst his potential enemies.
     With only the briefest instructions from the airport
control, Jeff and Katherine pulled away from the Ambassador's
transport and circled around before following 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 the largest
non-hangar building he could see.  He hoped it was the airport
operations building.
     Resisting the urge to follow her, he glanced Katherine's
way.  She was standing in front of her Veritech, uniform bag over
her shoulder, looking distinctly uncomfortable.  Perhaps she also
felt uneasy about the situation.
     After a quick visual sweep of the area around them, Jeff
pulled his own uniform bag out of his fighter's tiny cargo hold
and joined her.
     "I sure wish the Ambassador would at least tell us what
we're supposed to do now," he said as he approached.
     Katherine just nodded while acting like she didn't even want
to look at him.
     "Well, since we brought these dress uniforms, I suppose we
better at least put them on."  He watched her for a reaction.
     "Sir?" she asked in a voice that sounded like a little girl
who'd done something terribly wrong.
     "Yes?"
     "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to tell you this," she began
before hesitating.  "The Ambassador spoke to me before we left."
     "Lucky you."  Jeff tried to act unconcerned but he could
tell it was something pretty bad if it upset he so.
     "She said she picked me for this mission because I'm a woman
and she only trusts women."
     "Well, that certainly explains her attitude," he replied.
"Still, that's not something you should be concerned with.  Once
this mission is over, she goes her way and we go ours."
     "That's just it, Sir.  She also asked me to join her staff."
Katherine looked miserable making such an admission.
     "I see."  Jeff took a deep breath and tried to think of how
to handle such a delicate situation.  He really didn't have that
many options.  "Well, that is certainly your decision to make.  I
know you've done as much as anyone to put this squadron together.
I also know you're aware of all the dangers that goes with a
combat assignment.  If you're having second thoughts --"
     "But that's just it, I'm not!" she gasped with a distraught
expression.  "I like my assignment."
     "Then what's the problem?  You just decline her offer and
things stay as they are."
     Katherine sighed.  "I know."  She may have been telling the
truth but she wore the distinct expression of someone who wanted
to say something else.
     A dark thought slipped from its hiding place, causing him to
frown.  "She didn't threaten you, did she?"
     Katherine was quick to respond.  "No, Sir.  Not in so many
words."
     Looking past his Executive Officer, he spotted the two
United Confederate States' Veritech's parked further down the
flight line.  He knew that threatening Katherine, even in an
indirect manner, was completely unacceptable to both the RDF and
the UWG.  But it was something that could be dealt with later.
For now, he saw an opportunity to fulfill the second part of
their mission.  With nobody in sight, now was the best chance he
was likely to get to check out the rebel fighters.
     "Look, I'm not going to let her threaten you and get away
with it.  If you want to stay, there is no way she or anyone
above her is going to get you away from our squadron.  I won't
let that happen.  You have my word."
     Katherine's chin dropped slightly while her face grew a tiny
grin.  "Thank you, Sir."
     Handing Katherine his uniform case, he indicated the large
building he saw the Ambassador and her assistants head for
earlier.  "You go find out where this 'conference' is taking
place.  I'll join you in a few minutes.  There's something
General Emerson wanted me to do here and I think it would be best
if I did it alone."
     With a nod of acknowledgment, Katherine started for the
building.
     He waited a few moments, before turning towards the UCS
fighters.  At first, he walked briskly, his anxiousness getting
the better of him.  He kept reminding himself that he was no
espionage agent.  He had no particular skills for sneaking around
a potentially hostile flight line without being detected.
     As he drew nearer, his pace slowed.  He got a strange uneasy
feeling approaching the two former RDF Veritechs, like he was
being watched.  Warily, he did a complete turn before angling
towards the fighters.  The whole airstrip was suddenly eerily
quiet.  The only movement he could see was Katherine walking
across the tarmac.
     With another glance around to assure himself that all was
clear, he edged closer to the UCS craft.  From twenty meters
away, he could see little that would indicate they were anything
but first line fighters.  Taking a deep breath, he moved closer.
     By the time he got to the fighter's nose, subtle signs that
not everything about the fighters were up to operational
standards.
     Leaking fluid had created dark streaks on the fighter's deep
gray skin, marking places where fittings had worn and leaked.  He
reminded himself that it wasn't unusual for a front-line fighter
to show degrees of wear due to constant use.  Many of the
fighters in his old squadrons had displayed similar blemishes
during their operational life.  Still, that was back when they
were in constant combat.  These Veritechs couldn't seen anything
more than standard flight rotations and non-combat air handling.
Something wasn't right.
     He knelt down and checked the nose landing gear tires.
There were cracks all across the tire's sides.  They weren't
large cracks but unmistakable signs of overuse.  Since aircraft
tires were no longer made out of rubber, it was unusual to see
anything other than a slight discoloration on them.  Cracking was
rare and could only be the result of using tires beyond their
expected operational life - in this case, well beyond.  In RDF
squadrons, even now at the lower levels of standard maintenance,
they were usually replaced long before such deterioration could
occur.  The ones here couldn't have more than a dozen landings
left in them before one or both blew on impact.
     Examining the gear strut, he noticed more fluid leaking down
from somewhere deep in the nose gear well before pooling between
the twin tires.  He slid a finger along the strut and sniffed.
It wasn't what he expected from hydraulic fluid.  It felt right
but smelled vaguely of peanuts.  Whatever it was, it certainly
wasn't RDF issue.
     Slowly working his way around the fighter, he stopped to pop
open an inspection panel.  Inside were discolored wiring and more
non-standard replacement parts.  It looked like the General was
correct.  The United Confederate States obviously had no means to
properly care for their Veritechs.
     "You there!  What are you doing?" came a sharp voice from
the other side of the second Veritech.  A lone figure carrying a
pre-war automatic weapon stepped into view.  His faded uniform
identified him as a York security soldier.
     "I'm just checking my fighter," Jeff said, running his hand
over the aircraft's side like he was inspecting it.  It had the
added effect of allowing him to close the inspection panel while
he tried to figure out how he had missed noticing the guard.
More interesting was the question of why a York soldier was
guarding a UCS Veritech.
     "You one of the Reb pilots?"  The soldier tilted his head in
a skeptical way.
     Jeff switched to his best 'old Virginia' voice.  He was glad
his flightsuit bore no obvious RDF insignia.  "Can't you tell?
Gotta keep a keen eye on this here bird.  They require a heap of
tender lovin' care."
     The soldier snorted and lowered the barrel of his weapon.
"Yeah, well, you ain't supposed to be here.  My orders are that
nobody is to get near the aircraft."
     "Sorry.  Didn't know."  Jeff turned to leave.
     "And tell that other fella - Mr. High and Mighty - that he
don't need to worry none.  Nobody is goin' to get near these
aircraft while I'm on duty."  The soldier shook his weapon Jeff's
direction.
     "I'll tell 'em," Jeff replied, quickening his pace.  He
wondered just who 'Mr. High and Mighty' might be.  His former
Executive Officer, perhaps?
     It didn't take long for him to find Katherine.  Inside the
aging operations building, they endured the indignity of a search
for weapons and explosives.  Jeff grumbled through the ordeal but
refrained from pointing out that he had just outside a fighter
that could blow the entire base to hell, if he desired.
     The only incident came when the guards engaged in a debate
over whether or not the nail clippers found in Katherine's bag
constituted a weapon or not.  Thankfully, a York officer arrived
and dismissed their concerns, but not without a hard warning
glare Katherine's way.
     Once released, they were escorted to a second building that
appeared to have once been a gymnasium.  Inside, Jeff and
Katherine were ushered to separate doors and told they could
change inside.
     Cautiously pushing open the door, his senses were
immediately assaulted by odors that were better left unsampled.
"You have to be kidding," he said.
     "You can change in there or out here in the hall," his
escort said, casting a leer at Katherine who had also balked at
using the room offered her.  Obviously, it was in no better shape
than the one facing Jeff.
     Kicking open the door again, he snapped a disgusted
expression at his guard before entering.  The amount of mold on
just about everything in sight combined with the odor of long
abandoned and stopped up toilets contributed to an atmosphere
that left Jeff vowing to wear his uniform home in place of having
to endure the disgusting locker room again.
     Changing in record time, he retreated into the marginally
better hallway.  Katherine had also changed quickly, stepping
into the hall and gasping for cleaner air.  The look on her face
confirmed the women's locker room wasn't any better.
     York guards subjected them both to another round of serious
searches before escorting them to yet another building that
appeared to have once been a school.  Many of the glass windows
had been broken and either patched with rough slabs of plywood or
simply left devoid of any covering at all.  The inside room that
looked like the conference site, wouldn't even pass as a large
RDF store room.
     The thin carpeting on the floor was stained in several
spots, as if water had leaked through the roof.  The room reeked
of a mustiness that indicated gross neglect.  The majority of the
room's lighting came from windows high overhead, despite the
struggle of a few valiant florescent lights that hummed and
buzzed, adding a pitiful yellow tint to the room.
     In the middle of the room, a series of long tables were
pushed into a rough square with three seats arranged on each
side.  Someone had tried to match-up the various types and styles
of mismatched chairs so no one would feel slighted, leaving the
whole arrangement looking more like a family picnic than a
diplomatic negotiation.
     The room had only four doors for access, two on one side and
two more on the opposite wall.  Each door was close enough to its
own corner to give the impression of opposite corners in a boxing
ring.  Jeff hoped this wasn't an omen of what was to come.
     He was just calculating escape routes, should the need
arise, when he was interrupted by the Ambassador's approach.
Ignoring him, she slid up to Katherine with a kind of expression
that suggested she was looking for something.
     "You look marvelous, Captain," she said in a honey sweet
voice as she fingered the shoulder strap on Katherine's coat.
"You do credit to that uniform."
     Jeff fought the urge to clear his throat or roll his eyes.
Instead, he pretended to look away, like he was counting the
number of leak stains on the ceiling.
     Without moving his head, he caught the Ambassador sliding
her hands down the outside of Katherine's sleeves.  The look on
his executive officer's face was priceless.
     "Madam Ambassador, the delegates are arriving," one of her
assistants called.
     With a disgusted sigh, the woman closed her eyes.  She
appeared to be trying to decide on a response.  Opening her eyes
again, she looked at Katherine with an expression that spoke
volumes.  It was Jeff's turn to suppress a disgusted sigh.
     Turning to leave, she caught sight of Jeff watching her.
Her body stiffened.  "As for you, Colonel, you will remain here.
You will not say or do anything that might interrupt the
proceedings.  Your presence is only ornamental."
     "I'll try to keep breathing to a minimum," he replied with a
blank expression.
     The Ambassador's eyes narrowed before she turned on her heel
and stomped back to her place at the conference tables.
     "Nothing like a visit from Miss Congeniality to make one's
day," Jeff said.
     "She makes my skin crawl," Katherine replied, her hand
gripping the spot on her arm the Ambassador touched.  "Just being
close to her makes me want to take a shower."
     "I'm guessing that's what she has in mind - once we get back
to civilization, of course."
     Katherine's disgusted expression assured him she shared his
revulsion.  He could almost see her shudder at the image his
comment 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 could have
been right out of an old Hollywood movie.
