A Tan Beret Goes to Nellis

[Wolfman]

Once you're used for bait, you're not good for much else. I'm hoping I'm wrong.

That makes two of us…

[Poohbah]

21 January 1988
Officer's Club
Sheppard Air Force Base
Wichita Falls, TX

AFN was doing what their DJ Valerie Salquist called Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, all music, no DJ patter to interrupt the vibe. The lack of covert messages to partisans drove Ivan nuts; they hadn't figured out that the medium was the message, as Marshal McLuhan would say.

Some band had recorded, of all things, a rockabilly cover of Safety Dance. Sophie and Kathy were cutting up the dance floor to the general enthusiasm of the gathered crowd, who were clapping along in time with the music.

The music shifted to Video Killed the Radio Star, and they stepped off the dance floor. Kathy said, "We need to work out the romeos--"

"The romeos are simple enough: we grab a trailer in the Ramada Inn complex, and we do the Horizontal Mambo."

Kathy smiled and said, "You think you can keep up with me, little girl?"

Sophie arched an eyebrow. "Afraid you won't? I mean, you definitely have the curves, Sugar-Tits, but do you have the moves to go with them?"

Kathy laughed. "Ah, the impetuous overconfidence of youth."

Sophie smiled, "So, we wait for something that's a cross between romantic and sleazy, and we dance somewhat raunchily to it, and then go get a room."

Grace Jones' "Pull Up to the Bumper" came on.

Sophie grinned broadly and pulled Kathy back to the dance floor. "And. Here. We. Go."

* * *

Later, in one of the trailers, Kathy stretched catlike. "Holy shit, woman, where did you learn all that?"

"The fine ladies of Uncle Sam's Flying Circus in Las Vegas."

"Jesus Gawd, you were sleeping with some seriously bisexual women your entire time at Nellis?"

Sophie chuckled. "Yes."

Kathy snuggled next to Sophie. "Well, you definitely are a fast learner."

"Comes with the mutant math ability. I really did once calculate how many licks it would take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. Came in downright handy for determining how many licks it takes toMMMPH--"

Kathy broke the kiss and said, "Please try to keep sex at least somewhat romantic, Sophie."

* * *

22 January 1988
MAG-11 HQ
Sheppard Air Force Base
Wichita Falls, TX

Kathy came in while Sophie was reviewing the morning traffic. The coffee was brewed, so she poured two mugs and handed one to Sophie. Sophie sipped silently as she flipped through the message board. Her mug suddenly stopped halfway to her mouth.

Kathy asked, "What have you got?"

"STRATMAT came in at 0331 local. Someone stole a semi full of ammounium nitrate last night in over in Ardmore." She set her mug down and flipped through the STRATMAT reports. "And we have a few hundred pounds of aluminum bar stock missing, and a couple dozen grinder wheels went bye-bye out of a shop out in town last week, and blasting caps are literally a dime a dozen if the dime in question is silver." She picked up the phone and dialed the fuels officer, Captain Roberta Paulson. "Hey, Bobbi." Pause. "Yeah, you'd like her. Listen, I need you to run an audit on your diesel stocks right now." Pause. "Yesterday, and you're verified good? Vreeland go anywhere near the inventory audit?" Pause. "Just checking. Check it again, please? I've got a few STRATMATs that might be nothing, or they might be something."

Ten minutes later, the phone rang. "MAG-11 S-2, Chief Henrix--Bobbi, whatcha got?" Pause, followed by a grim expression. "All right, thank you. Please send Vreeland over to the Molehole on an errand. With any luck, you won't be getting him back. Catch you later."

Sophie looked at Kathy. "3 drums of diesel, signed out on Vreeland's card last night. Charge number expired last September. Enough for a very big VBIED, or a lot of little IEDs." She picked up the phone again and dialed the Molehole. "Chief Henrix calling for Major Cowley." Pause. "Sir, Master Sergeant Vreeland will be arriving shortly. Please detain him under 31-303. My authority." Pause. "Suspicion of espionage against the United States, and actively aiding and abetting attempted sabotage against the United States." Pause. "Thank you, sir."

After she hung up, she said, "We need Master Sergeant Vreeland to be focused."

Kathy nodded, her expression grim.

[Matt Wiser]

Ingredients for a big Ka-BOOM or some smaller ones... That Barmaid is cooking up something and she's up to no good.

