Usual Legal Crapola:

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're really here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, so there!

On with the show…


~ Chapter Seven ~

"What've we got, KP?"

"A whole lot of trouble!"

"Actually, I was hoping for something a little more specific than that!"

There was no humor in Ron's voice with the flippant remark. His face remained grim and set as he struggled with controls that seemed determined to thwart his every attempt at bringing the careening Gulfstream under control. Expectantly, he cast a momentary glance toward the redhead on his right, hoping for some sort of input that might prove useful.

"Hey! You're the expert here!" Kim shouted over the screeching sirens that filled the cramped cockpit. "I haven't got a clue about any of this!"

"The video screen there, on your right." Ron instructed as he reached toward his left and began silencing the alarms. "Use the selector dial to bring up the fault menu. That'll tell you everything."

Quickly, Kim did as she was told and was soon rewarded with a list of all the things that were currently very much wrong with their aircraft.

"Okay, let's see." She pondered, frantically scanning the list. "Hydraulic pressure is falling fast, engine number two is on fire, we've got a cabin leak and your fly is open."

With that last revelation she stared blankly at the screen, not entirely sure what to make of it all. Warily, she stole a glance at her red-faced boyfriend who was fidgeting nervously in his seat.

Guiltily, he reached down to zip himself.

"Like I said," he sheepishly grinned, "the system tells you everything."

"No kidding." She panned, looking back to the galaxy of flashing warning lights before her. "So now what do I do?"

"Blow the bottle on two." Ron told her.

"And I do that how?"

"Look for the two red plungers marked 'extinguisher' on the center console." He said. "Then hit the one on the right."

It didn't take her long to locate the two plungers and do as Ron said. At the same time, Ron reached up to the ceiling above them and activated the emergency fuel cutoff for the engine in question. Their efforts were soon rewarded with at least one of the alerts vanishing from the screen.

"Fire's out." Kin pointed out, checking the remainder of the list. "What about the rest?"

"Not much we can do about those." Ron said, straining to keep the crippled jet on a straight path. "The cabin leak isn't so bad at this altitude, but that hydraulic pressure is gonna be a killer."

"Rephrase, please and thank you!"

"Sorry. I didn't mean that literally." Ron quickly apologized. "It's just that once those gauges hit zero, I'm gonna have little to no control over where this thing comes down."

"Can we make it to the coast?"

"Negative. Pressure won't hold out that long, and even if it would, one engine isn't going to get us nearly that far."

"So how far can we get on one engine?"

"All the way to the scene of the crash."

"Peachy."

"Well it is where we're going."

"So what are you going to do?" Kim asked expectantly. She was trying hard to project an aura of command and confidence, but on the inside her stomach was tying itself into knots with anxiety regarding Ron's unspoken answer. She prayed to whatever god would hear her that her boyfriend had a plan.

"Find an open spot and put her down as softly as I can." Ron replied, his tone betraying no evidence of the butterflies that were currently invading his own stomach.

"And what are the odds of that happening?"

"Straight up honesty?"

"Straight up."

"Well, provided that we can even find a clearing down there, we've gotta worry about crosswinds, wind shear and sudden shifts in our center of gravity. If I can't keep the wings level we could ground loop, if the nose drops we'll flip, and if there's anything nasty hiding in the tall grass then we'll just be a big flaming mess amongst the trees."

"Super. Is there any good news?"

"That was the good news."

"You know what? I'm actually sorry I asked."

"So noted."

"Any idea what just happened?"

"Well it wasn't flak or double-A fire. I know what that stuff feels like and that wasn't it." Ron theorized as he wrestled with the controls. "Judging by the concussion, I'd say some sort of small SAM. Probably a Stinger, if I had to guess."

"So how can I help?"

"Finding me a spot to set this bird down would be a good start."

Frantically, Kim began scanning the horizon. Their disturbingly low altitude didn't help matters any, as some of the distant mountain peaks were already above the level of the windscreen. Quietly, she busied herself with her search, using action to quell worry and silently reminding herself that her boyfriend's extensive training had made him one of the best there was in this sitch. She figured that if engineers could get a washing machine to fly, then her Ron could land it.

Searching left and right, precious seconds ticked by in apprehensive procession as precious feet ticked off the altimeter. It seemed as though the whole world was made of trees at that moment, with any traces of open ground having been swallowed by a carpet of thick forest. Then, just when all hope seemed lost, Kim spotted something out of the corner of her eye. It was fleeting, passing so quickly that for a moment she doubted seeing it at all. But a second glance revealed a splendid reality: A small clearing to the right of their current flight path. Salvation wrapped within a blanket of thick, green grass.

