FIRE ON HIGH
“Fire On High” is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. All characters and settings © Tigermark 2003-2018 unless otherwise noted. Request permission before using them, please.
The characters of Anatol Altaisokova and Melinda Altaisokova are my names for characters © Max Blackrabbit. They appear in this story with his permission. The characters of Brandy, Maxwell, Tonya and Zig Zag are also © Max Blackrabbit and appear here with his permission. Events and information relating to Tonya, Anatol, and their family are presented here, but are not to be considered canon to those characters or any other story but this one. ZZ Studios, and all characters associated with ZZ Studios, James Sheppard, and Marvin Badger © James Bruner and appear here with his permission. Although characters from and events referring to Zig Zag the Story appear here, this story is not canon to that one, and the author will disavow any knowledge of this story. Wanda Vixen © Chris Yost and appears here with his permission. Sabrina Mustidalae © Eric W. Schwartz and appears here with his permission. This story is not canon to Sabrina Online the comic, or Sabrina Online the Story, either. Matt Barstock, Angie Rockwell, Intermountain Charter, The Bitch, and her crew, and Jerry Kitt © Silver Coyote. See their story HERE. Gail Rutherford © me and is not canon to any other story involving ZZ Studios. Gabrielle Ryder and Jean LeBrun © Aslaug, from her Transitions stories. See them at her site, The Axe Shed, available from the links page. Aramis Dagaz is© his player and appears here with his permission.
Author’s Note: Lewiston, Maine’s airport, identifier KLEW, is actually uncontrolled. That is, it has no control tower. Poetic license was used for this story, so Alex and company talk with a control tower whilst aviating there.
Chapter 92
Comin’ East
Jefferson Mastifson clicked off the last call from his black book. The numbers that remained unmarked through were sparse. Mostly retired or former enlisted furs all within the U.S. Every single overseas contact had either changed numbers or refused to speak with him beyond a terse “don’t call again.” Same with his Pentagon and active duty contacts. The General he’d called first had put a sharp point on it.
“Jefferson old fur, give it up. Lance has already told us not to deal with you, you don’t have his support anymore. There is nothing you can do for me, except get me in trouble. Don’t call again.”
He now had few contacts, an AFOSI agent sniffing around after him, and a death on his conscience. He was too tired at that moment to even muster much anger.
Then he went back to that last thought. A death on his conscience? Was O’Whitt’s death really on his conscience? Either of them, he reminded himself. Jason O’Whitt had become spatially disoriented after his instruments failed. Was that his fault? Alex O’Whitt had died at the paws of the Cubans, caught up in some spy game. Was that his fault? He’d been involved in both, but not directly. He’d pulled no trigger, launched no weapon. It was not his doings, not his fault.
Yet still, what conscience he had was at least making him ask the question of himself. Then he snorted, anger finally finding the strength to rise. Even now, from beyond the grave, O’Whitt was striking at him. Laughing at him. There was nothing more he could do to the tiger, but it still hadn’t silenced the laughter. The sneering derision. Found at fault.
He stood and grabbed his binoculars. O’Whitt’s truck still sat in its place in Kentiger’s parking lot. There was still no sign of the white T-38 with black stripes. There was still no news headline, and Mastifson realized there may never be. Depending on what was going on, if it was classified enough, the whole thing might be covered up.
The Rottweiler snorted again, realizing that he was getting nowhere with that line of thought. It was Friday afternoon, his work was past caught up, and the weekend beckoned. It was time to forget O’Whitt and nosy AFOSI agents and find some dessert.
# # #
Aramis sat back, having completed his last call. He felt he had completely and thoroughly trashed the Rottweiler’s network of contacts. A very few, who liked the fur or didn’t like the Air Force, had scoffed, cussed, and/or hung up in his face. Many more were relieved, some even taking the chance to confess to someone things that had been held over them. From extramarital affairs to misappropriation of funds or supplies. The thing was, almost without fail, the truth would get the Rottweiler in a lot more trouble than the fur he spoke with.
He didn’t feel the need to pursue these, as most if not all were past the statute of limitations. What he had done is make notes of it all. If Mastifson ever tried to blackmail any of them again, Aramis and the AFOSI could bring worse information to light faster.
By now, Aramis figured Mastifson was getting word that his influence network had evaporated. Whether that would make him give up or push him to more desperate measures only time would tell.
It was Friday afternoon, and Aramis stood up to leave. By Monday, “Agent Andy Denver” might have a bunch of calls waiting, but for now, the weekend awaited.
