As I post this, I have glanced up a time or two to a small
lego model I had built around the time when this was being
written.

Out of boredom and the need to have something useful to
use as a model for drawing a sketch of a STAC fighter
(Don't ask me what that stands for, its in the earlier chapters
of the fic, but I don't remember meaning) I constructed a
scale model of it from left over legos and a little space
craft I had left over.

Anyway, here is chapters 3 - 9 of WarZone: The Saga Begins

-------------

Chapter 3


That night that I saw him [Ransey Kaylouse] with Teresa [Blair]

was the worst night of my life. From that moment on, I knew that

it was over between me and Teresa. Not that it had ever existed

to begin with, but we've all got to have love. But, those are

the breaks, I guess.........


Tales of a Wrench Jockey: The Autobiography of Jack Barrett


"Next time I fall off the edge of Grand Canyon........."

The slightly off-key singing voice of Sam Long blends in

perfectly with the hum of the garbage disposal and the sizzling

of frying bacon. At another stove, in the near-empty mess

hall/kitchen, Ralph and Tricia are scrambling eggs while singing

(in near-perfect harmony) Peaches and Herb's "Reunited".

Just then, Teresa walks in, clad in a black silk robe. It's a

kimono-style robe, yet it comes down to her mid-thigh. Nodding

a good morning to the other people in the mess hall, she walks

over to the coffeepot and pours herself a mug of black. As she

sits down with a bagel and her coffee, she notices Tricia

walking over to her table. Ralph is putting the finishing

touches on their biscuits, gravy, and eggs platter. Tricia

smiles tauntingly as she seats herself. "So," she asks

conversationally, "How was he last night?" Not looking up from

her coffee, Teresa replies, "We didn't do anything last night."

Tricia raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Come on! You don't have to

justify yourself to me. I just want to know how he was last

night." Teresa exhales loudly. "We didn't do anything last

night. Now get off it!" She smiles as she sees Ralph

approaching. "How was he last night?" Tricia shrugs. "Pretty

good, considering he was asleep." Teresa's eyes scan Tricia.

She is wearing old, almost worn out gym shorts and a tank top.

"I can't see how he gets any sleep, considering that he's

married to such a sex kitten as yourself." Tricia smiles gamely.

"Neither do I." Just as Ralph sits down with their meals, Ransey

walks in the door. He's clad in a standard Air Force uniform,

the flight jacket bearing scars and patches from countless

battles. Ralph smiles and waves him over with his glass of milk.

"Good morning! I trust you slept with Teresa- I mean slept

well?" Tricia nudges him in the stomach with her elbow. "Thanks

for your support, Ralph, but we didn't do a thing last night,

just as I've been telling everyone in this base since I woke

up." "And you call yourself a man," grunts Jack as he enters

the kitchen. "And you call yourself one?" responds Ransey dryly.

"Ah, Ransey, would you like some scrambled eggs?" asks Ralph

nervously. "In a minute, Ralph," says Ransey dismissively.

However, before the situation can get anymore tense, Sam steps

in. "Look guys, the enemy is not each other. It's that bitch

Hera and her troops. Save your energy for them. We can't get rid

of her if we're divided ourselves. As the old saying goes,

'united we stand, divided we fall'."

While the conflict between them is probably not ended, this is

probably the last public expression that will be seen. Soon

enough, breakfast is over, and the base personnel get to work

on packing.

Actually, it's quite fortunate that Ransey and his Stac showed

up. The Resistance group, up to this point, has had no large

transport craft, so most of their fighters were doing double

duty as cargo haulers. Only two fighters were fully combat

ready: Sam's and Ralph's. Now that Ransey's Stac is here, their

cargo capacity and escort power is effectively doubled. Just

about everything vital was already loaded. Now all that was

needed to be packed were the provisions. Fortunately,

Ransey's cargo bay was deep, and wide, allowing enough room for

the larger items. As Ransey is loading up, Ralph comes up to

him, a worried expression on his face. "Ransey, can I talk to

you for a second?" Ransey nods. "Sure, what can I do for you?"

Ralph takes a deep breath. "It's about Jack." Ransey stiffens.

"What about him? Did he commit suicide, or something worse?"

Ralph frowns. "I know you two aren't exactly best friends,

but I'd advise you to....." "Stay away from Teresa?" "No, that's

not what I had in mind. I just think you should try to be civil

with him." Ransey's mouth drops open. "Me? Be civil with him?!

He's the one who started this!" Ralph nods in understanding.

"I know. But if you hadn't slept with Teresa last night......"

"For God's sake, I didn't!!!! How many times do I have to tell

you people that?!" "You didn't?" asks Ralph, obviously stunned.

"No, I didn't. It's against my morals to sleep with girls that

I've just met. Not to mention that my fiance' was iced in

orbit!" "Oh my...... I didn't know....... I'm sorry......

Just like Teresa." Ransey nods. "Just like Teresa. It's that

pain that's keeping us from going that far in any relationship

that we might have." "I understand now. But you've got to try to

see it from Jack's point of view. He's been in love with Teresa

since........ Before her boyfriend died. He'd always thought

that eventually, he might get a chance with her, but now that

you're here......" Ralph's voice holds not a tone of accusation,

but of sympathy. Ransey nods in understanding. Ralph turns to

go, then turns around. "Oh, and there's one more thing you

should know." "What is that, praytell?" "Jack was up to all

hours repairing your ship last night." With that, Ralph heads

off to board his fighter, leaving Ransey alone to think.

* * * * * * * * * *


"All groups, this is Red Falcon, prepare for launch on my

command, and in your separate groups." Teresa's fighter, the

Blue Moonlight, is a modified Gamma-class RF, like most of the

other cargo haulers. Unlike the others, hers is equipped with

a special hyperwave code scrambler/descrambler,

which provides the decoding of enemy transmissions.

Almost all of its munitions have been offloaded, to provide

extra cargo space. All it has left are the nose lasers. Most of

the other fighters, except Ralph's and Sam's, are similarly

equipped.



Slowly, the last units of Resistance Base Acupulco rise from the

hanger. The main force has already left, and these people are

bringing up the rear guard. The force consists of eight Gammas

pulling cargo duty, two pulling escort duty, and Ransey's

Stac doubling as both. "All ships, stand-by to engage

afterburners on my mar- WHAT THE HELL?!"

Suddenly, a dozen scarlet Powerdroids drop out of the clouds.

These mecha are humanoid in shape, and carry large,

nasty-looking, cigar-shaped pulse cannons. Already, the muzzle

of the leader's weapon is beginning to glow with the charge

of energy. A moment later, it blowtorches, punching a hole

through one of the Gammas. A moment later, the stricken craft

implodes, showering debris in all directions. In response,

Sam's Gamma reconfigures and begins pelting the enemy with

concentrated laser fire.

In another area of the field, three Powerdroids are playing

tug of war with a helpless Gamma. A moment later, a hail of

kinetic-energy rounds, released from the barrel of Ralph's

railgun, slice through the relatively unprotected heads of the

alien craft. Throughout the field of battle, Ransey's Stac is

like an angel of vengeance, loosing a missile here, discharging

laser blasts there, and so forth. In spite of his valiant

efforts, however, another Gamma bites the dust. "Ah son of a

bitch!! Hold still, you damned......" Ransey doesn't bother

to complete the curse. Instead, he holds down the trigger until

the Powerdroid is little more than a conflagration and a memory.

The warning indicator begins beeping in alarm. Ransey glances

at the display- and curses. He is down to one-hundred rounds

on his railguns. This has not been a good day for Ransey or the

enemy. Over the comnet, he hears Teresa saying, "All survivors,

sound off."

"Fastball."

"Samurai."

"Viper."

"Skyhawk."

"Black Velvet."

"Catfish."

"Red Falcon."

"Lunatic here...... Those bastards took out my legs.......

Don't think I can fly much longer......... It was nice knowing

ya' Shorty..........."

A minute later, the badly damaged Gamma explodes. "Sam, Ralph,

Tricia, Tracie, Jack, Ransey, myself........ We're the only ones

left." "What happened to Barry?" asks Sam. "He must have

self-destructed," surmises Ransey. "When he said they had taken

out his legs, he didn't mean his fighter's legs." "What were

they carrying?" asks Teresa, trying to sound calm. Ralph checks

his memory files. "The others weren't carrying anything

irreplaceable, but Barry and Stew were carrying the auxiliary

power cells." "Well," suggests Sam, "We could land and set up

camp for the night." "We'd better, my anti-grav controls are

burned out, again," comments Ransey.


So, the intrepid group sets down in a forest clearing, about

six-hundred miles north of their former base. Teresa sits next

to Ransey, wrapping a bandage around the burns on his left arm.

The burns resulted from the feedback from the primary anti-grav

controls.

"Ow!! That hurts!!!" snaps Ransey. "The least you could do is

give me some anesthetic!" "Sorry, but all of our medical

supplies went up with Stew's fighter. All I had to work with was

the first aid kits from our fighters." apologizes Teresa. "Do

you at least have something to drink?" asks Ransey desperately.

Teresa nods, disappearing for a moment. She reappears a few

minutes later carrying a tin cup with some cool water in it.

Ransey nods his thanks and takes a long pull on the cold liquid.

When he has finally finished, he smiles up at Teresa. "Thank

you again for all your hospitality," he says. Just then, Jack

walks by, carrying a burnt-out box of electronics and covered

with some kind of coolant or system fluid. "Piece of Pandoran

crap technology," he mutter loudly as he walks by the pair. "I

could have built something better in my spare time with common

household items......." "What's with him?" asks Ransey. Teresa

smiles apologetically. "Stew was his best friend; besides,

you haven't really been appreciative of all the work he's done

on your fighter." "I'd be more appreciative if he wasn't such

an asshole!" "You know Ransey," Teresa observes, "Your not

acting much better. Ever since you arrived, he's been kind of

hostile to you. Now I can understand your annoyance, but you're

merely returning the favor. If you'd just try to be civil to

him......" "If he was civil to me-" "It cuts both ways," insists

Teresa. "It can't work until one of you starts by saying, 'I'm

sorry'."

Just then, a plasma bolt hits ground not two yards away from

them. "Shit!!!" yells Jack as he grabs his thinking cap and

sprints towards Sam's fighter. Ransey grabs his and runs towards

his Stac. The other women take cover, while Sam and Ralph break

out the M-18's and start loading the clips with high-explosive,

armor-piercing rounds. They then take positions in the woods

or behind rocks and start shooting. Meanwhile, the two mecha

take off and begin to engage their enemies. "Okay, what we've

got is three Mark One Powerdroids and one Mark Five," calls out

Jack over the comnet. "Watch my back, Catfish." "I'll do my job,

Samurai, you just do yours," responds Ransey. The two Terran

mecha engage their enemies.


* * * * * * * * * *


Patrol Commander Norr'ukh bares his teeth in a feral grin as he

sees the two mecha rising to combat his force. "We have the

mecha on visual now, leader," reports Nok'khar, his second.

"One Gamma-class Reconfigurable Fighter; the other mecha.....

is not listed in our data-banks." Norr'ukh's grin widens.

"So...... we shall be the first to inform Her Lordship of this

new mecha....... After we have destroyed it, of course." He

opens a general-comchannel. "All units, this is leader. Attack

the Terran rebels!"

"My clip's almost empty!" yells Sam, as he punches yet another

hole through the armor of a Mark One. Ralph, who has emptied

his entire clip into the chest section of the Mark Five, tosses

him a fresh one. He then locks a new one into his own rifle.

"Catfish, he's on your tail!" "Thanks, Jack......" Ransey's

back pack thrusters have been disabled by a hailstorm of

armor-piercing rounds. "Alright, that does it! Jack, get to

cover; this isn't going to be pretty....." Jack's fighter

swerves off, trailing chaff and flares. Ransey slaps a series

of switches, activating the Hell Cannon. From the shoulders

of Ransey's fighter two innocent-looking laser cannons slide

up into position from their compartments. "Now, if you guys will

just hold still for a second......" mutters Ransey as he squints

into the gunsight. "I'll see you in hell....." A second later

he mashes his thumb down on the firing toggle. A cats cradle

of scintillating energy begins to form between the two cannons.

Within moments, the energy field seems to have solidified.

A second later, it discharges blue-white hellfire.

Upon impact of beam, the leader's mecha and two others began

to slowly, but surely fade out of this plane of existence.

Even as Ransey begins to exult in his victory, he feels his

craft slowly drifting downward. A moment later, it is rocked

by particle-beam fire. Ransey looks into his view scope to see

one last mecha, almost untouched by the fire. Feeling confident,

Ransey aims the Hell Cannon and toggles the firing switch.

Nothing happens. Alarmed, he squeezes it again...... and

again...... and again. "What the hell's happening here?!" he

curses. He glances at the power displays- and goes pale. While

he knew what the weapon would do, Ransey had no idea what it

would take. He is apparently helpless. He starts to close his

eyes as the Powerdroid begins to level it's cannon at

him........

And blinks, as it becomes riddled with explosions from behind.

He blinks again as he sees a series of kinetic-energy

rounds punch holes through the mid-section and come out the

chest. The Powerdroid then implodes, leaving the hovering

form of Jack's fighter, in Robodroid mode, smoke drifting

out of the main gun's barrel. "Looked like you could use a

little help," laughs Jack over the comnet. Ransey chuckles.

"Yeah, I guess I did." The Robodroid moves alongside Ransey's

battered craft. "Come on pal, I'll buy you a drink." Ransey

smiles. "Same for you, buddy."







----------------------------------------------------------------------
----------

Chapter 4


Masquerading as a Rock Group was hardly an original cover in

those days. However, theirs was one of the few Resistance

Units to pull this off successfully. How, you may ask? Well,

for one thing, the people could sing..........


Those Were The Days: The Adventures of Resistance Force 21: By

Marrisa Cooper


".....It's still Rock and Roll to me........."

