FOX Squadron
                        by G.L. Sandborn
               Episode 4 - Legends and Scoundrels


     Samantha Fox paused out front of Grant Barracks and
stretched.  It was one of those beautiful days that could only be
found at the foot of the Rocky Mountains.  Cool, fresh, with just
a hint of pine, it was a beautiful oasis in the middle of a
recovering world.
     Stifling a yawn, she turned her face towards the rising sun,
savoring its warmth.  She liked mornings, liked getting up early
enough to see the sun rise.  It called to something deep inside,
urging her to spread her arms and welcome the sun as her
ancestors had done for centuries.  Perhaps this was why the
Lakota always built their homes so they faced east.
     Her early morning devotion to the rising sun was interrupted
by the arrival of her sister in their beat-up old car.  Idling
roughly, it was a rolling disaster zone with its rust spots,
dented bumpers and spots of primer to cover attempted repairs,
she glanced around to see if anyone was looking.  The morning
might be beautiful but this vehicle was an eyesore.
     The old car door creaked when she opened it; another reason
to dislike the car.  It looked so out of place around all the
newer and better maintained vehicles on the base.  Perhaps she
and her sister should think about buying something in better
shape now that they were going to be fighter pilots.  Gotta keep
up the image, she thought.
     Settling into the bucket seat covered in artificial sheep's
wool to hide the deteriorating upholstery, she yanked shut the
door.  It caught on the first try.  That was a good omen for the
day ahead.
     Her feeling of satisfaction evaporated when she caught
Katherine's expression.
     "Okay, I give up," she said with a sigh.  "What's got you so
down?"
     Katherine pulled an index card from her breast pocket and
handed it over.  Samantha avoided taking the card directly but
instead eyed it suspiciously.  "What is it?"
     "It's the end of our search, I'm afraid."  Katherine flipped
the card into her sister's lap.
     Curious, Samantha picked it up and squinted at the lousy
handwriting.  There were several names crossed out with only one
remaining.  The sight of it made her jaw clench.
     "You can't be serious," she gasped.  "This is all that's
left?"
     "Yup," Katherine said leaning against her door.  "Even Aunt
Margie struck out."
     "You know how I feel about Nancy."  Samantha pouted and
flicked the card's edge with a perfectly manicured fingernail.
     "She's all there is.  I've called, begged, and tried
everything but trickery.  No one is interested.  They're all
convinced the Southern Cross will be taking over soon and don't
want to stick their necks out when they'll be home in a few
months, safe and sound.  Some even suggested our commander is
over the hill and probably suffering from combat fatigue."
     "Colonel Stuart is fine.  You said so yourself."
     "I know," Katherine said with a deep sigh.  "But everyone
else thinks he's... dangerous."
     Samantha slumped deeper into the seat and frowned.  "Does it
have anything to do with that Butte Ridge thing you said he was
talking about to the General?"
     Katherine nodded, her eyes fixed on some point far away.  "I
talked to one of the survivors last night.  He kept insisting
what happened wasn't Colonel Stuart's fault.  He confirmed
everything we've heard; that Stuart could have disobeyed orders
and pulled out to save the squadron but that would have let the
rebels have a straight shot at all the villages near the border. 
A lot of women and children were in those villages."  Katherine
ran a hand through her hair before hugging herself like she'd
been chilled.  "He added that they stayed because Colonel Stuart
was willing to stay.  Even when the other units broke and ran, he
continued fighting, encouraging those who remained, and pulling
the injured to safety."
     "Sounds like someone I'd like to serve with," Samantha said
seriously.
     "That's not the point.  All the time, they could hear him
arguing with Emerson on the radio.  He was screaming at the
General for help but never once threatened to pull out."
     "I wonder why he didn't."
     "You remember something Grandpa Black Bear told us about how
we got our family name?"
     Samantha frowned.  "I think so.  Something about a Sioux
warrior society; the Kit Foxes."
     "Yeah, an 'elite' society; like the Lance Bearers and the
Black Faces."
     "Now I remember," Samantha said, snapping her fingers.  "He
said our name came from the time *his* grandfather's brother and
four of the Kit Foxes went out to protect our village from a Crow
war party."
     "More than that, they sacrificed themselves so Grandpa Black
Bear's grandfather could round up enough of our warriors to fight
off the Crows."  Katherine's voice dropped into deep reverence. 
"Five against over a hundred."
     Samantha sat silent, pondering the futility and hopelessness
of a pitiful band of defenders against such an overwhelming
force.  Knowing they were going to die, they refused to retreat
and fought so well the Crows were thrown back time after time
until the last of the Kit Foxes fell.
     Her sister's story brought back memories of cool summer
nights when they would all gather around a campfire and listen as
Grandpa Black Bear told his grandchildren of brave warriors and
incredible deeds.  She could still hear his aging voice rising
and falling as he told his tales; painting vivid pictures of life
long ago.  His eyes, normally dull and barely visible, would
light up with excitement when he described great battles and
fearless tribal warriors.
     His favorite story was how the family got its name.  The
battle with the Crow raiding party was always the high point of
the evening.  He could tell the story so that you would swear you
witnessed the battle first hand.  When he got to the part about
how the Kit Foxes refused to run, he would pause so that you
wanted to scream for him to finish; to tell you for the hundredth
time how the Kit Foxes refused to run, even when there seemed no
hope for survival.  It was so moving that the girls cried,
holding each other as he described the heroes' end.
     He always ended the story with the same song.  She'd heard
it so many times it was permanently imprinted on her heart. 
Softly, like speaking words at a funeral, she recited the song.  
     "I am a Fox.  I am supposed to die.  If there is anything
difficult, if there is anything dangerous, that is mine to do."  
     It was a heavy heritage their name carried; one that meant
they never turned from the difficult, never retreated from an
enemy, and usually paid the ultimate price for doing so.
     Colonel Stuart's action at Butte Ridge began to take on a
deeper, more personal meaning.  His actions would have honored
the noble Kit Foxes.  He might not be Lakota.  He might not be of
'the people'.  But he was as much a warrior as any of their clan;
his story worthy of Grandpa Black Bear's attention.
     She smiled to herself.  Under such a leader, she too could
be a Kit Fox and do deeds the elders would tell their
grandchildren around campfires on cool summer evenings.  Yes, her
name would be spoken in reverence at gatherings for generations
to come.  This would get her that eagle feather.
     "I guess we better get going," Katherine sighed, putting the
protesting car into gear.  "I don't know what good it will do. 
We don't have enough pilots."
     Samantha barely felt the car move.  Her mind was still
dealing with how it would feel to be immortal. 

++++++++++

     Colonel Stuart arrived as usual; oh-seven-hundred on the
dot.  As he pulled into his usual parking place, he noticed a
couple of unusual things.  
     While finding Lt Wallace and Capt Parino waiting for him
wasn't all that strange, he couldn't help noticing their 'cat-
that-ate-the-canary' smiles they added to their salutes. 
Although Cindy's smile was commonplace, the female Zentraedi's
was something not soon forgotten.  While its uniqueness made it
special, the fact it made her look unusually attractive didn't go
unnoticed.
     The second unusual thing he noticed was a couple of freshly
painted signs in front of the two closest parking places; his and
the one next to him.  One read 'Commanding Officer' and the other
'Executive Officer' in official RDF stenciled letters.
     "Looks like the Paint Shop has been busy this morning," he
said exiting the land rover.
