by Dale Brown
There was little talk from China — all of the bellicose language coming from Asia was from the Korean Communist government-in-exile. President Kim Jong-il was on CNN almost hourly, loudly proclaiming that President Kwon of United Korea wanted nothing more than to precipitate a superpower conflict so Japan and Korea could emerge as leaders of a new Asian power bloc.
All the other noise on CNN came from President Kevin Martindale’s critics, who slammed him mercilessly. He was not tough enough with the Chinese or Koreans; he should never have relinquished the lost Korean or Japanese bases; he should send more troops or more aircraft carriers into Asia; and on it went for a dozen other perceived deficiencies. Half his critics wanted war with the Chinese — the other half wanted Martindale out of the White House and then war with China.
When the news came over CNN that China and Korea had exchanged missiles, Rebecca thought the world was going to end in the next thirty minutes — about the time it would take long-range sub-launched ICBMs to fly from Asia or Siberia to North America, or vice versa. She had never in her life felt so powerless. She stopped her packing and watched, mesmerized, as the reporters and anchors tried to keep on reporting developments in northeast Asia, even as they, too, knew that their planet could be on fire at any moment.
When the thirty minutes came and went, Rebecca felt enormous relief. Maybe cooler heads were going to prevail here. Maybe everything would be all right. But then President Kim or some Chinese government official would get on the air and promise death, and her panic would start all over again.
“You know,” she heard a familiar voice say, “this is a really shitty office.” She turned and saw Rinc Seaver standing in her doorway, watching her.
Rebecca looked around, then nodded. Her office was a former storeroom on the top floor of the General James A. May hangar at Reno-Tahoe International Airport. It wasn’t the normal unit commander’s office, but she chose it and fixed it up because it overlooked the flight line and had better access to the maintenance teams downstairs, which were the lifeblood of any flying unit. “I’ve had bigger ones, nicer ones,” she said. “But it’s not the size that matters, it’s what you do with it.”
“Are we still talking about offices, Beck?” Rinc said with a smile.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe not.”
“I would certainly prefer to talk about us.”
She favored him with a smile in return, then motioned to the TV. “Have you been watching this? It’s incredible. One second I feel okay, and the next I think I can hear the nukes flying in.”
“I can’t watch it anymore,” Rinc said. “It’s driving me nuts, especially since I can’t do anything about it. Besides, I’m concerned about other things — other persons.” He stepped over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Hi, stranger,” he said.
“Hi yourself.”
She did not exactly return his kiss, and he could feel the tension in her body. His shoulders slumped as she turned away and began packing boxes again. “Either I’m losing my touch, or I’m losing you,” he said.
“I’m just distracted… pissed off… frustrated… take your pick,” Rebecca said. “I’m a full-time guardsman, Rinc. This was my job. I’ve never been fired from a job before in my life. And this was my first combat-coded command, something I’ve wanted since I started pilot training.”
“I know,” Rinc said. “What’s more, we lost our unit when we were doing our jobs better than anyone else. It sucks.”
Rebecca looked at Rinc. “You seem in a pretty good mood. Oh yeah, that’s right — you still have a job.”
“You can have one too, if you want,” Rinc said. “The company is thinking about putting another plane on the line. I talked to them about splitting hours. They provide decent benefits, we get the use of the planes at cost in case we set up some type of rating instruction, and we get to stay in town and…”
“I tried that once before — I found I didn’t like it,” Rebecca said. “I like military flying better. I like command even more.”
Rinc shrugged. “Why not accept the offer while you look around for another position?” he suggested. “We could use you, and we’d still be together.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so, which? The ‘we could use you’ part or the ‘we’d still be together’ part?”
“Rinc, sometimes you… dammit, sometimes men can be so frustrating,” Rebecca said. “I just lost my job. I’m hurt. You just lost your job. You don’t seem to care. I don’t see you for weeks after your accident. I’m hurt. You don’t see me for weeks after your accident, and it’s no big deal. Does it ever become a big deal for you?”