"There!" Kim cried out in jubilation, bouncing in her seat and pointing furiously. "Right down there!"

"Good catch, KP!" Ron agreed, already banking the plane toward their new objective. "Now buckle up. This could get bumpy."

Wordlessly, Kim settled back and tightened her seat belt until it hurt. It may have been an uncomfortable position for her, but there was very little she could do in this sitch. This was Ron's element: The scenario where his skills and his training would carry the day. She was just a passenger on this flight: Just like the people in the cabin behind them.

"Oh snap! The passengers!" she suddenly realized, mentally chastising herself for so easily losing focus. "They've gotta be totally freaking out by now!"

Grabbing for the cockpit microphone, she quickly cued up the cabin intercom and spoke in as calm and reassuring a voice as she could muster.

"Okay, folks. There's been a slight change of plans." She cringed, thinking that line probably qualified for understatement of the year honors. "We're going to be putting down for an unexpected stop, so everybody brace for impact. Secure the cabin, fasten your seatbelts, put your heads between your knees…"

"And kiss your butts goodbye." Ron added, much to his girlfriend's consternation.

"Not helping!"

"Not trying!"

Ron ignored the ominous growl that was directed his way and focused his concentration on the task at hand. Landing was always the most dangerous part of any flight, and doing so with a crippled plane and without the benefit of landing gear or a prepared surface made the task exponentially more difficult. And to complicate things even further, the rapid loss of hydraulic fluid meant that the controls were becoming increasingly unresponsive. Still, there were certain procedures that one could follow to take at least some of the guesswork out of the process.

Keeping the nose down to maintain airspeed, he pointed the Gulfstream toward the clearing Kin had indicated. A slight shudder of the airframe alerted his finely honed senses to the presence of a crosswind, and he instinctively compensated by adjusting his angle back to the left. Another gust rocked the plane to the right and he fought to keep the wings level, knowing full well that in this situation there was zero room for error. For while the G-550 may have been one of the highest and fastest flying private planes in the world, when reduced to glide mode it had all the flight characteristics of a free-falling safe. He would get one shot at sticking this landing. There would be no "go-arounds."

The wounded bird continued to bleed precious hydraulic oil as the ground rapidly rose up to meet them. Dead-sticking a craft such as this was never easy, and Ron felt as though he was wrestling with a forty-pound sack of wet flour as he struggled to maintain control of his plane. The tell-tale hiss of air being sucked through hydraulic lines resounded in his oversized ears as the clearing loomed ever larger in the windshield; a postage stamp-sized opening in the trees no larger than the flight decks he was so used to landing on.

It was all about the angles now. If he came in too steep then they would never survive the impact. If his approach was too shallow, they would stall out, and fall short of the clearing entirely. If he was off by more than a few degrees to either side, they would wind up in the trees: A fate no better than any of the others. There was a narrow window of space that he had to fly through if they were to have any hope at all for survival, and hitting that window with a crippled and unresponsive bird was akin to standing at home plate and hitting a baseball into a mop bucket set amongst the centerfield bleachers. The odds against such a thing were almost astronomical.

But this was exactly the sort of thing that he had been trained for. For three long, lonely and exhaustive months he had trained, depriving himself of nearly everything that he cared about in the world. He had gone without his family, his friends, video games and his beloved Bueno Nacho to earn the wings that he so proudly wore upon his heart. And more importantly he had gone without Kim: The one constant in his life that he had always been able to count on.

That separation alone had been a private hell of his own making, but it had been worth every last salty tear and drop of blood when she had seen him in his uniform for the first time. The way her emerald eyes had sparkled when she looked at him… The radiant smile overflowing with pride and admiration… The way she had kissed him with a passion that she had never shown for him before… That was ultimate confirmation that he had made the right choice.

And it had all led him to this place: Sitting at the controls of a 60 million dollar airplane, staring at an impossibly small landing strip, being forced to play "thread-the-needle" with a stubborn and misbehaving plane, and all of it while holding the lives of four other people in his hands, one of whom just so happened to be the one person he loved more than anything else in the world, including life itself. He had the skills… He had the knowledge… He had the experience… He simply needed to put it all together and deliver. It was time to shut up and just do it. It was go time!