[jemhouston]

As usual it boils down to what's the target(s) and when.

[Wolfman]

Things are getting interesting in Wichita Falls…

[Poohbah]

22 January 1988
Sheppard AFB
Wichita Falls, TX

Jacqueline Kovacs took orders at various tables and noticed Sophie's eyes on her from the 335th's area, where Captain Blanchard and Sophie were the only two people there this early.

Well, time to start the dance.

She made her way to the 335th's area and said, "What'll you folks have?"

Henrix gave her a look that was just above polite interest and said, "A 7&7, please."

Kovacs, when she came back, asked, "Anything else I can get you?"

Sophie smiled and asked, "Any suggestions?"

Kovacs smiled. "I make a damn good chili--not that silly stuff they call 'chili' wherever you're from, but honest-to-Sam-Houston Texas Chili. How about dinner at my place tomorrow?"

Sophie's smile grew wider. "I'm in."

* * *

After Kovacs left, Sophie saw Ryan Blanchard looking at her.

"What?"

"You sure about this? Just because she invites you to her place doesn't mean she's a spook. I mean, you do have a certain reputation around these here parts, one you have worked mightily to cultivate, I might add. She might just be horny."

Sophie said, "Ryan, liars might be able to figure, but figures just can't lie to me. The numbers are rock-solid. She's plugged in on too many circuits. And my intuition is backing those numbers up. Once I start moving, have your band of merry men and women be ready to go. There will be trade."

Blanchard nodded. "Right. Break-break, I'm getting someone tomorrow morning, TDY from Scott Air Force Base, of all places, she's with some outfit at MAC. Master Sergeant Karen Sisco."

Sophie blinked. "MAC Rapid Ops Support Staff?"

"Yeah. Never heard of them before."

"You're not supposed to. They do spook and special ops stuff. She probably got sent down here by my rabbi once I clued him in. I know her mostly by reputation. Steady hand, good operator . . . when she's not trying to steal my boyfriend."

Blanchard almost choked on her drink.

"I keep forgetting this whole lesbian bit is cover for status with you. You're not holding a grudge, are you?"

"She struck out, which merely demonstrates that Adam is a man of both superior intellect and discerning taste."

Blanchard sipped her beer, shaking her head in disbelief. "Anyone tell you you're awfully damn conceited?"

"It ain't bragging if you can actually do it."

Blanchard laughed. "Point taken. Now go pick up some chick before people start speculating irresponsibly about which team I bat for."

[Matt Wiser]

Either in civilian life as a Deputy U.S. Marshal, or a special operator wearing the uniform, Sisco is not to be trifled with.

[Johnnie Lyle]

Either in civilian life as a Deputy U.S. Marshal, or a special operator wearing the uniform, Sisco is not to be trifled with.

Good game wardens make good poachers.

[jemhouston]

Either in civilian life as a Deputy U.S. Marshal, or a special operator wearing the uniform, Sisco is not to be trifled with.

Sisco will be the second most dangerous person on the base.

Good thing both women know where the line is. The bad thing is they know six ways from Sunday to bend it into a pretzel.

[Poohbah]

22 January 1988
Strategic Refueling Area TEAPOT DOME

Lieutenant Rebecca Furness scanned the instrument panel of the KC-10A Extender and nodded once to herself.

Captain Robert "Terrible" Herbst stepped into his seat, strapped in, and placed his hands on the controls. "My aircraft."

"Your aircraft, sir."

"Unstrap, get up, stretch your legs, hit the latrine. Per flight plan, our first trade is TEXACO flight, and they don't show up for another hour."

"Yes, sir."

Furness started unstrapping, glancing casually outside the cockpit into the darkening evening. She noticed a bright star that just didn't belong there.

"Skipper, two o'clock high."

Herbst hunched down to get a good angle.

"What in the Kentucky Fried Tarnation is that? I'm pretty sure that stars aren't in the habit of getting lost."

Furness asked, "Swamp gas?"

"Well, that's what Major Gatlin's boys at Wright-Pat are going to be spring-loaded to say."

Furness finished unstrapping and said, "Somebody needs to tell ET that it's kinda rude to sit up there and snoop on our planet's domestic squabbles like that."

23 January 1988
Sheppard AFB

Sophie was driving Kathy to the "PAX Terminal," essentially an Army GP tent next to the flight line, when the air raid sirens went off.