Late Twentieth-Century song lyric




Time passes. Over the next few months, the intrepid band of

liberators make their way north, until they finally reach what

once was The United States of America. While there have been new

members that have come and gone, the core group is still intact.

Ransey and Teresa have been growing closer by the day. Jack

doesn't seem to be troubled by this fact anymore; in fact, he

and Ransey have become good friends.

By this time, they have set up a temporary base in the remains

of Dallas International Airport, storing their mecha in the

hangers, and setting up living quarters in the terminal and

hotels. Tonight, things are fairly quiet. Ransey has found an

old Fender Stratacaster, and is strumming away on it. Meanwhile,

Ralph and Jack are rummaging through old crates, looking to see

if they can find anything of value. Suddenly Jack cries out,

"EUREKA!!!" Ralph watches him pull the remains of an old Korg

synthesizer out of the wreckage. "What are you going to do with

that?" asks Ralph incredulously. "You're going to help me

rebuild this." "Oh I am, am I?" Ralph raises a skeptical

eyebrow. "And just why am I going to?" "Because, I found this

along with several others in an old shipment crate. And I can't

carry them all." "And what's in it for me?" asks Ralph. "I won't

show Tricia these dirty pictures you took of her when she was

asleep." "Fair enough." Ralph begins helping Jack pull out the

synthesizers.

Down in the airport lounge, Tracie Deveraux is sitting, deep in

thought. She is slender, bustful, and demure. Her long, lustrous

reddish-brown hair frames her heart-shaped face perfectly.

Her beauty, however, gives one a false impression about her

personality..... She is rude, arrogant, and...... well, we'll

just let you see for yourself.


"What the hell is that noise?!" Tracie sticks her head in the

doorway of Jack's workshop. Until a moment ago, Jack had been

playing "Weird Al" Yankovic's "Polka Your Eyes Out" on his

rebuilt Korg synthesizer, with Ralph providing the vocals.

Ralph is now smiling. "That, Tracie, is music. And so is this."

Just then, Jack starts playing again, and Ralph starts singing

"Christmas at Ground Zero". "Ugh! You guys are impossible!

I'm going to tell Teresa!" With that, she spins on her heels

and marches off purposefully. As she begins to walk out the

door, Jack programs his synthesizer to do a cow impression.

The loud and heartfelt MOOOO! echoes throughout the room. While

this makes the two men howl with laughter, it also serves to

infuriate Tracie all the more.

A few hours later, Teresa has called a general meeting.

"Alright," she says, "First order of business is to discuss

our cover. I don't think that pretending to be simple passers

through will cut it this time." "Why bother with a cover at

all?" asks Sam. "Why not just swoop in, kill the troops, and

swoop out?" Teresa shakes her head. "Much as I'd like to do

that, Sam, the fact is that we don't nearly have enough people

or resources to pull such a maneuver at this time." "But what

about the Hell Cannon maneuver? We all saw what that thing can

do to enemy troops. That should be powerful enough to make up

our lacking in people," proposes Ralph. "The Hell Cannon

maneuver is massively destructive, I'll give you that, but it

can only be fired once before Ransey's fighter has to refuel,

and even when he did use it it didn't take out all the troops.

No, the Hell Cannon maneuver would just be a waste of time and

valuable resources." "Traveling merchants, perhaps?" suggests

Tracie. "Nice try. However, we hardly have enough supplies

to sustain ourselves, let alone sell. No, there's got to be a

better cover than that....." "Wait," suggests Jack, "All of us

seem to have some measure of musical talent, so why not......

traveling musicians?" Teresa smiles for the first time in the

meeting. "That could work...... but who would write the songs?"

Ransey raises his hand. "Back when I was in the Academy, my

friends and I had formed a small rock band called Nagasaki.

I wrote all the songs, including an old song about war, called

'No Home for Heroes'." "Sing some of it for us," urges Tricia.

In response, Ransey picks up the guitar and begins to play and

sing.



It was they who died,

who did what they could,

saving even those of us who didn't care.

It was their lives out on the firing line

Unlike those of us at home just counting the time.

But when those veterans, they did come home,

They found themselves singled out and alone.

Wives remarried, children all gone,

And with out a good reason to live on.


So why is there no home for the Heroes,

Why is there no place for them to rest,

Tell me why is there no thanks or reward for them,

Why is there no home for the heroes?

The group is silent by the time Ransey finishes singing the

first verse and chorus. Then, slowly but surely, Ralph begins

to clap. The others soon join in. After the round of applause

has died down, Teresa says dryly, "I think we've found our

songwriter." Soon it is settled. The group's cover will be a

rock band, by name of Nagasaki Reborn. With lead singer, the

beautiful Teresa Blair, as Blue Moonlight.


* * * * * * * * * *


"Commander Hal'tok, we have detected Bio-matter emissions

emanating from the forests below us." reports one of the

infamous Titan warlord Hal'tok's wingmen. "Is it coming from

Terran craft?" asks Hal'tok as he checks his Powerdroid's

sensors to confirm what his wingman has informed him of.

"Affirmative sir, sensors indicated seven Earth fighters.

All are flying under low power, and apparently are unaware

of our presence," responds the wingman. These must be the Terran

rebels her Highness had informed me of. "All Titan mecha,

converge on their position and attack!"

"Don't look now guys, but we've got enemy fighter craft coming

at us from six o'clock!" The anxiety-filled voice of Ralph

O'Keefe breaks the silence of the night as it blares over

Ransey's comnet. Shaking his head Ransey opens a channel on his

comnet. "Looks like a small patrol squadron, nothing to really

worry about. But, just to be on the safe side, lets go up and

meet our attackers." Only seconds later, the group of fighters,

most in Gerwalk mode, booster for the sky leaving the ground

far behind. Wasting little time, Ransey reconfigures his fighter

to Robodroid mode and zeroes in on Hal'tok's Powerdroid.

So, the foolish human wishes to combat me personally, I will see

that he is much obliged, before I send him to his grave, thinks

Hal'tok as he positions his mecha for combat. A second later

the two mecha are entangled in an all out one-on-one duel,

neither gaining or losing any ground. The two go into a Vago

loop as they fire kinetic-energy rounds at each other.

"This guy is good," grunts Ransey admirably as he banks his

mecha past Hal'tok's. The Titan warrior had released a missile

that had nearly impacted Ransey in the fusion reactor. He spins

around to fire off a couple of shots at his opponent.

Fortunately, Ransey is a luckier shot than his adversary.

The kinetic-energy rounds slam into a servomotor junction,

effectively crippling Hal'tok's mecha.

Ransey then looses a pair of proton-tipped heat-seekers.

Each one slices through an arm-module connector, effectively

amputating the mecha's arms. Smoke begins to rise from the

impacted areas.

Hal'tok spits out a Titan curse as his mecha is hit. For a

Terran, he is a fine combat pilot, a worthy adversary. There

is little he can do now, but cut his losses and run like hell.

Still steaming mad, he engages his rocket pack and signals

the rest of his squadron to return to base. He knows what Hera's

penalty is for failure. However, he has a plan for redemption

up his sleeve.........

* * * * * * * * * *

The residents of Klansville, Louisiana (in the southern part of

the former FNA) are surprised to hear commotion in the city

square. They are even more surprised to see seven mint-condition

Gamma-class Reconfigurable Fighters setting down. Along side

these TAEF craft is a large, ugly-looking spacecraft, bearing

insignia from the Expeditionary Force and bristling with gun

batteries. These eight dismount from their craft, while two

pilots, a man and a woman who are evidently in charge, head for

the local general store. A fat, red-necked old man turns to his

younger companion. "Get the posse together, Jimmy Lee."

Ransey and Teresa walk into the local general store. Flashing

her best P.R. smile, Teresa walks up to the counter. "Excuse

me, do you have-" and she launches into a detailed list of the

supplies that her group is in need of. The man at the counter

shakes his head, as if disgusted. "I'm afraid we don't carry

that." In response, Ransey walks to the storeroom door and rips

it out of its resting place. "Sure looks like you do," he snaps,

mimicking the clerk's snotty Southern accent. "I'm afraid we

don't serve your kind around here," responds the clerk, who is

reaching beneath the counter for a gun. A split-second

later, Ransey is holding a .48 automatic to the throat of the

asshole. "You do now," he snaps. Shivering with fear, the clerk

nods. "Y-y-yes, Sir," he stutters. Soon enough, the two have

gathered their needed supplies and are headed out the door. Only

to be confronted by a dozen angry townsfolk brandishing

turn-of-the-century shotguns and hunting rifles. "We don't want

your kind in this town soldier boy." Drawls the apparent leader,

a fat, rednecked old man. He has a .357 pointed at Ransey's

chest. "We just came here to get some food," says Ransey, trying

to stay calm. "I don't care." The old man cocks his weapon.

"Get out of town now, or you'll regret it! Ya' here?!" Ransey

nods and leads Teresa away. Soon afterwards the eight space

craft lift off from their landing positions and head off to the

north. The old man turns to his racist cronies. "Get the

horses."

A few hours later, Ransey and his companions have set down at a

small farm. The family running this farm are black sharecroppers

who have held this property for the better part of two

centuries. They are a friendly family, who are more than willing

to give Ransey and his friends a warm meal. As if that wasn't

enough, the wife has even insisted on making them some more

civilian clothing. Right now she is measuring Teresa for a

dress. While the two women are talking, the wife is wrapping

her tape measure around Teresa's waist to take measurements

there. Having finished that, she asks Teresa to raise her arms.

Teresa complies, and the wife wraps her tape measure around

her breasts.

"My you're a healthy girl," she says admiringly. Meanwhile,

Ransey is sitting on a nearby stool with his back leaning

against the wall. His mouth is open to say something, when

suddenly there is a loud noise outside. Ransey and the husband

rush outside to confront two burning crosses. One bearing a

dummy representing a black man, while the other cross bears a

dummy in military dress.

"It's those damned KKK groupies from town. They've been trying

to scare us off our land for two years now," groans the husband

as he walks over to the house and turns on the hose. "Haven't

you done anything about it?" asks Ransey as he takes the running

hose and extinguishes the two crosses. "No, we're too afraid

that they'd do something worse if we did anything to stop them,"

replies the husband gravely. Ransey shakes his head. "This has

got to stop. I'm not going to let these S.o.bs run this town any

longer." With that he storms back into the house.

Late that same night, after all of his companions have gone to

sleep, Ransey sneaks out into the night and makes his way

towards town. Dressed in a pair of overalls, a flannel shirt,

and a straw hat he makes his way to the local pawn shop. Looking

over both of his shoulders to make sure that no one has followed

him, Ransey walks in. Inside, sitting behind a long counter

is the owner. A portly man with a bald head. He is dressed

in an old threadbear windbreaker, a red and black plaid shirt,

and a pair of Levis with the knees worn out. When he hears the

door bang shut behind Ransey he looks up from his Penthouse

magazine.

"A little late to be out shopping mister," The portly man

mutters as he turns the page in his magazine. "Yeah, but it's

how you look at things," growls Ransey, making himself sound

like a raspy voiced black man. "I'm in the market to buy some

old military surplus, heard that you had a large stock of it

hoarded away in that back room." Without changing his position,

the portly man responds, "Yeah, what's it to ya?" "I already

told you, I'm in the market to buy it," responds Ransey, letting

a bit of annoyance seep into his voice. "Well, friend, it's not

for sale," grumbles the portly man as he turns the page in his

magazine again. Drawing out a .45 Ransey growls, "And I say it

is. Unless you want to join the female gender." Ransey lowers

the aim of his gun down toward the man's crotch. Sweating

the portly man replies, "Um, okay, I guess it is for sale. Uh,

follow me."

With that the portly man rises from his chair and leads Ransey

into the back room. Inside, the floor is littered old automatic

weapons, parts of previous war mecha, and in the corner are two,

in mint condition, Battler assault cycles. "Where'd you get

these?" asks Ransey as he runs his hands over the controls.

"They were left over from the end of the second war. I seriously

doubt that they work. " responds the portly man. "THAT doesn't

matter, I can fix them. Now, where are the rest of the weapons?"

Twenty minutes later, the portly man has shown Ransey all of the

weapons that he has. "Fine, I'll take them all. Now, when I was

coming here I saw an old cargo truck out back, does it work?"

asks Ransey, shoving the muzzle of his gun into the large

stomach of the man.

"Y-y-es, take it. Take it all! Just don't hurt me." stutters

the portly man, both of his hands in the air. "Fine, now, if you

don't mind, you're going to work for me. Load all of this stuff

into the back of that truck, along with anything else you want

for yourself. From this point on, your pawn shop days are over.

You've just been drafted into the Terran Resistance Corps."

With that Ransey walks over to the large garage door. But,

before opening it he turns back toward the portly man and asks,

"By the way, now that you're under my jurisdiction, what's your

name, I like to be able to call my men something other than 'hey

bub'." "R-R-Rudolph Verncamp." he stutters out. "Okay Rudy, I

guess we're on first name basis now. My name's Ransey J.

Kaylouse, Captain of the Alpha squad and leader of Recon Force

19," responds Ransey. "Now, shall we go to work?"

Three hours later the two of them are climbing into the cab of a

before-the-turn-of-the-century U-haul truck. After having to

receive a brief lesson on driving an automobile, Ransey cranks

the engine and pulls out onto the dark, empty highway north.

Around dawn the orange and silver U-haul truck pulls up the dirt

road toward the farm. After parking it in front of the barn

Ransey, leaving the sleeping Rudolph in his seat, walks back to

the house. But, before he can get halfway up the walkway Teresa

comes running out the front door and leaps on Ransey, throwing

her arms around his neck. Ransey is knocked to the soft, grassy

lawn in front of the house as Teresa sobs into the front of his

overalls.

"I thought they had gotten you..." she blubbers out as she

continues to sob into the front of his overalls. Holding her

close Ransey whispers calmingly into her ear, "It's okay....

