FIRE ON HIGH
“Fire On High” is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. All characters and settings © Tigermark 2003-2018 unless otherwise noted. Request permission before using them, please.
The characters of Anatol Altaisokova and Melinda Altaisokova are my names for characters © Max Blackrabbit. They appear in this story with his permission. The characters of Brandy, Maxwell, Tonya and Zig Zag are also © Max Blackrabbit and appear here with his permission. Events and information relating to Tonya, Anatol, and their family are presented here, but are not to be considered canon to those characters or any other story but this one. ZZ Studios, and all characters associated with ZZ Studios, James Sheppard, and Marvin Badger © James Bruner and appear here with his permission. Although characters from and events referring to Zig Zag the Story appear here, this story is not canon to that one, and the author will disavow any knowledge of this story. Wanda Vixen © Chris Yost and appears here with his permission. Sabrina Mustidalae © Eric W. Schwartz and appears here with his permission. This story is not canon to Sabrina Online the comic, or Sabrina Online the Story, either. Matt Barstock, Angie Rockwell, Intermountain Charter, The Bitch, and her crew, and Jerry Kitt © Silver Coyote. See their story HERE. Gail Rutherford © me and is not canon to any other story involving ZZ Studios. Gabrielle Ryder and Jean LeBrun © Aslaug, from her Transitions stories. See them at her site, The Axe Shed, available from the links page. Aramis Dagaz is© his player and appears here with his permission.
Author’s Note:
Chapter 82
Fledgling
Alex sat at his desk, working his way through the six-month reviews of their new pilots. All had been doing well and had proved to be great additions to the business. It had fallen to him, as Billy had been spending a lot of his time working with Corrie on setting up their new operation. Before long it would be time for Corrie to move down to Kentucky. He smiled to himself, recalling their last date two weeks ago.
It had been he and Billy’s last airshow at the old Pease AFB in New Hampshire, now an Air National Guard Base. She had come down to watch and they’d had a wonderful date on Saturday evening.
Now, it was getting on toward Autumn. The airshow season was over, and they wouldn’t be performing as a team again. If there was a demand, they might individually do a demo, but not scheduled as a duo act. A knock on his door roused Alex from his reverie.
“Come,” he stated in the traditional response. The door opened, and Billy stepped in.
“Hey Alex, got a minute?”
“Sure Billy, have a seat. What’s up?” Alex waved his friend to a chair. The older tiger sat down and looked his partner in the eye.
“The date is set. I’ll be out for about a week and a half, starting next Thursday.”
Alex looked at Billy a bit sidelong, “Are you sure it won’t be longer?”
Billy smirked. “Yes, I’m sure. Laparoscopic gall bladder surgery has come a long way since hacksaws and butcher knives.”
Alex grinned. When Billy had gone in for the checkup he’d scheduled, at first, they couldn’t find anything wrong. Being, as Penny had called it, “peskily persistent,” he’d kept pushing until the doctors finally ordered an x-ray scan. It had shown his gall bladder to be nearly full of stones. He’d delayed surgery until after their airshow season, but now the time had come.
“We’ll see what Penny says about that. I know she was relieved when it wasn’t something worse,” Alex replied.
“Uh-huh. She’s still mother-hening me about what I eat,” Billy said ruefully. “Anyway, While I’m out, don’t spend every minute in here. Duncan and Loni can run this place for a little while just fine.”
Billy was only half-teasing. Alex gave a rueful smirk in return. “Oh sure, I’ll just show up once or twice and check up on things.”
“Yeah, yeah, just don’t run yourself ragged. Hey, heard anything on Mastifson or the sabotage case?” Billy inquired.
Alex leaned back in his chair a moment. “No, and I’ve been enjoying the quiet. I’m hoping that since I didn’t crash or violate any FAR’s, that he’s either done or at least given up, but you never know.”
“That’s certainly true, especially in his case. Folks across the way say he’s just been going about his job, not even being as obnoxious as usual.” Billy had scrunched his face up, recalling the last he’d heard on the Rottweiler.
“Sounds like a good time to change the subject,” Alex said with a smirk. “How’s Helipro coming along?”