     "Not exactly, sir," Cindy replied, her smile slipping
momentarily.
     Jeff regarded her with a raised eyebrow.  "Just how 'not
exactly' are we talking here?"
     "We did it, sir," Ona confessed, her usual scowl of
seriousness reappearing.  In a way, Jeff was sorry her smile had
disappeared.
     "You two painted this?" he asked, sweeping his arm towards
the two signs.  "How did you get the materials?"
     "We borrowed them," Cindy simply answered as if to bring the
whole inquiry to a halt.
     "I wasn't aware the Paint Shop loaned their materials." 
Jeff folded his arms and tried to force an annoyed expression. 
It wasn't all that hard considering how annoyed he actually was
over what was shaping up to be a series of evasive answers.
     Ona must have sensed his reaction.  "We stopped by the Paint
Shop as they were opening.  Lieutenant Wallace distracted the
staff with questions about a distinctive color scheme for our
Veritechs while I... uh, borrowed the materials."
     Jeff caught out of the corner of his eye Cindy's grimace. 
It was one thing to be clever about a scam but a whole 'nother to
blow the deal by confessing to your commanding officer.  He
fought a smile.  These two were quite a pair.
     "We understand it's improper to secure materials in this
manner but its so unfair that all the other squadrons have
reserved parking for their officers while you and Captain Fox
have to park in unmarked spots."  Ona paused as if to consider
how deep in the brig she already was before continuing out of
some belief that it couldn't be any worse than the last time. 
"We're as good as they are, sir."
     Jeff nodded and looked at Cindy.  She must have sensed he
was looking at her because she opened one eye to check.  Both
sprung open when she caught his frown.  In the early morning
light, her large, round glasses made her look like a little
blonde owl.
     "I tried to go through channels, sir, but they kept putting
me off," she said defensively.  "They couldn't get here until
after we were to be shipped out."
     Jeff sighed.  "Miss Wallace, I'm becoming increasingly
concerned about the effect you're having on the members of this
squadron."  He shook his head and mounted the two steps leading
to the front door.  "The next thing you'll be teaching them is
how to pick locks."  The moment his key touched the lock, the
door swung slowly open.  All he could do was turn around and give
Cindy an 'I-don't-believe-it' look.
     Cindy just shrugged.  "Sorry, sir.  We needed to clean up
after painting the signs."
     Jeff frowned at the girls.  "I'm not going to find a mess in
there, am I?"
     "No, sir," they responded together.
     "Good.  We don't have a cleaning staff yet."  He pushed open
the door and snapped on the lights.  "We don't have much of
anything," he mumbled.
     Cindy and Ona followed but only as far as Cindy's desk. 
They'd pulled off their little 'project' without getting in
trouble.  That was in itself a kind of reward.  No sense in
pushing their luck.  Besides, they knew, deep down, Colonel
Stuart appreciated the gesture.  It demonstrated how they were
coming together as a unit.
     "Lt Wallace?" Jeff said.
     "Yes, sir?" she replied with a hopeful expression.
     "Good job."  He added wink before turning away.  He couldn't
help but catch her little-girl grin at the compliment.
     One of the few luxuries they *did* have was an automatic
coffee maker.  Set to begin brewing an hour before they arrived,
the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room.  Jeff stopped
just long enough to pour himself a cup before slipping into his
office.
     He used to find refuge in his command office but with all
the problems this squadron presented, it had become more of a
torture chamber.
     Dropping into his aging swivel chair that squealed in
protest, he rocked back and cradled the warm cup in his hands. 
So far, he had three pilots, maybe four, a spooky but resourceful
Admin officer, three run-down buildings and no Veritechs. 
Raising his cup in a lazy salute towards the RDF Headquarters
building off in the distance he mumbled: "Thanks a lot, Rolf. 
I'd have gotten more help from the Southern Cross."  Taking a
deep breath, savoring the aroma of coffee mixed with the combined
scents of an active airfield and an old office, he wondered if he
was going about forming this squadron the wrong way.  Things were
different now.  He wasn't going to get the same cooperation from
RDF Headquarters as in the past.  Most of *them* were more
interested in what they were going to do once the ASC took over
than putting together a badly needed squadron.  
     He swiveled around to stare out the window, rocking back and
placing his feet on the sill.  Up to now, he'd done everything by
the book.  It wasn't working.  In the past, when the rules didn't
favor him, he just changed the rules.  He wondered if time had
come to do a little rule alteration.
     "Sir?"  Cindy's voice followed a knock on his door.  "You
gotta see this."
     "What is it?"  He rolled his head to see her holding the
door open.  She looked perky this morning.  Of course, she looked
perky *every* morning.  He hated perky in the morning.
     "Looks like Captain Fox has been busy."
     "Busy?  How?"  Jeff set his cup on the desk and stood up.
     "Come see for yourself."
     Intrigued, he followed Cindy back into the main room only to
find three more women in dress uniforms waiting for him. 
Snapping to attention, they almost knocked each other over trying
to salute.  
     It was an odd-looking group.  One was big enough to be a guy
if it wasn't for her impressive... dimensions.  A quick glance at
her face convinced him he'd better not even act like he noticed
the struggle her tunic was having with its contents.  The one
thing he *could* note was she wore the wings of a Veritech Pilot. 
That was a good sign.
     The little one to her left appeared to be wearing a
specially tailored uniform, judging by the way it clung to her
gentle curves.  She could have been on a recruiting poster.  He
was disappointed, however, to see Helicopter Pilot wings on her
uniform.  Too bad.  They had no need for a chopper pilot.
     The third young lady had to be the prize winner for unique
appearance.  Dressed in a decidedly non-flying status uniform,
her dark hair frosted, teased, and formed into impossible looking
dimensions, she looked like someone who had never missed a meal
at the barracks.  The way her eyes kept wandering as she stood at
attention suggested she wasn't all that military to begin with. 
That left him asking himself just what was she doing here?
     "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked,
trying to appear 'commanding'.
     "I'm Lieutenant Daisy Mills, sir," the first one said. 
"Captain Fox told us you were in need of pilots."
     "I am, indeed.  I especially need Veritech pilots with
combat experience."  Jeff watched the woman for a reaction.  She
continued to look him directly in the eye with an expression that
dripped confidence.  So, he decided to press the point.  "Do
*you* have any combat experience?"
     "No, sir.  I guess I'll just have to learn on the job," she
said in a manner that reminded him of the way fighter pilots have
talked since the first ones went up in biplanes.  Rakish, bold,
with a look in her eye of one who would adapt quickly or die
trying.  Yeah, she'd do.
     "How about you...?  What's your name again?" he asked her
elegant companion.
     The young lady certainly appeared less confident; her eyes
darting to the large Veritech Pilot before fixing on him.  "Staff
Sergeant Virginia Mills.  Ginnie to my friends.  I've been under
fire, sir, but never in a Veritech," she answered, as if choosing
her words carefully.  She sounded evasive.
     "Ever *flown* a Veritech?"  Jeff got the uncomfortable
feeling he was only going to gain one pilot out of this group.
     "No, sir, but Captain Fox believes she can train me in the
time available."
     Jeff sighed and shook his head.  "It would be nice if
Captain Fox shared her beliefs with me first."  He hoped he
didn't sound too irritated.  It was just that the frustration
over not being able to find the pilots he needed.  It wasn't her
fault she wasn't qualified.
