FIRE ON HIGH
“Fire On High” is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. All characters and settings © Tigermark 2003-2018 unless otherwise noted. Request permission before using them, please.
The characters of Anatol Altaisokova and Melinda Altaisokova are my names for characters © Max Blackrabbit. They appear in this story with his permission. The characters of Brandy, Maxwell, Tonya and Zig Zag are also © Max Blackrabbit and appear here with his permission. Events and information relating to Tonya, Anatol, and their family are presented here, but are not to be considered canon to those characters or any other story but this one. ZZ Studios, and all characters associated with ZZ Studios, James Sheppard, and Marvin Badger © James Bruner and appear here with his permission. Although characters from and events referring to Zig Zag the Story appear here, this story is not canon to that one, and the author will disavow any knowledge of this story. Wanda Vixen © Chris Yost and appears here with his permission. Sabrina Mustidalae © Eric W. Schwartz and appears here with his permission. This story is not canon to Sabrina Online the comic, or Sabrina Online the Story, either. Matt Barstock, Angie Rockwell, Intermountain Charter, The Bitch, and her crew, and Jerry Kitt © Silver Coyote. See their story HERE. Gail Rutherford © me and is not canon to any other story involving ZZ Studios. Gabrielle Ryder and Jean LeBrun © Aslaug, from her Transitions stories. See them at her site, The Axe Shed, available from the links page. Aramis Dagaz is© his player and appears here with his permission.
Author’s Note: Lewiston, Maine’s airport, identifier KLEW, is actually uncontrolled. That is, it has no control tower. Poetic license was used for this story, so Alex and company talk with a control tower whilst aviating there.
Chapter 87
Wing and a Prayer
Billy and Duncan touched down at Keesler Air Force Base, Mississippi around two hours after receiving the call. They were directed by ground control to a more-or-less deserted looking area by some old, large hangars. They parked the aircraft where a fur in white coveralls indicated, shut down and got out. Immediately a fuel truck pulled up and a crew of additional furs, also wearing white coveralls, began to fuel and service the aircraft. A bald chihuahua in a dark suit and a young felid in a slightly less dark suit stepped up to meet them.
“Mr. Panelli?” the chihuahua asked.
“That’s me. What’s this all about?” Billy responded gruffly. The fur glanced at Duncan.
“I’m Duncan Jetter. I work for Mr. Panelli and Col. O’Whitt.”
Billy’s ire was up. “You can say anything to Duncan you can to me. Now what have you gotten Alex involved in?”
The chihuahua put his paws up in a placating gesture.
“Easy, we’re on your side. Mr. O’Whitt offered to give one of our furs a ride up here. I’m Jon Livingston, CIA. It went sideways and there are Cuban MiGs after them. Last call from our agent it didn’t sound too good.”
Now the felid spoke.
“Mr. Panelli, Mr. Jetter, my name is Agent Aramis Dagaz, Air Force Office of Special Investigation. We’ve had Mastifson under surveillance for some time, but until possibly now we’ve never had anything we could make stick on him. I’m acting as liaison to the CIA as we both have an interest here now.”
Billy was now a localized thunderstorm.
“You’ve been watching Mastifson, and now Alex is caught up in some of your spy games. What in the name of dear fluffy kittens did you think you were doing? Mastifson has been after Alex for over a year now! And how did the CIA get into this?”
Billy ran out of steam, realizing they couldn’t answer him anyway. Agent Livingston did answer him, in a surprisingly gentle tone.
“We’re sorry he got involved. Believe me, it is critical to national security, and they may not make it. He managed to knock out two, but there’s still one MiG on their tail. They’re nearing U.S. airspace, but all we can do is wait and see.”
Billy looked sour but said nothing. The two agents showed them into the hangar, where a radio had been set up. There, they waited.
# # #
Alex had managed to stabilize their flight at fifteen thousand feet and two hundred fifty knots. They were down among the tops of the banks of cumulus clouds. By the GPS, they were still fifteen miles from the 200-mile territorial limit of the United States. Soon he’d be calling the Air Defense Zone controller to identify who they were. The MiG hadn’t shown back up yet, so for now things were stable.
“Alex,” Belinda began, sounding a bit tinny on the intercom. “I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this. I was a bit desperate, and I really didn’t think they’d go this far. Do you…have someone at home?”
Alex smirked. “Bought my own trouble. I didn’t have to offer you a ride. Yes, I have a lovely lioness girlfriend who is moving down from Maine in a week or two. Don’t get morbid, we’re not dead yet.”
Just then, Alex caught motion in his mirror. The MiG hadn’t used radar to locate them, instead finding them from above and slipping down behind them.
