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 copyright Tigermark 2003 unless otherwise noted. Request permission before using them, please.

The character Anatol Altaisokova is my name for a character copyright Max Blackrabbit, and appears in this story with his permission.

                                                                             Chapter 4

                                              Life goes on

    The wake had been a rather subdued affair, with mostly just the family there. The exception was the group of Jason’s fellow pilots who had stopped by. Several of them had reiterated what Sgt, Gustafson had told Alex, that Lt. Col. Mastifson was already saying the cause of the crash was pilot error. Even with that, the mood was lighter by the end of the evening as recalling funny events and fond memories began to soften everyone’s grief. After a final toast of, “To Stalker! May he fly forever with God!” the guests had left, and the family retired for the night. Alex’s sleep had been without dreams, but restless nonetheless.

    The next morning, everyone was up early for the day of traveling. Talia was not a fan of flying, so she departed shortly after breakfast for the drive back to West Virginia. Tia had went with her to keep her company, leaving Alex, Anton, Jenna and Andrew to fly there in Alex’s rented Beechcraft Baron.

    Now, as they loaded their gear, Alex was occupied doing the weight and balance calculation for the aircraft. The Baron was a sturdy, quick, light twin-engine aircraft that would carry the furs and their luggage without a problem.

    Alex stood by the port wing and looked over his calculations, then his flight plan and navigation fixes, and decided everything was ready to go. He gathered everyone to where he stood for a pre-flight safety briefing.

   “Taken your Dramamine yet, Dad?” Alex asked.

    “No, thanks for reminding me,” the older tiger shrugged and pulled a package out of his jacket pocket, extracted one dose, and swallowed the pill without water. Jenna shook her head, muttering about too much macho in the family.

   Alex smiled, and then started his standard briefing, about safely getting out of the aircraft in case of a crash-landing, and to make sure everyone secured their seatbelts well for takeoff and landing. That done, Alex ushered everyone to his or her seats, then pulled the wheel chocks as he finished his preflight. He boarded, made sure the door was securely latched, and began his engine start procedure. After a robust call of “clear prop!” out the window to alert anyone nearby, Alex got both engines turning, and received clearance to taxi. He nudged the throttles forward and moved the Baron to the end of the runway, stopping at the striped line that held him clear of any landing aircraft.

    “Baron Five Two Yankee holding short of Runway Two Three at Sumter, advise any traffic,” Alex called on the Sumter unicom frequency. Sumter had no control tower, so aircraft flying in and out used this frequency to advise each other where they were.

   “Five Two Yankee, Eight Zero Delta is a Cessna 206 inbound for Sumter, 3 miles out on approach, go ahead, you have plenty of time,” came a gentle southern-accented voice in reply. Alex could see the Cessna’s landing light well off to his right. He pushed the throttles forward and turned onto the runway, beginning his take-off run without stopping.

   “Five Two Yankee, rolling,” he advised the Cessna.

    The Baron was heavy with fuel, furs, and luggage, but Alex soon had them climbing smoothly away. They executed a slow right turn to the North, and Alex was quickly immersed in navigating and talking to the various ATC concerns they passed through.

     The beauty of the Smoky Mountains spread with a springtime mantle of green was passing the nose and along the port wing. The day was warm and the winds light from the Southwest, giving them a slight boost in their journey as they crossed from North Carolina into Virginia. Little puffs of fair weather cumulus began to dot the sky as they crossed the higher Appalachians along the Virginia/West Virginia border.

   The trip was uneventful, with only an occasional bump of light thermal turbulence at their altitude. Alex guided the Baron to the West of Charleston, bringing the smoke stacks and cooling towers of John Amos power plant into view off the starboard wing. Before long they were far enough North to set up an approach on Yeager Airport’s main runway.

    “Yeager Approach, November Three One Five Two Yankee is a Beech Baron twelve miles North of Yeager at eight thousand five, inbound on IFR flight plan with Golf,” Alex called.

    “Five Two Yankee, Yeager Approach, squawk three seven seven three,” came the reply.

    “Five Two Yankee, copy squawk three seven seven three,” Alex said. He showed Andrew, who was in front with him, how to set the transponder and push the IDENT button. Anton, still fully under the effects of the Dramamine, was dozing in the forward-facing seat behind Andrew. The rear four seats in the Baron were arranged club-style, which is two behind the pilot facing back, two in the back facing forward.