     "She's a good pilot, sir," Lieutenant Mills added
emphatically.  "She's flown that ugly egg beater of hers places I
wouldn't want to go."  Daisy paused to glance at Virginia.  "I'll
vouch for her."
     "Very admirable but that doesn't change the fact we have
less than a month to train her up to combat specs.  I understand
that even the SDF-1's crash course took thirty days and most of
those pilots paid for such minimal training with their lives."
     "It also produced Rick Hunter and Max Sterling," Cindy said
as a reminder.
     "Point taken," Jeff said.  "That program might have produced
two of the finest Veritech pilots in the RDF but it also lost a
lot of talented men along the way.  That made the the cost very
high."
     "She can do it, sir," Daisy insisted.
     Jeff looked at Daisy, searching her face for any sign of
prevarication.  What he saw was the same confidence as before. 
She obviously believed what she was saying.  Jeff just hoped
Captain Fox understood what she was getting into.
     Turning to the third woman, he fought a grimace.  She was
young, overweight, and obviously not a good candidate for flying
status.  "And just what did Captain Fox promise you?"
     The girl blinked before answering in a distinctly non-military 
voice.  "Well... nothing, really.  I just came with them."  She 
pointed to the Mills sisters.
     "But you want to join as well," Jeff prompted.
     "Of course."  She jiggled to attention.  "Sergeant Gloria
Graywolf.  My friends call me Gadget, like the cartoon mouse. 
You know, Chip and Dale Rescue Rangers.  They're cool."
     "They are?" he asked Cindy who was sitting at her desk
trying to keep from laughing.  All she could do was shrug.
     "Just what is it you do?"
     "I *was* a network tech over at headquarters but what I
really want to be a is Veritech Pilot," she said with all the
enthusiasm of a adolescent being asked what they want to be when
they grow up.
     Jeff couldn't help himself.  "You're kidding."
     "Hey, I may not be wearing wings like them but I've got more
hours in a simulator than most Veritech pilots.  You ought to see
me in there.  Wham!  Pow!"  She enthusiastically punched the air
with her fists.  "I really cream them Battle Pods and Power Armor
bozos."
     Jeff's jaw dropped.  Simulator?  A Veritech simulator? 
She's talking about blasting digital villains in a world where
she walks away regardless of the outcome; where the only penalty
for failure is you have to hit 'reset'.  And now she wants a shot
at the real thing?  She can't be serious.
     "If she can learn, so can I," Gloria finished with a huff.
     That was enough for Jeff.  "She's already a pilot."
     "I've scored over 800,000 points in one series alone," the
girl offered in a defensive manner.  "Find someone who's done
*that*."
     He was about to address such a ludicrous assertion when the
phone rang.  Cindy quickly answered while Jeff continued to stare
dumbfounded at Gloria as the girl tried to look as confident as
Daisy.  Somehow, it didn't look the same on her.
     "Sir?  Do you know an Aunt Margie?" Cindy asked, her hand
over the phone's mouthpiece.
     Jeff rolled his eyes and nodded.  He didn't have time for
his wife's relations right now.
     "She says it has to do with a certain 'package' you sent
her."
     Package?  What pack...?  Cindy barely had time to release
the phone before Jeff snatched it from her hand.  That 'package'
could only be Lt Missy Robins.
     "Colonel Stuart here," he practically barked.
     "Jeffrey?"  Aunt Margie's strong voice boomed through the
phone.  "You better get over here.  RDF Security Forces just
pulled up out front and they came loaded for bear."
     "How many?" 
     "Twenty or so," Aunt Margie growled like a scout giving a
report.  "They're surrounding the building.  You didn't tell me
this package of yours was hot."
     "Can you stash it until I get there?"
     "Already done.  Just get your little butt over here before
something bad happens or I have to get physical and start
throwing them off the property."
     Confident that Margie had Missy well hidden, Jeff tossed the
phone to Cindy and headed for the door.  "ONA!" he yelled.  Going
to the mission alone wasn't a good idea.  He needed some muscle
and he couldn't think of anyone better than the cool Zentraedi.
     His call was answered by the sound of a toilet flushing. 
Flinging open the door to the toilet, her skirt hunched up around
her waist, Captain Ona Parino staggered into the room, struggling
to finish pulling up her panties while fighting her tucked-in
uniform blouse.  Jeff closed his eyes and groaned.  He was
*never* going to get used to this.
     It took an awkward moment for her to get everything
'regulation'.  "Ready when you are, sir," she said smoothing down
her skirt.
     "Get... Get in the rover," he said with a pained expression
while jerking a thumb towards the front door.  He then turned to
Daisy.  "You, the big one.  You're coming too."
     Daisy frowned at the reference to her size but with a glance
at her sister, quickly followed her new CO out the door.
     "I'll have the paperwork done on all four by the time you
get back," Cindy called.
     The three piled into his aging land rover, Ona in the back
and Daisy in the other front seat.  Jeff knew the urgency of the
situation.  Whatever he might have said about RDF Security
Forces, they were brutally efficient when it came to humans. 
Margie and her little mission were in more danger than he was
willing to admit to his two companions.  He stressed his aging
vehicle horribly pulling out of his parking place and setting off
across the base.
     Gunning the engine and teasing the big land rover into a
lower gear, he barely slowed down passing through the back gate. 
The two guards had just enough time to verify who it was and duck
out of the way as his rover breezed past.
     About a quarter mile down the road, Daisy figured it was
time for some answers.  She wanted to know where they were going
and why.
     Jeff sighed before answering.  He told them about Missy
Robins and how she was holed-up in a mission building run by his
wife's Aunt Margie.
     "Oh, you mean *crazy* Aunt Margie," Daisy said with a snort,
folding her arms and slumping back into the seat.
     "What do you mean by that?" Jeff shot back, taking his eyes
off the road for only a moment.
     "Colonel, Margie is *everybody's* aunt.  She's a religious
freak who takes in drunks, skunks, and strays."
     "So?"
     Daisy snorted again.  "She gets her jollies rescuing the
unwashed.  Thinks it'll get her into heaven or something."
     Jeff shook his head.  "Lieutenant, the world needs folks
like Margie.  They give people hope."
     "They give drunks a place to crash between bottles of
Ripple."
     "You're a cynical woman, Lieutenant."  Jeff tried
concentrating on his driving but the opinions of his newest
recruit got him thinking.  
     He'd met Margie on several occasions, beginning with his
wedding.  She was a brash, loud, imposing woman; the kind who
could smack you in the name of the Almighty then hold your hand
while you cried on her shoulder.  Still, he couldn't imagine her
coddling alcoholics, whatever the reason.  They'd rather sober up
than face the holy wrath of a woman convinced of the evils of
'firewater'.
     He'd been to the mission a couple of times with his wife,
usually around Christmas, to bring little gifts for the children
and necessities for the adults.  He didn't recall either a
basement or an attic.  Most of the closets had their doors
removed.  Beds were little more than well-used mattresses tossed
on the floor in whatever room that had floor space.  If Missy
*was* still hiding in the mission, it wouldn't take long for RDF
Security to roust her out.
     Rounding a bend in the road, the sight of Margie's Mission
came into view.  It was little more than an old run-down two
story farm house with a few aging wind-driven power generators in
the back yard to augment the irregular civilian electrical
service.  
