History, Politics And Current Affairs

Either way we'll bleed and people on both sides will be dead or worse.

Argh. I know the comment about Germany is supposed to occur in character but it still pisses me off a bit. Because it is a) not true, the farther away in time you get from "Stunde Null", with the real break from Germany‘s Nazi past occurring after 1968, and b) because of course it holds a kernel of truth.
Difficult.

Jotun wrote: ↑Tue Dec 26, 2023 11:15 am Argh. I know the comment about Germany is supposed to occur in character but it still pisses me off a bit. Because it is a) not true, the farther away in time you get from "Stunde Null", with the real break from Germany‘s Nazi past occurring after 1968, and b) because of course it holds a kernel of truth.
Difficult.

Remember, she's not speaking for herself, she's telling Popov what her father said. And that was probably colored by personal and family history.

(My parents' generation of my family, for example, absolutely refused to ever buy a German or Japanese car. My uncles and cousins once removed fought in Europe, the North Atlantic, and the Pacific; my father likely would have been aboard a radar picket for Operation CORONET; and multiple citizens of their Minnesota small town served with the 34th Infantry Division in North Africa and Italy.)

Something tells me Popov, if not Serov, may not be long for this world...

clancyphile wrote: ↑Tue Dec 26, 2023 9:09 pm Something tells me Popov, if not Serov, may not be long for this world...

Why not both of them?

Wolfman wrote: ↑Wed Dec 27, 2023 1:30 am

clancyphile wrote: ↑Tue Dec 26, 2023 9:09 pm Something tells me Popov, if not Serov, may not be long for this world...

Why not both of them?

At some point, someone looking for Serov's gig going to start saying "Mumble mumble lack of belief in ultimate socialist victory mumble mumble..."

Of course the mumble-mumble guy would be well-advised to pay a local to start his car for him...

And someone's going to rat on the informer to Serov (oh was he related to one Ivan Serov, former Director of the KGB, former Director of the GRU and known as the Hangman of Hungary?). That informer will be liquidated.

And the rat will be killed for good measure as a precaution.

24 December 1987
MGM Grand Hotel
Las Vegas, NV

The phone rang, and Cassie Siegel picked it up. "Room 2304--yeah, just a sec." She covered the mouthpiece and said, "Someone named Roxy calling for you."

Sophie took the phone.

"Yeah, Roxy, what's up?"

"You up for a little Christmas Eve get-together? Just us girls, a simple dinner, and some presents."

"I didn't get you any--"

"Actually, you did."

* * *

The house was comfortably middle-class, with a fireplace burning brightly in the far corner of the living room, and a modest Christmas tree.

Sophie gave everyone hugs, then signaled to Traci and Roxy that she wanted to talk privately.

Once they were alone in the den, Sophie said, "Catherine Becker will never groom another girl ever again."

Traci sighed. "Unless she gets out of whatever lockup--"

Sophie said, "There's only one guy who's made it back from where I sent her, and tomorrow's his birthday."

Traci blinked, and then the penny dropped. "Oh." She paused, then said, "Oh!"

Roxy nodded. "It's done." She sighed, then said, "How many kids?"

"She had a bunch of file cabinets in her home. The Air Force cleaned them out." She paused, then said, "We have a road map. We know who's who."

She saw Roxy stroke Traci's hair, and saw Traci relax a bit.

Interesting.

Traci then asked, "Why?"

"It doesn't make any sense. She was recruited by the communists, hated capitalism, and yet she lived up in Bel Air. Gorgeous house on a lake and a view of Los Angeles to die for."

Roxy said, "Some people hate the possibility that someone they think is less . . . worthy . . . might be successful. Crabs always try to drag each other back into the bucket."

* * *

Dinner was salad, a chicken casserole, and peach pie. The wine flowed just enough to relax everyone, and Sophie felt the tension easing among the women--including herself.

Diane Renton and Christy Canyon did the dishes, and then joined Sophie, Ginger Lynn, Roxy, and Traci in the living room.

Diane announced, "All right, ladies, it's Christmas Eve, and it's time to give Sophie her present."

"Uh, you don't have to--"

Ginger said, "Oh, but we do. We just found out that Jim Austin was screaming his head off when you grabbed Richie Madano, and he called in the heavies at the Hawaiian Market." She giggled. "Apparently that cute redhead special agent made Austin disappear the same way Madano did. Las Vegas PD is rolling up a bunch of the folks pimping the Lost Girls, and the Lost Girls are getting help . . . the good guys won a round."

"Where's that leave you guys?"

Christy smiled. "Still in the biz. Both of them. We're still listening for anyone doing anything odd, and making sure it gets passed to various patriots, male and female alike, that we 'just happen' to meet."