“Oh app, er, great!” Billy replied, catching himself. He’d been talking so much with Corrie she nearly had him using her slang. “The airport board was more than happy to lease the old hangar and ramp. I just got word yesterday that our application for an economic development grant has been approved. That’ll cover the cost of razing the old hangar and building a new hangar and office and rebuilding the ramp and driveway. Anything that might be left will go toward initial salaries. So far, there are no major hurdles to making a heliport pad along Taxiway Echo.”
“Heh, apples indeed. I’m so glad it won’t be much longer before Corrie moves down here,” Alex stated.
“Yeah, I bet. Oh shoot, I’m taking up too much of your time, See you at lunch?” Billy inquired as he stood up to leave.
“Sure, see you then,” Alex answered as he prepared to get back to work on his reviews.
# # #
“Alright Ms. O’Whitt, show me an engine out situation.”
The flight examiner was an irascible middle-aged raccoon named John Styers. Tia nodded and began the procedure.
“Yes sir, call ATC and declare an emergency, request nearest airport. If no ATC coverage, look for a suitable landing place. Insure aircraft maintains glide speed and safe attitude. Reduce throttle to idle and look for instrument indications of cause of failure. Check fuel tank selector and level, attempt restart.”
“That’s fine, young lady. Very good. You can take us home.”
Tia glanced over and saw only a neutral expression on the raccoon’s face, so she just smoothly complied.
“Bluegrass Approach, November Charlie Three Five Zulu is a Cessna One Seventy Two, six north of the airfield at three thousand, requesting approach for Runway Two Two.”
The mid-day traffic was minimal, so the reply was swift. “Three Five Zulu, Approach, squawk four five five seven.”
Tia set the transponder and pushed the ident button. Again the controller responded immediately.
“Three Five Zulu, Approach, radar contact six north. Come right to one eight zero, maintain three thousand.”
“Coming right to one eight zero, maintain three thousand, Three Five Zulu,” Tia replied as she banked the Cessna and came around to the new course. A moment later, Approach Control called again.
“Three Five Zulu, come right to new course two two zero, descend and maintain two five hundred, contact Bluegrass Tower on one one niner point one, good day.”
Tia smiled as she replied, “Coming right to two two zero, descending to maintain two five hundred, contacting Tower, Three Five Zulu, thanks.”
Tia switched radios to the one already set for the tower frequency. At a glance she noticed that someone had turned the frequency knob from point one to point nine. She “tsk’d” to herself and turned it back. She glanced over to see the examiner grinning. She pointedly ignored that and called the tower.
“Bluegrass Tower, November Charlie Three Five Zulu is a Cessna One Seventy Two, five out at two five hundred on approach for Runway Two Two.”
She then reached over and turned on her landing lights. The tower responded quickly.
“Three Five Zulu, Tower has you in sight, continue normal approach, advise runway in sight.”
“Three Five Zulu,” Tia replied as she set flaps and throttle to their approach positions. The aircraft settled, taking on a gentle glide angle. A few seconds later, she called the tower back.
“Blugrass Tower, Three Five Zulu has the runway in sight.”
“Three Five Zulu, continue normal visual approach, winds two three zero at five, altimeter two niner eight seven.” the Tower responded.
“Three Five Zulu.”
The approach and landing were routine. As Tia turned onto Taxiway Alpha, she called Ground Control for taxi instructions. In a few minutes, she had parked the Cessna and shut everything down. She hopped out and chocked the wheels. Mr. Styers got out a moment later. Tia had come around and now presented her logbook and the paperwork for her license. This flight test had followed a thirty-minute oral exam and a written test she’d passed a month earlier. As soon as that was done, the raccoon took his leave and walked away up the ramp. Tia turned, fetched the keys out of the aircraft and headed inside to find Patty.
Just inside she found not only her instructor, but Jack and Jenna as well.
“Er, hi Mom, Mr. Jack. Patty, I did it, I did it!”
She was immediately wrapped in a three-way hug.
“I knew you would,” Jack stated.
“I’m so proud of you!” Jenna said.
“Yay! Way to go!” Patty enthused.
They released the embrace, and now Patty asked Tia an important question.
“So now, Licensed Pilot Tia, what next?”
Tia rather sheepishly said, “Back to school. I still have the rest of today to finish out. I don’t graduate until Spring.”
Jenna interjected, “Darn right. Oh, and you’re driving. That newly-minted pilot’s license will go right beside that two-week old driver’s license in your purse.”
“And that’s my cue to head back to work. See you two at home,” Jack added as he gave Tia another hug and Jenna a smooch and hug.