I fine...... I just left to get some stuff in town...." After

a few minutes Teresa stops crying and the two walk into the

house. Inside Ransey is greeted by his friends with phrases

like, "Oh thank God man, I had thought they'd got you" and "I

knew that they couldn't have got you". A few minutes later,

there comes a knock at the door. Slowly, Ransey stands up and

makes his way to the door. Before opening it, he draws out his

.45 and cocks it. He then flings open the door and yells,

"Freeze." Startled into shock Rudolph tumbles backwards down the

house steps and lands on his butt in the yard.

Relieved by the fact that it wasn't one of the KKK groupies

from town, Ransey flips on the safety to his gun and tucks it

back into its holster. He then extends a hand to Rudolph to help

him up. "Sorry Rudy. I thought you were one of those groupies

from town, " Ransey responds as he helps Rudolph to his feet.

"Guys, I'd like you to meet our new worker, Rudolph Verncamp."

Still in a bit of a daze Rudolph responds, "N-N-Nice to meet you

all." After the usual hand shakes and how-do-ya-dos Ransey,

along with Rudolph, head back out the barn.









----------------------------------------------------------------------
----------

Chapter 5

In all my days as a pawnshop owner, never have I ever had to

go to work for someone else. (That someone else being Mr.

Kaylouse.) That man [Ransey] was one of the most

get-the-job-done-and-I-don't-care-how-you-do-it

people I have ever met. But, he sure did know how to get things

done, though.


>From the Pawn Shop to the Firing Line: The adventures of Rudolph

Verncamp and Resistance Force 21

By Rudolph P. Verncamp







"Rudy, where's that nine-sixteenths wrench I asked you for?"

>From beneath an old TW II Battler cycle comes the voice of

Ransey Kaylouse. "It's next to your left leg," responds Rudolph

as he carries in a crate load of GP-40 short range missiles.

"Where...... Ah, I see it. Thanks," answers Ransey after feeling

around blindly for a few seconds. A minute later, he slides

himself out from underneath the bike and pulls himself to his

feet. "Well, if they don't run now they never will." he then

mounts the bike and gives the starter a push. Nothing. "You

know, it might help if you turned the key to run," declares

Rudolph as he points at the set of rusted silver keys in the

ignition. "Thanks," responds Ransey, letting a small amount

of sarcasm seep into his voice. After turning the keys to on, he

gives the starter pedal another push downward. This time,

however, the engine roars to life as the on board computer

runs a systems check. "Well, I guess we're in business."

After letting the engine idle for a few seconds, Ransey switches

the keys to off and the barn falls silent again. "Well, It seems

that my work is done, now if you'll excuse m-" "You're not going

anywhere Rudy, getting the motorcycles running was only the

start. Now it's time we started rearming these things, along

with your truck," responds Ransey, grabbing a fist full of

Rudolph's shirt front up and hoisting him in the air. "Okay,

okay, show me what to do." With that Ransey releases his grip

on Rudolph's shirt, letting him drop to the floor like a bag of

potatoes.

Meanwhile, coming up the north road is a posse of men on horse

back, all dressed in white robes and white hats that covered

their faces. As they approach seeing range of the house, they

pull their shotguns from the holsters on their horses saddles

and beginning firing them off in the air.


>From inside the house, Teresa notices the faint sound of gun

shots, and peers out between the curtains on the front picture

window. What she sees almost sends a shriek of fright echoing

from her lungs, but she manages to contain herself as she runs

to the back of the house to warn the others. "They've come!

They've come!" Is all she can gasp out as she skids into the

kitchen. "Who've come Teresa? Who?" asks Ralph as he stand up

from his chair at the kitchen table. "The......Pos.....pos.....

Posse! The Posse has come!" "From which direction?" asks Jack

as he bolts for the front window. A second later, he returns,

an expression of pure irritation on his face. "Jack, what's

wrong?" asks Tracie as she comes up to his side. "They've

blocked our path to the barn, there's no way we can get to our

mecha or our weapons." "Then we're trapped?" asks Tracie. "It

appears to be that way." responds Jack as he flops down in on of

the kitchen chairs. "Well, I'm going to make a run for it." says

Teresa, and with that she darts out the back door. When the

posse see her, they aim in her direction and begin firing off

their shotguns. Most of their shots go wild, but one manages

to find a spot on her upper thigh. Teresa tumbles to the ground,

keeled over, her hands wrapped around her profusely bleeding

thigh.

Suddenly, a black motorcycle comes crashing out of the barn,

it's rider dressed in a black leather jacket and a riding helmet

with a tinted visor, letting none see the rider's face. The

motorcycle stops short, but directly in front, of the KKK posse.

The apparent leader, a large man, yells to his companions,

"Fry that Son of a Bitch!" The posse then turn their fire on the

mystery rider. Their shots, however, bounce off some invisible

shield that surrounds the rider. Once the posse has exhausted

their ammunition, the mystery rider flips a switch on the

control panel of his bike, and two missile racks extend from the

rear of the bike. They then begin firing off their magazines,

the shots impacting short of the riders and their horses. The

posse's horses, scared from the explosions going off around

them rear up, throwing off their riders, before going into a

wild dash back down the north road. Shortly after, their riders

are dashing off down the road behind their horses, bullets

hitting the ground behind them. Once the group is out of sight,

the mystery rider pulls off his helmet, revealing his identity.

It is Ransey Kaylouse. From the barn, Rudolph runs out,

astonished by what has just happened.

"Is it over yet?" he asks as he runs up along side Ransey.

"For now, but they'll be back and with reinforcements,"

responds Ransey before jumping off the seat of his bike and

dashing over to Teresa. Teresa is alive, but as Ransey

approaches he can hear her moaning, "Please make it stop

hurting...." Ransey, with the assistance of Rudolph carry Teresa

back to the house. Where the wife, along with Ransey's

companions take Teresa to her bed.

For several hours, Ransey locks himself away in the barn,

allowing no one to enter except for Rudolph who brings him

updates on how Teresa is doing. Around eleven o'clock that

evening Ransey emerges from the barn, covered from head to foot

with grease and machine oil. Exhaustedly, he makes his way back

to the house.

"How's Teresa?" Is the first words out of his mouth as he enters

the house. "She's alive, but without professional medical

assistance, there's no way we can dislodge the shot from her

thigh," responds the wife as Ransey pulls off the soiled shirt

he's wearing and walks over to the kitchen sink. There, he

begins to wash off his hands and face. Done with that, he turns

around to face the wife. "I can get it out." An expression

of shock comes over the wife's face as the words sink into her.

"But-But you don't have any professional medical training!"

"I have enough to know how to get a bullet out of someone.

One of the things they taught me back in the academy about being

on foot and treating wounds is how to get a bullet out of

yourself," responds Ransey informatively. "Very well, just tell

me what to do," utters the wife as she stands up from her stool.

"Okay, now you'll need to give her enough alcohol to put her out

for a while, it'll have to do since we don't have any

anesthetics. Then, I'll need a pair of tweezers to remove the

bullet with. And, I'll need something to cauterize the wound

with when I'm done, now let me think................

Ah," Ransey bends down and, undoing the straps on his boot,

pulls out a survival knife, "Build a small fire outside and take

my knife and put the blade in it till I call for the knife."

Obediently the wife hurries to get what he needs. Meanwhile,

Ransey is in Teresa's room with a small bootlegger's bottle

of Scotch. Awakened by the sound of Ransey's entrance, Teresa

stares up at him, a weak smile on her face.

"Hi," says Teresa attempting a faint wave with her right hand,

"Looks like I was pretty stupid out there today. Guess this is

what I get for running out there like that." Ransey smiles,

"Well, at least you aren't dead." He then hands her the bottle.

"Here, I need you to drink this." Teresa unscrews the lid on it

and takes a whiff of the contents. "Scotch, pretty strong stuff.

What's the occasion?" she asks recapping the bottle. "It's the

closest thing we have to an anaesthetic out here," responds

Ransey dryly. "Well," Teresa says, uncapping the bottle again,

"Bottoms up!" An hour or so later, Teresa has finished off the

bottle of alcohol and is now sleeping soundly. Quietly, Ransey

walks out of the room and into the kitchen.

"Is she asleep yet?" asks Jack monotonously for the tenth time.

"Yeah, it's time we got started," responds Ransey, picking

up the pair of tweezers and a pie tin that the wife had left out

for Ransey when it came time to remove the bullet. He then

reenters the bedroom, turning on a dim desk light, and walks

over to Teresa's bed. He then draws back the covers on the

injured thigh and undoes the bandage wrapped around it. He then,

picking off the scab that has formed over the wound, reaches

into the cut with the tweezers. After probing around in the

wound for a second, he extracts a twelve gauge bullet and places

it in the pie tin. "Big son-of-a-bitch, isn't it?" mutters

Jack as he watches over Ransey's shoulder. After cleaning

the wound, Ransey turns to Sam, "Okay Sam, go and get my knife."

Sam obediently turns and walks out to the backyard, where a

small fire has been built. Sitting in the fire is the steel

blade of Ransey's survival knife.


Sam, using a wet cloth grips the handle and takes it back

inside. Ransey removes it from his hands the instant it comes

into the room and places the hot blade on the open cut on

Teresa's leg. A slight hissing noise can be heard for a few

seconds and the light smell of burning flesh begins to flavor

the air in the room. The knife is then withdrawn. The wound has

been resealed. Giving a friendly slap on the back, Jack says

with a teethful grin, "Well, sonny-boy, looks like you know your

stuff." "Thanks Jack, but I'm not in the mood for a

celebration," responds Ransey as he tucks the knife back into

it's holster. "Now, I need to finish some work out in the barn."

Then, broodingly, Ransey walks out of the room and back out into

the night air. "What's up his ass?" asks Jack, scratching

his head. "Beats the hell-" Suddenly from the entrance of the

Barn a Battler Cycle emerges doing a pop-a-wheely. It's rider

is again clad in a black leather jack and a riders helmet with

the no-see-in visor. "Ransey...... He's gone off to take out the

Posse!" "Son of a Bitch! That idiot's gonna get himself killed!"

yells Sam as he makes a dash for the barn. Inside, is Rudolph,

sound asleep in the cab of the truck. Standing next to it is the

second cycle, while not armed, it's engine runs. Grabbing

his flight helmet from his Gamma and pulling it down on his

head, Sam cranks the engine on the second cycle and races after

Ransey.

Meanwhile, in town....... The night sky is lit up as GP-40 short

range missiles impact into various buildings in the city,

sending them up in an inferno of red hellfire. The KKK groupies

from town fall to the ground dead as their bodies are pumped

full of armor-piercing-rounds from an AK-49. He shows no mercy.

Within seconds, more than half the town is leveled. Multiple

shots up his calves, the old rednecked leader of the Posse tries

frantically to pull himself away from the onslaught that has

killed most, if not all, of his men. He only ends up pulling

himself right to boots of the attacker, the slaughter's

gun is pointed down at his head. The old rednecked man closes

his eyes and waits for the end to come. But, for some reason

it doesn't. Instead, he can hear the voice of a young man

yelling out the attacker's name as another motorcycle screeches

to a halt.

"Ransey, this is madness! Just what the hell provoked you to try

and level the entire town?!" Comes the voice of Sam Long as he

runs up in front of Ransey. "These bastards deserve to die! They

tried to kill Teresa, now I'm repaying them in full for all the

hell they've committed over the decades!"

"Is killing them going to bring those people back? What about

the other people who live in this town? The Innocent ones? The

ones who didn't have anything to do with this?" Sam waits a few

minutes for his words to sink before going on. "Well?" Ransey

lets his gun drop to the ground, then bends down and grabs the

rednecked old man up from the ground by the front of his shirt.

"Now you listen to me, you pile of dog shit! If I ever find out

that you or one of your little sodomizing cronies has even

harmed another person in this city, I will personally return

and finish what I started! Have I made myself perfectly clear?!"

Growls Ransey down the throat of the rednecked old man.

"Y-Y-yess!! Perfectly!!" Ransey then flings the man to the

ground and barks at him as he turns for his cycle. "Now get the

hell out of my face, I don't want to see your dog crap lookin'

face again." With that he continues his journey back to his

cycle.

When the two finally reach their bikes, an old faded-red

pickup truck pulls up in front of them. With the help of her

friends, Teresa lowers herself from the passenger's seat and to

the ground. She then limps, with the assistance of a crutch,

over to Ransey. "Nice to see that your still alive, shame I

can't say the same about the city though." "Sorry, but it's time

things started changing here, even if means having to start the

city over from scratch. I know what I did looks like overkill,

but sometimes overkill is the only way to get anything done,"

responds Ransey, bowing his head. "Well, I guess you do have a

point," says Teresa looking around at the smoldering remains,

"You know, the only good thing that came out of this is the fact

that the KKK will never run this city again." "Well," the wife

intones, "If you all are now hungry enough, I have a big supper

just waiting to be eaten back at the house. And, I'm gonna need

some help getting rid of it." This brings a chorus of laughter

from the group of friends, as they turn for home.


* * * * * * * * * *


Meanwhile, somewhere in a small tent......... "Now listen,"

Hal'tok says as he stares coldly into the eyes of the leader

of the Klansville groupies, "If you wish to reek your revenge

on this group of goodie-two-shoes heroes you'll have to do

everything I say." The old man nods in dull terror. "I want you

and your flunkies to break into the mecha processing factory

at New Nkkh'horis. I will supply you with the access codes to

gain entry to the staging area. Before you leave, you and your

men will be injected with neural implants that will feed your

brains all the information needed to pilot a Powerdroid.

Once you have reached the base, you will steal sufficient

numbers of Powerdroids to support your group and rejoin me

here." He offers the old man a handful of datachips. "Here are

the codes." The old man takes them and looks them over. "What's

to stop us from just taking these mecha and running?" Hal'tok

smiles grimly.