Traci said, quietly, "All give some. Some give all. I'm doing what I can, given that I'm a 4-F without any real skills."

Roxy nodded, and Sophie noticed that her hand was intertwined with Traci's.

"Are you two an item?"

Traci giggled. "I don't know. Seriously, I don't."

Roxy smiled and said, "And neither do I." She looked at Traci for a moment, then turned back to Sophie and said, "But I want to find out."

Ginger said, "Hear, hear!"

Diane said, "So, tonight, the gift is, you get pampered. Five women bathing you, doing a manicure and pedicure, a facial, and a massage--or more . . . "

There was general laughter.

Christy said, "And any of us--or all of us--sharing your bed tonight. Maybe it's just snuggling together for warmth against that cold front moving in, maybe it's a wild night of passion with all of us bouncing off the walls . . . it's your call. Whatever you want."

Sophie looked at all five women and saw each looking straight back at her with confidence.

And made her decision.

25 December 1987
Las Vegas, NV

Sophie walked up to the bus stop.

A unmarked Las Vegas PD Dodge Diplomat rolled up, and Detective Sergeant Jim Brass climbed out of the passenger side.

"Good morning, Chief Henrix."

"Good morning, Detective Brass."

"Need a lift?"

"If you're headed past the main gate at Nellis--"

"I can be. I just need to chat for a moment."

Sophie nodded, then climbed into the car.

Brass put the vehicle in gear and began driving east.

"That bit with the Willie Pete was . . . a bit much."

Sophie nodded. "Can't say the bastard didn't deserve it. He was raping one of the Lost Girls when I showed up. And down in New Mexico . . . he chained some Mescalero children to missile launchers and reload vehicles . . . and then dared me to call in an airstrike."

Brass shuddered. "I was in the shit in 'Nam . . . never that bad, though. Well, officially, he was playing stupid games with a pistol and a Willie Pete grenade, and won a stupid prize. That's our story and we're sticking to it. Break-break . . . we got a missing persons case out of Los Angeles that looks interesting. One Doctor Catherine Becker at Cedars Sinai, head of the neuropsychiatry department. She apparently drove home from work and . . . vanished. Funny thing . . . they didn't find a trace of forensics in the house, not even the usual stuff someone leaves when they live there. But her files were gone. All of that happened overnight, nobody heard or saw anything." He smiled. "The sort of thing a highly trained special operator might put together."

Sophie smiled back. "Indeed."

Brass continued driving. After a few moments he said, "Remind me not to play poker with you."

Eventually, they got to the traffic at the main gate, and Sophie said, "Thank you for the lift. Looks like I've got enough time for breakfast."

She climbed out, then leaned back into the car. "Oh, yeah, one other thing."

Brass looked at her.

Sophie said, "Don't play poker with me."

Brass blinked, then laughed. "Got me good, Chief. You have a good one."

"You too, Detective."

Sophie closed the car door and walked to the gate. She presented her ID card and was waved in.

She returned the sentry's salute and began walking to the officer's club, debating whether she wanted scrambled eggs and hotcakes or the Denver Omelette smothered in ranchero sauce and sour cream.

Sophie finally relaxed. She's at peace with herself and the world for once.

25 December 1987
Headquarters, Tenth Air Force
Nellis Air Force Base
Las Vegas, NV

Sophie was in the groove, code singing in her mind and flowing out her fingertips to the keyboard.

"Chief?"

Sophie turned and saw Hummel standing next to a man in, of all things, a Santa Claus suit, holding a large box. The rest of the JSOC liaison cell was gathered behind them.

"HO-HO-HO, Y'ALL! MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

Sophie felt her lips curl in a delighted grin. "Chief Dalton! Merry Christmas!"

Chief Master Sergeant Dalton was the 23rd Air Force's Master Small Arms Armorer.

"Ho-ho-ho, ma'am! Have you been a good girl?"

Sophie put on a pensive expression, then asked, "Are we grading on a curve, Chief?"

Hummel said, "She doesn't cheat at cards and pays her O Club bill timely."

"Good enough, sir!" Dalton handed over the box. "Merry Christmas, Chief! General O'Neil wanted this delivered to you ASAP. I'll just need your GAU-5/A."

Sophie started unpeeling the wrapping paper, and Dalton chuckled. "Go ahead and tear it open like an excited kid, ma'am."

Sophie did so, and saw a plain cardboard box marked in Sharpie with a serial number and "CW2 HENRIX."

Sophie opened it. Inside was a short-barrel rifle, fitted with a combat optic, suppressor, and a collapsing stock. Sophie marveled at the length; even with the stock extended and the can installed, it was shorter than her GAU-5/A Colt Commando. Everything was finished in a smooth matte black.