     Out front, their flashing lights still going, were three RDF
rovers and a fair-sized truck.  He could make out a dozen or more
black-clad helmeted RDF Security men surrounding the building. 
He slowed his vehicle down to normal speeds; wanting to appear to
be making a normal social visit.  After all, she *was* his wife's
aunt.
     Pulling onto the mission's gravel driveway, he downshifted
and slowly rolled to a stop in front a dilapidated old garage;
far enough away from the RDF vehicles but not suspiciously so. 
Few of the RDF men appeared to be concerned or even surprised at
his arrival.  Most looked bored.
     Switching off the rover, Jeff turned to his companions. 
"We're just making a social call on Aunt Margie.  Ona, grab those
two blankets in the back.  We're bringing gifts and visiting. 
Nothing more.  Don't do anything provocative.  Play it cool and
follow my lead.  Got it?"
     Both women nodded.  Grateful for their cooperation, he
calmly stepped out of the rover and waited for Daisy and Ona to
join him.  A couple of RDF men turned and began to approach until
they saw his rank.  
     Snapping to immediate attention, the nearest, a sergeant,
held up his hand.  "I'm sorry, sir, but you're not supposed to go
any further."
     "Why not?" Jeff asked like he was genuinely surprised.
     "We have reports there's a deserter hiding inside," the
sergeant said in a clipped voice.
     "In there?" Jeff gasped in fake amazement.  "You brought all
these armed troops to capture one little deserter?"
     "They said she could be armed," the man insisted.
     "She?  You're trying to capture a 'she' and it takes all
these men to do it?  Who's in charge of this circus?"
     "That would be Captain O'Riley," the security sergeant said,
pointing to the figure on the mission's front porch currently
engaged in an animated discussion with a small, wiry woman.
     "Why haven't you just gone in and captured this deserter?"
     The security man pointed to Aunt Margie.  "You see that
woman?  She won't allow *anyone* inside."
     "Well now.  Perhaps I could be of some assistance," Jeff
offered in a conciliatory voice.  "I happen know that woman and
maybe I could convince her to cooperate."
     "Well..."  The sergeant looked between Jeff and the figures
on the porch.  "If you think you can do it.  That old battle axe
has kept us out here for half an hour."
     "Fine," Jeff said, patting the man on his shoulder.  "I'll
tell the Captain how cooperative you've been."
     "Thank you, sir."  The security sergeant threw out his chest
and smiled.  As Jeff led his companions towards the building, the
security man motioned for the rest of his comrades to make way.
     Approaching the steps leading to the porch, Jeff chuckled at
the sight of his wife's 'aunt'.  She hadn't changed a bit.
     Dressed in her usual 'comfortable' clothes, boots and blue
jeans with a denim shirt and a black vest decorated with
religious graffiti, she looked more like a farm wife than a
missionary.  Her long hair braided and flowing over her shoulders
was heavily streaked with gray, hinting at her age.  Despite the
fact she was facing two much larger men, she stood in front of
her aging wooden front door, her arms crossed, blocking them from
entering. 
     When her steel-gray eyes turned towards Jeff, her face broke
out in a broad smile.  "Brother Jeffrey, what a delightful
surprise.  Peace be on you," she called while remaining firmly
rooted in front of the mission door.
     "Sister Margie, I hope I'm not interrupting anything
important," Jeff said cheerfully as he lightly mounted the steps. 
Up on the porch, he glanced at the two RDF security men.  They
looked a little unsure what to make of an RDF Colonel in their
midst.  All the better, he thought.
     "These misguided Philistines," she said disdainfully with a
glance at the uncomfortable-looking men on her porch, "want to
barge in my mission and tear it apart looking for someone they
claim is hiding inside."
     "And just why would you want to do something so despicable,
*Captain*?" Jeff asked, making sure to use his most condescending
tone with the officer's rank.  "Devil make ya do it?"
     The slightly pudgy officer shifted his weight nervously. 
"Sir, we have information that a RDF deserter is hiding in this
building."
     Jeff turned to Margie with a lightly surprised look on his
face.  "I'm surprised, Sister Margie.  I didn't know you were
capable of such things."
     "As I was telling this... *person*, I don't harbor fugitives
of the law in my mission," Margie snapped with another glance at
the RDF security officer.
     "If you don't mind my asking, just what deserter are you
looking for?"
     The Captain cleared his throat and nervously adjusted his
collar.  "A female Veritech pilot."
     "Mercy," Jeff gasped in mock astonishment.  "She must be one
tough hombre to require all these men."
     "This pilot is thought to have participated in the massacre
of ASC personnel, including a full general," the Captain snapped. 
"The GMP are most anxious to get their hands on her and her
fellow conspirators."
     "Then why aren't the GMP here?"
     The officer shuffled his feet and glanced nervously at his
sergeant.  "We are under orders, sir."
     "Who's?"  Jeff was becoming irritated at this whole like of
conversation.  He had a particular dislike for the ASC and their
black-suited GMP goons.  That only intensified his repulsion at
RDF men doing their dirty work.
     "General Emerson, sir.  But I understand the order came
direct from General Leonard's office."  The Captain seemed to
gain back some of his confidence at the mention of such a high-
ranking and powerful person.  That lasted only long enough for
him to notice Jeff's glare.
     "Captain, I don't care if the order came from God
himself..." Jeff began.
     "Forgive him, Lord, for such blaspheme," Margie muttered,
her eyes raised skyward.
     Jeff cleared his throat with a glance Margie's way.  "Sorry,
Sister."  Turning back to the Captain.  "I can't believe you
intend to ransack this religious sanctuary in a misguided attempt
to find someone that this pious woman has already asserted is not
inside.  Have we come to that, Captain?"
     "I have my orders, sir," the Captain insisted.
     "So you're not leaving."
     "Not until I search the house."
     Jeff paused for dramatic effect.  With a heavy sigh he
asked: "Can I get your assurance that you won't rip the place
apart?"
     The Captain hesitated.  "Of course, sir.  We're not GMP."
     "Believe me, we're grateful for *that*," Jeff said and
looked apologetically Margie's way.  "Sister, is there any harm
in one or two of these men coming inside and quietly looking
around?"
     Aunt Margie hesitated.  "Well..."  She glanced between Jeff
and the Captain.  "I suppose they could *quietly* look around as
long as they leave their *guns* out here.  I have children and
old people inside and I won't have them scared to death by some
gun-waving centurion."
     "There you are, Captain," Jeff said with a smile.  "A
compromise."
     "What if the deserter is armed?" the Captain growled, his
hand clutching his holstered pistol like he was in a quick-draw
contest.
     "In *my* mission?" Margie gasped.  "Certainly not!  I don't
allow firearms of any sort."
     Jeff turned again to the Captain.  "Surely, you and your
sergeant here can handle one scraggly little female deserter
without resorting to your... artillery."
     The Captain glared at Margie before glancing around in
frustration.  "Very well!" he finally snarled, unsnapping the
strap on his holster and yanking out the pistol.  Slapping the
weapon against the sergeant's chest, he started for the door.
     "And wipe your feet," Margie admonished.  "I run a clean
mission.  I don't allow guns or dirty feet inside."
     Angrily, the Captain wiped his boots on the 'Welcome' mat. 
"Anything else?" he snarled.
     "You could try smiling, you know."
     The Captain gritted his teeth and showed them to Margie in a
painful display of faked happiness.  It was clear the effort was
most unpleasant for him.