     The two military escorts marched into the room in a manner
guaranteed to impress all who watched.  Dressed like members of
Cardinal Richelieu's guard, the escorts tromped in wearing bright
red tabards trimmed in gold over coal black uniforms.  Each
tabard was emblazoned with the York military crest; a blazing
sword laid over a gold cross.  Black knee-high leather boots and
red broad-brimmed hats turned up on one side and sporting a white
plume completed their ensemble.  Even without stage rapiers, they
looked like someone waiting for the director to call 'action'.
     What followed them was even better.  The portly York
Ambassador emerged from the dark hallway like a pope about to
issue a blessing to the assembled multitude.  Dressed in a red
robes with a short red cape trimmed in gold over his shoulders,
he approached Ambassador Lemieux with all the grace of a fat
penguin.  The warm mutual greeting between the two could have
easily been mistaken as that of life-long friends rather than
political adversaries.  Jeff hoped his reaction was due to his
lack of understanding about politics and negotiation.
     Compared with what preceded them, the York assistants looked
positively frumpy.  Their basic brown monk's outfits, complete
with oversized hoods and simple gold-colored rope binding their
waists, gave them the appearance of common servants.
     "There's something you don't see everyday," Katherine said
in a low voice.
     "Thank goodness," Jeff replied.  Such ecclesiastical
arrogance and religious imagery was a far cry from those of a
religious calling he knew - Aunt Margie, for example.
     It took several minutes for the two groups to be introduced,
blessed, and sanctified before they separated to their assigned
places at the table.  Jeff glanced at the two escorts who snapped
into curious poses on opposite sides of the door they had entered
through.  Their hands on their hips in what he assumed was their
'parade rest' position appeared a touch arrogant to him.
     A second door, on the same side of the room as Jeff, opened
with a loud 'click'.  Through it came the United Confederate
States delegation.
     As with the Yorkies, the first to enter were the military
escorts.  More 'comic opera' clowns, Jeff thought as he evaluated
what passed for dress uniforms to the United Confederate States
military.  Obviously copied from those worn by the landed gentry
of their 1860 ancestors at the start of their lost rebellion,
their gray waist coats sporting double rows of gold buttons were
accented by sky blue pants with a wide gold stripe up the outside
of each leg and tucked into knee-high black riding boots that
were polished to a brilliant shine.  Each wore a short cape over
their left shoulder in the manner of an 18th-century cuirassier.
Jeff wondered if he was the only one who thought the costumes he
had seen so far were a bit much for a serious country's military.
     "Colonel!" called one of the UCS officers.  Jeff immediately
recognized him.  It was hard for him to not call back.  They had
spent so many memorable years together.  Instead, he just nodded
towards the man, the mutiny still fresh in his mind.
     "Who's that?" Katherine asked.
     "Donnie Lee," Jeff replied in an offhand manner.
     "Somebody you know?"
     "Once upon a time."
     The pair watched as Jeff's former executive officer motioned
for his companion to remain behind before making his way over to
them.  Neither made any efforts to acknowledge his approach.
     "Colonel, it's so good to see you again," Donnie said with a
broad grin, apparently overlooking the fact his greeting was
meeting with stony silence.
     "Captain Lee," Jeff replied in a formal tone.  "I haven't
seen you since your last command.  It was down in Florida, was it
not?"
     Donnie's grin only flickered before growing into an almost
reserved smile.  "It's been a long time.  By the way, it's
Commander Lee now."  He looked at Katherine like he was in the
presence of royalty.  "Where are my manners?  Don't just stand
there, Colonel.  Introduce me to this charming young lady."
     "Captain..."  Jeff caught his mistake and quickly corrected
himself.  "Commander Lee, this is my Executive Officer, Captain
Katherine Fox."
     Snatching her hand as it rose to shake his, Donnie flipped
his short cape back in a gallant motion.  Bending slightly at the
waist, he raised her hand to his lips, his eyes never leaving
hers.  Katherine's expression was a cross between surprise and...
something else.  Jeff couldn't be sure but she appeared to blush.
     "Your servant, my lady," Donnie said, looking up into her
eyes with a sly smile.
     It took a few moments for Katherine to disengage her hand.
When she did, she clutched it to her chest and avoided further
eye contact with the gallant Commander Lee.  "If you will excuse
me," she stammered,  "I need to... to go freshen up."  Without a
second glance their way, Katherine fled the room.
     Donnie watched her go, flicking his finger both ways across
his broad mustache as if to rearrange it after the kiss.   "I can
see there's been certain... improvements in the command structure
of RDF squadrons."
     Jeff chose not to respond.  Donnie had always been the
'ladies man' in his squadron, like a teenager with over-active
hormones.
     "Colonel, I wonder if you know what this conference is
about," Donnie said, his expression dissolving from amused to
serious.
     "It could be about anything; current farming techniques,
what sacramental wine goes best with fish or even a certain
micronization chamber in the Arkansas Protectorate."
     Donnie grunted a single chuckle.  "You haven't changed a
bit.  I guess I should have expected you would be well informed."
     "I understand why the Yorkies are here.  Clearly, they don't
like having a micronization chamber so close to their territory.
What I don't understand is why your government is interested in
the chamber.  The United Confederate States has never displayed
overtly xenophobic tendencies."
     "We are here only as observers," Donnie said with a shrug.
"Our brothers in the Barony asked us to attend."
     "Brothers?"  Jeff's left eyebrow shot up at mention of the
word.
     "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 a tiny smile flickered.  "Those were the spoils of war,
Colonel."
     "Purchased with the blood of their pilots."  Jeff felt his
anger rising at the memory of former comrades killing each other.
He had trained many of those pilots.  Their deaths were more to
him than just a set of statistics.  "The executions were
especially cowardly."
     "I had no hand in that," Donnie said in protest, holding up
his hands as if in defense.
     "You were the Commanding Officer.  You had the authority,"
Jeff insisted.  He struggled to control his growing anger.
     "My Executive Officer had the men behind him.  I couldn't do
anything.  When I suggested mercy, some even questioned MY
loyalty."
     That caused Jeff to raise an eyebrow.  "Loyalty?  What does
a mutineer know about loyalty?"
     Donnie examined Jeff's face like a man struggling to find an
answer.  "You wound me, sir.  I was always a loyal and dedicated
RDF officer.  But the world is changing, Colonel.  The United
World Government is finished.  There are new alliances forming
all the time.  We... we smaller nations need to band together for
our mutual protection."
     "How noble," Jeff said flatly.  "How does that square with
mutiny and murder?"
     Donnie slowly shook his head.  "You don't understand.
Almost all our pilots and crew are from the region.  They felt a
calling from their native land.  Surely, you can feel it as well,
Colonel.  You're a man of old Virginia.  Your ancestor was one of
the icons of our cause."
     "That era is dead as our ancestors.  As I recall, it wasn't
the most enlightened culture to begin with."
     "Times were different then, Colonel.  People did not
appreciate the true worth of a man."
     "Oh, I don't know.  I understand some people made quite a
handsome living buying and selling their fellow humans," Jeff
replied.
     "Well..."  Donnie's voice trailed off as if he had nothing
to say to such an accusation.  "I can understand your bitterness
over the mutiny.  It wasn't the way I wanted to part with the RDF
but that decision was made for me by the ASC."
     "They can be asses at times, I'll agree, but they will
eventually become the military arm of the new United World
Government."
     "All the more reason to consider my offer, Colonel."  Donnie
beamed with renewed 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.  Sorry, I could never join someone who would
execute their former comrades so callously.  One would never know
when he would be next," 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 I knew had an infatuation with Miss
Robins?  No, Colonel, I had no hand in her escape at all," he
replied bitterly.
     Jeff examined his former Executive Officer's face for a long
moment, searching for any of the signs he knew so well that
indicated the younger man was lying.  Satisfied the Commander was
at least saying what he believed, Jeff sighed.  "I stand
corrected."
     "Colonel, you have to believe me when I tell you that if
anyone was going to be saved from execution, it had to look like
an escape.  More than anything, I wanted a certain person to get
away.  I knew Lieutenant Robins was resourceful enough to take
advantage of a good opportunity."
     Jeff looked away from Donnie and frowned at the nearest
conference table.  If what he was saying was true, Missy Robins
owed him her life - despite the price she paid for that freedom.
     Before he could respond, Donnie glanced at his companion who
was gesturing for him to return.  He had obviously overstayed and
would be subject to another round of having his loyalty
questioned if he didn't return immediately.
     "I must leave you, Colonel," Donnie said with a sharp bow.
"I hope you will reconsider my offer.  And please tell Missy..."
His usual glib nature evaporated as words failed him.  "Well,
you'll think of something."
     "I'll tell her," Jeff replied, the corners of his mouth
twitching up into a brief smile.  He wasn't sure just what to
make of his former protege.
     As Donnie hurried back to his post, Jeff wondered just how
he would handle this new information.  He couldn't just tell
Missy 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.
     He was so busy trying to sort out his former Executive
Officer that he almost missed Katherine's return.
     "The bathrooms in this place are disgusting," she hissed.
     "I'm not surprised.  I don't think York has put much effort
into the recovery effort around here."
     "You can tell it wasn't a woman in charge of the cleanup,"
Katherine groused.
     Jeff eyed her with a raised eyebrow.  "You're beginning to
sound like the Ambassador."
     Katherine responded with a scowl.  "Now THAT was uncalled
for."
     "In any case, she seems to have taken a liking to you."
     "We have a name for people like her and I'm too polite to
use it here."
     "I suppose.  I'll bet Captain Parino would know how to
handle her."
     "Captain Parino has her hands full with our little
Administration Officer," Katherine said in a low voice.
     "I trust you meant that professionally," Jeff replied
without looking her way.  He had heard rumors but never thought
any of them were actually true.
     "Colonel, they are sleeping together."
     That was more information than he needed to know.  While
there was no regulation directly concerning such activity,
Captain Parino's background suggested this might be trouble if
she were to fall into her former ways.  Funny, he never imagined
Lieutenant Wallace was like that.
     The doors opening nearest them thankfully drove further
speculations from his mind.  The sound of approaching metal boots
on concrete floors echoed through the suddenly silent building.
Two micronized Zentraedi tromped in wearing full battle armor.
Nothing else in the room moved.  Even without obvious weapons,
Zentraedi warriors could still instill fear and respect with just
their presence.
     In spite of the Zentraedi entering with their visors open, a
clear indication of their non-hostile intentions, Jeff's concerns
were more towards how the others might act.  He was reasonably
certain than no one else in the room had ever encountered
Zentraedi in a non-hostile setting.  Inexperience often led to
fear and fear could make even hardened professionals react in
unpredictable ways.
     An uncomfortable pause after the guards entered resulted in
a great deal of exchanged glances and nervous shifting of
positions.  Jeff just crossed his arms and frowned.  He knew well
the Zentraedi tactic of intimidation.  He just wished they hadn't
chosen now to use it.  In this setting, it was guaranteed to set
a confrontational tone to the meeting.  He hoped that wasn't
going to be the Zentraedi position.