Chief Dalton said, "We told a bunch of smart guys at Eglin to come up with the best possible rifle for special operators, they passed a specification to various manufacturers, and Springfield Armory have delivered this beauty. This is the Gun Automatic Unit Sixteen Slash Alpha, also known as the Springfield Armory Nightwraith, short gas piston action with semi-automatic, burst, and full automatic on the selector. Chambered in .300 Shuriken, based on a necked-out 5.56mm case. The barrel is just 9 inches long--that gives the best overall performance with both subsonic and supersonic ammo. The scope is a Leupold 1-6x variable with a bullet drop compensator, red and IR laser designators, and first focal plane reticle--that means the reticle increases in size with the magnification selected. The BDC is preset for 150 yards subsonic and 300 yards supersonic. Maximum effective range is 400 yards, ma'am."

Sophie looked at the weapon. "Looks like something straight out of a high budget science fiction movie."

Dalton chuckled. "Ma'am, we had a team down at Eglin looking over engagement reports, and doing a bunch of experiments. This is . . . well, it's a decade of normal firearms evolution done in two years."

Sophie looked at the weapon again, and said, "Chief, I think I hear the small arms range calling me to test this bad girl out."

Dalton said, "I'm hearing that call fivers, ma'am."

Hummel said, "Yeah, I hear it, too."

Decker said, "I move that we adjourn to the range, people."

* * *

At the range, Sophie blinked as she took the weapon out of the box. "Smaller, but the same weight as the Commando."

Dalton smiled. "Actually, it's about four ounces heavier fully loaded. The receiver sits in a chassis milled from a solid block of aluminum--they took that idea from the British L96 sniper rifle. They wanted it to be crazy rugged, ma'am."

She ran her hand over the chassis. "That isn't standard bluing."

"Ma'am, it's Cerakote, a fairly new process. 100% waterproof, incredibly durable."

Sophie opened a box of .300 Shuriken subsonic ammunition, filled a magazine, put on ear protection, and got into a prone position.

Loaded the magazine.

Dalton called, "All ready on the firing line. Shooter, you may commence fire."

Sophie took up a stock weld, aligned her body with the target, obtained a good sight picture with the scope at 4x magnification, and squeezed the trigger once. Twice. A third time.

Decker said, "All right, Chief, you're hitting about two inches right of center and about an inch low."

Sophie adjusted the elevation and windage screws on the scope, and fired another three shots.

Hummel said, "Damn. That thing is quiet."

Decker said, "And it puts the bullets exactly where you want 'em. Looks like you're zeroed in, Chief."

Sophie safed the weapon and got up.

"Let's head down to the 25 yard line, I want to try something.

At the 25 yard line, she dialed the scope to 1 power, flipped the selector to semi, and brought the weapon up to her shoulder in the standing position.

Keeping both eyes open, she saw the reticle superimpose itself on the target in her field of view and fired from instinct. The rounds landed solidly on the target.

Hummel laughed. "Yeah, he ain't walking that off."

Decker said, "Using it like you'd use the Falcon sight?"

Sophie said, "Yes, sir."

Dalton said, "Everyone who's ever been in a firefight wants that capability, and AFSOC made sure it was in request for proposals."

* * *

Sophie was locking her new rifle in its storage rack when Decker stepped out of his office and came to her desk. "Chief, the boss wants to see you on the bounce. In the SCIF."

Sophie finished securing the weapon and said "By your leave, sir" to Decker.

"Granted."

Sophie headed to the SCIF. Generals Tanner, Glosson, and Vandenhelden were waiting.

Tanner said, "Merry Christmas, Chief. I heard Santa brought you a new toy."

"Uh, yes, sir. The new AFSOC standard carbine."

"So, what's your opinion?"

"Sir, this thing fixes every major complaint about the Colt Commando."

"Good to hear." Tanner paused, then said, "We're waiting on a phone call from Sundown Actual. In the meantime . . . "

Tanner handed her a folder. "Read that."

Sophie read the citation, closed the folder, and passed it back. "Sir, I was just what I had to do."

Vandenhelden grinned and held a hand out to Tanner, who in turn pulled out his wallet and handed him a twenty dollar bill. "Don't go spending it all in one place, Pete."

The phone rang, and Tanner said, "And here we are."

After they went secure, Tanner said, "I have Buster Glosson and Pete Vandenhelden here with me, along with Chief Henrix."

Sundown's voice was quiet, but firm. "Good afternoon, Chief. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, sir."

"I take it you've had a chance to review the citation. Do you have any comments?"

"Sir, it's accurate on the things I have direct knowledge of. Beyond that, sir . . . I did what I had to. Nothing more, sir."

Sundown said, "Now, you understand that this is likely to remain classified until the day you die, right?"

Sophie said, "I understand that, sir. And I can live with it, sir. All of it."

There was a long silence.