     Margie nodded her approval and softly swung open the aging
door.  "Peace be with all who enter, brother."
     The Captain's forced grin slipped into a disgusted snarl,
accompanied by a series of 'Yosemite Sam' grumbles, as he stepped
past the missionary and into the building.  Jeff allowed the now
unarmed sergeant to follow and then Margie.  Before he stepped
inside, he held up a hand to Ona.
     Leaning close, he said softly: "Stay out here and keep an
eye on these guys."
     Ona nodded and turned to keep the assembled security men in
her sight.  They in turn moved to keep *her* in sight.
     Jeff caught up with Margie and the rest in the living room
of the tiny mission.  The Captain ordered his burly sergeant to
check upstairs before frowning at Margie and waddling into the
kitchen.
     Jeff slid over next to the missionary standing in front of
the fireplace.  They were not alone in the room.  On the sofa sat
a young woman, probably no older than sixteen, nursing a young
baby while casting fearful looks at all the strange military
people invading her sanctuary.  An old Lakota man sat in an
equally old rocking chair slowly tottering back and forth, a
glazed look on his weathered face.
     Discreetly glancing around, Jeff wondered just what Margie
did with Lieutenant Robins.  There was obviously nowhere for
anyone to hide in such a small place and he knew Margie would
never intentionally lie.
     Finally, between the sounds of the sergeant's boots tromping
around upstairs and the Captain rummaging in the kitchen pantry,
curiosity got the best of him.  Leaning closer to Margie, he
softly asked out of the corner of his mouth: "Alright, where is
she?"
     Margie leaned his way and answered, also out of the corner
of her mouth: "You're standing on her, ya dope."
     Jeff's eyes popped wide for a moment before recovering his
sense of control.  Slowly, he looked down.  Beneath his feet was
a six foot oval throw rug.  That meant there had to be a trap
door under there.  He wondered where it led.  After all, there
wasn't a basement that *he* knew of under the building.
     His pondering was cut short by the reappearance of the
Captain.  The man didn't look happy.
     "You got an attic?" the Captain demanded.
     "Not that I remember," Margie flatly answered.
     "Basement?"
     "Did you find a door leading to a basement?"
     "That's not an answer."
     "What would I be doing with a basement and no door leading
down to it?"
     "It could be hidden," the Captain suggested, his voice
sounding less certain than his expression indicated.
     "Brother, this old building couldn't support a basement." 
She shifted her weight enough to make the floor boards creak. 
"It's built on a stone base.  That's why the floors are so
uneven."
     The Captain, still not convinced, glared at Margie.  "I'm
gonna find that deserter.  Why don't you make it easy on yourself
and tell me where she is?"
     Margie bristled at the suggestion.  "I've told you there's
no female RDF deserter in this building."
     For some reason, her words caused the old Indian rocking in
the corner to come to life.  "Ho, yes, lovely young girl.  Polite
too."
     "What?"  The Captain spun around like he'd been ambushed. 
"What do you know about this woman?"
     Before the old man could answer, Margie chuckled.  "I'm
afraid Brother Dan George sees things when he's been drinking. 
Last week he was convinced we had a back yard full of buffalo and
started to make himself a bow to go hunting."
     "Many buffalo," the old man insisted, holding up a bony
finger and shaking it Margie's direction.
     "See what I mean?"
     The Captain, however, must have thought he had a solid lead. 
Waving a dismissive hand at Margie, he rattled off a series of
questions at the old man.  "Where did you see this woman?  How
long ago?  Was she armed?  Answer me!"
     Overwhelmed with conflicting questions, the old man
struggled, his hand making little circles in the air as his mind
sifted through all the confusion.  "There," he croaked pointing
to the fireplace. 
     Jeff tried to hide his surprise at such an apparent
betrayal.  Why would the old man betray one of his own?  Maybe he
was punishing her for 'running away', like her family.  Or maybe
he was just confused and having trouble mixing reality with a
deception.
     Whatever the case, Jeff had to think of something fast
before old Dan George got more specific.  Looking over his
shoulder, he noticed one of the windows next to the fireplace
looked out onto the road.  "He must mean on the road out front. 
If that's where he saw her, she must have been heading east, away
from the base."
     "What was she wearing?" the Captain demanded, crowding
closer to the old man.
     Rocking gently now, Dan George began a tale that could have
begun sometime right after 'the creation' with guarantees of
ending sometime around next week.  He talked of warriors past and
lamented how young women no longer waited in the tepee for young
braves to properly court them.  Daisy made a disgusted little
noise.
     Jeff cast a questioning glance at Margie who just shrugged. 
Once old Dan George got off on one of his rambling stories, there
was no telling where it would end - or when.
     "She was dressed in white, like White Buffalo Calf Woman,"
the old man croaked and started into the legend of how the
magical woman came from the east with the first peace pipe.
     "That's an RDF flight suit alright," the Captain crowed,
straightening up and smugly leering at Jeff and Margie.  "Looks
like there's at least *one* loyal member in this nest of
traitors."
     Undaunted by the interruption, Dan George continued with his
story like he was holding court around a tribal campfire.
     "There's nobody upstairs," the sergeant reported as he
tromped down the stairs.
     "I know that, you fool," the Captain snapped.  "She's
already gone and headed east."  He turned back to the old man. 
"How long ago, old man?"
     "Huh?  What?"  Old Dan George looked confused at the
question.  "Awwww, you made me forget what came next.  Now I have
to start all over again."
     The Captain's face turned red.  "How-Long-Ago-Did-You-See-This-Woman?"
     Dan George's answer was lost in a commotion at the front
door.  Ona Parino's voice could be heard protesting the intrusion
but she took no apparent act to stop the new arrivals.  One look
at them told Jeff why.
     Wearing their distinctive black and gray, along with a sense
of arrogance that clung to them like a cheap cologne, three GMP
men pushed their way into the living room.  Their leader, a
Major, slid the faceplate of his crested helmet open with a loud
'click' and scanned the room, his beady eyes regarding each
person as a potential traitor.  Even the young were not immune to
his treatment.  The woman's baby began crying at all the
commotion and Dan George paused only a moment to blink at the new
guests.  This just caused him to start his story over.
     "I'm Major Marcus McKinney, Army of the Southern Cross
Global Military Police - Special Investigations Unit - Internal
Security," the black-clad officer claimed in a loud voice trying
to be heard over the crying baby and Dan George's story.  He
finished by slapping his black gloves against the plastic armor
on his thigh.
     "Lord 'amighty," Jeff mumbled in mock awe.
     Margie leaned his way and said: "Trust me, that's not him."
     "I heard that," snapped the Major, waving his gloves at
Jeff.  Glancing at one of his subordinates, he snarled: "Get
their names."
     "Uh, sir, I think one of them is a Colonel," the subordinate
apprehensively replied.
     The Major squinted at Jeff's rank insignia and grimaced. 
"Damned RDF rank.  You can't tell a Colonel from a Corporal."
     "Or your butt from a hole in the ground," Jeff muttered
while turning his head towards the fireplace.
     The ASC Major shot him a warning look before turning to the
only person in the room besides his own men, that he trusted. 
"Well?" he demanded of Captain O'Riley.  "Where is she?"
     "Major," the man proudly stepped forward, "I've just
finished interrogating this old man and I have a solid lead on
the fugitive."
