Avenging Angel
By Edward "Winter" Weldon
About a minute before my alarm clock even goes off, I reach over and hammer it with my fist. I'm
so used to getting up at same time every day that waking up at 7AM and smacking my clock has
just become automatic. With my clock pounded into submission, I drag my self out of bed and
towards my apartment bathroom. Outside it's a beautiful Monday morning in the summertime, even
in the city the birds sing.
Standing in front of the mirror, I see Lieutenant Edward Byron, Enforcer jet squadron commander,
looking back at me. I'm English so it was in my upbringing to keep myself well groomed, with
carefully trimmed fur and neatly combed hair. Keeping my hair this neat without gel is an acquired
skill, but I'm a practiced master at taming my own hair. Not a follicle out of place, not even after
taking off my helmet after a mission. In my family, hat-hair is a disused term.
Walking back into my bedroom, still just wearing my boxer shorts, I start putting on my Enforcer's
uniform. One thing I never really liked about the Enforcers was the preoccupation with making
every thing grey. As an officer I get to wear a long coat. I do like the coat, but once I get to work, as
a pilot I rarely get to wear it.
I give my jackboots a quick polish before putting them on and then strapping on my body armour.
I'm pretty sure that the quartermaster gets my size wrong on purpose as every flak jacket I have
ever been issued was always two sizes too small. "I guess Sergeant Burman just doesn't like my
accent," I say to myself as I breathed in to secure to waist strap. "Mental note: Talk to my friends
down in traffic control and have Burman's car clamped," I say to myself, chuckling darkly.
As an officer (And an Englishman) it's also my obligation to make sure that my uniform is perfectly
neat and that my boots, badge and even my gun are kept bright and shiny. Looking at myself in the
mirror again, I'm satisfied that Even Commander "Flea picker" Feral won't find anything amiss.
Finally slinging on my coat and putting a pair of K.I.B style shades, I walked out of my somewhat
small apartment. On the way out I pass Mrs. Ling. She was my Siamese landlady; in her late
seventies she was a great person to know. She always gave me a good deal on the rent for being an
Enforcer. She always seemed to advertise my being a resident in her building with great pride, as if
it would scare off burglars.
"Ah, the valiant Lieutenant Byron, as smart and handsome as ever," She said, she generally seemed
to regard me as some kind of almighty, heroic figure. Don't ask me why. "Morning Mrs. Ling, how
have things been with you these days?" I asked politely, one of the worst mistakes I ever made.
"My granddaughter is back from university for the summer. I have told her all about you and she
very much wishes to meet you," She replied brightly. "Uh-oh, here it comes," I thought to myself.
Mrs. Ling then produced a photograph of a much younger Siamese she-kat about twenty-one years
of age. She was very pretty, but all the same…
"She is law student. She wants to be a lawyer some day. A handsome young Enforcer and
successful lawyer would be excellent couple, yes? Children would be very handsome with mother's
blue eyes and fathers silver tabby fur," She said strait out. Mrs. Ling was not one to mince words. I
struggled to form a response that would inform my over zealous land-lady that I was not interested
in her granddaughter, without of course getting myself evicted.
"Well, I'm sure that your daughter is a very lovely young woman and that any man would be lucky
to be her boyfriend, but I already have a girlfriend," Replied, trying very hard to hide the stress I
was under. All the time I was stood there, I was taut as a bowstring, ready to make a dash for the
nearest fire escape if she should take it badly.
Instead I was pleasantly surprised (for a moment at least). "Ah, she must be very fortunate to have
brave defender of Mega Kat city for a future husband. You must bring to see me some time and we
will discuss when you intend to marry her," She returned, completely unfazed and went about her
business. Suddenly a vein started throbbing in my temple. It was clear that she wasn't going to rest
until I was married to someone. I guess it's an old people thing.
Reaching the street I looked about my neighbourhood. It wasn't a very upmarket neighbourhood,
but it was a nice enough place to live. MegaKat city is a great place to raise a family. If that is if
you don't mind all the terrorists, mutants, deranged mega-lo maniacs, giant rampaging monsters and
the odd alien invasion.
I love this neighbourhood though, as I walk to my car people wave to me, almost every one around
here knows each other. I stop to buy breakfast from the small bakery that adjoins my building.
The sun, shining in the endless blue sky reflects on the windows of the redbrick apartment building
I live in. Some kids are playing in a stream of water from a fire hydrant. I know I should probably
do something about that but hey; it's not my job.
This is a pretty good place to live, being far from any of the city's hot spots like Pumadyne or the
reactor. I'm sure the last thing these people need is a giant bacteria blob or something flattening
their homes. Dealing with those is my job.
Reaching my car, I duck under the gull-wing doors and flap my coat in. Traffic shouldn't be too bad
this early. Finding my way to work is simple enough, even though Enforcer head quarters was
recently moved. Just look for the biggest, most expensive building you can see. Frankly I think the
new building might as well have a big red neon sign saying: HERE WE ARE, BOMB US!
Centralising the whole force in one facility is just asking for trouble.
As I drive through the city I watch the people go by. Kats from every walk of life, these are the
people I've sworn to protect. Flicking on the radio, I tap my hands on the steering wheel in time to
"Idol Talk" by Sharon Apple. I have to be the biggest Sharon Apple fan on the force, the words are
in Japanese, but they've got an amazing beat.
Pretty soon I can see Enforcer HQ up ahead. Bloody hell that place is big. You wouldn't even have
to aim to hit that place with a maverick.
Pulling up at HQ and parking quickly, I jogged up the main steps at the front of the building. At the
top of the steps, T-bone and Razor, a couple of pilot's from my squadron were waiting for
something. T-bone saw me first and quickly looked up at the big clock above the main entrance. A
few moments later the clock struck eight thirty and then he just laughed out loud and punched his
smaller partner in the arm saying, "Ha, see I told you. You lose buddy, now pay up,"
Rubbing his shoulder and grumbling slightly as he pulled out his wallet and handed over a wad of
bills Razor replied, "Okay, okay, here's you're cash. You don't have to rub it in so much, you big
jerk," Saying the last part under his breath.