Sundown then asked, "Chief . . . this is probably the first time I've ever asked anything like this of anyone under my leadership." He paused, then asked, "Why are you all right with it?"

Sophie thought for a few seconds, then said, "Sir . . . I didn't ask for this line of work. America needed me; it already had the man I loved and several of my friends, and I had to do my part. I'm not searching for martial glory . . . I just want to do my duty in a way where I can look myself in the eye while I'm brushing my teeth and putting on makeup. Whether or not I get promoted . . . again, sir, that's not why I'm here. I am here to serve, not to be served."

After another long pause, Sundown said, "Thank you, Chief. My only regret is that I'm not there for this next part. Attention to orders!"

Everyone in the SCIF stood to attention.

Sundown began reading:

The President of the United States of America

To all who shall see these presents, greeting:

Know Ye that, reposing special trust and confidence in the patriotism, valor, fidelity and abilities of Sophie Marie Henrix, I do appoint her a Chief Warrant Officer 3 in the United States Air Force to rank as such from the 10th day of December 1987. This Officer will therefore carefully and diligently discharge the duties of the office to which appointed by doing and performing all manner of things thereunto belonging.

And I do strictly charge and require those Officers and other personnel of lesser rank to render such obedience as is due an officer of this grade and position. And this Officer is to observe and follow such orders and directives, from time to time, as may be given by me, or the future President of the United States of America, or other Superior Officers acting in accordance with the laws of the United States of America.

This commission is to continue in force during the pleasure of the President of the United States of America for the time being, under the provisions of those Public Laws relating to Officers of the Armed Forces of the United States of America and the component thereof in which this appointment is made.

Done at the City of Philadelphia, this 23rd day of December in the year of our Lord One Thousand Nine Hundred and Eighty-Seven, and of the Independence of the United States of America the 212th.

By the President: George Herbert Walker Bush.

Sundown then said, "Bob, if you could do the honors, please?"

Tanner raised his right hand, and Sophie did likewise.

"I, Sophie Marie Henrix, do solemnly swear . . . "

Sophie found her voice and repeated each clause firmly.

". . . that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic . . . "

" . . . that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same . . . "

" . . . that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion . . . "

" . . . and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter . . . "

"So help me God."

Sundown said, "Congratulations, Chief. I know you'll continue making us proud."

"Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."

A promotion richly deserved.

I'm surprised it was 1st LT, but richly earned.

Matt Wiser wrote: ↑Mon Jan 01, 2024 8:30 am A promotion richly deserved.

Got that right!

They could have also gone with Robar NP3 coating on the internals and Rogar for the exterior. I have Hi-Power setup that way.

26 December 1987
MGM Grand Hotel
Las Vegas, NV

Sophie saw Josh from across the cafeteria, looking at the auburn-haired girl--what was her name? Robin--no, Roberta--and felt the hot knife of jealousy raking across her heart.

And then cursed as Roberta made her way towards her table, where she sat alone.

"Sophie Henrix? I'm Roberta Kreider. Mrs. Welti recommended that I come to you for tutoring in trig."

Sophie forced herself to keep the chill out of her voice. "I charge ten dollars an hour."

I may not especially like her, but thirty bucks a week is thirty bucks a week.

"No problem. I need to get good at trigonometry--I'm looking to become an architect, and I need decent math chops before I take on calculus next year."

Sophie nodded. "All right, then."

* * *

She got home from tutoring Roberta and flopped down on the sofa.

"Sophie Marie Henrix, I heard that."

"Sorry, Mom."

Her mother came out of her office and leaned against the door jamb. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Too bad." She walked to the sofa and sat down next to her daughter. "What's troubling you?"

"I wish I could hate her. But I can't."

"Hate who?"

"Roberta Kreider."

"What's gotten into you?"

"Oh, just that she's everything I'm not. Gorgeous with a sweet personality. Josh got one look at her and he was gone like a fastball to Dave Winfield . . . "

Sophie jolted awake. She got up and went to the bathroom, then lay back down on the bed. The clock said it was 2:37 AM.

Her mother had gotten her to realize that Josh just wasn't interested in her in that way, and had let her cry.

She'd needed that. It had cleared the way for Adam to come into her life. And Adam had helped her discover her own unique beauty.

She breathed slowly and worked on relaxing her muscles.

God . . . as always, I still don't know if You're out there. If You are . . . please give them that second chance, help Josh and Roberta reunite. Let them heal each other's hearts, let them find love again.

She drifted back to sleep.

* * *

She was on a secure call with the Bell Labs 5ESS shop in Parsippany, New Jersey.

"Ron, how'd the run go?"

Ron Kroichik sighed. "It worked perfectly, which is actually quite terrifying. Sophie, you shouldn't be able to do that on a 5ESS after all the security fixes we've done since 1985."

