FIRE ON HIGH
By Tigermark
FOREWARD
This is where I get to say thank you to everyone for reading this, and inspiring me to write it.
This story is dedicated to the brave men and women of our US Armed Forces, without whose sacrifice we wouldn’t have the freedom to write furry fiction. Some of the units named here reflect actual military units, while others are fictional. Military and aviation acronyms and abbreviations will be spelled out the first time they’re used, and then revert to their short form for the rest of the story.
This story also introduces the kaht to the furry universe.
Kaht (pronounced kate)- Generic name for Carnivosa Felinis minora. Any of several breeds of small (12" at the shoulder) quadruped mammals, distantly related to Homo Felinis Sapiens. Short or long furred, in a variety of colors, these small animals are very adept at pest control and are found throughout the world. They share the dual-fang tooth arrangement with their cousins, the Kali (Canid, non-sentient, see Silver Coyote’s story, “Precious Cargo” at http://thesilvercoyote.net/stories/PC21.html for details).
The head is decidedly feline, with small ears and binocular vision. The tail is about 2/3 the body length and usually very bushy. They are very independent, and make good pets for those who don't have the time or space a Kali demands.
Now for the legal stuff. This story is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. “Fire on High” is copyright Tigermark 2003. All characters and situations are copyright the author and are his intellectual property. Please ask for permission before using them in your works. Characters and settings from other authors will be used in this story. Credits for them will be at the heading of each chapter, so it won’t spoil the surprise. Thank-you’s for their use will be posted there also.
The next thank you I’ll put here is to my lovely wife, Tammy Lynx, and my two lovely tinx daughters, Rachel and Bri. Without their love, support, patience, and understanding I wouldn’t be writing this.
Finally and most important, Thank you, Lord Jesus, for the talent you’ve given, and the freedom to use it.
Chapter 1
“Eagles All”
Major Alex O’Whitt stretched mightily in his chair, getting a few pops and cracks as his joints expanded. He stretched his tail out and then let it relax again. Outside his window, the daily hubbub of activity on Rhine-Mien Air Base,
Deciding he needed a drink of water before continuing, Alex stood up and stretched to his full 6’2” height. Stepping around his desk, he walked toward the mirror on the door. He stopped for a moment to take stock of the figure he saw there. Lean for his height at 210lbs, Alex was muscular without being bulky. Salt and pepper hair showed his 42 years of age a bit.
“Not bad, some had said,” he mused to himself. Alex was not as stocky as most Siberian Tiger males tended to be, but a steady diet of Air Force routine and exercise had kept him solid and strong.
“Besides,” he said to himself, “you can’t fly fighters with a pot gut.”
The only clues to Alex’s mixed heritage were his facial stripes and his tail. His facial stripes came up from under his jaw like any other tiger’s, but then turned vertical and ended just below his eyes. The small vertical zigzag stripes above the inside corner of each eyebrow was a trait from his father’s family. His tail was pure snow leopard, inherited from his mother. It was twice the diameter of a tiger’s, fluffy white with a black tip and spots so large they looked like double stripes from most angles. It was quite muscular, and Alex could use that tail as a weapon if the need arose.
Shrugging off his self-examination, Alex did a quick once over to insure his uniform was properly in place, then opened the door and headed down the hall toward the water fountain.
He could hear the clack of computer keys coming from a few offices, but most of the squadron was out double-checking the preparations for tomorrow’s mission. It fell to Alex as Executive Officer (XO) to finalize the paper work and make sure the information packets the pilots would receive in the morning at mission brief were complete. He had already checked the maps, frequency guides, call sign lists, performance charts, and IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) codes.
After a good long drink of water, Alex strolled back to his office and seated himself to get back to work. Opening a file folder, he reviewed the request and authorization for air refueling, the refueling track and the tanker allocations. They could do this mission using added external tanks, but then they’d have to drop them when they got there, so why waste the tanks? It would be good practice for the squadron’s newer pilots, as well.
Putting that folder down and wishing for the hundredth time that they had computerized all this paperwork, Alex picked up the next folder. This one listed the simulated ordinance loads for the mission. Each fighter would have 8 simulated missile shots. 4 with the radar-guided AIM-7 Sparrow, and 4 with the heat-seeking AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles, and a full load of gun-camera videotape to simulate the 20mm Gatling gun.
The last folder he needed to check was the aircraft readiness report. All 12 of the 32nd Fighter Squadron’s F-15C’s were going on this one. They would be providing top cover for a squadron of F-16s on a ground attack exercise.