Scratching my head in confusion as I reached them I said, "Okay would either of you two mind
telling me what the hell is going on?" Still grumbling, Razor replied, "Well T-bone and I had a bet
on you see. He said you'd be in at 8.30am on the dot as usual, but I bet him that you'd be late
because of you're wild weekend with Angel," "A bet that I happen to have won," T-Bone yelled
excitedly while doing the "Go T-bone".
Frankly I was not amused, "Well Mr. Furlong, I'm happy that you won your bet, but my personal
life, what I do on my weekends off and who I do them with IS NONE OF YOUR BLOODY
BUSINES, EITHER OF YOU," I shouted at them. "Get your arses up to the flight deck NOW,
we're on duty and our jets are on the fiftieth floor," I continued to half shout sternly.
I may have been considerably leaner than T-bone and a little bit shorter, but when I get angry, it's
like throwing water on a burning deep–fat-fryer. I could probably more than hold my own in a fight
against either of them if I had too, but if I was as pissed off as I am now I would wipe the deck with
them.
T-bone and Razor could be a pair of complete screwballs sometimes and they flew like lunatics but
I trusted them with my life. The upper ranks hated them because messed up so much equipment, but
then Commander Feral has mayor Manx to answer to and the mayor is a pretty typical politician:
More concerned with votes that the realities of this city.
In regards to my "Wild weekend with Angel", my affair with my co-pilot Lieutenant Mina White
wasn't exactly an announced fact but it was pretty clear for all to see that there was something
going on.
The three of us made our way to the lifts through the crush of people both clocking in and nightshift
personnel heading out (T-bone and Razor both keeping they're heads down to avoid annoying me
further). Reaching the lifts we were packed in with dozen other people with me shoved in right at
the back next to a female pilot who had her helmet on and the visor down.
The long dark hair flowing out from under the helmet should have been a dead giveaway, but it
wasn't till I felt the hand on my backside under my coat that it finally clocked in. "Hi, Mina," I said,
acting as if nothing had happened. In responses she flipped up the visor on her helmet and smiled at
me saying, "Hi Ed, I trust you're having a good morning." "Not as good as the weekend," I replied,
smiling back slyly.
Mina was a black and white tabby Kat with who was about my height, with long black hair about
shoulder length, green eyes, a slim waist and a curvy figure, visible even under her body armour.
We'd been flying together for three years and started going out a year and a half ago, but it wasn't
till a few months ago that thing had got really serious. Outwardly we were just a casual fling, but
underneath there was something very special.
Under the mass of bodies in the lift, my tail found hers. It's a long elevator ride up to the flight
decks and I think that Mina and I should have received an Oscar for keeping strait faces the whole
way up. Once a couple of weeks ago, I was walking past a supply closet on my way to the briefing
room before another costal patrol, when She grabbed me from behind and dragged me into it. She
immediately stripped off her armour and uniform and told me to just "do her". I have to admit, she's
certainly outgoing to say the least.
I guess we kind of compliment each other. My call sign is "winter" because that's how I fly: Cool
and controlled and yet utterly lethal. "Angel" on the other hand was wild and aggressive. She's the
fury and I'm the control. Given our kill score, it's a pretty deadly combination.
Finally the lift reaches the top floor. The doors open and the herd of pilots, engineers, ground crew
and other staff suddenly explode outwards like one of those stupid "spring-in-can-of-nuts" things
you get from a joke store. Angel and I are swept up in the tidal wave of bodies as everyone rushes
to their various posts. Mina holds onto my wrist and grabs the doorframe of our squadron's ready
room, hauling the two of us in like a lifeguard reeling someone out of a riptide.
The rest of the squadron is already here. There is an almost resounding rumble of murmuring from
the sixteen or so Kats sat around the room as they discussed tactics, told stories about their latest
sorties or just cracked jokes and above it all is the sound of "Mannish boy" by Muddy Waters. In
the corner, one of the pilots is wearing a pair of shades and miming to the song.
Our squad room isn't bad, nothing special but we like it. The room is reasonably large with a pool
table, a couple of arcade machines, a jukebox, a table and various armchairs and sofas to sit on. The
walls are covered in an ever-changing collection of posters.
This weeks posters are blown up photo's of deputy Mayor Briggs. Most are taken from magazines,
but there's one of her in a tight red bikini. Where the hell we got this one from I have no idea. But it
does make me notice something. If her hair were longer, without her glasses Ms. Briggs would look
like a cream furred version of Angel. In fact there was a joke going around that Angel and Ms.
Briggs were the same person, kind of like Dr. Jekkel and Mr. Hyde.
A few moments later, T-bone and Razor fought their way out of the surging mass of support staff.
"Man, I thought it was dangerous in the air," T-bone joked as he slumped against the wall, gasping
for breath. "Yeah, well don't get to comfy T-bone, because we've got the first patrol this morning,"
I said, addressing the whole squadron.
There was an audible groan from across the room and more than a few "aw man's". Even I had to
admit that morning patrols were dull in the extreme. No one commits crimes in the morning,
especially crimes that warranted the intervention of an Enforcer jet squadron.
Frowning at them, I say, "Hey, was that a request? No, it was an order. We're not paid to sit around
on our arses," the full extent of my annoyance clear. One of the younger pilots raised his hand and
said, "Um sir, can I sit around on my ass?" "No Flash, you can't. All of you report to the briefing
room in twenty minutes," I reply in an irate tone. Flash was new to the squadron in his early
twenties with dark brown fur. He could be a bit of smart-arse sometimes but he was still a good
pilot.
"By the way Flash, your promotion to junior Lieutenant was approved today, congratulations," I
said in somewhat lighter tone. Stunned for a moment, Flash stood up and punched the air
triumphantly as various other pilots high-fived with him and slapped him on the back. There was no
way I'd say it to his face, but I was just as proud of him as he was of his achievement. In just a few
short months he'd proven himself an asset to the squadron. With a little more discipline, he'd go far.
