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 2003-2005 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, and 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 © James Bruner. Matt Barstock and Intermountain Charter, Intermountain forty four, and her crew © Silver Coyote. See their story HERE. A big Thank You also goes to SC, without whose help this chapter wouldn’t exist. Portions of this chapter correspond to his “B-Team” chapter, “The Rematch”

CHAPTER 27

All In A Day’s Work

    “Yeah Dad, I should be back in Winchester by this afternoon,” Alex said into his cell phone. He’d decided to call his father before leaving the hotel to catch a cab over to the FBO at Ashville Regional Airport. He’d just called and asked for the fuel truck to go visit Stripes One, and then called his father. It had only been five short months since he’d retired, but he’d seen his father get progressively weaker. He called him most every day now, when he wasn’t there in person.

“That’s good,” Anton replied. He was sitting in his recliner, where he found himself spending more and more time. “You still coming up this weekend?”

“Yep. Oh, and I got a line on a cheaper ride. Stripes One is fantastic, but pricey. It’s one thing when the company is sharing the operating cost with me, but I can’t afford to fly her back and forth from Lexington to Charleston every weekend.”

“I can see that. What’d you find?” Anton would have to end the conversation before long. He was already getting tired out.

“Sent a deposit on it yesterday. Found it in Trade-A-Plane out in Kansas. A Riley rebuilt Cessna Skymaster. Riley calls it a P337. It has their nice distinctive paint scheme in blue. Uh, Dad, do you think maybe you’d be able to come to Lexington with me for a week or so when I fly back Sunday?”

Anton was quiet a moment before replying. “Yeah, sure. I don’t see why not. Talia will have a fit, but that’s all right. I’d love to.”

“Good! If all goes right, I’ll be in the Cessna. Not as fast as Stripes, but a nice, comfortable ride without helmets or flight suits.” Alex grinned to himself at the thought of a pleasant flight while actually seeing his father while talking to him.

“Sounds fine, Son. See you then, and talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay Dad. Love you. Bye.”

“Love you, too. Bye.” *click*

Alex clicked off and put the cell phone away. He grabbed his flight bag and overnight bag, and headed down to the lobby to check out and call a taxi. He had planned to give his father an update on Jenna and the cubs, but he could tell the older tiger wasn’t feeling well enough this morning for a long conversation.

“Perhaps while Dad is visiting, I can convince Jenna to invite the wolf she’s dating over so we both can meet him,” Alex mused to himself as he paid his bill and called the cab company at the front desk. Jenna had been on Cloud Nine ever since she’d started dating the canid she’d met at church. Somehow though, time and tide had prevented Alex from meeting him. Tia seemed to like him. Andrew seemed indifferent, but Alex suspected that was more from not wanting anyone to “take his Dad’s place” than any real problem with the fur. Alex could understand that. He was a bit uncomfortable with the idea of someone taking the place of his brother in Jenna’s life, too, but he knew that it would be silly to expect that Jenna wouldn’t find someone. After all, she was a young, very lovely tigress, and Alex had hoped she’d date again, hadn’t he? It was also none of his business, really.

    So, Alex had determined to do his best to make sure whomever she chose would be good to her and the cubs. Now, if only things would work out, maybe both he and his father could meet the lucky fur at the same time. Alex chuckled to himself. He’d have to be careful not to run the guy off.

    The taxi arrived out front and Alex bundled his bags out and into the trunk the cabbie had opened for him. A short ride later and he was at the FBO counter filing his flight plan for Lexington. He’d arranged for a boarding stair to be at Stripes One when he arrived. The fuel truck was already there, the gray squirrel behind the counter informed him. Alex paid his parking fee and signed a voucher for the fuel, and then picked up his bags and walked out to where his T-38 stood in the morning sun. The weather was fine now, but there would probably be thunderstorms later in the day.