     There was an awkward pause as Dan George got to the part
about Lakota virgins again.  Jeff had to admit, it was a damn
good story.
     "And?" the Major demanded.
     "This gentleman claims to have seen her on the road out
front," the Captain stammered his arm waving at the still talking
Dan George.
     "When?"
     "Well, I was just getting to that part when you arrived." 
He turned back to Dan George.  "When - did - you - see - her?"
     "Huh?"  Dan George blinked at the question.  "No, I'm a
Christian."
     "I don't give a damn.  When did you see the woman in white?"
The Captain had worked himself up to vibrating and sweating at
the same time.
     "Oh..."  Dan George traced an arc in the air above his head.
     There was another awkward pause.
     "What the hell does *that* mean?" demanded the Major.
     "That's Lakota sign language," Jeff said with a smile.  "It
could mean yesterday or last month - your call."
     The Major could barely disguise his exasperation while
eyeing Jeff.  "Who *are* you?"
     Jeff's answer was interrupted by the excited Captain. 
"That's IT!  He saw the deserter on the road, heading east,
yesterday."
     "And if you hurry, you might be able to catch her before she
gets to Lakota lands," Jeff said, stepping forward and turning
the Major towards the front door.
     Two steps later, the Major jerked to a halt.  "How do you
know she's headed for Lakota lands?"
     "Where else would a Lakota be headed?"
     "Oh.  Wait a minute.  How do you know she's a Lakota?"
     "Why would a pale-face be headed for Lakota lands?"
     "I see."
     As they walked towards the door, Jeff patted the Major's
armored shoulder pads.  "However, I might offer a word of advice. 
Make sure you catch her *before* she gets there."
     "Before?  Why?"  The Major's suspicions were raised at how
much this man really knew.
     "From what I've heard, the last military man who thought he
could just waltz into an Lakota camp and arrest somebody got a
massacre named after him."
     The Major stared at Jeff with a look somewhere between
confusion and incredulity.  Finally, he'd had enough.  "Just who
IS this man?" he yelled to no one in particular.
     "Colonel Hogan.  Nice to meet you," Jeff said grabbing the
Major's hand and shaking it.
     It took a few moments for the Major to disengage himself
from Jeff's enthusiastic greeting.  "Make a note of that,
Sergeant," he yelled.  Glaring at Jeff, he growled: "We'll deal
with him later."
     Jeff leaned over towards the Sergeant.  "That's H-O-G-A-N. 
Tell General Emerson I said: Hi."
     Shouting for his men to return to their vehicles, the Major
was interrupted by the forlorn-looking Captain O'Riley.  "Excuse
me, sir, but the capture is supposed to be mine."
     "Not if I catch her first."  The Major and his subordinates
bolted from the porch.
     Not to be outdone, the Captain called his men to 'mount up'
and scrambled for *his* vehicle.  What followed was a mad race of
security men and vehicles, each trying to be the first to gain
the road and have a head start on apprehending the elusive
suspect.
     Daisy, who'd followed Jeff out onto the porch, shook her
head and held up a credit voucher in front of Ona.  "Five credits
says the GMP wreck more of their vehicles than the RDF."
     "You're on," Ona replied, fishing out her own credits.
     With a roar of engines and a number of anxious shouts, there
began one of the wildest demolition derbies ever seen in the
post-war era.  The Captain's personal vehicle set off the
festivities by recklessly backing into the Major's Land Rover,
knocking the hover vehicle into such an angle that one of its
hover pods gouged a deep groove into the crabgrass and weeds. 
Not to be outdone, a GMP Armored Hover Land Rover, GMP men still
scrambling into its seats, collided with the RDF truck, narrowly
missing a couple of RDF security men who were frantically
struggling to climb into the truck's cargo compartment.  Two
other RDF rovers smacked together while another GMP hover vehicle
spun out of control after being rammed by the truck.  Parts of
vehicles and bits of official equipment littered the front yard
as half a dozen vehicles, feinted, dodged and charged towards the
road, banging into one another, in what resembled the racing
start at old Le Mans.  The final insult came when the Major's
Land Rover cut across a wide ditch, bounced off the road's
shoulder and clipped the mission's mail box, sending it
skittering across the pavement.
     In a few moments, not a single vehicle remained in sight. 
All that could be heard was the fading sounds of engines
straining to the max as they raced down the two-lane road.
     "I thought they'd never leave," Margie said with a sigh as
she stepped onto the porch.  When she spotted the litter in her
front yard, she threw her hands over her head and moaned: "Who's
going to clean up this mess?"
     "Lodge complaints with both the ASC and the RDF," Jeff
suggested, watching Daisy count her winnings.  "I'm sure one of
them will eventually issue some sort of an apology.  In the
meantime..."  He snatched the credits out of Daisy's hands and
handed them to Margie.  "I'm certain these young ladies won't
mind making a small donation to the mission for your trouble. 
Especially since gambling is forbidden in the RDF."
     Daisy opened her mouth to protest but quickly decided such
would be futile; instead folded her arms and grumped.  Ona's grin
of vindication didn't help.
     "Well, now that our guests are gone, why don't we go gather
our missing young lady?" Jeff suggested.
     They all started back inside until Jeff stopped Ona. 
"Something's not right.  Look around out here.  I don't trust
that Major."
     Returning to the living room, Margie rolled back the rug,
revealing a small trap door.  "It used to be the root cellar for
the old farm house; not much more than a closet underneath the
building."
     "I thought you said she wasn't in the mission?" Daisy said
in an accusing tone.
     "She's not," Jeff replied, gripping the trapdoor's handle. 
"She's *under* the mission."
     Yanking open the tiny door, the three peered down into the
darkness to see Lieutenant Robins crouched against the spider-
infested dirt wall of the root cellar, a wild look in her eyes. 
The glint of a wicked-looking knife clutched in her hand flashed
in the dim light.
     "Fish her out," Jeff said to Daisy while stepping back.
     Daisy frowned down at the trembling Veritech Pilot before
looking at Jeff.  "She's got a knife."  She glanced again.  "And
she's got spiders on her."
     "You scared of a knife?" Jeff taunted.
     "No but spiders give me the willies."
     "Oh for Pete's sake," Jeff muttered, straddling the opening
and thrusting his hand down the hole.  Grabbing Missy by the
webbing of her flight suit, he hoisted the trembling girl up into
the room.
     "She's still got spiders on her," Daisy noted with a raised
eyebrow as she crossed her arms.
     "Get 'em off.  Get 'em off," Missy whined softly, her body
rigid and trembling.
     "Missy, honey, they're God's creatures too," Margie said in
a soothing voice.
     "I don't care!  Get them OFF!"
     Daisy reached out and tentatively tried to flick one of the
spiders off Missy's dirty flight suit.
     "Not in my living room," Margie moaned.  "Outside, young
lady."
     Walking stiff-legged, Missy allowed herself to be herded
towards the kitchen and the back door.  Jeff slammed shut the
trap door and replaced the rug.
     "Handy hiding place, don't you think?" he asked Daisy.  
     The big Lakota just shrugged.  "It's okay if you like
spiders and bugs."
     "What's the matter?  Don't like crawly things?"
     Daisy's dead-pan expression was punctuated by a simple:
"No."
     "Well, just be thankful it wasn't you down there."  
     "I wouldn't fit."  Daisy's expression was a clear challenge
for Jeff to say something about her size.  
     Instead, he just turned to old Dan George.  "And I owe *you*
a bottle."