     Jenna sat behind Alex in the rear-facing seat, lost in thought. She sighed as tears began to brim in her eyes again. Jason and she were supposed to be making this trip, first to Anton’s, and then to the mountains in Eastern West Virginia for camping. They had always loved the outdoors, and doing things as a family as Jason’s schedule allowed. Now there was only the empty ache in her heart, and her resolve to carry on for her cubs.

    She looked over at Anton, whose head was resting on the window as he softly snored. The older tiger’s face, so much like Jason’s, was peaceful. Somehow, that gave Jenna some comfort. A still, small voice in her heart seemed to say, “It will be alright.” She turned back to look out the window, her eyes now clear of tears for the first time in what seemed like ages.

    “Five Two Yankee, Yeager Approach, I have you twelve North at eight thousand five, heading one zero zero. Come right to one eight zero, descend to five thousand,” Yeager’s approach controller called.

    “Five Two Yankee, copy, coming right to one eight zero, descending to five thousand,” Alex’s smooth baritone replied as he turned the Baron and pulled back the throttles. He set the flaps and trims and eased the aircraft down toward five thousand feet.

    “Yeager Approach, Five Two Yankee at five thousand,” Alex informed the controller several minutes later.

    “Five Two Yankee, come right to two three zero, intercept outer marker in two miles. No other traffic at this time, expect a straight in approach to runway two three,” the controller replied.

   “Yeager Approach, Five Two Yankee copies. Coming up on outer marker,” Alex said, and then followed a moment later with, “Yeager Approach, Five Two Yankee is over the outer marker.”

    “Five Two Yankee, Yeager, follow standard approach, contact Yeager Tower at the middle marker on one two five point seven, good day,” the controller said. Since traffic was light and weather good, the controller wasn’t standing on protocol and talking them all the way down to handoff.

   “Five Two Yankee copies, Yeager, contact tower on one two five point seven, thank you,” Alex replied. He already had the tower frequency up on the second radio, so no adjustments were needed there.

    “Andrew, find the checklist in here marked landing and read it off to me,” Alex asked, handing the young tiger a small flip chart of checklists.

    “Okay, Uncle Alex,” Andrew replied matter-of-factly. Alex had noted the cub enjoying the flight, but he hadn’t shown the curiosity and enthusiasm in flying Alex would’ve expected to see in Jason’s son.

    “Ah, well,” Alex thought, “Maybe the bug hasn’t bitten him yet.”

    Soon, gear down, flaps set, radios checked for the right frequency, and a few minutes left before he needed to contact the tower, Alex began pointing out features on the ground as they flew over.

    “If you look over on my side, you’ll see the little community where Dad lives passing under the port wing,”

    “Uh, which is which again, I keep forgetting,” Andrew said, looking sheepishly over at Alex.

    “Port is left, starboard is right. That’s alright, Andrew. I’ve seen grown furs with lots of flight hours forget that for a few minutes, too,” Alex replied with a wink.

   Andrew sat up in his seat and leaned over toward Alex to see.

   “Grandpa! I can see your house!” he exclaimed, causing the older tiger to awaken with a start. Jenna had been looking out the window, a slight smile on her muzzle as she recalled the happy times she and Jason had spent in the little town below them while visiting Anton. She now turned back to see him give a tongue-curling yawn and a mighty stretch. She smiled at him in earnest, and he grinned back.

    “Looks like we’re nearly there. Good, I’m hungry,” Anton said.

    Alex smiled. His father could always eat, and the Dramamine had eliminated the airsickness on the return trip. Alex continued to point out different landmarks as they flew down the approach.

    At five miles out, Alex contacted Yeager Tower and was cleared to land. They continued their approach, passing over the towers and bridgework that held the glideslope equipment and lighting suspended over the valley just before the end of Runway 23. Yeager was, at a field elevation of 931 feet, one of those airports that met you halfway, having been built upon the shaved off tops of 5 mountains.

   Alex eased into the landing flare, setting the main gear on the runway just at the numbers. He cut power and braked to slow taxi speed in plenty of time to turn off the 6300’ runway at Taxiway C about halfway down. As they turned left off the runway, Andrew pointed off to their left.

   “Uncle Alex, is this a military base, too?” he asked.

    Alex noted the camouflaged C-130s over in that direction, smiled and said, “No, well, sort of, those belong to the West Virginia Air National Guard. Sort of part time Air Force. Most of the furs who fly with the Guard also have regular jobs, but they train just like the regular Air Force and can be called up if they’re needed.”