     In comparative silence, the Zentraedi representative
appeared through the door, followed by his two assistants.  Jeff
suppressed a groan at what they were wearing.
     Dressed in full Zentraedi command uniforms, their high-necked
collars obscuring parts of their faces, the three strode
into the room like conquering masters.  Without a word, they eyed
the other ambassadors as if issuing a challenge.  Nobody
responded.  The York representative just glared at him as if
facing the devil himself.
     Ambassador Lemieux was the first to act, welcoming the
Zentraedi with the same warmth she had with the others.  It was
curious to watch the Zentraedi Ambassador; a man cloned for the
sole purpose of combat struggling with the delicacies of proper
protocol.  He awkwardly bowed to Ambassador Lemieux as he shook
her hand.
     "Now, I've seen everything," Jeff mumbled, just loud enough
for Katherine to hear.  She gave no response but he could sense
her apprehension.
     The introductions that followed, were anything but a good
start to the negotiations.  When introduced, the York Ambassador
refused to shake the Zentraedi's hand, causing a moment of tense
silence.  Instinctively, Jeff checked the various guards around
the room.  If there was going to be any trouble, it would most
likely begin with them.
     The York escorts remained at their posts, but just barely,
their eyes burning with all the hatred of religious fanatics.
Donnie and his companion continued to lounge in their corner,
coolly eyeing the Zentraedi like fighters sizing up their
opponents.  The Zentraedi escorts calmly remained at their posts
on either side of and just inside the door, their visors still
open and their eyes moving from person to person.  Jeff didn't
like how this was unfolding.
     "If everyone will take their places, we can begin,"
Ambassador Lemieux said with a hopeful but distinctly nervous
smile.  She sounded like someone just coming to grips with the
enormity of her task.
     Cautiously, the representatives pulled back their chairs and
quietly sat down.  Jeff drew a deep breath and waited for some
explosion that would signal the start of a war.
     It was with that oddly tense atmosphere that everyone looked
to Ambassador Lemieux.  She responded with a welcoming smile that
would have been right at home in a kindergarten.
     "Right, now that we're all settled, I want to extend my
personal welcome to Father Damian from the..."  She paused to
consult her notes.  "Oh yes, the Holy Kingdom of York."
     "The chosen people of God," Father Damien declared with a
condescending smile her way before frowning at the Zentraedi
across from him.  For their part, the Zentraedi appeared more
interested in counting the stains on the ceiling than listening.
One of the Zentraedi assistants even yawned, crossed his arms and
rolled his head forward as if to take a nap.
     "I want to also welcome the Zentraedi Ambassador, Sub-Commander
Tole and his assistants," Ambassador Lemieux said with
a welcoming nod.  "It is to their credit they have accepted this
opportunity to clear up any misunderstandings and by that extend
a hand of friendship to their neighbors."
     The Zentraedi Ambassador just grunted and rocked back with
crossed arms in his seat.  His expression was anything but
conciliatory.  Jeff knew this was normal behavior for Zentraedi.
Nothing more than their way of negotiation.  He hoped the others
understood that.
     Father Damien continued to glare at the Zentraedi, his face
turning red and a large vein pulsing on his forehead.  His
assistants sat bolt upright, as if awaiting the order to attack.
The Zentraedi reacted with benign indifference, like predators
extremely confident of their own superiority.  Jeff again eyed
the guards looking for any signs of trouble.
     "I also wish to welcome Governor Will Thomas of the United
Confederate States who is here as an interested third party,"
Ambassador Lemieux said with a broad smile.  The aged man wearing
a version of a southern plantation owner's short brown waist-coat
with tails over a pair of tan knickers nodded his response with a
smile.  He removed his broad-brimmed planter's hat to reveal a
healthy amount of white hair and bowed slightly towards the
stone-faced Zentraedi.
     "We are here at the request of our brothers to the north,"
Governor Thomas said with an acknowledging nod towards Father
Damien.  "While we do share some of the apprehensions of the
distinguished York representative, we wish to remain neutral in
this issue and feel certain that some equitable resolution can be
reached."  Sub-Commander Tole snorted which drew a reproachful
expression from Ambassador Thomas.  "We are a small and weak
nation compared to those to the north and west.  We wish no
conflict with any of the parties here, only to be left alone to
live our life in peace."
     "Like shokah," Tole growled softly.  The mention of the
sheep-like creatures featured so often as the main course at
Zentraedi celebrations seemed to go unnoticed among the other
representatives.
     Governor Thomas, however, obviously knew or guessed at the
reference.  "No, like free men," he corrected.  "Surely you know
what it feels like to be free after such a long enslavement.  We
honor your freedom and wish for you the same as we wish for
ourselves; to coexist in peace."
     The Zentraedi Ambassador paused for a moment to consider the
suggestion.  "Yes.  We can appreciate your desire for freedom, as
we are just coming to understand what that word means."
     "Thank you, my friend."  Ambassador Thomas nodded towards
the alien with a most cryptic smile.  It was difficult to tell if
he was sincere or not.
     "But freedom that is given can also be taken away.  True
freedom but be earned.  Make no mistake, we will FIGHT to
preserve our freedom!" Tole growled, 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 had even looked up at the outburst, which
strongly suggested it was just a negotiating tactic.
     Jeff switched back to checking the escorts.  All had shifted
into defensive postures.  If the Ambassadors lost control of
their guards, this meeting was going to get messy - fast.
Katherine took a half-step backwards, her eyes going from one
potential enemy to another.  Instinctively, Jeff grabbed her arm.
She didn't resist, freezing in place.  He could feel her tremble
in anticipation of a fight but knew any such preparation might be
misinterpreted, igniting the very thing they both feared.
     "Of course we understand your desire for freedom,"
Ambassador Lemieux said in a surprisingly calm voice.  "Nobody
here desires otherwise."  She paused as the other ambassadors
appeared to relax a bit, glancing warily amongst themselves.
"Our purpose here is to ensure that everyone is able to retain
their freedoms without fearing their neighbors.  I am quite
certain the distinguished Zentraedi Ambassador can appreciate
such a position."
     Sub-Commander Tole rubbed his chin in thought.  Slowly, he
began to nod.  "You speak with some wisdom, Ambassador Thomas.
Our people share this desire of yours."
     With the two Ambassadors coming to such agreement, one could
almost feel a change in the atmosphere of the meeting.
     Father Damien, however, slowly rumbled to life, as if his
patience at sharing the same air as his hated enemies was too
much to bear.  "So long as the devil-spawn from the dark realm
beyond the stars exist among us, there can be no peace."
     His deep growl caused Lemieux to sigh like a mother who had
just endured her child's indiscretion.  "Father Damien, the
Zentraedi are the descendants of humans abducted decades,
possibly even centuries ago by an evil race we call The Masters.
Nobody at this table are your enemies.  We are all human --"
     "NO!" Father Damien yelled, slamming the table with both
hands and springing to his feet.  "By all that is holy, these...
these abominations are evil in human form.  They came to our
world with a lust for blood, human blood.  They butchered more
than half the innocent souls of our planet.  We will NEVER accept
their presence in our world.  So long as they have the means to
return to their normal size and resume their dark ways, no HUMANS
are safe!  And now you have given them the very means to produce
that army of darkness.  Soon, our lands will be overrun by forty-foot
giants thirsting for our blood."
     Governor Thomas reached out towards the fuming York
Ambassador as if plead with him to calm down.  It was a futile
gesture.  Father Damien was just getting started.  His voice
rose, proclaiming his faith and his hatred to all within hearing.
Considering the man's lung power, there must have been people in
the nearby town wondering what was going on.
     The Father Damien's flabby cheeks turned scarlet, his whole
body trembled as only a fanatic could when faced with what he
considered the ultimate evil.  "It is written: Let he that hath a
weapon, let him take it, and likewise his armor.  And he that
hath no sword, let him sell his garment, and buy one.  For I say
unto you, that this that is written must yet be accomplished in
me.  And he was reckoned among the transgressors for the things
concerning me have an end.  So saith the Lord!"
     Sub-Commander Tole was instantly on his feet, followed by
his assistants.  "Commander Boton was correct," he growled in a
surprisingly even voice.  "There is no dealing with the fanatics
among you.  I can see now that I was wrong to believe that
certain micronians possessed the means for rational thought.
There is no point in further discussion."
     Turning on his heel, he kicked his chair out of the way and
stomped out of the meeting.  As if expecting an ambush, his
guards and assistants followed, backing their way through the
door.  Steel boots rapidly echoed down the concrete hall as the
Zentraedi abandoned the negotiations and headed for their craft.
     Ambassador Lemieux scampered after the Zentraedi, her
assistants frantically grabbing all the papers that remained
before scrambling after her.
     A deadly silence hovered over the room.  The York guards
froze, staring at Jeff and Katherine as if waiting for them to
leave as well.
     Jeff drew a deep breath and looked at his stunned Executive
Officer.  "That didn't go very well, did it?" he said in a low
voice.
     Katherine, her eyes darting between the York and UCS guards,
swallowed hard.  "Not at all."
     Taking her arm, Jeff directed her towards the door the
Zentraedi and Ambassador Lemieux had used.  "I think we have worn
out our welcome."
     As he herded her towards the exit, he chanced a look back
over his shoulder to see if they were going to be pursued.
Governor Thomas was attempting to placate the still agitated
Father Damien but his words didn't appear to be improving the
situation.  The priest continued with his loud sermon, his
booming voice echoing in the rapidly emptying room, as Thomas
repeated his calming gestures.  Father Damien slowed only when
Thomas gestured towards Donnie and appeared to say something
emphatic.
     In the momentary silence, Jeff quickly shoved Katherine into
the outer hallway where an odd form of confusion reigned.  York
military ran up and down the hall in pairs or small groups, their
rifles held at the ready.  For the most part, they seemed to
ignore the two RDF officers making their way past the abandoned
checkpoints.  Pausing only long enough to retrieve their clothes
bags, they abandoned the idea of changing into the flightsuits in
favor of just escaping towards their fighters.  Things were
deteriorating fast.  There was no telling what the chaos would
bring in the way of military action.  He had no intention of
facing such unarmed.  At least the Veritechs had their lasers and
GU-11's.
     The pair emerged into the bright sunshine in time to see the
Zentraedi transport taxiing towards the runway, a pair of
conventional but hopelessly obsolete Earth jet fighters with
Zentraedi markings trailing behind.  Ambassador Lemieux stood on
the tarmac watching the Zentraedi depart, her shoulders sagging
as the aircraft trundled past.
     "I'll feel a whole lot safer when we are in the air,"
Katherine said, her quick walk becoming a trot.
     "Can you fly in a skirt?" he asked, casting nervous glances
at the guards, some running towards the buildings and others for
their vehicles.  Something was very wrong.  If all that was
happening was the failure of a peace conference, the York
military should be little more than annoyed.  Their actions were
those of troops preparing for battle.
     "At times like this, I can RUN in a skirt," she replied as
she quickly set about proving her claim.
     Reaching his own fighter, he quickly kicked the wheel chocks
away and scrambled into the cockpit.  Using every shortcut he
could think of, his aircraft's engines roared to life in record
time.  Judging by the sounds from Katherine's Veritech, she knew
many of the same shortcuts.