"These neural implants also carry seven ounces of Tango-Seven.

They are also equipped with tracking devices. One false move,

the Powerdroid's cockpit is redecorated with your internal

fluids. Understand?" The old man nods, then hurries out of the

tent.

No'thak extracts a cigarette from his pocket and lights up. He

takes a long drag on it, then blows a smoke ring. In the

guardhouse, his partner No'benbei is retrieving a couple of

bottles of liquor. After the two of them get off duty, they plan

to pay a little visit to the women's dormitory. Some of the

women on-base get pretty...... loose after a few slugs of Jack

Daniel's. The last thing he sees before dropping to the ground

is a movement in the shadows. A few minutes later, No'benbei

steps out of the guardhouse. No'thak had not returned for his

customary "drink every ten minutes", and he's starting to wonder

if he hasn't knocked off early. He suddenly sees a movement

in the shadows. He spins to face it, his rifle's safety off- and

a slug from a .48 finds a final resting place in the back of his

skull. A half-dozen humans, clad in thermoptic-camo

gear and laden with weapons, make their way past the East Gate

and towards the staging area. Once there, the apparent leader

presses a hand full of datachips into the security keypad's

input slots. The plexisteel doors trundle open, allowing them

access to the three-dozen Mark Five Powerdroids. Just as they're

begin to climb into them, a pair of guards walk out of the

apparent officers club and notice the group. They immediately

pull their pistols and take aim. They are soon erased by a hail

of "flash-fire" rounds from an M-69. These special rounds are

decedents of the twentieth-century's tracer bullets, except

each of them is a miniature anti-matter explosive. Soon, a

half-dozen Powerdroids lift from the staging area and, after

having destroyed every other Powerdroid in the area, loose a

volley of strontium-tipped Infernos against the administration

center. The pack of rouge mecha then fly off toward the northern

hills.

Several weeks later, after all the injuries sustained to the

freedom fighter team have been healed, the intrepid group sets

out on the road again. However, their burden is greatly

lessened, for now the bulk of their load is carried in a

heavily-armed U-haul truck driven by Rudolph Verncamp. Rudolph,

though having no military experience, is well-versed in the use

of automatic and semi-automatic assault weapons. He is loyal

to the cause, for he knows that Ransey would shoot his balls

off if he was anything but. Now the group is setting off for the

next town, St. Louis, Missouri. The RFs and the Stac are flying

at a fraction of their optimum speed to lend escort to the

elderly truck.

About five miles out of town, the group stops to set up camp.

The fighters and Stac are all in Gerwalk mode around the truck,

with two people on guard at all times. A few tents are set up

around the truck along with a campfire. That night, the group

is gathered around the campfire, nibbling on roasted venison

and discussing their plans. "I think we should book a show,"

declares Teresa. "We've got to make some kind of cash. St. Louis

is just five miles up the road. It has, and always will be, a

good starting place for musical groups." "I agree," states Sam.

"How strong are the Titan forces in this area?" asks Ransey,

getting right to the point as always. "They have a small base

about twenty miles out," says Teresa, "According to our

supporters in this area, there are no more than a dozen

Powerdroids based there, along with a staff of less than five

dozen." "Then it's settled," says Ransey, "St. Louis, or bust."

The group then raises their flasks or mugs in approval. Soon

afterward, the group turns in for the night. Ransey volunteers

for first watch. He can hear faint giggles coming from Ralph

and Tricia's bedroll. For a moment, he's back at the new resort

world Utopia..... With Jenny. He remembers the hot summer

nights, when they could barely keep their hands off each

other...... But they had resisted. They had decided to wait

until their wedding night. This is not the first time Ransey

has cursed this decision. He shakes his head, attempting

to clear it of such thoughts. Thoughts like that could get a man

killed in this business...... He looks over his shoulder at

Teresa's bedroll. Her flightsuit is lying next to it. Ransey

knows that she can't wear much under such a snug outfit. His

mind begins to wander again, about her under a

waterfall............ He splashes some of his water in his face.

You're on duty, for God's sake! Keep your mind on what you're

doing! He looks up at the stars, drinking in the celestial

beauty. He'd never noticed the stars when he was with the

Expeditionary Force; He was too busy icing Titans. Maybe after

this war is over he'll be able to travel to those stars in

something other than the cockpit of a fighter.

"Want some coffee?" He looks up to see Jack offering him a mug

of the steaming liquid. He nods gratefully as he takes the mug.

"Man, look at this night," says Ransey, with an awestruck

tone of voice. "Not often you see a peaceful one like this,"

agrees Jack. "We better savor this while we can. Soon enough,

we'll be back in the fight."


* * * * * * * * * *


Hal'tok, meanwhile, is having troubles of his own. Having

finally taught his human allies how to effectively use the

Powerdroid's weapons systems, he is now teaching them the art of

night flying. It is not one they're learning easily. More than

one has had a close call with an abnormally tall tree or a

cliff, but they are finally getting the hang of this tricky

art. He smiles. Soon enough, they will be ready to strike the

Terran rebels that have plagued them so.

He feels a sense of retribution as he watches them preform

defensive maneuvers in the night sky.

By morning, the resistance fighters are ready for another day of

life in the fast lane. Once they get into St. Louie, they will

be booking a concert hall for the first show of Nagasaki Reborn.

Hiding their fighters in a thickly-wooded area about a mile from

town, the group travels into the city, having changed into

entirely different outfits and entirely different personas.

Teresa is clad in a long, but tight-fitting strapless evening

gown, that sparkles like a clear night's sky. Ransey is clad in

a pair of Levis, a loose-fitting Hawaiian-print shirt, and a

black Fedora with a gray band. They sweep into the parks and

recreation office proudly and confidently. Teresa walks up to

the counter and taps the bell. A thin, gaunt, faggotty-looking

man appears. "May I help ya'll?" he says in a high-pitched,

effeminate drawl. Rudolph strides up to the counter. "Yes, yes

you can. I'm Sharky Verncamp, the manager of Nagasaki Reborn.

We'd like to book a concert at one of your concert halls."

The thin man gives off a loud "Humf" and gives Rudolph the bird.

"Why should I allow your band of reject musicians play a concert

at one of my halls. What proof do they have that they will be a

smash?" "Because," says Ransey, drawing a sawed-off shotgun

from his bag, "If you don't, this room is going to be

redecorated with your internal organs." "Well, I guess the

Swingin' the Blues Amphitheater is available. When will your

concert begin?" "Tonight, at seven o'clock sharp."


Chapter 6 To say our first concert was a smash would have been

a serious understatement. I am still, to this day, unable to

come up with the words that would accurately describe how that

first appearance of Nagasaki Reborn had altered the course of

that war. Eye of the Storm: The Autobiography of Ransey J.

Kaylouse "Sam, make sure that the Amps are hooked up to power."

Hovering over a mess of audio plugs, Jack works fluidly to have

the groups equipment ready and working for their premiere

concert. Up in the main booth Ransey runs a sound check over the

microphones to make sure that nothing will go wrong for the

evenings concert. "Okay guys, let's take five." Ransey leans

back in the tech's chair as he reflects over the selection

of music he has put together. Most of them mainly being tunes

he found on an old Charlie Daniels Band record. The group planed

on closing the concert with "No Home for Heroes", if they

weren't booed off the stage first. "Want a drink?" Ransey looks

up to see the soft loving face of Teresa standing over him.

"Thanks." Ransey takes the glass of water she is offering

and takes a long pull on the cold liquid. Teresa sits down next

to him and leans her head on his shoulder. "What are you

thinking about?" she asks placatingly. "I'm worrying about

tonight's concert, it's the first time I've ever preformed

before a live audience." Teresa cuddles him and whispers in his

ear, "Don't worry, everything will be fine." She then gives him

a light kiss on the check and walks back down to the stage to

continue working. Ransey thinks to himself, before turning

his attention back to the job at hand, God, I love that woman.

* * * * * * * * * * Meanwhile, somewhere in the Louisiana

bayou Hal'tok and his men work frantically to free their mecha's

feet from the swamp mud they had wandered into. "Nice choice

of direction," growls the leader of the human contingents

of the group. "If you don't like the ways I do things, why don't

go back to your little town and cower in a corner like you were

before." Hal'tok's words hit home, and for the remainder

of their trek through the bogs the group is silent. As if time

was like a jet, seven o'clock rolls around. The attendance,

much to Ransey's surprise and delight, is tripled to what it was

expected to be. Right now, Teresa is walking out into the center

spotlight on stage. She then yells out to the crowd, "Hey ya'll

out there!! Are you ready to rock?!!" An excited and warmth

filled "Yes" comes back from the crowd. Feeling an extra boost

of enthusiasm Teresa yells out, "Alright!! We're gonna rock

America tonight!!" With that Ransey takes up the mike and the

band strikes off the opening cords to their first song, "In

America". *Well the eagle's been flying slow, And the flag's

been flying low, And alot of people saying that America's

fixin' to fall. But speaking just for me, and some people from

Tennessee, We got a thing or two to tell you all. This lady may

have stumbled, But she ain't never fell, And if the Titan's

don't believe that, They can all go straight to hell! We're

gonna put her feet back on the path of righteousness

and then, God bless America again! And ya' never did think that

it would ever happen again, In America did ya? Ya' never did

think that we'd ever get it together again! Well, we damn sure

fooled ya! We're walkin' real proud and were talkin' real loud

again! In America..... Ya' never did think it would happen

again. The band finishes off the first chorus and plays a

instrumental break for a few seconds before continuing on with

the second verse. From the sounds in Long Island, To the San

Fransisco Bay, And everything inbetween them is our home. We may

have done a little fighting amongst ourselves, But you outside

people best leave us alone. 'Cause we'll all stick together,

And you can take that to the bank, That's the Cowboys and the

Hippies, and the Rebels and the Yanks. You just go and play your

hand on a Pittsburgh Steelers Fan, And I think you're gonna find

they understand. *Lyrics used with the permission of the CDB

1995(c) Ransey practically barks out each syllable to the lyrics

as the group continues on with the next chorus. And ya' never

did think that it would ever happen again, In America did ya?

Ya' never did think that we'd ever get it together again! Well,

we damn sure fooled ya! We're walkin' real proud and were

talkin' real loud again! In America..... Ya' never did think

it would happen again. The group thens breaks into a solo

section with one done by both Jack and Ransey, before singing

the chorus again. And ya' never did think that it would ever

happen again, In America did ya? Ya' never did think that we'd

ever get it together again! Well, we damn sure fooled ya! We're

walkin' real proud and were talkin' real loud again! In

America..... Ya' never did think it would happen again. The

remainder of the song is played out. Screams of excitement

and enjoyment echo out from thousands of youths. On stage, the

group is enjoying every minute of it. Teresa again steps up to

the mike. "Alright!! Now that your pumped, I've got a little

number I'd like to sing. It goes by the name of 'Still in

Saigon'." With that the group strikes out the opening

instrumental verse. *Got on a plane in Frisco and got off in

Vietnam, I walked into a different world, The past forever

gone. I could have gone to Canada, Or I could have stayed in

school, But I was brought up of a different league, I couldn't

break the rules! Thirteen months and fifteen days, The last ones

were the worst. One Minute I'd kneel down and pray, The next I'd

stand and curse. No place to run to where I did not feel that

war, When I got home, I stayed alone, and checked behind each

door! *Lyrics used with the permission of the CDB 1995(c) 'Cause

I'm still in Saigon, still In Saigon, I am..... Still in Saigon,

in my mi-i-ind, The group wraps up the first chorus as the stage

lights dim and change to a more dark purple-black background.

The ground at home was covered with snow, And I was covered

with sweat, My younger brother calls me a killer, And my daddy

calls me a Vet. Everybody says I'm someone else, That I'm sick

and there's no cure. Damned if I know who I am, There was only

one place I was sure, When I was still in Saigon, still In

Saigon, I am..... Still in Saigon, in my mi-i-ind, Every summer,

When It rains, I smell the jungle, Hear the planes, Can't tell

no one, 'Fraid someday I'll go insane! The lyrics to the song

break into instrumental solos, ending in a short duet by Ransey

and Tracie. That's been ten long years ago, And time has gone

on by, But now and then I catch myself, Eyes searching through

the sky. All the sounds of long ago will be forever in my head,

Mingled with the wounded's cries, And the silence of the dead!

'Cause I'm still in Saigon, still In Saigon, I am..... Still

in Saigon, in my mi-i-ind, *Lyrics used with the permission

of the CDB 1995(c) 'Cause I'm still in Saigon, still In Saigon,

I am..... Still in Saigon, in my mi-i-ind, The group breaks

once more for an instrumental section, before chorusing on the

last three words. Still in Saigon................

For the remainder of the show, the group plays an assortment

of CDB tunes before Teresa steps up to the microphone to

announce their last song. "I'm glad you're all having fun out

there, but the chief up in the booth is waving to us that our

show is running long, so we'll do one last number and call it a

night." A sort of pouty "Ahhhh" comes from the crowd when they

are told that this is the last song for the night. However,

before the group can finish the first three measures of their

last song, a volley of proton-tipped Infernos slice through

the night sky impacting in various places out in the main

seating area. The carnage is massive. Within the first few

seconds of this attack, more than half of the youths in the

seating arena are bloody piles of flesh scattered across the

ground. The remainder of the youths stampede frantically

to escape from the Amphitheater as a rain of kenetic-energy

rounds cut them down. Atop the crest of a hill over looking

the Swingin' the Blues Amphitheater are seven Mark Five

Powerdroids. In the lead mecha is Hal'tok, a look of pure hatred

plastered on his face. Up on stage, the group frantically

drops their instruments and run for the back exit to the stage

dome. Parked behind the Amphitheater are their fighters,

all in battle ready condition. The first one in the air is

Ransey's, its weapons coming to bear on the Powerdroids

over looking the Amphitheater. Seconds later volley after volley

rain down on the enemy mecha as Ransey's Stac leaps into the

battlefield. Caught off guard, Hal'tok's mecha takes three

direct missile hits. Two impact in the Powerdroid's mid-section,

and the other finds its way to his magazines. The rear armor

plating on his Powerdroid bubbles up as the magazines are

ignited. Not wasting what little time he has left, Hal'tok

pulls the eject lever on his control seat. Seconds later he is

blown clear of his mecha just as it implodes. His seat lands

with a thud less than thirty-feet from where his mecha once

stood. Quickly, he cuts his straps and breaks for the hills.