Alex grinned to himself. There would be a “live” OPFOR (Opposing Force) tomorrow. A Belgian F-16 unit was going to try to “destroy” or bypass the 32nds Eagles and disrupt the American F-16s attack run. It promised to be an interesting day.
Just as he was finishing his last sign-off, Alex heard a knock at his door.
“Come,” he said in the traditional answer to the knock. The door opened and Alex quickly rose to attention.
Colonel Bartholomew Higgins, Alex’s Commanding Officer (CO) and friend, waved him back to his seat.
“No need for that, Ice, it’s just me,” Bart said as he walked to Alex’s desk. He pulled up a chair and settled his lanky 6’ lion frame into it, letting his tail settle to the floor.
“Hello, Scatcat, Everything looking good for tomorrow?” Alex said, using the lion’s personal call sign as he sat back down. Bart was there as his old friend now, not his CO.
“Fine, fine, we’ll show those Belgian pilots how top cover should be done, eh?” Bart said with an enthusiastic wink.
Alex smiled, his ice blue eyes shining with shared merriment. “They won’t know what they flew into,” he said.
Bart grinned wider, his golden eyes bright. He then stretched and yawned widely, showing his long fangs. He could easily intimidate lesser furs with that lions yawn, but Alex could match it without trying, so he was unimpressed.
Bart suddenly tossed a packet of papers he’d been hiding behind his back at Alex, saying, “Catch, Ice!”
Alex caught the packet with one paw without a blink. He’d played this old “Who’s Faster” game with his CO on numerous occasions. He’d done it himself to rookie pilots to get them to sharpen their reaction times.
“Gotta be faster than that, Scat,” Alex said easily as he examined the packet. It had only “Ice” written on the outside. Alex turned a quizzical eye to his friend.
Bart tried to look mysterious, but his grin was giving him away. Alex decided that whatever was in the packet was good news. With a quick slip of the claw, he opened the packet and removed two bundles of papers.
Alex smiled at the first bundle. He’d had his line number for several months, and now the orders made it official.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant Colonel O’Whitt,” Bart said, trying to act official, “I expect those silver oak leaves to be on your shoulders for tomorrow’s run.”
“Yes sir!” Alex said with mock fear, causing Bart to laugh heartily.
The second bundle caused Alex to sit straight up, his tail straight up behind him.
“Test Pilot School at Edwards!” He exclaimed, just barely managing to keep a stupid grin off his muzzle.
“Congratulations, Ice,” Bart managed to say as he continued to laugh.
“Wow!” was all Alex could say. He’d applied only 2 months ago.
“I can’t believe they came through this soon!” he said, grinning and shaking his head.
“’Tis the season for PCS moves,” Bart replied, “I just got orders, too.”
Alex looked at him questioningly.
“Command of the 18th Fighter Wing at Langley. I’ll probably get my star within a year after that,” the lion said with a confident smile, his tail twitching.
Alex pulled a face. “Not me! I’d hate flying mostly a desk. Give me a year after test school and I’ll be at NASA!”
“Bet ya a beer I get my star before you get to NASA,” Bart said with a suddenly keen, competitive gleam in his eyes.
Alex frowned slightly, his own tail twitching, but then he put on a mischievous smirk.
“Make it a root beer and you’re on,”
“Sorry Ice, I got carried away. I forgot you don’t drink,” Bart said, looking down at his paws.
Alex smiled and said, “Ah, forget it. No harm done.” He had an easy-going manner most of the time, and didn’t take offense where there was none intended. Ice wasn’t just for the shade of his blue eyes. Alex had worked hard to overcome a quick temper in his early days. His ability to stay calm in tense or emergency situations had saved his striped hide more than once.
Bart broke the short silence, saying, “Ice, are you done with all the final paperwork?”
“Yes sir,” Alex replied, quickly putting the various forms in their folders. He handed these to Col. Higgins, who quickly glanced through them, his ear twitching occasionally. He trusted Alex to do his usual thorough job.
“Looks good, Ice, I’ll sign these in my office,” the Colonel said as he stood up. Alex stood also, military habit taking over.
Col. Higgins extended his paw, saying, “Congratulations again, Lt. Col. O’Whitt.” He was now in official mode.
Alex gave a warm, firm pawshake to his CO and said, “Thank you, sir.”
Col. Higgins asked, “Have you checked on your ride for tomorrow yet?”
“Was going to on my way out,” said Alex.