“Beck, we got tossed out of a job — we didn’t receive a death sentence, we didn’t get a red ‘A’ painted on our foreheads, we are still breathing,” Rinc said. “We can overcome everything else. Life goes on. We press on.”
“Well, I lost some things that were special to me,” Rebecca said. “My command, my career, my future.”
“But you can have that again. I’m offering you all of it. My bosses want you. I want you. The business is expanding, and there’s a future for you there if you want it.”
“Pushing another flying service? Forget it. I did that, back in New York. It wasn’t for me. I’ve worked hard to get my light colonel’s leaves and my own command, Rinc — I can’t just leave it and go to work for someone else.” She reached out and held his hand. “The California Air National Guard tanker wing is looking for a commander down in Riverside. They want to interview me. I think I’ve got a really good shot at it. KC-135Rs, maybe KC-10s in the future. Lots of missions, high visibility, lots of money.”
“And what do I do? Fly Stratobladders? No thanks,” Rinc said. “I’ve put in my time in support squadrons. I’m part owner of a good business here in Reno, and I get a stick and throttles and windows in my planes, even the little piston-powered ones. Why would I give that up?”
“How about for me?” Rebecca asked, a little crossly. “Do it so we can stay together. Start a branch of your flying service down there. Fly for the airlines — you have lots of experience, a commercial license, an Airline Transport Pilot rating. Get a corporate position. Or just come down and be with me. You’re a young guy. You can do anything you want. I don’t have as many opportunities as you, Rinc. When I find a good one, I have to go for it.” She could tell that not only was he not considering the idea, he was decidedly uncomfortable even thinking about it. “Or does the idea of following a woman’s career totally gross you out?”
“It’s not that…”
“Bullshit. What is it, then? My age?”
“Hey, I’ve never thought of you as an ‘older woman,’” Rinc said angrily. “You know that. You’re as sexy and vibrant and hot as any college hard-body.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Rebecca asked. “C’mon, Rinc. Give it a try.”
“I don’t know,” Rinc said. Rebecca sensed that he was wrestling with an even greater dilemma than just their future together. “It’s just… well, I was getting a little tired of the Air Guard scene. I was looking forward to settling down and taking it easy with this little flying service in Reno.”
“Well, don’t fly for the Guard,” she said. “Do other stuff.”
“But I’d be exposed to it all the time, being with you. I’m not sure if I want that.”
“Why, for Christ’s sake? You don’t have to have anything to do with the Guard, except maybe a few social-type functions. You can handle that. Besides, if you’re doing your corporate or airline thing, you’ll probably be on the road most of the time anyway.”
“Yeah, but I’ll be involved because you’ll be involved.”
“So? I still don’t get it.” She looked at him for several long moments; then: “What is it, Rodeo? Tell me.” He remained silent, his eyes darting back and forth as if reliving some horrible event in his life. Now she studied his face intently, reading the thoughts and emotions that seemed to cros
s it — and not liking what she was sensing. “It’s not that you don’t want to be around me, Rinc,” she said in a quiet, strained voice, “is it? You don’t want to be around the Air Guard. Why?” Still no response. “Rinc, you gotta tell me. It’s about the accident, right?”
“No.”
“Tell me, Rinc. Get it off your chest. It’s all history now, lover.”
“Forget about it. It’s nothing.”
“I can’t forget about it until you do,” Rebecca said. “It’s obvious that whatever is bugging you is standing between us. I need to know. Please.”
Rinc started to pace the office. Every step he took seemed to cause him immense pain, but Rebecca knew the true pain was in his soul. “You lost it that day, didn’t you, Rinc?”
Rinc’s eyes were fixed on the floor. “Yes,” he said in a low, barely audible voice. “It was nuts on that plane, Beck. It wasn’t recovering. We were practically upside down. I thought I could recover it. Mad Dog had his fingers on the PREPARE TO EJECT switch, and I told him no. I kept on saying, ‘I got it, I got it.’ I suddenly realized I was going to fly it all the way into the ground, and I didn’t issue a command — I just went.”
