Storiesonline.net ------- The Last American Bomber by PuffDragon Copyright© 2009 by PuffDragon ------- Description: In April of 2012 the three nuclear superpowers started duking it out, no holds barred. By August the US had only two nuclear bombers left to try and finish the job. This is one crew's story of Operation Shell-Game and how they played a part in American history. Codes: MF MM cons het PostApoc slow Mil ------- ------- Prologue Sixty years after the Second World War it seems that World War III may soon wrap up. In early 2012, a mutant strain of avian flu killed over half the world's population. Superpower nations fared best, losing less than half their population but third world countries were obliterated. Governments collapsed as politicians died along with their constituents and military coups were settled by who had the healthiest troops among the second world. The United States, Russia, and China had the technology and resources to protect their people but only to a certain extent. The US went broke vaccinating Americans then attacked Russia in an attempt to gain control of a key ingredient in the vaccine. While distracted by the US-Russian war China entered the fray as they attempted to gain planetary control. The resulting war brought nuclear warfare back to the horror of the remainder of the planet. A month after Russia first launched its nukes at the US and China all three countries have been brought to their knees. No country has ICMBs or anything similar, only the Russians and the US have nuclear bombers. China claims to still be in the fight with the possibility of nuclear loaded submarines but these could be unfounded rumors. America, while not advertising it, had accepted the loss of its nuclear submarines. Crews in the subs had contracted the avian flu without being able to receive a vaccine in time. Due to the nature of such close quarters the flu swept rapidly though the boat. Because of the relatively small survival rate of those contracting the virus the number of people who may have survived didn't have been enough to man the ship and were be forced to sit at the bottom of the ocean until life supporting supplies ran out. War weary, politicians from all three countries are desperately trying to negotiate peace while their militaries try to stay one step ahead of one another. The US lost most of their nuclear fleet early on and has hidden the fact that only two bombers remain. A B-2, call sign Jelly 45, is currently hidden in a hangar in Elmendorf, Alaska while Tub 72, a B-52, is hiding at Glacier Park International Airport in Montana. Both jets and crews have been part of Operation Shell-Game for the last two months. Every few days they receive orders telling them where their next base will be in a desperate attempt to keep the Chinese or Russians from finding and destroying the only useable nukes in the US inventory. The crews are burnt out and desperate, surviving on little sleep or food and hoping the war will end soon so they can try to piece together what's left of their lives. Elmendorf AFB, AK: Captain Jim Stuttgart awoke to the sound of his CRM-114 chattering out another message. He elbowed his copilot, Major Patrick Rankin, and pointed to the message. "What's it say, man?" Stuttgart rubbed his eyes and shifted in his seat. Thirty-hour mission were bad, but living in the damn plane was killing him. "Same shit, new location. At least we're headed back to the mainland." He passed Stuttgart the print out and grabbed his checklist. Stuttgart skimmed the message and started punching the airport location as Rankin cranked the engines. They were nearly silent as they taxied their B-2 past empty, demolished hangars. The only words they spoke were to advise one another of potholes in the taxiway. "Ready, Jim?" Major Rankin asked, flexing his fingers on the stick. "Affirm, let's burn out." They smoothly throttled up; letting years of training guide them and get them safely away from the ground. "Passing twelve hundred feet, turn right one-five-oh." Stuttgart glanced to his early warning system, "Shit, bogey at eight ... keep coming right!" Rankin cranked the nose right and yanked the stick to his chest trying to keep the nose from sinking. He spared a half seconds glace to confirm Stuttgart's call. Sure enough, one enemy symbol had now turned into two and both were tracking them. "Keep coming, Pat!" A loud beeping went off, telling both pilots they were being tracked not just by the enemy planes but now by an air-to-air missile as well. Rankin released the stick hoping some kind of last second maneuver would save them but it was already too late. Only minutes after takeoff Jelly 45 crashed into the Chickaloon Bay leaving Tub 72 as the last American bomber capable of winning World War III. ------- Chapter 1 Three men sat hunched over an aviation chart inside the Glacier Park FBO studying where they might be sent to next. They'd been at it for the last two hours and were starting to get tired. "What about Jackson Hole? The runway is long enough there." Abe "Wyatt" Phillips asked. Abe was the aircraft commander but his copilot, Mark "Bubba" Silver was not only an instructor pilot, but also the crew's squadron commander. "Yeah, that's a good one too. Hitman, jot that one down as a possibility too, please." Bubba scratched his stubble-covered jaw. "I really expected a message by now, I'm not sure what they're thinking, waiting this long." The men had been trying to find an airfield that was long enough to accommodate a B-52 Stratofortress, but one that wasn't too close to an area contaminated by nuclear fallout as well. Five major American cities, and several key military bases, had been nuked: Los Angeles, Washington DC, Atlanta, New York, and Chicago. The US had been somewhat lucky because the weather had been in their favor for most of the blasts. Winds had been light when meant that the fallout was mostly contained over the areas where the nukes had detonated. The explosion in L.A. had decimated most of the city and made a swath of coastline from L.A. to Tijuana uninhabitable but Las Vegas and Phoenix had been safe from the fallout. A storm front that had pushed over Atlanta the day before their attack had stalled out over Orlando. That had meant that all the fallout had settled back down having never drifted any further east. The blasts in New York and Washington DC had been the most unfortunate. Not only had both cities been destroyed, killing millions, but a nor'easter that was building as the missiles were flying towards them sucked up and carried nuclear fallout all across New England. Few people had survived and the land would be considered uninhabitable for the next few hundred years. "Well, whatever's going on, I'm enjoying the time off. This is probably enough info for now. Wanna head back to the jet and grab some sleep?" Henry "Hitman" Johnson, the crew's radar navigator, suggested. Bubba knew Hitman's suggestion probably meant that his own weariness was showing. Hitman, as his second in command, was good about backing him up when he was too stubborn to admit he was exhausted. Bubba nodded to him and they made their way to the jet. Bubba was their squadron commander but it was in name only. The rest of the squadron had been killed either by the flu, in the nuclear detonation that had leveled Minot Air Force Base, or in the effort to hide their various aircraft. Bubba wondered what life would be like right now if this hadn't fallen on them. He probably would have finished his tour and be headed towards retirement with his family in tow. He shook his head; his family was now long dead. Inside their B-52, Matt "Cupcake" Walker rolled over in his sleep only to be jabbed in the shoulder by his ejection seat. Grunting, he sat up and smacked the offending chair. He'd been dreaming of his daughter again, something that never put him in a good mood. As he peered around the darkened cockpit, he could hear the sound of the CRM-114 printing out another message. He cursed silently as he hoisted himself into the navigator's seat. He pulled out his flashlight and noted that he'd have to grab new batteries again when it only shone a feeble beam of light onto the CRM's printout. Cupcake slapped the back of the light then was forced to get up and sit in the hatch for more light when the flashlight died. Cupcake sat with his legs dangling out of the hatch as he read the message. The message itself wasn't unexpected because they'd been at Glacier International for two days and had expected the message some eight to twelve hours previous. However, the content was drastically different from what he'd expected to see. Cupcake jumped up from his impromptu seat and went to wake Mounds, his Electronic Warfare Officer, or EWO. April "Mounds" Ward was curled up across the floor in her section, snoring gently. "Mounds?" Cupcake shook her hip slightly, the only part of her visible between the two ejection seats in the defense suite. He gave her another shake, "Hey, Mounds, wake up!" Mounds woke with a start. She'd been having nightmares again and was momentarily disoriented. Looking around wildly she couldn't make out where she was. As she rolled over, she drew and pointed her M-9 at Cupcake. Blinking rapidly in the dim light she tried hard to make out who was shaking her but her sleep-deprived brain was slow to function. "Shit, Mounds! What the fuck? It's Cupcake. For fuck sake, put your goddamn gun away!" He leaned back in the hatch, a small opening between the two floors in the jet. Her hair fell in a dark curtain across half her face and he could see the tip of Mounds gun swaying slightly as her breath came in quick panting breaths. Her chest rose with each breath and he could tell she was close to hyperventilating. "Mounds, take a deep breath," he said calmly as he watched her shake the hair out of her eyes as they darted wildly around the cockpit. He slowly leaned forward and reached for the gun. Before he could grab it from her, she clicked the safety off and steadied the tip, aiming directly between his eyes. Cupcake took a sudden breath. "Fuck, Mounds. Cut it the fuck out!" Boots on the hatch ladder could be heard and Cupcake risked a look down. Bubba was coming up the hatch and had caught his panicked glance. Cupcake tried to wave his hand in a "go away" gesture below Mounds' line of site but Bubba, guessing at what had happened, poked his head up through the hatch. "Safe and store your weapon, Mounds." His voice was calm and soothing. "April, please. You were dreaming again, no one is going to hurt you." His green eyes locked with her hazel eyes. "April." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her finger slid up the trigger guard and safe the weapon. Darting forward, he grabbed the gun. Bubba dropped the magazine out and handed both the weapon and magazine to Wyatt who was standing on the level below him. Bubba dropped back down into the offense compartment, "Cupcake? What's the new message?" Bubba tugged on Cupcake's flightsuit. Cupcake dropped down and handed the message to Bubba. "Jelly's gone, sir. Russian's got the jump on them as they took off from their last location." The three men reacted with shock and horror. Hitman looked away from Cupcake as Wyatt ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "When?" Bubba asked, recovering first. "Really early this morning, sir. They were on takeoff and never made it above five thousand feet." Hitman took the message from Cupcake and read it for himself while Wyatt read over his shoulder. "No shit," Hitman shook his head, "that might explain why they haven't sent new move orders." Bubba nodded, "Let's get preflighted up to engine start so we can be ready to get out of here fast when the message does come out." Bubba and Wyatt climbed the ladder to their compartment with Hitman right behind. "Hitman, where you going?" Cupcake asked him quietly. "Just give me a sec. I need to talk to Mounds, ok?" Cupcake could see concern written over Hitman's sharply angled face. Hitman climbed the ladder and knelt in front of Mounds. "Are you going to be ok, April?" Mounds looked up at him, silent tears running down her cheeks. "Does it matter? You guys will take this jet off whether I'm ok or not." She made eye contact briefly then looked back down. "Well, it matters to me. Number one, there are nuclear weapons on this jet, and I want to make sure my EWO isn't going nuts. Number two, I don't want to see you like this." He put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. 'She's gotten bony', he thought to himself. "Come on. Let's go raid the vending machines while these guys get the ball rolling." "Henry, I can't." Mound said quietly, "I'm so tired of picking the flesh off the dead. I just can't keep eating this food." Mounds looked back up at him, tears still rolling down her cheeks. "Those people are dead Mounds; they have been for a while." He crossed over the upper hatch and removed the crash axe. "They won't know, and more importantly, won't care that we take it. You gotta eat." He turned around and shouted up to the front, "Mounds and I are going on a vending machine raid. We'll be back in a few." "Roger." Wyatt yelled back. He looked at Bubba who inserted the magazine into Mounds' gun, checked the safety, and slid it back to her. "No more funny shit, Mounds." Bubba locked eyes with her once more until she nodded. "Yes, sir." Mounds said miserably as she put the gun back in her holster. As Hitman and Mounds made their way out of earshot the three men inside started discussing her. "I think she's starting to lose it boss," Cupcake, always the first one to comment on anything, said over the intercom. "Ya think?" Wyatt fired back as he checked the yoke for full movement. "She's not losing it, she's just under stress." Bubba interjected. He put up his hand to forestall Wyatt's inevitable comment, "I know. We all are but she's a little more sensitive than you jackasses are. Too many years of Die Hard movies and you guys can look beyond the dead bodies we're finding in these FBOs. I can see it in her eyes; it kills her inside to see that. She isn't eating, she isn't sleeping much, and when she does, she has nightmares. But she's strong and smart she'll-" "Boss, we've got another one!" Cupcake cut in. "Bring it up when it's done printing out. No more talking about Mounds and her mental stability. If something needs to happen, I'll take care of it but I'm not just going to abandon her in the middle of nowhere. Let me worry about her, you preflight the jet." ------- Inside the FBO Hitman had his flightsuit tied around his waist. With one strong swing the axe crashed into the vending machine. A shower of glass rained down, bouncing off his bare arms. "Well, that was brilliant, Einstein." Mounds' mouth quirked into a half grin as she watched him picking glass out of the folds around his waist. "Glad to see you sense of humor's returning. Now be a good girl and go get Daddy a bag," he teased. "Daddy? Pfft. Apparently your mind is gone, Hitman." She teased him right back but hopped off the table to go find a trash bag or something they could use to haul food back. After searching the almost pristine bathroom she found a stack and swiped the whole box. Remembering she was running low on personal supplies she rummaged under the sinks for tampons and pads. As with most high class FBOs, they were well stocked so she emptied the entire supply into one of the pilfered trash bags. With only a small twinge of guilt for taking what wasn't hers she made her way back to Hitman. "What'd you find?" He asked, looking at the bags. "Trash bags and some none-of-your-damn-business." Having once been married Hitman knew enough not to inquire further. When Mounds opened up one of the other bags he started shoveling snack foods into it. "Good thing Twinkies last forever!" He exclaimed and Mounds nodded. He grabbed a bag of peanuts, "Eat some of these before we get on the jet. High protein, high fat ... just what you need right now." "Yes, Daddy!" She made a face at him but continued to hold open the bag for him. "So what's with you and Cupcake, huh? You don't like him so much that you wanna pop a cap in him?" Hitman asked, carefully avoiding looking at Mounds. "No, it's not that. I don't know. He just-" She stopped mid sentence. "I didn't realize it was him. I was having another nightmare. I thought someone was trying to rape me and when he shook me I thought I was still dreaming. I'm sorry." "Don't tell me you're sorry, tell him." He finished loading up the food. "Tie that up. We'll go see if they're done yet." As they walked out, he put a companionable arm around her shoulder. "You need more sleep, Mounds. I'm worried about you. I think we all are. Today seems to just be a manifestation of what we're all worried about. Get more sleep. Eat more. Don't think I haven't noticed that you don't eat half of what we do." "I'm smaller then all of you!" She looked up at him, trying to make her point. Hitman was an average height of 5'10" but towered over April who barely managed to reach 5'4". "True, but you aren't that much smaller. You still have to eat." "I'm tired of stealing people's food. Why can't we go hunting again? Remember in North Carolina, we took down that white tail? At least I think it was North Carolina." She rubbed her forehead. "Ok, I'll ask Bubba if we can do a little hunting run at our next place." They got to the hatch and he gestured for her to go up first. She climbed in slowly, dragging her bag of "necessities" with her. Once on the second floor she dropped her bag. Hitman popped up through the upper hatch. "Come here," he told her, she leaned over. Hitman grabbed her front pocket zipper and tugged it open. "Eat these before takeoff." He shoved the bag of peanuts into the pocket then gave it a pat. "Whoa, hands!" She jerked back. Not thinking, Hitman had forgotten that on women the front pockets of a flightsuit were directly over a woman's breast. "Oops, sorry!" He wasn't. He grinned impishly and dropped down the hatch. Mounds shook her head and put on her headset. "Pilot, EWO and radar are back on board. Where're we at?" She asked, meaning 'how far along in the checklist are we?' "Just got a new message so we're going to start engines and get out of here." Wyatt answered. "Where to?" "I'm not sure; I haven't seen this identifier before. Hitman, Bubba have you ever heard of KCMC?" Cupcake responded. "KCMC? Yup." Bubba responded. "Wanna fill us in?" "Cheyenne Mountain Complex." "There's no airport at Cheyenne. Do they mean the Colorado Springs airport or maybe the Academy?" Wyatt asked. "No, they mean Cheyenne." "Bubba, there's no runway there!" "You'd be surprised at how many things in the Air Force 'aren't there'." Bubba responded dryly. "You're kidding, right?" The intercom was silent only broken by the sound of the engines starting up. "Fellas, Mounds, you are about to get a tour most people have never even heard of." The stunned crew left any questions to be answered later as they taxied out of the hangar. "Standard ops, crew. Keep all emissions to a minimum." As they rolled out onto the runway the sun finished dropping below the horizon. Eight engines roared as the B-52 hurled down the runway. Few people can describe the feeling of power that rolls off the yoke of a B-52. Fighter pilots can brag about being able to turn, dive, and rip around the sky but they rarely understand the feeling of eight jet engines responding to your every command. Bubba and Wyatt both smiled to themselves as they climbed out. While a direct flight path would have gotten the crew to Cheyenne in less than two hours they took the indirect route to confuse any enemy radar that could be tracking them. Four hours after takeoff the flight had been uneventful but the crew was anxious to see the runway that didn't exist. "Bubba, there's no runway here. Look, there's C-Spring airport and the Academy airport, but that's it. There's no third field!" "Wyatt, turn off all the lights." Bubba directed, "Hitman, dial in 237.7." "It's in." Hitman responded skeptically. "Okay crew, here's the fun part." Bubba clicked the mic seven times and suddenly runway and taxi light sprung up ahead of them. "Land the jet, Wyatt." A few minutes later, they had the wheels on the runway and were slowing down. Bubba clicked the mic 7 times again and the lights went off. "Hitman, dial in 381.1" "It's in. Boss, I hate to tell you this, but all I see ahead is a damn mountain." "I know." Bubba clicked the mic 3 times and the crew watched wordlessly as the side of the mountain slid open. "Crew, welcome to Cheyenne Mountain." ------- Chapter 2 The crew of Tub 72 taxied the jet forward slowly. Not only had they never taxied a B-52 into a hanger this small before but they'd never taxied a B-52 into a hanger made out of a mountain before either. They inched forward as slowly as they could. Normally, the crew would have two crew chiefs marshalling them into closed in spaces. That was a luxury they had been without since they'd fled Minot as Russian ICBMs had flown towards it. Both pilots' eyes darted from one side to the other, checking wingtip clearance. Normally they would have wing walkers checking for them but so far all they could see was the cavern of a hangar in front of them. Bubba eased on the brakes as they judged the tail to have cleared the opening. "Run 'em up and shut 'em down, Wyatt." Bubba said over the intercom. The crew let out a collective sigh as the engines wound down and the sound of eight engines reverberated off solid stone walls. Bubba's eyes were drawn to movement at the far corner of the hangar. "Crew, this might be our welcome committee come to greet us. Be nice, huh?" Everyone set their flight equipment where it could be easily reach in case they had to bolt out of there in a hurry. Not that it was likely, as they were low on gas and there were few airfields they'd make it too which might be able to refuel them. "Cupcake, go down and see who's in our welcome party." "Sure, Bubba." Cupcake unlocked and opened the hatch, nodding to Hitman as he dropped down the opening. Once he got the on the ground he stood all the way up, stretching out. He looked at the group walking towards him and had a sudden concern that they were all armed. In fact, they were not only armed but carrying their weapons in a way that said they were expecting trouble. He waved and smiled, hoping to put them at ease. "Put your arms up and kneel down!" One of the approaching men commanded. Cupcake stepped back towards the hatch, desperately whispering to Hitman, "Lock the fucking hatch!" before kneeling down and locking his hands behind his head. Hitman quickly drew up the hatch and threw the bolt across it. "Guys, we've got trouble!" He yelled up to the top floor. "No shit, they've got Cupcake kneeling down. Fuck me, they just knocked his ass on the floor." Wyatt yelled. Wyatt and Bubba watched in horror as Cupcake was roughly knocked to the floor and handcuffed. Mound crept up to the space between then to look. "Stay back Mounds, if they're looking for trouble we don't need them seeing you." Bubba pushed her back out of line of sight from the ground. "Wyatt, crack the window and ask them what the fuck they think they're doing." Wyatt did as asked. "Hey fellas, mind telling me why you're assaulting my navigator? Usually that's my job." He turned back to Bubba, "We were supposed to land here right? The CRM-114 didn't decode it wrong, did it?" "No, this is it." "Gentlemen, you are ordered to remove yourself from that cockpit or we'll shoot." A voice yelled up from the ground. "Like hell. You shoot me and this tub of shit doesn't move!" Wyatt yelled back. Bubba thumped him on the shoulder and leaned over to the window. "Who's ordering me to move?" "Colonel James Williams, commander of Cheyenne Mountain Complex." "Why the cold welcome, Colonel?" Bubba's voice spat out the rank as if he didn't like the taste. "We got word that saboteurs had hijacked this aircraft, gotta make sure you're the real deal." "How do I know you're who you say you are? After all, you could be an imposter too. And by the looks of how you're treating my friend there, I'm none too inclined to come say 'hello'." Bubba drawled. "Well, I guess you'll just have to trust me, won't you?" "Could I get the same treatment?" "Well, as the man said 'there are those with guns and those who dig.' Now get your asses down here," the voice threatened. Bubba turned to Wyatt and Mounds. "I think he means business and I don't think he's going to be too kind to Cupcake until we comply." He turned all the way in his seat and looked back at Hitman who was hovering in the hatch. "Leave your weapons on board, we'll see what happens if we play nice." "Ok, we're coming down, we aren't armed. I hope you treat us better than our friend." He yelled down. "Ok, be ready for anything. We don't have much leeway, though. There's not much of an escape plan here. Mounds you hang back. Down come out unless I tell you too." Cautiously, Hitman unlocked and opened the hatch. He dropped lightly to the floor below and looked around. As soon as he stood up a foot caught him behind the knee forcing him to the ground. He didn't struggle, hoping that would keep him from being roughed up too badly. Next, Wyatt and Bubba dropped down. They too were forced to their knees then had their hands cuffed behind their backs. A man walked up to them, obviously in charge. "I am Colonel Williams, who's in charge?" "I am." Bubba told him. "Good, who are you and where is your fifth man?" "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Mark Silver and there is no fifth man," he paused slightly before "man". "Colonel Silver, it is my understanding that a B-52 requires a crew of 5. Where is your fifth?" Bubba assed the scene, noting that there were no women in their "welcome committee". He thought back to the reports he has seen describing how women had been more susceptible to the flu than men. "We do have a fifth crewmember, but we do not have a fifth man if you get my meaning." When Colonel Williams nodded he continued, "I'd prefer to keep my other crewmember on board the aircraft while we work this out if you don't mind." "I understand where you are going but I'm afraid I have to see your whole crew. I can't just take your word. How do I know you haven't stolen this aircraft and brought it here because there was nowhere else to land?" "Because no one knows about this airfield? Besides, you can't just hop in the plane, hit a button and start her up." He laughed, "it takes some effort to get this tub of shit off the ground. I doubt a person could hijack it even if they wanted to." "Stop stalling and get your crewmember down here." "Fine. Mounds? Come on down." Mounds dropped lightly out of the hatch and looked around. 'This is like my damn nightmare' she thought as she saw her four crewmates handcuffed and kneeling on the floor. She took two steps away from the plane toward Colonel Williams and got kicked in the back of the knees. She went to the ground hard and fell forward onto her stomach. Angry she rolled to her back, feet coming up to kick her attacker. He lunged at her, trying to get control of her hands to cuff her but she kicked viciously at him as he moved forward. "Mounds!" Bubba yelled, "Mounds, stop!" Bubba felt a surge of pride that she'd really learned the self-defense moves he'd taught her but he hope she'd see how outnumbered she was. She didn't hear him as her adrenaline surged. Mounds popped to her feet, balancing her weight to the balls of her feet and readying herself to be attacked again. The man who'd tried to cuff her was staggering to his feet as a second sacked her around the waist. Mounds turned as she fell, palm striking he man's face as she heard Bubba yelling at her to stop. Once on the ground he grabbed her hands and pinned them to the floor. Mound struggled against him. "Oh yeah, keep that up sugar tits." He leaned over her and whispered. Mounds kicked at him violently until she heard a gun cocking. "Stop. Now. Or I shoot you." Colonel Williams' voice was calm as she went dead still. "Cuff her." The man on top of her leered at her as he turned her onto her stomach. "Mmm, I like them feisty. What do you say honey? Maybe we can do this again later?" He whispered into her ear so that Colonel Williams couldn't hear. "What kind of outfit do you run here Colonel Williams? Do you always let your staff sergeants assault officers or is today a special case?" Bubba demanded. "Search them for IDs." Colonel Williams walked over to Bubba. "Look, if your IDs are legitimate you will be uncuffed. As for your crewmember if she didn't fight us I'm sure they wouldn't have needed to use such force." Bubba doubted it and from the look on Wyatt and Hitman's faces they didn't believe it either. Bubba couldn't see Cupcake's face from where he was but the way he gave a twitch in his handcuffs made Bubba hope he'd keep his mouth in check. Each person's ID was pulled and verified against a list. One by one they were uncuffed and allowed to stand. Mounds was the last to be uncuffed. As she stood her knees buckled and Hitman had to move quickly to grab her before she hit the floor. He put an arm around her and pulled her to stand behind Bubba. "You ok?" He whispered in her ear as the two Colonels exchanged heated words. "Yes, I'm just dizzy. I need to eat something. I think I'm going to pass out." She discreetly rubbed her aching knees and wrists. Her heart was still racing from thinking her nightmares were about to come true. "We'll get you something soon." He pulled her in close, not caring if someone saw it and misinterpreted his intentions. Mound leaned her head on his should, shaking slightly. "Gentlemen, lady, if you follow me, we'll debrief you in the command room." Colonel Williams nodded his head towards the interior of the complex, indicating that they should follow him. "There are a lot of things I think you've missed." The group followed him slowly to the command room. Bubba lead the way, followed by Wyatt and Hitman supporting Mounds, with Cupcake in the rear. They were taken through dim corridors that were layered with dust and dirt. "This facility hadn't seen much use until recently. We only moved in here a few months back. However, it is well stocked so if you need to replenish any supplies let us know, we can probably accommodate it." Colonel Williams explained. Finally, they reached the command room. Colonel Williams instructed his guards to watch the door to the room and that they were not to be disturbed. "I'm sorry for the cold welcome, as I said, we were warned that it might not be an American crew that landed that jet. Now, you were aware that Jelly 45 crashed this morning, correct?" When they nodded back at him he continued. "That's only the start of it. As of right now, you are the only nuclear capability the US has. I'm sorry, but your aircraft is one of the most valuable assets we have right now. There are only a few things that classify higher than it and one of them is in this room." He looked at Mounds. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but by all accounts, you are one of only 33 hundred American women left alive." ------- Chapter 3 "You have to be joking. There were still over 150 million Americans alive when we last heard." Wyatt said following Colonel Williams stunning announcement. "When last you heard, yes. But a second round of flu swept through and killed 99.9% of those who survived and this one hit women hardest." Colonel Williams sighed and looked away. "We don't know if it was biological warfare or just our damned luck but either way there are only roughly 150 thousand Americans left, not 150 million. Most of them are military as well since they got the vaccines fastest." "Jesus, what else have we missed?" Bubba leaned on the table, head in his hands. The whole crew realized that anyone they knew outside of the military was probably dead. "The politicians are coming close to an agreement, which is promising. The only reason why we can't say conclusively that this was a biological attack is that our intelligence has shown that China and Russia have taken similar losses. All three countries are almost to the level of third world countries and seem like they would rather stop fighting and rebuild than try to kill each other off." Colonel Williams motioned to one of his Airmen to turn on the projector. The projector showed a map with several areas highlighted. "With such a small population we're trying to consolidate so that we can preserve as much life as possible. We expect that you will continue Shell-Game until Three Party negotiations are completed then I expect you will be stationed with your jet somewhere safe." "What about Minot? There's already infrastructure in place there for the jet. Can we just go back?" Mound asked. "I'm sorry Captain Ward; Minot was destroyed by a long range missile strike shortly after you departed. It was a total loss." Mound bowed her head, thinking of all the friends she had there who would now be dead. "I know this is a lot to absorb. Please, take some time, rest, relax, and restock any supplies we can provide. Colonel Silver may I speak to you privately?" He dismissed the crew and his Airman, "Airman Taylor, please show the crew to their bunks." The Airman nodded and led the crew out. Once they had left Williams turned back to Bubba. "I'm sure you're a perceptive enough man to know what I'm facing here. My men, and we have only men here, are tired, scared, and depressed. I'm holding this thing together on only the thinnest sliver of sanity. As much as I would like to let you rest here I cannot guarantee your safety, especially that of your female Captain. Do not," he stressed the word, "let her wander by herself. You saw what happened earlier. I can only control them so far before they'd get it into their heads to kill me off and go rogue." He shook his head. "She must now be your most precious commodity." "I understand, sir. I'll let my men know." "I know you probably don't like me right now, but I'm on your side, I truly am. That pile of bolts out there might be older than the two of us but right now it scares the pants off our enemies." He pulled out a piece of paper and began scribbling. "Do what you can to prepare to leave. Take any supplies you need: guns, food, ammo, clothes, whatever. We've assembled quite a bit in the last few months so we have a lot to offer. Also, don't trust my men. If anything," he looked hard at Bubba, "anything, looks or feels wrong this is my personal number, call me." "Yes, sir." "Airman Taylor is assigned to you; he's one of few I trust. Go to him if you need anything and I'm not around. He can tell you where the mess is, supply, anything." "Understood." Bubba put his hand out, startling Williams who didn't expect such courtesy. ------- "You're bunked here," Airman Taylor explained. "This suite has 3 rooms, two bunks apiece, and each bedroom has its own bathroom. If you'd like we can go pick up supplies or grab food." He could see the whole crew perk up at the mention of food. "Give us 15 minutes to unpack, assess what we need and get on clean uniforms. I don't know about these pigs but I need a shower." Hitman smiled at the Airman. "Come back for us then please." "Yes, sir." He smiled back at Hitman and left the room. "Not bad digs, Hitman. Three rooms, 5 of us, I call dibs on a room to myself!" Cupcake smirked. "Nice try, I call the room to myself, you jackasses smell bad!" Mound stated. "Fuck that! No pulling the chick card. You can bunk with Wyatt; he's the best smelling of the lot of us!" "Fuck you both, I'll sleep on the damn couch here," he gave it a test squeeze, "Mounds you can have the room to yourself." Mounds gave him a little smile. "No, she won't." Bubba walked into the room. "Sir?" Mound looked at him quizzically. "You don't go anywhere or do anything without one of us around. That includes sleeping." Mounds said a quiet 'Fuck' to herself. "Yes, it's like that, crew. Colonel Williams wants to help us but doesn't trust his men to keep from pulling some kinda bullshit." He looked towards the door. "He says his Airman is trustworthy but other than that we can't trust them. Sorry Mounds pick a roommate." "Let me think about it, sir." "Take as much time as you need, just don't go to sleep alone-" "I wish my mother could hear you say that!" Mounds injected. "- Let's get our supply list together and go grab chow. Then we'll pick up what we need and start stocking the jet. I don't know about you fellas but I'm hoping for another trip to a remote location." Bubba pulled out a few pieces of paper and they started to make their list. "Hitman, I also have some news for you." "Sir?" Hitman sounded wary. "You've been promoted to the rank of Major as of a month or so ago." He smiled. "We'll pick you up some new rank and hold a little promotion ceremony before we leave again." Hitman chuckled, "And here I was hoping to slide that one by." "Nice try, you knew the promotion date before our first flight." Bubba punched him lightly in the arm. "Rally your troops, Major. I'm taking a quick shower before we eat." "Oh, me too!" Mounds jumped up and started digging through her pack for her toiletries making mental notes of what she was low on. "Hey Mounds, need a spotter? Who knows what lecherous men might be lurking in the shower!" Hitman gave her a friendly wink. "Fuck you Hitman." She laughed then straightened suddenly, "I mean, sir." "Oh calm down, I'm still the same guy as I was an hour ago." She smiled and went into the room next to where Bubba had ducked into. Once the door shut Hitman turned back to Wyatt and Cupcake looking grim. "Alright, you heard what Bubba said. She doesn't go anywhere without one of us. Anyone want to volunteer to be her roommate?" "Don't look at me, she'd probably rather kick me in the balls right now." Cupcake said. "Wyatt?" "Ditto. You can have her!" Wyatt shook his head. He liked Mounds well enough but did not need to deal with the kind of drama bunking with her would bring. Even if they didn't have sex, the others would probably assume they did. Hell, after this long with no other women around the idea was tempting. Mounds was a nice chick and certainly nice to look at ... his mind started to wander until he pulled it back and reminded himself that she was a great friend and crewmate. "Fine, we'll make sure she's ok with it. By the way Cupcake, why does she always act like that with you?" Cupcake shrugged. Wyatt and Hitman looked at him. "What? I don't know!" He said defensively. "Cut the crap. She wasn't like this two weeks ago. What happened?" "Fuck, man." He made to stand up but Hitman pushed him roughly back down. Hitman wasn't usually prone to violence but he considered anything having to do with Mounds a special case. "What the fuck, Cupcake? You tell me or I'll just punch you until you tell me." "Look it was back in North Carolina, ok. I was sleeping and she tried to wake me up. I guess, uhm ... I was a little disoriented when I woke up and I think I scared her." "Like when you woke her up today?" "Yeah, something like that." He looked down at his feet. "Fine. I won't press but if you give me any reason to think you're fucking up I'll make a eunuch out of you." Hitman ran his hand over his unruly hair as Bubba came back from his shower. His hair was still wet and his flight suit looked clean. "Are we ready to go?" Bubba asked Hitman. "Almost sir, Mounds is still in the shower." "Ok. Everyone is clear on how we treat her?" They nodded, "I doubt they'll let her fly too much longer. She'll probably get some kind of desk job after this to preserve her precious baby making bits." Just then Mound walked out her long hair in a damp tangle on her shoulders. "Fat chance of that, sir." She said as she toweled her hair dry. "I don't think you'll have much of a choice, Mounds." Bubba's voice took on a serious tone. "You are correct about that sir, but I'm not much use as a walking brood mare." She calmly continued to towel her hair even when Bubba pinned her with a hard stare. "Say again?" They all looked at her, confused. "I'm barren." "What?" The silence that filled the room was choking. "I ... uhm..." She paused, looking embarrassed. "I don't tell many people this but I was married when I was 19 to an older man. I met him while waitressing in college. After 4 months of marriage I hadn't conceived so we went to a fertility clinic. There's eggs the basket but it's about a million to one chance I'd ever had a child." She blushed slightly as she continued, "He ... uh ... he annulled the marriage two weeks after he found that out saying he wouldn't have consented to marry me if he'd have known that." She looked around the room at the shocked faces of her crewmates. "Sorry, a little too much reality I guess." "I'm sorry April, I didn't know." Bubba looked slightly embarrassed. "Its ok sir, legally, I was never married so I usually keep it to myself and being unable to have kids really only matters when you're married I guess." She didn't look too upset. The awkward pause that followed was broken by Airman Taylor knocking on the door. "Sir, if you're ready, I can show you to the mess and supply now." ------- Chapter 4 As the crew followed Airman Taylor to the mess hall Mounds looked at Cupcake. He looked tense and nervous. She wasn't shocked. She'd heard most of their conversation through the door of the room she'd gone into. She knew Hitman had pressed Cupcake about why she was so skittish around him and had deliberately delayed coming out until she heard Bubba enter. Hitman still didn't know the whole story and she suspected he'd have been more pissed if he knew it. She thought back to two weeks or so ago when they'd been in North Carolina. ------- N.C. - Two weeks ago A shot echoed through the trees, sounding unnaturally loud. Hitman and Mounds watched as the 8-point buck they had followed dropped to the ground. "Nice shot, Mounds! I can't believe you hit that with a nine." She shrugged and put her Beretta back in its holster. "Let's go take a look at him. He's probably bigger than the two of us can haul." They jogged over to the dead deer. Mounds' shot had been true, entering just under the buck's ear. Hitman whistled appreciatively. "Guess I won't be pissing you off anytime soon!" He thumped her jovially on the back only to have to grab at her as even his light slap almost knocked her off her feet. He