While the ramp furs continued fueling the aircraft, Alex put his things down and pulled on his parachute harness. He already had on his flight suit and G-suit. He started his standard pre-flight and worked his way around and under the aircraft.

    As he came out from under the wing, Alex stretched himself up as far as he could, working the kinks out of his lower back. Sometimes the portion of his preflight of Stripes One where he was under the aircraft checking main gear and speed brake actuators and pulling the main gear safety pins caused the muscles in his lower back to knot up.

    “Getting old, I guess,” he sighed.

    Finishing his preflight, Alex removed the cover from the Angle of Attack vane and clipped it to his ‘chute harness for stowage in its compartment in the cockpit. He then went to put the gear pins and pitot tube cover in their place inside the fueling hatch.

    “You’re all topped off,” the young wire-haired terrier with the fuel truck called as he put the fueling hose back onto the truck. Alex opened the hatch to stow the pins and cover and double check that the fuel cap was properly secured. It hadn’t been. Alex smirked slightly, thinking, “That’s why we do pre-flights.” Alex motioned the terrier back over to the fuel hatch.

    “Thanks,” Alex said with a patient smile, “But I wanted to show you how to close this properly. Otherwise, fuel might siphon out at high speed.”

    “Huh!” the terrier said, scratching his head above his right ear, “I didn’t think I missed anything.” He sounded a bit defensive.

    “I know,” said Alex smoothly, “I’m not trying to give you a hard time. Stripes One is a pretty uncommon aircraft, so I know a lot of you guys at civilian FBOs don’t have a lot of experience with this kind of fueling. See, once the cap is screwed on tight, there’s a pin that goes here to keep it from backing off.” Alex put the pin, which had still been hanging by its cable lanyard, through the holes until it clicked, securing the cap.

    The terrier’s bushy eyebrows shot up and he exclaimed, “Wow! I’m sorry! I sure did miss that.”

    Alex smiled in earnest and, reading the terrier’s name from his shirt, said, “Well, next time you’ll know. I’ll be back through here from time to time, and I’ll ask for you by name to fuel me. Ok, Roger?”

    Roger’s response was much more enthusiastic. “Great! That’d score me some points with the boss. Thanks for showing me, and for not being mad,” he said, a bit more contrite at the end.

    “No problem, I’ll see you next time through,” Alex said as he finished stowing the gear pins and pitot cover and closed the fuel hatch. He then walked to his flight bag, briefcase/laptop carrier and overnight bag, retrieved his helmet and ‘chute, and placed them at the bottom of the boarding ladder. He then placed the bags and briefcase combo into the center pylon pod he used as a storage compartment.

    Alex turned and went back to where his ‘chute and helmet lay and clipped the chute onto his harness. He watched the fuel truck driving away as he prepared to board Stripes One. Alex smiled to himself, thinking how his aircraft always drew attention, but many of the places he had been going to for sales meetings didn’t know quite how to handle her yet. This had been his first time into Ashville, North Carolina.

    Alex had spent the previous day hopping from calls in Charlotte, Raleigh, Fayetteville, and finally Wilmington, where he had a very successful meeting with the furs at the movie studio there. He had flown to Ashville, preferring to stop there after a very full day, rather than do the long leg all the way to Lexington.

    “This way, I can get some aerobatic practice in that big area over the Smokies east of Knoxville,” Alex had thought.

    Now, preflight and fueling complete, Alex watched as a ramp truck pulled up and a ferret with the name Fred on his company shirt got out. Alex retrieved his helmet and climbed the ladder, Fred right behind him. Alex placed his helmet on the right cockpit sidewall and eased himself down, being careful that his tail was laid neatly in its padded cradle.

Fred wordlessly helped him get connected and strapped in, then descended the boarding ladder and then removed it. After placing it in the back of the truck, the ferret leaned against the bed of the truck waiting for Alex to indicate for him to pull the gear chocks.