     Dan George grinned broadly, the fingers on one hand idly
circling an ear.  "Good stuff?" he asked.
     "The best."
     "Jeffrey Stuart, don't you dare," Aunt Margie warned.  She
had returned to fetch her broom when she overheard Jeffrey's
offer.  
     Jeff nodded contritely towards Margie before adding a
surreptitious wink at Dan George.  The old man grinned again.  He
knew Jeffrey *always* came through.

     It took several minutes but eventually a de-bugged Missy
Robins returned.
     "I thought I told you to stay out of trouble," Jeff accused
with a frown.
     Before the girl could answer, Margie shook her head.  "I'm
afraid that's my fault.  I let her use my phone to call home and
tell them where she was.  I had no idea you RDF people would tap
a mission's phone."
     "I thought you said your family threw you out when you tried
to go home," Jeff said.
     Missy blushed.  "Yes, but Mother was more worried about me
than angry.  I promised to call her when things got better.  Your
offer to join Thirteen Squadron sounded like something better to
me."
     "Whoa, young lady," Jeff warned with a raised hand.  "You're
not out of the woods yet.  Those security clowns were only the
first round.  We still have to get you past General Emerson
before you can join the squadron."
     "But you have a plan," Missy insisted, a hopeful look on her
face.
     Jeff sighed.  "I was trying to think of something a little
more subtle but since my hand has been forced..."  He pulled out
a wireless phone and started dialing.
     "This is Colonel Stuart," he said when a female voice
answered.  "I need to talk to General Emerson."
     "I'm sorry, sir, but the General is in conference with
Colonel Walters of Intelligence."
     "Tell Hot Rocks it's important."
     "One moment, sir."  A long pause followed before he heard
the phone picked up and the voice of General Emerson answer. 
"This better be important, Jeffrey.  We're busy here."
     "What's the matter?  Poker game going badly?"
     "I'm down a hundred credits."
     "I tried to warn you about him."
     "I'll get it back before he leaves.  Now, what's so
important?"
     "I need to see you this afternoon and I want Walters there
as well."
     "Why?"
     "Can't say right now, sir, but it's important enough for you
to make time for me.  I have something of interest to you."  Jeff
hoped Rolf understood what he was saying.  He knew if someone
monitored Missy's call home they could very well be listening
now.  One slip, one suggestion of who he was bringing and RDF
Security would be waiting.  This had to be handled at the highest
level if he was going to do the right thing *and* get Lieutenant
Robins assigned to his squadron.
     "Very well, Jeff."  Rolf's voice sounded tired.  "Be here at
1300.  Oh, by the way, the GMP called.  They seem to be quite
upset over a Colonel Hogan.  You know anything about that?"
     "Hogan," Jeff said thoughtfully.  "Late 60's TV show, Senior
POW, Stalag 13.  What do I win?"
     Emerson sighed loud enough to be heard through the phone. 
"I should have known.  When you come in, we'll have to discuss
your sense of humor."
     "And the GMP's lack of it."
     Collapsing the tiny antenna, Jeff slid the wireless phone
back into his case on his belt.  "Now all we have to do is
smuggle you on base," he said to Missy.
     "How?" she asked with a worried look.
     "You ever sneak into a drive-in?"
     "What's a 'drive-in'?"
     The sound of a commotion outside caused them all to freeze,
listening carefully for whatever could be causing the noise.  A
couple of muffled shouts was followed by a loud 'thunk' against
the side of the mission.
     "What the hell..." Jeff muttered before a louder 'bang'
rattled the tiny statuettes on the fireplace mantle.
     Jeff and Daisy bolted for the front door, Margie close
behind.  Rounding the building, they skidded to a halt at the
sight of a skirtless Ona gasping for breath while holding her
side and leaning on the mission's aging propane tank.  The reason
for her condition quickly became obvious.
     The crumpled black-clad form of a GMP operative lay heavily
against the side of the building, his helmet pushed down
unnaturally on his head.
     "What happened?" Jeff demanded as he scooped up the torn
skirt.
     Ona swallowed hard and blinked back the perspiration that
had made its way into her burning eyes.  "You were right, sir. 
They left one behind to spy on us."
     "How much did he hear?"
     Ona shook her head, coughed and blinked again.  "I don't
know.  He had his communicator out."
     Daisy looked around on the ground, finally spotting the
device under one of the spy's legs.  With a snort, she smashed it
against a rock.  "You mean this one?" she calmly asked while
holding up the broken device.  
     Ona nodded tiredly and winced again.  Her grip on the
propane tank loosened and she sagged into Daisy's strong arms. 
Margie was instantly at the girl's side.
     "I think they're just bruised," she said, tenderly feeling
Ona's ribs.  "Took a pretty good shot, young lady.  If it wasn't
for the hair color, I'd swear you're Lakota."
     "She's Zentraedi," Jeff corrected.
     "Lord 'amightly."
     "No, just Zentraedi."
     Margie sighed and took Ona's other arm.  Together, she and
Daisy eased the ailing Zentraedi towards the front door. 
Following, Jeff couldn't help but notice Ona's firm little butt
wiggling under the minimal coverage of her thin panties as she
walked.
     "Ona?" Jeff said when he remembered her skirt.  "Why did you
take off your skirt?"
     "Honestly, Jeffrey, how's a girl supposed to fight wearing a
skirt?" Margie snapped.
     Jeff stopped and tried to reconstruct the fight in his mind. 
He was especially trying to fit in when Ona shed her skirt.
     He shook his head and started for the mission again.  "I'm
never going to get used to this."

+++++

     Katherine turned off the main road onto the gravel parking
lot of the Yellowstone Base Weapons Range.  Slowly passing a
large truck whose crane was busy unloading a giant GU-11 gun pod
onto a reinforced test bed, they scanned the elevated knoll that
served as a firing line for the range.
     "There she is," Katherine said indicating a lone figure at
the far end of the firing line.  Samantha just grunted and made a
face.
     Katherine ignored her sister as she brought her aging
vehicle to a halt as near the figure as the gravel lot would
allow.
     The crack of a rifle being fired welcomed their exit from
the vehicle.  
     Samantha hesitated.  "You know, it's not too late to
reconsider."
     "Can't.  Like it or not, we need her."  Katherine shut her
door and started up the steps leading to the firing line.
     Samantha closed her door and shook her head before following
her sister.  This was going to be a mistake, she just knew it.
     "Sergeant Nancy Montoya?" Katherine asked as she approached
the serious-looking figure hunched over a wood table tinkering
with the laser sight on one of several dangerous-looking weapons.
     "That's me," Nancy answered lightly without looking up.
     "I'm Captain Katherine Fox, and I'd like to talk to you."
     Without answering, Nancy hoisted the weapon she was working
on into firing position and squinted through the scope,
concentrating on the tiny red dot dancing on a paper silhouette
target 100 yards away.  She gave no warning before squeezing off
five quick shots.  The crack of the large caliber weapon caused
the Fox sisters to cover their ears and grimace.
     "You really shouldn't stand on the firing line without
hearing protection," Nancy said matter-of-factly as she slapped
the target recall button.  The target stand hummed to life and
began its journey to the firing line.
     "Yes, well, we're not going to be here all that long,"
Katherine said, her ears still ringing.  "As I said, I'm --"
     "I heard you the first time, Captain," Nancy cut her off,
her voice tinged with irritation as she frowned at the target. 