Narrowing his eyes and gripping the control column so tight that the knuckles inside of his gloves turned white, he focused every fiber of strength and concentration he had on the task before him. Fighting against vibrations and buffeting forces that threatened to rip the wheel from his grasp, he held the luxury jet steady, keeping the wings trimmed and the nose at a steady five degrees down from level. He barely seemed to notice the sudden lurch as the Gulfstream struck a pocket of turbulent air, his mind the very definition of focus, his attention on that narrow slot of air that he knew he needed to hit. In his imagination he saw a perfect box drawn across the sky before him, as crystal clear as any heads-up display, showing him the way home. A firm, final nudge brought the Gulfstream's needle-like nose into perfect alignment with the center of that imaginary square in the sky, and the sleek airframe slid through the opening as perfectly as a key slipping into a lock.

The ground now raced up to meet them, the flowing waves of tall, native grasses taking on a level of detail worthy of any professional photograph or nature documentary. A swift kick of the rudder brought them into perfect alignment with the field, and digging deep for every last ounce of strength he could muster, Ron buried the column into his lap, pitching the Gulfstream's nose upward and settling the plane's tail onto the ground with a bone jarring thud.

Rebounding from the impact, gravity itself seemed to be momentarily suspended as the Gulfstream bounced fifteen feet into the air, paused for an instant of suspended animation, then settled down once again, this time to stay.

The next thing anyone knew, the interior spaces of the jet were filled with a sickening grinding and scraping noise as the great bird's belly slid across the rough and uneven ground. Items and occupants were tossed haphazardly about as the nose settled in with a violent shudder, and the entire airframe reverberated with every bump and gully that it encountered.

And still, Ron fought for control. Virtually standing up against his seat belt, he stomped down hard onto the rudder pedals, coaxing the aircraft back toward the line of approach. Like herding a five-year-old child intent on wandering off, keeping the still speeding plane on the straight and narrow was a monumental test of both vigilance and stamina. To the center lay salvation. To either side, death and destruction awaited.

With the air speed indicator having been shattered by the initial impact, there was no way of telling for sure how fast they were going. The multi-million dollar jet seemed to slide on unceasingly as seconds and yards flashed by. To the left and right the trees maintained a respectful distance, but straight ahead their companions formed an ominous line of defense that loomed larger and larger in the windscreen with each and every passing moment. Slowly, inertia and friction fought their age-old battle once again, and while friction held the ultimate advantage, it seemed as though the game clock might run out too soon for the intrepid heroes.

Ever more the airframe slowed, bleeding off speed in excruciating increments. Bumps and jolts became more infrequent and less violent, and the fuselage slowly began to pivot to the left. Finally, in the last few feet of available space, the plane gave a final lurch and came to rest with its right wing literally nestled between two massive oaks.

"Betcha' didn't know they also taught parallel parking at the academy, did ya?" Ron grinned, looking across the cockpit at his severely frazzled girlfriend.

"Showoff." Kim groused as she unfastened her seatbelt and proceeded to climb over the center console and toward the cockpit door.

Bursting through the door and into the cabin beyond, her sudden entrance startled the three occupants who were just then shaking off the effects of the rough landing.

"Okay, everyone up and out of this fire trap!" she barked, marching over to the cabin door. With a turn of the latch she laid her shoulder into the offending object and forced it aside, giving way to a momentary rush of fresh air.

Their charges quickly complied, unbuckling their seatbelts and stumbling toward the open door with Ron following closely behind. Seconds later, they were all enjoying the relative safety of open space and took the opportunity to take stock of themselves.

"Everyone okay?" Kim asked the group. "Sound off if you're hurt."

"I'm fine."

"Good over here."

"Does my pride count?"

"No, it doesn't Wally."

"Oh. Then I'm just dandy, I guess."

"All right then. Now that that's settled," Kim addressed the group once more, "we need to come up with a 'Plan B' and fast. It won't take those guys long to find this wreck and I'd really rather not be here when they do. Ron; How far do you think we made it from the field?"

"Can't say for sure." Ron pondered, shading his eyes as he looked back along his line of approach. "Rough guess, I'd venture about four miles or so. Maybe four and a half, but not much more than that."

"I see. Well at least that will buy us some time." Kim pondered herself, the mental gears in her head quickly spinning up and engaging one another. "So here's the plan, everyone. We take five minutes to strip this wreck of anything useful that we can carry. Then, we get the heck out of Dodge and fast."

"Question, KP." Ron broke in. "But just where are we going?"