    Alex flipped the Main battery switch on and went through his instrument checks. He then dialed up the ATIS and jotted down its information on his kneeboard. Next he set the frequencies he would need on the radios, and called for and received his departure clearance. After notifying Ashville Ground control, Alex started the engines, and then did his control checks. Fred stood leaning against the truck, not bothering to help with either of those tasks.

    “Well, I sure won’t be asking for him by name next time,” Alex thought with a slight frown on his face. He indicated for Fred to pull the chocks. The ferret ambled over and removed them, then ambled back to the truck and tossed them into the back. He got in and drove off without a backward glance.

Alex just shook his head, and then called Ground for clearance to taxi. A short time later he was rocketing down runway three four and into the air. He raised the gear and pulled up at the end of the runway, clawing uphill towards his planned cruise altitude over the Smokies of FL200. Turning left, Alex picked up the Sugarloaf VORTAC and headed west.

                                           #                                                                      #                                                                      #

“Sure Jack, I think it’s about time you met Alex, too. I’m sorry we haven’t been able to make the schedules click.” Jenna was taking a break at her job, talking on the phone and sipping a bottle of diet soda. She’d been working on the computer layout of an ad campaign for a fur conditioner product, and the work was slow. The company hadn’t chosen a spokes-model, and she kept having to put place-holders in where the photos should be. The break and a talk with her boyfriend were easing the buzz in her mind over the layout.

“Ah well. Hey, is he around today? Maybe we could get together for lunch?” Jack was a little nervous about meeting Jenna’s brother-in-law. Both Tia and Andrew had said he could be pretty tough, but he knew Jenna wanted them to meet, so he was taking the initiative.

“Sorry, no. he flew to North Carolina yesterday, and won’t be back until later this afternoon. I think he has something going on this evening, too. I’ll see when he might be available when I talk to him next. Oh, hey, just got an interoffice email about the ad layout I’m working on. Gotta go!” Jenna clicked on the message as she prepared to hang up.

“Okay Sweetheart. Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

Jenna put the pawset in its cradle and read the message on her screen.

Jenna,

    Think we’ve found our spokes-model for the Sunburst fur conditioner campaign. Come to my office ASAP.

                                                                                                                                             Jeremy

Jenna smiled and put the computer in standby mode. She stood and made her way down the hallway to Jeremy Brand’s office. The owner of Bluegrass Advertising and Productions motioned her in and toward a seat. He was finishing a phone call, apparently to the furs at Sunburst.

“Ah huh, yeah. That’s right. Yep, I think she’ll be perfect. Okay then. Yep, should be done by the weekend and ready for your approval by Monday. ‘K, bye.”

The border collie hung up the phone and fixed Jenna with his one-blue and one-brown eyes. Jenna looked inquisitive, waiting for him to tell her who the model would be. He grinned at her after a moment.

“Hello, Miss Sunburst.”

“What! Me?” Jenna was a bit stunned. “Jeremy, I don’t know about this. Who’d want to see an old mother of two in an ad?”

“Well, it’s your choice, of course. If you don’t want to do it, there’ll be no repercussions here, but hear me out. You’re a very beautiful young lady, two cubs or not. Your fur coloration fits perfectly with the logo and add look. Think a moment, and you’ll see what I’m talking about. Besides, you yourself said you use this brand. What better spokes-model than a satisfied customer? It’ll be only still pictures. They want this for a magazine ad, and possibly on the store displays.”

Jenna thought a few moments. Her first thought was to turn down the offer, but she’d been working on the layout all morning, and Jeremy was right, the gold sunburst background would work well with white and black stripes. The specs called for the model to be in a one-piece swimsuit, and to be seen from the waist up. Once the shading was done, her face would be cast into the glow so that her features would barely be seen.

“Why not?” she asked herself. It would mean more money for a summer vacation trip for her and the cubs too. Jeremy always paid the furs who appeared in the ads well, Penny had said.