kept his hand lightly on her shoulder and gave her a concerned look. "Damn glad we shot him, you haven't been eating enough again." "I eat, just not a lot." "Lies. You nibble, you don't eat." She shrugged and reached to lift the buck's feet. "Fuck it, he's too big. We're going to have grab one of the other guys to get him back. Want to start dressing him while I go wake someone up?" "Sure, but I don't think he'll fit in my flightsuit!" Hitman chuckled at his own joke and Mounds shook her head. "Cupcake's probably awake by now and if not him, I'll grab Wyatt." "Sounds good. Here's my GPS mark, don't get lost!" Mounds nodded and started off at a jog back to the airport's tarmac. They had landed a few hours earlier after a long flight that morning. Hitman had woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of the CRM chattering away and woke them. By five AM they were airborne and facing a nine hour flight. Cupcake and Wyatt had grumbled about the length of the flight but Bubba had rationalized that it was good deception against an attack. Wyatt and Cupcake had kept at him saying it was a useless waste of gas but Bubba stood firm. Before the two could get obnoxious Hitman suggested taking a low-level route on their way to the next base. Wyatt and Cupcake were then so engrossed in the flight they didn't have the time to whine. Mounds had spent most of her time glued to her screens, searching frequencies for any signs of TV, cell phone, or radio signals. She grew more and more quiet as the flight went on and no signals appeared. "No signals on the scopes Bubba, mind if I sit IP?" After receiving an affirmative Mounds went to the instructor pilot's seat to watch the landing. "Oh god, where are we?" "Piedmont Triad International. Most of the runway is still usable," Wyatt told her. "But ... but where's the city? Is that Greensboro?" The three of them looked over the burnt out town. "Yeah, I guess so." "Man, this is close to where I grew up; I can't believe how bad it looks!" They had landed without problems and parked the jet close to the nearest fuel pump, facing the runway to allow for the fastest possible exit. After refueling the jet Bubba, Wyatt, and Cupcake had said they wanted a nap and headed for the FBO. When they'd tried to enter they could smell death and decaying flesh had walked right back out. They decided to curl up under the jet to sleep, something they had all done before. It was Mounds who'd suggested they try to shoot a couple of deer for dinner after seeing a small herd grazing at the far end of the runway. Hitman offered to join her when the others said they'd rather nap and eat an MRE later. Mounds and Hitman had taken off at a jog for the herd of deer armed with an M-9 and two survival knives each. Hitman also carried a compound bow he'd "liberated" from a Wal-Mart a few stops back. Mounds didn't approve of him stealing it but there had been no one in the town to miss it. The deer had proved ridiculously easy to track. They moved slowly, not even spooking when Mounds had tripped on a root and bounced off the nearby tree. As she headed back she could see two lumps under the tail curled up in blankets. When she got closer she could see that the two lumps were Bubba and Wyatt. Not wanting her pilots to lose their precious beauty sleep she tiptoed lightly past them to the hatch guessing that Cupcake was asleep on the bunk so he could hear the CRM printing if it went off. Mounds quietly opened the hatch then looked back towards the tail to see if the noise had woken the other two. It hadn't so she climbed quietly inside. Just as she had suspected Cupcake was curled up on the bunk, snoring. "Cupcake?" She called quietly as she climbed the ladder between the upper and lower decks. He didn't respond so she gently shook his shoulder. Cupcake jerked awake and before she knew what was happening he grabbed her wrist, rolled off the bed and pinned her to the aisle floor. "Cupcake! Fuck, get off me!" Mound squirmed beneath him but her wrists were pinned above her head. Cupcake let out a stream of explicatives, blinking wildly in the dark as he tried to wake up fully. "April?" He leaned down to look at her more closely, not releasing her wrists. Mounds struggled harder but one of his knees was pinning her right thigh down. "Who the fuck else, Matt? Let me go!" She kneed his side with her left knee. "Seriously, you're hurting my wrist." "Stop moving." Cupcake's voice went flat. "Please, stop moving." She paused for a second and could feel him going hard. "Matt, let me go. I mean it. This isn't funny," she pleaded as fear coursed through her. "I'm sorry, you just ... Oh god, I don't really want to." Mounds started struggling again and kneed him in the ribs again, harder. His breath went out in a whoosh and he released her wrists. Mounds rolled to her left then scrambled down the ladder. "Stay the fuck away from me!" she yelled up at him. Stumbling, she ran towards the tail of the jet. Her anger peaked as she paused at the bomb bay to pull herself together. Silently, she debated not risking waking anyone else up but knew she and Hitman couldn't drag the buck back by themselves. Finally, she steeled her nerves and woke Wyatt. She quietly explained what was needed and he followed her back to Hitman and the buck. Hitman had the deer mostly dressed down by the time they got back. It took only one look at her to know something was wrong but he didn't ask what happened. They had packed up the meat and taken it back to the jet without incident. ------- Lunch was standard cafeteria food, unappetizing to most people, but the whole crew reveled in the ability to choose different dishes that they didn't have to cook. Wyatt and Cupcake both took two entrees and Mounds would have gone with just one but Bubba dropped a second on her tray before she could turn away. She quirked an eyebrow at him in question but smiled as she turned back to the line. They ate silently, digging in and only commenting on foods they liked. "Gentlemen, ma'am, if you're done I can take you down to supply now." Airman Taylor had come back again. "Sure thing, Airman Taylor. Here's a list of things we've either found useful or run out of. Think you can accommodate?" Bubba handed the list to Taylor. "Most of it, sir." He lead them through more musty corridors to the supply hangar. The hangar was enormous with row after row of movable shelving units. They had seen similar at their base in Minot, but hadn't seen it all in one room. The ceilings were over thirty feet tall and they could see forklifts around the room for accessing the top selves. Bubba split them into two groups to follow the supply troops around gathering equipment. He and Hitman followed one staff sergeant around looking for weapons and camping supplies while Wyatt, Cupcake, and Mounds follow another Airman to get clothes and MREs. "Check this out!" Cupcake flipped open a multi-tool to display the various blades. "I think a couple of these will come in handy for maintenance inside the jet. Those big screwdrivers are great on engines but they don't work as well in small spaces." The Airman nodded and threw five in their big green A-3 bag. "How about a couple sets of PT gear? Every time we go somewhere warmer and I think about how much I'd like something other than this bag to wear." Mounds started walking towards a shelf full. Cupcake poked Wyatt hard in the shoulder and motioned for him to follow her. "Whatcha think Wyatt, three sets a person?" she asked him, ignoring Cupcake. "Yeah, sure." Wyatt looked back at Cupcake, trying to guess his size then grabbed a handful of shirts and stuffed them in a bag. "Do they have any XXLs?" Wyatt, at 6'4" was the tallest on the crew. "Yeah, even a couple smalls for me." Mounds held up the small next to Wyatt's XXL and giggled. "That's the first time I've heard you laugh in a while, girl. You're gonna give a guy a complex!" Wyatt smiled down at her and gave her a quick one-armed hug. At one time him calling her 'girl' would have rankled her feminist heart but Wyatt was a southern boy, and she had come to realize he didn't mean anything negative by it. "Don't worry, no woman ever complained about a guy being too big," she told him. They finished snagging undershirts, socks, and more flightsuits. As they went to rejoin Cupcake Mound caught sight of a set of electric clippers. "Ha! Now I can give you hippies haircuts!" "Oh yeah, what about you? Can we go GI Jane on your hair?" Wyatt tugged on a lock of her dark chocolate hair. "What? Look like some kinda butch? Wyatt, I'm not that kinda girl!" She mockingly batted her eyelashes at him and gave him a syrupy grin. She turned to grab a second set just in case the first set broke before they could restock, missing the odd look Wyatt gave her. The whole group met up an hour later with six bags full of supplies. Bubba poked through the bags making sure they had everything before asking Airman Taylor to lead them back to their rooms. Once in the main room, Mound announced she'd be doing haircuts in the bathroom for anyone who wanted one. They men figured out who would go first then asked Airman Taylor to bring them some flight planning supplies. Bubba and Hitman set up on the small coffee table trying to guess their next stop while Cupcake sorted the gear into different bags for each of them. Mounds was checking the various blade guards when Wyatt walked into her bathroom. "Welcome to April's House o' Haircuts. What'll it be?" "Two on the top, one on the sides, ma'am," Wyatt told her then sat down on the closed toilet lid. "One military special coming up." Mounds smiled and began trimming his hair. She worked briskly, the fresh blades cutting quickly through his hair. "Ahh, the handsome man I knew comes out!" Mounds said, smiling at him as she finished. She ran her fingers lightly through his hair, checking to see that it was even. Wyatt took her hand and kissed the back of it. "Well done, m'lady. You take such good care of us." He stood up, brushed off the hairs, and walked out not seeing the slightly shocked expression on Mounds face. They were not an especially touchy-touchy group. A few jocular back slaps now and then but for the most part they were hands-off with Mounds as if they'd catch cooties. Wyatt had always treated her like a kid sister. For Wyatt to not only to grab her hand but to kiss it too told her that the group dynamic was shifting. "Cupcake, you're up," Wyatt told him then ducked into one of the other bedrooms with his new PT uniform to wash the stray hairs off. Cupcake walked into where Mounds was and plopped down on the toilet seat. "No guard, just the clippers, please," Cupcake told her. Mounds nodded and cut his hair without a word. When she was done clicked off the clippers and leaned on the counter, arms across her chest. Cupcake saw her trying not to look pissed and failing, "Look. I'm sorry about what happened in North Carolina. I didn't mean to scare you." "I'm fine. Send in someone else." Cupcake walked out muttering to himself about bitchy women and the real meaning of the word "fine." "Next victim," he said as he settled back into sorting. "You want to go or should I?" Bubba asked Hitman. Hitman shrugged so Bubba left the planning to him and walked into Mounds' bathroom. "Welcome to April's House o' Haircuts. What'll it be, sir?" Bubba smiled at her and she smiled back as he settled onto the seat. "The usual, two on top, one on the sides." "Another military special, coming right up." Mounds trimmed him hair, noting that his hair was almost half grey now. When she'd first met him at his change of command ceremony two years previous he'd only had a light dusting of grey at the temples. "Ok, sir. All done." Mounds said as she clicked off the clippers. "Thanks, April. Did you get everything you needed today?" "Yes sir, more ammo for the M-9 and a nifty little flashlight to replace the one I lost back in California." "How's your stomach?" "Full!" "Good. Make sure you eat enough at dinner too, don't make me force feed you!" "Yes, sir." "I'll send Hitman in next." Bubba walked out and tapped Hitman on the back as he sat down. "You're up." Hitman walked quietly to the bathroom. He could hear Mounds humming softly to herself and paused at the door. Her back was to him as she wiped down the clippers. He watched her and was surprised to note how graceful her movements were. After years of dealing primarily with type-A, hard charging men, he hardly noticed that while her personality was similar to everyone else she still maintained a feminine grace underneath. "You used to be a dancer." It was more of a statement than a question. Mounds jumped a little when she heard his voice. "How did you know?" she asked, quickly regaining her composure. "I can see it in the way you move. I guess I hadn't noticed it before. Your movements are deliberate but graceful." He settled himself on the seat. "I danced until high school when I started focusing on gymnastics, which I then dropped in college to do triathlons." "It still shows." He smiled up at her, "Same cut as Bubba's, please." "I dunno, you aren't that grey!" Mounds replied but noted that even Hitman's hair, once pure black, was starting to grey at the temples. She ran her fingers through his hair, trying to get it to stand up more so that clippers would run through it easily. "Hmm, that feels nice." Hitman lowered his chin a bit as she toyed with his hair. "My wife used to rub my head for me, back when we were dating." "How long has it been now?" Mounds asked gently as she clicked the clippers back on and started working on his hair. She'd known Hitman for over three years but had never asked him about his wife. Come to think of it, she'd never heard him talk about her; she'd only head about her through other people. "Oh, over a decade now since the accident. I feel for Bubba, I think this is the first time it's really sinking in that his wife and family are gone. I don't have much advice for him, it hurts, it always will. It just hurts a little less over time." "If you don't mind me asking, why didn't you get remarried?" Mounds switched guards and began working on the sides. "I threw myself into work after I lost Mina. When I'd finally come out of my grief and was to a point I thought I was ready to start dating I was so involved in work that I couldn't find time. I guess I just gave up after that." "I think I can understand that a bit. After Mark annulled our marriage and I knew I couldn't have kids I was so angry and bitter. By the time I'd come to grips with it I'd thrown myself at my career head first and there was no getting off that ride." She gave a quiet laugh. "You sound so much older than you are, Mounds." "I know, 27 going on 80, right? Maturity comes from experience, not age. Maybe when this is all over I'll find someone and adopt. That is if any children live through this." Mounds clicked the clipper off and ran her hands through Hitman's hair. He smiled and leaned into her touch. "Thanks April." He took her hand, ran it down his cheek, then kissed it. He could hear her breathe in sharply. When Wyatt had kissed her hand it has merely been a courtly gesture. When Hitman had done it she felt a sudden surge of emotion. He let her hand go and she turned away from him to pack up the clippers. "If you need a trim later let me know. I've actually cut women's hair before." Mounds pulled her hair out of its bun, letting it fall around her shoulders and settle on the tops of her breasts. "Meh. It's been about 6 months, might be time for a trim. I'll let you know." She scooped it back up, neatly twirling it up into its bun and Hitman walked out. She hurried to the edge of the bathroom after him, "Wait, Henry?" He stopped in the bedroom door way and turned around. Mounds looked at the floor, "Bubba said I need a roommate, do you mind?" "Nah. I'll bring my stuff in here." He walked out and sat back down with Bubba who was almost done figuring out where they could go with the fuel they had. "She asked me to room with her while we're here," he said quietly to Bubba. "Okay." Bubba put down his pen and looked up at Hitman. "You know my usual rules on fraternization don't really apply here." They locked eyes for a moment. "Just don't fuck up the status quo. Got me?" "Yes, sir." Hitman knew if anything happened between them it could throw off their balance as a crew but someone had to be her roommate per Bubba's orders and that was bound to cause some tension. ------- Chapter 5 Most of the crew spent the remainder of the afternoon playing Texas Hold 'Em poker with Wyatt's battered pack of cards. The cards had special meaning for all of them since they had been sent to the squadron last time there were deployed. The last time they had been deployed the squadron's spouses had been pissed that they were unfortunate enough to pull a deployment over Christmas. However, not only had their families come through by sending homemade cookies by the box load but Boeing, the B-52s maker, had sent them an enormous box of goodies. Wyatt had found a few sets of cards under a bag of candies and had swiped a set for himself. An hour after Mounds had finished giving haircuts Airman Taylor knocked on their door asking Bubba to join Colonel Williams in the command room. Bubba cast a look around the room, giving Hitman a significant look. "Hitman, you're in charge until I return, don't forget what we've talked about." Hitman nodded then turned back to his hand as the door closed. "What do you suppose that was about?" Cupcake asked then mucked his hand as the flop came up. "Dunno, maybe he's getting some more info on the politics of all this." Wyatt tapped his cards, hoping to get through a hand without dropping more than the ante. "It'd be good to hear what in the hell all's been going on while we were hopping all over the country." Mounds debated with herself briefly then raised the bet two M&Ms. Sighing, she plucked a few from her pile. Hitman snorted. "You just ate half your ante there Mounds." Hitman laughed loudly as she made a face at him. He gave his cards a quick glance then followed her bet. "Yeah, but they're so good!" She closed her eyes, savoring the taste. At one time she might have sneered at American chocolate for being 'too waxy' but after six months on the run they were heaven. "Women and chocolate ... isn't that supposed to be the same chemicals as orgasms for ya'll or something?" Wyatt asked as he too mucked his hand. Hitman glanced at Mounds, trying to read her expression. She looked a little miffed but he couldn't tell if it was from the chocolate/ sex comment or her hand. "Not quite, but since I'd previously been getting neither, I'll take what I can get." Wyatt turned over the next card. "Damn. I mean ... crap. I'm a terrible poker player." She tapped her cards knowing that Hitman would push a big bet to see how bad her cards were. "Oh come on, you don't even take a little 'personal time'" Cupcake air quoted with his fingers, "when we have down time?" As Mounds had suspected Hitman pushed in five M&Ms. "Nope, can't say I do." She blushed faintly then followed Hitman's bet in. Wyatt flipped over the river card and she gave a small gasp. "Now that's sexy," Cupcake told her. "What," she snorted, "that I don't masturbate?" She glanced at her cards again then looked up at Hitman. He regarded her with a blank face. "No, that sexy little gasp you give when you're happy," Cupcake said and pointed at her cards. He looked at Hitman, "I think you're screwed here, brother." "You know, this is a lot harder when you're pointing out all my tells," Mounds fumed but pushed in another five M&Ms. She looked at Hitman again. His face was almost blank but she could see the barest hint of a smile. "What, still think you can get the drop on me?" she asked him. "Yup." He followed her bet, "Show 'em!" Mounds turned over a pair of aces. Wyatt snorted. "Never bet like that on pocket rockets, they're no good." Wyatt said. "I know, but it's all I've got! What do you have Hitman?" "Nothing," he threw in his cards, "but I think I've got your tells worked out now." He smirked and looked at Cupcake. "Jerks," Mounds muttered. They kept at it for another hour until Wyatt went all in and was knocked out. After he got pushed out he got up for more water when there was a sharp knock at the door. "I got it. You guys need anything while I'm up?" Headshakes were all he got back so he went to the door, two men stood on the other side. "Can I help you gentlemen?" The two looked up at him, obviously not having expected him to open the door. "Uhh, yes. Colonel Williams asked us to come get you." "What for?" "I don't know, sir, he said to bring you to one of the briefing rooms." "Ok, give us a second." He shut the door and walked quickly back to the poker players. "Guys," he said quietly. "There are two men out there asking us to go to a briefing room with them. I got a wonky feeling about it. Bubba said not to trust anyone but that Airman Taylor guy." They nodded. Hitman stood up and walked to the door. He opened it again to see the two men fuming slightly. "Gentlemen, we're sorry but we're under orders not to leave this room without our escort and since you are not him we'll just have to wait until he comes back." The taller of the two glared at him as the other glanced in at Mounds. "Sir," the taller man put his hand on the door, pushing slightly, "You and your crew need to come with us." Having seen the look the other man had given Mounds Hitman made a snap decision. He swept his hand down the door, knocked the taller man's hand off, then slammed the door shut and locked the deadbolt. He walked briskly back to the game. "Looks like trouble. They seemed a little too anxious to get us out of this room. If it were a legit request I'm sure they would have sent Airman Taylor." They heard the two men pound on the door briefly then it went silent. "Let's leave the doors locked until Bubba gets back." The other three nodded then turned back to the game. No further intrusions occurred before Bubba returned another forty-five minutes later. When they told him what had happened his expression grew dark. "I expected something like this. We really can't trust anyone but we've only got another twelve hours until we move again." He sighed and ran his hand over his hair. "Airman Taylor will be back in a few minutes. Let's go get our dinner then grab what crew rest we can before we have to burn out of here again." As soon as they walked into the mess hall Bubba regretted suggesting dinner. While getting his briefing on current politics Colonel Williams had told him that their mess hall offered meals to go if that suited their mission planning best. He hadn't caught that it was a subtle offer to keep them out of the public eye. As they walked into the mess hall all eyes turned to them and the men started muttering. While they stood in line Bubba couldn't help but notice the dark looks shot their way. Most disturbing were the looks the other men shot at Mounds. As much as he could, he shielded her from their view with his own body. "Stand next to me April, I don't trust this at all," he whispered in her ear. She looked up at him and he could see the fear in her eyes through her dark lashes. They moved as a unit to towards an empty table and ate silently while trying to ignore the overt looks in their direction. They finished their meal as quickly as they could then had Airman Taylor return them to their rooms once more. "Taylor, we should be leaving in the next few hours. Please come get us at two." The Airman nodded looking slightly uneasy. "Yes, sir. And sir? Please lock your door." Bubba smiled and nodded back at him. He turned back to his crew who were standing tensely in the common area. "Get what sleep you can and have your personal bag ready for when we walk out the door." They nodded and went to their rooms. Wyatt and Cupcake to one, Hitman and Mounds to another, and Bubba to his own. In their room Wyatt and Cupcake packed their bags and readied their guns. Hitman and Mounds did similarly. "Man, I haven't seen a group of people look so angry since the last hockey game I was at," Mound told Hitman as she finished rolling up a pair of socks. "Yeah, same. I'm glad to be getting the fuck out of here." He folded his last shirt up, "You sure you're ok with me being in here?" Mounds looked across her bed at him. "Yeah. I mean, I most comfortable around you and Bubba. And it'd just be weird staying with Bubba." She took her PT shirt and shorts and went into the bathroom to change and brush her teeth. Hitman mulled over what, if anything, that meant as he rummaged around his own PT clothes. Did that mean she thought of him in a brotherly sort of fashion? He guessed that was safe. While Mounds was attractive, and in another time and place, he would give serious though to making a pass at her, being on the run with nukes wasn't exactly the ideal place. As Mounds came out, he still hadn't figured out where his extra PT shirt was. Deciding that sleeping shirtless wasn't the worst thing ever he walked to the bathroom without it. Hitman changed, brushed his teeth, and washed his face trying not to notice the extra grey in his hair. He was somewhat surprised Mounds hadn't commented on it earlier while cutting it. Despite the fact that Bubba had been in the Air Force longer than him and was higher ranking, they were the same age. Hitman had come into the military late, almost needing a waiver to be an aviator, and his age was really starting to show. When he got back into the room Mounds had already curled up under her blanket and was facing away from him, presumable asleep already. He clicked off the light and curled up, hoping to get at least a few hours sleep before Bubba woke everyone up. After a few minutes he could hear Mound breathing even out and slow. He rolled over, looking at her in the dark. 'Of course she feels "comfortable" with you, you dolt, ' he thought to himself. 'She probably sees you as a brother since you're about a decade older than her.' He sighed and wasn't surprised to feel a twinge of disappointment. Hitman rolled onto his back, trying to find a comfortable position. He heard Mounds move in her sleep and give a little sigh. She rustled some more then gave a small whimper. Hitman sat up knowing she was likely having another one of the nightmares that had plagued her for the last few months. "Mounds?" he whispered in the dark. "April, are you awake?" He didn't dare try to shake her to wake her up after what had happened to Cupcake earlier. She whimpered again, then gave a little cry. "April!" He stood up and walked to the edge of her bed, "April, it's a dream, wake up." She gasped and whimpered again. Hitman couldn't take it, he shook her shoulder gently. Mounds snapped awake and lashed out with her arm. Hitman had been expecting it and dodged back. "Get away! I said, no!" she yelled. Hitman dove forward and covered her mouth with his hand, trying to keep her from waking everyone up. He sat down on her bed, dragging her to his chest. "Mounds, it's me, I'm not trying to hurt you. You were dreaming." He let go of her mouth. When she didn't start yelling at him again he continued, "You ok?" "Oh god, Henry I'm so sorry! Did I hit you?" She looked up at him, her cheek resting on his chest in the dim light. "No," he snorted, "I was expecting it." She let her head continue to rest on his chest. He tried not to think about the feel of her breath across his bare chest. "I can't sleep without these nightmares. It's driving me nuts." She lifted her head off his chest and sighed. "I'm sorry. I'll try to be quiet." He could see her look up at him then before he could react she kissed his cheek. "Thanks for waking me." There wasn't enough light for him to see her expression as she settled back down. A shiver of lust ran through him. Hitman didn't know what to do. Was that an invitation? Was it just a tit-for-tat after he'd kissed her hand earlier? Deciding to take the safe route, he stood up, turning away from her bed. "Henry?" Mounds' voice was quiet. "Yes?" he asked over his shoulder. "I ... I'm not asking you for sex, but ... would you sleep in my bed?" Her voice was quiet but clear in the dark room. Hitman didn't answer. He sat back down on the bed and began to run his hand down her silken hair. "Is that what you want?" "Yes." "Ok." He swung his legs up and tucked himself against her. He pulled her hips against his, her back to his chest. Very carefully he tucked her hair away from his face then nudged one of his legs between hers. He tucked one arm under her neck and wrapped the other around her waist, fingers curled under, but not quite touching her breast. She sighed and nestled against him. "I'm sorry I almost hit you," she whispered. "I know, you didn't know." He kissed her neck lightly just below her ear. She gave a little gasp. Hitman smiled to himself then whispered, "Your poker face needs work Mounds." "Mmm, I know. Now let's be good and get some sleep." ------- Chapter 6 Hitman woke to the feel of Mounds' ass pressed firmly against him. He was surprised, not only by their positioning, but that he'd slept at all. He hadn't thought he'd be able to sleep with her pressed up against him so temptingly. He listened intently to her slow, rhythmic breathing and guessed she was still asleep. He debated getting up and moving to his own bed but before he could get up she stirred against him. Mounds woke up feeling more refreshed than she had in many weeks. She slept deeply and without nightmares. She stiffened suddenly when she realized she was wrapped up in someone's arms. "Mounds, it's me," Hitman's voice whispered in her ear. His breath tickled across her ear and she took a deep breath in. "Mmm, Henry, good morning." She stretched her arms out above her head arching into him slightly. He lifted one hand and trailed it down her arm. "Good morning," he said then kissed the top of her shoulder. Heat coursed through her and started warming between her legs. She bit her lip. "Henry," she said warningly but he snaked one arm around her stomach again, fingers just below her breast. She could feel her nipples beginning to tighten and push against the fabric of her shirt. "We need to get up." "I know." He kissed her neck, "I just wanted to let you know I enjoyed sleeping next to you last night." She squeezed the hand that was on her belly. He dragged her closer to him and she could feel him harden against her. Her breath caught in a quick gasp as his hand trailed down her belly, between her legs. Her breath came faster as he lightly slipped his fingers under her shorts. "Henry," she whispered, "we really need to get up." Each breath she took made her push ever so slightly against his him making him wonder if she had any idea the effect she had on him. He slid one finger along her damp slit, pushing her lips open. With his other hand, he lightly rubbed her breast. A loud knock at the door interrupted them. "Mounds, Hitman. Let's go, there's trouble." Bubba voice came through the door and Mounds stiffened in his arms. "Thanks boss, we'll be out in a second," she hollered back to him. Mounds, trying to ignore his hand, rolled over and looked at Hitman. "Ok, we really need to go now." He could see lust burning in her eyes even though she tried hard to cover it. "So, let's go." Hitman winked at her then kissed he tip of her nose before rolling out of bed. Mounds took a deep breath to try to quell her frustration as she donned her flightsuit and boots. She stuffed her PT clothes into her bag then glanced over at Hitman. He smiled at her as he finished stuffing his shorts into his bag. Mounds smiled and shook her head. She sincerely hoped that they were able to conclude what had started later on. They heard Bubba knock on Cupcake and Wyatt's door then on theirs again. "Move it!" Bubba's hand was poised to knock on her door again as she opened it. He looked at her; eyes narrowed, and then moved on to Cupcake's door as it opened. "We've got a problem," he pointed at Airman Taylor. The Airman's nose was bloodied and he sported a bruise on his left cheek. "I'm sorry. The men are starting to riot and Colonel Williams is worried he won't be able to get you out before they break down this door." He opened the door, looking left and right before leading the way out. They followed him at a brisk walk. "Your jet is prepositioned for engine start but we need to hurry. The colonel has most of the men engaged in a mundane clean up but some of them are sure to figure out it's a diversion soon enough. How long does it take to start up and go?" "About two hours if we're lollygagging, forty-five minutes if we're not." Bubba answered. Taylor broke into a quick jog. "In that case, we need to move faster!" They got to the jet and broke up to do their preflight. Wyatt and Cupcake scrambled up the ladder to start the interior inspection while Bubba, Hitman, and Mounds checked outside the jet. They didn't want to screw around with nuclear weapons but losing them to a riot was worse than taking off with one possibly sabotaged. As they started heading back inside Taylor stopped them. "Sir, this is from Colonel Williams." He handed Bubba a note, "God speed, sir. I'll be on the ground radio while you start up. There's a fire extinguisher nearby in case you need it, just let me know." "Were you ever a crew chief, Airman?" Bubba asked him. "No, got a little training but didn't finish. I know enough to know where to point the extinguisher though." "Good enough. Inlet's best but shoot it in the tail pipes if you have to." Bubba scrambled up the ladder and threw himself into his seat. As he slid his headphones on he could see Taylor donning his own. "Sir, we're up to engine start." Wyatt waved his own gloved hand at him and Bubba dug for his gloves. "Ok Taylor, we're firing them up but, stay back." Bubba and Wyatt light up the burners on their first two engines. "Ignition on number four." Bubba watched the gauge, "Ignition on five." He turned to Wyatt. "Sir, I'm being told that they've heard you start up and are headed this way," Taylor's voice came across the interphone. "Colonel says he's pinned down and to get out now. Shit!" Bubba looked behind Taylor and could see a stream of bodies pouring out. He slammed the throttles for the two ignited engines forward and the jet lurched out of it parking spot. "Crew, strap in now, we're lighting them on the move." Bubba desperately worked to fire up the other six engines as Wyatt turned them out. "Taylor, duck!" He hoped the young Airman heard him as burning jet exhaust from the engines poured out the back into the hangar. Bubba watched as seven out of eight gauges showed the engines were lit. "I can't tell if there's anyone following us," Wyatt said. Bubba tried to turn enough in his seat to look behind but his view was blocked by the wing. "Me neither. Assume the worst, let's burn out on seven. We can light the last one in the air." He pulled the number two throttle back as Mounds started calling out the taxi checklist. "Hitman, is the radar up and running enough to get us out of here?" Bubba asked between checking fuel gauges and throttle settings. "Affirm." "Crew, you have thirty seconds to be as strapped in as you can before we are wheels up." Bubba told them as they pulled onto the runway. He looked at Wyatt, nodded, and set the throttles all the way up. "Power," Wyatt called. "Airspeed." "Coming up on seventy knots," Hitman replied, "now!" "Nav's timing," Cupcake called across while trying to fasten his lap belt, only one arm through the parachute harness. "Coming up on timing ... now!" "Committed." Bubba took two deep breaths then felt Wyatt pull smoothly back on the yoke. "Unstick." Bubba breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the gauges. They'd made a smooth get away. Remembering Taylor he tried the ground frequency. "Taylor, you still up? Did you duck?" "Sir?" The radio was broken and scratchy. "You scorched a few of them. I'm sorry sir; they've told me Colonel Williams is dead." The whole crew could hear a ragged breath being drawn. "Tell someone. Please, tell anyone." "We will, Taylor. Take care of yourself." The radio went silent save for background static. "Pilot, our next base is set in the computer. CRM says head straight there, no delays." Cupcake's voice broke the silence. "Roger. Where are we headed this time?" Wyatt asked. "NAS Pensacola. Runway's a little short but it's intact." "Roger. How long if we fly direct?" Bubba asked as he finished strapping himself in. "Just a touch over three hours," Cupcake told them. "That's fine. Wyatt, set point-eight-oh. No need to burn extra gas but no need to delay either." Bubba fished out the paper Taylor had handed him out of his pocket and began to read it: 'Mark, I'm sorry but I cannot control my men any longer. Airman Taylor should be able to get you to your jet before all hell breaks loose. I didn't get to mention this earlier but there will be a case of the latest vaccine waiting at your next location. We didn't have it here and I'm sorry. You're all still susceptible to the second flu so dose yourselves before you move on. Keep yourselves safe. I've shown you the politics so please know that what you do is of the utmost importance to the survival of our nation. Godspeed, Colonel James Williams.' Bubba folded the paper and carefully put it away. "How's everyone feeling? Are you all strapped in?" A chorus of 'yeses' followed. Bubba took a second to double check his harness finally remembering to remove the pins that kept him from actuating his ejection seat. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach like they had escaped certain doom only to be thrown into the path of another on rushing train. ------- Chapter 7 Bubba felt queasy as they shut down the engines. Their escape from Cheyenne had been close and he'd never have guessed that the most danger they would face would have been from Americans. Their own damn military! He finished scribbling down the amount of fuel in the tanks then handed the paperwork over to Wyatt. "We didn't get a whole lot gas there; we'll have to test the fuel here to see if we can pump it in." Bubba told Wyatt. He felt his stomach give another lurch. "I'm feeling sick over this shit, Wyatt. I can't believe that happened!" "Me neither, sir. Let's get her buttoned up and find some grub," Wyatt, while an intelligent man, lived his life around his meals. Bubba smiled then groaned. His stomach gave another lurch as he fumbled for the sick bag he kept in his thigh pocket. He barely had it out of the pocket and to his face before spewing violently into it. Wyatt looked on in horror as his shoulders heaved with the effort of turning himself inside out. When he finished he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and leaned his head back in the seat, winded from the effort. "Sir?" Wyatt asked. "Well, that was unpleasant," Bubba stated dryly. "I think my nerves are getting the best of me." He looked over at Wyatt. "Go ahead, on out; I'll be down in a minute. Let me just catch my breath." Wyatt nodded and climbed out of his seat. He stepped lightly down between the two seats making sure not to kick the throttles as he went. As he set his helmet back in its bag he saw Mounds drop down to the lower deck. "Hey, Mounds!" he hollered after her. Her head popped back up through the hatch and he crouched down, talking quietly. "Boss is feeling sick. Will you give me a hand digging some crackers out of the 47 section?" The 47 section was a large, open space in the tail where they carried extra gear. It wasn't a 'cargo hold' per se, but they could still fit a few hundred pounds in there. It was currently acting as their refrigerator since it wasn't insulated against the freezing cold air at altitude. Mounds nodded then dropped back down. Wyatt saw her glance at Cupcake and Hitman then look away quickly. Shortly after, Wyatt could hear the sounds of retching from down below. Wyatt peered down to see Cupcake being sick. He fought his own gag reflex as he walked back up to where Bubba was catching his breath. "Bubba, looks like it might not be your nerves, Cupcake just got sick too." Bubba grimaced and nodded. "We'd better find some water and soon. If this is food poisoning then we're all in for a long day." Wyatt nodded. "Send Hitman up here for a sec, please." Wyatt shuffled back to the hatch, smacking his head on the refueling hub as he went. Cursing under his breath for having to go back and forth he stuck his head down the hatch and told Hitman to come up. As soon as Hitman got upstairs Wyatt grabbed his bag and headed to the ground, not wanting to keep playing telephone. He nodded to Mounds as soon as he was on the ground. She had her flightsuit unzipped and tied around her waist as she stood basking in the sunlight. He gave a half smile to himself as he discreetly admired her figure. She wasn't his type but she was still nice to look at. Upstairs, Hitman was crouched next to Bubba's seat listening to his orders. "This feels like some bad food poisoning or something, Henry. Until I get better, you're in charge. I'll try to keep the two of us out of your hair but if this puking keeps up we're going to need a lot of water and I don't want to dip into our supplies any more than we have to if there's fresh water here." Hitman nodded and he went on, "Read this, but don't share it with the rest of the crew." He handed him Colonel Williams' note. "Find the vaccine once you've secured water. Also, don't let Mounds or Wyatt dwell on the fact that we probably killed a few people back there burning out like we did." "Yes, sir." Bubba clapped him on the shoulder. "You're a good man, Henry. You'll do fine. Now, I guess I should get off this tub before I make it smell any worse." They got everyone out of the jet and started settling Cupcake and Bubba in the shade of the enormous wings. As they worked, they started discussing dinner the night before to try to identify what Bubba and Cupcake might have eaten that the others hadn't since they didn't feel sick. "Sir, didn't they say there was a second round of flu? What if you have that?" Wyatt suggested. Hitman and Mounds stared at him. "It could be. Hitman, new priorities. Find the vaccine first; then worry about water for us once you know you've been vaccinated." "Vaccine?" Mound asked him. "Come on, let's start looking." Hitman tugged on her arm and nodded his head in the direction of the hangars. Once the three of them were out of earshot he explained quietly about the note telling them about the vaccine. He carefully omitted the rest not wanting to bring it up yet. "Did the note say where?" Wyatt asked. "No, just that there was a vaccine prepositioned here for our use." He turned to Mounds, "You trained here more recently, where would you put the vaccine?" Mounds looked thoughtful. "Hmm ... assuming I'm a StratCom weenie who knows exactly dick about flying? I'd put it in the base commanders office because there's one on every base. If it were me, trying to put it somewhere a fellow aviator who's trained here would look? I'd put it in the flight school areas since I'm familiar with it." "Do you know where the base commander's office is?" "Nope, never got in that much trouble!" She grinned. "Well, let's hope for the best and try the flight school hangars first." Using Mounds' logic, they started with where she remembered the training commander's office to be. When that brought no results, they split up so they could check room by room. After two hours they had found nothing and met back up outside the commander's office. "I really hope it's not all the way down in the base commander's office," Wyatt said and ran a hand through his freshly shorn hair in frustration. "What about VT-86?" Mounds asked, referring to the advanced training squadron one building over. "It could be there." "Sounds good. Wyatt, grab water tester and start checking the taps here. We might as well do two priorities at once." He nodded and headed back to the jet. "I'm worried April. If they have the flu, even if we give them the vaccine, it's too late for them. Vaccines prevent, they don't cure." "I know. We might be screwed too since it's possible we've contracted it and just aren't showing symptoms." Grim, they started going room by room again. Eventually, Hitman had found the box locked in what had formerly been a mission planning room. He and Mound carried the vaccine box back solemnly. Hitman read the directions then dosed Bubba and Cupcake. Next he dosed Mounds and had her return the favor. When Wyatt came back he gave him the fifth injection after hearing that the water was still potable. "Okay Bubba, we've got vaccines and water. We're going to start the post-flight maintenance. We'll be around so holler if you need something," Hitman said and set two full canteens of water down. Bubba muttered incoherently. Hitman felt his forehead then called Mounds over. "They're burning up so you get to play Florence Nightingale while we do post-flight. Soak some old t-shirts in water and use it to cool them down if you can. Shout if you need anything." "Ok. Grab me if you need another set of hands." Wyatt and Hitman spent the next two hours doing minor repairs to the aircraft. After setting wet rags on both of the sick men's foreheads Mounds rejoined them. Despite the abrupt departure on only seven engines they'd had no other problems in the air. The eighth engine had been started with no trouble over Texas and had performed smoothly since. They didn't think there would be any major problems on the ground but they had found a handful of small, annoying repairs that needed to be done. Wyatt and Hitman had done most of the work and had sent Mounds to check on Bubba and Cupcake hourly. She's checked on them dutifully but couldn't do much for them aside from giving them more water, which they had each quickly thrown up. After the repairs were done the three had gone about their usual post-flight routine of finding food and fire making material. They searched close to the hangars but found no wood dry enough to make a fire. "Hitman, if I remember correctly, there's a pond on base that has a couple of hardwoods by it. We might be able to find something around there," Mounds told him as they walked back to the hangars with only a few handfuls of Spanish moss for tinder. "How far?" Hitman squinted in the afternoon light. The dilapidated fence at the end of the runway was barely visible through waist high grass. Stubby pine trees waved in the light breeze off the coast but there were no hardwoods which would light quickly and burn hot. "I dunno, a mile or so inland." She shrugged; it had been four years since she'd graduated from training. "Ok. Let's get back and grab our jackets then we'll head out. Wyatt, you stay with Bubba and Cupcake. And drag some blankets out of the cargo hold for them," he said as an afterthought. Hitman rubbed his hands together trying to warm them. It had been warm leaving Colorado but the season's first cold snap had pushed across the Eastern Seaboard while they flew dropping the temperature into the low forties. Hitman mused to himself that back in Minot the low forties would have been warm enough to run in shorts and shirtsleeves. Time away from harsh winters had softened him. Back at the hangar, Wyatt wished them good luck as he started climbing into the tail cargo hold. Mounds gave him a half smile before casting her glance about to try to remember where the pond was. She put her back to the hangar and looked out across the runways. 'Think, think ... where was it?' she thought to herself. "When was the last time you were here Mounds?" Hitman's voice came from behind her. Mounds closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The smell of the jet fuel mingled with the ocean, bringing back memories. "Four years or so. I graduated in the spring and found this pond while running the trail around the flight line." She exhaled slowly recalling the run. "It was early spring and a beautiful day. I'd finished a really good flight and with no flights scheduled the next day I had an afternoon off. Some of my Friends had invited me to go booze it up down at the beach but years of triathlon training are a hard habit to shake off so I went running instead." She remembered starting out straight from the student parking lot south of the runway. It had been sunny so she'd ducked into a wooded trail to avoid burning her pale skin. The trail skirted around the runways and turned north before ending at the pond. "Wait, it wasn't a pond, it was Bayou Grand!" Her eyes shot open and she spun around to face Hitman. "It's at the end of the north runway!" She smiled at Hitman then took off across the tarmac at a jog. He fell in step beside her. "I remember standing at the edge of the water and still being about to see the runway through a cut in the trees. If we run to the end of the north runway it should be right there." "Good enough." They jogged to the end of the run way and hopped the fence. "Henry, do you think Bubba and Cupcake have the flu?" Mound voice was threaded with fear. "I don't know. I don't remember what all the symptoms were." They reached the strand of hardwoods. "Good call, Mounds, this should light up nicely." He hefted a dried piece of wood to show her. "Like a steel trap!" Mounds pointed at her forehead then bent of collect the much-needed wood. They gathered a fair sized stack in companionable silence but Hitman's mind kept drifting back to the night before. He couldn't stop thinking about the feel of Mounds' butt pressed against him, the curve of her breast brushing the top of his hand, or the smell of her silken hair. He grimaced to himself. He didn't have any reason to sleep next to her tonight but desperately wanted to. He wanted more than that. He wanted to throw her down right now and finish what they'd almost started that morning. He wanted to run his finger across her slit again. He wanted to be able to feel her soft folds part for him, slick and hot because he made her that way. He looked over at her as she bent to grab another piece of firewood. Even through her flightsuit, he could see the outline her perfect butt made in it. He turned away to look for more firewood as his thought began to have a visible effect on him. 'Baseball. Flying. Steelers football ... think of something not sexy!' he told himself. 'This is not working, ' he groaned and picked up another piece of wood. "Henry, you ok?" Mound voice sounded concerned. "What?" "Did you pull something? You groaned." She dropped her firewood on the pile and walked over to him. Concerned she put a hand on his shoulder. "No, it's nothing." "Are you sure? You didn't pull your shoulder did you? It feels really tense." She kneaded it lightly. "Yeah, I'm good. I think this is enough. Let's get going," he said brusquely. "We still have to haul this over the fence and then across a mile or so of runway." She nodded but gave him a searching look, concern written on her features. He exhaled as she turned away glad she hadn't noticed the raging hard-on he was trying to cover. Despite having to throw two huge armfuls of firewood over the fence before climbing it they made it back before dusk set in. While they were gone, Wyatt had set up a space on the tarmac for them halfway between the jet and the hangar where'd they found the vaccine. Bubba and Cupcake lay next to it, both looking miserable. The fire crackled and snapped as Wyatt and Hitman laid out their sleeping bags. Near the fire Mounds had out a small linen sack full of spice jars as she cooked everyone's dinner. Early on in their nomadic existence she's bitched and called them all sexist pigs for always making her cook. However, after a week of burned or undercooked meals from the men she'd relented and taken over cooking duties permanently. Hitman offered dinner to Bubba and Cupcake but both had looked sick at just the smell so the three healthy crewmembers had retreated downwind to enjoy their dinner. "Hitman, how long do you think they'll be sick?" Wyatt asked around a mouthful of chicken. Hitman shrugged. "You know we can't move without them." "I know." He took another bite and thought over their problem. Many smaller planes can and often are flown with only one pilot but a B-52 is designed to be crew by three people at the very minimum. The cockpit is so wide that a pilot on one side can't reach several key switches on the other. They could fly while Cupcake sleep on the floor but couldn't fly without Bubba fully awake and aware. "We'll code a message back in the morning to let command know our situation. For now there isn't much we can do." Wyatt nodded. "We've got enough medicine from Wal-Mart to last for a bit too, so I'm not worried about that. I would like to know what's wrong with them though," Mounds said while picking at the chicken with her knife. "It'll be ok." He tried to reassure her, but didn't sound certain. Mounds didn't look up at him, just nodded, and set her plate down. "Eat that." "I'm not hungry," she responded quietly as she moved to check on Bubba and Cupcake. Wyatt looked back and forth between the two. "Sit down and eat. I'm not telling you again." She stabbed into her chicken and sliced off a piece. Not looking at Hitman she bit into it, chewing silently. Wyatt watched the exchange aware that something had changed between them but didn't comment. "Hitman, I'll start working on coding the message after this," Wyatt offered hoping that he could break the tension between the two. "No. Let's let them get through a night and we'll give them a detailed message tomorrow. Besides, it's too dark to be flipping through code books now." Night had settled around them like a dark velvet mantle. They could hear cicadas singing off in the distance. Mounds finished her chicken then sighed and smiled. "Look," she pointed towards the strand of pines by the beach, "fireflies." She stood up to get a better look. "I haven't seen them since the last time I was here. We don't have them in Minot." Wyatt smiled and shrugged. Sure, they were cool looking but he couldn't see why the chick would get all nostalgic about a bug. "Let's go catch a few!" Hitman looked like he might almost let her go. "No, it's too dark now. Let's keep close to the jet tonight in case they need anything. If they're doing better maybe tomorrow we can." Mounds sighed but nodded. She looked over her shoulder to the men sleeping fitfully on the ground. "Do you really think they have the flu?" She whispered to them. "I don't know." "Food poisoning usually only last 12 to 24 hours, right? So if they're still sick tomorrow afternoon we'll know it's not that," Wyatt said quietly. They didn't talk about the odds of both of them surviving if it was the flu or the likelihood that they would all get sick from it. ------- Chapter 8 Hitman woke up to the sound of the fire snapping a log in half. When he rolled over in his sleeping bag to face the fire he saw Mounds hunched over a codebook. The damn woman was coding even though he'd told them to leave it until morning. He sat up and was a little pleased to see her jump, it served her right. He walked quietly over to where she sat. "I know, I know. It's too dark but I'm almost done," she whispered to him when he hunkered down next to her. "You should be sleeping not working on this crap. It's probably going to be another long day tomorrow." "Today," she corrected him. He looked at his watch to see it read 0714 GMT. He did the math for an east coast time zone and realized it was just past two AM. Hitman could see a small frown on her face as she wrote. "Can't sleep?" "No. I can get my body to relax but my brain won't slow down. I'm so worried about them and I can't stop thinking about what happened yesterday." He could see the pinched look of worry in her eyes. "I'm not going to bullshit you and tell you that I know they'll pull through. But, I'd like to think they will." He bounced his shoulder gently off hers, "We've been lucky so far, right?" She gave him a halfhearted smile but quickly turned back to the codebook. "I've got one more set to encode. Will you check this for me when it's done?" "Yeah," he yawned, "but then we're going back to sleep." She nodded but kept writing down code. A few moments later she tore off the sheet she'd been working on and handed it over along with the codebook. He tried to read the expression on her face as she handed it over. She looked tired and stressed but there was a hint of a smile when she made eye contact with him. He smiled at her and saw her relax a bit. She smiled back but the smile faded as soon as she looked away. Dutifully, he checked her code only to find minor errors. He corrected them then handed it back over to her. She eyed the corrections then nodded, worry still on her face. "You look like you need to talk." He put an arm around her shoulder, "Come on. We can look for some of your fireflies and you can tell me what's bugging you." He laughed quietly, "Get it? Bugging you?" She rolled her eyes as she stood up. They checked their flashlights and stirred the fire then walked quietly away from the jet and their sleeping crewmates. "So, sick crewmembers and our high-speed departure from Cheyenne, huh?" He asked once they were at the edge of the tarmac and out of earshot. "Yeah." "And it's keeping you up?" They reached the edge of the cleaned space around the airport and headed into the woods. "Yeah." "Want to elaborate or am I holding a conversation with myself?" Mounds took in a deep, pine-scented breath, "Well, being worried about Bubba and Cupcake ... I mean, that's pretty self-explanatory right?" "Yup." Hitman reached out in the dark and caught her hand. She looked over at him with another faint smile then went on. "I think we hurt people back in Cheyenne, Henry." When he didn't comment she went on, "I mean, they were all running into the hangar as we turned, right? They would have been in the jet wash and awfully close too. I think we may have really hurt some of them if not outright killed some of them." She squeezed his hand. "I think you're right, but I wouldn't dwell on it too much." "Henry, what if we did kill them?" Hitman paused, trying to figure out how to best phrase his answer. "What is the difference between that and dropping a tactical nuke on someone?" He looked sideways at her, "You don't seem to have a problem with that, right?" "Well, no. But they were Americans, our own brothers in arms!" She stopped walking and he stopped with her. "Ok, before you get to an 'Oh my god, what have I done?' moment stop and think. Those men were not pouring into the hangar to give us hugs and puppies. They were coming out there for some serious hurt. They might have killed us then raped and killed you. They stopped being Americans when they turned against, and killed," he squeezed her hand, "their own commander then attacked a national resource and its crew. By the time they came pouring into that hangar they were traitors in a treasonous act. If they died then the only thing we did was save them a noose or a firing squad." He tried to read her expression but it was too dark so he settled for giving her fingers a squeeze. "How far is the beach from here?" "A quarter mile or so." "Well, lead on then. We'll go cool our toes then head back up and get some sleep." He pulled her closer and threw his arm around her shoulder again as they started walking. They walked silently for a few minutes then she looked up at him, "Henry? I'm sorry about last night too." "What about it?" "I mean making you sleep in my bed, it was childish." "Hmm, interestingly enough all my thoughts were adult. Besides, a lady asks me into her bed, who am I to say no?" He smiled at her, trying to reassure her and gauge her reaction. Mounds stopped walking again. "Henry, I..." she paused. She wanted to tell him how much she wished they'd been able to continue that morning. She wanted to tell him she'd thought about it not just all day, but for the last few months. "Oh, fuck it." Mounds slid her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss. She pressed lightly into him as she kissed him, her breast grazing his chest. Hitman closed his eyes and pulled her hard into his chest. He could feel her nipples harden against him and he dug his fingers into her shoulders trying to express his need. She broke the kiss and looked up at him. As she opened her mouth to speak again he covered it with another kiss. Desire took hold of his brain as memories of the night before flooded his mind. He reached between then and tugged the zipper of her uniform all the way down. He thrust his hand inside to find soft, warm flesh aching to be touched. Mounds arched back allowing him free access to her breasts. She moaned and dug her nails into his neck as he cupped her breast and squeezed gently. "Oh fuck," she groaned. He pushed the flightsuit off her shoulders and let it fall around her feet then pulled her shirt over her head. He was delighted to discover the Mounds didn't wear a bra. Not that she needed one, he thought, her breast we small but firm and perky. He dropped his mouth to her nipple and she moaned again. Before he could stop her she took her hands from his neck and had unzipped his flightsuit as well. He could feel her reach inside and rake his chest with her nails. Her nails left a burning trail of pleasure and pain from his collarbone to his thigh. He caught her nipple between his teeth and rolled it lightly between them. She pressed hard into him then pushed away. "This is going all the way isn't it?" She asked him. He nodded and she bent over. In the span of a few seconds she'd untied and kicked off her boots. She then delicately stepped out of her flightsuit to stand before him in only her panties. He had only a second to admire her almost naked body before she was against him again, pulling down his flightsuit and boxers in one tug. When she then knelt down he thought she just was going to untie his boots but without preamble she took him in her mouth. Gasping he tried to keep his knees from buckling under him. It had been years since anyone had sucked his cock but he didn't remember anyone being this good. She swirled her tongue around the head of it then drew him all the way in while gently kneading his balls. He gripped her shoulder hard, trying to steady himself. "April, oh god you have to stop. I'm going to fall over!" She released his cock with a small 'pop'. He pulled her up to her feet and kissed her, running his hands down her back. When he got to her panties he bent down to tug them down her slender hips. He stood back up and pulled her to him to kiss her again. This time he slid one hand slowly down her stomach then to her pussy. He slid one finger along her went slit as he savored the feeling. He could feel her shudder against him as he rubbed his way back up to her clit. With one finger gently circling her clit her pushed her down onto her flightsuit. He kept the finger going as he knelt between her legs with his cock pressed gently against her. "Do you want me to stop?" He asked her, silently begging her to say no. Instead of answering she just shifted her hips up, forcing the tip of his aching cock just barely inside her soaked slit. "You stop and I may have to kill you in your sleep," she told him while digging her nails into his back. That was more than enough invitation and he thrust deep into her then slowly pulled back out savoring the feeling. He thrust back into her and buried his face in her neck. "Do you know how long I've wanted to fuck you?" he asked, thrusting into her again and lightly biting her neck. She didn't answer him, she just dragged her nails slowly down his back. "Since the first time I saw you out of uniform," he fucked her hard and steady. He kept going as he could feel her body start to tense, "Do you remember the squadron picnic and that fuckin' amazing dress you wore?" He bit her earlobe and heard her gasp. "I thought you were someone's trophy wife until you smiled at me. I'd never seen you in civvies with your hair down. You were fucking amazing. I wanted to drag you off my car and fuck you right then and there." She gasped, her breath coming in shallow pants. "Oh fuck, oh fuck. Harder!" She pulled him into her, "I'm so close, fuck me harder!" He thrust harder and deeper feeling her start to clamp down on him. She clenched down on him sending him careening over the edge as well. Afterwards, they lay gasping for breath. Hitman pulled her close to him and laid his head on her shoulder while Mounds ran her hand down his shoulder. "Fuck. What in the world made you wait so long? That was amazing." Mounds asked with a laugh. "God, I don't know. Never seemed like the right time? There was always some damn inspection or something going on." He nuzzled his face into her neck and kissed it. "I won't wait so long next time." "Next time, huh? Is this going to be a regular thing?" She could have kicked herself. She didn't mean for this to turn into the 'so, are you my boyfriend now?' talk. "Only if you'll have me." There was a hint of question in his tone but before she could comment he pushed up on his elbow and leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose. "We should probably keep this quiet until I can talk to Bubba about it though. I don't want to cause trouble and this could definitely cause no end to trouble if we aren't careful." Mounds nodded. "I know. I think Wyatt already thinks there's something going on." "Yeah, he's a perceptive dude." Mounds laughed, "The way you talk about needing to talk to Bubba first, like you have to have my Dad's permission to take me to prom!" She giggled again then yawned, "Damn, we should get back." Hitman yawned in response. "Yes, vile succubus. You've drained the life from me and I need sleep." He kissed her again, deeply. They dressed, picking bits of sticks and leaves from their hair and clothes and made their way quietly back to the jet. As they walked up they could see everyone was still asleep and none the wiser. Mounds checked Bubba and Cupcake again resoaking the damp cloth on their heads while Hitman dragged his sleeping bag next to hers. "Discreet?" she asked him. "Meh. I'll just say I moved it because you had another nightmare." She shrugged and lay down next to him. He pulled her close for one last hug then released her so they could sleep. ------- Chapter 9 The wind, which blown in from the water all day, shifted to blow across the coast. Crickets and cicadas fell silent as the air pressure fell. Mounds woke to the feel of a breeze against her cheek. She lifted her head up from where it was pillowed on her arm and looked at the horizon. It was still dark but she could see lightning to their north. Mounds inhaled through her nose trying to identify the smell of water on the wind. "Henry," she rolled to her side, looking for Hitman. "Henry?" "Over here." She looked back towards the fire to see him on the other side, pouring over the codebooks again. "New message?" "Yeah, it spit out another one." "Didn't sleep?" "A little bit but I'm worried about them," he pointed his pencil at their sick crewmates. Mounds frowned, hoping he wasn't having reservations about the night before but didn't ask because she didn't want to risk being overheard. "I think there's a storm coming; we should probably move them inside and close up the windows." "Batten down the hatches, eh, matey?" "Yeah, I'd say that's the long and short of it." She paused again, watching the lightning flash across the sky. "I'd say we've got an hour or so. It should blow over quick though." Hitman nodded to her then got up to nudged Wyatt. "Hey man, time to rise and shiny. Storm's coming." "Yeah, I heard you." He sat up, stretched, and scratched his jaw. Mounds was glad she didn't reference earlier that morning. "What about them?" He pointed at Cupcake and Bubba, still fitfully dozing. "What do you mean?" "Pretty close quarters for us to stick around with some sick guys." Hitman's expression darkened, "Well, you've been exposed to them already so if it's contagious chances are you've already got what they've got. But if you're really that scared you can string a hammock under the bomb bay. Me, personally? I think I'll take my chances sitting with the sick guys than frying my nuts under a nuke." He pointed his thumb at his chest, "Personal preference only though." Wyatt grunted and got up from his sleeping bag. Hitman took it to be a compliant grunt and started directing their move back inside. He and Wyatt were to move the two men and Mounds was to move their bedding and supply bags. They accomplished their tasks quickly and without much conversation. By the time the two sick men were settled on the floor of the lower compartment, the other three were on board, and the hatches locked rain drops were just beginning to fall. "Good call on the timing, Mounds. Fifty four minutes since you woke up." Mounds nodded at Hitman and yawned. Beyond her, fat raindrops pelted the windows. "It's just past five AM, by the way. Try and get some more sleep." "Hell, you need it more than me at this point, besides I'm going to try and send our message." "I got more sleep than the two of you combined." Wyatt said from the radar's compartment. "Go rack out, I'll man the radios and CRM for a bit. What time do you want me to wake you?" Wyatt asked him. "Sunlight will probably do the job for you but if not eight AM will work. Rain should have cleared by then. Let me know if you have any problems." Wyatt touched his forehead with his finger and gave Hitman a mini-salute from the hatch. When Hitman turned back Mounds was already asleep curled up in her bag, nestled against a pile of spare parachutes. He lay out on the bunk and pulled his sleeping bag up as well. He would have thought that sleep would have come slowly, if at all, but the sound of rain against the hull lulled him to sleep in moments. Wyatt settled himself downstairs in the radar's seat. He looked down to his right to see Bubba laid across the floor. His shoulders were almost at the edge of the chair but his feet disappeared into the "wine cellar," an open area behind the offense compartment. Wyatt was a little ticked that Hitman would imply that he wasn't willing to stick it out with the rest of the crew. Wyatt knew he was a team player and was usually the one Hitman went to first if needed something done. He'd kept people's secrets for them like a speeding ticket Cupcake had gotten when they were on a temporary duty once. Wyatt dropped his head back against the seat in frustration. Almost immediately a message started printing out of the CRM. Thinking that Hitman might have found time to send theirs already he checked but no message had been sent in the last 12 hours. Diligently, he broke out their codebook and started working to decode the new print out. He was worried it would be another move order and wasn't disappointed. In the matter of a few minutes he'd decoded the message into a set of orders telling them to be at Ellsworth AFB by that afternoon. Wyatt pondered the problem. He knew there was no way to get there today, not unless Bubba made a miraculous recovery in the next few minutes. Wyatt looked down again to see, unsurprisingly, Bubba was still asleep. He put his hand to his commander's forehead and while it wasn't burning up as badly as it had been he was definitely still feverish. Now, did he wake up Hitman to show him the message, knowing that he'd want to know or let him sleep because there was nothing they could do about the message? Wyatt chose to leave them sleeping and send out the message Mounds and Hitman had constructed the night before. He had briefly woken up when they had left, then again when they came back, so knew they had to be tired. He had wondered a bit about them leaving but just assumed they gone to clear their heads after the mental stress of coding out the message. Moreover, if it wasn't ... well that wasn't his business anyway. Wyatt spent the next few hours dozing lightly and waking up when he heard the CRM spit out another message. By eight AM, they had two more of the same message. He decided he was okay waking up Hitman to show him what they'd received. He stepped lightly around his sick and sleeping crewmates, noting that they both looked somewhat healthier despite not having woken up yet. Upstairs Mounds was still knocked out but he could see Hitman, watching her sleep from his spot on the bunk. The expression on his face could only be described as tender, a look Wyatt himself had given a lover once or twice. "You got a thing for her, huh?" he whispered. Startled, Hitman glanced back at him. They locked stares and a moment passed, then another as Hitman appeared to weigh his thoughts. Finally, Hitman answered, "Yes. Without sounding too 'Lord of the Rings', she's very precious to me." He broke the stare, "I don't know how else to say it." "You've just now figured this out or has this been lurking in the back of your mind for a bit?" Wyatt whispered back. "It's been there a while. Since before we started this whole thing." "So, nothing's changed then?" Hitman started to say 'no' and stopped. He looked down at Mounds then back at Wyatt and shrugged. Wyatt frowned. "Bubba's gonna be torqued off. You know that, right?" "Well, what's he expect? He orders one of us to be her very close, personal bodyguard for a night and things will change. I just hope he understands." He reached down and lightly brushed a strand of her hair out of her face. "Hey, I'll keep it quiet but I suggest telling him something's up sooner rather than later." "Yeah, I should talk to her too." They both were silent for a moment. "You aren't mad?" "Why would I be?" "I dunno, I always wondered if you guys didn't have a thing." Wyatt gave him a half smile, "No, she's, uhh, not my type. I mean, great body, nice to look at, but not my type." Wyatt handed up the CRM printouts. "We got a new move message. We got it a few times in fact. They want us in Ellsworth this afternoon and I know we can't make that. I sent our message every time they sent theirs but it didn't seem to have any effect." Mounds stirred in her sleeping bag and the two stopped whispering. Hitman watched her curl inwards then sit up, apparently fully awake. "Is it eight?" She yawned and stretched. Hitman admired the way she still looked adorable with her hair rumpled up on one side then mentally kicked himself. "Yes. Or, at least, close enough." He gave her the rundown of the messages. "So they're telling us to go, we're telling them we'll stay and neither of us is really listening to the other?" They nodded. "So ... now what?" "We stay here. We can't fly without Bubba," Hitman answered. "Well, I've got some civilian time under my belt and I've flown in the copilot seat before with an instructor. Wyatt's close enough to an instructor; why not try that until Bubba gets better?" The two men mulled it over for a moment before Wyatt spoke up. "No. I couldn't do it. Mounds, you're a cool chick and I like you and you're really good at your job but," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "there's too much at stake to dick around like that." He looked at Hitman to see if he looked like he agreed. Hitman's expression was neutral so he continued, "I know it will most likely be a routine flight, no problems, and all you'd have to do is flip switches when I direct it but ... if anything did go wrong it's our collective asses on the line. Our collective asses and apparently the only bomber left. I'm sorry, in my opinion; it's too big of a risk." "I'm sorry Mounds, it's a good idea in theory, but I'm with Wyatt." She looked slightly defiant, "I'm sorry but I know Bubba wouldn't approve so I won't approve of it." At the mention of Bubba her expression calmed. "We'll just have to stick it out here until he recovers." Mounds nodded, "So, we wait?" "So we wait," he confirmed. A few hours after they decided not to risk Mounds plan the rain, which had been steady all morning, stopped ... They carefully hauled both sick men out and placed them in the shade of a wing. Wyatt, Mounds, and Hitman took turns napping, watching the sick men, and manning the radios. By the afternoon, they'd received four more messages telling them to move and had sent another four back stating their predicament. Each message had been met by radio silence. As the hours dragged on they all felt more and more pressure to get Bubba awake and functional. They checked on him hourly and while he and Cupcake showed outward signs of minor improvement they still weren't awake. At five PM, they finally received a different message. Considering it was well past when they should have landed, they weren't surprised. This message demanded to know where they were and why they hadn't moved. After decoding and reading the message aloud Hitman looked at the other two then calmly input the same message they had been sending all day. Seconds dragged by. Minutes dragged by. Hitman leaned back in the radar's seat while Mounds sat next to him in the navigator's seat. In the hatch Wyatt mentally debated what to ask Mounds to make for dinner that night. Fifteen minutes passed before the CRM finally started spitting out another message. "Looks like another new one," Hitman said as he started to scan it. "Another of the new one or another one new and different from the last one?" Wyatt asked. "This one says..." he continued decoding, "we're to go ... to ... Offutt?" He re-read the line then showed it to Mounds who nodded. "We're to go to Offutt." "Strategic Command headquarters?" "Yes." "Well, we must be fucked now if they want us to show up in person to get yelled at," Wyatt said and laughed. He was a little worried by the message but couldn't do shit about it. "Guess so. Well, I'll send the same message back again and we'll see about leaving in the morning." The three glanced down the hatch and nodded. They knew they were in a precarious position. They had been disobeying a direct order all day but had had no choice. One other thing on their side was that they were the only bomber crew qualified to fly the only bomber jet so even if they were yelled at they probably wouldn't go to jail. Maybe. ------- Chapter 10 Hitman's brain churned furiously as he sat next to Bubba's unconscious form under the right wing. He'd sent Wyatt and Mounds out less than an hour ago to try to scrounge up some small game for dinner. The two had been sitting around worrying about the latest message ever since it had come out. That was his job, so he'd sent them off on the errand hoping to focus their attention elsewhere. He'd given them both a stern warning about safety and told them to be back by eight PM. With Wyatt and Mounds gone he'd settled in next to Bubba in case either he or Cupcake woke and needed him. That gave him plenty of time to sit and stew. They'd been ordered to Ellsworth AFB but with Bubba out, they couldn't move. After hours of being ordered to move they still hadn't seen signs of consciousness from either man. The message had finally changed and now he needed Bubba's guidance. Hitman tried to deduce the implications of being ordered to STRATCOM headquarters. Had HQ received their desperate messages about Bubba and Cupcake? Were they waiting with medical teams ready to help? On the other hand, did HQ not receive the messages? Did they think the crew was dead? Did they think the crew had turned on them? Were they all about to be thrown in jail for a very, very long time? On the other hand, would they skip the formality and execute them as traitors on the spot? Hitman sighed. On top of that he'd just slept with his EWO, which probably put him firmly on Bubba's shit list. "Henry?" Bubba's voice was weak beside him. "Bubba? Oh, jeez. Sir, you're awake?" Henry turned and crouched over Bubba. Bubba's eyes had dark circles under them and his cheeks looked hollow but he managed to get his eyes open a bit. Bubba groaned and lifted his arm to shield his eyes from the last of the setting sun. "Mostly." He took a deep breath. "What time is it?" "Almost eight PM, east coast time." Hitman looked at his watch. "You've been out for two days." Bubba nodded and closed his eyes again. "Still in Pensacola, Florida?" "Yes, sir." "Cupcake still out?" Hitman looked over at Cupcake who was under the fuselage. He was still sprawled across the tarmac. "Yes, sir. Wyatt, Mounds, and I are still feeling ok." "Good, good." Bubba nodded and pulled in a deep breath. "Sir, I need to talk to you about Mounds." Hitman's eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at his commander. "Later." Bubba waved his hand weakly. "What's the latest message?" "We had one that sent us to Ellsworth. We got it a couple dozen times. The most recent, about forty five minutes ago, is sending us to HQ." Hitman tried not to sound as grim as he felt. "Hmm. Didn't jump when they said jump, now we're in deep doo-doo, huh?" Bubba chuckled. Hitman put a hand on his forehead. He was still a little feverish but seemed to be cooling down. "Yes, that's about what we figure, sir." "Hmm." Bubba nodded, "guess I need to get myself better so we can burn on out of here." Hitman grunted an affirmative, his eyes skating over the tarmac as he watched what he hoped was Wyatt and Mounds coming back with dinner. "We briefly debated letting Mounds sit as copilot to get us moving but I vetoed it. I didn't think you'd approve." Bubba didn't respond at first, waiting long enough to prompt Hitman into looking back down to see if he'd fallen back into a fevered sleep. "No. That's the right call. If Wyatt had been out, I could have let her sit in his seat. But, as he's not a qualified instructor, I wouldn't have backed him letting her replace me." He smiled up at Hitman, "You made the right call." "Thank you." "Pass me some water." Bubba thumped his arm lightly against Hitman and licked his lips. Once Hitman passed him the canteen, he drank deeply, emptying it. "I think I'll be well enough tomorrow to at least get us out of here. We can burn out with Cupcake still down for the count." He paused, hearing Mounds light alto voice. Wyatt's answered in a deep bass. "Those two still doing ok?" "Yes, sir. However, I would like to talk to you about Mounds at some point. Privately, if we can." The two voices carried back to them with an air of pleasant conversation. Bubba watched Hitman intensely for a long moment as he listened to the voices carry across the tarmac. "Noted." He watched Hitman's face in profile as his eyes followed Mound's movements. "Changing the status quo?" Hitman gave a vague shake of his head. "Hitman, we got a bunny!" Mounds called as they got closer. "She means I got a bunny. Princess here didn't want to kill it herself. Apparently, bunnies are cuter then deer and therefore shouldn't be killed." Wyatt held up a small rabbit by the hind feet. "I, on the other hand, have no such inhibitions!" "Mounds, you really are a girl." Bubba told them once they were within a few feet. Wyatt broke into a broad grin upon seeing Bubba awake, if not fully recovered. Mounds rushed to him, dropping to her knees, and gave him a hug. She held him tightly to her, relieved to see him conscious. "I'm sorry, sir!" She said and released him, "I'm just happy to see you awake again." Bubba reached up a hand and rested it gently on her cheek. "No worries, April. I'm glad to see I was missed." Mounds nodded and lightly wiped at her eyes. Bubba reflected on his relationship with Mounds. He was two ranks higher than her and eleven years older. He considered himself much too young to be a father figure to her but too old to be sexually appealing either. Despite the odd age difference, she had no problems seeing him as somewhat of a father figure. She'd known him for two years and respected him highly but this was her first overt display of filial affection. She was as relieved to not be rebuked for it as he was glad to see it. He gave a half smile thinking that while he'd lost his family he might have found a family as well. Bubba cleared his throat and continued, "I'm starting to feel better and hope to move out tomorrow. I don't think I'll be one hundred percent, but I should be good enough to get us to Offutt." "Are you worried about what will happen when we get there?" Wyatt asked. "Yes, but there's nothing to be done about it now." Bubba paused, "Cook the bunny, we'll all have a bite then get some sleep." He looked at Hitman, "Don't invest in tomorrow's worried today. We can deal with them soon enough." Weariness claimed him again and he closed his eyes. "Bring me some of the bunny when it's done but I'm napping until then." Hitman glanced at the other two then back down at Bubba. For all they could tell Bubba had passed out. Hitman turned back again and told them to get on with dinner and be quiet about it. They all crept away silently. Mounds started a small fire over the remnants of their fire from the night