"That way, towards the coast." Kim indicated, pointing in the aforementioned direction. "Dry land is still enemy territory for the moment, but our side controls the sea. If we can just make it to the shore, then we might have a fighting chance."

"Might? We might have a fighting chance?" Young Wally anxiously interjected. "I must say, I find your self-confidence to be less than inspiring."

"Sorry Wallace, but if you want guaranties then go shop at Smarty Mart." Kim snarked, turning her attention to the shattered plane. "Out here things are a little more fluid than that. There's no promises on this ride."

"Well I don't recall asking to come on this ride of yours, now do I?"

That quip stopped Kim dead in her tracks and drew the attention of all other members of the group. Suddenly, what had been a warm afternoon developed a frigid chill that could freeze sunshine out of the sky.

"So you're saying you'd rather still be bottled up as a human shield for those goons?" Kim asked, turning toward the young prince, icicles hanging dangerously on her every word.

"Well I certainly wouldn't call these conditions an improvement." Wally stated, thrusting his regal nose into the air. "So far I've been dragged from my home, bossed around, pitched about, shot at, and now I'm standing in the middle of nowhere with none of the comforts which I am ordinarily accustomed to and being told that I may very well be heading into circumstances that are even worse."

"Now you listen here you ungrateful little, snot-nosed, royal pain in the…"

"Kim!"

Ron's restraining hand brought her up short, and his pleading look caused the brewing rant to die on her lips.

Wordlessly, she spun around and returned to the plane, but not before flashing young Wallace a glare that would have left Attila the Hun begging for his mommy.

Silently, the rest of the group followed suit, and soon all members of the party were busily scavenging every square inch of the airframe for useful items. While the royal family searched the aft compartments and Kim busied herself in the cockpit, Ron turned his attention to some of the plane's overhead storage bins. These had yielded a small handful of potentially useful items, which he dutifully deposited in a large equipment-filled duffle bag he had retrieved from their "borrowed" jeep, when he ran across one bin that seemed bound and determined to remain closed.

"Huh. Must've gotten torqued in the crash somehow." He surmised, giving the offending panel an even stronger tug and meeting with the same result. "Okay then, time for the brute force approach."

Searching the duffle, he retrieved a short but stout length of plastic tubing and began swinging it like a battering ram, slowly pounding the stubborn hatch into submission. He had landed nearly a half-dozen good whacks when a restraining hand on his shoulder stopped him dead and roughly spun him around to face… Kim?

"What in the bloody you-know-what do you think you're doing?" she nearly screamed: A detail that left Ron beyond confused.

"Wha… What does it look like I'm doing?" he stammered. "I'm trying to get this blasted thing open."

"Word of advice, Ron." Kim steamed. "Next time, read before you bash!"

"Huh?"

Kim pointed accusingly at the tube he held in his hands. Keeping a wary eye on his still seething girlfriend, he glanced down and began to read the stenciled lettering that he had completely failed to notice moments before.

"M72 LAW… Firing Instructions… Pull pin, extend rear cover downward, extend inner tube toward…"

He dropped the item to the floor and recoiled back as if it were a live rattlesnake, letting loose with a startled yelp in the process.

"If you're gonna be busting stuff up, try not using a bazooka to do the busting." She snapped as she turned around and stalked back to the cockpit, muttering something about "idiot men" and not thinking things through.

For his part, Ron stood frozen in place, staring blankly at the item before him. It looked so innocuous from the outside: Little more than a piece of plastic pipe with a few odd protrusions. There was no outward sign of the four-pound high velocity rocket nestled within its cylindrical interior. It looked as harmless as a stick lying on the ground.

Cautiously, he edged toward the launcher and gently nudged it with his toe. What he was expecting to happen, he wasn't sure, but there was no mistaking the wave of relief that washed over him when the only result was the weapon sliding a few inches further away.

Then, an odd thought washed over him, and he reached down to pick the item up. It was small and light, which met the ease of portability requirement for stuff to take along, and although he couldn't think of a specific use for such an item at the moment, it seemed a handy sort of thing to take along when hiking across a battlefield.

Absent mindedly, he stuffed the weapon back into the duffle with the rest of his scroungings and didn't give the matter another thought.

Two minutes later, the group was assembled outside the wreckage once again with Kim standing before them, barking out orders to their charges.

"Okay, listen up people!" she instructed, doing an uncanny impression of Steve Barkin. "It's going to be dark soon, and I want to put as much distance between us and this flying tin can as possible. Step lively and try to keep up. Everyone is responsible for carrying their own weight and their own gear. Take only the things that are necessary for survival."