Secretly smiling I turned away to head off to the briefing room to get set up. The crowds of staff
had dissipated for the moment so the corridor was practically empty. It was rare moment of quiet,
without the clump of boots or the howl of jets taking off or landing. I stood for a moment to take in
the silence. That silence was then broken by the sound of a light pair of jackboots on the concrete
floor. Turning round, I saw Angel walking up after me. There was a slight look of concern on her
face.
"Hey winter, you got a minute?" She asked quietly. "Sure, what's up? Flash getting a little too big-
headed in there?" I replied lightly. Some people might describe me as flippant; I simply prefer not
to rough up anyone's fur the wrong way by being negative. "No, it's not Flash. I…just need to talk
to you about something. About…us," She answered, slightly nervous.
Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling that I'm going to be describing this to a psychiatrist some day
soon? "What is it, there's nothing wrong is there?" I asked, suddenly sounding a little nervous
myself. "I…I'm not sure. You see…Angel was then cut off in mid-sentence by the blaring of the
scramble alarm.
Through the loud wail of the claxon, Commander Feral's voice shouts over the PA, "All pilots
scramble, this is not an exercise. I repeat, all pilots scramble." "Oh man, I should never have left
Cheshire," I say to myself.
Grabbing helmets, we dash towards the hanger. Sprinting down the corridor with at least three more
squadrons we reach the hanger and immediately head for our F-39 Sabretooths. The sleek jets, with
their centreline intakes and elegantly swept wings, rest on turntables so they can refuel, rearm and
launch much faster. Ground crews swarm all around them, checking fuel lines and making sure
missiles are secure.
Flinging my long coat off as I reach the ladder, Angel leaps up it and vaults into the cockpit.
Jumping down into my seat and securing my helmet, the canopy drops and I check off the pre-flight
procedures. "No time for that, gotta kick the tires and light the fires," Angel calls out from behind
me. Nodding in agreement, I flick switches and all around me screens flicker on and the engine
hums to life.
As I and the rest of the squadron taxied out of the hanger and onto the roof top runways, I call the
tower and say, "What's the situation out there command?" "We've got an inbound bogie with some
serious hardware, intercept him before he reaches us, or we're all dead meat," They reply, the panic
in their voices clear. What's got them so worked up? Why is the whole fighter core being scrambled
for just one bogy?
Lining up on the catapult, I turn round to Angel and say, "You ready back there?" "Ready to rock
and roll baby!" She yells back excitedly. Throttling up the engine, I grin as the engines throaty roar
rises from somewhere behind us. Then the catapult releases and we shoot forward, the jet leaping
off the deck just as we reach the edge of the roof. As we just skim over the top another building, I
am reminded of why catapult launches in an urban environment freak me out so much.
The rest of the squadron quickly forms up on my wings in flying claw formation and the other three
squadrons quickly join us forming an arrowhead. Looking over towards the lead jet of the squadron
on my left I say, "Hellcat leader, you got any idea what's going on?"
"None Jaguar leader, all we've got is a target heading," She replies. "This is Iron Eagle three, we've
got something here, closing fast," A pilot in the squadron on point calls out.
A second later, Iron Eagle three, five and nine were blown out of the sky by long-range missile fire.
"Holy shit! Jaguars break formation now!" I shout as an ominous black shape blasted right past us,
ramming two more jets out of the way, smashing them in to nearby buildings. The Jaguars scatter in
all directions like a flock of birds spooked by a hawk.
Swinging around and hitting the after burners, I can see it now about a mile and a half out. I don't
think I've ever seen a more evil looking aircraft in my life. It looks less like a jet and more like a
gigantic black bat and I've seen it before, in a know-you're-enemy lecture a couple of weeks ago.
Dark Kat! Jesus Christ, I'd hoped never to have to tangle with him, but now it looks like I haven't
got much choice.
We're at full burners just to keep up with him, maintaining formation is pointless now. I squeeze
the trigger on my joystick and let rip with my jet's twin cannon. The shells just spark and rebound
off the black jet's armour plaited hull. "Damn it, His armour's too thick for guns at this range. All
jets, switch to missiles and tag his arse now!" I yell down the radio.
All around me missile streak away from under the wings of the other jets in my wing, Dark Kat's
jet is big but it's a lot more manoeuvrable than it looks, far more manoeuvrable than it should be.
He breaks left, dodging through skyscrapers. Half the missile scream past missing completely, but
the other half slam strait into an office building ahead of us.
Bandit, a Mexican pilot yells, "Sweet mother Mary, we can't scratch him man. We gotta get
closer." "I know that Bandit, but we're at full burn just to keep visual, he's too fast for us," I reply,
snarling and gritting my teeth. If he gets away, the thousands of personnel back at base are toast.
Then T-bone's voice cuts in. "Sir, Razor and I got an idea." "Well lets here it T-bone, we're running
out of time here," I yell back.
"Angel, you got any Sidewinders left?" He returns. "Yeah, both missile are armed, but Dark crud's
out of range for em," Angel replies, tapping up the data on her weapon's console. Razor calls over,
saying, "I don't want you to fire em, I want you to disable the warheads and jam their launch
racks." A wave of comprehension spreads across Angel's face. "I get it, great thinking Razor," She
shouts, grinning madly.
"What are you thinking Razor?" I say looking over at T-bone and Razor's jet for a moment and then
turning back to avoid another building. "Sir, our engines give us about eight hundred thousand
pounds of thrust on their own, the Sidewinders produce about fifteen thousand pounds each. By
jamming them on the launchers we can give ourselves an extra thirty thousand pounds boost of
speed for about ten seconds before they burn out," He explained.
Razor maybe a nutbag sometimes but he knows his ordinance. He's unofficially recognised as the
smartest guy in the squadron and I've learned to trust his judgement when it came to weapons, but
this? "You're nuts, you know that don't you?" I yell. "It's either that or he gets away and we're
short one base," T-bone replies.