before. She had some difficulty getting enough dry wood after the morning's storms but had managed a small fire by the time Wyatt had the rabbit skinned. She dug through their small sack of spices to dress the meat up a bit, selecting what she knew they all liked. Satisfied she set the rabbit over the flames. While Mounds worked on dinner Hitman and Wyatt worked to pack the gear they wouldn't need that night and prep the jet for flight in the morning. Despite the trouble they had had in Cheyenne the jet had been well serviced and didn't need much to get moving in the morning. Mounds was dishing up the cooked rabbit as they finished. She served Hitman and Wyatt their plates then brought Bubba his plate. He was awake again but not talkative when she left him the plate. He merely nodded his thanks then dug in. "Do you think he's worried?" Mounds whispered to Hitman and Wyatt. Hoping her voice didn't carry back to him. "Of course but..." Hitman thought briefly. "They can't fire him. We are the squadron so it's not like they can take his command away. He was passed out sick when the orders to move came so he can't really be blamed. It'll be my head if anything and you can't fly without me right now." He sighed then caught Mounds somewhat frantic look. "Be calm girl, it'll be ok." Wyatt swallowed a hunk of rabbit then said, "Oh, hell! No one who's a hero isn't a little bit of a bastard too." Hitman and Mounds looked at him. "If nothing else it guarantees us a spot in the history books." They continued to stare, perplexed. "Ok, look, history isn't written about the guy who wins the most but the guy to wins a whole lot then fucks up. Look at Scipio Africanus and Hannibal. Hannibal took over vast parts of the world, with battle elephants no less. Scipio Africanus is a strong military leader, but also a strong political leader and a decent guy to boot. Hannibal gets all the way to the battle of Zama then gets his ass handed to him by Scipio. But who do you hear about more? The brilliant and talented Scipio or Hannibal and his damn elephants? I'm telling you, if nothing else, this will guarantee we get in the books." He smiled at them. "Well, you got a point there." Hitman said with a laugh. "If they make a movie out of this I'd better get played by the hottest woman alive or I'm suing!" "Mounds, you are the hottest woman alive," Hitman fired back. "Nahh, just the only one you know right now." She smiled but the comment stung her. She started to wonder if Hitman was actually interested in her or is she was just convenient. "Well, in that case I hope Ashton Kutcher is still alive because I want him to play me." Wyatt answered. "Ashton Kutcher? Uhg, too pretty. I want to be played by Colin Farrell. He's got that rugged and manly look." Hitman said trying to strike a pose. "Hmm, who would we get to play Cupcake?" "Danny DeVito!" Mounds said and grinned maliciously. "Done. What about Bubba?" Hitman asked them. They looked thoughtful. "Harrison Ford?" "Too old." "Still sexy!" "Too old." "Russell Crowe?" "Hmm, maybe a little too rugged but I think he might work." "Well, I hope they all pay us really well when the movie comes out because if we get fired tomorrow I don't know if I'll be able to even buy a pack of gum." "I guess we'll just have to see how it goes." They all sat quietly after that, just watching twilight recede and night take over. Silence reigned as they packed away the dinner dishes and unrolled their sleeping bags under the wing. Mounds checked Bubba and refilled his canteen from hers then went to Cupcake. She glanced back at the dying fire to see Hitman watching her intently. She ignored him but felt grateful to have someone watching out for her. She checked Cupcake's head again feeling for fever. He was still hot but seemed to have cooled considerably. With any luck he'd wake tomorrow as well. She stood and walked back to the fire pit. Hitman had tugged her sleeping bag closer to his but not obviously so. Wyatt didn't comment and she didn't challenge it but deep in the back of her mind she wondered how much of what Hitman had said the night before was true and how much stemmed from her being the only woman in his life. ------- Chapter 11 "Ok you lazy pack of crewdogs get up!" Bubba's voice startled Wyatt, Mounds, and Hitman awake as dawn began to light the sky. Hitman bolted upright in his sleeping bag and glared at Bubba. Mounds gave a little jump then peeked out from under her bag to see Bubba smiling down at her. Wyatt merely opened one eye a crack then rolled over in his bag. Bubba strode to him and nudged him gently toed him in the ribs. "Up and at 'em, Wyatt. We're heading out in two hours." They rose quietly and went about getting ready for the day. Bubba went to Cupcake and was relieved to see him awake. "Back with us again?" Bubba asked him quietly and handed him a canteen. Cupcake nodded. "Think you can fly?" Cupcake shrugged, "Yeah, I guess. Still feel like shit." "Better then dead. Can you get in the jet by yourself or are we going to have to carry you?" Cupcake shook his head and sat up slowly. "Move slowly, don't rush anything. I just need you in the seat." Cupcake nodded again and took a deep breath to quell the queasy feeling that washed over him. He raised his head slightly to look at the jet; the sight of it calmed him. His dreams had been plagued with nightmares of his beloved jet destroyed by explosion or flame. It was old and beat up but that jet was his life, his salvation. Bubba left him to get himself ready and went to assist the rest of his crew. His assumption from the night before had been correct: he didn't feel 100% better but he was functional. He firmly reminded himself to take it easy but continued to help prep the jet. Full daylight washed across the runway as they taxied out. The crew was relatively quiet most of the morning, only speaking when a checklist required. Bubba chalked it up to nerves, not illness. Takeoff was uneventful as they headed toward Offutt. Bubba scanned the horizon to the north trying to see if the fallout from Atlanta was visible. His eyes skated over the landscape but he couldn't even see the suburbs this far south. Below the jet, fields and forests stretched on unbroken. Even at altitude, he could see that fields that should be ready for harvest had been left fallow with no one to care for them. "Copilot, radar." Hitman's voice came over the interphone. "Go." "Sir, I've encoded another message with our take off time, they know we're coming." "Good, I'd hate to get shot down at this late a date," Bubba tried for levity but it fell flat. Very early on a crew had tried to land at Offutt with failed radios. They had been unable to properly identify themselves or even pass a message that they should be expected and were shot down within fifteen miles of the base. The remaining Air Force generals and a three star Army general were still in residence at Offutt so the military had felt justified in their actions. They knew that the loss of life and equipment was regrettable but the loss of those few leaders and the equipment located at Offutt would have been an even greater loss. The crew of Tub 72 understood the necessity of shooting down what could have been a hostile aircraft but the crew that was shot down had been from their squadron and they felt the loss keenly. An hour passed by quietly with the silence interrupted only by Mounds reporting that she saw no environmental signals. Bubba acknowledged her and asked her to keep scanning. He checked his fuel panels and directed the flow from the wing fuel cells into the main body. "Crew, top of the hour, station check," he directed them to check the area around them for malfunctions, something essential on an aircraft as old as theirs. "Co ... Hitman's looking a little rough down here." Cupcake's voice came across the interphone. "I'm fine." Hitman's voice sounded surly. Mounds peer down to the offense compartment to see Hitman puking into a bag. "Defense is in the green, Co," Mounds replied after checking her area. There were a couple of burnt out light bulbs but it'd been that way for a month now, no use reporting it again. Bubba looked over at Wyatt to get his thumbs up but found him hunched over holding his stomach. "Wyatt?" Bubba asked. Wyatt shook his head. "Stomach?" Wyatt nodded. "Do you need a bag?" Wyatt nodded again and Bubba thrust the bag at him. Wyatt had no sooner opened the bag than he began to spew violently into it. Bubba cursed to himself, he and Cupcake finally get better just in time for Wyatt and Hitman to go down for the count. Beside him, Wyatt hunched over, almost onto the yoke, racked by heaves. "Wyatt, stow your column before you crash us." Wyatt tried to sit upright so he could lock the yoke but was gripped by another heave. As he leaned forward his shoulder pushed into the control knocking off the autopilot. The jet started a gentle descent. Bubba grabbed his control and pulled back but he was fighting Wyatt's weight against it. "Mounds!" Bubba yelled into his mike. "Get up here NOW!" Mounds bolted from her seat and scurried up to the pilots' compartment. When she saw the problem she swore. I was loud enough for Bubba to hear her over the engine noise despite the fact that she hadn't plugged back into the interphone system. She snapped her comm cord into place. "You've got to pull him out of the seat. I'll guard the controls but I can't help you. He's pushing too hard for me to engage the autopilot again." Mounds nodded and grabbed the shoulder of Wyatt's flightsuit. She tugged on him for all she was worth. Bubba kept one hand on the yoke and one over the throttles so Wyatt wouldn't accidentally kick them. Mounds managed to get Wyatt half way out of the seat but with her back to the circuit breaker panel she was running out of space to tug at him. She rapped her knuckles on his helmet to get his attention and pointed behind her. He nodded weakly and kicked with his feet. Finally, he came all the way free of the seat and the two fell back hard into the aisle. Mounds grunted as her head thumped against the circuit breaker panel again then shoved Wyatt over. She stood up as much as she could and started pulling spare parachutes off the bunk. Once it was clear she nudged Wyatt with her foot and pointed at it. Gratefully, he crawled onto it and collapsed. Mounds moved another sick bag and a canteen next to him then went down the ladder to the offense section. Hitman was still throwing up but was in better shape than Wyatt. She handed him a bag and canteen as well then went back up to her section and connected her comm cord once more. "Copilot, E-Dub," Mounds said, shortening 'EWO' to 'E-dub'. "Go." "Wyatt's set up on the bunk." "Roger, I've got the autopilot back on. Go ahead and turn off your stuff and come up here." "Sir?" "I need someone else in the seat so you're it. You aren't feeling sick, right?" "No, I'm fine. I'll be up in a sec." She grabbed her gloves and went back up to the pilot section once again. Once up there she tapped Bubba on the shoulder. He pointed to the seat Wyatt had vacated so she sat down and plugged in. "Pilot's up," she said and smiled. In the B-52 no matter what your job was you identified yourself on the radios by the seat you sat in. It always tickled Mounds to sit up front because it afforded her the opportunity to call herself a pilot. "Roger. Get the seat adjusted so you can just see over the panels and can reach the rudder pedals. We've got about an hour before we start the descent and there's a lot I need to get into your skull before then." She stared at him. "What, I'm landing this thing?" "I hope not, but you're the only one who hasn't been sick in the last two days. If I relapse or something you'll need to know how to get us on the ground." "You're serious, sir?" "Yes. I'm fine right now but it doesn't hurt to take precautions." She started at him for a heartbeat longer then nodded. Bubba spent the next hour explaining what she should expect to see both on the instruments and outside the jet. He was surprised by how often she anticipated his points. She reminded him that she may sit backwards in the dark but she still heard everything the pilots talked about and had learned descriptions of the sight pictures long ago. "Not that I've had a chance to see them from the seat, but in theory I know what it should look like," she told him with a smile. "Good enough for now. Run the 'Start Descent' checklist." They worked slowly through the checklist. Mounds knew from hearing it repeatedly what the response was supposed to be but didn't know where to look to verify that she was seeing the right thing. Bubba spent most of his time trying to direct her where to look. As they got closer to the field they double-checked that they were transmitting the right code. "Dial in 300.25," Bubba directed. Mounds paused trying to remember where the knobs where then reached up and set the frequency. She nodded to Bubba who took a deep breath. "Offutt tower, Tub 72," Bubba hoped that they would receive a response because that meant that their message had gotten through. Normally, when a pilot tries to contact a control tower it can take a moment for them to respond if they're working with other aircraft but today they responded immediately. "Tub 72, Offutt tower. We have you on radar, change squawk to number of the day." Bubba grabbed his codebook quickly thumbing through for the day's number. He found it and dialed it in then hit the "identify" button. "Tub 72, with the flash," he replied, meaning the "identify" button had been hit. "Roger, Tub 72, proceed." Bubba saw Mounds let out the breath she'd been holding. "It'll be ok. Take the controls while I talk. You're next descent is to 3000 feet." "Roger." Mounds pushed the yoke forward and began a slow descent. "Offutt tower, Tub 72 is declaring an emergency at this time." "Emergency?" Cupcake asked from downstairs. "Yes. We're fine but I'm letting them know ahead of time that we're legitimately sick. It will help build credibility as to why we couldn't move." "Tub 72; state the nature of your emergency and souls onboard," a second voice on the radio, older and more commanding, ordered. "Tub 72 has four ill crew members. Currently we have an ill instructor pilot in the copilot seat with an unqualified pilot under instruction as aircraft commander." He toggled his radio over to interphone, "Mounds you're about to be a B-52 pilot but I'm pretty sure they're going to have a welcome committed for us," he told her meaning the crash trucks and fire trucks. Standard procedure was to bring out the trucks for any emergency, no matter how small. Bubba had seen many times where a small emergency had turned into flaming wreckage on a runway. "Offutt tower copies," said the original voice. "You're cleared for your landing," stated the older voice. "Tub 72." Bubba trimmed the jet and pointed the runway out to Mounds. They were ten miles out and it wasn't much more than a dark spot in the fields. Mounds nodded and corrected her course slightly. "Think you can do this?" She hesitated slightly, "Yes..." "Yes, but?" "But, aren't you well enough to land?" "Yes, but I want you to have the experience now in case you need it later." She nodded once again, her hands still steady on the controls. "You're fine. I'm ready to help you if you need it." They continued down towards the runway, checking to be sure the flaps and landing gear were down. "Nav, airspeed?" Mounds asked Cupcake. "You're three knots fast." "Roger, correcting." She yanked the throttles back. "Not too far," Bubba told her calmly and pushed them up a fraction of an inch. "Tub 72, you are gear down three miles." "Tub 72 copies for a full stop," Bubba told the controller. Mounds' hands were still steady on the controls, occasionally dipping below the assign altitude but Bubba helped her correct it. They approached the end of the runway and Mounds pulled the throttles back. Her pull was a little bit early and the jet lost airspeed. It settled heavily to the ground, but it was no worse than some landings Bubba had seen young copilots do. Bubba pulled the drag chute handle as Mounds hit the brakes. At the end of the runway they could see crash trucks and fire trucks waiting for them. When they had stopped fully Bubba radioed the tower. "Tub 72, full stop." "Tower copies. You've been directed to taxi to the end of the runway to meet lead personnel." Bubba swore. 'Lead personnel' was code for the base commander. "Tub 72 copies." Bubba switched to the interphone again. "Looks like we've got another welcome committee." Mounds gave a delicate shudder beside him. "Keep your tempers in check and try not to puke on anyone." Mounds and Bubba ran their post-landing checklist while watching a white sedan come racing from the tower to the end of the runway. "That bastard," Bubba said without anger. Mounds looked at him quizzically. "I bet you a Coke that the other voice on the tower radio was the base commander." Mounds smiled and shook her head. "No bet, I'm pretty sure it was." They taxied off the runway onto the first taxiway and stopped just short of their welcome committee. Once they shut down all their engines, Bubba opened his window to yell down to the waiting firefighters. "We're going to need medical personnel!" He shouted to then, happy when some of them turned away and went running towards a parked ambulance. As they ran off the white sedan parked in front of them. He then turned back into the cockpit and clicked the interphone on. "Who's mobile?" Mounds and Cupcake told him they were but that Hitman and Wyatt were almost completely incapacitated. Bubba directed Cupcake to get Hitman out, then worked with Mounds to haul Wyatt's big frame down to the ground. By the time they were all on the ground they were sweating. Bubba, still exhausted, had started shaking, and was hunched over with his hands on his knees. They found themselves surrounded by security troops with guns again. Unlike in Cheyenne, their guns were aimed down and the guards merely watched them as they stood or lay shaking on the tarmac. The crew, minus Wyatt who was unconscious, appreciated that fact. At the center of the group of men surrounding them was a tall man in fatigues with three stars on his collar. He observed each of them intently, silently cataloguing their sickly and bedraggled appearance. "Which of you is Lieutenant Colonel Silver?" he finally asked. Bubba raised his hand weakly, still too tired to answer him. "Bubba, you look like shit," the general stated matter of factly. Mounds jerked her head up to look at him more intently and Bubba managed to peer up at him. He stared blankly at him for a full minute then a look of comprehension crossed his face. "Plunge?" Bubba blinked and looked at him again. "Plunge Feldman?" "You'd better believe it you sick bastard." The man broke from the line of guards and came to clap Bubba on the back. He had to reach to steady him as even that light blow almost knocked him off his feet. "We got your messages, didn't know it was that bad man." He motioned for the medical personnel, now waiting outside the ring of guards, to come forward. "We'll get you fixed up then we'll need to talk about Pensacola." Bubba nodded. "You said you had an unqualified pilot land?" "Yes. That," he pointed to Wyatt's unconscious form, "is my aircraft commander. That," he pointed at Mounds who was helping Hitman to sit upright, "is my EWO. She did the landing. I was in no shape to." General Feldman nodded. "Ballsy." He turned to Mounds, "Well done Captain, the bird is still in one piece." "Any one you walk away from, right General?" He nodded to her. The medical personnel got Wyatt onto a stretcher and into their ambulance. Since everyone else was mostly mobile they piled them all into a small truck. The general came to Bubba's window before they pulled away. "Go get medical help. Like I said, we'll debrief you after. If you were anything like your AC there it's no wonder you couldn't move. That should go in your favor." "Favor?" Bubba asked. He knew they were in some kind of shit but wanted to see how deep it was. "Yes. Like I said. We didn't know it was that bad." He paused thoughtfully, "There were a few people here who thought you were just enjoying your time at the beach a little too much and that you were starting to rebel or crack under the strain." Bubba stared at him. "It'll come out in the wash, don't worry too much." General Feldman thumped the side of the truck with his fist and they began to drive off. "Who is he Bubba?" Mounds asked. "He was the first squadron commander I had." "Can we trust him?" "Do you trust me?" "I guess we can." ------- Chapter 12 "Ma'am, how do you feel?" The med tech asked Mounds for the second time, giving her shoulder a slight shake. "Huh? Oh, fine." She looked away from Hitman who was being given saline and antibiotics. A narrow tube ran from an IV bag above his head into his arm, just below his rolled up flightsuit sleeve. Mounds thought he looked odd, dressed in a dirty and stained flightsuit, inside the sterile white clinic. She was glad to see that he was still conscious, unlike Wyatt, but was concerned that his fever was still rising. "Are you sure? Have you felt any chills? Aches? Trouble sleeping?" Mounds shook her head. Hitman's eyelids drooped then he jerked back awake. "Okay. Your blood pressure is low and your blood test shows that you're anemic. Also, your weight is alarmingly low. You only weigh 100 pounds, which isn't healthy for someone who is 5'4". I can only imagine the conditions you're living in but I can't stress enough that you need to eat." The tech shook her head. "When was your last period?" Mounds ran a hand through her dirty hair. "Uhm ... I don't know. A few months ago?" "Any chance you could be pregnant?" The tech's eyes darted to where Wyatt and Hitman lay. Mounds gave a bitter laugh, "No." The tech smiled. "Considering your health that's not surprising. You don't have enough body fat to carry a child right now." Mounds stared at the floor, unwilling to tell the friendly tech why she knew she wasn't pregnant. "I'm going to give you all vitamins to take with you. They'll help fill in the nutritional gaps. Also, you get an iron pill to help with the anemia. Well, I have no reason to keep you. If you start feeling any symptoms please return to us immediately so we can start you on antibiotics." Mounds looked back at the med tech and nodded. The woman smiled at her and pointed towards the door where Bubba and Cupcake were waiting. Both men had spent the last thirty minutes receiving saline and antibiotics by IV. They had been checked by med techs and diagnose with a relatively simple bacterial stomach bug. She was relieved to see that they looked refreshed as she walked over to them. Mounds had also been relieved to see that there were several women working in the clinic and that the moral of the base seemed high. She continued to brood over her comment that she was the only woman Hitman knew and was afraid that now faced with more options she'd be old news to him. "Mounds, I've already told Cupcake but they want me to get a briefing in Command Post. I'll see if I can get you in, otherwise stick with Cupcake until I get done." Bubba told her and Mounds shot Cupcake a quick glance. "I don't know why they wouldn't allow you in since anything they tell me I'll probably just pass on to you anyway. They might also need you for questions about our time in Pensacola." His prediction turned out to be true and an hour later Mounds found herself in the middle of an inquest. As aviators, they all knew the dangers of trying to fly while ill. You risked blowing out eardrums and rupturing your sinus cavities just from flying with a stuffy nose. The crew knew that it would have been possible to fly the aircraft with Cupcake passed out on the floor but the pilots' compartment was not set up for a single pilot. Several switches that are on one side aren't replicated on the other and the body of the aircraft was too wide for a single person to reach over. Mounds found herself explaining, not only that, but why the decision had been made not to let her sit in the copilot's seat since she was clearly capable of landing an aircraft. "Yes, but I was under the instruction of an instructor pilot today and even with his help I still bounced us down the runway," she told the Army general seated down the table from her. "Wyatt, Captain Phillips, is not an instructor pilot and Hitman, Major Johnson, made the decision that it was too great a risk to let me be the copilot based on that fact." Mounds tried to answer calmly but their line of questioning had been accusatory from the beginning. She found herself wishing Wyatt and Hitman, who had lapsed into unconsciousness just after they left, were there to help her. Bubba and Cupcake were able to answer some of the more generic questions but both men had been unconscious for the decision making which left Mounds facing the brunt of the questioning. "Isn't Captain Phillips a fully qualified aircraft commander?" another general asked. Mounds choked back the urge to roll her eyes as she had just answered a similar question fifteen minutes earlier. "Yes sir, but he's only qualified in the aircraft commander's seat, not the copilot's seat," she answered with a calm she didn't feel. "Then how can Lieutenant Colonel Silver be allowed to instruct you if he is only qualified in the copilot seat?" "Sir, I'm afraid you've based that question on an erroneous assumption," Mounds told him. "Lieutenant Colonel Silver is a fully qualified instructor pilot, which means that he, unlike Captain Phillips is qualified in both seats. He is also qualified to instruct someone in both seats." The three aviators shifted uncomfortably. It was painful to try to explain the upgrade process to non-fliers. "Do you consider yourself a capable aviator, Captain Ward?" the two star general seated to the right of General Feldman asked her. "Yes, General, I do as an Electronic Warfare Officer. However, the Air Force has only trained me for that job. I have almost fifty hours as a private pilot but a single engine Cessna is comparable to a B-52 the way a bottle rocket compares to an ICBM." The general smiled and the captain sitting next to him laughed aloud. She gave him a half smile when she saw he was wearing a missileer badge. Bubba patted her knee under the table and they could feel some of the tension leave the room. "Lieutenant Colonel Silver, had you been awake, would you have allowed her to fly as the copilot?" "Awake, but still unable to fly myself? No. She's a smart EWO and an extremely capable officer, as is Captain Phillips, but I deemed the risk of allowing them to fly the aircraft here without my guidance too high, as I told them when I awoke and have told General Feldman." "Very well," the Army general looked up the table to General Feldman. "Sir, shall we excuse them and make our decision?" General Feldman nodded and they went into the hallway. "This is crap, sir." Cupcake was always the first to point out the negative but today he was correct. "True. Not much we can do." Bubba rubbed his temples. "Plunge told me that the reason this all came up was because the current head of plans is a missileer. He's a genius at creating ICBM plans but doesn't know dick about flying. He apparently couldn't understand why we couldn't move." "Fuck me. No wonder we had such a hard time finding that damn vaccine back in Pensacola. It explains why they don't get why we couldn't leave. That ass-wipe doesn't know shit about us," Mounds exclaimed, the tension from earlier finally escaping her. "True enough. It doesn't help that Plunge is the only aviator among the generals as well. He can explain all day about why we couldn't go but they still won't understand. That damn missileer didn't understand what was going on and just started spouting off his assumptions, namely that we were being lazy and didn't want to leave Pensacola." Bubba took a deep breath to calm down. "I'll talk to Plunge about getting an aviator in charge of our move orders but there may not be a whole lot of options." They waited in silence for a few minutes then the door open once again. The missileer that Mounds had smiled at ushered them back in. As she passed she glared at him and wished she could get away with kicking him in the balls. They took their seats again as General Feldman stood up to speak. "Gentlemen, lady, it is our finding that your violation of a direct order was justified. You did what was necessary to maintain the health and well-being of your crew, the integrity of your aircraft and its payload. You will not be charged with willful disobedience. Furthermore your whole crew is being recommended for a Meritorious Service Medal for their excellent decision making." He glanced down at the missileer who was glaring a hole into the wall. "Finally, any further plans involving your aircraft will be checked by an aviator first," he said and smiled at Bubba, "and considering I'm the only one on base, that means me." Bubba, Cupcake, and Mounds breathed a collective sigh of relief. They had hoped that bureaucracy and stupidity wouldn't prevail and that they would be exonerated but they didn't expect to be awarded a medal for their actions. "Bubba, we have a few more questions concerning the incident at Cheyenne Mountain if you would please enlighten us. Your crew may stay to answer questions or they may depart, your call," General Feldman told him. "Thank you General, I'd like to allow them to visit with our sick crewmembers." Bubba gave them a nod. Mounds and Cupcake all but ran from the room, moving as quickly as dignity allowed. Outside, both shared another sigh of relief. "Damn, we're making out better than I could have hoped for," Cupcake told her. "Yeah." "Bubba told me earlier that they're counting every flight we've made as a combat sortie," he paused and looked at her. She kept walking, knowing that he was baiting her. "You know what that means right?" She nodded. "We're going to get an air medal for every freaking flight we did!" "Not a DFC?" Mounds teased him and Cupcake snorted. "Not yet. We'll probably get that once we're done," he said as he opened the door to the clinic. Mounds laughed at his high hopes. "All guts and glory aren't you, Cupcake? I'd like to just finish this and get a vacation. My desires in life are slightly less lofty than yours." Cupcake shook his head at her. "Come on; let's go see how Wyatt and Hitman are doing." Back in the conference room, Bubba was still engaged in questions about Cheyenne. He had given a narrative of how things had happened but was still answering questions on the specifics of the incident. The assembled generals had been shocked to hear about the leadership breakdown. They had assumed that even in times of war a single colonel would still be able to hold his men in check. Bubba had no explanations to offer other than to point out that the base was isolated, not being an officially declared military base, and that the men in it had been stressed to the breaking point. "Offutt seems to have fared well compared to where we've been, generals," Bubba explained. "You have food, running water, contact with other bases, and general knowledge of what's going on in the world. Cheyenne was the first base we'd been to in months that had any living personnel. "Every civilian airfield we've been to has had not a living soul at it. Colonel Williams and his men were the first people we'd seen alive other than ourselves in months." He took a deep breath. "You've seen my crew; you've seen how strong they are. They've been forged by hellfire. Those aviators have spent the last six months wondering where their next meal will come from, if the next base with have enough fuel to move them on, and wondering if they'll ever sleep somewhere other than the ground or an aircraft. Not to mention the fear that they could be shot at any time. Colonel William's men weren't much different except that they lacked the luxury of being able to leave. "They'd been holed up in Cheyenne for weeks before we got there and I don't know where they were before. They were run ragged. It wouldn't have taken much to push well ordered men into the riotous chaos we saw as we left." "That does not excuse their actions," General Feldman snarled. "No, general, it doesn't. I hate them for the mental and emotional pain they've inflicted on my crew, the loss of confidence in themselves and humanity, but it should give you an idea of what this country is like outside of this ivory tower!" Bubba closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. They had no idea what was going on around them. They got neatly worded reports of death, destruction, and war but they didn't have to see it firsthand. Even General Feldman hadn't had to face every day camping under an aging jet because the only buildings nearby were filled with dead bodies. They may make the decisions but they had no grasp on how grim the United States had become. The men in the room all shifted uneasily at Bubba's outburst but they didn't chastise him. He had a point and criticizing him for lecturing a room full of his superiors wouldn't change the facts. General Feldman cleared his throat then responded, "Well, Lieutenant Colonel Silver we will take your information and add it to our database. We may have to contact you again for further amplifications." He glanced around the room to see if there were further questions before pressing on, "Maintenance is being performed on your jet right now and you still have two ill crew members. In light of that we are holding your next set of move orders twenty four hours. You have until then free." Bubba nodded then rose and left the room. Weary, he walked slowly down the hall back to the clinic. "Bubba," Plunge called for him from up the hall. He paused to wait for him to stride up to him. "Look Bubba, I'm sorry about that. I wish I didn't have to come off to stiff and formal. You know me, it's not my style." Bubba nodded and he went on, "Look, I arranged for you to have twenty four hours off. Use it to your advantage. Hell, you even have enough time for a beer. When was the last time you kicked back with a cold one?" "Seriously? I haven't seen beer in four months and haven't had one to drink in over six!" Bubba broke into a huge grin and Plunge thumped him on the back. "Great. Go grab the two we grilled today and I'll meet you in the clinic; then we can head to my place and toss back a few. I'll tell them how you got your call sign!" ------- Chapter 13 When Cupcake and Mounds entered the clinic they were immediately confronted by a cute but harried looking med tech. "Are you April?" she asked Mound without preamble, giving her a doubtful look. Cupcake gave the young woman an appreciative look as he took in her tall, slender frame, shoulder length blond hair, and cute butt. Mounds glanced warily at the woman then nodded. "We think Major Johnson has been requesting you," the tech told them with a frown, "he kept asking for April but we've only heard you referred to as 'Mounds' or 'Captain Ward'. When we tried to get him to clarify whom he meant all he could say was 'she's beautiful'. I can only assume he means you." The tech gave her a snide look, eyeing Mounds' soiled flightsuit, scuffed boots, and dirty hair pulled into a ponytail. Anger and humiliation boiled up in Mounds and she took a step forward. Before she could raise her now clenched fist to beat the haughty look off the tech's face Cupcake grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him. She shot him a vicious look but subsided. "She's not worth it," Cupcake whispered to her. "Well then, Airman," she stressed the woman's rank, "where is he now?" "We moved him and Captain Phillips to their own rooms after we got enough saline into them." "Please take me to his room," fury radiated through her voice. The woman stood gaping at her for a moment, "Now." The tech dropped her stare and meekly led them to Hitman's room. "It's always amusing to see someone so short be so intimidating," Cupcake whispered to her as they followed the tech. "Don't start with me!" she hissed back and elbowed him in the ribs. Cupcake let out a small yelp of pain and sidled away from her. The tech looked from her to him nervously but continued leading them to Hitman's room. "So, why is Hitman asking for you? Why not..." he paused, "Bubba?" He looked at her quizzically. "You two don't have a 'thing' going on?" "No." "You're going to piss Bubba the fuck off if he finds out!" he told her quietly and grabbed for her wrist. She twisted her wrist towards his thumb breaking his grasp then poked him hard in the solar plexus. He stumbled into the wall and she pinned his shoulders to it. "You grab me one more fucking time and I won't just knee you in the ribs this time. I will shove your nasal bone into your brain. Do you understand me?" He nodded and she let him up. The tech, who had paused to observe the tableau, gave Mounds a horrified look. "Keep walking," Mounds told her. 'Man, get a couple meals in me and I'm back to my ball busting self again, ' she thought to herself. The woman finally stopped at Hitman's room. "He's in here and probably still asleep." Mounds dismissed her with a sharp nod then turned to Cupcake. "Go see Wyatt," she gave him a smile, "tell him I said 'hi'." Cupcake gave her a disgusted look but went in search of the tech, who had scurried off, so he could find Wyatt's room. Mounds put her hand on the doorknob then hesitated. Had the tech really said that he'd called her 'beautiful'? She looked down at her soiled flightsuit again and thought of the pert and perky, clean looking tech. Surely he'd seen the women in the clinic? She gave her head a shake and cursed her sense of inadequacy. She opened the door to see Hitman dressed in a hospital gown asleep on his bed. His flightsuit was folded over the end of his bed and she could see his dirty boots and shirt on the far side of the room. Tentatively, she walked to his bed. When it was apparent that he wasn't going to wake up she pulled a chair up to his bed. Her mind churned as she sat, chin on her hands, elbows on her knees. Thoughts of the night before flooded her mind and she gave a small gasp as just the thought of sex with him was enough to start getting her wet. What had he told her? Something about a squadron picnic and her dress? She dug back in her memory trying to remember. 'Think, think, when was that?' she asked herself. It had been July in Minot and she'd been told that at 82 degrees they were in the middle of a heat wave. Expecting a full blast of Southern heat she'd worn a thin-strapped sundress to the picnic. She smiled as she remembered the looks of jealousy and envy she'd gotten from the spouses. 