# # #
Rex sat in his lawn chair, just inside the open hangar door, watching the comings and goings at Old North. Corrinne had left early that morning with a Huey full of supplies and equipment for one of the lumber camps. Most likely she’d be back by evening.
The lion had gleaned some useful information the night before. He’d cornered one of the mechanics for Old North, a young bruin named Steve, in a local bar. Rather than a fight, which is what the bear expected, Rex had clapped him on the shoulder, declaring how good it was to see him. After several rounds, which Rex had magnanimously bought, the glassy-eyed brown had gotten quite chatty. Corrinne was hot-seating her runs while the old Huey was down. She’d managed to land the wounded bird where it had been sitting after a generator shaft broke. The new shaft and couplings were supposed to be there Saturday. They hoped to have the bird back in the air by Monday morning, so the lioness could make her last run in it. The fur had also confirmed that Corrinne was indeed leaving. Monday would be her last run, and then her tiger boyfriend would be there to help her drive South. Rex had poured the bruin into a cab and paid the driver to take him home. The guy had given him some good information after all.
Now he sat, watching and pondering what to do with the information. He could see the old Huey in the hangar across the way, its engine cover off and a stand up beside it. What could he do? He didn’t really want to hurt her, just embarrass her.
He continued watching, lost in thought as each idea was considered and rejected. Then a final idea came to him. Now if he could pull it off.
# # #
The old Hercules was cruising along at FL240. Alex and Tasha had been seated in the Flight Engineer and Navigator positions, respectively. The Loadmaster, a tall coyote-cougar hybrid going by the name of Slam Whiteline, sat at the very back of the cockpit in a jumpseat. They had taken off and threaded their way through the tangle of corridors and controlled airspace called Southern California, crested the Southern Rockies, and now droned toward the New Mexico-Texas border. Things had settled into routine enough for some stories to be told. Slam, who usually slept through most of a flight, had actually stayed awake for this, curious about the big white tiger that Joe had spoken of so much.
“Yeah, that was Steve Lupus and Rick Carter with me that day. After our adventure with Stripes and the gear door, we flew on and ended up at Hanford, Washington. Slam flew with us on that leg as Loadmaster and guard. He was still active duty Marines then.”
Alex glanced back at the big fur, who merely shrugged and said, “Semper Fi.”
The tiger gave him a half-grin and turned back forward. Lola was monitoring the communications and the autopilot, letting Joe spin the tale. Tasha was listening and enjoying the camaraderie that had quickly been established. Joe continued.
“On the leg back to Columbus, we were teasing Rick about joining the ranks of Canis Aer Cargus.”
Tasha interrupted, “I saw that painted above the crew door. What does it mean?”
Alex grinned as Joe laughed. After a second, the canid continued, “It means Air Freight Dog. A term for all us cargo jocks who fly old birds like this down in the muck, making a living off cargo runs. We don’t see clean rooms and hot meals, only cold cots and vending machine food.”
Tasha smiled. Alex added, “Most pilot groups have semi-Latin nicknames, some better, some worse. The Tigerkahts, the Eff Fifteen squadron I fly with in the Reserves, used to have one, “Fittus Zoomus Kahtus.” It means Fighter Jet Kahts, but that was back when it was exclusively felid. Better heads prevail now, and any qualified pilot can request assignment there. So, y’all made it back to Columbus okay?”
Here, Joe got quiet a moment, his face clouding over. All they could hear was the rumble of the four Allison turboprops, which they felt as much as heard since they were all wearing headphones. Finally, Joe spoke again.
“Just barely Alex. We were crossing Illinois, coming into the back of a cold front and a line of thunderstorms when we discovered our weather radar was out. We were talking to ATC in Muncie, who was trying to help us pick our way through. We got caught in a building cell. It was just forming, and ATC couldn’t see it yet. We…came within a thousand feet of being a headline over Indiana. Broke the throttle cable on Number Two engine and bent the wing outboard of there over a degree. Lost the cap on the vertical stabilizer too. Came so close. We got spit out the bottom nearly inverted. I never want to get that close again.”
Just then, as if to accent the story, there was a pop as a circuit breaker kicked. The Number Three MFD went dark. Lola looked back and up, searching for the popped breaker. She and Alex saw it at the same time. It had not only popped, it had turned black with soot.
“I…I’m not gonna try to reset that. We can get by without it. That’s usually for the weather radar, and the forecast is for no storms all the way to Keesler,” she stated.
Joe looked at it and agreed. “I agree. Knew something was gonna go out. The Bitch never fails to entertain.”
Alex now grinned, relaxing after seeing the source of the sound. “I saw that little emblem near the door. I take it she does this on a regular basis?”