I nod, looking back; Angel gives me the thumbs up. "Hit it," I yell. On the tip of each wing, a bright
flare from the missiles ignites and we start gaining on Dark Kat's jet. T-bone and Razor's jet plus,
bandit and Flash do the same. Closing to within a hundred yards, I pull my trigger again and the
shells actually manage to make a few holes in the side of the jet. "Tally ho!" I shout, really
sounding like one of the great R.A.F aces of Mega War 2. "Angel, tag that bastard now," I yell,
turning in my seat to see a smile of deep satisfaction on her face.
I smile myself as the lock tone sounds and a missile howls away from under our wing. Then
something drops away from under the black jet just before the missile hits. My blood runs cold and
my throat goes dry as his missile bears down on us. I break away, pulling up sharply trying to evade
it, but it strikes, blowing off our port wing. I can't see if our missile hit.
Alarms and warnings blare, a fire breaks out and the ground starts to rush up at us. Wrestling with
the controls to try and keep the plane steady, I can here my wing mates shouting over the radio.
Some are calling if we're all right; others are death screams as Dark Kat turns his attention to them.
Before the radio goes dead I get one final message out, "I definitely should have never left
Cheshire," Cracking one last joke before we go down.
As we spiral down, it becomes painfully obvious that this is going to really hurt. "Winter, we've got
to eject," Angel yell's from behind me. "I can't, there's too many people down there. I've got to
make sure the jet makes a controlled decent. You eject, I've got to stay to the end," I yelled back.
"Not without you, we're in this together. To the end" She replied, reaching her hand over forward.
Taking my hand off the throttle, I hold her hand as the ground looms ahead. Then we hit the street,
literally.
As the jet hits the ground, it flips over forwards and slides out upside down and her hand is
wrenched out of my grasp. The console in front of me crumples in on my legs. I hear them crunch
and I grit my teeth as the jagged metal chews into my thighs. My left shoulder restraint breaks loose
and my head hits the console. My head hits hard and my visor shattered driving shards of glass into
my right eye. Blood runs down my face, pooling in my helmet and I feel faint. Finally we hit
something with a bone jarring impact.
Something slams in the back of my seat. As consciousness leaves me, I hear Angel saying, "I love
you Edward, I love you," weakly, her breath petering out. Then she stops and my world went black.
One year later…
The rain is streaming down, running off my face and plastering my hair down the grove of the scar
crossing my eye. Fortunately I can still see out of that eye, the shards of glass didn't do too much
damage. But I don't care.
My hair is somewhat longer now and I have a bulkier frame. All that time in a wheel chair while I
learned to walk again meant that I had to build up some upper body strength. After my legs had
healed, it had just become another of my routines, so I just started working on my legs as well.
They keep telling me that we were heroes; by getting Dark Kat to focus on us… by getting him to
take notice of us the rest of the squadron was able to engage him. He was driven off; he failed in his
mission to destroy Enforcer HQ. I still don't care.
I stand in front of her grave, in front of they're graves. They told me just before the funeral. She
was carrying my child. She was two months pregnant and its only now that I've lost her forever that
I realise how much I loved her. That was what she had been trying to tell me that day, before the
mission.
When our jet hit the ground, a structural support strut behind the cockpit broke loose. The impact
with the wall drove the strut forward, punching through the back of Angel's seat and…
They told me that she would have died instantly…that she didn't suffer, but I know that they're
lying. I heard her…I heard her voice as she died.
My tears are lost in the rain. That night they told me, there was a howl of true anguish that could be
heard all over the city. The day after, something inside me died with her. I haven't laughed, felt pity
or even raised my voice in anger. I just became cold, a deep hole, devoid of warmth. The force
psychologists can provide a thousand different explanations but I know the truth. I feel nothing
because if I felt anything…all I would feel is the endless hatred and loss.
In the last year a lot has changed. The jaguars have been disbanded; the few surviving pilots from
that mission have been dispersed to other units. T-bone and Razor were kicked off the force for
crashing their jet into the flight deck; I see them from time to time when I need my car fixed down
at the junkyard. As for myself, I was declared unfit to fly on mental health grounds.
I was deemed too unstable to trust with command of a squadron. But with my part in preventing
HQ's destruction and my excellent service record they couldn't dismiss me, so they transferred me
to special investigations.
Special investigations simply mean that I'm too qualified for duty as tactical squad grunt, too
unstable to assign to another department and that they haven't found an excuse to sack me yet. The
result is that I spend more time in gun battles than I do actually investigating anything.
Stepping forward, I kneel down before Angel's grave and retrieve a pair of black roses from under
my coat. Laying them on the grave I stand and say, "I promise you, I'll get him. I swear that I'll
find him. And cut my name into his black heart." The same promise I made to her the day my soul
died. I hardly ever refer to her by her real name anymore; to me she'll always be my angel.
I sense movement behind me. Moving with blinding speed, I whirl round and draw my gun, raising
it instinctively and turning to face who ever it is. Katia Vasquez, my new partner doesn't even
flinch as I point the gun strait at her head with the safety off. Byron, we've got a call coming in of a
hostage situation. The Commander wants us down there on the double," She said, calmly. She'd
only been my partner a month and she was already used to me doing that.
She's fresh from the academy, but she's tough as nails. She was Bandit's sister, with sandy yellow
fur like her brother's, deep brown eyes and short-cropped blond hair. Slightly taller than me, she
was pretty I had to admit, even if she could break a cinder block with her head.
They figured we'd compliment each other; the way Angel and I had complimented each other. But
even Feral should know that it doesn't work that way. He could never understand why Angel and
me worked so well together. Just having another female partner will never make me the same as I
was.
"Well, lets get over there before the SWAT Kats beat us to it," I replied, putting my gun away.
From anyone else this would be taken as a joke. But these days, I don't make jokes.
It was a fact: The SWAT Kats were probably the number one reason this city wasn't a smoking
crater; we didn't have to like it. It was simply a fact that we had to accept. Every day I prayed that I
would get THE case, the case to find out who they are.