“All right, Jeremy, you talked me into it. But don’t get the idea I’m going to do this all the time.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, but the fit here was just too perfect. Now, get down to Studio C. Ron Lupino, one of our photographers is waiting for you there. He’ll take the shots and develop them, and then you can scan them in and set them in the ad. There’s a changing room there, and the swimsuit for the add is waiting for its occupant. Sound okay?” The canid cocked his head to the side in a classic look, and Jenna had to keep from laughing as she stood and headed out the door.

“On my way, boss. Thanks.”

“No, thank you! This really saves the campaign. Let me see the ad when you’re done!” Jeremy called as Jenna shut his office door behind herself. She walked down the hall toward the studios, wondering what she’d gotten herself into.

“All in a day’s work, I guess,” she mused.

                                           #                                                                      #                                                                      #    

    The weather was fine, but Alex could see the clouds beginning to develop over the mountains and toward the west. The weather brief had called for thunderstorms later in the day, but Alex planned to be home in Winchester sipping iced tea by then. As he crossed the spine of the mountains, Alex could begin to pick out some of the traffic in the distance, heading in and out of McGhee-Tyson airport in Knoxville. The practice area he wanted to use was just east of there. Reaching the navigation fix he needed, he called Atlanta Center.

    “Atlanta Center, Niner Sierra Tango, I’ll be departing FL200 and going VFR for 30 minutes aerobatic practice in the McGhee-Tyson practice area. Will call to open the second leg of my flight plan.”

    “Nine Sierra Tango, Atlanta Center, Departure to VFR approved. Contact and monitor Knoxville Approach for traffic advisory. Talk to you in 30,” the controller said. Since he was not a “Heavy”, a loaded airliner or cargo jet, most controllers didn’t give Alex a hard time about going VFR in mid-flight. The most he got was usually curiosity about a civilian T-38.

    Alex moved the stick slightly to the right and eased back on the throttles to descend. He liked to do his aerobatic work at about ten thousand feet as a target altitude. He switched frequencies on comm1 and called Knoxville Approach, the ATC entity that monitored the area he was going to use.

    “Good morning Knoxville Approach, November Charlie Four Niner Niner Sierra Tango is a T-38 coming in VFR on a heading of 310 at seventeen thousand for aerobatic work in practice area Alpha. Request traffic advisory,” Alex called in his smooth baritone.

    It took the controller a few seconds to digest his aircraft type and locate him on the radar screen. “Nine Sierra Tango, Knoxville Approach,” came the reply in a soft Tennessee accent, “Good Morning, squawk two five five two.”

    Alex reached up and entered 2552 into the transponder and pushed the IDENT button.

    “Nine Sierra Tango, Knoxville Approach, radar contact ten southwest of Volunteer. No other traffic in your area. Closest traffic at this time is a Boeing seven three seven ten miles north of Volunteer, heading for the approach.”

    Alex noted that this was nearly twenty miles away. “Copy Knoxville, traffic, a seven three seven ten north of Volunteer, no visual. I’ll monitor this frequency for traffic. The Box is hot,” he said, indicating his intent to use the practice area.

    “Nine Sierra Tango, Knoxville Approach, copy the Box is hot,” the approach controller replied.

    As he continued to descend through fourteen thousand, Alex bumped the throttles forward and let the airspeed build to 500kts. The airspeed restrictions didn’t

apply while practicing in “the Box”, the airspace set aside for high-performance aerobatic practice.

    Alex pulled back on the stick, loading on the G’s to around 5, and then eased off over the top of the loop. As the nose passed 45 degrees on the downhill side, Alex put in enough right stick for a slow roll over to wings-level right side up. He then banked left 90 degrees and pulled back on the stick, executing a quick 180 degree turn to stay in the Box.