"Is this the point where you're going to tell them about the collection of Gary Newman CDs that you're packing?" Alexia asked, leaning in toward her glowering cousin.

"Shhhhh!" Wally admonished.

"Beg pardon?" Kim broke in, a look of extreme annoyance on her face. "A music collection? Are you serious? I said take only items necessary for survival!"

"It's a limited edition collector's set, thank you very much!" Wally snapped back. "And I can't live without it!"

Kim's mind coughed and sputtered as it searched for some means of comprehending the sitch before her. Years of dealing with the villains of the world had left her well versed in the ways of narcissism. But the young royal before her was taking things to a level that would have impressed Drakken himself. In the forefront of her mind she grasped for an appropriate phrase or comeback, while in the back of her mind she was peripherally aware of her fingers balling up into a tightly clenched fist.

A wise and learned person once defined stress as a conflict that arises when prudence and civility collide with the urge to beat the living tar out of some sap-faced jerk that desperately needs it. If such a definition holds true, then Kim was at that moment the most stressed-out person in the Eastern Hemisphere. The urge to lash out was rising within her, threatening to overwhelm the last remnants of her self-control.

It seemed like divine intervention then when Alexia stepped between the fuming redhead and her chronically oblivious cousin.

"Oh I think you'll manage to pull through, Wallace." She sarcastically groaned, grabbing the pack from Wally's shoulder and dumping the collection of shimmering disks onto the ground. "Besides, it's not like you can't get more."

"But… But these are limited edition!" Wally loudly protested.

"Yeah. So limited that they only made fifty thousand of them." Alexia quipped. "And if you get bored with that, then you can download the whole thing off of E-Tunes."

"Well… I still want…"

"Wallace?"

"Yes Alexia?"

"Quit while you're ahead… which in this case is just an expression." She remarked, shouldering her own bag and turning to face Kim.

"I think we're ready now." She informed the stunned cheerleader. "Lead the way."

"Yeah-yeah… leading… right." Kim stammered, taking a moment to regain her composure. "So we're clear then? Everybody stick together and follow me."

"Uh, KP?"

"Yes Ron?"

"Can I add a few things?"

"Uh, I suppose." She consented with a worried look on her face. Now was most definitely not the time for Ron's randomness to make an appearance.

"Now I want everyone to take special note." Ron began addressing the group. "It's going to be dark in a few hours, so I want sound and noise discipline. That means nothing shiny… nothing that's loose… nothing that can rattle, jingle, beep or by any means give away our position. Also, if we're forced to walk through soft ground, I'll want everyone to spread out. Walk with at least ten yards between each of you. It'll make us harder to track. We'll camp once it's too dark to walk, but until then be quick and quiet, and keep moving."

"Ready when you are, KP." Ron concluded, turning back toward his girlfriend who was oddly mesmerized at how clear and well thought out his speech had been. It seemed so strange to hear such tactically sound and confidently spoken advice coming from his lips, but that was exactly what she had just heard, and it filled her with a feeling that was equal parts awe and pride.

"Wow, Ron. Where'd you learn all that?" she asked in awe.

"SERE training." he answered.

"Sere?"

"Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape." He quickly explained. "It's something that all new airmen have to go through during their basic."

"Oh. Right, right… gotcha." She stammered, adjusting the pack on her own shoulders, reassuming her aura of authority and squaring herself toward the trees before her. "Okay then everyone! Let's move out!"

They had taken no more than five or six steps when an ominously familiar rumble came from the woods behind them. Ron's shoulders slumped in total dejection as Kim executed an involuntary face palm.

"And here we go again." She sighed into her hand, thinking that the predictability of it all would actually be funny if it wasn't so serious.

"Just a suggestion on my part, but maybe we should go with plan B?" Ron observed, glancing in the direction of the noise. In the near distance, trees could be seen to sway violently as great flocks of birds abandoned their perches and fled skyward ahead of the approaching threat.

"And what's that?" Wally asked nervously.

"RUN!" Ron shouted, just as the trees at the edge of the clearing parted to reveal yet another destructo-bot bearing down on them.

The group didn't need to be told twice. All members scattered fleeing toward the trees in the direction that Kim indicated, while Ron fell into a "sweeper" position behind them, making certain that no one became separated and lost amongst the chaos.