     Looking towards the Ambassador, he saw that she was being
unceremoniously hustled by her assistants into her transport.
Its engines were also spinning up, adding their low howl to the
scream of Zentraedi aircraft taking off.  This departure had
become anything but dignified.
     The Ambassador's transport started to move the instant she
was aboard, its door being pulled shut as it turned towards the
taxiway.  A glance at the assembling York troops told Jeff why.
Things had deteriorated - badly.  York officers were gathering
their men and ordering them forward.  Some had already started
moving towards the Ambassador's transport.  The truce was over.
Instinctively, he checked his ammunition supply.  Full load with
two reloads.  Gail had done her job well.
     "Follow the Ambassador," he ordered Katherine.  "I'll cover
you."
     Her terse acknowledgment was answered by her craft straining
to move.  Her engines went from a high-pitched howl to a deep
throaty roar as it fought to move forward.  Jeff leaned over to
see why.  Her wheel chocks were still in place.
     "Guardian!" he yelled, reaching for the transition lever
himself.
     Two Veritechs smoothly reconfigured, popping off the ground
and coming up with GU-11's clutched in metal hands.  The threat
of such a weapon was not lost on the York soldiers.  Their shouts
of warning drowned in the wail of Veritech engines as they turned
and scrambled for cover.
     At first, the soldiers appeared content to remain where they
were, obviously wary of the weapons pointed their way.  Jeff
checked the Ambassador's transport.  It was just turning onto the
end of the runway.  A few moments more and it would be off the
ground.
     Armored vehicles began emerging from around the corners of
several buildings, their cannon turning towards the hovering
Veritechs.  A dozen other armored vehicles broke through the
dilapidated chain-link fence that surrounded the airfield
furthest from the Veritechs and ground their way onto the flight
line.  It looked like York was calling in everything they had in
the area.  There was little time to consider why.  The
Ambassador's aircraft was lining up for takeoff.
     "Cover the Ambassador," Jeff ordered as he opened throttles
enough to send his fighter hovering a few feet more above the
cracked tarmac.  Katherine followed, her Veritech matching his.
     In unison, the two Veritechs tilted slightly towards the
transport and began skimming sideways down the taxiway.  York
rifle fire from a few brave souls bracketed the escaping craft.
     "Hold your fire," Jeff ordered when some of the shots pinged
off his canopy.  "They can't hurt us with small arms."
     "Why are they shooting?"
     "Random fanatics," Jeff replied, hoping his guess was right.
     "What about the tanks?" Katherine asked when a pair of
medium conventional armored vehicles that would have been
obsolete even in the last war broke through the fence a hundred
yards away.
     "Unless they have missiles, we're too fast for them," he
answered.  At least, he HOPED they were too fast for the tanks.
One ninety-millimeter armor-piercing round in the right place
would end their flight in a hurry.  "Just keep moving."
     He ordered Katherine to follow the Ambassador.  He would
bring up the rear.  Her acknowledgment was terse.  He could see
her judging the distance between the tanks and the Ambassador's
transport.
     When they reached their objective, the transport was already
starting its takeoff run.  Switching direction, the two Veritechs
slid back the way they had come, skimming the taxiway and
screening the transport from the York military.  As they gathered
speed, the pair rotated forward until they were both flying
parallel to the runway, one behind the other, keeping the pace
with the transport as it finally lifted off.
     "Stand by on the ECM and flares," Jeff warned.  Whatever
missiles the Yorkies might send their way, one or the other
should deflect them.
     The transport's pilot must have suspected the same thing.
It quickly pitched up into a steep climb.
     "Fighter mode," Jeff called and the two Veritechs
transitioned into their sleek fighter form and thundered after
the rapidly climbing transport.
     "Black Lodge, this is Black Hawk."  Jeff needed more eyes
and a good view of the overall situation.  Commander Crittenton
was just the guy to give it to him.
     The Commander's face appeared on the video screen.  "I'm
already on it, Colonel.  What on earth happened?"
     "Religion and government just collided."
     "Well, it certainly seems to have caused a great deal of
excitement."
     "Does York have any fighters up?" Jeff asked, checking his
radar.
     "Oh my, yes.  I count about twenty, zero-two-zero at fifty
miles.  From their sensor signature, I make them to be
Falconjets."
     "Are they moving this way?"
     "At the moment, no.  They seem to be just milling about."
     "Launch the Alert Team and have them join us at the Nexus,"
Jeff snapped, a little more forcefully than he intended.  The
Nexus was the unofficial RDF designation for the point where York
and UCS lands intersected with the Protectorate and the United
World Government's territories.  If there was going to be
trouble, forces at the Nexus would give the RDF flexibility.
"And notify Captain Parino to get a flight airborne.  I want a
hot flight orbiting at angels ten about twenty miles west of
Madrid Falls."
     "The Alert Team is launching now and will be on station in
ten minutes.  We have four fighters on standby with full missile
loads."
     "Good job.  Have you got a read on the other
representatives?"  Jeff was worried about more than his own
little flight.  The Zentraedi were also in danger.  If Father
Damien's reaction at the conference was any indication, York
forces might just lash out at the UCS delegation as well.
     "The Zentraedi are making good time towards the
Protectorate.  I expect them to cross over in fifteen minutes.
Another flight is just leaving the conference site."  Commander
Crittenton's calmness caused Jeff to smile to himself.  Having a
good Operations Controller was rare.  Having one as experienced
as Commander Crittenton would give them an edge in a fight.
     "Keep an eye on the Grays.  I want to make sure they get
home all right."  He wasn't sure why but for the moment, he
wanted Donnie safe back at Miami Base.  There was no question
that his former Executive Officer could take on a whole squadron
of Falconjets under ideal conditions.  But the UCS Veritechs they
were flying were not in their best condition.  That could easily
swing the battle in favor of the enemy.  Jeff didn't want
anything to happen to Donnie.  There were a few 'issues' he still
had with the young man.
     "Oh, I almost forgot.  I've redirected the Yellowstone Cat's
Eye patrol to just north of the falls.  They will be on station
in ten minutes to provide direct C3," Commander Crittenton added
in his assured English manner.
     "Good job.  Black Hawk out."  Satellites had their place but
it took something closer like a Cat's Eye with a trained operator
to give a complete picture of a battle zone.  He just hoped they
would arrive in time.
     "Colonel, does this mean we're heading home?" Katherine
asked, her face etched with concern.
     "We'll escort the Ambassador to the falls and then make sure
everyone is behaving themselves before heading back to base."
     Instantly, Ambassador Lemieux's angry face appeared on
Jeff's screen.  "Colonel, I FORBID you to take any action of the
sort!" she screamed.  It was a good thing that RDF radios
automatically adjusted for differences in communications volume.
     "Ambassador, we have fulfilled the requirements of our
escort duties.  This is now a military matter.  Black Hawk out."
Jeff almost surprised himself at how calm his voice sounded.  To
assure himself there would be no arguments, he quickly switched
to RDF tactical frequency.
     Katherine must had read his move.  Her face soon appeared on
the video screen.  "Your call, Colonel," she said but didn't look
very happy about it.
     "We are going to drop back and keep ourselves between the
Ambassador and any potential threats.  Stay with me, Captain.
We'll make it through this okay."  Jeff hated to be so abrupt but
didn't need any second-guessing at the moment.
     Thankfully, her face disappeared, replaced by the long-range
radar 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.
     "Nexus in five minutes," Katherine called, 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."
     If the York fighters were packing serious long-range heat,
they could open fire well before he could respond with only his
GU-11.  A sufficient number of missiles with their sophisticated
guidance systems when 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're just curious why we
haven't crossed over the border yet."  That would certainly
account for so few heading their way.  York radar coverage was
reportedly quite spotty.  Perhaps his little flight had entered
one of those 'dead areas' in the York system and the fighters
were being sent just to verify the RDF withdrawal.
     Checking his warning indicators, he was relieved to see that
the York fighters had not yet turned on their targeting radars.
If their approach was for aggressive reasons, both RDF fighters
would have been 'painted' by now.  Perhaps they were only curious
after all.  "Let's give them a few more miles and see what they
do."
     Rolling into a tight turn, he led Katherine back towards the
Nexus, scanning rearward as best he could.  There was still
something that bothered him about the situation.  He couldn't
shake the feeling that someone was stalking him.
     "Colonel, I've lost them!" came Commander Crittenton's
warning.
     "You lost the York fighters?"
     "No, the UCS escorts.  They just disappeared from my radar
and I can't get a read on them by satellite.  Only a moment ago
they were escorting a large transport.  I can't understand what
happened.  You don't suppose they crashed or something?"
     "Not likely.  Certainly not both of them, anyway.  Hurry
that Cat's Eye.  I've got a feeling we're 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,
there was nothing to gain in killing the United World
Government's representative - even one as incompetent as Lemieux.
Besides, the Yorkies didn't have the nerve to try something so
audacious.
     If there was a plan to attack the Zentraedi, they were way
late.  The Zentraedi had to be safe behind their anti-aircraft
belt by now.
     The more he considered the possibilities, the more it didn't
add up.
     "Captain, I have bad a feeling about all this.  Our first
responsibility is to see the Ambassador gets home safe.  After
that, we're on our own," he said.  "Let's just see what they're
up to.   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 duplicated the maneuver, only to the left.  He knew his
equipment had greater sensitivity than his own eyes.  But he also
knew that Veritech search radar could be fooled.  The Yorkies
were up where everyone could see them.  That left only the Grays
unaccounted for.  Confident that Crittenton would alert him if
the obvious threat got too close, he concentrated on making
certain there were no surprises down low.
     As his fighter continued to bank 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.
     There appeared to be a deep valley about a mile or so to the
south.  Considering the terrain, that would be the route he would
take, if it were him stalking a prey.  With little more than a
hunch, Jeff rolled 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.  Like a single constant
gust of wind sweeping down the length of the creek, leaves and
branches undulated in succession.  Something was down there,
following the creek.
     He pulled hard back to the right and finally caught glimpses
of sunlight glinting off polished canopies.  His hunch was right,
although the knowledge was anything but reassuring.  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, two UCS Veritechs burst out of their cover
and split up in steep climbing turns.  It wasn't hard to pick out
the one he wanted.
     Tuning the old RDF combat frequency, he hoped the Grays had
continued using it.  "Give it up, Donnie," he called.
     Instantly, his former executive officer's face appeared on
his screen.  "I should have expected you would figure it out,
Colonel," he said.
     "I don't know what you are up to but I do know you are about
to violate United World Government airspace.  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."
     Shoving the desire to debate the subject with his former
Executive Officer, Jeff responded with the standard RDF warn off.
"You and your wingman are in violation of United World Government
territory.  I order you to reverse course immediately."
     At first, there was no response as the two fighters circled
each other like fighters in a wrestling ring.  Even Donnie's face
had disappeared from his screen.
     When it reappeared, Donnie was no longer smiling  "You have
been in the RDF too long, Colonel.  We intend to exit your
airspace.  I suggest you don't interfere with us when we do.