    Wings level again; Alex raised the nose slightly and executed a four-point slow roll, then an eight point. Banking left once more, he again reversed course, forming the beginning of a racetrack pattern around the Box. Down around eight thousand now, Alex decided to maintain that altitude rather than expend the fuel to go back to ten thousand to start his next maneuver. He put the stick all the way to the right. Stripes One spun around her roll axis at a gut-wrenching seven hundred twenty degrees (two revolutions) per second.

    Alex let the sky and ground trade places before his eyes seven times, and then put the stick back left to stop the roll. He growled low in his throat, partially from the pleasure he got from doing aerobatics and pulling the G’s, and partially from irritation at the fact that he’d missed wings level by fifteen degrees.

    “Not much, but noticeable in an airshow routine. Got to do better than that!” Alex groused to himself. He and Billy had until spring to get ready for the airshow season, but Alex was very demanding of himself where his flying was concerned.

    He continued to work, honing his skills for the next 15 minutes. Alex noted more chatter in his earphones now as traffic into McGhee-Tyson began to pick up. Two more 737s were setting up to land, one already on the approach, one setting up. Then a call came through from a civilian C-130 from Intermountain Charter. Alex went straight and level so he could listen. Civilianized military aircraft were fairly rare, as Stripes One proved when she landed anywhere.

    “Plus,” Alex thought, “We’re beginning to compete with Intermountain in a few markets. It’ll be good to hear how their pilots handle themselves.”

    He began a slow lazy eight while he listened to the radio calls and responses. So far, Intermountain forty four was showing every sign of a crew well ahead of their aircraft. Alex was just considering getting in a few more practice maneuvers before he hit bingo fuel when he heard Intermountain forty four call out over the radio.

    “Knoxville Approach, Intermountain forty four, we’ve got a gear status problem here. We’ll be executing a missed approach at the middle marker if we can’t clear it up by then.”

    Alex’s ears flicked against the pads inside his helmet. “Gear problems?” he thought, “On a Hercules it could be hard to see what’s wrong. Especially if it’s the nose gear.”

   The controller at Knoxville Approach answered immediately. “Intermountain forty four, are you declaring an emergency?”

    “Negative,” came the smooth reply, “We’re trying to figure out why we’re getting a warning light on the nose gear. We’ll keep you advised.”

    “Thank you, forty four, proceed inbound on your approach, keep me advised.”

The voice sounded calm and professional, with no hint of panic. Deciding quickly, Alex turned north and headed toward Volunteer VORTAC. He could just make out the four engine transport against the clouds in the distance.

 Pressing the Push-to-Talk button on the stick, Alex called, “Approach, Niner Sierra Tango, requesting a fly-by of the C-130 for evaluation.”

The Knoxville Approach controller, caught by surprise, called for Alex to repeat his message. “Nine Sierra Tango, Knoxville Approach, say again?”

    “Approach, Niner Sierra Tango, I’m about six south of Intermountain with visual contact. I can do a fly-by for evaluation of his gear situation. Have him meet me on guard if he’s interested.”

    Alex listened as the controller called the Intermountain crew, telling them his aircraft type and asking if they’d accept the fly-by. Their response came quickly.

    “Approach, forty four, that’s affirmative. We’re on guard.”

    Alex flipped the transmit function to comm3, which he usually kept on the emergency, or “guard” frequency of 121.5Mhz. He left Comm1 alone so he could still monitor Knoxville Approach. The 737 ahead of Intermountain forty four called in, making the handoff point from Knoxville Approach to the tower at McGhee-Tyson. He ended his transmission with, “Good luck, forty four.”

    Alex thumbed the PTT on the stick and called the C-130 crew, “Intermountain forty four, Stripes One on guard, I’ll be coming up on your port side momentarily.”  He used his airshow call sign for brevity. He had maintained 300kts since first spotting the ailing Herc, and had gone past her still 6 miles off to the side and well above. This allowed the gray aircraft to stand out against the green mountains below. Alex did a quick left turn and approached the C-130 from behind, pulling back on the throttles and letting his speed bleed off.