Down the slope and through the trees they ran, dodging branches and brush with the sound of the advancing automaton ever present behind them. With the grace and fluidity of a pack of caffeinated gerbils they dropped over a shallow escarpment and dashed through another smaller clearing before disappearing into the trees on the far side…

All except for Ron.

Pulling up short of the tree line, he chanced a look back. Although he couldn't see anything, the tremendous racket told him that the mechanical menace was still in pursuit. He allowed himself a small, inward smile at the fact that while destructo-bots may carry impressive amounts of both armor and firepower, stealth was most definitely not part of their forte.

However such lack of sneakiness was not going to help their current situation. Being a machine, the mechanical being was immune to such human frailties as fear and fatigue. It would undoubtedly pursue them across the width of the entire island if such became necessary. It would not stop until it had caught them or been knocked out of commission.

And it was with that thought that his mind flashed to the duffle he carried slung over his shoulder. Or more specifically, the cylindrical object that only minutes before he had used as an impromptu battering ram.

Stripping off his pack, he dashed over to a nearby stone outcrop and dropped to one knee. With the instructions he had read ringing strongly in his mind, he reached into the nylon bag and withdrew the tube-like launcher. He was amazed at the ease with which the weapon deployed, the pin and latch operating smoothly and the rear cover folding downward with very little effort at all. In a fluid motion he extended the inner tube to the rear, feeling the detent lever of the firing mechanism click into place beneath the plunger-like trigger.

He barely noticed the droid crashing through the trees and into the clearing as he continued with his task, nor did he realize the sudden appearance of Rufus on his left shoulder. With a speed and grace that surprised both man and mole rat he hoisted the weapon onto his right shoulder and flipped up the twin sights near its front end. His right hand firmly cupped the launcher and held it in place, fingers laced atop the trigger, while his left steadied its muzzle. Peering through the forward reticle sight, he noted that ranges were marked off in 25-meter increments and made a quick estimate of the distance between him and the still-advancing droid. He would get one shot at this… He needed to make it count.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he allowed the droid to come closer, betting his life that the cluster of rocks he was crouched behind would prevent the droid from firing right away. He estimated that his target needed to be within 150 yards to have any real chance of making the kill shot he needed, but given the circumstances, closer certainly seemed to be better.

The droid now accelerated its pace, homing in on the young blonde's position. He had been targeted; there was no doubt about that now. He only hoped that his dumb skills and a borrowed, second-hand weapon would be enough to carry the day.

The very ground beneath him began to shake as the mechanical monster charged, weapons raised and ready. The gap between them began to quickly vanish as the rampaging droid closed the range. Two hundred yards… a hundred and fifty… one hundred yards… And still Ron held his fire, beads of sweat cascading down his neck. Breathing became rapid and shallow, and a rising wave of nausea began ebbing into his throat. He fought back mightily to maintain his composure, focusing on breathing deeply and deliberately. Rufus squeaked out an excited warning as the droid came ever closer, raising one of its massive blasters and drawing a bead dead onto the crouching teen. Time was up. It was now or never.

Almost reflexively, Ron squeezed the trigger atop the weapon's outer casing and felt the distinctive click of the percussion cap firing. An instant later the space around him was engulfed in light and sound as two white hot sheets of flame leapt forth from both ends of the tube. The 66-millimeter rocket almost instantly accelerated to 475 feet per second, racing out to meet the oncoming threat and striking it dead square center on its chest plate.

The resulting explosion punched through the droid's armored carapace like cardboard and exited out its back, launching a shower of shrapnel and flaming debris into the grassland beyond. Its glowing optical sensors instantly went dark as it shuddered violently and fell forward, carried on by its own downhill momentum. Executing what could only be described as a perfect belly flop, its lifeless metallic body slammed hard into the dirt and slid several more yards before coming to rest less than ten feet from the trembling blonde and his hairless companion.

Meanwhile, several hundred yards behind the battle, the concussion of the blast rolled through the trees with a mighty roar. Four heads snapped around in unison, startled by the sudden audio intrusion and intensely curious as to its nature.

"Strangely, I do not find this occurrence to be any more disconcerting than our previous circumstances." King Wallace observed aloud.

Kim's thoughts however, were focused on a far different topic.

"Wait! Where's Ron?" she asked, apprehension rising in her voice.

"What? So now we're supposed to keep track of your partner too?" Wally whined. "I must say, you certainly expect a great deal from your charges."

"I… don't… know." Alexia pondered, her own worried tone echoing that of Kim. "He was right behind us just a second ago."