'Buncha fat prairie harpies, ' she snarked to herself. It was almost worth being ostracized by them for the first year just to see the looks on their faces. She dug deeper in her memory trying to place Hitman's face at the picnic. She was so new at the time that she knew almost no one there. With a small shake of her head she gave up. It was so funny how he seemed to remember it so clearly but she could barely remember that she went. Mounds jumped in her chair when a med tech walked in a few minutes later. The man had an innocent face and looked to be no more than nineteen years old but wore staff sergeant stripes meaning he was older than his face suggested. He nodded politely to her then went about checking Hitman's IV tubes and vitals. "How's he doing?" Mounds asked him as he swapped saline bags. "Actually, he's doing pretty well, ma'am. It seems that you all..." he paused "well everyone but you, so far, contracted a stomach virus. They're usually pretty benign but with the scarce rations you'd had, followed by a couple of large meals at Cheyenne, it seems that the fellas' stomachs just couldn't cope with being thrown for a loop like that." The tech wrote down Hitman's pulse and a time on his chart. "In the future, I suggest working back up to large meals." He shot a glance at her, "I mean, you know, if you have the option." "How long until he's awake again?" "Oh, any time now. With IV saline and antibiotics he'll come around faster than your commander and navigator did. How are you feeling?" Mounds looked at him quizzically. "Well, you all ate the same way, the same things, it's only logical to assume you will get ill too." "Really?" "Yes. I think they're already planning to include a wide spectrum antibiotic to take with you when you leave. We could assume that you already contracted the bacteria and start you on it now but its powerful stuff, ma'am. Strong enough that its side effects wouldn't be worth it if you aren't going to become ill." Mounds considered that. She'd had a few times where she'd picked up a bug before and she clearly remembered some of the nastier side effects of antibiotics, especially the strong ones. "How long before symptoms manifest?" "Well, if it's what we think twelve to ninety six hours but if you have a good immune system almost a week." "Wow, I could be a long way from here by then." "Hence, antibiotics in the travel pack." "Thanks for the information. I'll let you know if I start feeling bad. By the way," she started sheepishly, "do you happen to know where my other crewmates are or where I'm quartered? I kind of ran over here before I thought to ask." The sergeant smiled and took her to Wyatt's room. Their arrival coincided with Bubba's who insisted she and Cupcake followed him to their accommodations. "Plunge said he'd meet us here at the clinic later but I think it might be wise to grab showers first," Bubba explained as they walked. "We've got a suite not far from here so if we scrub up quickly we should make it back before he does." "Does he need to ask us more questions or something, sir?" Cupcake asked. "Nope." "Then why can't we just kick back for the night and relax a bit for once?" "Because we have at least twenty four hours until we can leave and Plunge is buying," Bubba told them with a smile. "Seriously? We aren't on crew rest right now. I can drink?" Cupcake face lit up with glee. "No shit? I'm down for a beer or six." Mounds was no less excited by the idea of curling up with a frosty brew. "No shitting," Bubba's grin widened, "and he even threatened to tell you both how I got my callsign." "Ahh, no drinking session is complete without finding out how someone got saddled with a callsign," Mounds said as Bubba keyed open their room. Both Cupcake and Mounds had a sudden wave of fearful recognition as they entered. "Let it never be said that the Air Force possesses either infinite funds or imagination. This looks identical to our rooms in Cheyenne with the exception of the color scheme," Cupcake said after a moment of stunned silence. "Yeah, sorry guys, I should have warned you about that. That's part of why I wanted us to grab beers with Plunge tonight. Anyway, grab showers and clean clothes and we'll head back." They each went to one of the suite's three rooms and emerged twenty minutes later smelling, and looking, clean. "Man, is this some kind of fashion parade or what?" Mounds asked with a laugh. They had all reappeared in standard issue PT clothes and flip-flops. "Meh. Given a choice of comfort or fashion I choose comfort. Besides, it'll be easy to clean if I puke on myself later," Cupcake told her. Together be started walking back to the clinic. "Cupcake I still need you to able to fly by tomorrow afternoon. Especially if Hitman isn't back to one hundred percent," Bubba cautioned him. Cupcake nodded to him and entered the clinic but doubted he'd be sober the next morning. Once they were inside, they stopped in to see Wyatt first. After seeing that he was still asleep Mounds informed them that she'd go see Hitman. Cupcake shot her a look but she ignored him and walked out. She managed to get to Hitman's room with only one wrong turn and was grateful to see that there were no med techs around him. She quietly pulled her chair back beside his bed. She looked at him for a long moment, watching his chest slowly rise and fall, and then hesitantly took his hand. Hitman's eyes opened a crack, he took a long, deep breath, and then his gaze settled on her. A moment passed as he looked at her in silence, his face expressionless. Another moment passed and Mounds realized she'd horribly misread him. Mortified that she's misinterpreted their relationship, she pulled her hand back and stood to leave. "Wait," his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, "Wait, don't go." Bright red with embarrassment Mounds turned back to him. She stared at the floor, unable bring herself to look at him. He was going to tell her that it was a mistake, that he didn't want this to be serious, that she'd gone too far to presume to hold his hand. "Were you here earlier?" "Yes." "Why didn't you hold my hand then?" "What?" "Why didn't you hold my hand when you were in here earlier?" "I ... I was still dirty from the flight. I didn't think you'd uh ... I didn't think you'd approve." "Great stars above, woman! I don't care if you're covered in pig slop; I still want to touch you!" Her eyes finally flicked up to his. He shook his head and smiled at her. "Really?" she asked hesitantly. "Yes. Now get over here and hug me. Kiss me. Anything!" Relieved she fell into his arms and rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, you confused me. I thought you were mad at me the way you looked at me when you woke up." Relief coursed through her and on impulse she kissed his cheek. Before she could pull away he caught her chin and kissed her deeply. She could feel a rush of heat go through her as he broke the kiss. "Oh, sit down before you fall down," he told her. "I'm not mad. I was just confused about why you didn't take my hand. I didn't know if it was because there were people around or what." She sat back in the chair she'd pulled up and took his hand again. He gently traced his thumb down the back of her hand, which sent a shiver of lust down her spine. "I plan on telling Bubba about this, I don't want to have to sneak around," his lips quirked into an impish grin. "Not that that wouldn't be fun but we're adults." "Bubba's not going to like it. It'll throw off the crew balance," she told him. "I know. It'll make things weird for a bit but I think we can work around it." They heard the door open and Mounds made to pull her hand back but he held her tight. "So. Status quo?" Bubba's voice came from beside her. She closed her eyes to steel herself to the impending tongue lashing but it didn't come. "Mounds, if you would give me a moment alone with Hitman, I'd be appreciative," Bubba asked her politely. She gave Hitman a small smile. He squeezed her hand then released it. "I'll be in Wyatt's room if you need me." Bubba nodded then took the chair she'd vacated. ------- Chapter 14 Hitman watched as Mounds left and sighed. He knew they'd probably be in trouble for this but was prepared for the consequences. He dragged his eyes from the door to Bubba whose expression was unreadable. They looked at one another quietly for a long moment. He'd know Bubba long enough to know that he wouldn't yell. Bubba yelled, fussed, and hollered when he was mildly annoyed. Bubba had been known to pace up and down the halls of the squadron gripping a baseball bat on his bad days. However, when he was angry, he was still and quiet. It was a trait that few noticed and scared the crap out of many young and foolish lieutenants. Hitman waited in silence for his boss and friend to start. "Do you love her?" was Bubba's only question. Hitman leaned back into his pillows slightly. That wasn't what he had expected Bubba to say. He looked warily at Bubba's impassive face. "Yes," he told him. Another moment passed quietly. The longer the silence dragged out the more Hitman got worried. "How long?" Hitman quirked his eyebrow in question. "How long have you loved her?" Hitman gave a nervous laugh, "Probably from within a week of when I first met her." Finally, Bubba shook his head and grinned. "She's got that kind of personality. She lights up a room." They were quiet for another long moment. "I won't punish you for it. I can't." His grin faded and he looked down, "We both know how precious that kind of love is. How fleeting. Hold onto it." When Bubba's eyes met his again Hitman could see a hint of moisture. Bubba wasn't speaking to him as his commander. He was speaking to him as one widower to another. Bubba cleared his throat and continued. "Don't fuck things up. Don't let it mess up our balance." Hitman nodded. "This isn't like it was. I can't swap crewmembers if you start fighting." "I want to marry her if she'll have me," Hitman told him in a rush. "You have my blessing but you'll have to wait." "Why?" Hitman was crushed. "Married couples can't fly together, especially not in combat." "Well, hell! I've waited this long, I can wait longer." "Good. You guys give me hope." "Besides, I don't even know if she'll marry me!" They both laughed. Bubba rose and patted his leg. "Keep recovering. You should be well enough to be out of here and on the move tomorrow." Hitman nodded. "Thank you, sir. I mean it." Bubba smiled and left him. His thoughts grew introspective as he walked to Wyatt's room. He'd been married once but they're seperated shortly before his son's ninth birthday. He had hit his midlife crisis and thought he could do better. He'd sent his loving and adoring wife packing because he thought he could do better. They had never finished the divorce process, living separated and estranged for several years. He regretted it deeply. He regretted losing his loving wife and missing his son growing up. Now he had no idea if they'd survived the flu or war. He'd tried calling them before Shell-Game started but the line was dead. Hitman had been a widower for ten years. Maybe he too could overcome the loss of his family and start again. Ten years might just be long enough to recover from the loss. When he arrived at Wyatt's room he saw Mounds, Cupcake, and Plunge conversing with Wyatt, who had finally woken up. Plunge walked out to him when he saw him in the hallway. "Ready for some brews, Bubba?" "Yes. Yes, I am." He waved Cupcake and Mounds over. "Follow me." Plunge led them out of the clinic towards his home. The walk was relatively brief and led them to a modest two-story home on the north side of base. Despite the brevity of the walk, night was now falling and they stumbled a bit up the steps. Plunge flipped the lights on as soon as he walked in. "Not bad digs, Plunge," Bubba said as he admired the house. "Meh, standard issue for brass these days. Have a seat, I'll grab the beer." They sat, Bubba in a recliner, Mounds and Cupcake on the sofa. They all exchanged happy smiles of comfort. It was nice to be sitting on something other than an ejection seat or the ground. "Here, pass them around." Plunge told them as he passed long neck bottles from the bucket he brought out. "Cheers, lady, gentlemen. To the last American bomber crew." He raised his bottle in toast, "Well, most of it anyway." They sat quietly sipping for a few minutes. Cupcake had a grinned plastered on his face. He loved beer, loved it. The smell. The taste. He loved it so much he'd brewed his own then he had the chance. Mounds sipped with pleasure but her stomach twisted. She gave Bubba a few discreet glances but he seemed content to sip his beer. She knew she'd probably hear an earful later but for the time being would settle for a quiet beer. "So, who wants the latest political news?" Plunge asked, finally breaking the silence. They nodded at him to go on, savoring the beers. "Well, first off, China has dissolved as a political unit since they can no long prove that they have nuclear weapons. They are in a state of anarchy and the remaining American strategists assume that they will reform as several small nation states as the Soviet Union did back in the early '90s." "Ha," Bubba laughed, "no more worries about fighting in the Taiwan Straits!" Plunge smiled, "No doubts. It's nice to get that monkey off our back." "What about the Russians?" Mounds asked. "Russia is almost ready to sign a peace treaty," he told them with a small smile. "Almost?" Bubba asked. "They won't until they see that the U.S. has nukes still threatening them," Plunge answered. The three looked at him quizzically. "They don't want to be duped like China tried to do." "China?" "Yes. The Chinese tried to force them into a treaty, claiming that they still had nukes. When the Russians were able to prove that they didn't ... that's when China crumpled. They had nothing left." He sighed and opened another beer for everyone. "Now we're in a bind. We can't just invite the Russians here to show you all off but they won't sign a peace treaty with us until they know we've still got nukes too." They drank quietly for a while longer contemplating the problem. "Aww, hell," Cupcake finally muttered. "Let's just zip over then, show up on their radar for a few minutes then scoot home." He gave a small burp. Bubba gave a laugh, "Two beer queer these days, huh Cupcake?" He smiled. After six months without alcohol, even he was feeling the effects of just two beers. "No, seriously. We fly over there, stay in radar range just long enough to be seen. We've proven our point, no weapons dropped, end of story." He smiled at them all. Mounds shook her head at him while laughing but Plunge looked thoughtful. "Not a terrible idea. Certainly better than some I've heard," Plunge told him. "Bubba, how did you get your callsign?" Mounds asked suddenly. "Huh?" Bubba was taken aback by the abrupt question but Plunge whooped with laughter. "You told me ages ago that you'd tell me how you got your callsign over a beer and I've been waiting all this time to have another beer!" "Hell girl, I'll tell you if he won't," Plunge told her when Bubba hesitated. "Back ... many, many moons ago your dear squadron commander was just another dumb ass copilot. While we were TDY to Georgia he met a lovely young lady," he winked at them sarcastically, "with about half her teeth-" "Oh, for fuck sake, she was only missing one!" Bubba interjected. "-and the sweetest Southern drawl you ever did hear. Well, Bubba took a fancy to her, as he was deep in his cups. He takes off with this girl. Boom, gone! Well, he doesn't show up until she pours his ass out of her Chevy Nova at our feet the next morning." Mounds and Cupcake both listened in fascination. "So, in honor of his loved of southern belles like that one we gave him 'Bubba'." Mounds and Cupcake both exploded with laughter while Bubba shook his head in shame. "How about you, Mounds. How'd you get saddled with that callsign?" Plunge asked her. "Well, sir, no cool story for mine. It's pretty simple." "Oh?" he asked. "Yeah." She pointed at Cupcake, "Almond Joy's got nuts," she pushed her thumb at her own chest, "Mounds don't." Plunge roared with laughter. "Nice. Sometimes the simple callsigns are the best." Plunge sipped his beer then looked at Cupcake, "How about you, Cupcake?" Cupcake groaned. "Well, we all know survival school's a bitch?" The others nodded. "To be funny I used to call it Camp Cupcake, trying to make everyone think I had an easy time. Well, I guess Cupcake stuck." "Bullshit!" Bubba called out over his third beer. Cupcake glared daggers at him. "Ooo, I'm ready for this story," Plunge told Mounds. "Cupcake," Bubba paused, "was the name of one of the strippers at the Viking Club on Guam." Plunge nodded. The Viking Club was a well-known strip club in Tumon, Guam. The legendary club had been the downfall of many a man and many a marriage. "Well, one of the first nights of our deployment Matt here went with everyone to the Viking. They proceed to get tanked and he meets a lonely young lady who's just working her way through college-" "There aren't any colleges on Guam, Cupcake. Didn't they tell you that?" Mounds asked him with a smile. "Well, they strike up a conversation and she lets him know the price of a dance and that for a certain price, she is also for sale. Well, poor Matt if flummoxed by such a direct proposition but his squadron-mates came to his rescue. Not wanting to get him in a legal trouble they pay off the Mama-san so he can be brought up on stage." Mounds snickered and Plunge's eyebrows went to his hairline. He'd heard stories of being brought on stage at the Viking but hadn't seen it himself. "So, the lovely young 'co-ed' drags Matt up on stage and brings him to the ship's wheel. Where she proceeds to remove his pants and beat his bare ass with his own belt. Poor Matt couldn't sit right for a week after that! So in honor of that lovely lady and her antics we dubbed him 'Cupcake'." Bubba smiled and drank his beer with a flourish. Plunge slapped his thigh with his hand and howled with laughter. Cupcake tipped his beer to the general and drained it. When Plunge finally finished laughing he asked, "So, what about the other two? How'd they get named?" "Oh come on Plunge, you know you can't tell a callsign story without them here!" "Hell, figured I'd try anyway." He reached down for another beer to find the bucket empty. "Well folks, I hate to say it, but you've drunk me dry." "Well, I guess we can stumble our asses back from here." "Be safe. You've got a preflight briefing in the morning." Bubba looked shocked. "Not too early. We'll see you at 0800." Plunge slapped a much relieved Bubba on the back and ushered them out the door. "Thank you, general. That's one of the best nights we've had in a while." Bubba shook Plunge's hand and the three of them stumbled down the road, relating other stories of deployed debauchery as they went. ------- Chapter 15 The next morning found Bubba curled up on the couch in the common room, Mounds lay on the floor below him, Cupcake dozed with his arms and legs sprawled across a recliner. The three had collapsed into those positions after walking back from Plunge's house the night before. The walk back had taken them the better part of an hour because they kept getting lost. Finally, a security forces troop on patrol had found them near the commissary and had taken them back to their suite in his patrol car. An alarm rang from the vicinity of Bubba's room rousing them. Bubba sat up quickly only to sink back down clutching his head. He'd only had three beers but he accumulation of post-flight dehydration and drinking had left him with a headache. He swung his feet off the couch and onto Mounds' shoulder. She gave a startled grunt and rolled away into Cupcake's foot, where it dangled off the recliner. In a matter of moments, the three were awake and attempting to go on about their day. "Flightsuits and happy faces, everyone." Bubba called out as the other two shuffled to their rooms. They showered, dressed, and were mostly revived by the time 0730 rolled around. They moseyed slowly to the chow hall for a quick bite to eat before presenting themselves at the Command Post where Plunge had told them they'd receive their next set of move orders. "Good morning!" Plunge's voice boomed across the room giving Cupcake cause to wince. "Glad to see you survived the night." He ushered them to a small conference room, already partially filled. They saw Wyatt and Hitman had recovered enough to attend and were seated on one side of the table. They seated themselves with them and noted the three other officers while a fourth stood working on a PowerPoint presentation. Mounds looked around the room and recognized some of the faces from the day before. She noted that the man working on the slideshow was the missileer she'd sneered at the day previous. Another man she recognized at Plunge's executive officer, a junior major who'd risen through the ranks as an intelligence officer. She made eye contact with Cupcake and gave a head nod towards the missileer. In return Cupcake gave him a hard look, then rolled his eyes and shook his head. Bubba gave them both a glare that said 'knock it off' then assumed a pleasant social expression. She smiled at him then gave a darting glance to Hitman. He had showered, shaved, and looked well rested. Glancing towards Wyatt, she saw that he also looked well rested. "Lady, gentlemen, General Feldman, good morning," the missileer addressed the group. "This is your pre-takeoff briefing for Wednesday September 12, 2012," he advanced the slide. The next slide displayed a map of the U.S. showing their proposed route of flight as well as the locations of previous nuclear strikes. "Your mission today will take you to Ellsworth Air Force Base, South Dakota. Expected flying time will be three hours and twenty minutes plus ground ops." He handed the clicker to a Staff Sergeant who'd been standing discreetly in a corner. "I'm Sergeant Pearce from weather," he clicked the slides forward again to show the upcoming weather. "As you can see here, there is a frontal boundary moving in from Canada. Early snow showers are expected to move in by tonight leaving up to two inches of snow at Ellsworth by morning. However, your flight this afternoon should be smooth at altitude with only minor turbulence over Wyoming and South Dakota." He paused to look at the group to see if there were any questions then handed the clicker back to the missileer. "Thank you," he advanced the slide again to show a more detailed route of flight. "You'll be flying directly east from here towards Cedar Rapids, from there you'll be flying north to Minneapolis, then on to Rapid City. Please be cautious not to deviate too far north as that will take you over the Minot Nuclear Exclusion Zone." Wyatt and Mounds jerked up right when the Nuclear Exclusion Zone was mentioned. They had all known that Minot had been struck by Russian ICBMs but no one had referred to it as an exclusion zone, even obliquely, until now. The missileer blithely continued, "Once on the ground at Ellsworth expect at least eighteen hours, ideally twenty four, on the ground before your next move." He slid a folder to them. "Here are your forms and fuel sheets." He smiled proudly as if he'd filled them out himself. "Any questions?" There was a small pause them Bubba drawled, "Yes, I've got one." The missileer listened attentively. "Did you come up with this plan?" He nodded. Bubba turned to Plunge. "General Feldman, did you review and approve this plan?" Plunge pinned him with a hard stare and nodded. "Then we have no questions." Nonplussed the missileer flushed and left the room. "Wyatt, check the fuels. Hitman, double check the forms when we get out there." Bubba told them quietly. "General Feldman, we thank you for your hospitality. Rest assured we'll transmit a message once we reach Ellsworth." Plunge gave them all a nod. "I'll walk you to your jet when you're ready." Plunge told them as they rose to leave. Bubba nodded. "Let's gather up our stuff. Hitman, Wyatt, I trust you're ready to fly?" They both nodded. "Grab your gear and whatever knickknacks medical wants up to take, we'll meet you on the flightline." He turned to Cupcake and Mounds. "Let's grab our things then head out." They walked briskly back to their suite and began packing. Thirty minutes later they were packed and loaded into a staff car headed to the flightline with Plunge in tow. "The weather at Ellsworth isn't great, I know, but we need to stash you there for now. Cupcake's remark last night wasn't far off the mark for strategy but we have to get the politicians to agree first. Hence, you're stuck in Ellsworth while we get it worked out. Be prepared to stay longer than twenty four hours. It's going to be unseasonably cold for September so don't forget to grab your parkas out of the 47 section." Bubba snorted and told him "Yes, mom!" Plunge gave him a smile and elbowed him in the ribs. "Don't mock me redneck boy!" His smile deepened and he shook his head. A few minutes later they arrive at the jet. "Stay safe." They climbed out and grabbed their gear. Bubba gave Plunge a flippant salute then the car speed off the tarmac and headed for the control tower. "Bastards going to give us clearance to leave," Bubba said with a smile. "Only makes sense, sir. He was the one who cleared us to land after all." Mounds quipped with a smile of her own. The five of them then settled into their normal routine of preflighting the jet. Bags and new supplies were loaded, the cooler of medical supplies was hoisted aboard and engines were started with a minimum of effort. After assuring the crew was ready to go Bubba called for the clearance to taxi. "Ground, Tub 72 request taxi to runway 3-0 with information Alpha." "Tub 72 cleared taxi to runway 3-0 via Papa." They lurched forward as Mounds ran their taxi checklist. They pulled up to the runway, eight engines blazing. "Tower, Tub 72 request IFR departure." "Tub 72 you are cleared to enter the runway and back taxi, stand by for further control." Pulled onto the runway and turned around to face northwest before another voice clicked onto the radio. "Scared the shit out of some commies Tub 72. You're cleared IFR departure." Plunge's voice came across. "Clear skies and safe landings." Bubba laughed into his mask. "Tub 72 copies. On the go." Eight engines roared mightily. Bubba spared a quick glance to his right as they hurled down the runway. Wyatt's face was concentrated on the take off but otherwise was a picture of health. "Seventy knots, airspeed." Cupcake called from downstairs. "Coming up on S-1 ... now!" "Crew we're committed." Wyatt told them as his eyes swept the gauges. The Offutt maintainers knew their stuff, every engine showed in the green and purred with power. Eight thousand feet of runway zoomed beneath them. "Coming up on unstick, ready, ready, now." He pulled back on the yoke and they started climbing. The crew went about their post-takeoff tasks with a small twinge of regret. Previously, when they'd taken off it had been to depart one shitty location for another. This time they were leaving a base with healthy and happy personnel. People there knew them, at least a little bit, and cared what happened to them. It was a sad feeling to leave even that small amount of caring. Downstairs Hitman and Cupcake worked identifying landmarks via the radar to settle the system. By the time they had leveled off over Des Moines the radar was perfectly tuned and showing the devastation wrought by war. Their charts showed multiple large towns and the city of Des Moines but on the radar, there were only small blotches where towns should be. Relentless bombing had pounded parts of America's heartland into nonexistence. The Russians and Chinese may have run out of nuclear weapons but they had maintained an abundance of conventional weapons until recently. They had both continued to try to subjugate the U.S. militarily by striking its heartland for propaganda. Russian and Chinese new stations had shown triumphant footage of Midwestern cities being brutalized by conventional bombing. America had responded in kind but the blow to the American psyche had been dealt. Upstairs Mounds was tuning her system and trying to find signs to life on her radar receivers. Cities and towns that had been obliterated by flu had simply stopped transmitting the myriad of signals associated with life when there were no longer people left alive capable of operative the station equipment. Television, cell phone, even garage door openers were silent with no one to operate them. The Chinese had figured this out and in the end only based their bombing on cities that were still broadcasting signals. A brilliant American intelligence officer had realized it a few weeks later and was hatched a plan to send military personnel to transmit signals from only the decimated towns. For a time Mounds had only received signals from towns and cities where only those small teams were alive. By the middle of the summer even many of those had dropped off line. Mounds knew now that this was caused by the second outbreak of flu which had probably killed off those teams. She stared bleakly at her scope, which was pitifully empty. They flew on through the day breaking out flight lunches halfway through. Wyatt and Hitman joked about how "boxed nasties," despite a war, never change. Mounds smirked but didn't comment, nibbling lightly at her chicken sandwich. "Hey Mounds, when were you born?" Hitman asked her from downstairs. "Well, I'm 27 now. Do the math!" "Seriously!" "I was born September 29th, 1985." "Ha! I think my M&Ms are older then you!" "Lies. These are boxed nasties, not MREs, which means that they can't be more than ten years old!" She did however grab her own bags of chocolate morsels to verify. Sure enough, they had been packaged in 2010. 'Two years old?' she thought to herself. "Meh. Mine are only two years old, which is good enough for me. It's like those Twinkies we swiped, they last forever." They flew on; darting across America's broken heartland in a path that Cupcake described as like that of a "squirrel on crack." Finally, to everyone's relief, Wyatt and Bubba called that they had 'eyes on' Ellsworth's runway. Wyatt brought their B-52 down with a gentle bump. "Nice landing, Captain Kangaroo!" Cupcake quipped from below but Wyatt and Bubba ignored him. As they taxied off the runway they started to realize that their stay in Ellsworth might not be as comfortable as their stop in Offutt. There were large bomb craters on both sides of the runway and only a few buildings remained standing. Those still standing were only upright because they leaned on their decimated neighbors and had nowhere to fall. "Crew, it appears that we'll be sleeping on the jet tonight," Bubba told them calmly. Mild outrage erupted behind him but he continued. "There aren't any buildings that I'd call 'structurally sound' here. And," he continued in his best smooth airline pilot voice, "if you'll direct your attention to the outside air temperature gauges you'll see that it's an unseasonably cool 34 degrees Fahrenheit." "Balls," Hitman cursed. "Ditto." Mounds responded. "Sorry ya'll. We'll grab parkas and sleeping bags once we shut down the engines." "Bubba?" Hitman queried. "Yes?" "Am I losing my screen down here or is it snowing?" he asked as he rapped gently on the display. "No worries, your screens work, it's snowing." "Lovely." They taxied to a halt and killed the engines. Everyone went about tidying up their areas slowly, hesitant to leave the warmth of the jet. Finally, Bubba dropped down to the hatch and opened it after giving Hitman and Cupcake a eye roll for being afraid of the cold. The hatch swung open to show thick clumps of snow swirling across the pavement. Bubba jerked back in surprise as it had only been snowing lightly a few moments earlier. "Everyone lets hurry back to the 47 section to grab winter gear. We'll button up before too much cold air gets in." Bubba ordered then turn to Hitman. "Two inches of snow? Really? We'll be lucky if we escape in under a half foot." He shook his head slowly then looked up to see Mounds and Wyatt peering down at him. "I swear to my dear and fluffy gods, I will ring that fucking missileer's neck if I ever see him again!" ------- Chapter 16 The crew worked quickly to do post-flight maintenance before they pulled winter gear out of the aft end of the jet. Although they had each spent at least one winter in Minot, where the temperature regularly stayed below zero for weeks at a time during winter, they had grown accustom to warmer weather. The ambient temperature dropped rapidly as day faded to dusk while they did maintenance, leaving them all shivering as they pulled parkas and heavy weight sleeping bags from the tail. "Get your gear on and in the jet as fast as you can. We'll button her up and break out the MREs. It's not ideal but we'll be better off in the jet than trying to get a tent up outside," Bubba directed them. "Bubba, we're going to lose a lot of heat to the metal of the jet. A tent would hold a small volume of air, easier to keep warm with just body heat," Hitman told him discreetly as the others walked back to the nose of the jet. In the few hours since landing a solid two inches of snow had accumulated on the ground and was forming taller drifts on the lee side of the enormous tires. Hitman and Bubba watched as Mounds stumbled briefly only to be caught and righted by Cupcake. Bubba saw Hitman's eyes harden when she threw his hand off but didn't comment. "You're right, about the heat loss, but look at how hard the wind is kicking. Our tent would be blown halfway down the runway in a matter of minutes. We could anchor it to a landing strut but we wouldn't be able to take off in a hurry with a tent tied to the jet. Tactically, we're more sound just staying in the plane." Hitman nodded and told him, "Your call, sir." Bubba knew that to mean that he didn't fully agree but didn't disagree enough to argue. They dragged their bags to the hatch and loaded them up. It was a tight squeeze with all the winter gear added to their other gear. The B-52 is a large aircraft but only a small portion of it was dedicated to the crew compartment. They discussed the predicament over MREs once they got inside. Meals, Ready-to-Eat, or MREs, were another bane of their nomadic existence. While they packed a whopping 1,200 calories per bag, they tasted like cardboard, and they were never meant to be consumed for more than a month straight. The government had endeavored to offer a variety of flavors but the packets were still jokingly referred to as 'Meals, Rejected by Everyone'. The crew of Tub 72 had initially eaten two to three a day until they realized that they would quickly run out at that rate. After that conclusion had been drawn, they'd started raiding vending machines in the FBOs they visited and only eating one MRE a day. The change in diet had been greeted enthusiastically by Bubba, Cupcake, and Hitman with only Mounds dissenting while Wyatt merely shrugged. He never cared what he ate so long as he ate. He told them that the MREs reminded him of trail rations and that they 'weren't that bad'. Mounds had objected to stealing from the FBOs but had been forced to eat what they took when Bubba noticed her sharp weight loss. Even the joy of eating candy bars wore thin after eating them consistently for a month. Hitman had suggested they try hunting for their supper. They tried hunting at several locations but had been unsuccessful; the military issued 9mm Beretta wasn't an ideal hunting weapon. Hitman and Wyatt had finally elected to raid a local Wal-Mart for better firepower. Bubba granted the two permission and they left on foot only to return in a pickup truck loaded with guns and ammo later. Under Mounds disapproving gaze they unloaded a small arsenal of rifles, shotguns, crossbows, and compound bows as well as ammunition for everything. Mounds had said nothing during the unloading process. She knew that the new firepower could mean fresh meat or even protection should they be attacked on the ground but she still disapproved of stealing. In her heart, she knew it was unlikely for anyone to be alive to miss the losses but it chaffed her morals. However, she had been grateful when Hitman had handed her a small bag, which she later found to contain feminine supplies and a few articles of clothing. After divvying up the weapons, they'd had a successful hunting trip, bringing in a wild turkey that Hitman had taken down with a shot from the compound bow and a small deer courtesy of Bubba and his new Remington rifle. They gorged themselves that night but found that the leftover meat attracted too much attention from other wildlife. Hitman and Wyatt took the pickup back to Wal-Mart the next morning and returned with a large locking cooler, two camp stoves, pots, pans, and other utensils for cooking. The crew was currently feeling the pain of not being able to hunt as they chewed their rubbery chicken and tasteless beef slabs. "Bubba, I'm just worried," Hitman told him, "I don't know if they really should have sent us here." He peered out at the sheet of white outside the cockpit. "Can't be helped now, we need rest and there's no move order," Cupcake mumbled through a mouthful of pound cake. "Fuck all, Cupcake, we could move if we had to. Twelve hours of crew rest doesn't apply during nuclear war," Wyatt commented as he eyed Mounds cracker pack. She caught him, sighed, and tossed the pack to him. Bubba intercepted the flying crackers and threw them back at Mounds. "Eat those." He told her sternly and then leaned in to whisper in her ear. "The docs at Offutt told me you're still eighteen pounds underweight and have amenorrhea." He glanced at Hitman who was trying hard not to be caught sneaking looks at her. "That might be fine for a runway model but I need you to be healthy and with enough energy to keep up with the jet." He sat back upright and continued as if nothing had happened. "Wyatt's right, we could move without enough rest but Cupcake, you're right as well, where would we go?" Silence followed broken only by the sound of wrappers being opened and dry rations chewed. "So why send us up here?" Mounds finally asked once she'd finished her meal. "I dunno, that missileer said it was close to the exclusion zone so it's unlikely they'd look for us here." Hitman replied. "But the weather's shit; even their satellites' showed that much." "Satellite?" Wyatt asked thoughtfully. "What?" "Nothing, never mind." Wyatt shook his head and went back to slowly eating his pound cake. "I mean, we could have gone near any of the other major exclusion areas for the same effect." Hitman looked at Bubba but he appeared deep in thought as he chewed the last few bites of his meal. "Crap, this is dumb!" Cupcake exclaimed. "Ok, settle down," Bubba cut off the imminent bitch-fest. "It's been a long day, let's get some rest. We'll dig out tomorrow if we have to." The crew acquiesced quietly, if slowly. They silently finished their MREs and began unrolling sleeping bags. There was very little light coming through the cockpit windows as they finally settled in for the night. Cupcake lay cozied up in his sleeping bag between the seats downstairs while Mounds was curled up in her bag in the defense section. Hitman lay with his head and Wyatt with his feet pointed towards Mounds in the aisle while Bubba lay in the bunk above them. They'd all curled up with a minimum of chatter or movement in the cramped jet. They all just lay down and let their bodies relax. To someone unaccustomed to sleeping in a jet made primarily of aviation grade aluminum with a minimum of padding, sleep would have come slowly, if at all, but they were practiced hands at it and were asleep only minutes after they lay their heads down. Only Wyatt remained awake more than ten minutes, his mind churning. Something wasn't right to him: the weather, the location, the sudden hurry to get them out of Offutt, which was as safe as anywhere. He lay awake pondering what was missing before finally falling asleep an hour after everyone else. He slept fitfully, his mind not allowing him to drop into the deep and restful REM sleep her needed. Finally, he awoke again at false dawn knowing what was wrong. "Bubba," he sat up and whispered urgently. Bubba grunted lightly and rolled away from him. Wyatt grabbed his shoulder and turned him back. "Bubba, wake up!" "Uhng?" Bubba knuckled sleep sand out of his eyes and peered at Wyatt. "Satellites, that's why we're here. We're far enough north to be in Russian satellite coverage!" Wyatt looked urgently at Bubba who gave him a blank stare. "We didn't get sent up here to be hidden, we got sent up here to be seen." Bubba looked at him quizzically. "Just before we kicked this thing off the Russians had finished their newest satellite constellation which finally gave them coverage over not only the pole but both Ellsworth and Minot. In a few hours they'll be able to see us and if they can see us they can launch on us!" Bubba stared mutely for a moment longer. Wyatt wasn't known for being the brightest bulb in the pack. He was a solid pilot, good with his hands in the jet but he generally didn't think much beyond his next meal. However, his logic made sense. Bubba thought back to intelligence briefings he'd gotten before they left and he did remember seeing one about the new Russian satellite. It could see in both the visible light, infrared, and ultraviolet spectrum, which allowed it to penetrate even light cloud coverage. That meant if Wyatt were right, they'd be visible, even through clouds and snow. Not only that, but they might be sitting ducks. The first tremor of fear began in Bubba. "Wake the others, get on the radio." Bubbas voice was quiet and cold causing a shiver of fear to echo through Wyatt. "I don't care if you have to make the call on an uncleared frequency, get Plunge on the line, and find out when it flies overhead next." It was plausible. Hell, it was possible. Even if it wasn't they had to be sure. Wyatt scrambled over Hitman and down the ladder. He narrowly missed stepping on Cupcake's face. He threw himself into the radar's seat and flipped the radio into transmit. "Offutt control, Offutt control, this is Tub 72." He waited seven frantic heartbeats then tried again. "Tub 72, this is Offutt control, say message." "I need wing leadership, now!" "Unable, say message." Wyatt took his thumb off the transmit switch and cursed. Bubba and Hitman, who had awoken with his second transmission, leaned over the hatch. "Get me wing leadership now!" "Unable, say message," was all the response he got. Bubba dropped down the hatch and grabbed the mic. "Control, this is Tub 72's pilot. Get me Plunge on the radio, in the clear, now!" There was a lengthy pause. "Bubba, its six AM, you are on an uncleared freq, asking me things you should not ask on an uncleared freq. You had better have a good goddamn reason because you are pissing me the fuck off. What do you want?" was Plunge's angry response. "When does the Russian satellite go overhead?" Bubba didn't waste time being polite or formal. "Say again?" Plunge's voice told them that he'd heard what they said but couldn't believe what they were asking. "When does the satellite go overhead?" Bubba enunciated carefully. "Fuck. Standby." Bubba glanced at Wyatt who had a bead of sweat running down his face despite the cold. At his feet, Cupcake sat shivering in his sleeping bag watching them both intently. "Cupcake, open the hatch, see how much snow is out there. The windows are caked upstairs so I can't tell." Cupcake nodded, wiggled over slightly and cracked open the hatch. The door, which usually stopped several feet above the ground just barely graze a layer of snow. "Fuck me. That's got to be almost three feet." Bubba looked up at Mounds and Hitman peering down at them from opposite sides of the hatch. He could see them working out their situation in their own minds as a grim look passed over both of them. "We're snowed in," Wyatt said. "Master of the obvious," Cupcake muttered. "Ok, so we aren't moving without digging out." Bubba told him, trying to keep his voice calm. A burst of static came across the radio then Plunge's voice came through again. "Bubba, intel says sat will be overhead at 1446 local." He paused, "How deeply buried are you?" "You catch on fast, boss man," Bubba replied, "We've got three feet under the hatch, so we're stuck in deep. We're gonna need a crew to get us out." "Well, I guess I have about eight hours to get a crew built, to you and clearing a runway, huh?" "If you don't want the Russians seeing us, yeah, that's about the long and short of it." "Well, I guess I'd better be quick about it." He paused again. "Intel has just informed me that the Russians can have a weapon on top of you within twenty three minutes of confirmation of your location." "Well, I guess you'd better have us out of here this afternoon then. I'd hate to see this whole operation fail now," Bubba said his voice laced with dry humor. "We'll be back to you when we know when and where a crew is launching from and what you should expect to see." "Copy." Bubba clicked the radio into receive only mode and looked around. "Well, as the man says: There are those with guns and those who dig. I guess the Russians have the guns today and we'd better dig fast." ------- Chapter 17 "Fuck my life!" Cupcake cursed as he threw another handful of snow away from the tires. In the hour since they had talked to Plunge they'd worked frantically to try to clear snow away from the tires. They were hindered by the fact that they only had two shovels and the wind was pushing the snow back almost as quickly as they could move it away. Plunge had radioed back to them that a small crew had been found to come help. A few men from a Pararescue team had been paling around with two Navy Seabees near Grand Island, Nebraska and that team would soon launch with shovels and a snowplow. The crew had cheered when they received the