   The answer seemed to satisfy Andrew as he only nodded as they taxied past on their way to the general aviation ramp. They turned right at Taxiway C1 and held short for clearance from ground control before crossing Runway 33, the shorter of Yeager’s two runways. A ramp truck met them on the other side and led them to a parking spot amidst the usual collection of light singles and twins. A few larger twins and business jets also dotted the ramp. Alex filed away the thought that he’d have to ask Billy how much business they did in Charleston.

    Alex parked and shut down the aircraft, then opened the door and helped Anton and Jenna out. Andrew had jumped down and was waiting to help Alex chock the wheels and put on the pitot covers. Alex then attached tiedown lines from the Baron to a cable that ran along the parking line. They collected their bags and headed into the Executive Air terminal building, where Alex paid the landing fee and arranged for fuel and parking for the Baron. He caught up to the group as they were putting their bags into the trunk of Anton’s old sedan, which he’d left parked there while he was gone.

   They all got in and Anton drove down the hill, turning right at the bottom to take them into Charleston to get something to eat. It would take Talia and Tia another two and a half hours to get there, so there was no hurry.

                                                         #                                              #                                              #

    Talia and Tia had just walked up the hill from the gravel road leading up to the old cemetery, passing markers that ranged from the early 1800’s to recent times. They had driven straight there upon arriving from South Carolina. They had passed the headstones of Anton’s parents, Alexi and Tiana O’Whitt, and now stood with Jenna, Alex, Anton and Andrew beside the open grave and the polished wood casket. A section of the small town of Elkview lay in the valley below them, the noise of cars passing there a backdrop to the quiet, somber scene.

     Alex chose to say a short prayer, and then said to the rest of the family, “I don’t want to say a lot. I think it’s mostly all been said, so I’ll just say until later, Jason.” He then took a step back. The others one by one followed suit, leaving Jenna last. She sniffled, head and tail down as she said her final goodbye. She placed a paw gently on the casket for a moment, and then stepped back to join the rest. Two furs from the funeral home gently lowered the casket into the grave. Two workers in coveralls waited to fill it in after the family left. After pawshakes and condolences from the funeral home furs, the O’Whitt family walked back down the hill to their cars, Tia crying softly into her mother’s shoulder as they went. They all got in for the short drive to Anton’s house.

    When they arrived, Blake the kaht looked blearily up from his position on the couch, and then stood and stretched, shaking out his bushy dark blue and grey striped tail. Tia dropped to her knees, and the kaht jumped down and strolled over to her with an “about-time-you-got-here” air. She began scratching behind his ears and under his chin, and soon had the felinid rolled onto his back and purring loudly as his stomach was rubbed.

    After everyone had taken their bags to their perspective rooms, Anton and Alex sat down in the couch, each heaving a sigh. Andrew had joined Tia in petting Blake, who was now nearly comatose with pleasure. Jenna and Talia sat in recliners facing the couch. After a moment’s silence, in which everyone looked at each other without knowing what to say or do now, Alex and Anton spoke.

    “It’s good to be home,” they said in unison, causing all the family to laugh.

                                                     #                                                  #                                                 #

    They had all spent the next two days relaxing and unwinding from the high emotions of the previous few days. More tears were shed, and more kind and tender words exchanged, salving the wounds to each other’s hearts. All too soon, Alex flew Jenna and the cubs, and Anton, and even Blake in his carrier, back to South Carolina. Anton was going to help Jenna pack and watch over the movers, and help with any last minute glitches. Anton’s uncle Anatol remained under the weather, so Alex didn’t get to see him before time for him to go back. After returning the Baron to the operator at Trenton Mercer Airport in New Jersey, he made his way to McGuire AFB to catch a hop back to Germany.

    Now, settled into a seat on a C-130, Alex closed his eyes and slept on the long flight overseas. He awoke when the change in the engine sounds told him they’d started their descent into Rhine-Mien. He stirred and stretched, trying to get the kinks out of his neck from sleeping sitting up. A couple of junior enlisted furs, a woodchuck and an opossum, goggled at his wide yawn, but and old Army badger Sergeant Major just winked at him knowingly. Alex gave a nod back, acknowledging a fellow long time, long distance flier.