Kim's agile mind quickly raced through the current circumstances and reviewed all the possible conclusions.

"Oh no! Oh GOD no!"

Without a word to the group she turned and raced back up the hillside, vaulting over rocks and low hanging branches like they weren't even there in a mad dash to retrace their line of retreat.

"Oh, so now you're abandoning us?" Wally cried out. "You know, when this is over, it's things like this that will negatively effect your tip!"

She paid no attention to the whiny royal. Her mind was focused on much more important matters. An explosion of unknown origin and a missing boyfriend could not add up to anything good. And if anything bad had happened to Ron… Well, her mind really wasn't ready to process such an idea right now.

As she neared the clearing that they just passed moments before, the smell of cordite assaulted her nostrils, confirming that some sort of ordinance had just exploded nearby. Bursting forth from the tree line, a pall of bluish-gray smoke hung low in the air, obscuring much of the nearby detail. A deathly silence enshrouded the clearing like the smoke, casting a darkened sense of foreboding across the green and matted grass.

"Ron?" Kim squeaked, the name catching in her throat. There was no sign of him or anything else through the wafting gray shroud, and her inquiry went unanswered. She called out his name again, this time even more weakly than the first, and received an identical response.

Her mind began to swim with a laundry list of possible worst-case scenarios, and all of them made her recoil in horror. She felt her knees go weak and her vision go dim, her inner voice repeating again and again that this could not, in fact, be happening. There was simply no way that it could be real… It couldn't end like this.

Then, a gentle breeze that had been blowing in from the coast briefly gained strength, stirring the smoke across the field. The gray veil lifted ever so slightly in compliance with the wind's wishes, and revealed the faint outline of a crouching figure, frozen in position with a long slender object perched on one shoulder.

"Ron!" Kim shouted in relief, rushing blindly ahead through the remaining smoke. Within seconds she was kneeling beside him, grasping his face in her hands and pulling him close.

"My God, you scared me Ron!" She reprimanded, looking deep into his chocolate brown eyes. "Are you okay? Please, tell me you're okay!"

"Just… fine… KP." He stammered, the blank "deer-in-the-headlights" expression never leaving his face. His eyes stayed focused dead ahead and his expression never changed, even when Kim planted a passionate, tear-fueled kiss directly on his lips.

"Ron?" she prodded, worried by his suddenly odd behavior. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Never better." He insisted. "Although would you mind doing me a favor?"

"Sure. Anything."

"Help me let go of this thing."

"Come again?"

"I can't seem to loosen my grip."

Sure enough, with all the adrenaline that was currently coursing through his veins, the teen hero's hands had set around the plastic tube like twin vices, completely disregarding his desire to release. It took nearly a full minute of Kim prying to finally wrestle his stubborn fingers into submission, and the spent launcher clattered unceremoniously to the ground.

For Kim, it was an opportunity to appreciate what she had nearly lost. Without thinking she threw her arms around him and pulled his still tense form tight against her self, wrapping him up in a tight and protective embrace.

"What the hell were you thinking, doubling back like that?" she asked as she held him close. "Have you lost your cotton-pickin' mind? And why didn't you just use the suit?"

"The wha…?"

"Your battle suit, Ron. You know? The one Wade made for you? The one you're currently wearing?" She leaned back and lifted one of his arms up for effect.

Ron's gaze instantly fell, and Kim knew exactly what that meant.

"You forgot you were wearing it, didn't you?" she sighed.

"Well it's not like it's a regular part of my wardrobe." Ron defensively insisted. "I haven't exactly had time to work it into my style yet."

Kim groaned in frustration. Sometimes her boyfriend could be so clueless, but even when his methods were questionable, there was no questioning his intent. He had done what was necessary to protect their group. And he had, in the end, succeeded.

"Well all's well that ends well, I suppose." She sniffed, her expression softening as she clung to him once again. "Nice work, hero."

"Just doing the sidekick thing." He shrugged into her embrace. "You know… Functioning in the support slash distraction role."

"Partner." Kim tearfully corrected. "We've been through this before. You're my partner, not my sidekick."

"Well I think we can argue semantics another day." He observed, pulling back slightly, much to Kim's disappointment. "Right now we have bigger fish to fry."

"I thought you brought sausage for the trip." Kim giggled, thankful for the small amount of levity.

"Apparently you doubt my culinary skills." Ron chortled in return, stepping into a rather realistic Zorpox impression. "For that you must be educated as to the full extent of my powers."

