His statement had me nearly sold, but I also was no fool either—coming from a military family whose historical job descriptions also included intelligence-gathering and covert espionage at some point during the heyday of the Cold War.
I had to know the truth—no matter what the cost!
“Maybe so…” I started to say, when Lisa reappeared carrying a plate of something smelling really heavenly and a cold glass of orange juice on top of that.
“Grits and eggs sound okay, you guys?” She asked—setting the first plate in front of the future King of England.
Bart had no qualms whatsoever.
“It looks positively delightful, my fair lady.” He complimented highly. “Thank you so much for your warmth and generosity.”
Lisa grinned and bowed mockingly. “Why…thank you…your Highness. I am so glad that you find it enriching and personably enjoyable.”
Then she disappeared again.
“Dig in, your Highness.” I thought to add. “You and me suddenly have a date with destiny.”
“W-why? Are we not staying?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Not here. And I’m sorry—but we will have to skip the festivities with the Augusta Nationals too.”
“For the love of God, King, and country,” the young prince muttered. “I don’t suppose I have to ask why—do I?”
The burning in the back of my head suddenly intensified as I got a grisly image of a young man dying before his prime and his country going to war for reasons still unknown to me.
It was something I didn’t like.
Looking at his untouched plate, I implored him to start pigging out as fast as he could.
Because I was going to do the same.
“Forget your manners, your Highness, and start eating like a barbaric American with extremely rude table manners.” I egged him on. “Because as soon as my plate comes, we’re both going to be out of here before anything has a chance to settle.”
Bart gave me a positively shocked look on his face and he said with some indignation, “Are you saying that I have to turn myself into a pig for your personal enjoyment?”
I almost said yes—now that he mentioned it.
Somehow, I managed to get out of this tight spot unscathed.
“I never would imply such, Bart,” I answered, trying to keep from laughing. But I was failing more than succeeded—with the way I was hunched over and shaking from personal amusement.
But I couldn’t help it!
“But time is…of a different matter entirely.”
Lisa came out then—carrying my breakfast and once I had it in hand—I ate as quickly as I could, while fishing out a couple of $20s to cover my bill.
Lisa hesitated for a second while I was busy wolfing down what I had.
Bart followed my example—seeing how I was right—and all you could hear was two people making an absolute mess of themselves in under ten minutes flat.
Because that’s how long it took us to eat what was on our collective plates.
“I can’t take this, Kee. It’s on the house.” She pleaded—trying to return the money I had given her. “Besides, you’ll need it for wherever you’re going in a hurry!”
I refused and personally stuffed the bills down my friend’s open shirt before she could even react.
“Take it.” I told her emphatically. “I never once ate here for free over the past ten years that you and I have been friends, and I’m not about to break from tradition either.”
Lisa stared down in complete shock at what I just did—as Bart polished off his glass and burped none too rudely.
I covered one myself and smiled.
“You could’ve put that in my apron, you crazy bitch!” She said with laughter in her voice.
“Too late,” I said with a bob of my eyebrows. Glancing over at Bart, I said: “Let’s jet, your Highness. As soon as we get airborne, I’m going to let the horses come out for a little play.” That meant I was going to push the Peacemaker to its maximum without afterburners.
He nodded and ran for the door—pausing only for a moment to bow and thank Lisa for her time and hospitality.
“I shall return!” He declared triumphantly. “If only to grace your lovely presence with a token of my own appreciation.”
Lisa stared after him and laughed. “You’re on, your Highness!” then turned to hug me.
“Take care of him for me, Kee.” She said. “Okay?”
I nodded.
“I will.” And turned to leave myself.
Just before I got to the door, Lisa sandwiched a couple of stuffed bags into my hands.
“Here! Something for the road!” She exclaimed. “You may never know when you may need to refuel on the flight over!”
I thanked her and hugged her tightly—with both bags dangling behind her back.
“Be careful, Lisa. Don’t say a word if anyone comes knocking.”
“I’ll use Terry on whomever tries to cross or push me around,” my friend promised; using the nickname for her 9mm Beretta.
“Thanks.” I said—and ducked out the door to a waiting cab. “You called?”
Lisa nodded. “You did say that you were in a rockin’ hurry, right?”
I nodded and smiled—taking off at the same time. I waved after I got into the cab (with Bart sitting next to me), and slammed the door shut.
Glancing at my watch, the time was now passed 7:27 in the morning.
Where has the time gone? I thought to myself—my mind briefly sinking back to better days—and memories!—of things not so long ago.
“Destination, lady?”
“Browns and Son Shipping. And step on it. No dawdling.”
The cabbie gave me a weird look.
“That place ain’t open ‘til nine!” He said with a bit of surprise in his gruff tone. “I should know! I just came back from around there!”
“Don’t worry about the time difference. We’re not going there to conduct business.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Ah…something secret, eh?”
“Something like that,” I said with mild annoyance, then fished out a couple hundred dollar bills. “Now…do you think you can get us there, or will we just have to walk?”