This doesn't involve you."
     Donnie's disinterest in a fight made it obvious what his
target was.  "Commander Lee, you know I can't let you do this."
     "Colonel, I don't want to hurt you.  Don't interfere.  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.  Don't get
involved.  I don't want to hurt you."
     "I'm already involved.  I'm ordering you, once again, to
leave now."
     "I can't do that.  I gave my word."
     Gave his word?  To whom?  Before he could even begin to
analyze the possibilities, Donnie's Veritech suddenly darted down
and under him.  The move was so sudden, Jeff had but an instant
to roll high and pull hard on the stick.  Losing sight of an
opponent, even one he didn't want to harm, was deadly in a fight.
     Tracers danced all around his fighter as Donnie's attack
came from below.  Switching the compensators to full, Jeff
tightened his turn, enduring what g-forces the device couldn't
handle.  He knew his only chance to avoid being shot down was to
keep turning and looking for his attacker.
     More tracers warned him of an attack from above.  How Donnie
got there so quickly was something Jeff would have to work out
later.  Now all he could do was twist away, standing hard on the
left rudder peddle while throwing the stick hard right.  Most of
the GU-11 rounds went wide as he skidded through the air.  One
however struck his canopy with enough force it cut a groove on
the diamond-hard surface.  No doubt about it, the kid was good.
     He snapped the fighter into Guardian long enough to pull a
ZTR loop, his craft spinning around its wings.  Such a maneuver
should have caused Donnie to fly by.  Instead, when he leveled
off, Jeff found himself face-to-face, hovering one hundred yards
away from his quarry, their GU-11's pointed at each other.
     "Very good, Colonel," Donnie called.  "You've been
practicing."
     "Last chance, Donnie.  I won't hesitate to shoot next time."
Jeff swallowed hard and hoped it wouldn't come to that.
     With a wry chuckle, the UCS Veritech suddenly shot upwards,
transitioning into Fighter Mode and climbing directly into the
sun.  Donnie's reaction to his offer caused his heart to sink. It
was obvious there was only one way this fight was going to end;
one of them would have to fall.
     Switching to Fighter, he streaked after Donnie.  Snapping
his visor down to cut the glare, he was shocked when the UCS
Veritech sped past in the opposite direction and headed directly
towards its true target; a large building not far from the
border.
     Back to Guardian, Jeff fired a burst of lasers that scarred
Donnie's fighter but didn't stop it.  Knowing that to continue
towards his target would give Jeff too easy a shot, Donnie broke
right to resume the fight.
     As the fighters tumbled and weaved about the sky, the g-forces on
their airframes began to take its toll.  Jeff's craft
groaned under the stress of every hard change in direction.  With
every rapid shift between modes, the transition locks seemed to
take longer to engage.  He tried to dismiss it as just his
imagination but most fights in the Earth's atmosphere didn't last
this long.  It was well known that Veritechs could function
faster and with more reliability in the cold vacuum of weightless
space.  While the physics of sudden transitions were the same,
the added stress of dense air against the transitioning surfaces
caused even the best maintained RDF fighters to quickly approach,
and sometimes exceed, their design specifications.  What it must
have been doing to the neglected UCS Veritech was anyone's guess.
     The two combatants pushed their fighters to the max.  During
one of the transitions, Jeff's starboard stabilizer was hit.  Two
feet of composite material exploded, taking with it the IFF
antenna along with the missile warning system sensor.  In
desperation, he tumbled into Guardian and raked his opponent with
laser fire.  Chunks of skin blew off the UCS Veritech's port
engine nacelle.  Before he could follow up with his gun, his
target rolled and dropped back under his fighter.
     For a couple of seconds, Jeff frantically searched for his
opponent.  When he spotted the Veritech, it was about a mile away
and flying erratically.  It appeared to be having difficulty in
locking back into Fighter Mode.  The stresses of combat had taken
their toll on the rebel fighter.
     Sensing an opportunity, Jeff switched to Fighter only to
feel his craft suddenly lurch to the left.  He had to apply hard
pressure on the right rudder just to keep it upright.  A quick
look behind told him why.  The damaged starboard vertical
stabilizer was jammed midway between its Guardian and Fighter
positions.  The rudder portion of the damaged stabilizer had been
shot loose and protruded at an angle, giving the fighter a
constant left turn.  Frantically, he switched to auxiliary and
then to manual, trying to get the stuck stabilizer to move.
Nothing worked.  When he looked again at Donnie's fighter, his
blood ran cold.  It was just completing a sloppy turn and heading
straight towards him.
     In desperation, Jeff let his own Veritech roll as he pulled
back hard on the stick.  It was the worst barrel roll in history
but it was his only chance.  Tracers flashed past his canopy.
His fighter shuddered as some struck home.
     Then the firing stopped.
     Flattening out, Jeff stabilized his fighter long enough to
see why.  So intent on finishing him off, Donnie had failed to
notice the Alert Team's arrival.
     An RDF fighter with a blood red nose raked the UCS Veritech
with a long burst of GU-11 fire.  Caught unaware, what was once a
marvel of Robotecnology quickly became a flying wreck.
     "Got your back, Colonel," came Missy's call, her face
appearing on his only remaining screen.
     "Glad to see you.  Stand by."  Gripping the stick to keep
his protesting Veritech upright, he toggled communications to the
old RDF Tactical frequency.  "It's over, Donnie.  Your fighter's
scrap.  If you bail out now, you'll come down in UCS territory."
     The communications screen flickered and flashed before a
washed out black and white picture cut through with static
appeared.  Missy's gun work had done a thorough job.  A badly
wounded Donnie Lee appeared, his cracked helmet and shattered
visor framing his bleeding face.  Despite obvious wounds, he wore
a strange smile.
     "Very good, Colonel.  I should have known you wouldn't fight
alone," he said.
     "The RDF is about teamwork, Donnie.  You know that."
     "Yes, I should have remembered."
     The screen flickered, blinked white before stabilizing
again.  Jeff looked away from it just long enough to confirm the
UCS Veritech was still limping in a wide circle.
     "Punch out, Donnie.  It's over."
     Jeff's call was answered by a chuckle.  "I told you before;
I can't do that.  I gave my word."
     "Your word?  To whom?  For what?"  Jeff almost bit his
tongue for asking.  He already knew what the young man meant.
     "Set honor in one eye and death in the other and I will look
on both indifferently.  For let the gods so speed me as I love
the name of honor more than I fear death."
     "Shakespeare, Julius Caesar," Jeff mumbled before his eyes
went wide as he grasped the meaning of the quotation.
     As if on cue, Donnie's Veritech suddenly straightened out
his turn.  Both engines flared to life under full power.  Twin
cones of flame tinged with dark smoke trailed behind the UCS
fighter as it streaked down towards a clearing across the river.
In the center of that clearing was a large building, just big
enough to house a micronization chamber.
     Cursing, Jeff struggled with his wounded Veritech trying to
intercept but it responded sluggishly.  "Robins, stop him!"
     His call was wasted.  Missy was too far away, recovering
from her earlier devastating pass.
     Unable to do more than fire a few ineffective bursts from
his GU-11, Jeff could only watch in horror as Donnie plunged
towards the building.
     An instant later, a monstrous explosion leveled the
structure, sending a huge fireball hundreds of feet into the air.
All Jeff could do was stare in horror at the spot where the
closest friend he ever had in the old RDF had disappeared.

     In another part of the sky, Katherine was hotly engaged with
the other UCS Veritech.  Unlike Jeff's battle, this one was
completely one sided.
     As her quarry twisted, turned, and transitioned from one
mode to another, she consistently remained one move ahead.
Having trained pilots for ten years in how to perform and evade
combat maneuvers, there was little chance this pilot was going to
fool her.
     Her targeting computer repeatedly squealed when it got a
lock on the target.  Over and over, she listened to the warning
but held her fire.  She didn't want to shoot.  She was certain
her opponent's fear of being in her cross hairs would be
sufficient to scare him off.  All she had to do was keep dog-tailing the
other Veritech until the pilot lost his nerve and
broke for home.
     "I'm coming, Sis!  Hang on!"
     Samantha?  Here?  A cold finger of fear slid up Katherine's
spine.  Her sister wasn't ready for this.  Combat was still
beyond her capabilities.
     Ready or not, Samantha threw herself into the fight,
spraying GU-11 rounds wildly.  Tracers filled the sky, some
bracketing Katherine's fighter.  Rolling and pulling hard on the
stick to twist away from the danger, she cursed.  Worse than
almost being shot down by one of her own, she lost sight of the
UCS Veritech.
     Chastising herself for such an amateurish move, adding a few
extra curses for an over-anxious sibling, she stabilized her
bucking fighter and turned in a wide arc, searching for her
opponent.  When she spotted him, he was over two miles away,
curving to attack a new target; her sister.
     The UCS Veritech latched on to Samantha's twisting fighter.
Tracers streaked towards their intended target, only to slide by
harmlessly.  It was Samantha's unorthodox evasion techniques that
kept her attacker from scoring a hit.
     "Get him off me!" Samantha yelled, her face appearing in
Katherine's communications screen.  Her look of abject terror
prompted Katherine to shove her throttles full open.  Painting
the enemy fighter with targeting radar, she was certain he would
get the warning and abandon his pursuit of her sister.
     So intent was the UCS pilot on trying to down the twisting,
turning target in front of him, he either didn't hear the warning
or didn't care.  In any case, he pressed home his attack with
single-minded intensity.
     Katherine latched on to the gray and gold UCS Veritech and
closed to well within range.  Her gun was on, she could hear the
whine of its loading servos over the roar of her engines.
Several times she had the shot but still she hesitated.  There
was a live pilot in the target.  As her fighter tailed the
twisting enemy, her index finger hovered over the trigger.
     "Kath!  Get him off me!  He's got a lock."
     Katherine's heart pounded in her chest.  Her whole world had
become the two fighters in front of her.  The battle in her mind
matched the intensity of the chase.  Her sister was in mortal
danger.  In any second the Gray fighter would strike a final
blow.  But she couldn't kill another human being.  She couldn't
take a life.
     "KATH!  HELP ME!"
     The UCS fighter began shooting again.  This time, his shots
were much closer, some striking the right wing.  Bits of
composite material blew off Samantha's Veritech and sailed back
past both pursuers.
     "KATH!"
     Katherine's fighter began to buck and heave as its massive
GU-11 fired.  Time had slowed down for her until she could feel
each round leaving the massive gun's spinning barrel, her tracers
clawing at the one threatening her sister.
     A tear rolled down her cheek as she watched her tracers
slide just aft of the huge target now almost filling her
windscreen.  As if on its own, her fighter corrected its aim.
The UCS fighter's starboard vertical stabilizer exploded in a
shower of composite material that swept back, slamming into her
own windscreen.  Still, she clung to the control stick and
throttles with a death-grip.
     With short, sharp gasps, she watched horrified as her 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
sections 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 moment froze,
his crystal blue eyes looking directly into hers.  An instant
later, his face was gone in a pink cloud before the rest of the
fighter exploded.
     Katherine's fighter flew through the fireball and debris.