"Oooh, educate me. Educate me, master!" Kim sing-songed, contentedly playing along with the farce. "I so love it when you educate me."

"We'll just see how eager you are after you've experienced 'Death by Chocolate.'" Ron cackled as the pair began walking arm-in-arm back toward the trees. "That is, of course, if you can first survive my 'Gratuitous Injury by Caramel.'"


Author's Notes:

Whoa! Sixteen pages without a scene break! That's gotta be some sort of personal record or something.

But whatever personal firsts or worsts were committed during this chapter, I do hope everyone enjoyed this little installment of our developing tale. It looks like our friends, like it or not, have just joined the infantry. Now they get to drag themselves and three untrained civilians through a war zone filled with all kinds of things that can seriously hurt you. What could possibly go wrong, I ask you.

As for today's serving of military alphabet soup:

SAM: A military acronym meaning "Surface-to-Air Missile." It's a blanket term used to describe any guided, rocket-powered weapon designed to engage an aircraft in flight.

FIM-92 Stinger: The Stinger is a one-man shoulder-launched SAM designed for use against low and slow flying aircraft such as helicopters and jets during take-off and landing.

Developed by the American military and first deployed in 1981, the Stinger is classified as a Man-Portable Air-Defense System. (MANPADS) By using an infrared homing system for guidance, the Stinger can lock onto the heat signature of any targeted aircraft and use onboard guidance to close in and make the kill. With a three-kilogram warhead and a top speed of Mach 2.2, the Stinger can effectively engage targets out to a range of three miles and an altitude of 12,500 feet.

To date, the Stinger has been credited with 270 confirmed kills.

SERE Training: The Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape (SERE) program is a training regimen placed into service by the United States Air Force in 1953 following the conclusion of the Korean War. Originally an Air Force-only project, the program was designed to instruct American aircrews in techniques of avoiding capture, wilderness survival and resisting torture. During the Vietnam War the program was expanded to include the Army and Navy, and is used today to also train civilian employees of the Defense Department and private military contractors.

M-72 LAW Rocket: The M-72 Light Anti-tank Weapon (LAW) was developed during the 1950s as a replacement for the M-9 "Bazooka" first deployed by American forces during World War Two. Intended to be smaller and more portable than the bulky steel bazooka, the M-72 featured lightweight Fiberglas construction with a collapsible design that made it very easy to carry.

The weapon consists of a rocket packed inside of a launcher made up of two tubes, one inside the other. While closed, the outer assembly acts as a watertight container for the rocket and the percussion cap-type firing mechanism that fires the weapon. The outer tube contains the trigger, arming handle, front and rear sights, and the rear cover. The inner tube contains the channel assembly that houses the firing pin assembly, including the detent lever. When extended, the inner tube telescopes outward toward the rear, guided by the channel assembly which rides in an alignment slot in the outer tube's trigger housing assembly. This causes the detent lever to move under the trigger assembly in the outer tube, both locking the inner tube in the extended position and cocking the weapon. Once armed, the weapon is no longer watertight even if the launcher is collapsed into its original configuration.

When fired, the propellant in the rocket motor completely combusts before exiting the weapon's muzzle, producing gases of around 1,400 °F. Propelled forward without significant recoil, the 66-millimeter warhead emerges from the launcher with six fins springing out from the base of the rocket tube to stabilize the warhead's flight.

Once fired in combat, the launcher is required by military regulations to be destroyed, preventing its use by the enemy: A task most often accomplished by placing the spent tube on the ground and smashing it with the butt end of a rifle.

First deployed late in the Korean Conflict, the LAW achieved lasting fame more than ten years later in the jungles and rice paddies of Vietnam. Loved by troops for its rugged durability and ease of use, it quickly came to be seen as a worthy counterpart to the Russian-built RPG-7.

And so with their bird trashed and their charges in tow, Team Possible sets off on a cross-country trek through exceedingly hostile territory. What possible trouble awaits them? Well if I didn't maintain some level of mystery in our relationship then you might all grow bored and stop loving me, wouldn't you?

As always, leave a review and receive a reply… Simple as that.

Oh, and since this most likely will be my last posting of the this year, may I take this moment to wish everyone in our wonderful fan fiction community a very merry Christmas and a most wonderful New Year. 2009 was a blast to be sure: Now we can all look forward to 2010!

As they say in Jersey: "God bless us all, all youz guys!"

Nutzkie…