"Ron . . . you cannot patch this right now. You have to assume Ivan's going to get the code."

"Sophie, damn it--"

"Not yet." She paused, then said, "It's important."

Kroichik sighed. "You're going to fuck up some switches down south?"

"Please keep any speculation to yourself."

"All right. But you let me know the instant I can push a fix out."

"Don't worry, Ron, I will. But I need a stable configuration for now."

* * *

Decker said, "Sophie, we're going to be pushing you forward to Sheppard AFB pretty soon. The new air campaign's getting started, and theater missiles and their supply network just moved up to top priority. We're hoping to get things ready to execute." He paused, then said, "I want you to knock off earlier than you regularly do, show up later, and I want you to take some time for yourself--enjoy some shows, spend time with your new friends, and in general give yourself a rest. My sixth sense tells me you'll be extremely busy once you get to Sheppard, and I want you at your peak."

* * *

Summerlin Country Club
Las Vegas, NV

Michael Fontini, John Fontini, and George Patterson sat in the sauna.

Patterson said, "Okay, that lady you two met? She used a white phosphorus grenade on David Smith. Cooked him extra crispy. Rumor has it that someone was seen escorting a nearly hysterical little girl out of the house before it went up."

Mike asked, "Okay, he deserved that. What about Richie Madano?"

"He's gone, boss. Probably at a detention camp. And that tells me something important."

"What's that?"

"When it comes to this woman, it's like when the elephants waltz: it's never a good idea to cut in. This is way bigger than us, and we need to stay way far away from it."

Mike looked at John, who nodded.

"All right. What about the rest of the perverts?"

"Air Force intelligence is rolling them up. Figure that before she torched the place, she grabbed everything she could haul away."

John said, "Mike, she's what they call 'Special Reconnaissance.' That means she gathers information--she's the commander's eyes and ears on the battlefield. Whatever info Smith had, they've got it."

Mike nodded, then asked Patterson, "Anything from your clout?"

"She gave me a list of names and told me that they were pretty sure these people were up to no good--they're mostly PSD turncoats--and that if we wanted to help with the war effort, give 'em diving lessons in Lake Mead, but write down anything they say."

John said, "Easy-peasy."

Mike nodded. "Let's do that. Always good to bank up favors."

* * *

King of Prussia, PA

Major Natalia Petrova welcomed Lieutenant Colonel Pavel Babanin into the safe house--actually, an apartment near Chester Valley Trail.

"Paul, it's good to see you again."

Babanin nodded. "Natalie."

"I found some cheese and eggs at the farmer's market yesterday."

They sipped tea and ate the omelets she'd prepared.

Babanin asked, "So, who did in that degenerate Kraut in Las Vegas?"

Petrova said, "My source in the Air Force Personnel Command identified a special operations officer assigned temporarily to Tenth Air Force staff. She's working on some sort of special project with the JSOC cell--apparently nominated by her mentor, General Lodge."

"Do we know her name?"

"Chief Warrant Officer Sophia Henrix."

"Bozhe moi!"

Petrova raised an eyebrow.

"You know her?"

"I chased her reconnaissance team around New Mexico before getting extracted back to Mexico and retrained for this assignment." Babanin sighed. "It wasn't a pleasant experience. I barely avoided one of her traps--and only through blind luck; I got lost and wound up in the wrong valley. Another team blundered straight into her trap even after I warned them what was happening, and they were on alert. They died before they had any idea where she was.

"She's one of three women special operators in the Air Force. They're officially known as the Furies: Chief Warrant Officer Laura Compton, codenamed Alecto; Chief Warrant Officer Alyssa Miller, codenamed Megaera; and Chief Warrant Officer Henrix, codenamed Tisiphone. But Henrix has also earned an unofficial nickname in the Spetsnaz community: Baba Yaga."

Petrova rolled her eyes. "Seriously? The Boogeyman?"

Babanin nodded. "Well, she isn't exactly the boogeyman. She's who you would send to kill the fucking boogeyman. She is a woman of focus . . . commitment . . . and sheer will. Miller and Compton are more than dangerous enough; she's on a completely different plane of existence from the typical operator."

Petrova said, "She's sleeping around with some deviant women--unfit for military service because they act in pornographic films. Perhaps we can use that against--"

Babanin laughed. "The Americans don't care who anyone sleeps with any more."

Petrova said, "I was thinking of having ARAGON seduce her and set up her capture."

"Natalie, dear, the best you could hope for is that she merely kills ARAGON and whatever team gets tasked with taking her." Babanin sighed. "She's pretty enough that you might think she's harmless--even I briefly thought that when I saw the file photo of her. Do not be deceived. I firmly believe she is a product of selective breeding. There is absolutely nothing in her ancestry that points to her capabilities. There are no polymaths or especially gifted physical specimens in her family tree, and yet here she is."