    “Stripes One, forty four, we’re stabilized on the approach. We’ve just extended the gear again,” said the smooth voice of Intermountain forty four. Alex could detect some tension in the fur’s call, but he could also sense the calm manner of a professional pilot.

    Alex came up on the Herc from below, both to avoid her propwash and to get a good look at her gear. He watched as the gear extended. The mains were fine, extending down from their sponsons. The nose gear was another matter. Alex eased back the throttles again and dropped the gear and deployed the speedbrakes to match the C-130’s speed.

He could clearly see the starboard side of the nose gear door. It had detached from its mounts and was jammed in the gear mechanism, its aft end sticking out at an odd angle.

    “Hmmm,” Alex thought, easing in to within a few yards of the bottom of the Herc, “looks like it should slip free if they cycle the gear again.”

    Alex slipped back slightly and eased left. He didn’t want to startle the crew by popping up right under their nose. He then deployed the leading edge slats he’d had installed and fully extended the modified flaps. These additions allowed Stripes One a much slower stall speed than a stock T-38, which would have stalled very near the current speed of 150kts the C-130 was maintaining for her approach. Alex could take Stripes One all the way down to 140kts if he stayed on the controls correctly.  As he set up his formation position off the port wing of the Herc, Alex could see that her paint was faded and scarred in places, and that there were stains from previous hydraulic leaks along the fuselage and engine nacelles.

    “This ol’ gal’s been around the block a few times,” Alex thought, “Wonder what the other Intermountain aircraft are like?”

   Alex eased up past the port wingtip of Intermountain forty four to where he could see into the greenhouse windshield area about 80 feet away. The crew consisted of two canids flying and a badger in the navigator’s seat behind them, by what Alex could see of them under their headphones and sunglasses. Both pilots were looking at the panel, and the other fur was looking to starboard at that moment.

    The badger turned his head back to port as part of his normal scan and noticed Stripes One. He called the other two’s attention to her. Both canid’s heads snapped around and all three stared in Alex’s direction, slightly open-mouthed, for a few seconds. Alex was used to that reaction. Stripes One’s vivid paint scheme seemed to have that effect on all who saw her. The three recovered quickly and the pilot held up his right paw in greeting as the fur in the nav seat keyed the radio.

    “Good morning Stripes One, Intermountain forty four here. We’ve got a slight problem with the nose gear.” Alex nodded in agreement, grinning into his oxygen mask and thinking, “That’s a pilot’s understatement, meaning it hasn’t fallen off yet.” He shifted his left paw to the stick and raised his right paw in return, the dark glove contrasting to the clear canopy.

   Changing paws on the stick again, Alex thumbed the PTT and said, “Good morning gentlefurs, I confirm. Your nose gear door is damaged, the starboard aft end is hanging free from the aircraft and the door appears wedged in the gear mechanism. I suggest another cycle of the gear.”

    Alex saw the pilot in the left seat say something, his eyes still on Stripes One. Good crew coordination, he noted. The left-seater, a large coyote from what Alex could tell, was flying the aircraft and leading the crew. The badger in the nav seat was working the radios, and the wolf in the co-pilot’s seat must be working on the gear problem. Alex saw him lean forward toward the panel just before the gear began to cycle up.

    “Intermountain forty four, remain this frequency to the middle marker,” Approach Control called out. Alex noted it was just under four miles to the middle marker.

    “Roger Approach, forty four,” came the reply from the Herc.

    About a quarter of the way into the retract cycle, the errant gear door suddenly slipped free and disappeared below and behind the C-130. Alex gave a low, pleased growl and thumbed the PTT.

    “Forty four,” Alex called, “you have gear door separation. Your nose gear door has departed the airframe.”

    “Somebody down there’s going to get quite a souvenir,” Alex thought as he grinned to himself.

    The gear finished retracting, and a second later Alex heard, “Roger Stripes, gear coming out.”