“Good,” Col. Higgins said with a wink, “Now here is an official order; go get that gal you’ve been seeing and celebrate. Just remember, you do have to fly in the morning.”
“Yes sir!” Alex said with an enthusiastic grin.
“See ya at 0400!” the Colonel said, and with that, he turned and walked out of the office.
Alex was still grinning. Test Pilot School! Going back stateside would give him the added bonus of seeing his father and brother more often, too. His father Anton still lived where Alex had grown up in Elkview, West Virginia. His brother Jason was also an Air Force pilot, flying F-16’s out of Shaw AFB, South Carolina.
He sighed to himself as he donned his A2 leather flight jacket and then grabbed his cap on his way out the door. He’d spent most of his service career on overseas assignments, either permanent or temporary duty. His last stateside assignment, sort of, had been his two-year tour with the Thunderbirds Air Force Demonstration Team. He’d had to travel so much with them, though, that he still hadn’t seen much of home.
Alex walked out of the low, red brick Squadron Headquarters building and got in the dark blue Air Force car he used on official business, being careful not to shut his tail in the door. He started the engine and eased out of the parking spot, then pulled onto the street and drove toward the flightline.
Making the turn onto the road that lead to the hangars and approaching the gate in the fence around the airfield, Alex slowed and rolled down his window, fishing his line badge out of his pocket as he came to a stop at the gate. The Security Policefur (SP) on guard approached the car and stopped about two feet from Alex’s door.
“Good evening, Sergeant,” Alex said as he handed the badge to the woodchuck. The SP looked the badge over and then looked at Alex. He glanced at the rank emblem on Alex’s shoulder and, with one paw easing onto the M-16 he carried, asked, “Just promoted, sir?”
“Yes! I just got the orders this afternoon. How’d you know?” Alex replied, a bit taken aback.
“Your vehicle placard, sir. It already has your Lt. Col. Emblem on it,” the Sergeant said, handing Alex’s badge back and moving his paw back to the shoulder strap of his weapon.
Alex smiled as he took the badge and clipped it onto his collar tip. The SP came to attention and saluted. Alex returned the salute and drove on as the gate opened. “Leave it to Scatcat Higgins to have the car placard put on this soon,” he thought. The official vehicles of all O-5’s and above have a placard showing their rank. With the terrorist climate these days, Alex was expecting them to stop that practice very soon.
He pulled into the parking lot beside the 32nd FS hangar and parked in the spot designated “XO.” He got out and walked in through the back door and down a short hallway past a couple of offices. Emerging into the main hangar area, Alex saw only one aircraft still there. The rest of the squadron’s aircraft had already been towed out to the parking ramp, ready for the early morning mission.
Alex’s Eagle, tail number 450007, sat in the middle of the hangar with a dark green tow tractor attached to its nose gear. He saw a pair of coveralled legs and a bushy, black and gray striped tail sticking out of the port engine intake.
Walking quietly up to the aircraft, Alex rapped sharply on the intake. He stifled a laugh at the sharp “Thud” and accompanying “OW!” which followed.
Grumbling under his breath, Staff Sergeant (SSgt) Carl Racine, Alex’s Crew Chief slid out of the engine intake.
“Alright! Who’s the-Oh! It’s you Major.” The raccoon said as he came to attention.
“Relax, Carl, I just came by to check on my ride for tomorrow. Sorry if I scared you, it was too good a setup,” Alex said with a wide grin. Carl relaxed and nodded.
“Yes sir,” Carl said in his North Carolina drawl, “I was wondering when you’d come by to check on her.”
“Anything wrong?” Alex asked.
“Naw sir, just putting the finishing touches on her for tomorrow,” the raccoon answered, his tail sweeping the hangar floor behind him. “Have a look.”
Alex and his crew chief did a walk around inspection and cockpit check of the aircraft; Carl explaining as they went what had been done to ready it for the next morning’s mission.
“Looks great, Carl,” Alex said with a satisfied smile. His ride was in top shape.
“Thank you, sir,” the raccoon responded, “Sir?”
Alex looked at him.
“Word is you got orders.”
“No secrets in this crew,” Alex thought with a laugh, the said, “Hah! Yes, I did, two sets, actually.”
“Two sets?”
“Yep, one set promoting me to lieutenant Colonel, and the other sending me to Test Pilot School at Edwards.” Alex grinned as the raccoon’s eyebrows shot up.
“Wow! Congratulations, sir. We’ll be reading about you in the paper as an astronaut before long!” Carl exclaimed.
“Well, hopefully, but that’s a ways off yet,” Alex said modestly.