“Rinc, it’s all right,” Rebecca said, going to him and taking his hand. “The important thing is, you got out alive…”
“Like hell it is!” John Long shouted. He was standing in the doorway of Rebecca’s office, his eyes bulging in fury. “So you finally admit it — you did screw up!”
“John, get out,” Rebecca said. “This is between him and me.”
But Long had already sped into the office and he shoved Seaver back against Rebecca’s desk. Rinc made no attempt to resist. Long pinned him against the desk and started pummeling him with his right fist. “You bastard!” he shouted. “You cowardly bastard! You caused that accident! You caused that crash! You killed those men! My friends are dead because of you!”
Furness had no choice — she jabbed her right elbow back into Long’s face, then pushed him away. He flew backward, blood spurting from his nose.
“So that’s why you’ve been protecting him — you two have been screwing each other all this time,” Long said, holding his nose to try to stop the bleeding. “God damn you…”
“That’s enough, Colonel!”
“I’m not your subordinate anymore, bitch!” Long snapped. “And even if I was, I call ’em like I see ’em. You covered up for him even though you suspected something was wrong. How can you do that, Furness? How can you cover up for a piece of shit like that, over the rest of your unit? There’s no dick or piece of ass good enough for anyone to turn on their own!”
“Shut up!” Rebecca shouted. “Just shut the fuck up, Long!” He finally stopped and glared at them both. Seaver picked himself up off the desk, not bothering to cover up a cut lip and bruised cheek. “Both of you, knock it off. This is getting us nowhere. What’s done is done.”
“Not for me it isn’t,” Long shot back. “Not until Seaver admits what he did in front of the squadron and to the adjutant general. Then I want to see him drummed out of the Guard.”
“Go to hell, Long,” Seaver said, his voice defiant but his eyes and expression showing the pain and hurt he was feeling. “Yes, I jumped out without giving a command. Yes, I was too aggressive down low while TF’ing. Yes, I relied on the automatic system to punch everyone out. But my crew didn’t die because of me! Those smoky SAMs hit us, we couldn’t recover…”
“You piece of shit!” Long shouted. “You’re still blaming something else for what you did.” Long took a threatening step toward Seaver.
Rebecca got up to block Long’s path again. “I said, knock it off!” Then she realized that someone else was standing in the doorway to her office. It was none other than Lieutenant Colonel Hal Briggs and another lieutenant colonel whom Rebecca recognized as General McLanahan’s deputy and one of the members of his inspection team. The way Briggs’s field jacket bulged, it was obvious he was still wearing the little submachine gun she remembered seeing at Dreamland.
“We interrupting something here, Colonel?” Briggs asked with his seemingly ever-present smile. He nodded at John Long and added, “Looks like you got blood on you again, Colonel Long, except this time it’s your own blood.”
“As a matter of fact, you are interrupting something,” Rebecca replied testily. “Can you guys wait for us downstairs?”
“No, we can’t,” the other man said. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel David Luger, General McLanahan’s deputy. We’d like you all to come with us right away. We’ve already got Captain Dewey with us downstairs.”
“It’s going to have to wait a few minutes,” Rebecca said. “We have something—”
“You don’t understand, Rebecca,” Dave Luger said. “You’re coming with us right now. General McLanahan’s orders.”
“McLanahan doesn’t have any authority over us,” Long said irritably, his anger from being elbowed in the face by his ex-boss welling up to the surface.
“You’re wrong, Colonel Long,” Luger said. “Those wristbands mean he has total authority over you.”
“What’s he going to do if we tell him to go piss up a rope?” Long asked. “Kidnap us?”
As if he were talking only to the cool alpine air, Dave Luger said, “Lieutenant Colonel Luger for Gunnery Sergeant Wohl…” There was a brief pause; then: “Chris, come give us a hand upstairs, please.”
“Who the hell are you talking to?” Rebecca asked.
Luger did not reply. Moments later the biggest, meanest-looking man any of them had ever seen came into Furness’s office. He was the archetypical commando — square jaw, piercing eyes, huge hands, tight, muscular frame, some broken bones in his face and nose that made him look even meaner. He looked at the three guardsmen with undisguised hostility, as if he had been personally insulted or inconvenienced by them.