    Alex gathered his carry-on bag and his hat, and was ready to go when the wheels touched the runway. It was drizzling and foggy when he stepped off the plane, typical of German weather in the late spring ahead of a warm front. He waited on the tarmac to retrieve the rest of his luggage, and then headed for the customs room to clear in. A German Immigration officer checked his ID card and orders, and his passport as well. Finally released and feeling very jet-lagged, he started out through the Aerial Port building.

    As he walked a familiar female voice called out, “Welcome back, Tiger-o-mine.”

    Alex turned to find Tasha Shannon walking rapidly toward him.

    “Tasha? How did you know I was coming in now?” he asked.

    The tigress didn’t answer and Alex forgot the question as she barely came to a stop before pulling him into a tight embrace. Again, both were struck by the feeling of family and friendship, instead of passionate love. As they released each other, Alex started to speak, but Tasha shushed him as she had done when he left for the States.

    Shhh. I know, I feel it, too. Guess we’re just going to have to face it. We’re great friends, but I don’t think being lovers is in the cards.”

    Alex smiled at her a little sadly, and then said, “We can still pal around, and go out together as friends.”

    “True,” Tasha agreed, “and it does solve that sticky ‘you’re leaving’ problem.”

    They looked at each other a few seconds, and then both burst out laughing.

    “It feels good to genuinely laugh. Thank you, Tasha,” Alex said.

    Tasha looped her arm through his by way of answering, and picked up one of his bags. Alex grabbed the others, and the two friends made their way out of the building, laughing and talking, their tails waving merrily as they went.

                                                    #                                                 #                                                      #

    “Jenna, which box do you want these books in?” Anton asked, his arms loaded with pilot manuals and reference books.

    “Hmmm, hang on, I’ll make sure Andrew doesn’t want them before I decide where to put them,” Jenna called back from her position over a box of pots and pans in the kitchen. They were “pre-packing,” that is, putting important things into separate boxes before the movers came. Not all the employees of contract moving companies were honest, and they’d lost things to theft in moves before, so they were going to take some of the more pilferable items with them in the mini-van. Many things were to be given away so they wouldn’t go over their weight allowance.

    “Andrew!” Jenna called. Presently a striped, tousle-haired face appeared at the top of the staircase.

    “Yeah, Mom?” the young tiger said.

    “Look at the books and stuff your Grandfather has there, and see if you’d like to keep any of them,” Jenna said, her mind completely in packing mode right then. Andrew came down the stairs and looked at the stack of books Anton was now fighting to hold up.

    “No, I don’t think so, Mom. I have all the things Dad gave me, and I’m not all that much into flying, so you can give them away.”

    “NO YOU CAN’T,” came a loud shout from upstairs.

    Tia came rushing down the stairs, exclaiming, “Those were Dad’s books. I want them!”

    “Tia, you were never interested much in flying before,” Jenna said, a puzzled look on her face, “Why now all of a sudden?”

     Tia stopped at the bottom of the stairs, uncharacteristically nervous. She pulled absently at a lock of her hair as her tail twitched behind her.

    “I’ve though about it, and I want to learn to fly, and go to the Air Force Academy, and fly jets … like Dad.”

    Jenna couldn’t have looked more surprised. She blurted out, “Tia! You’ve never . . . fly . . . like your Dad?” She was at a loss for a few seconds.

    Tia was ready with a pawful of arguments, and an equal number of rebuttals were forming in Jenna’s mind when Anton spoke up.

    “Uh, ladies, before the claws come out, why don’t we keep the books? Tia can read them and talk to Alex and maybe Billy Panelli. He’s an Academy graduate. Ease up, Jenna, there’s many a day left between now and when this decision is actually made.”

    The two tigresses blinked at Anton, and then at each other.

    “Alright,” Jenna said at last, relaxing, “They stay. But in your space, Tia.”

    Tia smiled and grabbed the armload of volumes from Anton and turned to go back upstairs with them. She immediately stumbled into a giant stuffed orange and purple kaht that suddenly materialized in her path. The books clattered to the floor in all directions as she became entangled in the huge plushie. She came to rest flat on her back, the kaht lying muzzle to muzzle atop her.

    Jenna stood open-mouthed in astonishment, while Anton was looking at the discreet foot that had pushed the stuffed toy into Tia’s way. That foot belonged to the now-uncontrollably laughing Andrew O’Whitt. Seeing that Tia wasn’t hurt, only surprised by Andrew’s practical joke, Anton smiled.

    “Son, if I were you right now, I’d be doing less laughing and more running,” The older tiger advised. Taking his advice, Andrew took off up the stairs, still laughing.