The remaining Powerdroids, now without a leader, retreat

trailing chaff and flares. Taking into account that they won't

be back for a while, Ransey brings his weapons down from standby

and reconfigures his fighter back to Gerwalk. The second he

disembarks from his craft, the pungent smell of burned flesh

begins to singe the insides of his nostrils. The smell is too

sickening for even Ransey to withstand. He quickly pulls a

handkerchief from his pants pocket and covers his nose and mouth

as he makes his way upwind of the stench. He is soon joined

by his friends, each sharing in the displeasure of the events

that have just occurred. "Ughh, when I joined the armed forces,

they never said I'd encounter anything like this." Looking

pale, and feeling even worse, Ransey silently turns his head to

face away from the carnage that has just taken place. "I guess

there isn't much else we can do now, except," Ralph uses his

handkerchief to blot off some sweat dripplets on his forehead

before continuing, "Bury the dead." Once their equipment

has already been packed up and trucked on, Ralph and Sam begin

to bury the thousands of dead. They do this by shoving down the

steep embankments of dirt surrounding the amphitheater

with their fighters in Robodroid. Once their excavation

is complete, Ransey and his friends gather on the ground around

the monstrous burial tomb. Using a small Bible that he kept in

his fighter, Sam conducts as best he can a funeral for those

who had died. "...We had only known them for a short while,

but they left a permanent reminder to the rest of us that our

lives are short in comparison to the immortality of God. And so

I bring this to an end by saying, from ashes to ashes, from dust

to dust. May you rest in peace." Once Sam's sermon is completed,

the ladies of the group each in turn step up to the center of

the mound and place bouquets of flowers. Tricia quietly turns

to her husband and sobs softly into his shirt. Comfortingly,

Ralph hugs her. A moment later, Jack's fighter slowly walks up

carrying a massive chunk of concrete retaining wall in which

he had done as best he could with his fighter's lasers to carve

an epitaph onto this giant tombstone. Written on it are the

words: "A reminder of the price we pay for freedom in this

country, and those who paid it with their lives." Before

leaving, however, Sam removes the battered flag pole from the

amphitheater's dome and places it next to the tombstone.

Waving in the air atop it is an old, torn and holed American

flag. * * * * * * * * * * Somewhere in the Louisiana bayou are

seven men crouching around a small campfire, little is being

said between them. Looming in the shadows behind them are their

remaining six Powerdroids. Their leader speaks, "Today's battle

was a minor set back. As soon as we refortify our forces we

shall strike again, and this time-" But he is cut short. "What

do you consider a major set back?! You consider the fact that

we all could have been killed a minor setback?! If we didn't

need you to help us maintain these flying buckets of bolts I'd

kill you right now with my bear hands!" With dull terror,

Hal'tok takes a firm grip on the old man's shoulders and forces

him back into his seat. "Now, if you're through with your

outbursts, we can get back to business. Now, before I was

interrupted, I was saying that the next time we strike we shall

be victorious in capturing our enemies. Tomorrow night, you and

your men will break into the Dal'fok Mecha factories in Chicago

and steal another Powerdroid for me." "We're coming down on

Chicago, Ransey," says Ralph's voice over the comnet. He,

Tricia, and Ransey are flying escort over their small convoy.

"Thank God," responds Ransey. "Another hour of flying and I

would have had to gotten out and pushed my fighter the rest of

the way." Even over the roar of their fusion turbines, Ralph

can barely make out the sputtering sound emanating from Ransey's

craft. "We'll have to land soon, anyway." "Roger. O'Hare ain't

too far from here, we can set down there." Twenty minutes later,

the convoy grinds to a halt at the deserted remains of O'Hare

International Airport. "Gee, what a ghost town." Tricia shivers

as she disembarks from her fighter. "Yeah, I noticed," says

Ransey dryly as he steps out of his Stac. "Come on, we have to

move our ships into the parkade. The hangars are too unstable

to park any of our jets in there." After the craft have been

relocated to safety, Tricia scans her new surroundings.

While mecha combat does not scare her at all, just about

everything else does. It takes all of her husband's tender

loving care to keep her from freaking out all of the time.

Suddenly she hears a high-pitched scream behind her. She spins

around, and releases an equally glass-shattering squeal of her

own. "Aw for Shit's sake, Tricia quit screamin'! I'm goin' deaf

over here!" snaps Jack. A loud, throaty laugh rips loose from

Tracie's mouth. "Calm down, Tricia!" She giggles. Suddenly,

a maniacal laugh echoes throughout the parkade. Naturally,

everyone freaks out. Later that evening, the group is gathered

in a restaurant a few miles north of McCallister Park, the

location of this evening's concert. Their performance was a

great success, this time uninterrupted by bloodshed. Their hands

are worked numb from signing thousands of autographs, and can

barely hold their food. Chicken is the delicacy of the hour,

and the group is tearing into their meal with gusto, with the

exception of Ransey, who has already finished his meal. Sipping

a rare red wine, he notices an old nickelodeon player piano in a

corner of the dining room. Walking over to it, he drops a

quarter in the slot. Abruptly, the rich, melodious strains

of "Bill Bailey" begin to drift through the air. Suddenly,

the bright tones of a trumpet and trombone join in with the

piano. Ransey looks over to see the two bartenders wielding

their instruments with skill and enthusiasm. Even a banjo chimes

in, played by the chef. All of a sudden, Ransey yanks Teresa

to her feet, and begins to spin her around. Taking a cue from

Ransey, Ralph snatches Tricia from her seat and onto the dance

floor. The other three clap their hands to the rhythm of the

music as the air is filled with laughter from the dancers.

>From a table basked in shadow, a trenchcoated figure with a

large hat clamped down on his head nurses his double-scotch.

Taking a long drag off his cigarette, he exhales, blowing a

thick, grayish-white cloud of smoke. Taking another pull from

his glass, he fingers the automatic hidden within the folds of

his coat. How easy it would be to eliminate his adversaries.....

But no. Tonight, they laugh and sing and dance. Tomorrow,

they die. Better to let them savor this brief moment of

happiness. It is probably their last.





Chapter 7 From my arrival (on Earth), I have detested Terran

culture. But that night in the restaurant, everything changed.

Even though I still hate it with a passion, I can at least

understand why the Terrans value it so. It makes them happy.

There is nothing in the Titan culture that can do that. Not even

the Dom'mekco. [Titan mating ritual] Remark attributed to

Hal'tok Uraki, Mid-summer 2034 It's a warm summer's morning,

but Commander Jonathan Angel of the Terran Expeditionary

Force is in no mood to admire the scenery. He and the rest of

the Alpha squad (sans Ransey) is gathered in the tenth floor

conference center, in the Defense Force Command Headquarters,

also known as Tachi'Yokota Air Base. This military complex

spans nearly thirty miles, and is covered with towers, hangars,

runways, and AA batteries. At the moment he is glaring at a

young staff officer on the other side of the table. Lieutenant

Commander Nova Hayase, however, is not easily intimidated.

"I'm sorry, Commander," she states sympathetically,

"But I'm afraid we can't let you stay much longer than two more

weeks." Johnny exhales loudly. "I'm afraid you don't quite

understand my situation, Lieutenant Commander," he responds

tersely. "Our squadron commander has been lost out there,

somewhere. We owe it to him to at least try to locate him." "I

sympathize with you, but General Acromen is insisting that you

return to Fall Back Station ASAP, and I don't think he'll buy

that excuse that your fighters aren't up to speed much longer."

Behind her, outside the clearsteel window, a squadron of Gammas

take to the air, going out on a patrol of the local maritime

sectors. Johnny studies her. She is young, twenty-four

years old. She has an athletic figure, which is enhanced by the

snug-fitting Defense Force jacket-and-slacks ensemble. Her long,

forest-green hair is pulled into a long ponytail and swept over

her right shoulder, resting neatly on her right breast. Johnny

shakes his head. Kids her age should be falling in love and

marrying, not fighting in these crazy wars........ Nova's

expression is softening. "If it'll help, I can contact our bases

in Beijing, Saigon, and Sydney. I don't think those sectors

have been checked yet." She is about to say more when a young

ensign walks into the room. "Excuse me, Lieutenant Commander,

but our bases in Kiev and Frankfurt have just linked in. Their

forces are ready for transfer." Nova nods. "Thank you, Hayes."

She turns to the disgruntled pilots. "If you'll excuse me,

gentlemen...." She strides out of the room, followed by the

ensign. Johnny looks up at his group. "Come on, let's get

something to eat." * * * * * * * * * * With a final grunt,

Ransey heaves the last piece of cargo into a barely large enough

space. "That's the last of it." He slams shut the truck's roll

hatch. "Let's get this show on the road." The rest of the group

is already in the air, but the thrust of his Stac's main engine

can more than compensate for his late start. "Where we headed?"

asks Rudolph over the CB. "Milwaukee," states Ransey as he

engages his afterburners. Suddenly, a long and graphic string

of obscenities spill through the net. Ransey is about to respond

in kind when he sees what looks like a one-legged Gamma in

Gerwalk amble past his cockpit. The ship is trailing smoke and

fuel from half a dozen different impact points. "What the hell-"

Ransey bites off his own curse. Time enough to swear later.

"Rudolph, pull off the road and sit tight! Sam, you and I are

gonna rescue that poor bastard!" The Stac and the Gamma shift

course and dive down after the shattered RF. They barely manage

to disconnect the cockpit section before the engines meltdown.

The two craft reconfigure to Gerwalk and set down near Rudolph's

truck. Rudolph rushes over to the cockpit and fumbles with the

exterior canopy release. Miraculously, he gets it open. Ransey

and Sam help him move the pilot. "Are you alright, pal?" asks

Ransey as the pilot slowly regains consciousness. The guy rubs

his forehead tenderly, "Yeah, I think so. Thanks alot. Who are

you guys?" Ransey smiles. "I'm Ransey Kaylouse. This is Sam

Long. We're traveling musicians." The pilot smiles. "Traveling

musicians with fully functional RF's?" Ransey grins. "We'll

explain later. Right now, we have to move." Leaving his cockpit,

they move the young man into the truck, then remount their

mecha. Within moments their convoy is on the move again. They

reach Milwaukee before night fall, and preform their concert

to a group of grateful citizens. After the concert, at a local

diner, the group is enjoying hamburgers and fries when a man in

a trenchcoat sidles up to their table. "Excuse me," he says

politely, "But have you seen this man?" He holds up a

slightly-faded photo of the man they had rescued this morning.

"No," answers Tricia. After waiting a few moments to see if

anyone else at the table would volunteer information,

the man tips his hat to them and walks off into the night. "What

was that all about?" asks Tracie. "Who cares?" says Teresa,

"Probably just some guy with a grudge. We should concentrate

on where to go next." Just then, the man in question shows up at

the table. "Why not try Salt Lake?" he suggests. "Why Salt

Lake?" asks Ransey. "A friend of a friend of mine mentioned

that their may be a resistance group operating out of there,"

the guy answers. "How do we know you're not lying?" asks Ralph.

His hand is moving near the automatic tucked in his belt. "Do

you think I am?" he asks smoothly. After a few moments, Sam

shakes his head. "I don't think so." "Well, then," says Teresa,

"I guess it's Salt Lake." Outside the building, the trenchcoat

man is listening to a small earphone. He smiles when he hears

his adversaries agreeing with his agent's proposal. How easy

this was. Almost too easy.... Dawn finds the heroes already

on their way to Salt Lake. "Just over that next valley and

you'll be there," insists the young man. "I hope you're right,"

says Ransey over the comnet. "Don't worry. Could we stop here

a second? I gotta take a whiz." "Roll down the window." "And

piss from ten-thousand feet up? No thanks." After a few moments,

Ransey switches to VTOL mode and reduces his altitude enough

to let the truck's tires touch ground. "I'll be right back! I

gotta find a bush!" The young man runs off. The other craft

reconfigure to Robodroid and set down, setting up a loose ring

around the truck. "You know, if someone wanted to, it would be

very easy to pick us off right now...." Ransey states, trying

to sound deep. All of a sudden, the ground erupts around the

group. Within seconds, they are surrounded by literally hundreds

of Powerdroids. "Throw down your weapons and surrender.

We outnumber you greatly, surrendering would be very wise at

this time." Ransey is about thumb off his trigger's safety cap

when he hears Teresa say, "Power down your weapons. We

surrender." Ransey wants to protest, to go out in a blaze of

glory. But that's not his decision to make. Reluctantly,

he turns the weapons power regulator down to zero, and then

waits. Victory cries echo through out the amassed troops. After

disconnecting Rudolph and his truck from Ransey's Stac, the

group is carted off by their captors towards Dal'fok, the main

Titan base on Earth. Torn from their mecha, the pilots are

dragged off towards their detention cells. Ransey, naturally,

is not going without a fight, and it's a fight that he's giving

them. However, he is going. As they're being dragged along the

corridor towards the prison barracks, Ransey encounters

the one who had betrayed them. "You traitor!!!! I oughta cut

your balls off with a dull razor blade!!!! I oughta leave you in

a house full of fat and horny old men!!!! At least tell me your

name, traitor, so I can tell God to tell Satan to expect you!"