I want to find them, not to arrest them, but to ask for they're help. Much as I hate to admit it, there
is no way the Enforcers will ever bring Dark Kat down. And even then, what justice will he get. The
SWAT Kats may be my one chance for revenge. My one chance at avenging Angel…
The End…
By Edward "Winter" Weldon
About a minute before my alarm clock even goes off, I reach over and hammer it with my fist. I'm
so used to getting up at same time every day that waking up at 7AM and smacking my clock has
just become automatic. With my clock pounded into submission, I drag my self out of bed and
towards my apartment bathroom. Outside it's a beautiful Monday morning in the summertime, even
in the city the birds sing.
Standing in front of the mirror, I see Lieutenant Edward Byron, Enforcer jet squadron commander,
looking back at me. I'm English so it was in my upbringing to keep myself well groomed, with
carefully trimmed fur and neatly combed hair. Keeping my hair this neat without gel is an acquired
skill, but I'm a practiced master at taming my own hair. Not a follicle out of place, not even after
taking off my helmet after a mission. In my family, hat-hair is a disused term.
Walking back into my bedroom, still just wearing my boxer shorts, I start putting on my Enforcer's
uniform. One thing I never really liked about the Enforcers was the preoccupation with making
every thing grey. As an officer I get to wear a long coat. I do like the coat, but once I get to work, as
a pilot I rarely get to wear it.
I give my jackboots a quick polish before putting them on and then strapping on my body armour.
I'm pretty sure that the quartermaster gets my size wrong on purpose as every flak jacket I have
ever been issued was always two sizes too small. "I guess Sergeant Burman just doesn't like my
accent," I say to myself as I breathed in to secure to waist strap. "Mental note: Talk to my friends
down in traffic control and have Burman's car clamped," I say to myself, chuckling darkly.
As an officer (And an Englishman) it's also my obligation to make sure that my uniform is perfectly
neat and that my boots, badge and even my gun are kept bright and shiny. Looking at myself in the
mirror again, I'm satisfied that Even Commander "Flea picker" Feral won't find anything amiss.
Finally slinging on my coat and putting a pair of K.I.B style shades, I walked out of my somewhat
small apartment. On the way out I pass Mrs. Ling. She was my Siamese landlady; in her late
seventies she was a great person to know. She always gave me a good deal on the rent for being an
Enforcer. She always seemed to advertise my being a resident in her building with great pride, as if
it would scare off burglars.
"Ah, the valiant Lieutenant Byron, as smart and handsome as ever," She said, she generally seemed
to regard me as some kind of almighty, heroic figure. Don't ask me why. "Morning Mrs. Ling, how
have things been with you these days?" I asked politely, one of the worst mistakes I ever made.
"My granddaughter is back from university for the summer. I have told her all about you and she
very much wishes to meet you," She replied brightly. "Uh-oh, here it comes," I thought to myself.
Mrs. Ling then produced a photograph of a much younger Siamese she-kat about twenty-one years
of age. She was very pretty, but all the same…
"She is law student. She wants to be a lawyer some day. A handsome young Enforcer and
successful lawyer would be excellent couple, yes? Children would be very handsome with mother's
blue eyes and fathers silver tabby fur," She said strait out. Mrs. Ling was not one to mince words. I
struggled to form a response that would inform my over zealous land-lady that I was not interested
in her granddaughter, without of course getting myself evicted.
"Well, I'm sure that your daughter is a very lovely young woman and that any man would be lucky
to be her boyfriend, but I already have a girlfriend," Replied, trying very hard to hide the stress I
was under. All the time I was stood there, I was taut as a bowstring, ready to make a dash for the
nearest fire escape if she should take it badly.
Instead I was pleasantly surprised (for a moment at least). "Ah, she must be very fortunate to have
brave defender of Mega Kat city for a future husband. You must bring to see me some time and we
will discuss when you intend to marry her," She returned, completely unfazed and went about her
business. Suddenly a vein started throbbing in my temple. It was clear that she wasn't going to rest
until I was married to someone. I guess it's an old people thing.
Reaching the street I looked about my neighbourhood. It wasn't a very upmarket neighbourhood,
but it was a nice enough place to live. MegaKat city is a great place to raise a family. If that is if
you don't mind all the terrorists, mutants, deranged mega-lo maniacs, giant rampaging monsters and
the odd alien invasion.
I love this neighbourhood though, as I walk to my car people wave to me, almost every one around
here knows each other. I stop to buy breakfast from the small bakery that adjoins my building.
The sun, shining in the endless blue sky reflects on the windows of the redbrick apartment building
I live in. Some kids are playing in a stream of water from a fire hydrant. I know I should probably
do something about that but hey; it's not my job.
This is a pretty good place to live, being far from any of the city's hot spots like Pumadyne or the
reactor. I'm sure the last thing these people need is a giant bacteria blob or something flattening
their homes. Dealing with those is my job.
Reaching my car, I duck under the gull-wing doors and flap my coat in. Traffic shouldn't be too bad
this early. Finding my way to work is simple enough, even though Enforcer head quarters was
recently moved. Just look for the biggest, most expensive building you can see. Frankly I think the
new building might as well have a big red neon sign saying: HERE WE ARE, BOMB US!
Centralising the whole force in one facility is just asking for trouble.
As I drive through the city I watch the people go by. Kats from every walk of life, these are the
people I've sworn to protect. Flicking on the radio, I tap my hands on the steering wheel in time to
"Idol Talk" by Sharon Apple. I have to be the biggest Sharon Apple fan on the force, the words are
in Japanese, but they've got an amazing beat.
Pretty soon I can see Enforcer HQ up ahead. Bloody hell that place is big. You wouldn't even have
to aim to hit that place with a maverick.
Pulling up at HQ and parking quickly, I jogged up the main steps at the front of the building. At the
top of the steps, T-bone and Razor, a couple of pilot's from my squadron were waiting for
something. T-bone saw me first and quickly looked up at the big clock above the main entrance. A
few moments later the clock struck eight thirty and then he just laughed out loud and punched his
smaller partner in the arm saying, "Ha, see I told you. You lose buddy, now pay up,"
Rubbing his shoulder and grumbling slightly as he pulled out his wallet and handed over a wad of
bills Razor replied, "Okay, okay, here's you're cash. You don't have to rub it in so much, you big
jerk," Saying the last part under his breath.