Joe picked the narrative back up. “Yep, we usually lose at least one system per flight. Most times just annoying, sometimes downright dangerous.”
“How’s the other Cee One-Thirty doing?” Alex inquired. “Billy said when we bought the Gee Four and Citation that an extra MFD set and panel suite went to y’all as part of the deal to help get another Herc in the air.”
Joe smiled. “Finally in the air. Intermountain is doing very well with these two old Hercs. It’s just keeping them in the air that’s the problem sometimes.”
“What do you normally transport if you’re not flying for the Company?” Tasha asked. Even though she worked for the CIA, she had no idea exactly how things got moved around. She’d flown on a lot of different type aircraft for the Company, but as far as cargo being moved, she hadn’t paid much attention.
“That, dear lady, I cannot tell. Mostly because I don’t know. Slam might, but he won’t tell. Suffice it to say that Uncle Sam has a lot of cash to toss around if you don’t ask too many questions.”
Tasha smirked. “Like us.”
Joe nodded. “Sorta. Unlike most times, we have a full Bill of Lading and Cargo Manifest. Only thing I’m curious about is what did you do to Stripes One to need all this and have the government pick it up.”
Alex and Tasha both got quiet for a moment. Joe could tell this story had been a close call for them, too. Finally, Tasha began.
“He can’t tell why, and I can’t either, but he came to the aid of a damsel in distress and ended up in the end of one of our operations. When I said I work for a company, I meant The Company. I’m an analyst now, but earlier in the week I was on my last mission as a field agent. Alex got me out of a tight spot. Thing is, well, the Cubans were involved.”
Joe looked askance at the tigress, as did Slam. Lola even glanced around with an arched eyebrow. Tasha seemed uncertain how to proceed, like her thoughts had turned inward, so Alex picked up the story.
“We got out of Kingston, Jamaica just fine, but someone told the Cubans where she’d gone. About half way across to New Orleans, a short time after we’d turned North, we suddenly had three Cuban MiG-21s on us. They invited us to go home with them. We politely declined. They became more forceful. We persuaded one of them to go on home. The other two still insisted, so we gave them a cold shoulder. One of them took a cold bath. The last one was an honorable fur but had been told to come home with us or have us die trying.”
Here Alex was quiet a moment as well. All the Intermountain crew were looking askance at the colorful description. Tasha focused back, and spoke in a flat, faraway voice.
“We were dead. Alex is being colorful, but basically, we had three armed Cuban jet fighters trying to force us to Cuba. Two of them fired warning shots. Alex outmaneuvered them and managed to hit two of them with his drop tanks. The last one, the leader, said over the radio he didn’t want to, but orders were orders. Stripes One was damaged by the last warning shots. We couldn’t run. We couldn’t dodge. We were down one engine. We were waiting for the gunfire to tear us apart when two Eff Sixteens showed up. I’d gotten a call out for help, but I didn’t know if it would come in time. It was God’s providence these two were already in the air. The Cuban bid us good luck over the radio and left. Alex did such a great job of getting us down at Keesler in one piece.”
There was silence except for the engines and other noises on the old Herc. Finally, Joe spoke.
“Well…so, quite a tale. So, if this was earlier this week, how did the repair parts, especially the painted wings, get ready so fast?”
Alex shrugged, actually blushing a little. “We spent the summer doing airshows. That was part of the plan when we had her built. We had Thorton’s go ahead and have spares ready in case we had a problem. Doing airshows, we’d need them quickly.”
“Okay,” Slam commented. “That explains the two drop tanks.”
“Speaking of,” Lola commented without looking around. “How did you manage to hit two MiGs with them?”
Alex half-grinned as Tasha answered, “I have no idea, I’m not a pilot. All I know is the first one fired warning shots to our left, and the next thing I know we’re upside down playing Top Gun with the leader. I caught a glimpse of the tank tumbling back and glancing off the wing and tail of the one who’d fired. He bobbled and lost speed and I lost sight of him.”
Alex picked up the narrative. “I hit the release as I began to rise and roll right. It imparted enough side momentum to put it in the path of the MiG. He was following a bit too close. Same with the second one. Way too close to shoot. That one I rolled up and left. He fired in a lot closer, and I took rounds in my wing and engine. The tank took off his vertical stabilizer, and he started to break up. The pilot ejected, and his leader broke off to see that he got down alright. We ended up limping along wings level at fifteen thou and two fifty. We were sitting ducks when he came back. It was a Godsend that those Vipers came out to meet us. We were just crossing into U.S. airspace.”