The cabbie stared at the tendered money and shoved his car into gear.
“Lady, for a coupla hundred, I can get you to Emerald Downs racetrack and back!” He said with greater enthusiasm—then floored it; pushing us back into our seats.
The early morning vista bled past us in a hurry and it made me think of something else entirely.
“Bart? Better buckle in—just in case.”
“Car wreck?” He volunteered as he cinched himself into place.
I followed suite.
“With the way Richard Petty here is driving—? Yes.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
7:48 AM.
Dave Fletcher smiled as he escorted me back to my powered up jet, saying, “those parts you delivered to Bolivar yesterday, should keep those people in business and us employed for a little while longer. But I just want to take a moment to express my thanks for all the help you’ve given us these last six months.”
“No problem.” I said. “I know it’s been hell on us all for awhile, but I do what I can for both family and friends.”
Dave nodded. “I’m just sorry that you had to take off in such a hurry. But my boys did a bang-up job on your jet and in record time, too. So you should be okay.”
“Fuel status?” I asked.
“You’re still running on full tanks.” He said and then nodded again. “Yeah, I know: You should’ve burned up at least fifteen percent with that maverick save of yours, but apparently this beauty is more fuel-efficient than the Pentagon cared to admit. It‘s a shame too—really. The next gen-design getting mothballed before it can truly strut its stuff.”
Was that one of the reasons why the plane was axed? Because it would’ve revolutionized future warfare engagements by using far less aviation fuel with e
ach use? I thought.
That would’ve caused a huge hornet’s nest for the Defense Department and the Pentagon—come to think of it.
Their super carrier fleets obsolete because of a simple flaw in their designs—in concert with their individual aviation fuel requirements.
I smiled. Now I knew why—in part—as to why our country wastes so much money providing for its own defense: Because it likes big toys!
“I’ll have to thank the plane’s designers when I see them.” I said with a solemn vow—though I didn’t think I was going to be able to keep that particular promise.
“All systems are fully functional.” Dave said as he helped me up the ladder. “You shouldn’t have anymore problems.”
“I’m not foreseeing any.” I told him flatly, while another part of me thought: At least not yet.
I strapped in as soon as I sat down and performed one quick systems check.
Like Dave promised—? All systems were in the green.
Looking out, I even saw how shiny my right wing looked in the glaring light of the company’s open hanger.
I chuckled. He had my plane buffed! What a guy!
Gripping the control stick, I re-directed engine power for a controlled reverse thrust—which allowed me to back away slowly—while I swung the armored nose around so that I could taxi off in a north-easterly direction.
“Will be in position in thirty seconds, Ground. Stand by.” I radioed out.
Some of the guys on the other side watched as the tail section retracted back into position to allow the engine flaps to focus purely on power.
They gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up for effect as I saluted twice and then a third time—to let them know that I was ready to go.
The jet finished its about face and this time I opened the exhaust manifolds on both ends for increased air pressure flow and minimal fuel consumption
No one has ever seen a jet at Mach 7+ speeds when air turned into pure thrust for the fighter and nothing else—allowing it to go anywhere in the world in under an hour’s time.
I was thinking of calling the new engine configuration a VAT-C for Velocity Assisted Tactical Cruise.
But the designers simply penned it as the Burn—when I asked my uncle what some of the new functions were—while I was testing it on my own for the first time.
I remember him telling me not to worry about it—and just concentrate on flying first.
“Ready for go. Engines on hot stand by.” I called in.
“Good luck, Kina. See you again soon.” Dave fired back.
I let go of the air braking system; feeling the fighter lurch forward again.
“Ready?” I asked behind me. “Once we’re airborne, I’m going to cut loose and you’ll be home before you know it.”
“I would like to go home. But I don’t know how my parents are going to take to seeing me so much earlier than planned.”
I wished I could’ve just reached back to squeeze him by the hand, but I had to settle for a mental pat on the head instead.
“We’ll get there. No problems.” I promised and urged my jet forward a bit.
Urging it to climb.
***
USS Goliath.
Conrad Jones was in the head taking a long-winded piss when his name came up on the ‘box’ and was requested to report to the CIC as soon as possible.
“Now what…?” He complained under his breath—finishing zipping himself up and flushing the toilet. “Did those idiots down in the harbor fuck things up as well?”
It didn’t take him long to get back to the CIC—since he never really left—and he met up with both the Captain and the First Officer.
“What’s going on?” Conrad asked—his voice filled with a bit of irritation.
“Target has lifted off and now heading northeast at Mach…” the radar tech stopped for a second and then shook his head.
“This can’t be right.” The man muttered.
“Why not?”
“The computer keeps telling me that this…contact of yours is flying out like a bat out of hell at Mach 3. And I know that it’s impossible, because most of our birds can’t make it past Mach 1 half the time, with the newer F-15, F-16 models going Mach 2.5.”