* * *

Petrova sipped some more tea and watched out of her apartment window as Babanin got on a municipal bus.

She replayed the conversation in her head. Babanin had been a gifted officer in Afghanistan. She sighed at the nickname historians had hung on it: "The Graveyard of Empires." It had also been the graveyard of Soviet officers' reputations. Babanin had been one of the rare exceptions, able to go toe to toe with the basmachi on their territory, on their terms, and win.

Selective breeding?

She allowed herself a derisive snort. He's watched that episode of Star Trek and that damned movie one time too many. He was bested at his own game by a woman, and only a momentary screw-up saved his life; that's got to be a hard blow to the male ego. And then there's the strain of operating here, of all places, just across DeKalb Turnpike from the office of General Lodge. It's like having an office next door to Barad-dûr. We're all a little crazy; I wonder what quirks Pavel spotted in me?

There was a knock at the door.

She went to the door and peered through the peephole.

A middle-aged man in a United States Air Force uniform was outside.

She recognized the face immediately, briefly considered shooting it out, and realized that he was an experienced operator before she was old enough to join DOSAAF, let alone carry a deactivated AKM to "guard" a war memorial.

Time to pay the piper.

She opened the door and stepped to the side, making a gesture of welcome with her left arm. "General Lodge, sir. You honor me too greatly."

Lodge gave her an indulgent smile. "Natalya Mikhailovna, your courtesy to an old man does you credit."

* * *

The Dunes Hotel
Las Vegas, NV

Roxy and Traci lifted their glasses. Roxy said, "Congratulations, Sophie."

Diane Renton said, "Hear, hear!"

They clinked their glasses against Sophie's, and all drank.

Sophie looked over Roxy's shoulder--and blushed.

Traci asked, "What's up, Sophie?"

"Someone I know from work."

Ron Bauer stepped up to the table. "Chief! Congratulations on the promotion!"

"Thank you, sir. And I heard a rumor that you're headed to Fort Sacajawea for the Provost Marshal Basic Course."

"Yes, indeed, right after the new year."

"Ladies, this is Second Lieutenant Ron Bauer, assigned to the Combat Security Police element at Nellis--he was at the Hawaiian Market. Sir, may I present Diane Renton, Traci Lords, and Roxy Skye?"

Bauer and the other women shook hands. He gave Sophie some side-eye, and Sophie just smirked.

Traci and Roxy exchanged a look, and Traci said, "Sophie, I think we've found Mister Right. Or at least Mister Right Now."

Sophie laughed and said, "Have fun, people."

Traci and Roxy led the stunned lieutenant away.

Sophie chuckled. "Dear Penthouse, I never thought anything like this would happen to me..."

Diane laughed. "Apparently it does."

Sophie said, "I thought they were an item."

Diane laughed again, then said, "They are. For them, it means they share."

Christy Canyon walked up and said, "Hey, wasn't he at the Hawaiian Market?"

Sophie nodded.

Christy smiled. "Well, he's good looking enough. So, I heard you got promoted."

"Yes." She sighed. "I wish Adam was here...but then we'd have to be extremely discreet, he's enlisted and I'm an officer."

Diane nodded and said quietly, "He sounds like a heck of a man."

Sophie nodded. "Serious beefcake, he's a special operator like me."

Christy smiled. "Ooh-la-la!"

Sophie laughed, then said, "And he's a fan of yours, Christy. He's got a thing for smoking hot brunettes in general, especially those with decent amounts of boobage. Diane, he'd definitely like you as well."

Diane chuckled. "Sounds like we could give him his own 'Dear Penthouse' story if he's ever in town."

"I wouldn't object. Hey, I even wrote a few of those with him. All of them were published, even. I do write top drawer smut, if I do say so myself."

All three women shared a laugh.

"Gals . . . I'm going to be heading out sometime next week." She sighed. "So I intend to have some fun here in Sin City."

Diane nodded. "Good idea. We've got tickets to a concert over at UNLV stadium. The Valkyries are opening for Pat Benatar."

* * *

The concert had been a blast, and they'd adjourned to Diane's house for a nightcap.

One thing had led to another.

Sophie was lying on her back in Diane's bed, with Diane snuggled on her left side, and Christy on her right.

Diane kissed her shoulder, then said, "Dime for your thoughts."

Christy giggled. "I thought it was a penny."

"Wartime inflation, dear."

Sophie chuckled with the other two women, then said, "I was thinking of the Commando's Prayer."

She paused, then said,

"Give me, my God, what you still have;
give me what no one asks for.
I do not ask for wealth, nor success,
nor even health.
People ask you so often, God, for all that, that you cannot have any left.