    Tia extracted herself from the fuzzy trap and scrambled up the stairs after her brother, yelling, “ANDREW! WAIT ‘TIL I GET MY PAWS ON YOU!”

    Anton turned to look at Jenna, a smile still on his muzzle as they heard the bathroom door slam shut, followed by frantic pounding upon said door as Tia vented her anger.

    “Looks like things are starting to settle back down,” Anton observed. Jenna had to agree. Her two cubs normally drove each other to distraction, especially Andrew, who delighted in teasing and playing practical jokes on his sister. This was the first sign that some semblance of normalcy might be returning to their lives.

    Jenna sighed and smiled back at Anton, saying, “I suppose I ought to break that up.”

    “Nah, let ‘em be for a bit. They need to take the edge off, too,” Anton said as he bent to gather the scattered books, his tail waving in amusement.

    Jenna had to agree. It felt very good to see anything close to normal right now. She returned to her packing, a content smile on her muzzle, as upstairs Tia threatened Andrew’s further existence in a loud voice, and Andrew giggled like a maniac behind the locked bathroom door.

                                                #                                             #                                                #

    TSgt. Bailey walked out of the door and into the waiting area of the office where he’d just given his statement on the F-16 crash. He closed the door behind him, leaned against the frame and let out a soft, “Phew!” His stubby tail wagged in relief.  SSgt. Bodreaux looked up at the bulldog, relief also evident on his own striped face.

    “That was the toughest Q&A I’ve ever been through,” TSgt. Bailey said, “They were really pushing on whether or not that Lieutenant Colonel gave that order.”

    “I know,” replied the tiger, his white fur and black stripes crinkled in a smile now, “They weren’t that tough in Forecaster’s School.” His tail had ceased its agitated flipping and now lay relaxed around the leg of his chair. TSgt. Bailey moved to leave the office, and SSgt Bodreaux got up to leave with him.

    As they walked, the bulldog said, “Feeling easier about all this now?”

    “Some, though I really wish I’d had the chance to talk to the guy. We Siberian Tigers aren’t all that common. We might have had mutual friends, or even have been related,” SSgt. Bodreaux replied sadly.

    “Maybe, but he was half snow leopard, too,” TSgt. Bailey said matter-of-factly. He was no purist, but the information seemed pertinent to their conversation.

    “Really? I didn’t see any sign of that. He looked regular Siberian Tiger to me,” SSgt. Bodreaux said. His own backround was somewhat clouded, as he’d been adopted at an early age.

   TSgt. Bailey could tell his friend was still bothered by the incident as they walked out of the building. He turned to the tiger and said, “Marc, there was nothing you could’ve done to prevent what happened. It’s unfortunate that he crashed, and it’s unfortunate you didn’t get to talk to him, but let it go, it wasn’t your fault.”

    SSgt. Bodreaux  looked down at the ground for a few seconds, then lifted his gaze and met his friend’s eyes.

    “Thanks, Steve. Yeah, it is a shame, but hey, I didn’t know the fur. Thanks for letting me spout off a little,” the tiger said, “Hey, I’ll see you Tuesday afternoon for swing shift.”

    “Sure thing,” The bulldog answered, “glad I could help. See you Tuesday.”

    The two turned to go to their cars and, with a final wave, got in. Both were glad to put the whole affair behind them.

                                                #                                                  #                                           #

    “Colonel Mastifson, General Boyd is on line two for you.”

    The speaker phone on the rotweiller’s desk startled him. He had been involved with the paperwork for the unit’s upcoming deployment.

    Stabbing a finger at the intercom button, Lt. Col. Mastifson snapped at his administrative clerk.

    “Sgt. DeLaroy!” He yelled into the speaker, “I’ve told you a hundred times to use the tone before you just start speaking! Understand?”

     The Lt. Col. didn’t realize his accent had slipped in his agitation.

    “Yes sir,” came the reply, sounding not the least bit sorry.

    The rotweiller ignored the implied slight. To him, enlisted opinions didn’t matter anyway. His mind had already shifted to the incoming call. Why would General Boyd, a friend of his uncle’s, be calling him?

    Picking up the pawset, he pushed the button for line two and said, “Hello, Lt. Col. Mastifson here, what can I do for you, General?”

    General Boyd did not seem impressed by who Lt. Col. Mastifson was, nor by his accent.

    “You can drop the accent with me, Mastifson. I know your uncle and I know where you’re from,” the General said without preamble.