transmission but were considerably sobered when they were told that they wouldn't land at Ellsworth until close to 1330, at the earliest. That gave them a scant hour and a half to land, dig them out, and get the jet launched before an ICBM might touch down. Bubba had directed Mounds to monitor the radio while the other four worked to dig around the tires. He explained to them that freeing the tires now might mean less work later, even if they were digging them out by hand. It also helped to expend the nervous energy and tensions which had been building all morning. "What good does it do us to dig out the tires if we still need to clear almost three miles of taxiway and runway?" Cupcake sneered. Bubba gave him a murderous look and seriously considered punching him, not for the first time. Wyatt shook Cupcake's shoulder. "Because, dumbass. If we free the tires, it means we don't have to overcome the friction the snow is placing on them now. If we free a couple feet forward of the tires we might be able to run up enough momentum in those few feet to push through. Run the engines up hard and use the wheels as a snowplow." Cupcake stared at him and Bubba smiled. Wyatt had proved in only a few hours that he was much smarter than he acted. Cupcake accepted his explanation and started to dig with the rest of them. Hitman and Bubba both worked with the small shovels they had stolen from Wal-Mart months ago while Wyatt and Cupcake dug with their gloved hands. They were all sweating despite the frigid wind when Mounds dropped out of the hatch. "Bubba," Mound hollered to him. "The PJs and Seabees just launched from Grand Island. They've got a snowplow slung under a Chinook and Plunge expects them here at 1317 local." "Did Plunge give us their authentication signal?" "No sir, I asked and he laughed at me." She shook her head at being laughed at by a three star general. "He told me that a Chinook carrying a snowplow ought to be just as unique and hard to replicate as a Buff mired in snow." The corner of her mouth quirked up in a small grin. "Good enough." Her turned and yelled to the other three, "Fellas, they're on their way. Let's take a quick break before we continue." They climbed back into the jet to keep the wind from freezing them. "April, do we have any MREs left?" Wyatt asked her as he climbed up the ladder. Mounds laughed and handed him one from the box. He may have proven that he was smarter than he looked but his mind still lay with his stomach. She distributed a round of MREs to everyone so that they could breakfast before shoveling snow again. They munched on their rations in silence for a while each too intent on their food to make conversation. "Wyatt, are you sure we can be seen from here?" Bubba asked, finally breaking the silence. "Yes, sir." He wiped cracker crumbs from his chin and turned to face Bubba. "The intel was pretty clear, they can see all the way down to Cheyenne, Wyoming." He paused then laughed a little. "I guess it gives them pretty good pictures of our missile fields, or what left of them." "So, who benefits from us getting knocked out?" Bubba mused, "I mean, other than the Russians, obviously." Wyatt rested his head in his chin and thought for a while. Finally, he shrugged and turned back to his breakfast. "What about that missileer?" Mounds asked him. "The one who gave us our brief and planned all our stuff. I don't know what he'd gain from it but he's at least culpable since he's the one who sent us here." Bubba thought on it, "Makes sense. He's in a good spot to screw us pretty hard." He thought on it for a few more minutes, gave a small grunt, and then gave a grim smile to Mounds. "Got an idea," Bubba stepped around Mounds towards the navigator's seat and flipped the radio back into transmit. "Offutt control, Offutt control, this is Tub 72." The radio gave a burst of static but Bubba thought could hear someone say "Standby." "Bubba?" Plunge's voice came over the radio. "Plunge, who first told you that we were just slacking off down in Pensacola?" There was a moment's pause. "Captain Fike. Why?" "Is Captain Fike by chance the missileer in charge of our move orders?" "Affirmative. Is this 'Twenty Questions' or what?" "Last one, sir, I swear. Who suggested that you move us from Pensacola to Offutt?" There was a short pause. "Captain Fike." Plunge's voice had gone cold. Bubba took his thumb off the transmit switch and turned back to his crew. "Does that sound fishy to you guys too?" They nodded. Bubba shook his head. "Like, maybe he's leading us around by the nose so he can put us where the Russians can shoot us down?" They all nodded and the tension level in the jet went from high to extreme. Bubba keyed the mic again. "Plunge, I think you've got a mole." "Yeah, I'm tracking what you're tracking Bubba. Keep digging, I'll get back to you." "Wilco, sir." Bubba flipped the radio back into receive. "So..." he drawled, "fucking missileer starts trashing our rep while we're sick. Then, he offers to bring us to Offutt where he can verify for the Russian's that he has eyes on us and we really do exist. Finally, while he's got all of his dirty little fingers in the pie, he finds a way to get us sent to one of the few places where we'll not only be seen, but can be shot and can't move." Bubba took a deep breath, "He's either about to be one unlucky bastard for getting wrongly blamed, or he's a traitor. Either way, I don't think he'll fare well." The crew sat silently trying to absorb that. "Wyatt, thank you for bringing this up. If you're right, you just saved our lives." Wyatt swallowed hard and nodded, "I hope I'm right ... but I also hope I'm wrong." Hitman patted him on the back. "Well, let's get back to clearing, folks," Bubba told them. "If someone else wants to monitor the radios I'm up for some digging," Mounds told him. "No, stay here, finish your breakfast," Bubba told her. Hitman gave him an approving look but Cupcake looked sour. He didn't say anything as he jumped back down into the snow but glared angrily at Bubba who dropped down next. "No," Bubba said and held up a hand to forestall his tirade. "You're right, it's not fair. But when you are severely underweight, to the point where you are physically ill, I'll let you man the radios while everyone else digs." Wyatt dropped down next and wisely ignored their little tableau. Hitman paused by Mounds and handed her a foil packet before climbing down. "I saved my pound cake for you." "Thanks Henry." She smiled up at him. He glanced down the hatch to see if anyone was looking then swiftly kissed her cheek before climbing down. Her grin broadened and she gave him a small wave as he descended. The other three caught the grin on his face when he got back down into the snow. Bubba gave him half a grin and Wyatt ignored him but Cupcake scowled at him. "What the fuck is making you so goddamn happy?" Cupcake snarled "Nothing, let's dig," Hitman replied amiably. "Fuck you. What, is Mound sucking you off on the side?" He sneered. Before Bubba or Wyatt could stop it, Hitman rammed his fist into Cupcake's face. Cupcake let out a howl of pain. He staggered back into the front wheel clutching his cheek. Hitman took a menacing step forward but Wyatt held him back. "No, she's not sucking my dick you slimy little shit!" "Whoa, whoa!" Bubba stepped between the two and pushed Hitman back towards the hatch. "This is not the time! I get it; we're stressed but calm down." He pushed hard on Hitman's chest but Hitman started yelling again. "What did you do to her, you shit bag?" Hitman struggled against Wyatt and Bubba. "Why is it that she never wants to be around you? Why do think anyone's sleeping with her? What the fuck is going on with you two that she pushes you away and tries to shoot you when you wake her up?" Cupcake stared at him, fear building inside him. "She thought I was going to rape her, that's why. Is that what you want to hear?" Bubba and Wyatt released Hitman to turn to look at Cupcake. "I told you, she woke me up and I scared her. I didn't mean to but I guess I pinned her to the ground. I wasn't thinking, ok!" Hitman walked up to him and punched him in the face again then turned and walked past a stunned Wyatt and Bubba. He climbed up the hatch. Inside Mounds sat staring at the hatch, tears streaming down her face. Hitman knelt down beside her and took her hand. "Is what he said true?" When she didn't answer, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Yes," she whispered. "Did he hurt you?" Hitman searched her face but she continued to stare blankly at the hatch as Bubba and Wyatt put their heads in. "No. He just ... held me down. I kicked him and he let me go ... but I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't." Bubba and Wyatt stood in the hatch, stunned. Hitman ran his hand down the side of her face then wiped her tears away with his thumb. "Are you going to be ok?" "Yes." She nodded to Bubba then looked back at Hitman. "Next time, let me hit him myself," she said quietly. Hitman gave half a laugh. "Yeah, that kind of hurt my hand." "Hitman, Mounds, you stay here for a bit," Bubba told them. He ducked out of the hatch then turned and tugged on Wyatt's flightsuit to get him to follow. Cupcake had slumped to the ground, clutching a pile of snow to his bruised face. He glanced briefly at Bubba then back to his own boots as they approached. "I don't have to tell you that this is probably not going to go well for you, do I?" "No." "As much as I want to, I can't leave you here for the Russians to nuke when we leave." Bubba raked his fingers through his hair, frustrated. "You're about as low on my totem pole as you can get right now. I suggest you don't speak for a while." Cupcake nodded. "Go and start digging out the back wheels. You are not allowed near Mounds alone, understand?" Cupcake nodded again and struggled to his feet. Bubba turned to Wyatt as Cupcake walked away. "I hate to do this to you but you're on guard duty until we can resolve this." Wyatt nodded. "I know you're friends, so its better treatment than he'd get if I put Hitman on him." Wyatt gave a small, bitter laugh and started trudging to the aft gear with his shovel. Bubba picked up his own shovel. He was at a loss for how to punish Cupcake. As much as he wanted to leave him at Ellsworth for the Russians to deal with he needed a navigator. They could fly from point A to point B with just one person downstairs but if they were called on to go bomb, he'd need both of them. Bubba shook his head and hoped the two navigators wouldn't kill each other next time they got a move order. He started digging again when we realized that it wouldn't matter if they didn't get out of there in the next four and a half hours. ------- Chapter 18 The crew worked until well past noon clearing snow from the Buff's wheels. Hitman had eventually come back out of the jet after Mounds assured him that she hadn't broken yet and was unlikely to fall apart now. Hitman hunkered down with Bubba to finish clearing the front wheels without comment. He would have followed him to help with the back wheels but Bubba, not wanting Hitman and Cupcake to come to blows again, had sent him back into the jet. Bubba joined the other two and with his help, they finished the back tires quickly. They had started trudging back to the hatch for lunch when they began to hear the steady THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of helicopter blades. Bubba lifted his knees high to run through the snow to the other side of the right wing. In the distance, he could just barely make out a helicopter carrying a snowplow under its belly as it cleared the dilapidated maintenance hangars. He ran back to the jet and told the others. They piled out to watch as the Chinook deposited the snowplow in front of them then circle to land nearby. Four men in fatigues, laden with snow shovels, piled out from the sides as a fifth could be seen working to shut down the engines. They ran slowly up to the crew, stopping a few feet from the nose. "Lieutenant Colonel Silver?" their leader asked and looked from man to man. "That would be me." Bubba told them and waved. "I'm Sergeant Bines. I've been asked to tell you that 'Plunge says you love gap toothed Southern Belles'." The man cocked one eyebrow up at him quizzically. Bubba cleared his throat. "Ahem. Yes. Well, certainly Plunge sent you." Wyatt looked at him questioningly, having been in the clinic while they exchanged callsign stories, and Hitman laughed since he'd heard the story before. "Now that we've established that fact," he rolled his eyes, "I need to get that jet," he point at the Buff, "off of that runway," he pointed up wind towards the runway. "Well sir, it looks as though you've done a fair job of digging the trucks out. We'll get the plow up and running. If I might make a suggestion?" "Go ahead." "It will take hours to clear the full taxiway and runway. Do you think you would be able to takeoff if we just clear a space the width of your trucks?" Bubba thought it over for a moment then looked at Hitman who shrugged. "Yes, that should be sufficient. We'll need to widen the turns since the aft gear will swing wider but that should be good." "Alright, we'll get to it." Sergeant Bines dug in his pocket and pulled out a small two-way radio. "Since we'll be out of shouting range use this if anything comes up." "Will do." Bubba glanced at his watch, "Gents, its 1332 now we're going to start our preflight. The satellite is scheduled to fly over at 1446, which means they can have a missile on our doorsteps by 1509. Keep that in mind. If it gets past 1500 we have to try to leave with whatever is clear and we will take off over top of you if we have to." "Understood, sir." Sergeant Bines nodded solemnly. "We'll direct our pilot to fire up at 1430 and be on standby to get out." "Sounds good." Bubba smiled and held his hand out. "Good luck." They shook hands and departed. Without another word, the crew split to start their preflight. A few minutes after starting the checklist they were all cheered by the sound of the snowplow clearing the way. They had trouble getting around in the snow as they checked the aircraft's exterior and the missiles. Mounds and Cupcake fared worst being the shortest; both had to follow someone else around so that they would have a path pushed through already. Bubba and Wyatt got inside first and started working on the checklist required to start engines. Minutes later Hitman, Cupcake, and Mounds piled inside. "Pilot, radar and nav are on board," Hitman told Wyatt and Bubba as soon as he had his headset on. He started working through his checklist without looking at Cupcake. Cupcake wisely ignored the cold shoulder treatment. "Pilot, E-dubs up," Mounds told him as she settled into her seat. "Roger. Time now, 1349." Bubba checked his gauge then turned to Wyatt. "It's too cold, we're going to have to run them up one at a time." "That's fine, but if we get pressed for time we'll skip the tech order bullshit and get the hell out." Bubba nodded and went back to the checklist. "Ready to start number four?" "Affirm." They could hear the sound of the Pratt and Whitney engine roaring to life. "Good start on number four, start number five." The continued to start engines until they had seven of eight started. "Bubba I'm showing that number two's RPM is hung." "Run it back, Wyatt. We'll give it a moment to clear out then try it again. Get the generators running while we wait for it to clear." Wyatt nodded and did as asked. "Time check?" Wyatt asked. "1402. Looks like they've got the taxiway cleared and the first five hundred feet of runway." Bubba did some mental math. "They should be done in time." He and Wyatt watched the snowplow zip up and down the runway, a plume of snow coming from either side of its scoop. "Pilot, E-dub." "Go." "Looks like one of my screens has gone out again. I'll be out of my seat chasing wires and checking fuses." "Roger, let me know when you get it fixed." "Times up Wyatt, let's try number two again." They tried to ignite the engine again but it continued to hang at a low RPM. Wyatt looked at Bubba. "Screw it man, let's taxi up to the line. The closer we are, the better I'll feel. We can keep trying." "Roger." Wyatt replied. "Crew, we're taxiing, it might be a little bumpy." He pushed the throttles up and the jet slowly lurched forward. "Geez Bubba, I know we're short by one but we are really dragging." Bubba craned his head back to look out the window. "Shit, the tip gear's buried!" He looked back to Wyatt. "Keep pushing, we'll just have to drag them." "Guess so!" They crept slowly towards runway, turning as carefully as possible to avoid dipping the gear deeper into the snow. They both looked down the runway, trying to determine how far down the snowplow had cleared. Bubba grabbed his radio. "Sergeant Bines, how far are you all?" "We're at the '3' marker, sir." "Roger." Bubba turned back to Wyatt. "They're only at three thousand feet." "It's not enough." "We've got time. It's only 1424." "They're going to see us in twenty two minutes. That's cutting it awfully close isn't it?" "Not much choice, Wyatt." "Pilot?" Mounds voice came over the comm again. "Go." "I found the problem. I've got two blown fuses and only one spare." "How bad is that?" "I can bring back part of the system but it won't be fully operational." "Well, that'll have to be good enough. We really don't have any choices." Bubba and Wyatt continued to check their watches as they watched the snowplow keep zipping back and forth. "Sergeant Bines?" "We're at the '5' marker, sir. I've ordered our helo to start warming up." "Roger." He put the radio down. "Five thousand feet and it's 1435." "Sir, take a look at number one." They both watched at the RPMs on the number one engine started rolling back to match number two. "Fuck. Kill them both, let them clear, and we'll try again." Bubba gave Wyatt a confident smile but inside his stomach turned. "We'll be ok." He looked at his watch as it ticked over to 1437. 'Nine minutes and the cats out of the bag, ' he thought to himself as they brought the throttles back on both engines. "Pilot, radar." "Go." "We're receiving a message." "Good, it'd be nice to know where we're supposed to go next. Wyatt, start one and two together. They were both on long enough before, I'm sure they're warmed up." Wyatt nodded and they started the ignition on both. Neither man was surprised when the two engines' RPMs hung low again. "Pilot, radar." "Standby radar. Ok, Wyatt. We'll go out on six engines. She'll yaw like a bitch but we'll be fine." "We'll have asymmetric thrust. That's going to cock the gear, sir." "Shit. Fuck! Goddamn!" Bubba swore fiercely as he, too, realized that the freshly cleared runway would no longer be wide enough to accommodate the gear if the jet was yawed to one side. He looked at Wyatt's scared face as he radioed the snowplow crew again. "Sergeant Bines?" "Sir? We're at the '7' sign." "Roger. That's long enough but we've got a problem and we need at least another fifteen feet wider in about," he looked at his watch, "two minutes. Can you do it?" There was a pause. "We'll try like hell, sir." "They'll be overhead in two minutes then it will take a few more to get a missile on us. We're cutting it close but either way I want wheels off the ground by 1500." "Sixteen, sorry fifteen minutes now? We'll be close." "Roger." He put the radio down again. "Ok radar, what do you have?" "The message says we're headed to Dreamland." "For fuck's sake. Area 51? Plunge must have been the planner for this one, only he could be that uncreative!" Bubba shook his head. "Well, punch it in; we'll see how that goes." He looked at his watch once more. "1446 crew. Stick a hand out the window and wave to the Russians." Bubba grinned at Wyatt then turned, opened the sliding window, and stuck his middle finger up to the sky. Wyatt chuckled and shook his head when Bubba pulled his arm back in and locked the window. Time slid by quickly as Bubba and Wyatt watched the snowplow continue to send plumes of snow off the runway. "Sir, it looks like they're got it cleared at least half way down. We won't start cocking off to the side until at least the three board. Do you want to clear the plow off and go now?" Bubba checked his watch once more and nodded. "1458, that's too close." He picked up the radio. "Sergeant Bines, clear your men out and get out of here. We can't wait any longer." "Roger, sir. We'll be off the runway in one minute!" Bubba dropped the radio in the bin beside him. "Crew, strap in, we're going!" He fastened himself in while Wyatt pushed up the throttles on the six good engines. Once finished he tapped Wyatt's hand then took over control of the throttles so that Wyatt could strap in. Behind them Hitman, Cupcake, and Mounds struggled into their own parachutes. "E-dubs strapped in!" "Radar's strapped in!" "Standby for the nav." "Hurry up, Cupcake, we aren't waiting for you!" Bubba nodded to Wyatt, "Seventy knots, now!" A second went by then Hitman looked at Cupcake to see if he'd hacked a watch to give the pilot the critical takeoff time. Before he could call out that they'd missed the timing step Mounds' voice came across. "E-dubs timing. Coming up on timing in three ... two ... one." "Committed." "I fucking hope so!" Bubba told them. He looked over to Wyatt and saw his hands clenched on the yoke, fighting to keep the wings level even before they lifted off the ground. He then looked down at the end of the runway. He could see the snowplow crew struggling to run through the snow to their helicopter. They'd pulled the plow as far to the side of the runway as they could but the back end still hung out. "I think we can get over that." He could feel the jet start to yaw to the left as the power on the right side increased over the left. The jet started shuddering violently. "Unstick!" Wyatt cried and pulled back on the yoke. They yawed harder to the left as they began to pull away from the ground. Bubba stepped on the rudder, trying to counter it but Wyatt already had it all the way in. The whole crew could feel the jet shudder as the landing gear started to scrape the snow. "Just pull her away smoothly. We can fix everything else airborne." The mighty jet finally gained enough altitude to be free of the snow and the shuddering died down. Bubba looked down at his watch to see it show 1502. He snatched the radio from the box next to him. "Sergeant Bines?" "We're aboard sir, leaving the field now." The sound of helicopter blades thumped in the background. "Don't worry about altitude; just get as far away as possible! You've got seven minutes." "Roger. Good luck, sir!" "And you as well. Thank you!" He dropped the radio again. "Passing two thousand feet." Cupcake called out having finally gotten into his parachute. "Roger. Wyatt level off. Save engine power; we'll go for speed, not altitude. Just get us away from here." He flipped his toggle so that he could transmit on their HF radio. "Plunge, Bubba, airborne and out!" "Offutt control copies." They sped along as fast as six good engines would take them. "Pilot, nav. We're coming up on 1509 in one minute." "Roger. Wyatt, let's climb!" They both yanked back on the yoke and watched the jet climb. Contrary to its appearance, the B-52 can climb like a bat out of hell. They passed ten thousand feet as Cupcake told them they had fifteen seconds. "Level off. We're about to take one up the ass." They pushed the nose forward and leveled off. "1509 ... now!" A handful of seconds passed and nothing happened. As Wyatt began to wonder if he was wrong, he turned to Bubba. Before he could ask if he'd screwed up a blinding flash of light engulfed the cockpit. Everyone, even the three without windows, blinked furiously to clear their vision. Bubba and Wyatt held the controls steady but were unable to see. "I'm blind," Bubba announced with more calm than he felt. "Me too," Wyatt told him. "Flash blindness, it'll clear in a moment." Hitman told them. "I have our altitude steady at fifteen thousand." "Roger." Suddenly the jet gave an almighty shudder and they were deafened by a roaring explosion. "Shock wave!" Cupcake yelled over the interphone. All around him, lights brightened and dimmed as the accompanying EMP wreaked havoc on the jet. Upstairs, Mounds fought to keep from being slammed into her own screens. The blast, which was shoving the other deep into their seats, threw her violently forward in her rear-facing seat. She brought one arm up to shield her face and felt her pinky finger snap as that hand slammed into her screen. She cried out in pain but the sound was lost. As soon as it began, the violent shuddering died and the wave passed them and dissipated. Wyatt's vision began to clear and he realized they were in a dive. He pulled back sharply and righted the jet. "Is everyone ok?" he called out over the interphone. He ran his tongue around his teeth, able to taste his fillings. "We're okay in offense," Hitman responded. "I'm alright, my vision's still a little hazy though," Bubba told him as he wiped at his eyes. "E-dub?" Wyatt queried when Mounds hadn't responded. "Mounds?" he asked again. "Radar's clearing out of his seat to check on her." Hitman bolted out of his harness and up the ladder. He found Mounds clutching her hand with tears streaming down her cheek. He gently took her hand and saw the mess she made of her little finger. It was bent at an unnatural angle, purpling and swelling. He plugged into the comm cord next to her. "Pilot, she's busted up her finger pretty bad. I'm gonna work with it a sec then I'll head back down stairs." "Roger," Wyatt responded. "Ok, Wyatt, let's get this thing on the ground." Bubba shook his head once more. "Almost twenty years in and I've done seven Red Flag exercises and I'm finally getting to go in The Box!" ------- Chapter 19 To alien enthusiasts Area 51 is the Holy Grail. Untold wonders of alien technology are stored away from prying eyes by government conspiracy. To aviators, it's a pain in the ass. Groom Lake, Area 51, or simply Dreamland and its airfields are situated north of Las Vegas, Nevada and Nellis Air Force Base, home of Red Flag. Red Flag is the Air Force equivalent of Top Gun and going to a Flag is highly prized among aviators. However, smack dab in the middle of the Nellis Test and Training Range, is "The Box." The airspace around Groom Lake is considered highly off limits and entering it is justification for at least a temporary, if not permanent, grounding. Unlucky aviators who either unwittingly or willfully entered the area during exercises find themselves headed home in shame, never to return to another Flag. Pilots unfortunate enough to develop mechanical failures during the exercise generally considered it better to punch out of the jet rather than try to land at Groom Lake. To be given a direct order to land there is an aviator, or alien enthusiasts', dream. The crew of Tub 72 was no different from anyone else. An hour out from landing their conversation turned to thoughts of what they might find. Aliens? New stealth aircraft awaiting test flights? Some heretofore unknown wonder of modern science being held in secret? Their debated covered the possibilities all the way through landing. "So, my vote? Aliens." Cupcake told them as they started their decent. Hitman was torn between amusement and wanting to punch him again. "I vote unpublicized technology," Wyatt chimed in. "What do you think, Mounds?" After Hitman had told them what had happened to her finger they had tried to draw her into conversation as often as they could. Their supply of medicine was stowed in the aft compartment, inaccessible in flight, which meant she had to endure multiple breaks to her finger during the four-hour flight without the benefit of painkillers. "How about both?" she said quietly. "Alien technology in new airplanes? I mean, didn't we 'discover' stealth technology not long after the Roswell incident?" The men chuckled over her assertion then fell quiet as they worked their way down to a safe landing. They taxied the jet to a place where they could both easily taxi away as well as have access to the buildings. As soon as they had the engines shutdown Wyatt, Cupcake tried to make a dash to the nearby building to look for evidence of their hopes. Bubba called them back sharply, reminding them that they had to conduct not only post-flight maintenance but also a battle damage assessment. Bubba shook his head over the fact that they considered a trip to Area 51 to be a more exciting and unexpected event than surviving a nuclear blast. He told the two of them to conduct their post-flight maintenance and to be sure to check for blast damage. He found himself of two minds. On one hand, he was horrified that Wyatt's suspicion had been correct and whether it was the missileer or not, someone had almost succeeded in killing them. On the other hand, he still occasionally wished he'd left Cupcake to his fate in Ellsworth. How could he be so stupid? Did he have any idea of interpersonal ramifications his actions would have? Bubba watched as Hitman and Mounds did their walk-around together while Wyatt and Cupcake did theirs on the opposite side of the jet. Bubba saw Hitman eyeing Cupcake when the two pairs passed close by. He knew that things were only going to get more tense as time went by but was at a loss for how to reduce the tension. He'd just have to keep the two pairs as separate as possible for the time being. When Cupcake and Wyatt finished their inspections, he pulled them to the side. "Alright, as much as I want to strangle you right now," he looked at Cupcake, "I'll need you to be out of my sight. Go. Explore." Cupcake's face, which had been a mask of shame, turned hopeful. "It's 1930 local. Time zones, go figure. Be back by 2200. We'll have dinner and turn in then." He turned and looked squarely at Wyatt. "He's your responsibility and it's your ass if he screws up again." Wyatt nodded and the two left as quickly as possible. Bubba walked back to Mounds and Hitman as they completed their checks. "How's the finger April?" "Hurts." Mounds' mouth was set in a hard line, the only indicator of the pain she was in. "Come on, we'll get some pain killers in you and assess the damage." Hitman and Bubba dug through the 47 section for their drugs retrieving both Tylenol-3 and morphine. They brought both down and gave Mounds her choice. "The Tylenol-3 isn't as strong but it won't make you loopy like the morphine. The morphine will kill off all the pain but you'll be worthless to me if we have to fly off in a hurry," Bubba told her. She looked from bottle to bottle, weighing her options. "Give me the Tylenol; I don't need to spend the next couple of hours drooling on myself." She popped two pills in her mouth. "Can I get one of you to look at my finger again? I don't think it's straight." They unwound the bandage Hitman had wrapped around her during flight and saw that her finger had only swollen further. The swelling extended almost to the wrist now. Mounds winced and sucked in a quick breath and Bubba gently prodded her finger. Bubba shot a look to Hitman then nodded at Mounds. Hitman gathered her in his arms, gently turning her face away and trapping her other arm between their chests. "Take a deep breath, April. It looks like it's not set. Bubba's going to have to pull on it to get it set which is gonna hurt like a son-of-a-bitch." He nodded to Bubba and clamped down tight on Mounds. Mounds gave a small whimper and pressed her face into Hitman's shoulder. Bubba closed his eyes briefly then gave her finger a sharp tug. He could feel the tip of her finger settle into place as Mounds gave an all mighty shriek of pain. Hitman held her tightly when she began to struggle and cry. Bubba gave him a pained look. "There's more than one break," he told him. Hitman just nodded. "Do it quick." He squeezed Mounds tight again and kissed the top of her head. She shrieked in pain as Bubba pulled again. Her scream died away to ragged sobs. Bubba checked her hand again. "I think that's it," he told Hitman. "The drugs should start kicking in soon." Hitman nodded and relaxed his hold on Mounds. She sagged against him, weak with pain. Bubba worked quickly to splint and bind her finger. When he finished he patted her shoulder, paused, and then ruffled her hair with his hand with fatherly affection. "You ok, April?" "Yes. I'd be particularly happy if we didn't have to do that again though," she told him. "So noted." His gaze shifted to Hitman. "You two go for a walk. Let the drugs kick in a bit and shake off the last couple of hours. It's almost 2000 local, be back by 22. We'll work on dinner then hit the hay." Hitman gave him a stoic nod and they wandered off, not quite in the same direction as Wyatt and Cupcake. They walked for only a short while before finding a building with several comfortable offices. They poked their noses into a few before finding one, probably the boss's, furnished with a sofa. Hitman settled Mounds on the soft couch and pulled her to lean on his chest. She smiled and leaned into him, inhaling deeply. "Henry, you smell like fifty years of piss and hydraulic fluid," she told him. "Sorry, occupational hazard I guess." She chuckled, "It's ok, I think I'm finally starting to get used to it." He smoothed her hair then let his hand drop to her shoulder to massage it. She gave a small moan of content. "Are you trying to seduce me Major Johnson?" Hitman stifled a laugh, "You know, I guess it never occurred to me that if I kept getting promoted I'd eventually be a 'Major Johnson'." Mounds laughed and rolled over, straddling his hips. "A major johnson, huh? My, don't we think highly of ourselves?" Her mouth curved in a mischievous smirk as she leaned in to kiss him. Lust sparked to life in him as their kiss deepened but he felt obliged to restrain himself. He broke off the kiss and eased back from her "Are you sure you feel up for this?" He looked down at her hand, bandaged and resting lightly on her hip. Her answer was to lean in to kiss him again while grinding into his hips. He brought his hands up and raked his fingers down her back. His hands cupped her firm ass and pulled her closer to him. Mounds ran the fingers of her good hand through his hair. They broke apart suddenly when they heard the sound of a door opening down the hall. "Damn, another fucking office building!" Wyatt's voice echoed down to them. Mounds looked to the door then back to Hitman. "It's Area 51; you'd think it'd be more exciting. Where are the aliens, huh?" Cupcake's voice followed Wyatt's. Mounds leaned away from Hitman and made to rise. He put a hand on her shoulder, indicating that she should stay. "Maybe they'll get bored and leave before they see us," he whispered. She shrugged but rolled off him, resuming her position leaning into his shoulder. Down the hall, they could hear doors opening and closing. "Think I should close and lock the door?" Mounds whispered to him. He shrugged. The sound of doors being opened and closed was coming closer. Mounds eyed him, not really wanting to have to face the other two, then the sound of searching stopped. "Matt, what really happened?" Wyatt's quiet question broke the silence. "What do you mean?" "I mean, did you just get pissed and flip out on her or what the fuck?" Wyatt's voice took on a hard edge. "I dunno dude." Mounds looked back to Hitman who was listening intently. "Out with it." "Look, I was having a nice dream. I mean, really nice ... horny, big breasted women tearing their clothes off for me kind of dream ... and she woke me up. I wasn't thinking, I just grabbed her. We rolled onto the aisle and I pinned her down. I wasn't thinking. I mean, she's freaking hot and I guess I kinda hoped she'd be into it." There was a long pause. "I mean, come on, you never hoped for a throw down with her?" "No." "Come on, dude. Sure, she's a little skinny but she's got nice tits." Down the hall, Wyatt pinned Cupcake with a hard look. Cupcake stared back before a realization hit him. His eyes narrowed and he looked at Wyatt in a new light. "That time on TDY?" Wyatt nodded. "You weren't drunk were you?" Wyatt shook his head. "I mean that guy ... and you ... that, uhm, wasn't a fluke, huh?" There was another pause and Hitman and Mounds glanced at each other. "What about the girlfriends you've had?" Cupcake asked him quietly. "Well, yeah, I've slept with women, and Mounds it's a smoking hot chick ... but it's mostly a cover, not my first choice." Wyatt's voice was quiet but held no trace of shame. Silence blanketed the two rooms as Hitman and Mounds waited for where the conversation could possibly go next. Finally, Cupcake's voice broke the silence. "Well, fuck dude, wish I'd known. I'd have tossed you a little rough and tumble." Wyatt stared at him opened mouthed. Cupcake gave him a wiry grin then told him "Fuck, I'm what you might call hetero-flexible, and at this point, I'd take just about anything. Besides, close your eyes and a blowjob's still a blowjob. Am I right?" Shock silenced Wyatt for almost a minute before the implications of Cupcake's offer sunk in. His eyes lit up. "Hell yeah it is!" In the other room, Hitman sat open-mouthed in shock, holding his hand over Mounds' mouth, who was struggling to hold her laughter in. Finally, he gave an amused 'huh' and stood up, dragging Mounds up with him. "Now, would be a good time to find somewhere else secluded," he whispered to her. As they started heading towards a side exit passionate moans coming from the other room. ------- Chapter 20 As soon as the door closed behind them Mounds burst into laughter. Hitman continued to shake his head in shock but a smile was creeping across his face. "Did you have any idea?" he asked her. "No. Well, sometimes I wondered, but I didn't know, ya know, for certain." She gave a one shouldered shrug. "Cupcake on the other hand was completely out of left field!" She snorted as they walked next door, "Hetero-flexible, indeed!" The next building over was equally deserted and similarly furnished. They both paused in the doorway to listen for sounds of anyone in the building but heard nothing. Hitman put his arm across Mounds' shoulders as they wandered from room to room looking for somewhere suitable. The contact sent a spike of lust through Mounds. She gave him a searing hot look that told him that in a few more moments a comfy couch was going to drop off the list of things they really 'needed'. Fortunately, the next room they searched had a large over stuffed couch tucked in its corner. As soon as Mounds spied the couch she slipped from beneath Hitman's arm. Without preamble, she grabbed the front of his flightsuit in her good hand and pulled him to the couch. They fell together in a tangle of arms and legs, each trying to pull the others clothes off and getting hopelessly tangled. "Do you have any idea how badly I want to fuck you right now?" Mounds asked him as she fumbled to unzip his flightsuit one handed. "For someone with multiple broken bones, you're pretty horny." "Three days!" Mounds leaned in and nibbled on his ear. Hitman sucked in a breath and leaned his head back into the couch. On top of him, Mounds moved down to his throat, nibbling and licking as she went, all while grinding against his hips. "Three days?" He raked his fingers down her back and cupped her ass again. "Since we first..." she dug her nails into his back through his flightsuit, "and last ... fucked. Way too good to go that long." Mounds sat back up and arched back, wiggling against him again. She gave him a shy smile as she slowly slid her zipper down. Hitman drank in the sight of her stripping for him. He could only wonder how he got so lucky. Here was a woman who was ready to go into combat at the drop of a hat, ok with the idea of obliterating a city with a nuke, and was aching to fuck him senseless. Mounds finished pulling her zipper down then teased the suit down her shoulders, dropping it an inch or two then pulling it back up and trying to look coy. Once the flightsuit was pooled around her waist, she began slowly tugging at the hem of her shirt. Hitman sat up, grabbed the shirt, and yanked it up and over her head. Mounds crashed into him, kissing him deeply. "I'm so fucking wet right now," she whispered into his ear. Mounds gently ran her tongue along the outside of his earlobe. Hitman inhaled sharply. "I want to fuck you so bad," she wiggled against him. "I want to feel your cock inside me and I want you to fuck me silly." She rolled off him and stood to let the flightsuit fall to the floor. Once again, Hitman was amazed at how sexy one woman could look in just a pair of panties. Panties, he noted, that were now visibly soaked. Growling with animal lust he pulled her too him once more as he unzipped his own suit and let it fall to the floor beside hers. He scooped her off her feet then dropped her on the couch. He pushed her knees apart with his own knee. Mounds smiled and arched into him so he ran a gentle hand down and back up her thigh. When he reached the top he ran a finger down her damp panties. She bucked under his hand and gave a little moan. He pushed the fabric aside and slid one finger inside her. "Oh god, yes. Please fuck me..." He slid a second finger inside her and started gently rubbing her clit with his thumb. Mounds moaned and squirmed against his hand. He leaned down to kiss her collarbone then kissed a trail down to her breast. She moaned louder and gasped when he gently teased one nipple with his teeth while rolling the other with his free hand. "Oh fuck! I want you inside me so bad." Never one to deny a lady Hitman pulled away to remove his boxers. He laid back and pulled her on top of him. Without hesitation Mounds straddled him but didn't put him inside her yet. She hung over him just barely touching the tip of his cock with her lips. Hitman could feel her lips brushing over top of him and fought to keep from grabbing her hips and slamming into her. She lowered slightly taking in just the tip of his head. He groaned and grabbed her hips. "Tell me you want me," she teased him. Mounds swirled her hips and sank down another inch. She gave a small sigh of pleasure. "I want you so badly. I've wanted this for the last couple of days." He gave her hips a squeeze. Mounds rocked forward and back then slid back up. She gave him a mischievous smile. Without warning she slid all the down, "Oh fuck!" Mounds rocked against him, grinding her