“This is Gunnery Sergeant Chris Wohl, guys,” Luger said. “He’s our noncommissioned officer in charge of ass-kicking at HAWC.” As he said that, Chris Wohl reached inside his field jacket, grasped the pistol grip of his MP5K submachine gun, and gave it a tug. The little weapon snapped free of its harness, and in the blink of an eye the stock had extended and the big ex-marine had it at port arms. In another instant he had withdrawn and attached a sound suppressor.
“What are you going to do, asshole?” Long sneered. “Shoot us?”
“Yes, sir,” Wohl said, smiling. And at that, to the complete astonishment of the three guardsmen, he leveled the MP5K and fired a round right into John Long’s chest from less than twenty feet away.
“Jesus! Are you nuts?” Rebecca screamed. Long fell backward, his eyes staring straight ahead, clutching his chest. He went down so fast that Rinc and Rebecca had to scramble to catch him. There was no blood. They quickly found that he was not dead because there was no hole in his chest — just a patch of light brown dust on his shirt. But Long was out of it. One moment he was awake and wondering why his legs and arms wouldn’t work — the next instant, his eyes rolled up into his head and he was fast asleep. “What in hell did you shoot him with?”
“A very mild nerve agent crystalline needle,” Hal Briggs explained. “The needle is about the size of a human hair and can penetrate several layers of clothing, very much like a bullet but with none of the tissue trauma. It contains a nerve agent that paralyzes all voluntary motor functions. He can breathe, blink, his heart will work okay — he just can’t move. He’ll be out for about an hour or so.” He motioned to Long’s crotch and added with a grin, “He can’t keep from peeing and shitting on himself either.”
“Are you absolutely insane?” Rebecca cried. She checked for a pulse and breathing and found both were normal — but Long was indeed out. Not just asleep, but completely limp, his limbs as mushy as a half-filled water balloon. She got the first whiff of relieved bowels and bladder too, which made her even angrier. “You can’t just drag us out of here like criminals…”
“We can and we will,” Hal Briggs said calm
ly. “Rather, you two will drag Colonel Long downstairs and into our waiting car, which will take us over to our waiting jet, which will take us to Elliott Air Force Base. If you give Gunnery Sergeant Wohl any more grief, he will shoot both of you, and he and his men will drag you however way they find most convenient to the van.”
“By accepting those bracelets, guys, you agreed to be part of Dreamland and HAWC as long as they exist and as long as you exist,” Dave Luger said. “I’m sure General McLanahan made that clear to you before you landed at our base. We don’t allow visitors, and there’s no such thing as a TDY into or a PCS out of Dreamland.”
“Just like ‘Hotel California’ in reverse, guys,” Hal added with a big smile. “You can leave anytime you like, but you can never check out.”
“This is ridiculous!” Rebecca exploded. “You’re taking us back to Dreamland? Now? No orders, no prior arrangements, no warning? What about our lives, our families, our careers?”
“All three of you have been federalized,” Dave said. “Major Seaver just left a message telling his partners that he’s on extended leave of absence — actually, we took the liberty of leaving the message on his behalf. Colonel Furness, you and Colonel Long both are still full-time Nevada Air Guard, even though your unit has been deactivated. The Nevada adjutant general has agreed to allow you to go on extended active duty. We’ll see to it that someone looks out for your house or apartment and pays the bills and feeds your dog.”
“Which sucks big-time,” Briggs added. “Didn’t you guys know enough not to have pets if you’re single in the military? Who’d you think was going to take care of them if you had to deploy? Shame on you. Colonel Long needs some serious pet care counseling.”
“Later, Hal,” Luger said. “Any other squawks, folks? If not, or even if you do, save it for when we get on the plane. Grab an end and let’s get Long downstairs.” With the big, mean-looking gunnery sergeant standing guard — the guardsmen could see that the spare magazines he carried were all loaded with real bullets, not paralyzing crystals — they carried Long down the flight of stairs to the hangar floor below.