“May’ve spoke too soon. He’s back.”
The Cuban came up on the radio, attempting to sound honorable. It was hard to swallow looking down the MiG’s cannon barrel. Stripes One was too damaged to try any evasive maneuvers. Alex set his teeth and waited. Behind him, he saw Belinda bow her head as if in prayer.
# # #
Coronel Alvarez hesitated, not even sure as to why. The American was there, going straight and level. Likely too damaged to try and evade. It struck him as somehow unfair. This quarry had no chance of fighting back or getting away. They weren’t even supposed to shoot them originally, just scare them into flying to Cuba. He’d drifted a bit in his contemplation, so he lined back up to take the shot. Orders were orders.
Just as he was about to press the firing button, his radar detection equipment buzzed a loud warning. Turning on his radar from standby, he saw two targets at ten miles in front of them and closing fast. He then heard it on his radio.
“Cuban aircraft, you are approaching U.S. airspace. Turn away now or we will escort you to a U.S. air base.”
Coronal Alvarez actually grinned. He safed his cannon and put his radar back into standby and called a farewell.
“Asta la vista, mi amigos. ¡Buena Suerte!”
With that, he turned for home, only marginally picking up speed to save fuel.
# # #
They were waiting for the cannon fire to tear the aircraft apart. After a few seconds, Alex actually asked aloud, “What is he waiting for?”
When the radar detector suddenly went *Ping* they both jumped. A second later, they knew what the sound meant. Just coming into Alex’s visual range, a pair of F-16’s came streaking toward them at very high speed. They heard the U.S. fighters hail the Cuban on the Guard frequency, and the Cuban’s response as he turned for home. Belinda then spoke up on the intercom.
“Alex, switch to the radio tuned to three five seven point six five. Our friends out there are on.”
The tiger reached out and switched to the radio on that frequency to hear a loud greeting.
“Ice! Is that you? It’s Weasel and Dash!”
Alex was completely taken aback. Weasel was Major Dennis Frakes, and Dash was Captain John Beck from Jason’s old unit, the 78th Fighter Squadron Bushmasters.
“Weasel, Dash, you two are a sight for sore eyes! But what are you doing here? Shaw’s a long way off,” Alex replied.
“Other than saving your hide, we were at Eglin practicing. Got a call to come out and intercept a white civilian Tee Thirty-Eight with black stripes that had a Cuban MiG on its tail. We’re coming around to escort you in. Head a bit right, we’re going to Keesler.”
Alex punched the identifier for Keesler into his GPS system and angled that way. He looked at the distance and his fuel remaining and called their escorts, who had come around and now flanked them on either side.
“Weasel, can you look me over for damage and fuel leaks? I know I have a hole in my port wing, and probably some sort of fuel stream, and my port engine is out. How’s it looking underneath?”
“Sure thing, Ice,” Weasel replied as he slipped underneath the T-38 from his position on the left side.
“Ah, hole in wing. Nothing around the gear door or speed brake. . . wow, your wing is really modified from stock. Okay, your aileron is fine, but your flap is hanging kinda loose.”
He eased up and behind to look at the T-38 from above. “You have a hole about three inches diameter just forward of the tail plane, looks to go all the way through. You’re also leaving a thin mist of fuel.”
Alex nodded. “Yep, figured that. The fuel is coming from the piping to the port engine. I think I have enough to reach Keesler on my remaining onboard fuel, but I’ll need a straight-in approach.”
“No problem Ice, we’re with you until you land.”
The exchange between Ice and Weasel was interrupted by another call.
“Charger Fluffy, this is Mother Hen, status?”
Alex heard Belinda answering behind him.
“Mother Hen, Charger, aircraft is damaged, but flyable. Escorts made it. Fuel is low, so we need a straight-in. Leaking some fuel, so we may need the runway equipment.”
There was silence a second, and then, “All set. See you soon, Charger. Mother Hen out.”
Alex met Belinda’s eyes in the mirror. He saw them crinkle into a smile, and she shrugged.
“Not my first rodeo, Alex. Despite our reputation, The Company does try to take care of its own.”
Alex nodded and went back to making sure they stayed in the air.
“Ice, you’re doing fine from here,” Dash called.
“Managing, but my paws will be glad when we can get below two hundred knots. Can’t use autopilot and part of the hydraulics are out. So, you guys armed, or were you going to ram the MiG?”
Alex grinned. The banter was keeping him relaxed and not over-correcting the controls.
“Cannons are armed, and we each have a live Sidewinder. The other one is a dummy range tracking unit,” Dash replied.