clit into him, then started bouncing on his cock. He pulled her against him with on hand while the other moved to play with her clit. "Fuck, yes." Mounds arched back and Hitman was treated to a view of her tits bouncing in time with their fucking. The hand that was on her hips slid up to her breast to toy with her nipple. "Oh fuck. I'm gonna come. Oh fuck, don't stop!" He could feel her start to clamp down on his cock and her thighs begin to shake. He gave her one more thrust before her pussy locked down on him. The feeling was too much and he exploded inside her. Back on the jet, Bubba stirred restlessly in the navigator's seat. "I knew there was a reason I became a pilot and not a damn navigator," he muttered to himself and shifted again to try to get comfortable. The CRM-114 burst to life in front of him. He stared at it as its paper tongue began extruding with a sheet of encoded messages. He scrambled to find the right codebook to decode what was written. In his haste, he tore a handful of sheets out. Cursing, he flipped through the torn pages only to find the one he need. "Fucking cheap ass shit made by the lowest bidder. Who the fuck makes paper that tears so damn easy?!?" With no subordinates around to hear him he wasn't worried about losing face for swearing so much. He pieced the torn bits together enough to decode his message and could only stare at the results. Finally, his brain kicked into overdrive and he ran from the jet in search of his crew. He ran from building to building yelling for his crew but when he found Wyatt and Cupcake he was silenced momentarily. "Oh hell!" He swore as he saw their sweaty tangle of limbs. "You pick NOW to do this?" Wyatt and Cupcake broke apart each flushing a deep scarlet and trying to mutter denials. "I don't care right now what you're doing. Get your butts on the jet and fire her up!" Without stopping to see if they were obeying, he ran on to find Hitman and Mounds. At least with them he would almost expect to see them in flagrante delicto ... Wyatt and Cupcake were new to him. Back in their own small room, that was almost where Mounds and Hitman were. "Oh god, this is why I run," Mounds mumbled up from Hitman's shoulder, "endorphins." She had sprawled on top of him panting only a few moments prior. "Yeah?" Hitman kissed the top of her sweaty head. "Doesn't hurt." She waved her bandaged left hand vaguely towards his face. "Hmmm, glad to hear it." "Think we can find a place to clean up before we get back?" "Maybe. Sometimes office buildings have locker rooms in them. We can poke around a bit if you want." Mounds sat up and nodded. "You may be okay with wandering back smelling like sex, but I'd like to clean up a bit!" She stretched upwards, drawing Hitman's eyes up her slender torso. "You are so beautiful," he told her. His eyes lifted to meet hers and he took one of her up stretched hands. "I want to say something and I'm likely to mess it up so just hang with me and don't talk, ok?" She nodded. "I ... I know that this isn't the ideal way to time to say this but, I love you." Mounds smiled and opened her mouth to speak but Hitman held up her hand to stop him. "Wait, please." He took in a deep breath, "There are so many things about you that I adore, and so many strengths I see in you. I ... uhm, it's just ... Marry me?" His eyebrows furrowed with worry that she'd turn him down but his eyes held hope that she'd say yes. Mounds stared at him in open-mouthed silence. "What?" "Marry me." "I know, I heard you but ... you're asking me here? Now?" "Yes?" he asked, bewildered. "We just dodged a nuclear explosion and had hot, sweaty sex and you're asking me to marry you?" "Yes?" "You do realize that no marriage proposal or proclamation of love by a man can be considered serious if it's given within minutes of orgasm, right?" Hitman blinked. "So that's a no?" "It's not a 'no'. Just ... ask me tomorrow. When we haven't just screwed like bunnies." She smiled and ran her hands through his hair to try to take the sting out of her answer. "It's not that I don't love you," her grin broadened, "I think that I do and I would be honored to be with you. But ... ask me again when I know you aren't riding a post-nookie high!" He gave her a weak smile so she pulled him back to her and kissed his brow. Before either of them could react, the door opened and Bubba stormed in. "Fuck. You two as well?" He averted his eyes as Mounds tugged her flightsuit up. "Get your clothes on and get in the damn jet." Bubba continued to stare at the floor. "New message?" Hitman asked as he hopped clumsily into his own flightsuit. "You could say that." "Wyatt and Cupcake?" Bubba gave a grunt. "Found them about the same way as I found you." Mounds had the grace to try to cover her bark of laughter with a cough as she finished zipping her suit up. She tugged at her boots but couldn't tie them one handed. "Fuck it, let's go." "Where to now?" Hitman asked as they jogged out of the room to the jet. "Don't know. The coordinates are probably printing now." "What? They didn't list an airport. That's a first." "Well," Bubba hedged, "it's a first for this millennium." There was a pregnant paused before Hitman gaped at him open mouthed. Bubba nodded, "We've got a green light. We need to move!" Mounds eyes bugged out and Hitman stumbled. "Now?" They met Wyatt and Cupcake at the hatch and scrambled inside. "I'm guessing that Plunge is taking Cupcake's advice." Bubba told them as he put on his headset. Wyatt and Hitman looked confused. "Questions later, checklists now." Mounds laughed. "Hehe, I can't wait to see it go down in the record books as 'Operation Cupcake'." Wyatt's embarrassment began to fade in light of possibly being the first crew to drop a nuke since World War II. He began to quote his favorite movie as they blew through checklists and taxied out. "Now look boys, I ain't much of a hand at makin' speeches." He said in his best Slim Pickens impression. "But I got a pretty fair idea that something doggoned important's going on back there. An' I got a fair idea of the kind of personal emotions that some of you fella's may be thinking. Heck, I reckon you wouldn't even be human beings if you didn't have some pretty strong personal feelings about nuclear combat." The B-52, loaded with its maximum payload of AGM-86 nuclear missiles, thundered down the runway. "But I want you to remember one thing, the folks back home is a countin' on ya, and by golly we ain't about to let 'em down." "Seventy knots, now!" Cupcake yelled from downstairs. Wyatt continued as he checked his gauges, "Tell you somethin' else. This thing turns out to be half as important as I figure it just might be, I'd say that you're all in line for some important promotions and personal citations when this thing's over with. That goes for every last one of you, regardless of your race, color, or your creed." "Timing met. Unstick!" Bubba called and pulled back on the stick. "Now, let's get this thing on the hump. We got some flying to do." Wyatt finished and helped Bubba climb the jet, its crew, and its armed nuclear payload away from the earth. ------- Chapter 21 The first four hours of flight flew by rapidly. They had blown out of Groom Lake and climbed high to save fuel. As soon as they'd leveled off Bubba had launched into a tirade about their collective unprofessionalism. He had ranted about them "sneaking off for fuck breaks" until Hitman, always cool and collected, reminded him that Bubba himself had sent each couple off. "Fuck," Bubba said on a sigh. A long silence followed. Wyatt unconsciously leaned as far away from Bubba as he could. Downstairs, Cupcake and Hitman exchanged worried looks while Mounds finished her system checks upstairs. Finally, Bubba broke the silence. "I'm sorry everyone. That was unfair of me. Hitman, you are correct. I did send you all off. Hitman, Mounds, you still have my permission to continue your affair." He looked at Wyatt, "Wyatt, Cupcake," he paused and shook his head, "I can do no less for you. You are welcome to your affair." He gave a laugh, "How long have the two of your been sneaking around anyway?" Wyatt gave him a lopsided grin, "Since about twenty minutes before you found us." Bubba stared at him open mouthed then laughed until he was grabbing his sides and gasping for air. "Twenty minutes? Hell I don't know whether to congratulate the two of you on your ... stamina ... or curse you into infinity for pick possibly the WORST time to start up an affair!" He gave Wyatt a friendly punch in the shoulder. After that, the tension level dropped down to a manageable level and they fell back into their usual joking, poking fun at one another, and preparing the jet for its weapon release. At the four hour mark, messages began rolling out of the CRM-114. "Wyatt, Bubba? We've got another message down here." Hitman told them. "Give a look-see out the window; I expect we've got a tanker around here somewhere." "No shit?" Bubba and Wyatt perked up and began scanning their horizon. "Oh for fuck's sake. I got 'em! Pilot, look at two o'clock, I've got them on my scope," Mounds told them. Mounds knew that they were in the middle of the Pacific and it was unlikely she'd be needed. Shortly after Bubba had forgiven them all she'd dropped into a light doze. "Tally, two o'clock low," Wyatt called. "I can just make out what's probably a cockpit light. He and Bubba squinted into the darkness. They had launched around one AM and had flown west, keeping them in the dark. "Got it," Bubba told him and rubbed his tired eyes. "I'm regretting not napping now. Being awake for twenty four hours then trying to get gas is going to be a chore." Wyatt nodded agreement; he'd been up just as long and knew they'd be in some trouble if they couldn't get this crucial aerial refueling. "Message says we get everything the refueler can give us and more," he pause to keep reading. "Shit, they're likely to be gliding home at this rate!" "Anyone know the glide ratio on a KC-135?" Cupcake asked and snickered. Hitman punched him in the arm. "Don't laugh. It's happened and if we aren't lucky it could be us too." That sobered Cupcake who focused on getting them to the KC-135 who was orbiting in front of them, waiting to pass gas. "How're things looking outside, Mounds? We have any other friends in the sky?" Bubba asked her. Mounds toggled a few switches and scanned her screens before carefully replying, "Negative, sir. One tanker, one Buff, no one else." "Roger," he rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms to prepare for the refueling. "After this we break into shifts and sleep, one person per compartment at a time. Mounds?" "Yes, sir?" "Did you get any sleep heading outbound?" "Affirmative." "Good, I'd like you to sit up here while Wyatt snoozes. You can sleep again if you'd like but I need you in case I need someone to flip switches on that side." "Roger, sir. I'm showing the tanker now at twelve thirty." "That checks with the radar. I have them at ten miles and closing," Hitman told them. "Roger." He clicked his mask into place and gestured for Wyatt to get his on as well. Having his mask up eliminated the need to keep pushing it up to his face to talk while refueling as well as give them pure oxygen that would help revive their sleepy minds. They needed every bit of brainpower they could muster. Not getting gas wasn't an option. No gas, no weapon drop. That was all there was to it. "Five miles," Hitman told them. Bubba and Wyatt eased the big jet forward as everyone else strapped in after having unstrapped earlier in the flight. "One mile." "Tub 72, this is Raid 40, you are cleared into contact." The boomers voice was a welcome sound. "Tub 72 copies. Good morning," Wyatt responded. He eased in slowly, creeping forward towards the extended boom. By mutual agreement, he would try to make the first two contacts. If he failed, Bubba was to try the next two until they got enough gas. Wyatt's hands were as soft as a lover's on the throttles and yoke, delicately adjusting the gas here, guiding the yoke left a touch, then tugging the nose gently upwards. "Breeching," Bubba told him quietly and Wyatt could hear the rush of the boom approaching the refueling receptacle. He gave the most delicate of twitches to the yoke and felt the boom connect. "Contact," the boom operator called to them. Bubba looked up at the refueling indicator. "Gas is flowing." Wyatt gave a grunt. "Disconnect!" The boomer called and Wyatt dropped the nose to get clear of the other aircraft. "Crap. What happened?" Wyatt asked. "I think you jerked away from him when you answered," Bubba told him calmly. Wyatt nodded reset the jet to try again. "How much gas did we get?" "Not near enough. You were only on for thirty seconds." Wyatt grunted again. He'd been so fixated on keeping the two jets connected that a mere thirty seconds had felt like minutes. "Cleared to contact," the boomer told him again. He pushed the jet forward, determined to get the gas in one shot. He heard the boom rush again and felt the jets connect once more. "Contact," the boom operator called out again. Wyatt focused on the boom lights, slowly scanning to ensure he had them lined up against the window markers. All too soon, he could feel his eyelids drooping from fatigue. He took a deep breath, trying to force more oxygen into his system but he felt the jet wobble. "Disconnect." "Roger," he told the boom operator and moved the B-52 back away again. "Jet's yours Bubba." "Roger." Bubba took the yoke and nodded to Wyatt who let go and started flapping his hands to relieve the tension in them. "Cleared to contact." "Tub 72 copies." Bubba eased them in. "Thirty thousand? That's all I got?" Wyatt asked. "Yes." Bubba answered quietly, trying to focus on the RC-135. He heard the rush and then the thud of contact. His eyes flicked around the gauges then back to the lights outside. "Fifty thousand," Wyatt told him. Bubba blinked hard to clear his eyes. "I'm backing out." He pulled the jet away. "You ok?" Wyatt asked him. "Yeah, I just needed a quick break." "Ok. We're almost there." "I know." "You fellas doing alright?" Hitman asked from down below. "Yeah," he shook his hands one at a time. "How much do we need Hitman?" "All of it." "Roger." Bubba moved in again. He focused on the tanker, trying to keep his mind from the possibility of not getting the gas. They had time, he reminded himself. The tanker doesn't, a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him. The two jets came apart again when he remembered that every minute he dragged the tanker out was another they'd have to go back and if he kept screwing around, they might not make it back. He didn't want to think that his piss poor performance would be their demise. "Your jet," he told Wyatt. Wyatt took the controls again. "How much more?" Wyatt asked. "Thirty's about all the more we can take. We'll run out of tanks to put it in after that." Wyatt nodded, blinked hard once, and focused on the tanker. His hands danced over the throttles and yoke as he eased it in once more. He felt the boom connect and within minutes had taken on the full load of gas. He backed out and let his shoulders sag with relief. "Raid 40 you are cleared to return to base. Thanks!" He told the tanker crew. "Raid 40 copies. Good luck, we're counting on you!" Things went smoothly after the refueling. Wyatt and Hitman each cleared off and napped then Bubba and Cupcake with Mounds snoozing in each pilots' seat as they slept. Several hours later Mounds awoke once more and saw Wyatt, chin on chest, dozing beside her. She quickly checked the autopilot and found that it was still steering them to their waypoints. When she checked her watch, she saw it was well past time to wake Bubba up. She crawled out of the seat, secure in the knowledge that the jet would continue flying a few minutes more without a pilot awake at the yoke. At the bunk, she gently shook Bubba's shoulder then pointed to his seat. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and headed up there. She chose to try to steal a kiss from Hitman before heading back to her seat. Downstairs, both he and Cupcake were snoozing away. She was shocked. It meant that just before she woke up there had been no one awake on the jet! She poked him hard in the shoulder. He woke with a start, shook his head, and gave her an indignant look. Mounds slapped her com cord into the auxiliary station. "You were asleep!" She told him. "Where are we? Did we miss any messages?" Hitman checked the CRM-114 and shook his head. "No, we should have gotten a few at least." He checked his screen to the chart and swore. "We've been out for the last one hundred and twenty miles!" Mounds rolled her eyes and clicked her mic, "Bubba you probably want to grab a system check. Apparently George," she referred to the autopilot, "has been flying for the last hundred and twenty miles." She didn't have to strain to hear Wyatt's yelp of surprise when Bubba whacked him on the arm. "Shit!" Hitman yelled. "What?" Mounds asked. She had been halfway up the ladder to go check her own station. "Station twelve is armed." "On its own?" "No, I started the warm up before I dozed off, I must have hit something while I was asleep." Hitman's fingers flew across his keyboard. He punched in a command, gave a frustrated 'huh!' and punched it in again. Without warning, he pushed at Mounds' hip so he could see around her. "Goddamn it! Move his hand!" Hitman pointed where Cupcake's hand lay across the navigator's side keyboard. Mounds pulled Cupcake's hand back and he jerked awake. "What the fuck, chick?" Cupcake demanded. She pointed at his screen and the blinking 'A' that indicated the missile on station twelve had become armed. "Jesus! What the fuck did you do Hitman?" "It was both of us you narcoleptic little troll. I ran the warm up and you hit the arm command in your sleep. Awesome team we are!" "Fellas, we gonna get the missile de-armed or bitch at each other?" Bubbas voice came over the intercom. "Mounds you have my permission to hit them until they fix it." "Roger, sir," Mounds looked from one to the other as they worked in unison to de-arm the missile. Due to the sensitivity of nuclear weapons, it took at least two people to change the status of a weapon. "Well, it's at least good to know that they still can arm after seven months without maintenance." Hitman told them. He finished keying in the last of the de-arm sequence. On his side, Cupcake added the last line as well and hit 'Enter'. The three waited as the ancient computer system processed the command. "The best 1980s technology can give us," Mounds muttered under her breath. "The command is in, we're good," Hitman announced. He scrolled through his screens checking the function on the rest of the missiles. Mounds watched him as his brow furrow. "Fuck. Station four's cooling unit just died." "Goddamn it." Cupcake started punching buttons to call the screen up on his side. "Crap. It's not going to come back either." "Not without landing and a weapon tech anyway," Hitman commented. "Well, what's the fix for now?" Bubba asked them. "Shut the whole thing off and hope for the best," Hitman told him. "Worst case scenario?" "Something along the lines of 'Oh god, oh god, we're all going to die' I'd say," Cupcake told him. "Eh, for once he's not far off. It overheats, goes boom, and takes us with it," Hitman relayed. "Have they transmitted a target list yet? Do we need all the weapons?" Bubba asked. "No, the CRMs been pretty quiet. You'd think they'd have sent something by now." "Well, I guess it's a waiting game then. We can't afford to drop it yet but be ready to go if it starts looking ugly." ------- Chapter 22 Bubba rolled his head from one shoulder to the other and rubbed his neck. Tension had settled itself into his shoulders like an unwelcomed guest. He took a deep breath, trying to ease his mind, but doubt still nagged at him. Forty minutes earlier Hitman and Cupcake had shut down missile four but there was still a risk that it could overheat. On top of that, they still hadn't received further directions or a target list from StraCom. After eight hours airborne, he would have expected something and knew that were approaching some kind of decision point. "Cupcake," he called over interphone, "what's the message situation?" "Nil, boss." "Well, what's the next fucking disaster then? We can't seem to go more than an hour without a message or a disaster and since we're rolling up on forty five minutes since our last disaster, I'm hoping for a message." "Sorry Bubba, I'll let you know when we get something." Bubba sighed and wiggled in his seat to burn off some of his nervous frustration. They'd done exercises before to try to simulate nuclear war. Inevitably, they were bombarded by messages. So many messages that he could hardly think with all the radio traffic. He couldn't decide if all that training was horse crap or if something was wrong. "Bubba?" Hitman called. "Yeah?" "What if something's wrong? What if Offutt got hit?" Hitman paused. "I mean, the Russians nuked Ellsworth, they've shown that they are not only willing to strike but still have enough weapons left to do it. What if they got word from our mole that we launched with a green light and nuked Offutt before they could send the second green light message?" Silence ensued. "I mean, it's not outside of the realm of possibility is it?" The whole crew pondered that with a growing sense of dread. What if it were true? What if they never got the full go code? Sure, the jet had launched but that didn't mean they could launch the weapons. The great thing about B-52s was that they were a retrievable bullet. You could fire it, let it scare the piss out of your enemies when politics broke down, then call it back before a shooting war started, or restarted in their case. The roar of eight engines and the rush of air over the fuselage was the only sound for several minutes. "Cupcake, run your plan by me again," Bubba asked. "What plan, boss?" "The one you and Plunge came up with." Cupcake make a questioning face at Hitman who shrugged. "We didn't really plan anything Bubba. I told him we should we could show off a bit and that would end the war." Hitman's brow furrowed as he looked at Cupcake. Both he and Wyatt had missed beer night at Plunge's and had no idea what he was talking about. "Seriously, that's your master plan?" "Yeah, but-" Bubba cut him off, "You have to know the political background first." He told them about the Chinese trying to deceive Russia and how they had dissolved. Wyatt nodded and Bubba gave Cupcake a thoughtful look. "And you think we could just pop in, traipse around in their radar coverage for a bit, and fly home?" Hitman asked, still skeptical. "Would we even survive that? I mean, what if they launch fighters? Or surface to air missiles?" "As our resident radar expert," Mounds cut in, "we don't have to get that close, just close enough to be ID'd as a B-52." "But how do they get proof that we're carrying nukes?" Wyatt asked. "What, like we'd be carrying puppies and sunshine?" Mounds fired back, annoyed. "Enough! Wyatt's got a point. They may be able to ID us, but it doesn't prove that there are nukes on board." Bubba told them. "Ok, so the assumptions we've got right now are they we're on some variation of Attack Plan Cupcake, trying to show up on Ruski radar and find a way to prove we've got nukes?" A general murmur of agreement came across the interphone. "And there's really only one way to do that," he paused, "but we haven't gotten any messages." He sighed again, and scratched under his helmet. "There's another way to ID the nukes, but they don't end well for us, Bubba," Mounds told him. "Oh?" "Visual ID," she turned in her seat to look forward. Downstairs, Hitman and Cupcake were looking up at her with fear. "We tool around in the radar range long enough for them to launch fighters, which then intercept us, see the nukes and relay back home. Of course, they'll probably shoot us down directly after, but it gets the point across." "You aren't incorrect, but it doesn't get us to the treaty." Bubba told her mildly. "I was just offering up other options, sir." "So we still only have one option that gets us and the rest of the weapons home safely." Hitman commented. "So we wait for a message?" Cupcake asked. "We wait for a message," Bubba confirmed. Conversation stopped again as each person considered the ramifications. Upstairs, Mounds checked her systems again, looking for any signs of fighters or surface to air missiles. Satisfied that they were outside of radar coverage and fighter range she went to work calibrating her systems, a time consuming process. Wyatt flipped through an old oceanic air chart and marked their current location, winds, and fuel. He estimated that if they dropped in the next two hours they would have enough fuel to launch the missiles and return only if the wind stayed steady and they picked up a tanker on the way back. Bubba rolled his shoulders and checked the autopilot, ensuring that it was still tied into the radar system. Downstairs, Hitman and Cupcake fiddled with their systems as well. Hitman worked to align the radar, which tended to drift with no landmarks to fix on over the ocean. "Cupcake, messages?" Bubba's voice cut the silence. "Nothing, sir." "Roger." Bubba slumped in his seat. "Wyatt, the fuel panel looks good," he rattled off the fuel quantity in each tank for Wyatt to check against his calculations. "Looks good, sir. With the gas we got earlier I think we're in good shape." Bubba nodded and looked at his watch. It read 0958 but darkness still surrounded them as they flew west. Bubba gave a little chuckle and Wyatt looked at him. "It's Friday, almost ten AM. If we were back home I'd be round ya'll up for the weekly training rehack." His laugh echoed over the interphone. "We'd be just about to sit down to discuss how our nuclear training was going." He smiled at Wyatt. "A little ironic to be on a nuke mission at that time." Wyatt smiled and they could hear Mounds and Cupcake laughing through the interphone. Nuclear training had been the bane of their existence once, long ago. Now no one could complain about the importance of deterrence. Bubba looked down at his watch, waiting for the seconds to tick over to ten AM. He assumed his most pompous 'squadron commander' voice. "Good morning, squadron. Today our training focus will be on high altitude missile drops over isolated ocean-" "Fuck my life!" Cupcake's voice cut him off. "Bubba, message!" "Well don't shit yourself, decode it." Bubba checked his watch. The face showed him 10:00 and fifteen seconds. "Punctual as always Plunge," he laughed to himself. Mounds unplugged from her station and dropped downstairs to watch the offenders decode the message. "What's it say, Cupcake?" She asked him. "Geez woman, I'm working on it!" He batted at her with one hand while he flipped through the codebook looking for translations. She leaned over Hitman as he worked out his copy of the message. "Second green light!" Cupcake exclaimed triumphantly. "Confirmed," Hitman sat up from his codebook, "second green light." "Where?" Bubba asked. "Magadan." Hitman told him. "There's nothing there though. No bases, nothing, just a port." "Double check the coordinates," Bubba told them. "It's not the town, it's the harbor." Hitman told him. "Huh. It makes a big splash, we make our point, and we go home. I like it." "Only one problem, boss," Mound told him. She put her finger on the red lines she'd drawn depicting radar coverage. "We hit radar coverage for Magadan around the same time we hit coverage for Anadyr air base." "So?" Cupcake asked as he looked at the red rings. "So ... they see us, launch their MiGs, we get shot down, game over. If they're quick, they'll hit us before we can launch." "So, we push up the throttles once we hit coverage." Cupcake replied. "We can't. We're tight on gas as is. We've got to fly it as it's listed." Wyatt told him. "Fuck my life." "Well, even if we get shot down, as long as we launch, we win, right?" Wyatt asked. "Yes and no. We prove our point, but with no B-52, there's no way the rest of our nukes are useful." Bubba told him. "So ... we can't get shot down." "No." "And we can't speed up." "No." "Fuck." "Yup." Bubba patted him on the shoulder. "We do our best. It's all we can do." ------- Chapter 23 "Still rolling in?" Bubba asked Cupcake. "Yup, thirteenth transmission of the same fucking message." He tugged on the paper coming out of the CRM-114. "We get it, we have a green light!" He pounded his fist on the desk and cursed the StraCom weenies at Offutt. "How long to release?" "Twenty minutes, give or take a bit." "Checklists done yet?" "They would be if these fucking messages would quit rolling in!" Hitman slapped at him shoulder, "Sorry boss. Yes, they're as far as we can get for now." "Sir, we're inside radar coverage. They know we're here now and if we're really doing 'Op Cupcake' might get a recall message soon," she scanned her screens again, "or we get jumped by fighters." "Keep your eyes open then." Bubba inhaled through his nose and exhaled quickly out his mouth. "Everyone just do what you've been trained to. Do your best, it's all I can ask." Murmurs of acknowledgement came across the interphone. Mounds jumped in her seat when a chirp came through her headset. She looked up and saw the first early warning radar on her scope. "Crew, early warning's active." "Roger, we'll keep pressing," Bubba told her. She scanned again looking for the surface to air missiles or fighters that would inevitably be tied to the early warning system. A second, then third chirp sounded in her headset. "Contact, four o'clock, far and hot. Bogey." "Roger. Well, he'll have to chase us down and Anadyr's a long trip from here," Bubba told her. "Cupcake, time to launch?" "Thirteen minutes. Prep's complete." He paused as he flipped to the next page in his checklist and got the nod from Hitman. "Starting final checks." "Can we launch early if they really get the jump on us?" Wyatt asked. "No, our release area is already at the missile's max range. It could run outta juice before it makes its target," Hitman told him. "Bogey now four-thirty and closing. He's probably got his after burners on from the looks of his closure rate," Mounds told them. "Shit!" Cupcake swore. "Hitman, hit the buttons man, we're gonna have to be right on it!" "Well it's bad and good. Bad ... they're getting closer faster. Good ... they might run out of gas before they can engage us," Mounds told him. Her fingers flew over the antiquated jamming system, adjusting here, tweaking there, and wincing every time her broken finger brushed the controls. "Final check list complete. Pilot, hit the consent switch," Cupcake directed. "Stand by, we're got five more minutes," Bubba told him. "We're not going to last five more minutes, hit the fucking button, sir!" Cupcake's voice was threaded with fear. "We're still fine. Bogey, steady at four-thirty closing slower now," Mounds told them calmly. "Bubba he's on your side, can you see him?" Mounds asked. "I think so." He paused and peered into the gloom, noting that the sun was just starting to bring false dawn. "Barely. There's a glow that might be his burners. He's higher up than us, still at four-thirty." Bubba said after another pause. "Well, keep him there we only need four more minutes." "Incoming message!" Hitman yelled over interphone. "Fuck it, we don't have time decode. Finish the checklist; it's probably the same crap," Cupcake snarled and tried to bat Hitman's hand away from the printout. "No, you get a message you decode." There was a pause. "I said fucking decode. Knock that shit off and translate this with me." Bubba glanced at Wyatt. "It's the same shit, Hitman. We know it's the same fucking message. Finish the fucking checklist!" Cupcake yelled. "It's not. Look, some of characters are swapped and that one's completely different." Hitman pointed at the message's differences. "Goddamn it, two minutes to launch. Decode that message so we can be moving on!" Bubba told them. Hitman flew through the codebook, searching for the message buried within. Next to him, Cupcake glanced at it but worked to finish the checklist. "Pilot, hit the consent switch," he told them. "Negative, negative! The message isn't done-" Hitman told them. "I don't care, hit the switch. We have one minute," Cupcake said over top of him. Mounds chanced a brief second to turn and look downstairs. Hitman was hunched over the codebook while Cupcake punched in the final codes to release the weapons. "It's a red light!" Hitman grabbed the sleeve of Cupcake's flightsuit and pulled him towards the message. "Confirmed?" Bubba asked. When Cupcake didn't answer, he asked again. "Confirmed? Cupcake, confirm the message." "Fuck you. Fuck you all. Drop these damn weapons and let's end this thing. Bubba hit the consent switch!" Mounds gave her system a brief glance then unstrapped from her parachute. She dove down the ladder and snapped her com cord in place. She scanned the message over Hitman's shoulder and read his translation. She felt her heart lurch; it really was a red light. Mounds reached for her com toggle again. "Confirmed. Pilot, the red light is confirmed." She felt her neck twinge as her head was yanked around. She was brought face to face with Cupcake who had unstrapped from his seat and was pulling her around by the oxygen hose of her mask. "Shut up you stupid fucking cunt! Drop this fucking weapon, Hitman. We didn't get all the way here to turn around. They'll never know we were here ... this won't work if they don't see the missiles!" Cupcake screamed as he whipped her mask back and forth. Mounds hand clamped over his and she shoved the mask to her face. Her expression hardened, she locked eyes with him and toggled the mic again. "Abort, abort, abort! I say again, abort the release!" Rage flooded Cupcake as he shoved Mounds away from the consol and Hitman, who tried desperately to snatch a handful of Cupcake's flightsuit. He fell on her, his fingers grabbing for her throat. "Kill the missile Hitman!" Mounds screamed through her mask. "Kill it-" her scream was cut off as Cupcake's hands closed over her windpipe. She released the com toggle to claw furiously at his hands. "Right and left pylons deactivated! Pilot, break off the run." Hitman called out. The wings of the mighty jet began rolling away from the fighter. "What's going on down there?" Bubba demanded as he fought to turn the enormous jet. Mounds' vision began to blur as Cupcake clamped down harder on her throat. She felt her pulse soar as one last burst of adrenaline surged through her. She looked away from his furious stare. Her hands left his and she fumbled with his survival vest. Her right arm was pushed too close to the bulkhead but she could just barely wedge her left hand between them to unsnap Cupcake's gun. Tears flooded her eyes as her broken finger scraped across the vest. She knew how this ended but gave him one last chance to let her go as she kicked at him. His grip stayed locked to her throat and the decision was made. Mounds made eye contact with him one last time and a look of sadness crossed her face. Despite everything that had happened and everything he had done, Cupcake was still her brother in arms. As if reading her mind or perhaps feeling the muzzle digging into his ribs, a look of fear crossed his face. The sound of a 9mm Beretta's report ripped through the cockpit, louder than even the roar of eight jet engines. In the silent second that followed Mounds felt the fingers on her throat go slack. Mounds dragged in a sobbing breath. She was aware of yelling and confusion over the intercom but couldn't make out what was said. "Why couldn't you just let me go?" She pushed Cupcake off her. "Why couldn't you just let it all go?" Her ears rang and tears poured from her eyes as she tried to assess him. Hands pulled her up and away from him. "Are you ok? Are you ok?" Hitman held her up his horrified face searching hers. She looked down at the blood on her hands and chest. She nodded mutely and pointed at Cupcake. "Shit!" "He wouldn't let go," she tried see past Hitman to Cupcake. "Go upstairs!" He turned and pushed her gently towards the ladder. "There's still a fighter on our tail." She nodded and climbed the ladder only vaguely aware of the bloody handprints she was leaving on the ladder. Hitman finished checking Cupcake before she could get upstairs. "Boss, she shot Cupcake. From the look of the bruises on her neck it was self defense," Hitman relayed. "Is he... ?" Bubba let his question trail off. "Is he dead?" ------- Chapter 24 "Is he... ?" Bubba let his question trail off. "Is he dead?" There was a long pause while Hitman felt for a pulse. His heart was still beating, albeit weakly. "Hitman?" "No. Not right now anyway," he told Bubba. "The one time her aims off," he muttered to himself. "She clipped the side of his stomach. It looks pretty ugly but he might make it." "E-dub's up. Fighter's still trailing us, moving to 5 o'clock." She refined her systems again and only then realized she'd mangled her finger again fighting Cupcake. Pain flooded through her and she had to bite her lip as she fought back tears. The jet rolled on its side again as Bubba and Wyatt fought to get the fighter off their tail. "He's closing, pilot!" She put her hand out to steady herself and felt pain lance through her. She had to swallow hard as the fresh wave of pain brought on a wave of nausea. Downstairs, Hitman struggled against the maneuvering jet to get Cupcake's survival vest off. He was thrown heavily against an electronics panel but took some pleasure in the fact that the maneuvering has caused Cupcake to slam into the small jerry can that served as their urinal. 