Give me, my God, what you still have.
Give me what people refuse to accept from you.
I want insecurity and disquietude;
I want turmoil and brawl.

And if you should give them to me,
my God, once and for all,
let me be sure to have them always,
for I will not always
have the courage to ask for them."

Christy's breath came out in a long sigh, then she whispered, "You're off to war again."

Sophie said, "Yes. Closer to the front, probably with enemy stay-behind forces briefed to hunt operators like me."

Diane said, "You're so calm in taking such risks."

Sophie was silent for a long moment, then said, "All three of us have accepted those risks. You two are still in the fight; it's time for me to return."

Diane leaned over Sophie and kissed her. "Then let's all of us make the most of the time you have left."

Christy's hand wandered up her torso. "We're here for you, Sophie."

The Mob will make sure that those PSD slugs they take care of will sing high and loud-before being put into 55-gallon drums and tossed into Lake Mead.

And the girls and Sophie will make sure a very good time is had by all. She'd better enjoy it, because soon, Sheppard will be her base of operations, and she'll be busy with some people who drive fast-movers, the local Special-Ops people, Resistance, and both MSGT Karen Sisco and Ranger Cordell Walker.

She'll fit right in with that bunch also.

26 December 1987
Outside Granbury, TX


The winter night was warm, by Russian standards at least.

Captain Analtoliy Porshenko, commanding a TR-1 Temp battery, looked out into the night and cursed silently.

I am a New Soviet Man. I am not superstitious. I believe only what I can see or prove.

We've camouflaged our position, and we're damn good at it. Our light discipline is tight. We're well behind friendly lines.

But I can't shake the sense that someone's watching me. If only we had a night scope, and then I can prove that no one's there!

* * *

SHOCKER 57

Major Donna "Dee-Dee" Daitz turned the F-111F north, then dialed the TFR down to 200 feet and adjusted it to hard ride, but kept it in standby. They were 500 feet off the deck.

She grinned behind her oxygen mask. Unafraid and unmanned.

"Just picked up Meridian, bring us two degrees right." 1st Lieutenant Simone "Spuds" MacKenzie was head down in the "feedbag," looking at the radar and PAVE TACK displays.

Daitz nudged the nose to the right.

"Good, good. I need 2,000 feet AGL for release."

"IP in five, four, three, two, one, NOW-NOW-NOW!"

Daitz shoved the throttles into afterburner and the 'Vark picked up speed, even as she nudged the stick back and climbed to 2,000 feet. The wings automatically swept back to max sweep, and they brushed through the sound barrier.

"Spuds?"

"Target acquired, zero angle off, radar locked, PAVE TACK locked, your pickle is hot!"

The ALR suddenly went DEEDLE-DEEDLE-DEEDLE-DEEDLE!

Daitz said, "They're going high PRF!"

MacKenzie called, "Release in three, two one, HACK!"

Daitz hit the bomb release switch, and 12 Mark 20 Rockeye cluster bombs came off of the wing racks in a precise sequence. Once the last bomb was gone, she put the plane in a diving turn to the northwest.

* * *

Porshenko was startled by a sonic boom directly overhead.

"AIRCRAFT ALARM!"

The last thing he saw was a series of brilliant flashes lighting up the night.

* * *

There was a brilliant white flash behind them.

Spuds was triumphant. "BOOM-SHAKA-LAKA-LAKA!"

Daitz flipped the TFR on and let go of the stick. The nose came up sharply as they passed through 700 feet.

"TFR on! Hang on, Spuds, it's time for Mister Toad's wild ride!"

A light illuminated next to the ALR, which was now in steady tone. Spuds called, "GECKO LAUNCH! POPPING CHAFF, ECM ON!"

The radar lock tone went away. Spuds put the jammer back in standby.

As the plane reached 200 feet, the ride began to resemble a Jeep going through badlands . . . at 500 MPH.

Spuds was looking at the ALR. Suddenly, a spike appeared dead ahead.

"BREAK LEFT!"

Almost instantly, the spike was coming from behind, and the steady launch warning tone sounded.

Daitz was jinking as hard as she could, and Spuds was popping chaff and went active on ECM, but the missile guidance system hung onto the F-111 long enough.

The plane jolted as the missile exploded behind them. Daitz focused on flying the plane, calling on the radio, "MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY, Shocker 57 is hit, headed for the fence."

"Shocker 57, COLOSSUS 51. Squawk as directed."

Spuds selected 4691 on the IFF, then put her face in the feed bag.

"Shocker 57, COLOSSUS 51, good squawk."

Spuds said, "Steer zero-seven-two for bailout area . . . looks like main hydraulic system's out . . . left engine fire, deselect burner first . . . "

Daitz pulled the throttles back to military power, and the plane slowed through the transonic range. Instantly the ride managed to worsen, and the plane wanted to roll right.