    “Uh, yes sir, what can I do for you?” Mastifson said, his accent reverting to standard Midwestern.

    “Let me get one thing straight, Colonel, I’m only calling you as a favor to your uncle. I’m going to be heading up the inquiry into the fatal crash you just had in your unit, so listen to what I have to say. You stated that you believe Captain, ah, O’Whitt failed to transition to instruments upon encountering a thin IMC layer shortly after takeoff, is that correct?”

    “Yes sir,” Lt. Col. Mastifson said, somewhat taken aback by the General’s abrupt manner, “The cloud layer didn’t seem more than a couple of thousand feet thick, then I broke into the clear.”

    “Colonel, that cloud layer was over eight thousand feet thick, according to the weather data, radar reports, and pilot reports from the area at that time. It must have taken over 20 seconds to climb through that in cruise climb. That is not a thin layer. Your statement says you noticed Capt. O’Whitt wasn’t with you shortly after you cleared the clouds, is that so?” General Boyd’s voice was impatient and slightly angry.

    “Yes sir, I looked around shortly after clearing the cloud cover and noticed Capt. O’Whitt was gone, so I --.”

    “Don’t go where you’re heading there, Mastifson. The ATC tapes show you didn’t say anything to them until Campbell Departure called you because they couldn’t pick up Capt. O’Whitt’s aircraft on radar anymore.”

   Mastifson stiffened. Was the General on his side or not? The tone of the chow was stern, and not at all friendly. He decided to remain silent and hear the rest of what the General had to say.

    “Now the only reason I’m not hauling you up on negligence charges is because of your uncle, and the fact that the preliminary performance data recovered from the crash is pointing to some kind of instrument failure shortly after takeoff. Still, if Captain O’Whitt had been watching his instruments instead of you, he would have caught that and had time to abort his climb short of the clouds and come around to land. By the way, that was a damned fool thing to do, a close formation takeoff into heavy weather. I’m going to try to steer the board of inquiry into a finding of systems failure and keep your order for the formation takeoff out of it.”

    “How did you know about that?” Mastifson said incredulously.

    “Humpf, Lance said you never paid much attention to your surroundings. Both the furs on duty at the weather station heard you give Capt. O’Whitt that order against his better judgement,” General Boyd said, a note of contempt in his voice.

    “Oh, that explains it,” Mastifson began, “Those two lazy, incompetent --.”

    “Those two furs followed their procedure, and the weather for your takeoff was as forecast. Don’t try those arguments with me, Mastifson,” The General growled, “You used poor judgment, and the only reason you’ll skate by this is your uncle.” General Boyd’s anger was very apparent now.

    Mastifson was nervously silent. If the General was indeed on his side, he certainly didn’t sound like it. He had said he would make sure the Board of Inquiry would come up with the proper conclusion, though.

   “Yes sir,” Mastifson replied.

    “Good, now keep your muzzle shut until this is done with. Capt. O’Whitt had a brother Germany who’s just made Lt. Colonel and is heading for TPS at Edwards. If too much of this gets back to him, and he raises any kind of fuss, I’ll have no choice but to put your order into the inquiry record and remand that over to your Commanding Officer for disciplinary action,” General Boyd said, preparing to end the call.

    Mastifson smiled to himself. His current CO, General Barnes, would surely land on him paws and feet if that came about, but he was leaving for a higher command position and another star. The incoming Wing Commander, Colonel Benkins, was a fellow Academy graduate and ambitious rotweiller. He was expecting his first star shortly and wouldn’t do anything that might alienate General Mastifson.

   After a falsely contrite, “Yes sir, not a word,” Mastifson thought a couple more calls might give him some insurance against Capt. O’Whitt’s brother. He recalled the elder O’Whitt from the funeral, and the penetrating look of his ice-blue eyes. The memory caused the canid to give a slight shudder. Yes, some insurance was definitely in order.

    “Goodbye, Mastifson. Keep your nose very clean, understand?” General Boyd said in conclusion.

    “Yes sir, thank you for calling me,” the rotwieller replied, trying to sound humble. He didn’t really carry it off well.

    General Boyd snorted and said, “Like I said, as a favor to your uncle.”

    “Good bye, sir,” Mastifson said in a voice far cheerier than the circumstances called for. After the click on the line told him that the General had hung up, he pushed the button that buzzed his administrative clerk.

    At the Sergeant’s answer, Lt. Col. Mastifson returned to his Bostonian accent and said, “Sgt. DeLaroy, I need a couple of phone numbers . . .”