Lola grinned. “Quite a tale indeed. So, what do you do when you’re not being a hero, Alex?”
Alex smiled. “Like Joe said, I work and fly for Kentiger Executive Air Service. I’m also co-owner. And I fly in the Reserves.
Lola nodded, glancing back at him rather slyly. Alex decided he’d better add in a bit more.
“I also have a lovely lioness who has been keeping me busy going back and forth to Maine. In fact, once we get back to Lexington, I’ll be heading North to drive back with her. She’s finishing up her job there and moving down to Lexington. Billy and she are starting a helicopter service there.”
Lola smiled, not looking the least bit disappointed. Joe gave a snort.
“Billy the Damn Kid. I can hear Matt now.”
Alex shrugged. “Billy is boisterous and very energetic. He loves a new challenge.”
They then heard Lola key up the radio.
“Fort Worth Center, Intermountain Four Seven, requesting descent to Flight Level Two Zero Zero.”
Joe looked back forward. They were about halfway across Texas, still well before their letdown into Keesler.
“Intermountain Four Seven, descending to Flight Level Two Zero Zero,” Lola intoned as she reset the autopilot. At Joe’s questioning glance, she pointed to a small printout on her kneeboard.
“Pireps indicate turbulence above two two. Thought we’d get a smoother ride since we’re going lower anyway.”
Joe nodded and looked back around. Alex and Tasha were being entertained by a Marine war story from Slam. He turned back forward, watching the cirrus above them slide by. The sky ahead was clear at their altitude and lower, all the way to Mississippi. They were to wait there as Alex’s maintenance crew made sure everything was there and in good shape. They would then fly Alex and Natasha on to Lexington on Saturday. From there, they were going to Columbus to pick up a load on Monday and head back West. It would be Tuesday before they saw Denver and home again.
# # #
The phone was on its third ring when a young female voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Kathleen? This is Billy Panelli,” the tiger replied. His call to her to set up an interview would be his last official act before the weekend. They still had a couple of aircraft out and up, so he wasn’t ready to go home yet.
“Hello Mr. Panelli! Oh, it’s great to hear from you!” the collie enthused.
“Ah ah, I already told you to call me Billy. How are things going?”
Billy was treading carefully, getting a read on the femme.
“Great on my classes, not so great on the job front. In fact, I’m leaving for work in about thirty minutes.” Kathleen sounded downcast.
“Oh?” Billy replied, afraid he’d missed the chance to hire her. “Where do you work?”
“Greeter slash hostess at Bryan’s Buffet on Richmond Road. The people are great, but it’s definitely not what I was looking for.”
Billy eased into the reason he’d called.
“I can understand that. It just so happens I’m looking for a good admin and dispatcher for a business I’m starting. Would you be interested in interviewing for it?”
“Would I! …but, that wasn’t what I intended when I left a resumé. I just wanted you and Col. O’Whitt to know I was in the area.” The collie sounded very uncertain.
“Nevertheless, I have a job opening and you meet the qualifications. I won’t sugarcoat it, it’s going to be very busy. I and a partner are starting a helicopter business here from scratch. It’ll mean long hours and tight margins at first, but I guarantee you’ll be paid in full and on time every time.”
Billy found he was already conducting the interview right over the phone. The tone and emotion he heard in her next statement told him all he needed to know.
“You mean I get to start on the ground floor, right from the beginning! Oh yes please! My major is Administrative Science, so this would be right in line with that. Uh, sorry, provided I get the job.”
Billy laughed, then continued, smiling.
“Kathleen, show up here Monday morning. We’ll do the paperwork and get you set up with a workspace here at Kentiger. Our facility will also be here at Bluegrass Airport, but it won’t be ready for a couple of months. Don’t worry, we’ll work with your school and work schedule.”
“Oh, thank you s-, ah, Billy. I’ll be there…oh, what time?”
Kathleen had nearly forgotten in the excitement to find out a time to be there.
“Nine o’clock will do, if that’s alright with your schedule,” Billy replied, still chuckling at the femme’s enthusiasm.
“Oh nine hundred, okay, see you then!”
“Yep, bye Kathleen,” the tiger said to end the call.
“Bye Billy!” Kathleen hung up and jumped up and down several times, yelling “YAAAAAY!” She then realized she was only in her underwear, as she’d been getting dressed for work, and that her window shade wasn’t pulled. She yipped and ran into the bathroom, where she quickly dressed, grinning from ear to ear the whole time.
On his end, Billy just grinned. The exuberance of youth was exactly what their new business needed.
End of Chapter 92