Scratching my head in confusion as I reached them I said, "Okay would either of you two mind
telling me what the hell is going on?" Still grumbling, Razor replied, "Well T-bone and I had a bet
on you see. He said you'd be in at 8.30am on the dot as usual, but I bet him that you'd be late
because of you're wild weekend with Angel," "A bet that I happen to have won," T-Bone yelled
excitedly while doing the "Go T-bone".
Frankly I was not amused, "Well Mr. Furlong, I'm happy that you won your bet, but my personal
life, what I do on my weekends off and who I do them with IS NONE OF YOUR BLOODY
BUSINES, EITHER OF YOU," I shouted at them. "Get your arses up to the flight deck NOW,
we're on duty and our jets are on the fiftieth floor," I continued to half shout sternly.
I may have been considerably leaner than T-bone and a little bit shorter, but when I get angry, it's
like throwing water on a burning deep–fat-fryer. I could probably more than hold my own in a fight
against either of them if I had too, but if I was as pissed off as I am now I would wipe the deck with
them.
T-bone and Razor could be a pair of complete screwballs sometimes and they flew like lunatics but
I trusted them with my life. The upper ranks hated them because messed up so much equipment, but
then Commander Feral has mayor Manx to answer to and the mayor is a pretty typical politician:
More concerned with votes that the realities of this city.
In regards to my "Wild weekend with Angel", my affair with my co-pilot Lieutenant Mina White
wasn't exactly an announced fact but it was pretty clear for all to see that there was something
going on.
The three of us made our way to the lifts through the crush of people both clocking in and nightshift
personnel heading out (T-bone and Razor both keeping they're heads down to avoid annoying me
further). Reaching the lifts we were packed in with dozen other people with me shoved in right at
the back next to a female pilot who had her helmet on and the visor down.
The long dark hair flowing out from under the helmet should have been a dead giveaway, but it
wasn't till I felt the hand on my backside under my coat that it finally clocked in. "Hi, Mina," I said,
acting as if nothing had happened. In responses she flipped up the visor on her helmet and smiled at
me saying, "Hi Ed, I trust you're having a good morning." "Not as good as the weekend," I replied,
smiling back slyly.
Mina was a black and white tabby Kat with who was about my height, with long black hair about
shoulder length, green eyes, a slim waist and a curvy figure, visible even under her body armour.
We'd been flying together for three years and started going out a year and a half ago, but it wasn't
till a few months ago that thing had got really serious. Outwardly we were just a casual fling, but
underneath there was something very special.
Under the mass of bodies in the lift, my tail found hers. It's a long elevator ride up to the flight
decks and I think that Mina and I should have received an Oscar for keeping strait faces the whole
way up. Once a couple of weeks ago, I was walking past a supply closet on my way to the briefing
room before another costal patrol, when She grabbed me from behind and dragged me into it. She
immediately stripped off her armour and uniform and told me to just "do her". I have to admit, she's
certainly outgoing to say the least.
I guess we kind of compliment each other. My call sign is "winter" because that's how I fly: Cool
and controlled and yet utterly lethal. "Angel" on the other hand was wild and aggressive. She's the
fury and I'm the control. Given our kill score, it's a pretty deadly combination.
Finally the lift reaches the top floor. The doors open and the herd of pilots, engineers, ground crew
and other staff suddenly explode outwards like one of those stupid "spring-in-can-of-nuts" things
you get from a joke store. Angel and I are swept up in the tidal wave of bodies as everyone rushes
to their various posts. Mina holds onto my wrist and grabs the doorframe of our squadron's ready
room, hauling the two of us in like a lifeguard reeling someone out of a riptide.
The rest of the squadron is already here. There is an almost resounding rumble of murmuring from
the sixteen or so Kats sat around the room as they discussed tactics, told stories about their latest
sorties or just cracked jokes and above it all is the sound of "Mannish boy" by Muddy Waters. In
the corner, one of the pilots is wearing a pair of shades and miming to the song.
Our squad room isn't bad, nothing special but we like it. The room is reasonably large with a pool
table, a couple of arcade machines, a jukebox, a table and various armchairs and sofas to sit on. The
walls are covered in an ever-changing collection of posters.
This weeks posters are blown up photo's of deputy Mayor Briggs. Most are taken from magazines,
but there's one of her in a tight red bikini. Where the hell we got this one from I have no idea. But it
does make me notice something. If her hair were longer, without her glasses Ms. Briggs would look
like a cream furred version of Angel. In fact there was a joke going around that Angel and Ms.
Briggs were the same person, kind of like Dr. Jekkel and Mr. Hyde.
A few moments later, T-bone and Razor fought their way out of the surging mass of support staff.
"Man, I thought it was dangerous in the air," T-bone joked as he slumped against the wall, gasping
for breath. "Yeah, well don't get to comfy T-bone, because we've got the first patrol this morning,"
I said, addressing the whole squadron.
There was an audible groan from across the room and more than a few "aw man's". Even I had to
admit that morning patrols were dull in the extreme. No one commits crimes in the morning,
especially crimes that warranted the intervention of an Enforcer jet squadron.
Frowning at them, I say, "Hey, was that a request? No, it was an order. We're not paid to sit around
on our arses," the full extent of my annoyance clear. One of the younger pilots raised his hand and
said, "Um sir, can I sit around on my ass?" "No Flash, you can't. All of you report to the briefing
room in twenty minutes," I reply in an irate tone. Flash was new to the squadron in his early
twenties with dark brown fur. He could be a bit of smart-arse sometimes but he was still a good
pilot.
"By the way Flash, your promotion to junior Lieutenant was approved today, congratulations," I
said in somewhat lighter tone. Stunned for a moment, Flash stood up and punched the air
triumphantly as various other pilots high-fived with him and slapped him on the back. There was no
way I'd say it to his face, but I was just as proud of him as he was of his achievement. In just a few
short months he'd proven himself an asset to the squadron. With a little more discipline, he'd go far.