                                                  #                                                #                                                      #

    Alex had scarcely sat down at his desk to slog through the accumulated paperwork when Scatcat Higgins stuck his maned head in the door.

    “Hey stranger, welcome back!” the lion said with a smile. Alex started to stand, but Scatcat waved him back down. He walked in and pulled a chair around the desk so he could face Alex directly. He settled into the chair and wrapped his tail around his shoes, and then looked earnestly into Alex’s face.

    Alex looked at his friend steadily. This was the lion’s way of assessing whether or not He was really fit to return to work.

    Finally, Scatcat said, “You doing alright, Ice?”

    “Well as can be expected,” Alex replied easily. He glanced at the picture on his desk. He and his brother in their flight suits, Jason’s standard tiger-stripe markings and Alex’s unusual ones the easiest way to tell them apart.

    Pointing to the picture, Alex said absently, “Jason was the spitting image of Dad.”

    Scatcat merely glanced at the photo, having seen it often enough while in Alex’s office, the sudden shift in reference causing him some concern. He looked into Alex’s eyes and saw the calm, rational look he was used to in return.

    “Yes, I guess so,” Scatcat said, waiting to see where Alex was going with the statement, “I’ve only met your dad that one time at the Airshow in Charleston when we were with the Thunderbirds.”

    Alex smiled and said, “Yeah, that was one of the best times I had with the T-Birds, getting to perform for my family and home-town crowd.”

   Scatcat took a more serious tone, becoming Colonel Higgins as he said, “Ice, have they told you anything about the circumstances of the crash?”

    “Officially, no,” Alex replied, his own tone and look serious now, “They have the systems data recorder boxes, and they’ve interviewed the weather, base ops, ATC, and ramp furs, and pulled all the ATC tapes.”

    “All standard stuff,” Col. Higgins said, “Anything else?”

    “Jason’s CO, an overly-enthralled-with-himself rotweiller Light Colonel named Jefferson Mastifson, has been trying to lay it on as pilot error, but the furs in the squadron don’t buy it.”

    Jefferson Mastifson?” Col. Higgins said, dredging up details from his memory, his face scrunched up in concentration, “General Lance Mastifson’s nephew? Very egotistical, as I recall. Stuck on himself because he went to the Academy. Better steer clear of him if you can, Ice, his uncle’s a three-star. Pulled a lot of strings to help his career, and I know of at least one other incident I’ve heard of that got glossed over. I don’t think it’s beyond the general to splash your career if you cross his nephew.”

    Alex looked at his CO non-committaly, the tip of his tail slowly twitching.

    Col. Higgins frowned and said, “I know that look. Let the Inquiry do its job before you try having rotweiller for dinner, OK?”

    Alex smirked slightly. To anyone else, he would have seemed calm and unemotional, but the Colonel and he had known each other for many years, and both being feline, could read the subtle nuances of each other’s facial expressions. Col. Higgins could tell the tiger was far from pleased with his brother’s CO.

    Heaving a sigh, Alex said, “Alright, Scatcat, alright. I can’t chew on him from here, anyway,” Then he plastered an overly toothy grin on his muzzle and said through clenched teeth, “Ish Thish Bether?”

    Col. Higgins burst out laughing and Alex relaxed into a genuine smile.

    As his CO’s laughter subsided, Alex asked, “Okay Boss, what’s on tap for this week’s missions?”

    Reverting to Scatcat mode, the Colonel held up a paw and said, “Two questions before we get down to business. How are Jenna, the cubs and your dad, and how are things with you and that gal you’re seeing? Heard somebody say she met you when you got off the flight from the States last night.”

    Alex shook his head, saying, “Nothing goes unnoticed around here, does it? Okay, here goes, Jenna and the cubs are alright, I called them right after I got in, they’re handling all this as well as could be expected. Dad’s Okay, too, but Jenna said he didn’t feel well after supper, and hadn’t eaten much. Guess he’s still a bit off from everything. Jenna even said Tia had expressed an interest in flying now. I don’t know if that’s for real, or just a reaction to her dad’s passing,” Alex paused briefly, and then continued, “Time will tell, I suppose. As far as Tasha and I, that’s a mighty nosy question, Boss.”

    That last bit he’d said surprised Scatcat, but then he saw the merriment alight in Alex’s eyes, and the way the tip of his tail was waving, and knew he was being teased. This reassured him more than anything else that Alex was alright and fit for duty.