“Ah, you’ll be there in no time, sir,” Carl said earnestly. From anyone else, it would have come across as crass sucking up, but Alex knew the young raccoon well enough to know better.
“Thank you, Carl. Well, I’m heading out. Lock up and put the keys under the visor,” Alex said the old, tired joke and winked.
The raccoon laughed and said, “Sure thing, sir, and I’ll check the oil while I’m at it. See you in the morning.”
Alex turned and walked out of the hangar and back to his car. Before getting in, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number.
After two rings, a warm, purred, “Hello, Alex,” came across the connection.
“Darned caller ID! I can’t even surprise you, can I Tasha?” Alex said in mock consternation.
“You know you can’t. What’s up, Tiger-o-mine?” Tasha replied.
“Had dinner? Would you like to go out?” Alex asked.
Tasha thought a second, then said, “Sure! How soon can you get here?”
“Give me about forty-five minutes, I have to go get cleaned up and change vehicles. I’m in the company car right now.”
Tasha laughed a light, easy laugh and said, “OK Alex, see you soon.”
“Soon,” Alex said, “Bye!”
Alex closed his phone, got in his car, and headed for the BOQ (Bachelor Officer Quarters) to shower, change, and exchange his Air Force car for his POV (Privately Owned Vehicle).
# # #
Jason banked his aircraft to the left, his wingfur a few hundred yards behind him as he set up on short final for landing.
“ Nellis Tower, Bushmaster Three on short final,” He called as he set the throttle and lifted the nose slightly to decelerate. As he passed over the runway threshold, Jason heard his wingfur call in on short final behind him. He pulled back a bit more on the throttle and lifted the nose a bit more, and the F-16 settled gently onto the runway of Nellis AFB (Air Force Base).
Holding his nose-high attitude to maximize aero-braking, Jason let the jet roll out until he finally let the nose wheel chirp lightly onto the pavement. He and his fellow pilots of the 78th Fighter Squadron Bushmasters had just completed their final bomb and gunnery runs for this exercise. Jason felt he had scored well, and was in a good mood as he taxied toward the transient aircraft ramp.
“Best part is,” he thought, “tomorrow we fly back to Shaw, and I’ll be home with Jenna and the cubs.” He now smiled wide in his oxygen mask, thinking, “And then 10 days leave! Home to see Dad and then on to the mountains!”
Jason concentrated on following his crew chief’s paw signals in parking the F-16. This could be a tricky maneuver, since the nose wheel on the aircraft was actually about 2 feet behind where the pilot sat.
Sgt Gustafson, Jason’s Wermerainer crew chief, crossed his paws over his head in the Stop signal, and Jason applied the brakes. He then opened the canopy and went through the shut down procedure for the jet. The Sergeant attached the boarding ladder to the side of the aircraft and climbed up to help Jason unhook himself from the seat harness and O2 and communications lines. The heat on the ramp immediately soaked through Jason’s flight suit, leaving him damp with sweat.
“Fantastic, Cap’n O’Whitt! They just posted ya scores!” the canid said, his New York accent easily heard over the noise on the ramp.
Jason gave a toothy grin as the Wermerainer climbed back down the ladder. He carefully extracted his 6’ Siberian Tiger frame from the seat and climbed down, also. As he stepped onto the tarmac, Jason turned to find the rest of his squadron-mates and their crew chiefs approaching.
His wingfur, Captain John Beck, a quiet, soft-spoken Labrador, was just parking his aircraft behind them.
As the group arrived, everyone’s comments seemed to come at once:
“Great job, Jason! --You beat my scores again, you—That’ll sure boost our overall score!”
All were surrounding Jason, clapping him on the shoulder or back. His shutdown complete, Capt. Beck and his crew chief joined them.
“Jason,” he said, just loud enough to be heard, “that was awesome! Your bomb hits couldn’t have been closer if they’d been precision-guided, and I don’t think you had a single round outside the circle on the gunnery range.”
Jason grinned wider, if that was possible.
“Yas, exceptional work, Captain,” a voice said from outside the circle of furs. Everyone in the group froze and snapped to attention, including Jason.
Lieutenant Colonel Jefferson Mastifson the Third had arrived.
Looking over the group, the Rotwieller continued in his Bostonian accent, “An effort worthy of celebration.”
He then frowned, saying, “But what are all these enlisted furs doing? Don’t you all have somewhere to be?”
A chorus of low “Yes sirs” came from the crowd.