She didn't notice material striking her craft.  She was still
seeing the dead pilot's eyes.  She heard only the sound of her
rumbling engines and her now empty GU-11 still spinning, its
servos burning out from overload.
     "Way to go, Sis!" Samantha crowed as her fighter did a
sloppy barrel roll.  Katherine didn't notice.  Her body shook so
hard her hand wobbled on the control stick.  Her lower lip
trembled as she began to cry.  She had not only killed but had
looked into the eyes of the one that died by her hand.

     "Colonel, the relief flight is on station.  Do you require
assistance?"
     Still circling the burning building below, Jeff only half-heard the
call.  His attention was still on the smoking ruin that
contained what was left of a young man he once thought of as a
younger brother.  He had seen hundreds of fighters fall, both
friend and foe, but none stabbed at him like this.
     "Colonel?  Are you there?"
     Shaking his head and cursing himself for his own weakness,
he pressed the frequency change button.  In the communication
screen, he saw Of Parino's concerned face looking back.
     "Captain, you were grounded.  What are you doing here?"
     "I'm leading the relief flight, sir," she said with a
calmness that suggested she saw nothing wrong in her being there.

     Perhaps she was right.  This probably wouldn't be the last
time his pilots would be called upon to fly when less than one
hundred percent.  "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
protesting fighter towards the spot he had last seen Katherine.
     "It's Kath... I mean, Captain Fox.  She won't respond to my
calls.  You gotta help her, Sir.  Something's fucked her up
good."
     "Where are you?"
     "North of you... I think."
     Ona was quick to respond.  "I've got a visual, Colonel.  You
want me to get her?"
     Under the circumstances, that would be the prudent thing to
do.  Let Parino take care of the situation.  But this was his
squadron and Katherine was one of his pilots.  He had never
turned his back on one of his pilots in trouble.  "Negative, get
the others home.  I'll take care of her."
     Wrestling with an already unstable fighter, he worked his
way north.  Spotting Katherine's Veritech wasn't hard.  It was
flying in a slow, flat turn with Samantha's fluttering around it
like a worried mother bird.  Neither craft appeared overly
damaged.
     Carefully urging his protesting fighter alongside
Katherine's, Jeff could see her staring ahead with wide eyes.
She appeared frozen with fear.  It wasn't hard to figure out what
had happened.
     "Captain Fox, I could use a little help here," he said.
There was no reaction.  "My Veritech is damaged.  I need your
help."
     Slowly Katherine turned her head to look his way.  At least,
she appeared to look his way.  She was facing him but her wide-eyed
expression suggested she didn't really see him.
     "Captain, I can't get home on my own," he said in a soft
voice.  "I need an experienced pilot to help me."
     Her continued stare was just becoming unsettling when she
suddenly shuddered and bent forward.  The shock of all that had
happened and what she had done still had her in its grip.
     "Everyone form on Captain Parino," Jeff called, still
watching Katherine.  "That means you, Lieutenant."
     "But Sir...," Samantha started.
     "That's an order, Lieutenant.  Rejoin the formation.  We
won't be far behind."
     Parino called the nearby Cat's Eye to verify there was no
immediate threat in the vicinity before forming the rest of the
flight for home.  The York fighters were still out there but for
some reason appeared reluctant to approach to even within missile
range.  Perhaps the sudden appearance of six modern Veritechs,
possibly armed with high tech missiles, gave them reason to
pause.
     Reluctantly, Samantha obeyed his order and rejoined the
others in a ragged formation heading west.  That left Jeff alone
with his shocked Executive Officer.
     "I'm going to try switching to Guardian," Jeff said, still
watching Katherine for any signs of total breakdown.  "If it
doesn't work, I'll have to abandon my bird.  If that happens, I
will make it to a clearing where you can pick me up."
     Katherine looked his way just long enough to nod before
edging her fighter a few hundred yards away.  Her simple act of
caution was encouraging.  She was aware enough of her
surroundings to know that if anything went wrong during his
transition, his Veritech could careen out of control.
     Drawing a deep breath, he gripped the control stick a little
tighter and snapped the configuration control into 'Guardian'.
     The transition was quick and almost flawless.  Despite it
taking two tries for the locking mechanisms to engage, everything
appeared solid.  The fighter settled down and became almost
docile.
     "Better than flying an old Harrier," he said as he watched
Katherine's Veritech reconfigure into Guardian as well.  That was
a good sign, too.  She might be suffering from shock but her
training left her with enough presence to follow his lead.  "Did
I ever tell you how unstable those old fighters were in a hover?"
     Katherine didn't answer but continued to stare his way.
     He went on to describe the difficulties and quirks of an old
Harrier jet fighter.  In hover mode, it was like trying to
balance a pyramid on one of its points, the aircraft constantly
threatening to fall off one way or the other.  Veritechs were a
vast improvement on V/STOL flight.  Their computers could be
tuned to make it almost impossible to inadvertently tumble out of
control.
     He couldn't explain why but just talking to someone, anyone,
about whatever popped into his head caused his concerns about the
flight to vanish.  He was too busy to worry.  Even as they passed
back into familiar territory, he kept talking.
     For the most part, Katherine appeared to listen.  When she
did respond, she almost sounded like her old self.  She even
contacted the Cat's Eye once to verify they were still not being
followed.  Jeff hoped that whatever happened to her was beginning
to wear off.
     Their return to base was fairly anticlimactic.  Outside of
theirs being the squadron's first Guardian landing followed by
Gail's loud laments over the condition of their fighters,
everything went smoothly.
     As was the standard procedure, both he and Katherine went
through debriefing with Bobbi Jo.  Cindy sat in as one of her
younger girls worked the voice transcriber.
     Since he and Katherine were debriefed separately, he had no
idea what kind of response she gave to the questions.  Only
Cindy's solemn face when she emerged an hour later suggested
things were worse than he 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."
     Running a hand through his hair, Jeff drew a deep breath.
"I'm not surprised.  She got her first kill today."
     For a few moments, Bobbi Jo was uncharacteristically quiet.
Sitting back in her chair, she eyed him with a strange
expression.  "I think she killed more than a bandit.  I've seen
this before.  Two birds with one stone.  When she took that young
man's life, she killed something in her as well."
     Closing her notebook, Bobbi Jo stood up.  Her expression
when she looked at him suggested she wanted to say something
else.  Instead, she just shook her head and began to walk past
him in the doorway.
     Pausing, she drew a deep breath without looking his way.
"Y'all look like hell, Sugar.  Maybe you need a drink."
     Before Jeff could admonish her for calling him 'Sugar'
again, she gave him 'that look' she was so good at.
     "Let Doc have some time with her.  The old girl has her
ways.  Don't know why but she seems to get on better with girls
who are in trouble."
     Jeff just nodded.  She was right, of course.  For now, it
would be best if he left things up to the doctor.  If anyone
could get Katherine through her dark journey to acceptance of
what happened, it was Doctor Takahashi.
     "Of course, if you were to ask me, I'd say you just lost
yourself a pilot."  Bobbi Jo didn't wait for a response.  Her
footsteps faded down the suddenly silent hallway.

     Sitting alone on the floor in a darkened apartment, Kay
Stuart stared out the window.  She had heard all about the
mission outcome.  News about such things travel fast on a small
base.  While she was relieved that her husband was safe, his
absence was something she had grown to understand.  It was a
warrior's way.  He would mourn the loss of a friend in his own
manner, alone with his memories.  He had done this before when
other friends had died.  Sometimes he would be gone for half a
day or more, only to return when he felt the time was right to do
so.  In that way, he wasn't all that different from her own
people.  Mourning the death of someone close was a path that
could only be walked alone.
     Sitting on the floor in a pool of moonlight, Kay wiped her
eyes.  This was more than just the loss of a friend.  She had
watched her husband over the years and saw how each death of a
friend seemed to take a piece of his own life.  Her greatest fear
was that someday, he would use up all the pieces he had left,
leaving her alone in the world.
     Her body slowly began to rock back and forth as she hugged
herself.  This was the part of their life she hated most.  Donnie
Lee had been like a member of their family.  More like a nephew
to her than just another pilot in the squadron.  His infectious
smile and easy manner had made him a welcome guest in her home.
To know she would never hear his voice again or be able to
admonish him for one of his questionable jokes stung her deep
inside.  He had no family that she knew of.  Like so many of her
husband's pilots, he had lost everything in the Zentraedi War.
She and Jeffrey had become his family.  It was not right for a
person to die without there being someone to mourn for them.
     Humming softly a death song, she began to pray for Donnie's
soul - and for her husband.

     Like a ghost, Jeffrey Stuart drifted through the swinging
doors of the small Officers' Club.  Pausing inside, his eyes
swept the darkened room.  Its emptiness echoed his own feelings.
Only Mr. Chen the club manager remained, idly polishing glasses
behind the bar.
     "Good evening, Colonel," Mr. Chen said in an even voice
without looking up.  "I was wondering when you would show up.
The usual?"
     Without a word, Jeff slid onto a stool and slumped over the
bar.
     With quiet efficiency, Mr. Chen poured the drink and placed
it between Jeff's hands.  It was quickly drained.
     "Another," Jeff ordered in a low voice.  He didn't even care
what kind of watered-down crap was being served.  If it helped
dull the pain, it didn't matter.
     Time and time again Mr. Chen refilled Jeff's glass only to
see it emptied almost as fast.  Jeff knew that soon everything
would again become tolerable.  The pain would drown in a sea of
grain alcohol - or whatever it was he was drinking.
     It might have taken longer than he was used to but
eventually the pleasant haze of unreality swept over him, dulling
his distress and breaking down the mask of control that so
effectively hid his fears.
     The Club's doors swung open, paused for a moment before
quickly swinging closed.  A tiny voice belonging to one of
Cindy's office girls broke the silence.
     "Sir?  I have a message from Captain Baker," she said, as if
the sound of her voice had disturbed the sanctity of the bar.
     Without looking, his head still bowed to the bar, he held
out his hand and was rewarded with a folded sheet of paper.
     "Extend my thanks to Captain Baker."  His voice sounded
depressed, even to him.
     The girl's reaction was to beat a hasty retreat, practically
exploding through the door and back into the hall beyond.  The
beat of her footsteps rapidly receded in the distance.
     Mr. Chen chuckled.  "Poor kid.  They aren't normally allowed
in here.  Probably scared to death."
     Jeff snorted as he folded open the message.  It was more
likely that she was frightened of him than the club.  He couldn't
blame her.  His appearance was probably enough to scare a
Zentraedi.
     Reading the paper, his shoulders sagged more as he slumped
down over the bar.  It was the initial intelligence report from
Bobbi Jo.  He swallowed hard and sniffed, blinking to regain
control.  It had all been a waste.  The whole mission had been
for nothing.
     Reaching for his glass again, his hand brushed against
something small and metallic.  It took him a few moments to focus
enough to tell what it was.
     Slowly he picked up the object in his fingers.  Rolling it
into the palm of his hand, it glittered in the subdued light.
Someone else had entered the club with the young office clerk.
Even through his alcohol-dulled senses, he could tell someone was
standing just behind him.  Judging by the Veritech wings he was
holding, it wasn't hard to figure out who it was.