    Scatcat harrumpfed in mock-stern officialdom and said, “Well, if you’re going to run off and elope, it is my business, mister!”

    Alex laughed in spite of himself, and then said, “Okay, okay, I give. If you must know, Tasha and I reached the mutual conclusion that, while we make great friends, that’s all we’ll will ever be. We’ll still go out and pal around, but shoot, Scatcat; I’ve only got two and a half months before I leave.”

    Scatcat smiled, rather sadly, and said, “I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t mean to pry. I wish it would’ve worked out for you two.”

    Alex just said, rather distantly, “One day, with the right someone . . .,” and then said, “Okay, on to business, if that’s alright with you, Boss?”

    Scatcat shrugged exaggeratedly and said, “S’arrright.”

    Alex laughed again, and the two friends set to work discussing the upcoming missions.

                                                 #                                               #                                           #

    “Alex, you look tired,” Tasha said as she and Alex sat at the kitchen table in her apartment. Dinner was cooking, and they were sharing conversation and iced tea while they waited.

    “Yeah, I’m sort of beat,” Alex replied noncommittally.

    Tasha looked at him critically for a moment, absently playing with the tip of her braided hair, and then said, “Was it that dream again?”

    Alex had told her of the odd dreams he’d had just before and after his brother’s death.

    “Not directly. I’ve not had either dream again, but I can’t seem to shake the feeling that they meant something. It’s this endless speculation in my mind, especially since I don’t have all the information available. I’m concerned the investigation board will overlook something, and that might all too easily happen if Jason’s CO’s uncle gets involved.”

    “Do you really think that might happen?” Tasha asked, a very serious expression on her face.

    “It might,” Alex said, “from what Bart Higgins has told me, General Mastifson is very protective of his nephew. He said this is not the first incident that Mastifson’s been involved in where his uncle turned a blind eye and exerted influence to keep the fur’s career on track.”

     “What will you do?” Tasha asked gently. Alex was too lost in thought to notice how closely she was watching him.

    Realizing she was waiting for an answer, Alex said, “Nothing drastic.” He smirked, recalling Scatcat’s warning about going off on the rotweiller, and then said, “But I would like to know what the investigation board is looking at. That way I’d know if someone skewed the findings. If that happens, I can appeal the conclusion and once the IG (Inspector General, sort of a military independent investigative office) gets hold of it even Mastifson’s uncle wouldn’t be able to stop it.”

    Tasha continued to look closely at Alex, and then she slowly blinked and said, “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. It could mar the memory of your brother almost as bad as them finding pilot error.”

    Alex looked at her sharply, breaking from his introspection. He started to say something, but then noticed Tasha’s thoughtful, concerned expression.

    “Ah, you’re right, of course,” he said with a sigh, and then with a smile he said, “Where am I going to go for good advice like this after I leave?”

    “Alex,” Tasha said sincerely, “I don’t think you’ll ever have a problem with lacking friends and advice. There’s something about you that attracts good friendships, and you always seem to surround yourself with folks who are wise about various things,”

       Alex looked down and shrugged, warmed by the compliment, but not feeling very special or wise at the moment.

    “Most of my friends are Christians. It’s a good crowd to be in for wisdom and advice,” he replied after a moment. They had never discussed religious matters much, and Alex found he was unsure where Tasha stood in the matter.

    Tasha smiled warmly and said, “You know, that was one of the things I first noticed about you at the party where we met. You didn’t drink, and you weren’t trying to paw my clothes off or get me into bed. You talked to me like a real fur, instead of some decorative object.”

    Alex returned her smile, glad to leave his troubled thoughts behind for a while.

    “That’s how wonderful ladies are supposed to be treated, and you are a wonderful lady,” he said.

    “Flatterer,” Tasha said with a laugh.

    Before Alex could ask about her relationship with the Lord, the timer dinged, announcing their dinner was ready. They both got up and helped themselves to a plateful of the schnitzel and steamed vegetables Tasha had prepared.

    Alex re-filled their glasses, and then took Tasha’s paw in his as he sat back down. They bowed their heads as Alex said a short grace. He then released her paw and held his glass of tea up.

    “To great friends,” Alex said with a smile.

    “To great friends,” Tasha repeated, smiling back at him.

    As their glasses clinked together, Alex realized that it was the first time since he’d been back that he felt truly relaxed.

                                                                       END OF CHAPTER 4

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