Secretly smiling I turned away to head off to the briefing room to get set up. The crowds of staff
had dissipated for the moment so the corridor was practically empty. It was rare moment of quiet,
without the clump of boots or the howl of jets taking off or landing. I stood for a moment to take in
the silence. That silence was then broken by the sound of a light pair of jackboots on the concrete
floor. Turning round, I saw Angel walking up after me. There was a slight look of concern on her
face.
"Hey winter, you got a minute?" She asked quietly. "Sure, what's up? Flash getting a little too big-
headed in there?" I replied lightly. Some people might describe me as flippant; I simply prefer not
to rough up anyone's fur the wrong way by being negative. "No, it's not Flash. I…just need to talk
to you about something. About…us," She answered, slightly nervous.
Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling that I'm going to be describing this to a psychiatrist some day
soon? "What is it, there's nothing wrong is there?" I asked, suddenly sounding a little nervous
myself. "I…I'm not sure. You see…Angel was then cut off in mid-sentence by the blaring of the
scramble alarm.
Through the loud wail of the claxon, Commander Feral's voice shouts over the PA, "All pilots
scramble, this is not an exercise. I repeat, all pilots scramble." "Oh man, I should never have left
Cheshire," I say to myself.
Grabbing helmets, we dash towards the hanger. Sprinting down the corridor with at least three more
squadrons we reach the hanger and immediately head for our F-39 Sabretooths. The sleek jets, with
their centreline intakes and elegantly swept wings, rest on turntables so they can refuel, rearm and
launch much faster. Ground crews swarm all around them, checking fuel lines and making sure
missiles are secure.
Flinging my long coat off as I reach the ladder, Angel leaps up it and vaults into the cockpit.
Jumping down into my seat and securing my helmet, the canopy drops and I check off the pre-flight
procedures. "No time for that, gotta kick the tires and light the fires," Angel calls out from behind
me. Nodding in agreement, I flick switches and all around me screens flicker on and the engine
hums to life.
As I and the rest of the squadron taxied out of the hanger and onto the roof top runways, I call the
tower and say, "What's the situation out there command?" "We've got an inbound bogie with some
serious hardware, intercept him before he reaches us, or we're all dead meat," They reply, the panic
in their voices clear. What's got them so worked up? Why is the whole fighter core being scrambled
for just one bogy?
Lining up on the catapult, I turn round to Angel and say, "You ready back there?" "Ready to rock
and roll baby!" She yells back excitedly. Throttling up the engine, I grin as the engines throaty roar
rises from somewhere behind us. Then the catapult releases and we shoot forward, the jet leaping
off the deck just as we reach the edge of the roof. As we just skim over the top another building, I
am reminded of why catapult launches in an urban environment freak me out so much.
The rest of the squadron quickly forms up on my wings in flying claw formation and the other three
squadrons quickly join us forming an arrowhead. Looking over towards the lead jet of the squadron
on my left I say, "Hellcat leader, you got any idea what's going on?"
"None Jaguar leader, all we've got is a target heading," She replies. "This is Iron Eagle three, we've
got something here, closing fast," A pilot in the squadron on point calls out.
A second later, Iron Eagle three, five and nine were blown out of the sky by long-range missile fire.
"Holy shit! Jaguars break formation now!" I shout as an ominous black shape blasted right past us,
ramming two more jets out of the way, smashing them in to nearby buildings. The Jaguars scatter in
all directions like a flock of birds spooked by a hawk.
Swinging around and hitting the after burners, I can see it now about a mile and a half out. I don't
think I've ever seen a more evil looking aircraft in my life. It looks less like a jet and more like a
gigantic black bat and I've seen it before, in a know-you're-enemy lecture a couple of weeks ago.
Dark Kat! Jesus Christ, I'd hoped never to have to tangle with him, but now it looks like I haven't
got much choice.
We're at full burners just to keep up with him, maintaining formation is pointless now. I squeeze
the trigger on my joystick and let rip with my jet's twin cannon. The shells just spark and rebound
off the black jet's armour plaited hull. "Damn it, His armour's too thick for guns at this range. All
jets, switch to missiles and tag his arse now!" I yell down the radio.
All around me missile streak away from under the wings of the other jets in my wing, Dark Kat's
jet is big but it's a lot more manoeuvrable than it looks, far more manoeuvrable than it should be.
He breaks left, dodging through skyscrapers. Half the missile scream past missing completely, but
the other half slam strait into an office building ahead of us.
Bandit, a Mexican pilot yells, "Sweet mother Mary, we can't scratch him man. We gotta get
closer." "I know that Bandit, but we're at full burn just to keep visual, he's too fast for us," I reply,
snarling and gritting my teeth. If he gets away, the thousands of personnel back at base are toast.
Then T-bone's voice cuts in. "Sir, Razor and I got an idea." "Well lets here it T-bone, we're running
out of time here," I yell back.
"Angel, you got any Sidewinders left?" He returns. "Yeah, both missile are armed, but Dark crud's
out of range for em," Angel replies, tapping up the data on her weapon's console. Razor calls over,
saying, "I don't want you to fire em, I want you to disable the warheads and jam their launch
racks." A wave of comprehension spreads across Angel's face. "I get it, great thinking Razor," She
shouts, grinning madly.
"What are you thinking Razor?" I say looking over at T-bone and Razor's jet for a moment and then
turning back to avoid another building. "Sir, our engines give us about eight hundred thousand
pounds of thrust on their own, the Sidewinders produce about fifteen thousand pounds each. By
jamming them on the launchers we can give ourselves an extra thirty thousand pounds boost of
speed for about ten seconds before they burn out," He explained.
Razor maybe a nutbag sometimes but he knows his ordinance. He's unofficially recognised as the
smartest guy in the squadron and I've learned to trust his judgement when it came to weapons, but
this? "You're nuts, you know that don't you?" I yell. "It's either that or he gets away and we're
short one base," T-bone replies.