Muttering to her self, she whipped the used target off the stand
and replaced it with a fresh one.
     "Well, good.  Since we don't have to go through the
introductions --"
     "I also know why you're here," Nancy interrupted again as
she bent over the table and adjusted the sight on her rifle.
     "Okay, then why don't you just take a little break so we can
chat."  Katherine's voice reflected her own irritation.  She knew
this wasn't going to be easy but Nancy appeared intent on making
it downright impossible.
     "No time."
     "We just want to talk to you," Samantha added with an
incredulous frown.
     "Look," Nancy growled, her hand slapping the table, causing
all the little parts to jump.  "I get one hour a week on the
range.  Just one lousy little hour.  If I don't get my hour, I
have to wait a whole week before I'm allowed here again.  That
makes me turn into a very grumpy person.  You wouldn't like me
grumpy."
     "I'm not sure I like you now," Samantha mumbled.  A quick
glance at Nancy failed to reveal if she'd heard or not.
     "You see that monster down there?"  Nancy pointed to where a
half dozen technicians were busy crawling over the giant GU-11. 
"They're going to close the range in thirty minutes.  That means
I have to get everything done before then or I'll have to wait
another week."
     "I can see your dilemma --," Katherine began.
     "No, it's *your* dilemma," Nancy snarled.  "If you make me
miss the rest of my hour because of your girlish chit-chat, I'm
liable to put a few holes in that pile of junk you call a car
just to make me feel better."
     "Come on, let's get out of here," Samantha groaned as she
turned to leave.
     "Well, well, well, little Sammy.  All grown up now." 
Nancy's smirk looked all too comfortable on her face.  "And a
Lieutenant to boot.  Geez, the RDF's standards have dropped."
     "Don't start with me," Samantha warned.
     "Why?  You gonna break my nose again?" Nancy taunted.
     "You just can't get over that, can you?"  Samantha crossed
her arms and tried to assume a posture that supported her attempt
at an arrogant pose.  It must not have worked because Nancy just
grunted and went back to her scope.
     "After you sucker-punched me, I whipped your butt all over
school yard."
     "I've learned a lot since junior high," Samantha warned.
     Nancy snorted before warning: "You'll never learn enough to
take me."
     A confrontation of sorts appeared imminent until Katherine
stepped in.  "Okay, you two don't like each other.  I'm glad we
established that up front.  Nothing hidden."  She looked directly
at the glowering Nancy.  "That doesn't change the fact we want
you for Thirteen Squadron."
     "You mean Thirteen Foxtrot, don't you?" Nancy corrected,
still glaring at Samantha.  One could almost feel the animosity
like laser beams being exchanged.
     "Yes."
     "You know *why* it's Foxtrot?"
     Katherine hesitated, her brow furrowed.  She *should* know
this.
     Nancy was all too willing to answer.  "It's because this is
the SIXTH reorganization of Thirteen Squadron.  Thirteen Echo got
itself vaporized in Dolza's bombardment."
     "So?"
     "No other squadron has been reorganized six times."  Nancy
stopped glaring at Samantha to look directly into Katherine's
eyes.  "Kinda makes you think, don't it?"
     "No.  Thirteen is just a number," Samantha said
sarcastically with a disgusted frown.  "There's nothing unlucky
about it."
     Nancy shook her head and went back to tinkering with her
rifle's sights.  "Yeah, sure it is.  There's a lot of
superstitious people in the RDF.  More so now that the ASC are
about to take over.  If I were you, I'd ask a few more questions
before jumping to join."
     "Well, that's too late for that," Katherine sighed.  "We're
already there.  What we need now is pilots.  You're a pilot."
     What Katherine got in return was Nancy's incredulous look. 
"You're crazy.  You don't know anything about this squadron you
want me to join and you know even less about me."
     "What's that supposed to mean?"
     "I was busted, grounded two months ago," Nancy said,
cramming lethal-looking rounds into an oversized magazine.
     Katherine's mouth opened and closed again.  She was
speechless.  Grounded?  Why on earth had she been grounded?  The
RDF needed every Veritech pilot they could get their hands on. 
This didn't make any sense.
     "Insubordination," Nancy said, snapping the freshly-loaded
magazine into a vintage AK-47.
     "Why?"
     Nancy fingered the trigger guard and glared at the GU-11 at
the other end of the firing line.  "It's personal," she mumbled.
     Katherine glanced at Samantha, who appeared to have lost
interest in the whole discussion.  A grounded pilot was less than
worthless.  Unless...  "What if Colonel Stuart could get you
reinstated?"
     Nancy snapped a look her direction.  "Colonel JEFFREY
Stuart?"
     "Yes.  He took command a few days ago."
     Nancy idly flicked the selector switch on her AK from 'safe'
to 'fire' and back again while she frowned at the ground.  With a
shrug of her shoulders, she punched the button that sent her
target back down range.  "Yeah, sure.  Why not?  If he can get me
back in the cockpit, it'll be worth being in a squadron with
Squirt here," she said jerking her head Samantha's direction.  
     The younger Fox bristled at the reference.  Only Katherine's
hand on her arm prevented a repeat of the school yard fight of
ten years ago.  "Fine.  You can report tomorrow morning,"
Katherine said.
     "What's wrong with this afternoon?"
     "If you wish.  I just thought you might have things to take
care of today."
     "Once the range is shut down, I'm free for the day," Nancy
said with a look that bordered on distaste.
     "Good.  I'll have Lieutenant Wallace ready the paperwork. 
Are you certain your current squadron commander won't object?"
     Nancy set the unfired AK back on the table.  "He doesn't
give a damn where I am."
     "Very well.  We'll see you sometime this afternoon,"
Katherine said, turning to leave.
     Samantha continued to glare at her junior high rival.
     Nancy scowled her direction.  "Maybe we'll bunk together. 
Won't that be fun?"
     The perfect response, from Samantha's point of view, would
have been another punch in the nose but what she saw when Nancy
picked up a heavily modified assault rifle stopped her cold.  Her
longing expression was hard to disguise when she saw what dangled
from the barrel - a single eagle feather.
     Nancy caught her younger rival's expression.  "I got that
for the defense of Timberlake.  Took out a dozen battle pods on
my own, ripping the p-beam cannons off the last one with my
Veritech's bare hands."  She held the weapon up so the feather
dangled in front of Samantha.  "Maybe someday, when you've grown
up, I'll let you touch it," she taunted, knowing that Samantha
was forbidden to do more than look at such an honor until she too
earned the right to carry one.
     Samantha slowly turned to leave.  This was even worse than
having Nancy in the squadron in the first place.  Now she'd have
to endure every day seeing the older girl flaunt that feather. 
Her head slowly lowered as she headed for the steps.
     "Hey, Squirt," called Nancy.
     Samantha stopped and looked over her shoulder.  She saw
Nancy snap the safety off and quickly fire ten quick shots.  Her
ears still ringing, she watched Nancy punch the target retrieve
button again.  They stared at each other until the paper target
finished its return.  Nancy's face broke into a grin as she
looked at her target.  There on the silhouette, exactly where a
person's face would be, was a grotesque grin made entirely of
bullet holes.
     Samantha said nothing but turned to join her sister.  The
luster was off their new squadron.  They were already making
compromises to get the people they needed.  She knew it was
necessary but just wished they could have done without a certain
grinning former classmate.