Two Phantoms with RAF roundels were thundering down the runway by the time Sophie got the jeep stopped. She searched quickly for cover.

Sophie bellowed in her command voice, "GET OUT OF THE JEEP AND INTO THE DITCH!"

The ditch was half-full of mud, and Kathy had frozen--so Sophie yanked her out of the jeep into a fireman's carry and threw her into the ditch, then jumped in after her, keeping her right side high to ensure her weapon stayed out of the mud.

Kathy's face was--where not covered with mud--white with terror.

Sophie asked, "First air raid?"

Kathy nodded jerkily.

"Just stay in the ditch until the all-clear."

There was a loud CRUMP! followed by whistling noises overhead.

"What's that?"

Sophie said, "Shrapnel. Little light for an aircraft bomb, probably an anti-radiation missile took out the Hawk battery acquisition radar we passed."

There were more explosions, much fainter, from the runway.

Kathy was getting back under control. "Cratering?"

"Probably."

There was a pair of explosions from the flight line, almost deafening.

Sophie said, "That sounded like planes. Big ones."

Kathy sighed. "Well, there went my ride back to Grand Island."

There was a shriek of a jet engine--interrupted by an explosion.

A flaming Fitter--with one wing swept back and the other full forward--went overhead in a slow roll. The canopy came off and the ejection seat rocketed away from the aircraft.

The parachute blossomed, and the pilot drifted toward their ditch. There was another explosion from the direction the plane had gone.

The all-clear sounded.

Sophie was up, with Kathy following her.

The parachute had dragged the pilot into some razor wire, and he was trying to get clear.

The XM-12 seemed to leap into her hand, and she hit the laser illumination switch.

Kathy said, "Privet krasavchik, ruki vverkh."

"Huh?"

"I said, 'Hello handsome, hands up.' Just in case he didn't get the message."

Sophie chuckled, then said, "You'd think the death dot on his wedding tackle would be a universal language."

* * *

The base wing's deputy intel officer, Captain Sam Jordan, said, "Now, look, Sheriff, I understand tempers are high, but--"

Barzanian asked, "Captain Jordan, if I may?"

Jordan shut up.

Kathy said, "Sheriff, I do understand that tempers are still high, and I even sympathize. The first deliverable under the social contract between government and governed is safety from foreign invasion. And we most assuredly did not deliver." She smiled. "So I do understand that many of the good folk of Wichita County are inclined to tell intel weenies like me to go piss up a slack rope."

There was a ripple of nervous laughter--but it was the kind that dissipated tension.

Sophie thought, Good nervous laughter. That's a new one on me.

Barzanian went on, "I'm asking, as a representative of Air Force intelligence, that you put out a request that people not lynch pilots or any stragglers that get found. Dead men tell no tales, but prisoners can be persuaded to become downright talkative."

Sheriff Jon Corwin chuckled. "Major, they might not listen to me."

Barzanian smiled, and Sophie marveled at how much charm--not flirtatiousness, just simple charisma--she could put into a smile.

"Sheriff, the community will listen to you, out of simple respect if nothing else. At least to the point where they don't just kill pilots on landing."

Corwin was almost blushing under Kathy's smile.

"Ah, well, you're right, ma'am, I should do that."

* * *

Back in the SCIF, Sophie laughed, then said, "Ma'am, you turned that poor man's brain to mush."

"Are you suggesting he was thinking with a different portion of his anatomy?"

"No, ma'am, I'm saying it outright."

"Well, that's a man for you. Anyway, we'll probably get some more prisoners. Might get whacked around a bit before we get 'em, though."

"Hey, prisoners are like cue balls sometimes, ma'am."

"How's that, Chief?"

"The harder you hit 'em, the more English you get."

Kathy wagged her finger at Sophie. "Shame on you, Chief!"

Sophie put on her best hangdog expression, and Kathy laughed.

"Just be careful who you tell that joke to, Sophie. Stalin said it best: 'Dark humor is like food. Not everyone is going to get it.'"

Sophie guffawed.

"So, what's on the schedule tonight?"

"That cute captain from the base fuels shop you pulled rank on last night, ma'am."

"Chief, you're incorrigible."

"Got a hidden motive. Master Sergeant Vreeland."

The phone rang.

Sophie picked up.

It was Deckard. "Chief, is Major Barzanian available?"

"In the room with me, sir."

"All right, let's go secure and on speaker."