The news didn’t bother Conrad all that much. While he was privately surprised that such an aircraft could maintain such speeds, in the end—?
It wouldn’t matter.
Things would still fall into place.
“Target profile has increased speed to Mach 3.4!” The tech said breathlessly. “Now that has to be impossible! What’s it using to maintain that speed?!”
“Nothing that you should worry about. Operation Tigershark will be in full swing before you know it.” Conrad told the excited radar tech.
8:07 AM.
Somewhere over Williamsburg, Virginia.
“Are we there yet?” Bart asked as the Peacemaker sliced through American airspace like the proverbial hot knife through butter.
It didn’t take us long to skirt away from Bowling Greens—briefly looping over the Tennessee border and then coming come sling-shooting back at Mach 2.37.
Then I floored it at Mach 3 afterwards—screaming along on an easterly course—heading towards the Atlantic.
All in a span of ten minutes flat.
“Nearly there, your Highness.” I said quietly, keeping my course change locked into the computer.
I pushed more on the engine control-thrust lever—adding more power to my flight and seeing the numbers flick by from Mach 3 to Mach 3.4.
Now came the tricky part.
The push towards Mach 5.
The gradual pickup in speed would have to be at a higher altitude—because that’s where the Burn had been tested best and would work most of all.
But I wasn’t too comfortable hitting the upper tier of 130,000 feet—where the air was at its thinnest—and then having to do a gradual descent afterwards.
I sighed.
“Not yet, Bart. I’m going to increase our overall speed to Mach 4 when we hit the Assateague Island Wildlife Sanctuary; Light Beacon #122.”
“Isn’t that a little off our regular course?”
I nodded. “It is. I just don’t want any trouble from the Essex. So I’ve gone and programmed a completely different course.” I told him.
“How high will we be?”
“We’ll be at 70,000 feet by the time we get there. We’re presently sitting at 41,000.”
Glancing down at my displays, I saw that our speed was coming along nicely.
Mach 3.4...3.5...3.6...3.7...
Engine performance was well within operating parameters.
I pulled back on the stick just a little—feeling myself rise up just a bit as the Peacemaker climbed.
The altimeter blew by 50,000 feet in a matter of seconds. 60,000 feet two minutes later.
Then 70,000.
A small chime was heard as we passed Light Beacon #122.
I changed course again—this time breaking soft left and then heading in a straight line north.
I would be at least 35 miles east of New York—even though I would be cutting across the middle of Long Island itself.
But at the rate I was going, I would be in and out of there in the blink of an eye.
“How are you doing, Bart? Any problems back there?” I asked.
The teenaged boy shook his head—mystified by the sight he was seeing above and below him. Everything looked so peaceful and breathtaking—he wasn’t sure if he was seeing this or just dreaming it.
It took him a few seconds to find his voice though.
“N-nope. No problems. I’m doing fine.”
His voice sounded a little panicked, but I’m sure it was just nerves. Nobody in their first time traveling near the Envelope could keep themselves from panicking just a little.
I know I almost did when my dad first flew me up on a test run.
“Take a deep breath, Bart. Nothing bad will happen while I’m driving.”
<
br /> “Who says I’m worried? I’ve just never been up this far.”
I glanced out the port window and found myself engrossed in what was out there: Unrequited silence and tranquil beauty brought forth by Mother Earth.
The land below, the sky above…?
I suddenly found myself wishing I was the Peacemaker and I was flying naked out there with nothing but my thoughts and feelings to guide me.
I just wished…!
“Beautiful—isn’t it?” I asked him in a quiet voice.
“Splendid. It’s too bad that I didn’t bring a camera with me. I would’ve shot some pictures.”
“Maybe we still can.” I told him easily—while my mind was on something else entirely. A candle-lit dinner, a movie, or even a kiss.
Why was it hard to openly admit that you’re in love with this guy, but you’re too afraid to openly say something about it? My inner voice scolded me.
Because, he’s a prince and I’m…what?
“How?” He asked—breaking into my inner narrative for a second.
“I’ll show you.”
You’re…what? My inner voice continued. He’s a guy, you’re a girl, you should at least be honest about that. There is nothing about love which can’t be conquered with a little honesty and some open truthfulness.
I engaged some of the digital cameras and started taking a few photographs from above and below.
Easy for you to say. I thought with some regret in my heart. You just represent my inner self. A part of me that hasn’t seen daylight in so many years.
On the account of a relationship gone bad.
You’re so confident and I’m just too scared. I don’t want to be hurt again. I really don’t.
I don’t recall what I said last night, I was so zonked out from my drink, but now that I think about it…
Hasn’t Bart been trying to be something of a friend to me? I suddenly asked myself—just as the display in front of me chimed softly—letting me know that the job was finished.
I checked the results and smiled to myself.
In a few moments, I collected quite a collage. I turned them into a file seconds later and booted it to the system mainframe.
The Peacemaker Page 11