Patty simply beamed and said, “Congrats Tia. See you soon for that instrument rating?”
“You bet,” Tia replied as she and her mother waved, and they headed for the minivan. Andrew of course was still at school. As they got in, Jenna picked up the conversation.
“So, what will your friends say when you tell them you’re a licensed pilot now?
Tia shrugged as she put on her seatbelt. “The Top Guns are all pretty much expecting it. Most everyone else doesn’t care if it doesn’t involve them.”
Jenna looked pensive for a moment. “That’s . . . kinda sad, in a way. When I was in high school, everybody was always interested in what everyone else was doing.”
Tia smiled. “Mom, most were way more interested when I got my driver’s license. They’re much more likely to bum rides than flights.”
Jenna was reminded again just how grown up her daughter had become. She smiled in return.
“You just keep being you, then. I’m so very proud of you.”
Tia noticed the misting in her mother’s eyes.
“I will Mom and thank you.”
# # #
Corrie was just in from giving a lesson in Old North’s Robinson. She walked in and sat down in the pilot’s lounge with a distinct “whump!” into the overstuffed chair. Ben looked up and arched a bristly eyebrow.
“You okay Corray?”
The lioness rubbed her neck and gave a sigh, her tail arching in agitation. “Can I get Alex back in exchange for this bloke?”
Ben grinned. The student she had now was a licensed private pilot named Rodney Van Meter. An otter by species but lacking in the energy and quick intelligence associated with the name, he had been slow to learn and difficult to instruct. He kept reverting to his fixed-wing patterns of control input and reaction, even though they’d been giving him instruction for a month. Corrie had been working with him for two weeks after Franz Pater declared he couldn’t do anything with the fur.
“What I see,” Ben declared, “is him doing bettah now than befoah. You keep at it.”
The wire-haired terrier then squinted one eye. “You’ve got at least anothah month befoah you head south. Still plenty of time.”
“Yeah, thanks for that, Ben,” Corrie replied, but then she grinned. “You know I’ll miss this, even instructing blockheaded ruddahbutts.”
“Ayuh, I know. Youah welcome to come back up anytime and work, you know. Probably too busy, but youah welcome.”
Ben had a wistful grin on his bristly muzzle. At least, Corrie thought he did. It was hard to tell sometimes. In any case, she smiled.
“Thank you. I’m sure I’ll find time to come up and visit. My friend Terri is staying heah. The othah two sheilas are moving south. Joanne and Patti are moving in about a month. Heh, I think they’ll beat me down to Kentucky the way things are going.”
“Ayuh, no hurray. Tell you what, keep at it with Rodney for two more weeks, and I’ll put you on papah runs from then on,” Ben offered.
Corrie grinned. The paper runs as they were called were supply runs to the lumber camps. They usually had breaks in between, so that would give her time to finish packing up and prepare for the move south.
“That’s a deal, Ben. I’m heading home, see you latah.”
“Ayuh,” was all the wire-haired terrier said as Corrie stood up and left for home.
# # #
Jefferson Mastifson was going about his day, deep in the minutia that his job entailed. He’d been rather relaxed for a while. He’d flown to different cities in the southeast on the weekends, enjoyed himself, and then sunk into his job during the week. He had gone to the FAA website in search of a particular FAR when an item on the latest news page caught his attention.
“Lexington Airshow Team to receive Flight Safety Heroism Award.”
The Rottweiler arched an eyebrow and read the article.
“The airshow act Team Stripes from Kentiger Executive Air Service in Lexington, KY has been selected to become this year’s Flight Safety Award for Heroism recipient. The team, consisting of two refurbished T-38 Talon trainers, was in Milwaukee, Wisconsin this summer for the Milwaukee Air and Water show. The team showed exceptional skill and heroism in attempting to assist a Cessna 172 that was flying erratically near General Billy Mitchell IAP. While the aircraft and its occupants ended up being lost, the efforts of the two pilots, Alex O’Whitt and William Panelli showed great skill and dedication to aiding a fellow aviator in difficulty. Their actions were cited for likely saving several lives on the ground.”