Sophie did so, while Kathy hung the "CLASSIFIED CONFERENCE -- DO NOT ENTER" sign on the door and locked it.

"Major Barzanian here, Colonel."

"All right, I'm conferencing in AAFSOUTH HQ."

After a brief pause, there was another crypto sync tone, and Deckard said, "Go ahead, gentlemen."

"Major, Chief, this is General Lodge. I need you to pull a map of atrocity sites for your area. And a gazetteer if you've got one."

Sophie went to the "general access" file cabinet with tactical pilotage charts, USGS quads, local information, and an almanac of the United States.

She spread the maps out on the conference table.

"Got 'em, sir."

"Any patterns jump out?"

Sophie looked at the marked up TPC, noticed the atrocity markings, town populations, survivor counts, and the road nets. She flipped through the almanac, looking up a few towns to confirm numbers, and said, "Sonofabitch. Changelings, sir?"

Another voice, unfamiliar to her, asked, "Chief, this is Lieutenant General Michaelsen, Acting Director of the Defense Intelligence Agency. I'm not arguing with you. But I have to ask, before I run this up my chain of command: are you sure about that? I really need some certainty. This is going to be a bomb in the Ritz-Carlton."

Sophie forced down the surge of anger.

He doesn't know you. And he's right, this will be pure poison in Philly.

"Sir . . . I mean no disrespect whatsoever with this question. Are you familiar with topology, repeat, topology, not topography, sir?"

Michaelsen said, "Negative, Chief. That's advanced mathematics, right? I was a political science major, I have some statistics courses under my belt, but that's as far as I ever got, and I've forgotten most of it."

"All right, sir. I have a great deal of math, and I have a very high affinity for it. And I'm looking at the atrocity sites, I see that they're all little podunk towns, with little connectivity to larger locales. But they also form closed meshes--you can traverse each mesh, and even meshes of meshes, and pass through each site only one time."

"All right. And that's important because . . . "

"Sir, it's like the traveling salesman problem--how does one make the shortest path that connects all points of a set? The point is, this isn't random. This wasn't pissed off WARPAC troops venting their spleen over losing; it was very, very deliberate. Ivan wanted those specific people gone. Why would they want to get low-population hamlets with little external connectivity depopulated? So they could bring in their own people. Figure any 'survivors' are KGB/GRU illegals. And just in southern Oklahoma and northern Texas . . . I'm seeing they've killed off 3,000 people or so, with a grand total of about 40 survivors."

"But why the mesh?"

"Communications would be the weak spot, sir. They can't make enough Spetosk kits to issue every illegal their own transmitter, and there aren't enough satellite channels available to use them all anyway, so they have designated radio operators. You need efficient connectivity between nodes of the mesh to make sure everyone can connect to a pianist in a timely manner."

There was a brief pause.

Lodge came back on. "Chief, any ideas of what to do?"

Sophie paused, then said, "Sir . . . I shouldn't say this. But I have to."

God help me.

"You're going to have to send in shooters, sir."

Michaelsen said, "Chief, I'm going to need a write-up on this, don't dumb it down, just make your case concisely, I have operations research people who can turn it into viewgraphs. Send it SPECAT to DIA HQ in King of Prussia, DIA Forward and AAFSOUTH in Grand Island." There was a brief pause, and Michaelsen said, "I think it goes without saying--but I'll say it anyway--that your recommendation does NOT go in that message. That's on us, not you, Chief. You just saw the obvious. We're going to have to discuss that with the suits."

"Yes, sir."

After the call ended, Sophie stared at the maps.

"Chief?"

Sophie said nothing.

I will not cry. I will not cry.

"Sophie, look at me."

Sophie looked--and saw Kathy's eyes brimming with tears.

The two women embraced and the tears flowed.

[jemhouston]

Hard times make hard people

Hard people make good times.

Good times need to remember the mistakes that made hard times.

Carbon, pressure, time, makes diamonds. Diamonds are hard, but one blow in the right spot can make them dust.

[Matt Wiser]

Given how brutal the occupation was in Wichita Falls and adjoining counties? No surprise that the locals have their own way of "Welcoming" downed Soviet and other ComBloc aircrew. Remember the Indian tribes-especially the Apache-in Arizona and New Mexico.....The rather gruesome fate meted out to such downed aircrew in those areas has been previously mentioned.

[Wolfman]

Indeed it has, Matt.