Lt. Col. Mastifson managed to look like he’d swallowed a lemon as he pursed his lips, then said, “Hmmm, I’ll not ruin this day by reminding you of your duties . . .”
“Already done that,” Jason thought silently.
“Providing you get to them immediately. Enlisted dismissed,” Mastifson continued.
The crew chiefs all scattered, in a hurry to be out of their commander’s vicinity. Mastifson watched them go, then turned his attention to the officers.
“A fine showing, gentlefurs, letting your crew chiefs fraternize when they should be working. Ah, but we shall address that later. Good job today, most of you. Jenkins, Baker, good scores. Ralston, need more gunnery practice. You’ll do that in the simulator this weekend.”
“He scored better than you, you pompous ass,” Jason thought.
“Bradley, adequate. Beck, good round, better than your usual,” Mastifson continued, commenting on the performance of the rest of the pilots until he got to Jason.
“And finally you, O’Whitt, very good job. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were Academy.” In Jefferson Mastifson the Third’s mind, any officer who hadn’t gone to the Air Force Academy was marginally useless, and enlisted furs existed only for his convenience.
“In my opinion,” Jason thought, “you are pompous, arrogant, a mediocre pilot, and probably a danger to yourself and others under the right circumstances.” Jason had flown with many Academy grads, and most of them had been excellent officers and pilots, but there was always an exception. Lt. Col. Mastifson’s personal call sign of “Uber” suited his ego, if not his abilities.
“To reward such a good performance, you may fly as my wingfur on the flight back to Shaw tomorrow. I hope your formation skills are as sharp as your aim,” Mastifson said smugly. Jason noted that his CO rarely ever wagged his tail. Unusual in a Canid.
“The rest of you shall return to Shaw in 2-ship formations, each by a different route. If you fly them correctly, we will arrive within 15 minutes of each other. Now enjoy your celebration tonight. Sleep well, no drinking, by the way,” The Rotwieller continued.
Jason cringed. “Like every fur here isn’t aware of the 12 hour bottle-to-throttle rule,” he thought.
Trying for a benign smile, which looked rather absurd on him, Lt. Col. Mastifson said simply, “Dismissed.” He then turned and strode purposefully up the tarmac to the truck that was waiting to take him to drop off his flight gear.
The pilots all relaxed out of attention, and let out a collective breath.
John Beck broke the silence by saying, “If I didn’t plan on going the full twenty plus, I’d stuff that arrogant so-and-so down a rat hole so deep no kaht would ever find him!”
The rest of the group looked askance at the normally subdued Lab, and then burst out laughing together.
Then Lt. Bradley said, “Ah, what do you care, Jason? You’re his fair-furred boy tomorrow.” A chorus of “Yeahs” and “CO’s pet!” followed.
Jason took it in stride, saying, “You’re all just jealous!” He then gave a rueful smirk. No one really envied him his position for the next day.
The van arrived to take the pilots to stow their gear, so the group headed over to get in. Their mood was once again upbeat, and Jason’s tail waved merrily at their banter. He was looking forward to heading home, but he still felt uneasy about the flight leader he’d have tomorrow.
# # #
“So Alex, what’s the occasion? You never go out the night before you fly a mission,” Natasha said as she sipped her soda. The small restaurant she and Alex were setting in was quiet and cozy, and their meal was on its way.
Alex looked at her over his glass of iced tea, trying to look mysterious. Natasha Shannon was a lovely 6’ tall Sumatran Tigress from Des Moines, Iowa. She had a very eye-catching figure, especially with her height. Jet black hair and deep blue eyes rounded out a very pleasing physical package. Alex had met her at one of those “Official Functions” officers were expected to attend. The fact that neither of them drank had afforded them the opening to talk past the initial pleasantries, and Alex and she had gone out several times since then. Mostly they engaged in quiet conversations about home and the current affairs there in
Alex didn’t know if their dating would lead anywhere, but he enjoyed her warm personality, and her serious, well thought-out opinions. He now found himself looking into those deep blue eyes as she sat, ears upright, alert to what his answer would be.
“I have cause to celebrate,” Alex said with a smile, his fang tips just showing.
Tasha arched an eyebrow in a questioning look.
Alex now openly grinned and said, “I’m with the smartest, loveliest tigress in all of
Tasha blinked, gave a slight smile and then replied, “Thank you, but it’s got to be more than that, you silver-tongued cat.”
Alex smirked slightly. “Can’t fool you for a second, can I Tasha?” he said.
“No, you can’t, so you might as well tell your news.” Tasha sounded stern, but the warm smile on her muzzle let Alex know she was teasing him.