    The old transport’s landing gear began to cycle down. Alex could see no visible damage to the gear itself, but if the nose wheel didn’t lock, they would have a very rough landing. Alex decided that he would stay on their wing all the way down. It would cause too much confusion to depart now, plus if the gear didn’t get a green, he could tuck in close and see if anything else could be done.

    The gear slowly came down and stopped. An instant later Alex saw the copilot slam his fist down toward his leg as a smile split his muzzle.

    “Stripes, forty four has three greens, we’re going to approach,” the navigator called out.

    “Stripes is with you,” Alex purred in reply. It was good to see the crew’s work pan out.

    “Approach, Intermountain forty four coming up on the middle marker with three greens.” Alex could hear the relief in the badger’s voice.

    “Forty four, Knoxville Approach, you are cleared to land. Monitor Knoxville Tower on one two one point two as able. Nine Sierra Tango, say intentions.”

    Switching transmit to comm1, Alex replied, “Approach, Niner Sierra Tango will fly this fur’s wing to the runway.”

    As the two aircraft slid down the approach, locked in formation, Alex was delicately balancing Stripes One just above her stall speed. The runway loomed large ahead of them as Alex concentrated on holding his position. He noticed the heads of the co-pilot and navigator turned in his direction.

    Alex turned his head to fully face them and, switching paws on the stick again, raised a salute to the old transport and her brave crew. The navigator spoke briefly, and the pilot looked quickly in Alex’s direction. A wild, roguish grin spread across the pilot’s muzzle, and he snapped a first class salute in return. The other two furs joined in quickly, and then all three returned to the business of landing.

    The runway was now less than half a mile away. Intermountain forty four slowed and settled toward it. Alex began to do short, shallow S-turns in his spot beside the Herc’s port wing to keep from running away from her. He reached up and punched in the frequency for Knoxville Tower into comm1 in preparation for his climbout.

    Intermountain forty four settled onto the runway, the pilot holding the nose gear off until the last second. She then settled lightly onto the nose gear, which held perfectly.

    Seeing that the Hercules was down safely, Alex keyed the radio, saying, “Knoxville Tower, Niner Sierra Tango will be departing over runway two three right. Requesting unlimited climb to fifteen thousand.”

    Alex pushed the throttles past the detents into afterburner and raised the speedbrakes. With a twin “POP” the afterburners ignited. Accelerating rapidly, he raised the gear and flaps. As he neared the end of the runway, Alex heard the tower clearing him for departure.

    “Roger, Nine Sierra Tango, unlimited to fifteen thousand is approved. Contact Knoxville Departure at one two three point nine. Good day and Thanks!”

    “Niner Sierra Tango, copy cleared,” Alex replied. He was already at 240kts when he pulled back the stick and Stripes One rumbled skyward. With a wide grin on his muzzle, Alex did a slow aileron roll before punching into the now-broken cloud deck at six thousand. He pulled back out of ‘burner and continued to climb. Calling Knoxville Departure, he asked for and received clearance for eighteen thousand.

    As he eased the climb and prepared to contact Atlanta Center and resume his flight home, Alex smiled again at the memory of how well the Intermountain crew had worked their problem.

    “Seems like a good group of furs,” Alex thought, “Hope I get to meet them sometime.”

    Atlanta Center cleared him to FL240, and Alex turned and climbed toward home.

“All in a day’s work,” he said to himself, a smile on his muzzle.

                                            #                                                                      #                                                                       #

“Let’s see now, he has all the clues, and I’ve got all the suspects in place. All I need now is the scene where Peter reveals who the thief is. The rest should be all in a day’s work.”

Tia was sitting at a table in the classroom of Mister Lapidovitch, the rabbit who sponsored the Writer’s Club at her school. She’d stayed late to put the final touches on the mystery short story she’d written for inclusion in a collection the club was putting out. Her main character, Detective Peter O’Dane, was about to turn and point out the thief who’d stolen the jewels.