The betrayer smirks. "No'laka J'chor tholo," he says, stating

his name. "Ch'chal thok to'luk chh'." Ransey merely raises an

eyebrow to one of the more graphic Titan oaths. "Lik'tio

nukchara ki no'murruw nik'chi." He has just invoked the worst

curse known to Titan culture. No'laka's face has a scandalized

look on it, as do the other Titans in the corridor. No'laka

snaps his fingers, and the guards drag Ransey away. As the

guards drag him down the corridor, however, he yells out,

"Cha'bek nor boroch dal t'aldk!" No'laka snaps off the command

to move Ransey. Several hours later, Ransey is alone in his cell

thinking to himself. Suddenly, the door trundles, and Hal'tok

walks in, with a Titan disrupter pistol pointed at Ransey.

"I want answers, now!" he snarls. "You'll get nothing from me

you, Ta'kek," shoots back Ransey. Hal'tok pulls the trigger.

The weapon discharges a pale-green bolt of electromagnetic

fire, hitting Ransey squarely in the chest. Fortunately,

it was set to low power, so it did little more damage to Ransey

than a punch in the gut. While obviously wracked with pain,

Ransey manages to push himself to an upright sitting position

and fire a piercing glare in Hal'tok direction. "You bare pain

well, human." Hal'tok smiles. "Maybe you have Titan blood in

you." "Up yours, asshole," Ransey responds, flipping the bird

in Hal'tok's direction. Instead of being enraged, Hal'tok merely

smiles. "I'm impressed by your fortitude, human." Without

warning, he looses another blast from his disrupter pistol.

Ransey's reflexes are in no condition to move him out of the way

in time. The effects of this blast are along the same lines as

the original. Hal'tok smiles as he steps through the door.

Ransey gathers his strength for a final rush at the door, but

finds himself slamming into the steel slab. He starts to pound

his fists on the door, but quickly realizes the futility of it.

The entire exchange between Ransey and Hal'tok has been heard

by Ransey's comrades through out the cell block. Teresa is about

to offer encouragement to Ransey when the entire complex starts

shaking. "What the-" Ransey cuts off his curse as he looks out

the window. Outside it, he can see dozens of RF's and Battdroids

attacking the base. In the distance, Ransey can see a sky

carrier opening up on the base with it's particle accelerators.

It appears that the complex will soon be destroyed, but all of a

sudden, large domes scattered through out the complex trundle

open, revealing miniaturized Meson accelerators. These

superweapons begin to discharge their devastating ammo catching

fire to scores of RF's in mid-sky. The survivors either fall

back, or reconfigure to Gerwalk or Robodroid, to make use of

their rifle/cannons. The atmospheric warships advance,

continuing to fire supercharged particle waves. The battle

starts to even out, but Ransey knows that the Terrans, no matter

their courage or weapons, can hold this stalemate forever.

Suddenly, the door on his cell begins to trundle open. Ransey

takes up a fighting posture as he waits to pounce on his

adversary. On the other side, however, is No'laka, proffering

his weapons. Shocked, Ransey snatches them from No'laka's

hands and places them back in their rightful holsters. "Hurry,

we have little time before they discover your escape," says

No'laka as he pushes Ransey down the hallway. "But why, No'laka,

why did you decide to switch sides again?" No'laka looks down

at the floor as he continues to push Ransey down the hallway.

"I thought about what you said to me before you were shoved

off to your cell. You said, 'What you have done is without

honor'. So, in freeing you I hope to retain some honor for

myself." Within a few minutes, No'laka, along with Ransey,

enter the hangar bay that their fighters are contained within.

Already at their own fighters, Ransey's comrades in arms are

suiting up and climbing into their cockpits. Ransey is headed

for his craft, when suddenly a hailstorm of tachyon-rounds

slice through the hanger dome, headed straight for him. At the

last second, No' laka pushes Ransey out of the way, leaving

himself vulnerable to the deadly ammunition. "No'laka!!"

Ransey bends down to his liberator, intending to take him with

them. "Come on, man, we'll get you to a doctor." "No....."

No'laka shakes his blood-streaked head. It is a struggle for him

to speak, as his body looks like an overused gunnery target.

"Carry on the fight..... I shall die with honor, and I thank

you for that........." A death rattle escapes from his throat,

as his body falls limp in Ransey's arms. Ransey chokes back his

rage as he drops the body and runs for his fighter. No time to

worry about fallen comrades, there is a war to fight. Not

bothering with the pre-flight, he brings the main reactor

on-line and overrides the safeties. While this will greatly

accelerate the take-off sequence, it will also run a greater

risk of the ship overloading and going into meltdown.

Fortunately, the sequence goes without incident and Ransey

handles the take-off manually, while calibrating his thinking

cap. Soon enough, man and machine are mentally synchronized

and ready to go into combat. Ransey opens the comnet, tunes it

to the Titan frequencies, and begins spitting out curses in a

dozen Terrestrial languages and a half-dozen Titan dialects.

This distracts the Titan pilots long enough for the Earth Force

contingent to regain the offensive. Soon enough, most of the

weapon emplacements and mecha squadrons have been eliminated.

But for Dal'fok, this means little; being that it is the Titan

mecha production center, it can just produce more. Ransey

realizes this, and begins to dive for the central complex,

his friends behind him. They dive down a long corridor, running

over several Titan soldiers in the journey. Eventually,

they reach the reactor, and waiting there to greet them is

Hal'tok. He is crafted in a top-of-the-line Mark VII Powerdroid,

the most powerful yet created. "Surrender now, and I shall spare

your lives." Ransey chuckles at this and images his mecha's

left hand to give the bird in Hal'tok's direction. Hal'tok

rushes at Ransey, only to find himself standing in the middle

of a hell storm. Ransey is dumping his missiles and railgun

rounds at Hal'tok as his friends fend off other Powerdroids

that have entered the area. Soon enough, the freedom fighters

have made short work of the other Powerdroids, and Hal'tok's

has been temporarily pinned against a wall by Sam's Robodroid.

"Now Ransey! Destroy the reactor now!" Sam is starting to lose

his grip on Hal'tok, so Jack and Ralph move in to help him.

Ransey moves into line with the reactor and switches his reserve

flow to the main battery. After having all the necessary

link-ups, he flips the safety to zero, turns the regulator

dial to full auto, and thumbs the trigger. The Hellcannon

discharges a massive burst of energy into the reactor core, the

output of which is roughly equivalent to that of an RF operating

at full power. After this powerful burst, the mecha is almost

completely drained of power, and Ransey reaches to switch on the

emergency flow. Hal'tok has been forced to watch this, and his

scream of agony blends in with the roar of detonating fusion

piles. Somehow, by sheer anger, he manages to throw off his

captors and boost away into the sky. Jack and Ralph come out of

the exchange unharmed, but Sam's mecha is ricocheted into the

detonating core and is superglued to the far bulkhead. It takes

half-a-dozen Robodroids and a Mark III turbo-lifter to remove

the incapacitated mecha. By the time they get him out of there,

his fighter looks like a piece of steak that was left on the

grill too long. As for Sam himself, his body is half stunned

from the brief eighty-thousand volt shock he took from the power

conducted through his fighter's frame. The group blasts off

through the ruptured ceiling of the Dal'fok mecha factories

and away into the dusk sky seconds before the reactor detonates.

Fortunately, by this time, the remainder of the TEF Earth Force

has either retreated, or pulled out of the explosion range as

the entire base goes up in a mushroom cloud. * * * * * * * * * *

* "He's alive, for Christ's sake!" Commander Johnny Angel sends

his fists slamming down on the conference table, sending

Lieutenant Commander Nova Hayase's coffee mug sailing to the

floor. "And your just going to send us back! For God's sake

woman, the U.S.S Washington saw his fighter streak off into the

night sky, and you're saying that he's a casualty of war!?"

Johnny's adviser, as well as his greatest friend, Thadius Fokker

places a calming hand on Johnny's shoulder as he gently

persuades him to return to his seat. Nova places her arms across

one another as she shakes her head. "It's out of my control,"

she says, a look of sympathy softening her features. "But

General Acromen wants you back ASAP, he's already sent the

shuttle down to transport you back to Fall Back Station. I'll

do everything I can to locate Ransey, but I can't buy you

anymore stall time with Acromen." She places a gloved hand on

Johnny's. "We're doing all that we can. Our only hope is that

we can find him before the final assault begins." Johnny buries

his forehead in his hands. "Very well, if you find anything

get word to me immediately." Nova gives his hand a gentle

squeeze as she rises from her seat. "Get some sleep, things

will look better in the morning." With that, Nova strides out of

the conference room. "We might as well get some sleep while we

can, the shuttle will be here around six o'clock tomorrow,"

remarks Thadius as he stands up from his chair and stretches.

"You guys with me?" The response is almost unanimous. "Sorry

guys, but I've a hot chick who's really-" But Jason cuts himself

off prematurely. "Well, Chunk, have fun. I'll see bright and

early tomorrow morning." Tones in Johnny as he rises from his

chair. "That's a big K.O guys." With that, Jason rises from his

chair and jaunts out the door. The remainder of the group gives

each other a disgusted look, before retiring to the quarters

for the night.







Chapter 8 We all have feelings, even giant's like Ransey

Kaylouse. When you lose a friend, it hurts. It's not so much

that you've lost another person as it is that you lost some of

yourself. Ransey felt that way after No'laka threw himself

in his place. Now, he may not verbally admit it, but you can

tell that he's hurt by looking in his eyes. Nights Under the

Blue Moon: The Autobiography of Teresa Blair-Long Dawn finds

our group of beleaguered heroes half way back to where there

truck, along with it's driver Rudolph, was last parked. The

eight fighters are landed in a loose circle surrounding

a smoldering campfire. Sleeping around this campfire are the

pilots of these mecha. Up with the crack of dawn, as always,

is Ransey. After kissing the still sleeping Teresa on the cheek,

Ransey jaunts down toward the near-by river. After shedding

his clothes, Ransey leaps into the almost transparent river.

While his back is turned away from the encampment of his

friends, Teresa awakens and heads for the water. The sudden

scrunching of the ground causes Ransey to turn back toward the

camp. A second later he is leaping for his pants as his face

turns a light shade of red. "Aw for crying out loud, Teresa,

don't sneak up on me like that! Especially when I don't have any

pants on!" yells Ransey as he pulls his pants on behind a

shore-lining bush. "Sorry, but I didn't know that you were

already awake. I thought you were still sleeping like the rest

of them," apologizes Teresa as she turns her back towards Ransey

as he dresses. A second later, Ransey is dressed and headed

back towards camp. As he passes by Teresa, he gives her a light

kiss on the cheek and whispers in her ear. "The river's all

yours." About two hours later, the group is seated around the

smoldering remains of their previous evening's campfire.

"Have you been able to determine if the truck, and preferably

the driver as well, are still in the same position?" Ransey

pokes at the fire as his friends poise new questions for him.