'Served him right, ' Hitman thought. Cupcake's groan was lost under the engine noise. He wavered between pain and blissful unconsciousness. The pain had taken an iron grip on his brain. He tried willing himself to pass out and slip into sweet oblivion but consciousness still nagged at him. He tried to concentrate on the conversation coming through his helmet but he couldn't focus past the pain. The wound in his stomach took such control of him that he couldn't even move to ease the pain; he had no control over his body. "Fighter's at five thirty, still closing." Mounds voice broke the silence again in his helmet and pierced through his pain. "Pilot, can you see him anymore?" The rage he had felt earlier rose again only to be defeated by shame. Pain induced nausea joined forces with shame and he thought he'd lose what was left in his stomach. He groaned again. Twice now, he'd done something unforgivable to Mounds. This time he'd gone beyond sexual violation to attempted murder. Hell, he'd tried to force the launch of a nuclear weapon that could have killed millions. Pain and shame burned through him and he wished the wound bullet in his gut would kill him. Upstairs, Bubba and Wyatt strained to look out their windows for the fighter but all they could see was the approaching dawn. "He's gone behind the wing," Wyatt told Mounds. "Roger. The best we can do is keep heading south as far as we can and hope we run him out of gas." "That shouldn't be too hard; he was using burners to get to us. He can't have much fuel left in his tank." "He's still closing though. Within ten miles." She punched the chaff and flare buttons at random, hoping to defeat any inbound missiles. "What's the range on a MiG?" "About where we're at now!" "How's Cupcake?" Wyatt asked Hitman. Downstairs Hitman continued to struggle with Cupcake. He'd managed to unzip both is survival vest and his flightsuit to better see the entry wound. Just under his lower left rib was a puckering hole, still oozing blood. "You sure can pick 'em, Abe. He's a bastard but he's a tough motherfucker. I've got gauze on the entry wound but I can't get his flightsuit down enough to see his back-" "Fighter's inside of three miles!" "Roger. Keep holding him off Mounds," Bubba told her. "-but there's not much blood. The bullet's still inside." Hitman ran a bloody hand across his brow and blinked away the sweat in his eyes. "If he lives until we land he's going to need a surgeon and serious antibiotics, in that order. I can pop him with morphine but I don't know what side effects it will have on him in this state." "Let him suffer," Bubba told him coldly. Wyatt risked a glance sidelong at him. Sure, they'd only recently become lovers, but they'd been friends for years prior to that and he felt deep affection for Cupcake. "Roger." "Pilot, look outside again. The MiG's within a mile now and three o'clock. I'm ... I'm surprised he hasn't shot us down yet." Wyatt and Bubba strained to see in the lightening sky. False dawn continued to brighten the sky behind the right wing. Bubba caught a bit of movement near the tip of the right wing and squinted into the gloom. To his shock, the MiG emerged from behind the tip of the right wing, only a few feet from it. "Tally, three o'clock..." he paused in shock. "Three o'clock and in fingertip formation. For fuck's sake, he's flying off out fucking wing! He's just sitting there!" Off the right wing, the MiG soared gracefully alongside them. Bubba noted the barbed tips of air-to-air missiles protruding from under the wing and couldn't fathom why they hadn't been blown from the sky. Wyatt looked across the cockpit and Bubba saw his eyes widen as he too saw the MiG. "If war is the continuation of politics by other means then what in the name of a million hells is going on back home?" Wyatt asked. "I mean, this whole thing was to prove for the politicians on both sides that we existed right? This is fucked up!" "Mounds get up here. I want you to see this!" Bubba told her. She hustled forward. "Geez. Look, look, he's fully loaded, standard configuration. Why are we still flying?" She asked in wonder as she leaned over Bubba to see the wingtip. In a move that was both daring and insane, the MiG dropped below the level of the wing and slid over, just under the missiles. Mounds smacked her forehead with her palm. "He wasn't here to shoot us down; he wanted to see fucking the nukes." She let out a deep sigh. Bubba turned his head towards the MiG again to see the pilot looking in their direction. Slowly, the MiG pilot touched his fingers to the top of his visor, an unmistakable salute. Bubba's jaw dropped, as did Mounds. Mounds recovered from her shock first and returned the salute. As her hand came down the MiG dove and turned away from them. "Sir, he'd bugging out." "I can very well see that!" "I think we can return to course." "Yes, I do believe we can." Bubba's voice still held awe and shock that they'd survived without a single weapon being fired by either country. "Hitman, leave Cupcake be. Give me a heading so we can get home." "Roger." There was a pause and Hitman updated the system with then next waypoint. "Sir, the heading is in, take the FCI." "Roger. Crew, let's go home." Bubba told them. Mounds unclipped her headset and went back to her seat. Her systems showed the fighter departing but the early warning systems still tracking their departure. Wyatt banked them toward the next waypoint. "Sir, when's the next refueling and how does our gas look?" Bubba scanned the gauges then checked his charts. "We have about four hours time at this altitude and only two hours to the tanker. I think we're good, the tankers only take us the last hour. Just to be safe let's climb a bit, we can glide down to the tanker when it's time. That should save us about thirty minutes of fuel." "Roger, climbing to flight level four-five-oh." Wyatt rolled the wings level and started a gentle climb to where their engines were most efficient. "Mounds, how do your systems look?" "Green and clean sir. But sir?" "Yeah?" "I'm going to need you to reset me finger. I, uh, I knocked it out of place earlier." "Roger. I'll reset it if you'll tell me what exactly happened down there." "Yes sir. E-dub's clearing off and coming up." She unclipped her comm cord and made her way up front again. While she was off the interphone system, Hitman chimed in. "Sir, look at her neck when she gets up there. That will tell you more than she will." "E-dub's up." "Roger." Bubba turned to look at her. His eyes flicked to the dark bruises already appearing on her neck then down to her hand. "That looks pretty bad." "No worse than it was yesterday sir." "I meant your neck, April. What happened?" She dropped her gaze, looking at the hand cradled in her lap. For a moment she looked like she wouldn't tell him then her eyes snapped up, anger burning in them. "I went down to verify Hitman's message when Cupcake wouldn't. It was so close to launch time, we just couldn't wait," she explained. She took a deep breath, visibly fighting tears. Bubba reached across and took her injured hand, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of it. "When I confirmed the message he flipped out. He grabbed my mask and was screaming at me. After I called the abort he threw me down and started choking me." Tears rolled down her face and she looked down to where Bubba was holding her injured hand. "I couldn't get him off of me and I was blacking out. I couldn't kick him away..." her voice trailed off. "I'm so sorry, sir. I just couldn't think of anything else! I didn't know what else to do!" Bubba gently squeezed the good fingers of her hand as she sobbed. "It's not your fault, April. You had to tell us and I believe that you had no other choice." She looked up again and nodded quietly. "Wyatt, I'm going to clear off for a moment to set her finger. Hitman?" "Yes, sir?" "Do what you can to keep Cupcake alive, but don't neglect your other duties." "Roger sir," Hitman kept his voice carefully neutral. "Do you need my help setting her finger?" "Yes." Hitman unclipped himself and headed back up the ladder to hold Mounds as Bubba set her finger. They worked swiftly to reset the finger then let Mounds lay on the bunk to recover from the pain. She began to fade into a fitful sleep as she heard Hitman's voice come over the interphone again, breaking the silence. "Sir, I'm receiving another message." ------- Chapter 25 "Ok Hitman, what's the next message?" Wyatt asked. "I'll need Mounds down here to verify but I think it's just some info about our tankers. Hold on a sec." He flipped through the codebook, trying to decipher the last characters. "Hey Mounds, you awake?" "Yeah, mostly," she groaned and sat up. "Come down here and give this a look. I think I translated right and it doesn't look good." Mounds glanced forward at Wyatt and Bubba then headed down the ladder. Cupcake was still sprawled on the floor against the urinal. She felt a stab of regret lance through her as she watched to make sure he was still breathing. Relieved to see the slow, steady rise of his chest she sat down in his seat. Hitman gave her a sympathetic look and gently caressed her bruised neck. She winced in pain but leaned her cheek against his hand. "Let me see what you've got," she asked after clipping in her com cord. Mounds skimmed the message and Hitman's translation, frowning. "What the fuck, man?" "Tell the whole crew, Mounds," Bubba chided from upstairs. "Sir, there may not be another tanker. It looks like..." she paused, double-checking the translation. "It looks like they can't get one from either Hawaii or the west coast." "So, what then? We flame out over the ocean and fail anyway?" "Looks like they'll give us an update in a little while but nothing good right now," Hitman told them. "Alright, Wyatt, let's run the fuel numbers again. You said we had four hours of gas left? Four and a half after the climb, right?" "Yes. The plan shows that we could get home with what we've got, so I don't know why we're below the fuel curve." "A couple tons of weapons dragging on the wings that we didn't plan to have coming home." Bubba told him. They both glanced out their windows at the full pylons. "Fuck." "Yeah, so ... Run the numbers again for all the weapons still out there and the highest altitude we can climb to without hitting diminishing returns. Although," he paused to look at the altimeter, "we're pretty much there." "Can we jettison them?" Mounds asked from downstairs. Bubba paused in thought for a moment. "Can we physically? Yes. Is it legal? Maybe. Start coding back a message requesting to jettison all external stores." Bubba ran his hand through his close-cropped hair then added, "And the pylons. Fuck. I hate to ask for that but that'll put Plunge on the alert that we have to get a tanker." "Roger." She and Hitman bent over the codebook again. Bubba watched quietly as Wyatt calculated their burn rate. He saw Wyatt reach a final number, shake his head, and start again. "Not enough?" "No. With everything on there now, we're a little over an hour short of the coast. That doesn't even take into consideration getting to an airfield." "What about landing at Hickam?" Hitman asked while he coded. "Good thought but the runway's not long enough anymore." "Anymore?" "Yeah, Hickam and Pearl both took strikes from conventional weapons. Colonel Williamson briefed me on it while we were at Cheyenne." He shook his head, "I didn't think it'd be relevant until just now. Either the Chinese or the Russians, who knows, destroyed the end of the reef runway and the cut the land based one in half. The others are too short." "Well fuck." "Yeah." Bubba watched Wyatt complete his calculation again and shake his head. Wyatt looked over at Bubba, "It's still not enough. Even if we drop everything we're still about 15 minutes short of Edwards." "What about shutting down some engines?" "I guess. If we cut off the outboards the drag is negligible, that might do it." He shrugged helplessly. "How's the message coming?" Bubba asked. "Well enough, we're almost done," Hitman told him. "Sending now." He began punching in the coded message under Mounds' watchful eye. "Will shutting down engines work? I mean, it'll increase how long it takes to get there right?" Mounds asked. "Yes, true. Nevertheless, remember, we're practically a glider with these wings. They do two engine take offs at instructor upgrade. So, I know it can be kept airborne on two. I just don't know how much we'll gain by doing that." Mounds nodded as she watched Hitman. "Too bad we can ask the Boeing engineers." "Yeah," Bubba chuckled. "Those days are long gone. I almost miss having to call everyone who knows anything about a Buff anytime one has a problem airborne." He smiled at Wyatt who looked confused. "Before all this we used to call the engineers at Boeing anytime there was an airborne emergency. They kept enough data there that they could back up all our fuel numbers." "So why not try now?" Wyatt asked. "Are you kidding?" Wyatt shook his head. "What was the statistic? Point one percent of the population is left. Moreover, maybe fifty people ever worked for that part of Boeing. The chances that one of those guys is alive are astronomical." "Stranger things have happened." Wyatt said calmly. "Well, then if there's still someone alive, I'm sure Plunge will find them." The sound of engines roaring seeped through the cockpit as Wyatt ran the fuel numbers again. He believed what Bubba had said about flying on two engines but Mounds had a valid point, they wouldn't fly as fast. He ran the best range and best endurance fuel calculations. "Ok sir, I think I've got a partial solution. I wish I had better tables for flying on less than six engines but here's what I've got: the best bet is to ditch the weapons and pylons," Bubba nodded, "then shut down two engines until we're within an hour of the coast. At that point," he tapped his pen on the six-engine fuel chart, "we run out of tables to do numbers, but here's my best guess. Number one, we won't have enough fuel to feed the outboards, but since they're shutdown, it's no factor. The closer we get, the less fuel we can feed out so we just start shutting down engines, outside to inside, as they flame out. Best guess, we land at Edwards with vapors in the tanks, but we land." He gave Bubba a hopeful half grin. "Well, we'll go with that until we can find anything better. Good work, Abe." "Thanks, sir. Mind if I clear off? I gotta piss." Bubba nodded so Wyatt unstrapped and headed downstairs. He was shocked to see Cupcake still sprawled against the urinal. He knew Hitman had checked on him, but he'd assumed he'd at least made him comfortable. Wyatt glared angrily over his shoulder at Hitman and Mounds but his anger dimmed as he caught another look at the livid bruising on Mounds' slender neck. "Stupid fuck," he said half heartedly as he shifted Cupcake into a more comfortable position. Cupcake's eyes opened slightly and Wyatt could see his mouth move but couldn't hear what he said over the engine noise. He leaned in closer, trying not to press on Cupcake's injured side. "I'm sorry." Cupcake's whisper barely carried over the jet noise. Wyatt gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. Cupcake clasped his wrist lightly and tugged him down again. "Tell Mounds I'm sorry." Wyatt nodded. "Do you want me to lay you out flat or prop you up?" "Up. Bunk. I'd like to lie on the bunk." Wyatt shook his head. Cupcake could barely sit upright; there was no way, even with Hitman's cooperation, that they could get him upstairs to the bunk. "How about I bring your some seat cushions?" "Good enough." "Ok. I'm gonna go piss then I'll bring them back down." After he finished up, he snagged four seat cushions from the bunk and managed wedge them under Cupcake. "This is the best I can do for now. Need water or anything?" "Hmm ... A bottle of bourbon and another round of slap and tickle with you." Cupcake tried to give him a leering smile. "You strange, strange little queen." Wyatt smiled and gave his cheek a pat. "You survive until we land and I'll see what we can do about round two. Okay?" Cupcake nodded and seemed to sink back into a fitful doze. Wyatt shook his head as he rose. Mounds and Hitman were both watching him as he turned back to the ladder. Hitman's expression was blank but Mounds wore an expression of consternation. He couldn't tell if she disapproved of him comforting Cupcake because he'd hurt her or because she disapproved of their relationship, whatever it was. He gave them both a half smile but chose to climb up stairs rather than talk it out. "Pilot's back up," he told them once he was settled back in his seat with his headset on. "Roger. How's Cupcake?" Bubba asked him blandly, knowing Wyatt would check on him. Wyatt paused then told him, "Well enough. I settled him on some seat cushions. He was coherent briefly but fell back asleep." Wyatt paused, thinking momentarily. "He said he's sorry Mounds, if that helps." Downstairs, Mounds gave a sigh that was half frustrated, half sad. Before she could respond verbally, another message started rolling out of the CRM-114. "Crew, another message." Hitman told them, tugging it out of the machine while Mounds thumbed through the codebook. "We're going to have half the pages torn out of this thing at this rate." Mounds muttered. "Has anyone ever seen Phantom of the Opera?" "Yes! Loved it," Wyatt told her. Bubba gave him a look. "What?" Wyatt's voice took on a humorous tone. "Look, you know I'm gay now, I don't have to hide my love of Broadway musicals anymore!" Bubba laughed and gave him a friendly thump on the shoulder. "Noted." "Anyway," Mounds continued, "I feel like we're in Phantom with all the notes being passed around. 'Here, I have a note!'" She sang. Hitman smiled at her as her pencil flew over the message. "It's from Plunge." "And?" Bubba asked. "Wow. Ok, Hitman, I need you to verify." There was a pause then he gave her a thumbs up. "The tanker situation must be legit. We've been cleared to ditch the weapons and the pylons." "Roger." Bubba took a deep breath and looked at Wyatt. "Let's hope you're fuel numbers are good." Wyatt nodded. ------- Chapter 26 "Jettisoning external weapons in three ... two ... one." The jet gave a lurch upwards as gravity took possession of their weapons. "That's going to be a heck of a splash," Hitman told them. "Too bad Cupcake's still passed out, he'd have liked to know that we finally dropped some weapons," Wyatt remarked. "Yeah, in safe mode! They aren't doing anyone any good." "Still-" Wyatt's tone was petulant. "Enough. Run the pylon checklist," Bubba told them. "Are we sure this is safe?" Wyatt asked him. "It's only been done a few times before but it will work." "It hasn't been done in over twenty years!" "Dropping a nuke hasn't happened since World War II but you didn't have problems with that, Wyatt. Run the damn checklist and be ready for it to get a little bumpy as the pylons come off." Wyatt gritted his teeth but nodded. Worry for Cupcake was making him edgy and the potential risk of dropping the pylons didn't help. "Checklist complete downstairs," Hitman told them. "Roger, complete upstairs." "Roger. Pilot, pylon jettison consent switch?" "Toggled," Wyatt told him. "Coming off in three ... two ... one." The jet gave another lurch upwards as the pylons fell away. "Smooth like butter." Wyatt sighed, letting his shoulder sag. He took a deep breath and let the rest of his muscles relax. Bubba put his hand gently on his shoulder. Wyatt turned his head, still on his chest to look at him. Bubba gave him a brief encouraging smile. "Keep your head in the game. There's still three hours and eight engines left." "Yes, sir." Time slipped by, almost unnoticed. Downstairs, Hitman waited for the CRM-114. In the back, Mounds dozed lightly. Upstairs, Wyatt and Bubba traded off napping and flying. About two hours from the coast, Wyatt woke to the sound of two engines flaming out. He jolted awake and glanced quickly to the throttles. Bubba gave him a nod as he pulled back the two outboard throttles. "Engines ones and eight just flamed out, crew. I'm resetting the fuel sequence so that two and seven go out next. Also, generators three, five, and seven have picked up the load from one." Wyatt stared at him blankly for a second then his eyes scanned the controls. The tip fuel tanks were exhausted and the wing fuel tanks were nearly so. He nodded. "About thirty minutes until they flame out then," he rubbed his eyes. "Where are we?" "A little under two hours from the coast," Mounds told him. Wyatt snorted, "You're my nav now?" "Well, you're nav is still passed the fuck out." "Hmm, fair enough." He glanced at the gauges again. "How's the fuel situation look Bubba?" "Right now? We've got a tailwind but I'm still only showing us getting to the coast." Wyatt gave a noncommittal grunt. "Fine. But it's only a 15 minute flight from the coast to Edwards. We'll just have to get lucky then I guess." Bubba laughed. "Fine words coming from you! You started out this day getting lucky. Guess you'd better be the one who lands, huh?" Wyatt stared at him blankly for a second then a huge grin cracked his face. "Guess so, boss." He put his hands on the controls, "I've got the jet if you want a nap." "Yeah, you take it. I'm just going to doze lightly. Wake me when the next set goes out." "Roger." Time oozed slowly by. Downstairs, Mounds doodled on her charts, trying to map out the L.A. zone of alienation in relation to Edwards. Her drawing showed them several miles outside of the zone but the same tailwind that was pushing them home was also dragging radiation laden winds from L.A. to Edwards. Hitman leaned over and looked at her work then clicked his microphone over to the "private" toggle. "We'll be fine. I don't expect us to stay any longer than it takes to refuel and get new orders." She switched her microphone over as well, "I hope so." She sighed, "Do you think this is it? Do you think this will end it?" Her voice was bland but Hitman could see a dangerous emotion in her eyes. Despair. After almost six months on the run, she was rung out, pushed too hard for too long. They all had. However, the last week had pushed them further and he could see her teetering on the edge of depression and despair. He hoped this was the end; she had nothing left to give, none of them did. "Well, despite the fact that it was apparently Cupcake's plan, it seems solid enough." His tone was light, "I mean, they saw us. You made eye contact with the damn MiG driver and he saw the weapons. The Russian's can't possibly deny that we're still in the game." "But then what? We all go home, lick our wounds, then build up for the next time?" "Maybe, maybe not. But you and I-" he paused, thinking, "we'll take a few months off, then train up a few replacements, and gracefully step aside for another generation of heroes. Retire to a quite life of mediocrity." He grinned at her, "Means we can finally get married." She smiled back but didn't comment. Above her, the CRM-114 slid out another paper tongue. Mounds tore it off and pulled out the books. She flipped her mic back to interphone. "Gents, looks like Plunge has things rolling again. No tankers but we can expect a maintenance team and some medics when we land." "That's good news, we sure as shit will need it by then." Suddenly, the jet lurched and yawed left. Bubba jolted awake and scanned the instrument panel. "Wyatt, what happened?" he asked. "Two and three just flamed out but number seven is still lit." He pulled back the throttles on the affected engines. "Pull back seven as well. We might as well run her even." Wyatt yanked the number seven throttle back as well. "So how did this happen?" "I don't know. I'd guess the gauges aren't reading right." He thumped the gauge once and they both watched as the needle fell to zero. "So, we can't really saw how much fuel we're got. Could be more, could be less." "Fuck." Bubba's brows furrowed as he dropped his head in his hands. He looked up at the clock. "One more hour?" Wyatt nodded and Bubba scanned the gauges again. "The wing tanks are empty enough. Drain everything from the wings into the center tanks. We'll run it on four as long as we can, but be ready to land on two." His eyes flicked to the gauges once more then over at Wyatt. "Ever done a two engine landing?" "No." "Makes sense, most people only do it at instructor upgrade. As long as the generators are still fine, it's pretty simple. Keep a good cockpit scan up, but don't lose your outside visuals. You won't use the yoke much, just the throttles." "You know it, sir, you should fly it." "I probably will, but you need to know too so you can back me up on the controls." Wyatt nodded. "What if we start losing generators?" "Worst case? We can't tie the generators into the bus, the battery is depleted, and we start losing systems like hydraulics. Best case, we lose one, retie it to the bus, and everything works normal normal. The emergency procedures direct you to land as light as possible but considering the fact that we won't be carrying silly things like weapons or fuel, I think we're good there." Wyatt sighed and nodded again. Bubba elbowed him in the arm. "It'll be fine Abe. Just take a deep breath." Wyatt took a deep breath and went back to scanning the gauges. Twenty minutes passed like an eternity until he saw the last few drops of fuel in the wing tanks empty. Bubba flipped the switches to pull from the body tanks and gave Wyatt a smile. "Ok, we're getting closer. Pull out the approach plate; we'll review it before we get close." "We've got ours downstairs," Hitman told them after a few moments of digging. "Roger, we're ready upstairs." They ran through the approach, discussing when to descend and what airspeed they expected to fly at given that they had engines out. "What happens if we have to go around?" Hitman asked when they were done. "Let's hope we don't. We don't have enough to land as is. I think we'll get out if we can't put her down." Hitman paused considering then responded with a "Roger." He checked his seat once and gave Mounds a nod to check hers as well. She shook her head. "If getting out is an option I want to eject up." Due to the placement of their station, the radar and nav both had to eject downwards; something extremely dangerous at low levels. "Pilot, nav is moving back up to E-dub." "Roger, you're cleared. Normally, I'd joke about you not trusting me, but you're well within your rights to move today." "What about Cupcake?" Hitman asked, while she moved upstairs. Bubba thought about it. "He deserves as much of a chance for survival as any of us, even if I think getting out would kill him with that wound. If you can get him in the seat go for it, but don't hurt yourself doing it." He paused. "Wyatt, go help him." Wyatt gave the barest of nods and rushed downstairs. It took them nearly fifteen minutes of struggling in the tiny compartment but they were able to get him strapped into his seat. "He's in and locked. There's no way to eject him if he's out cold, so Hitman has my permission to slap the crap out of him to wake him up if we can't land." Wyatt told Bubba once he was back in his seat and strapped in again. "Roger. Looks like we're about to lose engines three and six, might as well pull them back." "But hey, there's good news. I can not only see the coast on the radar, but I can start to see the blob that's Edwards." "Good. How long until we get there?" "Nineteen minutes." Cupcake's voice cracked across the interphone. "Back with us then?" Bubba asked him. "Well, let's hope your math is a little off. We've only got about ten minutes of gas." Cupcake didn't respond. Hitman watched his head loll down to his chest again. "Well, we'll figure it out." Hitman told them. "We'll come in a little high. Saves gas and gives us longer to glide if we have to." Minutes ticked by slowly. Everyone but Cupcake fidgeted in their seats, flinching every time an engine sputtered. "Pilot, you're at twenty miles, approach plate's 'start descent' point." "Roger, we'll hold off a little longer." The two remaining engines sputtered and coughed then resumed running. Bubba thumped the gauges again. They hovered above zero but didn't move. "Fifteen miles. Now would be good." "Roger. We'll get down to 5,000 and do a space shuttle approach if they're still burning." "Yeah, well lucky us, Edwards is an approved shuttle divert airfield." Wyatt quipped. He pulled the two throttles back, allowing the jet to sink slowly down to 5,000 feet. When he leveled off and pushed them forward again the number five engine sputtered and died. "I think its done boss." He told Bubba. Bubba's heart skipped as he thumped the gauges and the needle sank to zero. "Roger. Well, it says zero but as long as four is still burning, we'll be ok. Just stay at this altitude." "Runway is seven miles at your twelve o'clock." Bubba and Wyatt squinted outside. "Tally! I've got it visual," Wyatt told them. "Your landing, Wyatt." Bubba wiggled in his seat and tugged his straps tighter. "Crew, now would be a good time to prep your seats for ejection. Just in case." A chorus of "roger' answer him as they checked their own seats. "When we lost number five we lost all our generators, we're on battery now. So if it needs electricity turn it off!" "Pilots, five miles, gear." Bubba threw down the landing gear handle. "We're close enough now to risk the drag. Wyatt pull it back just a little and I'll get the flaps down." Wyatt complied and Bubba flipped the lever for the flaps. "Tracking together ... flaps and gear down and locked." "Roger, we're-" The remaining engine gave a final splutter and died. "Four's out!" "Pilot, two miles. Confirm gear down and you have it visually?" Hitman yelled. "Pilot has it visually!" Wyatt pulled up slightly on the nose. Fear gripped him as he watched them continue to sink. They weren't going to make the runway. "Deep breath, hold that pitch. There's a long over-run, we'll make that." Bubba's voice was calm and even. Wyatt glanced briefly right to see Bubba, his hands poised just to the side of the yoke, calm as always. Wyatt took a deep breath, hands steady on the controls. "Pilots, half mile and passing 1,000 feet." "Roger. We're ok. We'll make it." Wyatt fought years of habit and pulled back harder on the yoke, trying to salvage any altitude he could still pull out of the jet. They were so close. "Pilot, passing 300 feet. Will we make it?" It wasn't that Hitman didn't trust them but if he ejected below 250 feet, he wouldn't survive ejection. "Yes," Wyatt told him as the overrun started to pass under the nose. He pulled back harder. "Airspeed!" Hitman yelled warning as they approached stall speed. The mighty jet shuddered as air burbled over the wings and they lost lift. Wyatt released some of the pressure on the yoke but it was too late. The jet lost all lift and dropped the final twenty feet onto the runway, slamming the pavement. The pressure from the hydraulics in the landing gear then bounced upwards again and they finally settled on the second impact 1,000 feet down the runway. The crew was thrown violently in their compartments. Downstairs, Cupcake wobbled like a rag doll and Hitman's left arm smashed violently onto his desk. Upstairs, Mounds' head smashed into her forward controls then the side panel as the jet lurched. Wyatt and Bubba fought to bring the jet under control. Rather try to stand on the brakes; they let the jet roll down the runway, its roll smoothing as it slowed. "Chute!" Wyatt directed and Bubba flipped the toggle. They felt the jet slow further as it deployed. Finally, they stepped on the brakes, slowing the jet to a halt. Bubba, panting from effort struggled to calm himself. "Is everyone ok?" In the engineless silence, he could hear someone behind him groaning in pain. "Defense is alive. That's the best I can tell you right now." Mound cradled her broken fingers in her lap and fought the urge to vomit as her head spun. "Pilot, I think Cupcake's still alive but he's going to need a medic in the next few minutes. Well, we both are. I think my arm is broken." Bubba looked at Wyatt who was still white with fear, hands clenched on the yoke. Bubba drew in a ragged breath and looked outside. Two trucks were speeding towards him across the runway. He could see the people inside waving at him but his tired mind couldn't comprehend what they wanted. "Pilot? Do you smell that?" Mounds speech was slurred. "What?" Bubba asked when Wyatt didn't respond. He looked outside again and his adrenaline spiked again as his tired brain grasped what the ground crew was trying to indicate. "Egress! Egress! Egress! We've got a fire." Bubba's fingers flew over his harness as he worked to free himself. He slammed his window open to depressurize the jet. Beside him, Wyatt did the same. Mounds had freed herself and was working with Hitman to unstrap Cupcake. They tugged on his flightsuit but he didn't budge. "Move!" Wyatt pushed her aside and she jumped out of the hatch, Hitman following behind her. Wyatt grabbed Cupcake's collar and pulled with everything he had, grateful that Cupcake was so short. He pulled back until he felt the opening for the hatch. Bubba was waiting below so he pushed Cupcake down to him. Bubba grunted as Cupcake dropped, unable to stop his fall. The smell of smoke got stronger as Wyatt dropped down the hatch next to him. Together, they carried Cupcake to the waiting trucks. "Who's a medic and where are the fire trucks?" Bubba demanded. A man in coveralls stepped forward, helping them to ease Cupcake to the ground. Another man in coveralls joined him with a bag and they began taking his vitals. Bubba turned to look at the rest of the people. Mounds and Hitman stood, holding one another, and Wyatt was crouched next to Cupcake, watching the medics work. They had all made it out safely. "Where are the fire trucks?" Bubba demanded again as the sound of flames crackling along the body of the jet could be heard. A tall, slender man in ABUs shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. This is all we have. There are no firefighters, no trucks." Bubba's face went blank and he turned back to the jet. Flames licked the aft gear and oily black smoke rolled up her side. Bubba knew that without a fire truck, the fire would burn into the highly flammable hydraulic lines, and in a matter of minutes, the jet would be reduced to nothing but a twisted hulk of burnt metal. Pain and grief finally hit him. He sank to him knees as the magnitude of everything they had done, witnessed, and experienced finally hit him. Their mission was complete. Tears he had been too strong, too proud, to shed for over six month rolled down his cheeks. He sobbed uncontrollably as he had to watch what had been his life, his home, and his salvation burn unstopped before him. ------- Chapter 27 A day later Bubba, Wyatt, Hitman and Mounds were in Offutt again, sitting at the same table where they had briefed only a few days earlier. They sat silently, waiting for Plunge to debrief them. The past day had almost been more difficult than the previous six months. Cupcake had been taken away almost as soon as they had run from the jet, taken first to the small on-base hospital, then airlifted to Offutt when those doctors reached the limit of their skill and equipment. They had waited, mostly in silence, for another helicopter or a car that could take them to where they could get a plane to Offutt themselves so they could debrief Plunge. It had been hard, sitting so close the corpse of their jet as it smoldered on the ground. Bubba had eventually turned his back on it, refusing to look that way even as a car arrived to pick them up. The medics checked had checked them over on site. They set and splinted Hitman's arm and let Mounds know that she probably had a mild concussion. An hour after it had stopped burning Hitman stood, pulled on his gloves and walked to the wreckage. Wyatt and Mounds watched as he pulled, one handed, a blackened, twisted piece of metal from the wreckage of the wing. He sat down, setting it beside him without a word. When their car finally arrived, they were told that every aspect of their mission was now considered Top Secret and they were to treat is as such. They all nodded silently and got in the car. It dropped them at the Mojave airport where a C-12 waited for them. They boarded carrying nothing more than their helmets and gloves, the only things they had taken off the jet, and Hitman's chunk of twisted metal. No one spoke to them. Mounds felt like they were the walking dead, as if no one had expected them to come back alive. It was probably true too. They had done what was thought impossible but she couldn't take any joy in that thought. A sense of loss laid over all of them, their jet was gone and Cupcake's fate was thus far unknown. They didn't know if the mission was successful, only that it was complete. "Lady, gentlemen," a bright faced young lieutenant greeted them when they landed at Offutt, "General Feldman sends his greetings. I'm to show you to your quarters and arrange for anything you need in the mean time." The night sky was kept at bay by bright floodlights over the tarmac. The chipper young lieutenant and bright lights were almost offensive to their frame of mind. "Food and sleep. Probably some fresh uniforms and toiletries seeing how..." the pain of loss stopped him. "That's what we'll need." "Roger, sir. Your car is over here." He ushered them towards a small sedan just on the edge of the lighted area. Halfway to the car Hitman peeled off, making a beeline for the maintainers. They watched him walk to one, hand the hunk of metal to him, briefly nod, then walk back. They continued walking without comment. The lieutenant drove them to their previous suite then departed to gather their supplies. "So ... now what?" Wyatt asked them as they sat quietly, sprawled on the sofa and chair in the suites living room. Hitman looked at him, "What do you mean?" "Is that it? Are we done? What do we do now?" "Sleep," Bubba told him. "Sleep and know that the mission is complete." Silence descended on them again. A knock at the door startled them. A flash of fear went through Wyatt as he went to the door, remembering their poker game at Cheyenne. He cracked the door open to find their lieutenant, arms piled high. He opened the door wider to allow him entry. "These should fit you all," he paused, "but might be a little baggy since the sizes we had on file are a few years old." He passed out clothes and toiletries, smiling broadly at them all. "This is for you, Major Johnson," he handed Hitman his hunk of metal, now somewhat smaller and a small cardboard box. "Someone should be down in a few with pizzas. Also, Plunge would like to meet with you tomorrow morning. I'll be back at 0800 to take you too chow then to his office." Bubba shook his head. "No worries, we know where it is. Thank you and good night." Without ceremony, he gently pushed the grinning lieutenant to the door and shut it firmly behind him. "I can't deal with hero worship right now," he told them after the door was closed. They picked through the flightsuits, finding theirs and snagging toiletries. Mounds tuned to go to the showers but Hitman stopped her. "Wait. All of you please wait a second." He opened the box and reached in. "I asked you yesterday, and you said ask today. So I'm asking again. Marry me. Please?" He held out his hand. Mounds gasped when she realized the ring in his hand was a reshaped piece of aluminum from the jet. "Yes!" She jumped into his arms, hugging him fiercely. "Yes!" He peeled her away long enough to slip the ring on her finger then resumed hugging them. Bubba and Wyatt smiled as they watched. "This is how we go on," Bubba told Wyatt. "We make life normal and we live it." Wyatt looked at the floor, smile gone. He could only pray that Cupcake was alright. Now they sat, fidgeting in their chairs occasionally glancing at the clock or Hitman's piece of metal. Their mood was lighter than it had been when they got to Offutt but worry lingered. Had they done enough? Had they fucked it all by losing the jet? At precisely 0900, Plunge and his entourage walked in. The four stood at attention while he walked silently to his seat at the head of the table, face blank. "Seats." They sank to their seats, unable to read Plunge's expression. Plunge stood at the front, expressionless, making eye contact with each of them in turn. "Lady, gentlemen, it is my great pleasure," a smile broke across his face, "to inform you that your mission was a complete success!" They broke into smiles, relief washing through them. "Our President is with the Russian President in Geneva right now, signing a peace treaty." "But, we lost the weapons, the jet, we don't even know if we all survived," Bubba stated quietly. "First, Captain Walker has completed his surgery, and is resting as comfortably as we can make him. Expect that he will be in the ICU for the next few days, but he is expected to recover fully. At a later time, I'd like an explanation as to how that happened, but not now." He glanced knowingly at Mounds then looked back to Bubba. "And, yes, those weapons and that jet are gone, but there are others." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter though, it's over. Maybe later, some years down the road, your skills will be needed again but here, and now, it's done." Bubba nodded. Mounds put her hand on Hitman's arm, smiling at him. Wyatt took a deep breath, letting all of his stress go. "So, what now?" Bubba asked, echoing their sentiments from the night before. "Now?" Plunge laughed, "Pomp and circumstance, which I know you just love, Bubba." Bubba groaned. "Hey, I don't know how you feel about it but you were a million-to-one chance. You succeeded against almost certain failure and the American people see you as heroes." He gave Bubba a level look. "I know you are probably tired and want nothing more than a few days of leave but this is important to the American people. They're demoralized, weary; they need something good to motivate them. We need them to pull together and overcome the hardships ahead. "You are the best example we can give them. When you get your awards, of which there are many, we intend to broadcast it to every American we can reach." He looked at each of them, his eyes finally coming to Mounds hand, still sitting on Hitman's splint. He closed his eyes, shook his head and groaned. "You two kids better get married quickly or they'll want to televise that too." Mounds bolted upright and Hitman laughed. "The sooner the better," he told Plunge. Bubba slapped him on the back and smiled. His smile faded and he turned back to Plunge. "Ok, last question." Plunge nodded. "The mole?" Plunge's expression darkened. "I'm sorry I didn't greet you last night. It had been my intention but I was occupied. You remember Captain Fike?" They all nodded and Wyatt leaned forward, arms resting on the table. "He was our mole. We caught him trying to leave base shortly after you radioed in from Ellsworth. A quick look on his SIPR computer and through his home was enough to convict him. His trial started shortly after you landed in California and he was executed just after you landed here." Mounds closed her eyes and bowed her head. Wyatt sat back, leaning his head against the chair. He hadn't wanted to be right, but was glad he was. "I know," Plunge's expression turned sad. "I will carry this for the rest of my life." Bubba looked at him confused. "You know me Bubba, I can't make someone do something I'm unwilling to do myself. At the end of the trial, I was his executioner; I will carry that with me forever." The room grew quiet again as they considered all the hard choices they had made. Plunge cleared his throat. "Well, we'll have to scrounge the uniform store for you." He pointed to their flightsuits, devoid of rank or even nametags. "Can't present you a Medal of Honor looking shabby now can we?" ------- Epilogue: "Henry!" Colonel April "Mounds" Johnson hollered down the hallway to her husband. A week after the hubbub of their award presentation from the President they had all been promoted to the rank of full bird Colonel, except for Bubba, who was promoted to Brigadier General. Mounds and Hitman had taken Plunge's advice and wed quietly with a Justice of the Peace shortly after their meeting. Wyatt stood in as Hitman's best man and Bubba, smiling fit to crack his face, stood in as father of the bride and "gave away" Mounds. "Sweetie, I think he's in the conference room with the newbies," Wyatt told her. She smiled and continued down the hallway. Wyatt saw what was clutched in her hand, "Is that... ?" She put her finger to her lips and continued down the hallway, Wyatt trailing along. When the celebration surrounding them finally died down, they were offered the chance to retire, at full pay, to enjoy their lives however they saw fit as true blue American heroes. Yet, they had anticipated it and volunteered to do as Hitman has suggested to her, train the next generation of aviators. It had taken months to gather enough aircraft, capable students, and a place; but they had cobbled together a new school. Together, they had trained ten students a year at first, a few people for each crew position until they had a big enough cadre and fleet to train more. Now, four years later, they turned out almost forty students a year. "Cupcake, honey, come here!" Wyatt said as he passed his husband's office. Mounds turned around briefly and smiled, waiving what was in her hand. "Hot damn, took long enough!" Cupcake said and followed her. He had been released from the hospital the same day Mounds had finished testifying about what had happened between the two of them. Plunge, acting as both judge and jury, told them that they were 'about even and we'll leave it at that'. They had felt the same and had let any uneasy truce grow between them. Months later, they had come to the realization that no one else understood what they had been through and that the friendship of their crewmates was precious. They had fully forgiven each other and went on from there. Mounds reached the door to the conference room and rapped lightly on it. Unable to wait she yanked the door open, startling Hitman who was in the middle of lecturing about jet engines. The words "suck/bang/blow" were written on a white board behind him and Bubba sat in the back, hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh. Hitman opened his mouth to lecture the three of them on barging in on the middle of class until he saw Mounds expression. He looked down at her hand and shut his mouth, hope edging onto his face. "Is it... ?" he asked quietly. In the back of the room, Bubba stood up. She nodded, grinning. "One-in-a-million, that seems to be our trick." "I'm ... I'm ... really?" Joy filled his face and he ran to his wife. Mounds held out the small pregnancy test, "You're going to be a daddy!" ------- The End ------- Posted: 2009-09-05 Last Modified: 2011-05-01 / 05:25:46 pm ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------