She’d just put pen to paper when the classroom door opened. A scruffy-looking canid of undeterminable breed came in, looked at Tia with a slight sneer, and went to gather the trash. Carl Branson spent quite a lot of time after school, either in detention or pulling extra hours helping the janitors as punishment for unacceptable behavior. He hung around with Stewart Zander, but shared none of Stewart’s popularity. Rumors at the school said that Stewart accepted the canid’s company because it leant a little ‘bad boy’ flair to his image with the femme’s. Somehow, though, Stewart was never around when Carl got into trouble.

Tia bent back to her writing, but after a few moments noticed she hadn’t heard the canid leave. The silence caught her attention, and she looked up. Carl was standing a few feet in front of the table, staring at her.

“Do you need something?” she asked, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

The sneer returned to his face. “Pretty kitty. Y’know, Stew didn’t appreciate you ‘n your friends laughing at him in th’ cafeteria that day. Mebbee I should take your high-n-mighty tail down a notch or two.”

He took a step toward her. Tia’s thoughts raced. Mr. Lapidovitch was down the hall in the teacher’s lounge, and she was sure a scream would bring the tall lapine running. It would also get around quickly that Carl had easily spooked her. She decided to put on a confident face, in the hopes the canid would just sneer again and go.

“Stewart brought that on himself. If you are done, I suggest you move on.” Tia hadn’t moved a muscle, fixing a calm, unblinking feline stare on the fur.

 It was not the reaction Carl had wanted. Known to be a rough character and a troublemaker, he had expected the tigress to yell at him, or look scared or call the teacher. That would have let him brag to Stew about how easily he’d scared the femme, who was gaining a reputation as being a very cool customer when under pressure. He paused a second, but decided since she hadn’t called out to press a little farther and see if he could salvage his plan. He fully intended to press as far as he could get away with, feeling that Stew would appreciate him evening the score with the femme. He might get in trouble, but so what? He was always in trouble anyway.

“Oh? And just what are you gonna do if I don’t? Scream for help? If I want, kitty cat, I’ll have you quiet and done before that big dumb rabbit teacher can get in here.” Carl now went from a sneer to a leer. He took two more steps, bringing him right up to the table. The look on his face left Tia with no doubt about what he meant by ‘done.’ She felt fear rising in her stomach, but even more, she felt anger. How dare this, this dog suggest such a thing!

Tia now moved. Her uncle had showed her how. It happened so quickly that Carl blinked, and then flinched. In one fluid motion, Tia stood and snapped her right paw up in front of the canid’s nose, expressing her claws.

“I am a tiger,” she growled, low and sure. “I don’t NEED to call for help!”  

Carl took a rapid step backward, almost falling over the trash can he’d set down to approach the table. Several seconds passed. Tia neither blinked nor backed down. Carl wavered, uncertain whether to take off or try more bravado. The sound of a door shutting down the hall prompted the canid toward the former. He grabbed the trash can and headed for the door.

“We’ll see, kitty cat,” he tossed over his shoulder as he went out, but Tia had seen the fear in his eyes.

After he had gone, Tia slumped back into her seat. While she would have defended herself, her strong front had been partly bluff. Her claws were not very sharp, and the move she’d used was about the full extent of what her uncle had been able to teach her in the brief times he’d been around. Just then, Mr. Lapidovitch came in.

“Ah! Done, Tia?”

“Almost, Mr. Lapidovitch. Just writing the last scene,” Tia replied, picking up her pen. She managed to not show any sign of what had just happened.

“Good! I’m going to work at my desk for a while. When you’re done, put it up there and then go on home,” the rabbit said as he walked toward the desk in the front of the room.

“Yes sir.” Tia went back to her story, but in the back of her mind, she resolved to ask her Uncle Alex for more training in self-defense. She had the distinct feeling that she might find herself facing down Carl or some of his crowd again.

END OF CHAPTER 27

 

 

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