The article finished by describing the award. Suddenly Mastifson realized what had been happening. He’d gotten complacent. After seeing O’Whitt slink back into Bluegrass Field after his engine failure, he’d decided to let things cool down a bit. He’d all but forgotten the tiger and his affronts to Mastifson’s honor. The article had brought it all back. Now the tiger was about to be awarded. Mastifson half-growled. He’d been waiting for O’Whitt to make a mistake, to screw up in some way. That hadn’t happened, so now the Rottweiler knew he’d have to find a way to increase the pressure. He still had Diablo’s phone number, so he decided not to wait to make the call. Perhaps this time, a little more direct action was needed. What had been done, even though he knew O’Whitt had been told it was done on purpose, had done little to bother the tiger, other than as a temporary inconvenience. This time, he would inquire of the fur on the other end of the line what might be done to disable O’Whitt. Oh, he’d warn about the tiger’s martial arts prowess, but paid muscle like Diablo usually knew how to overcome such things.
Feeling he was back from his time of complacency, Mastifson pulled out his cell phone.
# # #
Diablo was sitting on the patio of his home, contemplating going inside for lunch. He’d spent the morning doing yard work, a rare thing for him. He’d had a couple of day’s downtime, and he’d decided to just stay at home and relax. Business had been good, and he had felt, for once, good about it. Ever since the job for the Rottweiler had almost gotten him in trouble with one of his main employers, things had been on the upswing from that employer. Almost as though they were keeping him too busy to take any other assignments.
The large Boxer/ Great Dane hybrid stretched and yawned. Out of cautious curiosity, he’d done some research on the Rotty and his target. Alex O’Whitt was a white hat white tiger as tall as he was. 3rd degree Black Belt, Panjitsu Master, and CCDW licensee.
“Not someone I’d really care to go after,” he mused to himself softly in his deep bass voice.
Jefferson Mastifson the Third was a Rottweiler screw-up who blamed everyone else for his problems.
“Not someone I’d really care to work for again,”
Just then his phone rang. It was incoming on the old line he was about to discontinue use of. In his line of work, you changed numbers often. Then he saw the name on the caller ID. He all but growled as he waited for the third ring.
“Diablo,” he growled, low, cold, and deep.
“Yes, I have a job for you, I-,” Mastifson began.
“Stop right there. You nearly got me in trouble with some very powerful furs last time. Your business is not welcome here. I have also spread the word amongst my contemporaries. They will not work for you either. Do not call this number or attempt to contact me again, or you will be my target. Goodbye.”
Diablo clicked off the cell phone and dropped it on the table beside him. His wife, a slim lovely whippet who did most of the elevated and burglary work for Diablo, which was more a team name than just his, walked out from the house to join him.
“Well, bad connection?” she said coolly.
He made a sour face and replied, “Yes, remember the rotten Rottweiler you did the hangar job for in Kentucky? The one our company contact said to stay away from?”
She nodded her understanding, now draping her arms around his shoulders. “Yes, what did he want?”
“Said he had a job for us. I stopped him cold and sent him away. We don’t need that kind of trouble.” The canid relaxed as his lady nuzzled his ear.
“Good,” she half whispered. “Lunch is ready. C’mon inside. Then we have the whole afternoon to ourselves.”
She stood and winked at him over her shoulder as she headed back inside. The male half of Team Diablo grinned and followed, all thoughts of the Rottweiler quickly and gladly forgotten.
# # #
Jefferson Mastifson looked at his cell phone like it had slapped him. He had not only been utterly and thoroughly dismissed, but also threatened with death if he tried to call again! He had the distinct impression that someone in a very powerful position was on O’Whitt’s side. How unfair was that? This was a matter of honor between himself and the tiger. Having unknown help offended his particular sense of fairness. Just then, his office phone rang, snapping him out of his angry reverie.
“Mastifson, Airline Liaison,” he snapped as he answered. The fur on the other end paused a few seconds, but then went on. It was a mundane matter dealing with traffic spacing. After dealing with it, the Rottweiler returned to his brooding.
So, maybe he couldn’t hire someone to attack O’Whitt. At least, no one who might be successful and keep his name out of it. Likely as not, any of the local thugs would turn him in without a thought if they got caught. He decided he’d just have to wait for the opportunity to present itself. His network, though not able to do nearly as much as he wanted, might still do just the right action at just the right time to get O’Whitt. He found he no longer cared if that meant shame, blame, injury, or death for the tiger. The voice in his head driving him on and maniacally laughing was alive and well.
End of Chapter 82
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