“Plenty then,” Alex commented. Weasel then broke in.
“Ice, Keesler is ready for you. Straight in to Runway Zero Three. Equipment is standing by. I’ll communicate with them for us until we give you off to the tower. Just use your call sign.”
“Copy that, Weasel. Thank you.”
They now had the coastline in sight. New Orleans was off toward the left, and the Mississippi River delta was clearly visible. They got lined up and began their let down.
“Ice, Approach says at your discretion, all other traffic is clear.”
“Ice copies,” Alex replied, and then called over the intercom. “Belinda, if things start to go south on us, do you remember the briefing I gave you on ejecting?”
“Yes Alex,” came the reply.
“Good. I’m going to try and save the aircraft, but if the gear is damaged and collapses, that may be our only choice.”
Alex saw her nod in the mirror, so he returned his full attention to the approach. The controls were heavy, and the flaps and slats didn’t work at all. At one hundred and eighty-five knots, he tried the landing gear. He got greens on the nose and starboard, but neither green nor red on the port.
“Great,” he growled. “Dash, is my port main gear down?”
“Looks fully extended, Ice. Not wobbling any in the slipstream.”
“Thanks,” Alex gave in return. “Guess I’ll have to trust it.”
The approach continued. At five miles out and three thousand feet, Weasel called out.
“Ice, Tower is ready for you. We’ll be on our way as soon as you’re down.”
“Thanks Weasel, Dash. Tell everyone at Shaw hello for me,” Alex replied.
“Will do, Weasel out.”
Alex tuned in the frequency for Keesler Tower and called.
“Keesler Tower, Ice, four and a half out at twenty-eight hundred. Runway in sight.”
“Ice, Tower, we have visual on you. Continue approach, the equipment is standing by.”
Alex could see the emergency vehicle lights already. He concentrated on maintaining his approach angle. At two miles out, he picked up the VASI lights, which showed him right on the approach. Just before they got to the runway, he heard Belinda’s soft southern accent on the intercom.
“Alex…thanks.”
Alex nodded and smiled as they came in over the numbers at one hundred and sixty knots. He eased on down, prepared in case of trouble, but the gear held. The brakes were mushy, but he managed to get stopped at the far end. The tower immediately called him.
“Ice, follow the truck to your left. Equipment will follow.”
“Thanks Tower, leaving the active,” Alex replied.
The Follow-Me truck led them to an older section of hangars. He was surprised to see a Kentiger Kingair sitting on the ramp. They taxied up and were directed to stop in front of the hangar doors by a fur in white coveralls. As soon as they stopped, the fur indicated for Alex to shut down the engine. As he did, a fire rescue truck sprayed foam on the very small puddle of fuel that formed under their port wing. Before shutting off the main switch, Alex called on the intercom.
“Welcome home, Fluffy.”
# # #
Freddie opened his eyes blearily. Last thing he recalled, he was sitting at the desk in front of the window, watching for incoming aircraft and waiting for a radio call alerting him to business coming in. He looked around and tried to move. It was then he discovered he was securely bound to a chair. There was a light on above him, but only darkness around.
“He’s awake,” he heard a male voice say from outside the light. A fur stepped into the light, and it sent a chill down Freddie’s spine like coming off a three-day bender. The fur was dressed all in black, with nothing showing but his eyes.
“Hello Hausfus,” the fur growled in a very unfriendly and sarcastic tone.
“W-who’re you? I don’t got no money, so let me go!” the canid managed. A harsh laugh was his reply.
“Ha! Not here to rob you. You done screwed up, and you don’t even know it. Let me make it clear. You tell me some truth, and you may get to see the outside of this room alive. Got it?”
Freddie was in a panic. What had he gotten himself into? The fur was looking at him, expecting an answer.
“W-what do you want to know? I don’t know anything worth all this!” Freddie tried.
“Oh, you let me be the judge of that. Do you like your job?” the fur asked, almost amiably.
“What? Er, yes, I do,” Freddie replied, taken aback at the change of tone and unsure where that was going.
“Good. Tell me some truth, and you might get to keep it. Otherwise, they’ll find you in the gutter dead from alcohol poisoning.”
Freddie blanched. The fur was leaning a bit in on him. He could see the outline of a humorless smile in the cloth that covered the fur’s muzzle. Knowing his past, no one would doubt that the canid drank himself to death. He swallowed hard and nodded meekly.
“Okay, I get it. What do you want to know?”
“That’s better. Now, tell me about the Cubans and the Lady.”