     "It normally takes forty-eight weeks to train a Veritech
pilot.  It requires another twenty before one is allowed in
combat," he said with a slight Southern drawl.  Alcohol usually
brought out the Virginian in him.
     "I... I'm sorry.  I just can't do this anymore," came
Katherine's voice.
     Dropping his chin further, he rested both elbows on the bar
and sighed before ordering another drink.  "I see," was all he
could say.
     "I'm sorry," she repeated, her voice little more than a
whisper.
     "Sit down, Captain.  Since you've taken yourself off flight
duty, I don't see why you can't join me."  He didn't really
expect her to stay.  When someone makes up their mind about this
sort of thing, there is usually no use in talking about it.
     Still, Katherine was good, probably the best pilot he'd ever
seen.  She was too good to let go without a fight.
     Blinking enough to clear his thoughts, he heard her slide
onto the stool next to him.
     Both sat in silence until Mr. Chen delivered another drink
between his hands on the bar.  Quickly draining it, he grimaced
as the alcohol burned its way down his throat.  Mr. Chen had
obviously switched to his premium stock.
     "Captain, what do you think would have happened to Samantha
today if you weren't there?" he asked in a fatherly way.
     There was a long pause before she replied.  "I... I don't
know, Sir."
     "Probably the same thing that happened to a certain girl
buried out back, third grave from the end.  She, too, had an
older sibling.  He wasn't around when she needed him," he said,
his voice dropping into a growl.  He drew a deep, ragged breath
and tried to control the wave of guilt he had lived with since
the incident that took his sister's life.  Just thinking of how
she had died alone with nobody, especially her older brother,
protect her was enough to make his blood boil.  Alcohol only
lowered the boiling point.
     What anger he might have felt towards himself and those who
had killed Jen quickly evaporated when he chanced a glance at
Katherine's reflection in the mirror behind the bar.  It was
obvious that Dr. Takehashi had been unsuccessful in helping her
work out her feelings.  She probably wasn't even supposed to be
here.  Even in the club's dim lighting, he could see her eyes
were red from crying.  The wrinkled uniform she wore was the same
one from the conference.
     He silently cursed himself for not seeing it earlier.  It
really shouldn't have come as a surprise.  She had spent ten
years teaching pilots how to kill, never imagining she would ever
have to do the killing herself.  Now faced with the overwhelming
guilt at having taken a life, she was choosing the only option
she felt open to her; quitting.
     "Mr. Chen, another drink and my partner here will have the
same," he said, still fingering the tiny silver wings in his
hand.  "And make it a double."
     The club manager quickly complied, setting two drinks on the
bar.  Unlike the ones before, these were larger.  A single ice
cube floated in four inches of rust-colored fluid.
     "I can't change your mind about this.  I'm not sure I should
even try."  He paused to gulp down everything in his glass but
the ice cube.  Setting the glass back on the bar with a 'thunk',
he exhaled hard as the alcohol again burned its way to his
stomach.  "The harsh reality of what we do sometimes involves
unpleasant things.  It's a hard job and often a thankless one.
But we can't change the way things are.  We're the professionals,
the ones they call for when reason doesn't work.
     "Today, reason failed.  I'm not sure why but we were left to
cover for that failure.  Unfortunately, it resulted in two
deaths, one of them a good friend."
     Katherine's expression switched to subtle apprehension, as
if she realized she wasn't alone in regretting what happened
today.  Misery loves company and knowing that her commanding
officer disliked killing as well seemed to offer her a lifeline
that wasn't available before.
     "I know how hard it must be for you to believe but, no, I
don't like taking a life either," he said.  Rocking the glass
back and forth so the lone ice cube slid around, he tried to
think of what else he could add.  The alcohol was beginning to
make it difficult to collect his thoughts.
     "Sir?  What was it like?  The first time, I mean," she
asked, frowning down at her still full glass.
     "The first time?  I was young and stupid then.  I didn't
want to think about there being a real person on the receiving
end of my bullets.  I convinced myself, it was just a machine I
was destroying.  The death of my roommate forced me to face what
I was really doing.  It wasn't just machines I was destroying.  I
was taking lives as well."
     "And?" she prompted, sounding like someone anticipating some
deep wisdom or obscure secret.
     Jeff shrugged.  "By then, it had become automatic.  Oh sure,
I knew I was killing another human being but I guess I
rationalized it away by insisting to myself that he was trying to
do the same thing to me.  Given that option, I'd rather it was
him that had to die."
     "Like with Samantha," Katherine added.
     "Like with Samantha," Jeff replied.  "You did what you had
to do to protect her.  You probably detached your feelings from
what was going on and did what was necessary.  Because of that,
you and your sister are both still alive.  I think that's about
the best way to look at it."
     "It all seems so pointless now," she replied with a shake of
her head.  "He didn't have to die.  He could have broken off and
made a run for it.  I would have let him go."
     Jeff wanted to counter that with how it would have been a
mistake when his hand brushed against the paper delivered
earlier.  Perhaps Katherine was right.  If her sister hadn't
blundered into the fight, maybe she could have just let him go.
Things might have turned out differently.  At least, for one of
the pilots.
     Snatching Captain Baker's report off the bar, he slid it in
front of Katherine.  "Today, everybody lost.  The United
Confederate States lost a pair of their irreplaceable Veritechs,
along with two good pilots, attacking something that wasn't
really there."
     "What?" Katherine gasped, staring at the document in front
of her like it was a horrible creature.
     "Sometime around midnight last night, our government
assisted the Zentraedi in moving the loaned micronization chamber
thirty miles further away from the border.  It's now at a
Zentraedi military base where it should have been all along.
Sub-Commander Tole must have known about it when he arrived at
the conference.  Ambassador Lemieux was probably aware of it as
well.  I don't know.  I can't keep up with these things anymore."
     Jeff signaled for another drink and glanced at his Executive
Officer.  She was now frowning at the paper, reading its
contents.
     "I don't understand," she finally admitted with a shake of
her head.
     "Our people also knew of last night's coup in York.  Judging
by Captain Baker's reaction when she overheard me talking to
General Emerson on the phone, they were keeping that information
from her for a reason.  I can only guess why.  They probably
figured the more radical regime of Father Damien would try to do
something about the chamber.  Whether or not they suspected some
collaboration between York and the UCS is anyone's guess.  The
fact is, we were all fooled into a no-win mission that was
guaranteed to end in violence."
     "But why?" Katherine gasped.
     "That's the question, isn't it?  Maybe they wanted us to
fail.  Maybe they wanted us to get into a fight, draw in enough
of our inexperienced pilots to create unacceptable losses.  It is
no secret that somebody up in Monument City doesn't like us.  If
the commanding officer and his exec were to die on their first
mission or enough of our pilots were to be killed, the squadron
would be finished."
     "But the UCS pilots were trying to destroy the chamber.  If
we were the target all along, why did they die trying to destroy
it instead of us?"  Katherine's expression had changed from
dismay to indignant confusion.
     Jeff shrugged.  "That's the part that makes this whole
affair so tragic.  I think they actually believed the chamber was
still there.  Unfortunately, I also think they were just bait.
     "Now, why didn't the York fighters finish the job and attack
us?  I don't know.  The York Air Forces were certainly massed and
ready to strike.  They were probably prepared to get close enough
to fire a flock of missiles at a pair of under-armed Veritechs
but when faced with a whole flight of Veritechs, aircraft they
could only assume would be armed with the latest missiles that
could take them all out long before they could get within firing
range, they probably lost their nerve.  Somebody presented them
with the opportunity but the Yorkies 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 was never any good at
this intrigue stuff."
     "Then, if I quit -"
     "They will have accomplished half their objective with the
loss of only two expendable UCS pilots and their Veritechs.
Somebody would probably count that as a success as well," he
grumbled.
     "I can't believe our own government would do such a thing,"
Katherine said sadly, shaking her head and closing her eyes like
she didn't want to see what was before her.  Jeff couldn't blame
her.  She had spent her whole career trusting her commanders and
her government.  To think they would purposefully betray her was
too much to handle.  The whole thing was pretty unbelievable even
for him.  It explained why an incompetent was sent to chair the
conference, 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 wasn't the plan.  It was a good thing none of
the local Yorkies had wanted to die in the attempt.
     "For now, I propose we keep our eyes open and keep this
information to ourselves."  He paused to flash Mr. Chen a warning
look.
     It obviously worked as the club manager nodded.  "What is
said in here, stays in here," he replied before turning to wipe
some more glasses.
     Pushing himself to his feet with a groan, Jeff regarded
Katherine with a painful smile.  The poor kid had gone from a
cushy training job to a cold war where you never knew for sure
who your enemy was.  He really felt sorry for her.  "I don't know
what will happen if you leave.  I doubt any of the others will
quit and there is a chance you will have to kill again.  There is
no guarantee it will be easier the second time."
     Dropping the wings in her untouched glass, he watched them
settle to the bottom.
     "I'll tell you what, Katherine," he said, with a sigh.
Using her first name felt appropriate, considering the
circumstances.  "You drink yourself down to those wings and think
about what I've said.  If you still want to quit, leave them on
my desk.  In the morning, I'll sign the transfer papers."  He
turned to leave, taking a couple of steps before stopping.  "Go
upstairs and give your sister a hug.  In our business, you never
know when it will be the last opportunity."
     Without waiting for a response, he turned and gingerly
worked his way out of the club.  It was late and talk of Jen left
him with an urge to walk out to her grave.  He wanted to console
himself for failing to do for his own sister what Katherine was
able to do today.  It wouldn't change anything but somehow he
felt he needed to apologize to her again.
     Silently walking the second level hallway, he passed the
Situation Room.  Through its open door he saw another of Cindy's
young office staff manning the communications console.  It struck
him how young the boy looked and reminded him how the kid really
had no business being there.  He should have been home, going to
school and worrying about his grades instead of monitoring
important RDF communications equipment.
     He thought about how night duty was still the same.  Long
boring hours with little to do but be available should an
emergency call come in.  How he envied the boy, sitting
comfortably in an office chair, his feet propped up on the
console while he munched popcorn and read a book.
     Jeff drew a deep breath and moved on.
     Topping the stairs to the first floor, he caught sight of
the little office girl who had delivered Bobbi Jo's message.  She
was sitting alone in the Administration Office, typing on a
computer, pausing occasionally to smile at what message replied
to her.  Probably chatting with someone back at Yellowstone, he
thought.  Just doing the things young girls do when faced with
the loneliness of long-distance separation from friends.  She
should be back there gossiping in person, not stuck in the middle
of nowhere and working late into the night.
     His mind swimming from alcohol, he tried to remember what
Jen looked like at that age.  It wasn't working.  All his mind
could conjure up was a broken young woman, her lifeless body
drenched in her own blood.  Blinking back tears, he started for
the back doors that led to the small parking lot between the twin
barracks.
     Pushing open one of the glass doors, he drew a deep breath
of fresh early summer Ozark air.  A cool breeze swarmed around
him bearing the fragrant scent of fresh vegetation.
     As the breeze swirled past, 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 too long with
his wife's ways to ignore such an obvious sign.