“Alright, alright. I received orders today.”
Tasha thought a second, then said, “Your promotion?”
“Yep, I’m now officially Lieutenant Colonel O’Whitt,” Alex said with a smile.
“Congratulations, Alex! Hmm, but I knew that was coming. There’s more, I take it?” Tasha said expectantly, placing a finger to the side of her muzzle.
“I always said you were a bright lady. Yes, there’s more. I also received orders to Edwards. I’m going to Test Pilot School,” Alex said with an even wider smile.
Tasha reached over and covered his paw with hers. “Alex! That’s wonderful! How soon?”
Alex’s smile softened a bit as he said, “I’ll be leaving for the states in three months.”
Tasha just smiled and kept her paw on his. Alex hadn’t considered what his leaving would mean for he and Tasha. It seemed every time he’d started to build a relationship before, duty and service had always called him away at the critical time where it may have developed further.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Tasha put a finger to her lips and said, “Shush! We’ll not worry about leaving until the time comes to do so. Let’s just enjoy dinner and each other’s company. This is celebrating great news for you, so let’s not spoil it.”
Alex smiled and remained silent. Soon their food arrived and the two exchanged small talk through their meal.
Alex suddenly yawned behind a paw. Tasha looked at him critically and said, “Looks like it’s your bedtime, Flyboy. Wouldn’t want you falling asleep when you’re supposed to be defending democracy tomorrow.”
He nodded in agreement. After leaving payment for their meal, plus a tip, on the table, he and Tasha rose together and strolled arm in arm to the parking lot. The cool spring breeze ruffled their fur as they walked to Alex’s car.
“You OK to drive?” Tasha asked.
“Yes, but I’d better head straight to base after I take you home,” Alex said, a bit more alert from the night air.
“Alright, Tiger,” Tasha said, “but I expect you to let me cook you dinner tomorrow night.”
“Sure thing,” Alex replied.
They got in Alex’s old sedan and he drove her home. They parted company with a quick kiss in the parking lot of her apartment building, and once Alex had seen that Tasha was safely inside, he drove back to the BOQ on base.
Arriving at his room, Alex unlocked the door and went in, tossing his keys in the tray on the small desk and his jacket across the chair. He went straight to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and then headed into the small bedroom. The fresh OD green flightsuit he’d put out earlier was hanging on the closet door. Alex retrieved the one he’d been wearing earlier and removed the various patches, held on with Velcro, along with his leather name tab. Last to come off were the subdued gold oak leaf emblems on the shoulders. Alex tossed these, along with the leather tab, into a drawer in his dresser. From the same drawer, He withdrew a new leather tab with his new rank, name, and Master Pilot’s Wings, and a set of subdued silver oak leaf emblems. He went to the clean flight suit and placed the tab, emblems, and the patches he’d removed from the old uniform in their proper places.
Satisfied with that, Alex changed the rank out on his flight cap and put it on the dresser. He stretched largely, then took off the shoulder holster with its Beretta 92SB and placed it on the headboard of the bed. With the terrorist threat what it was these days, the Air Force required its officers to be armed when off base.
Removing the weapon caused Alex to remember the reason why he always carried a firearm, and probably always would. The sight of his friend, Greg Baker, crossed his mind. A gregarious, likable Irish Setter, he had been gunned down while setting at a bistro in Paris. Alex had been on his way to meet him for lunch while they were attending the Paris Air Show. From across the street, he had seen the car speed up, seen the fur with the Kalashnikov in the back seat, could’ve stopped them if he’d been armed.
An easy, clear shot at both shooter and driver, no pedestrians in the line of fire, and a large truck parked just past the bistro would’ve stopped the car. As it was, the shooter just sprayed the place where Greg was sitting, and the car maneuvered around the truck and sped off. Alex later found out that the group who claimed responsibility hadn’t cared who Greg was, only that they’d killed an American. As he held his friend as he died, Alex vowed never to be caught like that again, and so far, he hadn’t.
Breaking from his reverie, Alex felt too keyed up to sleep. He removed his shirt, socks and shoes, and moved to the clear area in the center of the room. He did some stretching exercises, and the a few katas. Not enough to tax his 3rd degree Black Belt skills, but enough to drain off the excess energy and help him relax.
That done, Alex turned off the lights, finished undressing, and crawled into bed.
“Seems like I’ve got the world by the tail,” was his last thought, but his sleep was not peaceful. In his dreams he walked through a thick fog, full of foreboding.
End of Chapter 1.