"I've told you a dozen times," Ransey finally says, "Rudolph

is in the same position that we left him in. He hasn't moved

an inch since our departure." "Well, if he hasn't moved, then

lets get going so that we can catch up with him before he moves

on." After a brief reloading of the fighters, they are up in the

air again. * * * * * * * * * * "But you lordship, I had the

Terrans within my grasp! It was not my fault that No'laka

betrayed us and set them free! Nor was it my fault that because

of his betrayal that Dal'fok was destroyed. Please your

Highness, have mercy on me!" Before his leader, Hera, Hal'tok

Uraki pleads on his knees for forgiveness. "For many a year,

Uraki, your service to the Titan cause has proved to be

completely loyal. But, failure like this does not serve much

credit to your family name. However, I am feeling generous

today. I will give you one more chance to destroy these Terran

rebels. You will be given a squadron of our most experienced

pilots all equipped with the Mark IX Powerdroid. But, if you

fail this time, it will mean your death if you return to the

Titan contingent." Hal'tok strikes his fist on his right breast

and says, "I shall not fail you again." He then snaps an

about-face and marches out of the hall. As Hal'tok marches

out, Hera thinks to herself, Foolish Uraki, If you had only

looked into the Rebel's Leader's history, you would have

discovered that you have not been fighting a normal human, but

the child of our lost leaders. You sealed your fate when you

first came in contact with him. You will die, not by my hand,

but by the hand of a Ch'ekta. Sitting in the melancholy

cab of the U-Haul truck, Rudolph hunches over a small note pad

scribbling down notes for his autobiography. His pocket of

concentration is shattered when the roar of jet engines fill the

air surrounding the truck. Rudy wastes little time slapping

the reconfigure switch on the dash board and activating

the defense grid on the truck. Rudolph timidly raises his head

to peek through the view slots, his hand poised on the firing

trigger. His grip relaxes when he notices that it is his friends

climbing out of the fighters. After slapping the defense grid's

power switch back to neutral, he climbs out the truck and gives

his comrades a hearty welcome. He is rewarded by a kiss on the

cheek by Teresa. Two hours later, the group, save for Ransey

and Teresa, who are atop the Stac stargazing, is clustered

around a campfire, roasting venison and salmon. Between bites

of the meat and swigs from a bottle of Milwaukee, Jack tells

one of his tall tales of the wild nights in Borneo, where he was

stationed just before war broke out. "...And I tell you guys,

if it hadn't been for that can of salt I was carrying, I would

have never gotten out of that situation!" By now, most of the

group is either sleeping, or well on their way. Tricia is lying

with her back propped up against a tree trunk; Ralph is asleep

with his head in her lap. Sam is lying back on the ground,

a half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand and an a copy of

"Swimsuit Weekly" in the other. Tracie is cleaning her

government-issue Hudson & Manhattan .49. Rudy is typing away on

his old Macintosh laptop. "....Her bosom shook profusely

as she ran down the hill towards me...." mutters Rudy as he

continues to type. Atop the Stac, Ransey is holding Teresa as

they gaze up at the stars. With her finger, Teresa traces

several constellations up in the sky. She points up at a

particularly bright star. "That's my home. Sirius." A faint

smile touches her lips. "I was born on that system's main

planet, Topanga. My dad was never with the Forces. He was a

grain farmer on the small island Aceria. He moved into

Aquaculture after the government bought the island to use as a

weapons disposal facility. Spent most of his life raising corn,

kelp, and three daughters. Mom died when my little sister was

born." Ransey indicates a less bright star some distance away

from Sirius. "I don't really know where I was born, but I grew

up on Tyrone, that system's capitol world. The Expeditionary

Force has a major base there called Fall Back Station. I wonder

what's going on there right now........." * * * * * * * * * *

Johnny shakes off the mild nausea caused by Hyperspacial

travel and looks out the transport's window. Outside, hundreds

of heavily-armed spaceships, the recently developed main fleet,

are clustered around a large, sprawling orbital station. In

spite of his anger of having to leave Ransey behind, Johnny

smiles. It feels good to be back at Fall Back Station. Soon

after exiting hyperspace, the transport docks with the

battlecruiser Apollo, General Acromen's flagship. Johnny and

company are promptly escorted to the General's office. Acromen,

a tall, thin, balding man with a handlebar mustache, welcomes

back each pilot with a firm handshake. "A fine job on Earth,

all of you," commends Acromen, stroking his mustache. "I'm also

glad to here about Captain Kaylouse's survival, though I regret

having to leave him behind. Don't worry, though. You'll be

seeing him again soon enough. The fleet is moving out." He walks

over to his desk and picks up a sheet of paper. On it is the

seal of the Terran Expeditionary Force and the signature

of Admiral Mike Parker, Commander in Chief of the defense

forces. "I just got this delivered by a special Courier this

morning. TSF-3 has reported success in the defeating of the

Titan High Command and are due in port in two weeks. We launch

in three." "What's the plan of attack, sir?" asks Roytez,

speaking for the entire group. "You honestly want to know, fine,

......... We're pulling a blitzkrieg maneuver. As of this

morning, three more squadrons have been qualified on the Stac

fighter. You will, unfortunately, be assigned to remain here

since you are in lack of a commanding officer. Sorry boys, but,

that's life." "Well, then, Sir, what's the plan of attack for

the rest of the fleet?" Richard's voice is carrying an edge of

sarcasm. "The three squadron's will be assigned to the heavy

cruiser Nimitz, she's an oldy goldy, but she's won more fights

than most of those damned Betrondas they've been coming out

with. The Nimitz will be at the spearhead of a task force that

will strike the Super Carrier the Titan's have in orbit. The

main fleet will be divided into three major forces, one led by

the Mercury, one led by the Mars, and one led by the Apollo.

Mercury's forces will attack from the dark side of the moon,

and the forces under the Mars and Apollo will come out from

behind the sun, hitting their blind spot. Once the orbital

carrier is destroyed their chain of command should collapse

around us, and we should be able to force them into an

unconditional surrender. Should that fail, well, you know what

happened to Japan in WWII, the Fat Man will make his redebut

on their front door step. In any case, the fleet won't have to

do much work on the planet itself. Resistance forces should

be able to topple any enemy bases, with a little bit of support

from us, of course." Acromen smiles. "If you guys would prefer,

we could assign you to the supply transport hauling mecha and

weapons to Earth. At least you wouldn't be completely out of the

action......" Johnny shrugs. "Better playing truck driver than

sitting on the side lines." Acromen nods. "That's what I'd

figure you'd say." He hands Johnny a sealed envelope. "Here are

your orders. You'll be assigned Gamma's for this mission,

and your ship will leave within ninety-six hours. Good luck."

Shaking his head, Michael mutters, "Flying Gammas, we'll need

all the luck we can get." "Pull back! These bastards are too

powerful for us!!" Captain Tyler Morris, formerly of the Terran

Air Force, throws his mode conversion lever back to fighter

and lights his burners. He shakes his head. Of the fifteen

RF's in his reconstructed squadron, only seven are still alive.

What had looked like an easy-picking for the resistance

had turned into a blood bath, as the supply dump turned out to

be defended by new Titan Mark IX Powerdroids. What's left of his

squadron has already fallen back to their base in San Diego and

Morris knows that his number is up at last. But he's not going

down emptyhanded. Switching his com frequency to tight-beam,

he raises Tokyo Base. "Tokyo Base, do you copy, this is Blood

Hound leader, sector NA14. My squadron has encountered

a new line of Titan mecha, exact numbers are unknown, but these

ships are more powerful than any thing we've seen. Advise

consolidation of forces in California Bay area and request

reinforcements ASA-" His voice is cut off. In due time, the

freedom fighters make their way to Salt Lake City. After an

exhilarating performance, the group retires to a quiet hotel.

The hotel, called "Little America", used to be a frequented

truck/traveller stop along Freeway 80. Ralph and Tricia quickly

disappear into their hotel room and lock the door behind them.

Jack searches out the kitchen and manages to procure himself

a large meal. The dinning room is fairly crowded, and no one

notices a trenchcoated figure slip in and place a manila

envelope on a certain table. The table happens to be the one

where Jack and Sam are enjoying some homecooked pot pies. About

five minutes after the trenchcoated figure leaves the room, Sam

reaches out for the salt shaker and instead lays his hand on the

manila envelope. Jack looks up a few minutes later to find his

friend intently reading the information enclosed in the

envelope. Sam's face is white. He passes the papers over to

Jack, who quickly assumes a similar expression. * * * * * * * *

* * In his room, Ransey is sprawled on his bed, drifting in and

out of consciousness. He is about to fall asleep when he hears

a knock at his door. Muttering curses under his breath, he rises

from his bed and answers the door. It's Teresa. She's wearing

a short, pink kimono-style robe. A coy smile is on her face.

"I was cold, and I thought maybe .... you could warm me up?"

Shocked by this proposition, Ransey stands there.. blinking.

"Are you alright?" Ransey shakes off his brief incapacitation.

"S-sure, but are you serious?" In response, she forces him into

the room and pushes the door shut behind her. Inside, she pushes

him down on the bed and says, "I've never been more serious

in my life." Smiling submissively, Ransey responds, "Well, if

you put it that way..." He takes her in his arms and begins

to kiss her- Suddenly, the door is kicked in. Startled, Teresa

pulls her robe back around her. Standing in the now-demolished

doorway are Sam, Jack, and Ralph, all brandishing guns.

Naturally, Jack is carrying the most ridiculously oversized

gun he can find, while Sam and Ralph have confined themselves

to reasonably-sized automatics. Jack is the first to respond

to the scene in Ransey's room. "Just what the hell do you think

you're doing with her?" "I'm playing bingo, what the hell does

it look like?" snaps back Ransey. In a calmer voice, Sam asks,

"Why didn't you tell us that you are... you are-" "Gay?"

responds Ralph, stupidly. "No dumbass, why didn't he tell us

that he is one of the enemy." Several doors down the hallway,

the trenchcoated figure sticks his head out of his room long

enough to hear the partially-muffled exchange down the hall.

He laughs quietly, then slips back into his room. Even with all

the chaotic activity around him, Ransey notices Teresa moving

away from him with a confused expression on her face. When the

voices have finally settled down, Ransey starts to explain

himself. "I was born to a high-ranking Titan couple who defected

to the Terran side during the Second War. They left me to be

raised by an old friend who was-is- highly placed in the defense

forces on FallBack Station. So you see, I may be Titan, but I

fight for the same things you do." "I don't trust the bastard,

you all remember what happened when we trusted the last Titan

who said he was on our side? The commie bastard led us straight

into an ambush." Jack's face is still flushed with rage. "What

should we do with him?" asks Sam. "Well, I say we lynch him!"

snarls Jack. "I don't know, that would be like regressing

to the days of the Ku Klux Klan," remarks Ralph. "Besides,

if he'd wanted to do away with us he woulda by now. Lord knows

he's had plenty of opportunity." "Because, I bet the Titan's

want him to bring us in alive so they can use us as an example

for the people of America to break their spirits!" "Shut the

hell up Jack, I'll handle this." responds Sam, jutting his arm

out in front of Jack. "We'll confine him to his room till we can

make a more logical decision on what we should do with him."

Still angry, Jack says as he walks out the door, "Fine, but if

he escapes and kills one of us, it won't be my fault."

Gradually, the remainder of the group drifts out of the room,

leaving Ransey to sit in the darkness. The next morning,

Ransey's meal is brought to him, while Sam and Ralph perform

guard duty in front of his door. Brooding over his food, Ransey

thinks to himself, Why did I have to be born to a Titan family,

why couldn't I have just been born to a human family like

everyone else? Now that my true origins are out, all trust that

these people have placed in me is gone. Why does everyone

think I'm the enemy? Meanwhile, outside his recently

reconstructed room door, a trenchcoated figure slinks up to the

group guarding the door. "No one is allowed to see the

prisoner!" booms Sam as he waves his gun around in front of

himself. Nodding, the figure responds, "Ah, but I'm a close

personal friend of the prisoner," he suddenly whips out a small

spray can and squirts both Sam and Ralph in the face with a

heavy cloud of green mist. As the two drop to the floor

unconscious, he mutters, "A very close friend..." Then enters

the room. Almost as instantaneous as the unknown person enters

the room does Ransey recognize him. "Hal'tok!! What did you do

to the guards?" Smiling, as he reaches into folds of the

trenchcoat, "Oh, they just took a short nap." Suddenly, he pulls

from the folds of his coat a small pistol. "Now, I shall finally

rid the Titan Regime of your interference and crush all chances

of the humans ever defeating us." With this he snaps off two

shots out of his pistol. Fortunately, Ransey manages to roll out

of the way before either of the bullets can hit him, taking

cover behind the bed. Before Hal'tok can squeeze off any more

shots, his gun is knocked from his hands by a well placed kick

from Teresa. Wasting no time, Hal'tok makes a break for it down

the hall. "Are you alright?" asks Teresa as she helps Ransey

to his feet. "Yeah-" Cutting himself off in his own sentence,

Ransey lunges after Hal'tok. However, by the time Ransey manages

to catch up with Hal'tok, he finds himself facing down the

barrel of a Powerdroid's rifle/cannon. "Aw, shit!" mutters

Ransey under his breath. "Seems I have the upperhand now, oh

well, time for you to die Kaylouse!" As the Powerdroid begins

to squeeze down on it's weapon's trigger it is suddenly riddled

with shots from behind. It turns to face the smoking barrel

of the Stac's rifle/cannon. "Bite on this dickweed!" booms

Jack's voice over the fighter's external speakers. "Another

time perhaps.." mutters Hal'tok as his Powerdroid boosters

off into the sky. As Hal'tok's mecha becomes nothing but a

pinpoint on the horizon Jack reconfigures the Stac to tank and

disembarks. "You okay?" he asks as he comes to stand next to

Ransey. "Why'd you save my life Jack? I thought you said I was

the murderous villain that couldn't be trusted?" Shaking his

head Jack responds, "I was wrong. I took a little time to think

about what Ralph had said last night. I guess I can't blame the

wrong doing of some on the entire race. Friends?" Extending

his hand to grasp Jack's Ransey responds, "Friends. By the way,

how in the hell did you figure out how to fly the Stac? It took

me three months at the Academy before I finally perfected

mental synchronization with it." Smiling Jack responds, "I'll

tell you over a cold beer, my treat!"

Chapter 9 I guess that none of us are perfect when it comes to

personal judgment of other people. My bad judgment of our friend

[Ransey], almost cost Earth it's chances to beat the Titan scum

that were plaguing us. Now that's what I call a bad taste in

judgment! Tales of a Wrench Jockey: The Autobiography

of Jack Barrett "Tango, niner-niner-one, you are cleared for

departure to transit point alpha three. Escort leader white,

you are cleared for launch." "Roger that control." Johnny shoots

a glance out of his left viewport and flashes a thumbs up to the

cat-lock officers. The senior deck officer touches a control

on her console, and Johnny's Gamma shoots out of the space

station's hanger bay. He is quickly followed by the rest of his

squadron. The seven fighters swing into an escort formation

around the ship convoy headed for Earth. However, instead of

using a conventional drive, with which the journey would take

precious weeks or months, the convoy will make use of a spacial

anomaly. This will allow them to cut across space in less than

a week of transit. While Johnny is somewhat leery of flying

escort in the most heavily-defended human system, he is gald for

the chance to stretch his wings. Already ahead of him he can see

the electric-blue anomaly. My ticket home... Even after decades

of war, the California coast still looks beautiful at sunset.

Ransey lingers on the beach for a moment, letting the warm sea

breeze whip through his hair and the soft sand squish between

his toes. Teresa clings to his arm. Both of them are dressed

in warm-climate clothing. "Hey, you two! We found something!"

Sam's voice breaks the tranquil spell. The two exchange brief

glances, then hurry back towards the truck. When the resistance

group had arrived in Malibu the evening before, they had set up

base in the remains of an aircraft hanger. Sam had volunteered

to scout out the rest of the hangers on the rest of the runway,

to see if he could find anything of value. Evidently he had.

"....It just keeps playing over and over. And I can't make out

a damned word it's saying!" He's obviously agitated. In the

background you can hear "...Nous avons besoin de votre

assistance!" The source of these words is a head-sized hologram

sitting atop a large crate. The young lady in the holo is slim

and attractive, and clad in the khaki European Defense Entente`

uniform. Her shoulder-length ebony hair is swept to one side,

a forelock hanging over one lavender eye. Her mellifluous

voice keeps repeating the same phrase. "...Nous avons besoin

de votre assistance!..." Teresa leans forward in surprise.