     A strong gust of wind rushed past him bringing with it a
swarm of leaves.  They swirled about in the hallway, forming a
small tornado that danced about for a moment before collapsing
into a loose pile.  The temperate evening air suddenly turned
cold, causing him to shiver.
     Again, the whisper hissed in his ear.  This time there was
no mistake.  He clearly heard his wife's name as the air rushed
back out the open door.
     Closing his eyes, he shuddered.  Was he dreaming all this or
had he finally had one drink too many?  He clutched his forehead
with a hand and slumped against the door frame, his chin dropped
to his chest.
     "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 trying to look at his face.  Her concern was evident
by the expression on her face.
     "Uh..."  He swallowed hard and regarded the leaf mess on the
floor.  "I'm sorry about the mess.  I didn't expect..."  His
voice trailed off.  Even his excuse sounded dumb.
     "I was just coming up to check tomorrow's duty roster when I
noticed you standing there.  Is everything okay?"
     Glancing the door he was still holding open, he frowned at
the darkness outside.  "Does it feel cold to you in here?"
     "No, Sir.  In fact, I was just thinking how hot it is on
this level," Missy replied with a shake of her head.
     With a ragged sigh, Jeff pulled shut the door and regarded
Missy with a concerned frown of his own.  There was one question
he had to know the answer to.  "Lieutenant, how well did you know
Donnie Lee?"
     Missy sniffed and rubbed her nose.  "Well, he was always
nice to me back at Miami Base.  I think he probably had a little
crush or something but then I think he had a crush on just about
all the girls at the base."
     "What did you think about him?"
     "I don't know.  He was the CO.  I looked up to him, I
guess."  She paused as if considering something.  "Now that you
mention it, I sometimes got the strangest feeling that he wanted
to say something to me but couldn't."
     Jeff nodded while looking down at her feet.  "I guess now we
will never know what it was."
     "Yeah, I'm really glad it was Captain Fox that shot him down
and not me.  I don't think I could have lived with myself if I
was the one who killed him," she said in a soft voice.
     Regarding her with an incredulous frown, Jeff swallowed
hard.  "How do you know that?"
     "Captain Baker showed me the official report.  It said
Captain Fox shot down the element leader in a dogfight involving
her sister."  Missy paused with an anxious expression.  "That is
correct, isn't it?"
     Jeff barely considered her question before nodding.  "Never
question the Intel Officer's official report.  It is thoroughly
researched and copiously documented," he said.
     "You know, you're very lucky, Sir.  You've got someone that
loves you.  I don't think any of us here have anyone like that to
hold on to when things get rough," she said, dragging one
slippered foot across the floor in front of her.  "I hope someday
I have someone who loves me enough to worry about me when I'm
flying."
     All Jeff could think of was how little she knew and how
grateful he was that Bobbi Jo was smart enough to doctor the
record.
     "Well, I gotta get to bed now, Sir.  I'm probably flying
again tomorrow," she said with a tiny smile.
     "Good night, Lieutenant," Jeff said, looking towards the
stairs.  Someone who loves me enough to worry, he thought.  A
sad, painful smile grew.  Maybe Missy knew more than she was
letting on.  Maybe what she said was more of a subtle hint than a
personal lament.
     With a silent apology to Jen, he started for the stairs
leading to Kay.

     Annie slumped on a sofa in the day room, her leg over one of
its arms.  Working a giant wad of gum, her jaw was in constant
motion as she leafed through a year-old magazine that she had
read many times already.  She wasn't really reading it.  Instead,
she was trying to look disinterested as she listened to Samantha
holding court on the other side of the room.  She had already
heard Samantha's story three times.  Each time, the story took on
new elements.  This fourth retelling was approaching that of an
epic legend.
     "You should have seen it," Samantha crowed.  "Those guys
thought they had the Colonel and my sister but me and Missy
punched it hard and got there as the fight was just turning
against our guys.  Missy told me to follow her but, naturally, I
saw my sister in trouble and figured she needed my help more than
the Colonel."  Using the time honored method of pilots describing
their exploits, Samantha flattened her hands to show how the
fight progressed.  "Man, I was all over that punk but he musta
been one of their aces.  He pulled a move I've never seen before
and the next thing I knew, he was glued to my six spittin' lead."
     Samantha's small audience, three of Cindy's office girls and
Gloria Graywolf, oohed at the appropriate moments.
     Annie flipped a couple of pages in her magazine and
suppressed a snort.  According to Captain Baker, he was the best
the UCS had.  Girl, you were lucky your sister was there to save
your ass, she thought.
     "You must have been terrified," one of the office girls
squeaked.
     "Naw, I knew I could take him," Samantha replied with a look
of confidence.  "I was just about to pull a 'Fokker' when I heard
Kath's radio call."
     Annie stifled an irritated cough and flipped a few more
pages.  A 'Fokker'?  That girl can barely get her fighter off the
ground and back safely without killing herself.  The idea of her
pulling one of the most demanding aerobatic maneuvers a Veritech
is capable of was pure fantasy.  Annie was pretty sure even she
wasn't good enough to switch from fighter to Battloid, tumble
forward bent at the waist and strafe the trailing fighter,
shooting her GU-11 between her legs as it passed over AND THEN
transition back into fighter before crashing into the ground.
She had only seen animations of how it was supposed to work but
NEVER felt brave enough - or foolish enough - to actually try the
stunt.  What a blow-hard.
     "Man, Kath was all over him, like tan on buckskin.  Just
chewed him up and spit him out."  Samantha finished her story
with an exaggerated look of relief.
     Annie growled softly and flipped furiously through her
magazine.  This was ridiculous.  She needed some air.
     Tossing the magazine on the little coffee table, she sprung
from the sofa and started for the door.  Her pace slackened and
then came to a halt at the sight of Captain Fox standing in the
doorway, her eyes fixed on her sister.  The expression on her
face was like that of a mother who had just seen her child
rescued from a fire.
     Ignoring the others, Katherine slowly drifted past and
headed straight for Samantha.
     "Hey, champ," Samantha called.  The others turned to regard
the Captain with expressions of awe.
     Curiosity as much as apprehension glued Annie to where she
was standing, watching Katherine approach her sister.  There was
something wrong with their Executive Officer.  Annie held her
breath.
     Without a word, Katherine glided up to her sister and placed
her trembling hands on the girl's shoulders.  The corners of her
mouth twisted themselves into a strange, painful little smile.
     "What is it?" Samantha asked, her cheerful expression
dissolving into a concerned frown.
     In a flash, Katherine gathered her sister into her arms,
clutching her tight against her chest.  Stunned, Samantha didn't
resist.  A few moments passed while the younger Fox sister
glanced between her sister and the others, unsure of how to
respond.  Katherine's grip tightened.  As if resigning herself to
the situation, Samantha slowly wrapped her own arms around her
sister's body.
     At first, the others stood in stunned silence, tentatively
exchanging glances.  When a couple looked Annie's way, she
indicated with a jerk of her head they were to leave.  Silent
signals passed among the girls before they silently slipped past
Annie, out the door and into the hall beyond.
     When Annie tried to turn and follow the others, she found it
difficult to look away from the sisters.  Frozen in the doorway,
she watched as Katherine's whole body began to tremble, her
shoulders lightly shaking.  Was she... crying?  That couldn't be
right.  She had 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 being overcome by a wave of nausea.
The feeling was punctuated by a sudden vision of why watching the
sisters bothered her so much.  It exploded from her heart with an
empty pain that rivaled anything she could remember.  It brought
back the many nights she cowered alone in some abandoned war
machine with only the sounds outside for company.  No, she wasn't
going to relive that now.  She wasn't going to go back no matter
how alone she felt.
     Steadying herself against the wall, she drew a deep breath.
Everyone here had someone to hold on to.  Everyone except her.
Other than Karen Crowkiller, who acted as if she didn't want any
friends, Annie was the only other 'lone wolf' in the squadron.
She really didn't have anyone she could call a 'friend' at Ozark
Base.  Sure there were people she liked or at least understood
but nobody she would feel comfortable enough to talk to or, like
Katherine, hold when it all became too much to handle alone.
     Maybe she didn't really belong here.  She wasn't sure she
really belonged anywhere.  All she could feel was the need to get
away, to escape.
     Breaking into a run, she exploded through the doors leading
out to the flight line, the cool evening air wrapping itself
around her, its chill giving her a renewed urgency to flee.
     She turned left and ran past the fighters lined up wing tip
to wing tip.  Her eyesight began to blur as she blinked back the
results of her own fears.  She couldn't react like that.  She
wasn't a little girl anymore.
     Leaving the paved surface of the tarmac, she plunged into
the waist-high grass that bordered the taxiways.  Stumbling a
bit, she continued to run, the deep prairie grass grabbing at her
legs like some creature born of her own fears trying to drag her
down and consume her in a dark pool of despair.
     Her foot struck something solid.  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 a town, she couldn't
remember which one, dressed in shabby clothes too small for her
growing body.  She could still feel the hunger and desperation.
It was autumn and the first hints of winter had left her chilled
to the bone, the cold wind cutting through her light jacket.
     Then there was the old woman who acted so friendly at first
and took her in to her own home.  A warm bed and hot food seemed
like heaven at the time.  However, things quickly changed with
the first frost made it 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 old
tyrant ignored her, choosing to spend her evenings in front of
the fire, listening to the radio.  Annie was never allowed such
luxuries.  There was always more work to be done.  Too often, the
old woman was roused from her leisure by Annie doing something
wrong or otherwise breaking a random, unwritten rule.  That
usually brought nasty beatings and banishment to a small, cold
closet under the stairs until the old woman needed more work
done.  It was with little regret that Annie escaped in the spring
to live again on her own.
     Then came the endless series of fights with other abandoned
or orphaned children, some much older than herself, over scraps
of food or dry places to sleep.  She learned how to fight the
hard way to survive.
     Only Lieutenant Colonel Friedman ever showed her any
kindness.  His men had found her living in what was left of an
abandoned MAC-2.  If she hadn't been so sick, she might have
escaped.  At first, she was suspicious when he provided her a
place to stay and good food to eat.  After she recovered, she
found herself free to come and go as she chose.  She was never
locked in or somehow guarded.  When she showed an interest in
repairing things, he let her learn how to overhaul aircraft
components.  And she he discovered she had a natural talent for
flying, he arranged for her certification as a pilot.
     She sniffed again and squirmed in the itchy weeds.  Maybe
she should have stayed at the Reclamation Center instead of
jumping at the chance to fly with a squadron.
     "Are you okay?" came a tiny voice from nearby.
     Turning her head, Annie saw one of Cindy's young office
girls, dressed in a blue and white jogging outfit, coming towards
her from the tarmac.  She was probably the youngest member of the
squadron, farthest from the sixteen years of age she and the
others had claimed to enlist.
     "I saw you fall," the girl continued as she gingerly stepped
into the tall grass.  "You have to be careful in the grass areas.
There's all kinds of junk hidden in it."
     The girl stopped in front of Annie and bent over, her hands
on her knees.  The hangar lights behind her turned her red curly
hair into a bright halo around her freck