"Not good, Spuds."

Spuds said, "Engine fire left, engine fire right, pulling left fire handle . . . "

She pulled the fire handle for the portside engine.

Daitz scanned the gauges. "Starboard EGT is off the top scale."

Spuds put her face back into the feedbag and said, "Damn, I was hoping that was a false alarm . . . okay, we're in the bailout box."

"Right . . . flying this bitch into the crash as far as we can . . . "

Something broke aft, and the plane yawed to the left.

Daitz braced, hit the transmit switch, and called, "SHOCKER 57, BAILOUT-BAILOUT-BAILOUT!"

Spuds braced and yanked the handle.

* * *

Daitz said, "Good news, we're alive and in the rescue box. Bad news, every commie dumbass for twenty miles around saw that shit."

* * *

Mineral Wells, TX

"SCRAMBLE! SCRAMBLE! SCRAMBLE!"

Captain Bev Lynne was up and running before the third time. She could feel the rest of her crew following her.

They ran to the HH-3E Jolly Green Giant and were airborne in less than five minutes.

* * *

Half an hour later, Daitz and MacKenzie stopped running and went into a ditch.

Spuds said, "Damn, Dee-Dee, Ivan's really slow responding tonight."

"I'll take it, Spuds." She undid the cover on her watch and looked at the time.

"All right. We rest three minutes, I hit the beeper for ten seconds, and then we move at least half a mile north, got it?"

Spuds said, "With you all the way. And I swear to Jeebus I'm giving the Caesar pilot a wet, sloppy BJ."

Daitz snorted. "You get the copilot, I get dibs on the pilot. Rank Hath Its Privileges!"

* * *

"CAESAR 52, COLOSSUS 51, we have a fix on SHOCKER 57." The rescue coordinator read off the grid numbers.

Lynne didn't respond; she simply flew her aircraft.

* * *

They ran along a ditch. Dee-Dee had her survival radio on, with the earpiece in her left ear.

"SHOCKER 57, COLOSSUS 51, CAESAR 52 at Point Alpha, traversing to Bravo."

"Spuds, Alpha to Bravo!"

"OK, that's a ten minute leg northeast to southwest. We're about quarter mile south of the line, seven minutes along, let's move in."

* * *

Lynne was on NVGs. "Halfway across, call them."

Her copilot, 1LT Steve Kearny, keyed the radio. "57, CAESAR 52, give me a sign."

* * *

Dee-Dee verified that the infrared cover was on her flashlight, then aimed it northeast and transmitted D-D-S-M twice in Morse Code.

* * *

Lynne said, "Got a visual, Daitz is on the flashlight."

"57 Daitz, CAESAR 52, what's your favorite place?"

"CAESAR, Daitz, Flathead Lake."

"Daitz, CAESAR, anywhere in particular?"

"CAESAR, Daitz, Skeeko Bay."

Kearny said, "It's them and they're not under duress."

Lynne said, "With catlike tread . . . "

* * *

The helicopter dropped out of the sky practically on top of them.

The two women jumped into the aircraft, and it lifted off. Even before they were fully strapped in, the PJs were checking them over.

* * *

Lynne said, "Now all we gotta do is get back across the fence."

The radio crackled. "HOLSTEIN 31, MAGNUM, MAGNUM!"

Kearny said, "And there's the Iron Hand, blasting a corridor out."

* * *

55 minutes later, they were on the ground at Sheppard AFB.

The copilot stepped back into the cabin, and Simone said, "Why, he-LLO there, handsome!"

Kearny chuckled. "Lieutenant Kearney."

"Lieutenant MacKenzie, you can call me Spuds."

Daitz chuckled as the two left the helicopter. She hopped out.

The pilot stepped out, and Donna said, "I owe you a big wet sloppy . . . "

Her voice trailed off.

Lynne said, "Go on, I'm game if you are."

Daitz grinned, then gave Lynne a very passionate kiss.

"Thank you."

"You're more than welcome. Might you be interested in some further company?"

Daitz felt her face heating up, then decided to throw caution to the wind. "Um . . . actually, yeah. I feel very . . . alive, all of a sudden."

Lynne asked quietly, "And horny?"

Daitz nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak.

Lynne took Daitz's right hand with her right, and patted it with her left. "It's common. And don't let labels worry you. No one here will judge you. If you get to a point where you're uncomfortable, just tell me. Right now, let's get some food and drink in you."

* * *

Across the FLOT in Texas, similar scenes were played out. Some ended with no chutes or beepers detected; some with rescues; some with captues; most ended with the strike aircraft recovering at home base, sometimes hot-turning to go back out.

Very nicely done!