I nod, looking back; Angel gives me the thumbs up. "Hit it," I yell. On the tip of each wing, a bright
flare from the missiles ignites and we start gaining on Dark Kat's jet. T-bone and Razor's jet plus,
bandit and Flash do the same. Closing to within a hundred yards, I pull my trigger again and the
shells actually manage to make a few holes in the side of the jet. "Tally ho!" I shout, really
sounding like one of the great R.A.F aces of Mega War 2. "Angel, tag that bastard now," I yell,
turning in my seat to see a smile of deep satisfaction on her face.
I smile myself as the lock tone sounds and a missile howls away from under our wing. Then
something drops away from under the black jet just before the missile hits. My blood runs cold and
my throat goes dry as his missile bears down on us. I break away, pulling up sharply trying to evade
it, but it strikes, blowing off our port wing. I can't see if our missile hit.
Alarms and warnings blare, a fire breaks out and the ground starts to rush up at us. Wrestling with
the controls to try and keep the plane steady, I can here my wing mates shouting over the radio.
Some are calling if we're all right; others are death screams as Dark Kat turns his attention to them.
Before the radio goes dead I get one final message out, "I definitely should have never left
Cheshire," Cracking one last joke before we go down.
As we spiral down, it becomes painfully obvious that this is going to really hurt. "Winter, we've got
to eject," Angel yell's from behind me. "I can't, there's too many people down there. I've got to
make sure the jet makes a controlled decent. You eject, I've got to stay to the end," I yelled back.
"Not without you, we're in this together. To the end" She replied, reaching her hand over forward.
Taking my hand off the throttle, I hold her hand as the ground looms ahead. Then we hit the street,
literally.
As the jet hits the ground, it flips over forwards and slides out upside down and her hand is
wrenched out of my grasp. The console in front of me crumples in on my legs. I hear them crunch
and I grit my teeth as the jagged metal chews into my thighs. My left shoulder restraint breaks loose
and my head hits the console. My head hits hard and my visor shattered driving shards of glass into
my right eye. Blood runs down my face, pooling in my helmet and I feel faint. Finally we hit
something with a bone jarring impact.
Something slams in the back of my seat. As consciousness leaves me, I hear Angel saying, "I love
you Edward, I love you," weakly, her breath petering out. Then she stops and my world went black.
One year later…
The rain is streaming down, running off my face and plastering my hair down the grove of the scar
crossing my eye. Fortunately I can still see out of that eye, the shards of glass didn't do too much
damage. But I don't care.
My hair is somewhat longer now and I have a bulkier frame. All that time in a wheel chair while I
learned to walk again meant that I had to build up some upper body strength. After my legs had
healed, it had just become another of my routines, so I just started working on my legs as well.
They keep telling me that we were heroes; by getting Dark Kat to focus on us… by getting him to
take notice of us the rest of the squadron was able to engage him. He was driven off; he failed in his
mission to destroy Enforcer HQ. I still don't care.
I stand in front of her grave, in front of they're graves. They told me just before the funeral. She
was carrying my child. She was two months pregnant and its only now that I've lost her forever that
I realise how much I loved her. That was what she had been trying to tell me that day, before the
mission.
When our jet hit the ground, a structural support strut behind the cockpit broke loose. The impact
with the wall drove the strut forward, punching through the back of Angel's seat and…
They told me that she would have died instantly…that she didn't suffer, but I know that they're
lying. I heard her…I heard her voice as she died.
My tears are lost in the rain. That night they told me, there was a howl of true anguish that could be
heard all over the city. The day after, something inside me died with her. I haven't laughed, felt pity
or even raised my voice in anger. I just became cold, a deep hole, devoid of warmth. The force
psychologists can provide a thousand different explanations but I know the truth. I feel nothing
because if I felt anything…all I would feel is the endless hatred and loss.
In the last year a lot has changed. The jaguars have been disbanded; the few surviving pilots from
that mission have been dispersed to other units. T-bone and Razor were kicked off the force for
crashing their jet into the flight deck; I see them from time to time when I need my car fixed down
at the junkyard. As for myself, I was declared unfit to fly on mental health grounds.
I was deemed too unstable to trust with command of a squadron. But with my part in preventing
HQ's destruction and my excellent service record they couldn't dismiss me, so they transferred me
to special investigations.
Special investigations simply mean that I'm too qualified for duty as tactical squad grunt, too
unstable to assign to another department and that they haven't found an excuse to sack me yet. The
result is that I spend more time in gun battles than I do actually investigating anything.
Stepping forward, I kneel down before Angel's grave and retrieve a pair of black roses from under
my coat. Laying them on the grave I stand and say, "I promise you, I'll get him. I swear that I'll
find him. And cut my name into his black heart." The same promise I made to her the day my soul
died. I hardly ever refer to her by her real name anymore; to me she'll always be my angel.
I sense movement behind me. Moving with blinding speed, I whirl round and draw my gun, raising
it instinctively and turning to face who ever it is. Katia Vasquez, my new partner doesn't even
flinch as I point the gun strait at her head with the safety off. Byron, we've got a call coming in of a
hostage situation. The Commander wants us down there on the double," She said, calmly. She'd
only been my partner a month and she was already used to me doing that.
She's fresh from the academy, but she's tough as nails. She was Bandit's sister, with sandy yellow
fur like her brother's, deep brown eyes and short-cropped blond hair. Slightly taller than me, she
was pretty I had to admit, even if she could break a cinder block with her head.
They figured we'd compliment each other; the way Angel and I had complimented each other. But
even Feral should know that it doesn't work that way. He could never understand why Angel and
me worked so well together. Just having another female partner will never make me the same as I
was.
"Well, lets get over there before the SWAT Kats beat us to it," I replied, putting my gun away.
From anyone else this would be taken as a joke. But these days, I don't make jokes.
It was a fact: The SWAT Kats were probably the number one reason this city wasn't a smoking
crater; we didn't have to like it. It was simply a fact that we had to accept. Every day I prayed that I
would get THE case, the case to find out who they are.
I want to find them, not to arrest them, but to ask for they're help. Much as I hate to admit it, there
is no way the Enforcers will ever bring Dark Kat down. And even then, what justice will he get. The
SWAT Kats may be my one chance for revenge. My one chance at avenging Angel…
The End…