About two hours later, Freddie stumbled out of a van into the sunlight. Blinking dazedly, he looked around and got his bearings. Realizing he was right by the airport, he headed on toward the Airways International office. He noted by the sun and his watch that it was very late afternoon. He was alive, and still had a job, so he had to get ready for the evening shift coming in.
By the van, a dark-furred felid stepped out of the brushy shadows and into the back of the vehicle. The fur there had removed his balaclava and greeted the felid.
“Hello Jason.”
“Alpha. What’s de word on ol’ Freddie?” the fur indicated over his shoulder.
“Sang like a bird. Was a random thing, something to do with a grudge against that white tiger pilot. Both he and his contact in the States knew they turned someone over to the Cubans. For now, he works for us. Might be useful but keep an eye on him. He’s to have no more contact with this guy Mastifson.”
Jason nodded. “How ‘bout Mr. O’Whitt an’ Charger?”
Alpha blew out a breath. “They made Keesler. Cubans lost a MiG and had one damaged. Hell of a pilot to do that in an unarmed trainer.”
Jason laughed. “Ha ha! Yeah, good on de fer. I’m glad. He’s a good tipper.”
Alpha actually smiled, a very rare thing. “Me too, be in touch.”
“Ya, later fer,” Jason replied as he left the van. A few minutes later, after the van had pulled away, the dark-furred felid appeared out of the brush a good distance down and crossed back over to the airport.
# # #
“If you want to watch, they’re coming in from the southwest,” Mr. Livingston stated. A radio operator wearing headphones had been communicating with the CIA agent in Alex’s plane for about 45 minutes. Billy was as grumpy as before, sitting in a chair. He stood, and Duncan joined him. Agent Dagaz walked with them as they walked out front. When they stepped out onto the ramp, the young felid looked around confused.
“Ah, which way is southwest?” he asked sheepishly. Billy and Duncan, aware of how the runway was oriented, pointed out the proper direction. They all looked that way, and after a few seconds Billy called out.
“I see landing lights. Three sets? Does he have an escort?”
“Oh, Mr. Livingston didn’t tell you? We diverted two F-16’s on a training mission at Eglin. They had live ordinance enough to deal with the MiG if needed, and we didn’t have to launch alert interceptors. That would have sent up all kinds of alarm bells,” Aramis replied.
They watched in silence as the three aircraft continued to approach. They could see the crash rescue trucks waiting by the runway. Soon they could make out the incoming jets. They watched the white and black T-38 come down steady and smooth. As soon as it touched down, the two F-16’s went into afterburner and departed with a roar and a waggle of wings. The trainer didn’t slow down on the runway as fast as usual, but it did stop by the end. As it began to slowly taxi in, an opossum in white coveralls stepped up to them.
“Ya might want to step back inside for a few. The aircraft has a fuel leak and they’re gonna foam where she stops.”
They looked at each other and went back inside. Before long they heard the jet pull up and stop, and then shut down. They could see the lights of the fire/rescue trucks and heard the whoosh of the foam cannon once. Then the lights receded.
Suddenly the hangar door began to open. Outside, the same crew that had swarmed the Kentiger Kingair was already fussing over Stripes One. A tug had been attached to the nose gear, and a rolling catch basin with a long funnel was being trundled along under the leaking fuel.
Both canopies opened, and Alex and his passenger took their helmets off. Billy saw the blonde hair and almost wondered what Corrie was doing there. Then he saw brown eyes and knew better.
Presently they got the aircraft situated and the hangar doors closed. Furs were calling out damaged parts and stopping the fuel leak. Regulation boarding ladders appeared and were put into place. Alex and Belinda carefully climbed down, and once on the ground stripped off the parachutes, harnesses, and g-suits. Belinda also peeled off the flight suit, revealing her dress and scarf underneath. Her hat was long gone and forgotten in Jamaica.
Alex looked at the damage and shook his head. He laid a grateful paw on the engine intake, and then turned to the group of furs waiting on them. Eyeing them all, he gave a smirk.
“Nice welcoming committee. I’d ask how you knew to be here, Billy and Duncan, but after what’s happened so far, nothing can surprise me.”
“Yeah, backatcha,” Billy replied gruffly. “You had one job. Deliver a pilot to Kingston. But Nooo, you get caught up in a spy game, and playing tag with MiGs, and…and…I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Billy looked close to tears. Alex laid a paw on his shoulder.
“Me too, Billy, me too. You know me, I can’t turn away a damsel in distress. Oh, by the way, Billy Panelli, Duncan Jetter, this is Belinda Styles.”
They turned to meet the femme who had shanghaied Alex.
She wasn’t there.
End of Chapter 87