"That's incredible! I didn't know that there were any E.D.E

forces left! I thought they were all wiped out when the Titans

nuked London." Ransey arches an eyebrow in confusion. "What the

hell is the E.D.E?!" Sam turns to explain. "After the First

Titan War, the U.N. was disbanded and replaced by a

confederation of military alliances. The Federation of North

America was the most powerful, but the European Defense Entente`

was the only one to survive the second war fully intact. Yet,

when their main headquarters in London was nuked, we thought

it was all but gone. I don't know other languages well, but I'd

guess that she's part of the French Liberation Front." "She's

saying, 'We have need of your assistance'." Teresa's brow is

furrowed, as if in deep concentration to retrieve some

long-forgotten fact. Sam turns to her open-mouthed. "You know

French?" "French, Hindustani, Portuguese, Italian, and Japanese.

" "Then do you have any idea where she might be?" "Paris, most

likely." "Well, then we've got to go find her!" Ransey and

Teresa can clearly see something in Sam's eyes that wasn't there

before. Ransey shakes his head slightly. "Sam, we're not really

equipped to-" "Shut up Asshole! She needs help! What more reason

do we need?!!" Teresa tries to take a more diplomatic tack.

"That recording may be several years old. She could be dead.

Sam I can understand how you feel, but-" "No you can't!! You

don't have a sister you haven't seen for the better part of a

decade!! You can't even begin to imagine what worrying about

her day and night, in your every waking second, is like!!

Wondering if she's still alive, wondering if I'll ever see her

again...." He can't go on. Drained, he drops to his knees and

starts sobbing. Ransey silently places a hand on his shoulder.

"The whole group can't just pack up and go off looking for her,

but we can. The Stac can fit that crate a lot easier than your

Gamma. Not to mention, it can get there faster." He turns to

Teresa. "Think you can get along without us for a couple weeks?"

She hesitates, then nods. "Two weeks and not a day more. I don't

want you getting involved with one of those French women."

Johnny Angel finds himself gasping and shaking as his Gamma

pierces through the other side of the anomaly. He never knew

what it was like going through hyperspace in a fighter. He's

still clearing his head when his charge, the transport Europa,

sends him a transmission. Groggily, he reaches for the

com-switch. "... zero-zero-one, this is Europa, do you copy?"

Johnny swallows, then speaks into his helmet's mike. "Yeah,

this is zero-zero-one. I hear ya'." The voice of Europa's

comtech sounds more alarmed than she should be. "Zero-zero-one,

we have bandits in-bound. Looks like at least ten." Johnny sighs

audibly and rolls his eyes upward. Why me?... "I read you

Europa. Hear that you guys?" Travis's voice answers back. "We

hear ya, Johnny; looks like the Titans have rolled out the

welcoming mat!" Johnny reaches for the master-arm switch on his

console and flips it. "Well, here's our chance to tell them what

we think of their hospitality. Travis, you, Richard, Michael,

and Thadius guard the transport. Jason, you're with me." He

banks hard to the left, and flips on his target-acquisition

computer. Jason eases into formation on his left and a little

high. Soon enough, both their screens light up with targets.

Jason lights his afterburners and launches himself into the

heart of the enemy formation. His lasers and railguns spit beams

and bullets in every direction. Some hit, some don't, but all

have a heavy psychological effect, disheveling most of the Titan

pilots. His maniacal screaming adds to the insanity of the

moment as he insatiably dogs each of his targets. Johnny grins

in spite of himself. Most of the enemy force is distracted.

This will give him a chance to dump some missiles into the

formation, if Chunk can just stop ricocheting around for a

second... There! He fires three missiles. Each of them

simultaneously impacts on their set targets, reducing them to

space dust. The number is now five, Chunk's attacks of attrition

having massacred two. Now Chunk releases two of his

heat-seekers, and the number becomes three. The survivors

have a sudden attack of common sense, and flee back to their

ships. Johnny and Jason, satisfied with their work, easily slip

back into escort formation around the Europa. * * * * * * * * *

* A white streak of jet wash streams out behind the Stac as it

speeds down towards its destination. In the co-pilot's seat,

Sam is pouring over maps he downloaded from ResistNet, the

international resistance computer network. "According to these

maps, Adrienne is stationed with the Gamma squadron based in

Marseilles." Beside him, Ransey glares at the handful of

hardcopy. "Exactly how up to date is this information?"

"This was updated about three weeks ago. I suppose that's not

too bad..... " Sam has a pensive expression on his face. Ransey

looks at him. "Were-I mean, are you and your sister close?"

Sam smiles. "Not really. At least, not till the Third War

started. I mean, it's hard to keep in contact with siblings

when you're halfway across the galaxy. But when my Gamma crashed

on Earth, by some miracle she found me. "She nursed me back to

health, fixed my RF, and helped me link up with a Resistance

group. In return, I taught her how to fly a Gamma. Before we

parted company, she told me she wanted to find a Gamma." His

expression grows wistful. "Said she wanted to be just like her

big brother.... " Ransey doesn't say anything. He can't think

of anything to say. The rest of the flight is conducted in

silence. The small airfield outside Marsielles is in a state

of disrepair. Some might even say "Deliberately so".... In one

of the ruined hangers, an attractive young lady in an E.D.E

aviator's khakis watches as a mechanic works on her Gamma. She

fingers a small gold cross worn on a chain around her neck. This

was given to her by her older brother on her thirteenth

birthday. She often wonders what's happened to him.... "Hey,

Addy, we've got inbound." This comes from one of the techs in

the air-control room. "One bandit, unknown ID sig, reads heavily

armed. You want this sucker?" She's not around to answer.

Instead she's running for the locker room and her flight suit.

"Unidentified aircraft, you are in violation of E.D.E air space.

Either identify yourself, or turn back." These are the words

of the pilot of the Gamma hovering over the Stac. The wings are

lined with Volcano heavy air-to-air missiles. Also, the

underslung railgun looks as if it's seen a lot of use. Ransey

and Sam exchange glances. Sam grabs the mike. "Addy? Is that

you?" There is silence on the other end for a few moments,

but then- "SAM?!!! Oh my God, Sam- You're alive!" Sam finds

himself grinning like a school boy. "Yeah, and we've brought

the crate we found in Malibu." "The anti-toxin- Wait, who's we?"

Adrienne's voice cools slightly. Ransey takes the mike.

"Adrienne, this is Ransey Kaylouse. I'm a friend of Sam's.

Whatever's in the crate, your welcome to it as soon as we land.

Uhhhh- Is there any place for us to land?" "There's a dirt

runway about a quarter-mile from here, but I have to caution

you, it's in a great state of disrepair. It looks like a prairie

dog city." Ransey finds himself laughing. "Oh joy, oh rapture.

Well, I've landed on worse." Adrienne was half-right. Normally,

the runway was dirt. However, after a week of relentless

rain squalls, the runway looks more like the sight of a monster

truck derby. And such is Ransey's observation as he goes

slip-sliding down the runway. "Son of a Bitch!! Stupid crappy

brakes... I didn't want to have to do this...." He fires his

retro thrusters. While this does slow the Stac, it also sends

it into a tail spin as it rushes toward the back of one of the

dilapidated hangers. Adrienne squeezes her eyes shut as the Stac

rips through the aluminum walls of the hanger, to stop piled

up on top of an abandoned crop duster. As the dust cloud

settles, Ransey and Sam woozily climb from the fighter. "Next

time, I drive!" spouts Sam as he falls on his face next to the

fighter. When he gets up, he finds his front covered in mud.

"Never too light on your feet, were you, big brother?"

Adrienne's flight suit is comparatively spotless. Or was, until

Sam grabs her by the leg and pulls her down into the muddy pit.

By the time they come up, both of them are drenched in mud, but

they're laughing like crazy. Or like two siblings reunited

after a seemingly eternity of separation. Ransey watches neatly

from the top of his over turned Stac, a rare gentle smile on his

face. Later, after the two of them have cleaned up, Adrienne

explains to her guests just what is in the crate. "When the

Titan's nuked London, they also hit the continent with mild

biological weapons. Compared to some of the stuff our scientists

came up with in the twentieth century, these were relatively

benign, but they were still horrible and deadly. France's

population is ten percent of what it was before the bomb came

down on England. Most of the E.D.E's other members are in

similar situations. "Fortunately, some American scientist

tripped over the cure for this deadly agent. We had dispatched

an escort flight to Malibu, where the scientist had stored the

anti-toxin before he was killed. However, most of the planes

were shot down over the Midwest. Mine was the only one to make

it to Malibu, and by that time it was so shot up it could barely

keep fuel in it's tanks. I was forced to ditch over the bay.

>From where I was picked up by a recon plane on it's return

approach to it's carrier. But, before I was picked up, I

recorded a holomessage, left it with the crate, and left

directions to our base here." "But why in French?" asks Sam.

"That is the one language the Titans have been unable to

translate. So I knew our base would remain relatively safe."

"But we never found any directions to your base, " says Ransey.

"Did you play the message all the way through?" "Yeah, and all

it kept saying was Nous avons besoin de votre assistance!"

Adrienne's forehead wrinkles in confusion. "That can't be right,

I left directions with the message. There's no way they could

be missing...." She suddenly gets a strange look on her face.

"Unless...." She bolts out of her chair and takes off for one of

the other buildings. Ransey and Sam are close on her heels.

She bursts through the door of the base infirmary just as one of

the doctors is about to open the crate. "Do you know what's

in there?" she asks breathlessly. The doctor looks up at her,

blank-faced. "I would assume the anti-toxin. Just let me check

it." He opens the crate and pulls out.... A tray of filled

syringes. Ransey looks at the liquid in the syringe. "Are you

sure that's the anti-toxin? I have some equipment on my ship

that could test it..." The base doctor looks at him with an air

of amused superiority. "Young fellow, I've been practicing

medicine for twenty years. I think I can tell the difference

between an anti-toxin and something that's not. And to prove

it..." He rolls up his shirt sleeve, uncaps the syringe, sticks

it in his arm. He pushes the injector, raises his eyebrows

at Ransey as if to say, "I told you so." And falls over dead.

At the same instant, a low, barely audible hissing sound

emanates from the crate. Almost immediately, Sam and Adrienne

start coughing. Ransey hustles them out the door, closing it

tightly behind him. "What's going on?" asks a soldier. Between

deep breaths, Adrienne says, "Nerve gas.... In the...

infirmary... Killed Doctor Pooleon..." The soldier gulps. "I'm

heading over to the com center. We'll have to get General Masaki

to handle this." About six hours later, Ransey, Sam, and

Adrienne are sharing a small conference room with General Yosho

Masaki, the senior surviving officer in the E.D.E. The Japanese

man listens to their story, stroking his mustache all the while.

When they finish, he adjusts his glasses and stands up. "This

base has been compromised. I want it evacuated and relocated

as soon as possible." He turns to Adrienne. "Colonel Long, I am

prepared to offer you up to fifteen-hundred people to assist

in this if you can have everything packed and ready to go in

twenty-four hours. I'm sorry I can't offer-" "General!!"

shouts a young lieutenant, who has just burst through the door.

"There's a whole shit-load of Titans coming our way and fast!"

"Shit. I want everything we have that can fly and fight up in

the air in fifteen minutes." He turns to the three. "You three

are exempt, of course. You've done more than enough." Adrienne

seems not to have heard him. Standing, she says formally,

"General, request permission to leave so that I can lead my men

into combat." The General's face is as impassive as ever, but

Ransey thinks he can see the glint of a tear in his eyes.

"Request denied, Colonel. I need you three to return to

resistance H.Q. in Brussels, you're too valuable to risk in a

fire fight." He holds up a hand to forestall any other

objections. "You better get going now." Five minutes later,

the Stac, followed by Adrienne's Gamma, races away from the

base. Seconds later, the complex and all of its surrounding

territory goes up in a mushroom cloud. "Oh, my God!" cries

Adrienne. Sam crosses himself as Ransey whispers what sounds

like a prayer. Now, they have no choice but to press on. Two

hours later, in a farm field outside the city limits of Lyons,

Sam and Adrienne are saying their good-byes. "...But I still

don't understand why you won't come with us!" exclaims Sam.

"Sam, I have to go on to Brussels. The E.D.E needs to know what

happened in and to Marsielles. They need to know the anti-toxins

were tampered with." She leans up and kisses her brother on the

cheek. "But, I know where to find you, and I'll be along soon."

She turns to Ransey and shakes his hand. "Thank you for letting

me see my big brother.... again." With that, she climbs into her

Gamma's cockpit and drops the canopy. The fighter's VTOL engines

kick in and lift the plane into the sky, where it switches

to conventional engines and streaks off towards Brussels.

Ransey turns to Sam just in time to see him wiping tears from

his eyes and blinking. He claps a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Come on pal, time to go home."



*********************************************
~R&C Books International Fan Fiction Company~
    http://www.rcbooks.org

         81 types of Fan Fiction
          and Growing everyday!

    ~The R&C Books #FanFics Chatroom~
 http://chat.rcbooks.org
*********************************************
         ~Psychedelic SoftWare~
   http://geocities.com/Tokyo/Bay/1375/
*********************************************
    ~The Fan Fiction Archive Network~
 http://ffan.rcbooks.org
*********************************************
    ~The Fan Fiction Mailing List II~
 http://ffml2.rcbooks.org
*********************************************

ICQ: 18025325
Yahoo ID: Muriyaki
AIM: JoeChiOhki
MSN: rcbooks@hotmail.com

Owner of The Ryoko Ring, Aeka's Ring, The Kiyone
Worshipers Ring, The International House of Fan
Fiction Ring, The Anime Fan Fiction Ring, The Fan
Fiction Archive Network

Member of #Washu#, RFFC, Aeka's Fan Club, KOME, #SAS#,
Follower of the Teal-Tressed Goddess
_________________________________________________

Get your own free Fan Fic e-mail account with us!
Go to http://free-email.rcbooks.org
It's free!

**************************************************


	     .---Anime/Manga Fanfiction Mailing List----.
             | Administrators - ffml-admins@anifics.com |
             | Unsubscribing - ffml-request@anifics.com |
             |     Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject     |
             `---- http://ffml.anifics.com/faq.txt -----'