Disclaimer: This is nothing but a product of my overactive imagination.

Last time: Blaze gets infuriated at his hearing, but is saved when word comes that Bana and Apito are under attack.

This time: Wardog takes to the skies once again.

"Man, this sucks!" Chopper shouted over the radio as his hands flew over panel after panel, trying to get his Raptor ready to scramble. Forrest had burst into the room and hurridly explained the situation then they'd been carted off to the hotel at breakneck speed to hop into flight suits and get back to the airport. Now all four were trying to get their jets off the ground before the strike force from Yuktobania and gained air superiority, essentially taking the high ground and keeping the Raptors on the ground and making them easy prey.

"Less talk, more checklists," Blaze said shortly, knowing that every moment Chopper spent blabbing was another moment wasted. He switched frequencies, both to get clearance from tower and save him from the pilot's inevitable retort. "Apito Tower, Wardog flight. Are we good to go?"

The answer was swift. "That's affirmative Wardog. We've cleared the pattern and halted all ground traffic, you're cleared to get to the nearest runway and get airborne." The ace clicked his mike, even as he switched back to the channel his flight was using.

"Okay guys, let's get the hell out of here."

"Roger!"

The former ISAF pilot looked around and saw the nearest runway marker sign, a red rectangle with the numbers for the runway emblazoned in white lettering. It didn't matter if it was the correct one for the wind conditions or not. The leader of Wardog was sure that their F-22s had the brute force necessary to get them into the air. The moment Blaze's nose wheel passed over the Hold Short Line, he rammed his throttle to the firewall and lanced down the runway like a bat out of hell, speeding past parked C-5 Galaxies that were just sitting on the Osean National Air Guard ramp. If he'd been more aware, the ace would've realized that most of the cargo planes in the nation were currently flying men and material to the front on an almost round-the-clock schedule.

Seconds later and the ISAF ace was airborne, pulling up the gear and getting his radar set up to sweep the skies in front of him, eyes watching the radar screen intently for even the faintest blip.

"Tower!" Forrest barked, "Where are they!"

"Uh, Standby," the controller said as he checked his scope for any hint of the approaching Yukes. "Got 'em! Four contacts bearing 050!"

"Roger!" That was behind him, seeing as he'd launched from 18. The ace grunted hard as he was crushed by nine Gs from throwing his fighter into a hard one-eighty.

In short order the Four Wings of Sand Island had formed up and were speeding towards the approaching enemy.

"Alright guys," Forrest said tersely. "Go into the Wall formation. We're gonna splash these guys before they even know what hit them!" The Wall was a formation that put all the fighters in the flight in a straight line with the edges of their radar cones overlapping, allowing them to see everything in front of them and mass the firepower that they carried. It was a formation that was synonymous with the F-15 Eagle, but Blaze had a hunch that it wouldn't matter much if they used it with the Raptor, seeing as the F-22 carried just as much ammo.

Brian's fingers danced on the HOTAS, locking up a target and getting ready to pop off an AMRAAM. "Okay, everybody got a lock?" Four affirmatives came back. "Roger that. Right, Blaze, Fox Three!"

"Edge, Fox Three!"

"Chopper, Fox Three!"

"Archer, Fox Three!"

Four white rockets dropped from the bellies of the speeding Raptors and ignited their motors. Off the missiles went, tracking their assigned bogies and flying in formation like a flight of trained pilots.

Meanwhile, Wardog Flight was in the middle of evasive action in an attempt to spoof any enemy missiles that might be heading their way.

Blaze's radio crackled. "Uh, Tower to Wardog, um, just a heads up, I lost all four of the inbound contacts." The operator sounded puzzled and the former ISAF pilot wondered why until he realized that the controller was a civilian and not a military-trained one. Briefly Forrest wished that the controller talking to them was one of the retired veterans who seemed to litter Osea's passenger airlines and ATC facilities. At least that way the four could be sure that a competent set of eyes was watching them.

But the ace had to give credit where credit was due. The guy, with no military training or background, had allowed them to make a proper intercept of the enemy and shoot them down before the airport could be attacked.

"It's no big deal," Forrest answered the controller. "It just means we hit our mark." The tower gave an affirmative and began sequencing the four fighters into the pattern, so they could land. That was when things started to go to hell in a hurry.

"Huh!? Hey! Tanks are coming out of those transports!"

The alarmed voice sent the civilian airliners into a panic, not being trained for this kind of thing, and also served to put Wardog on the attack. Not waiting for clearance, Blaze rolled over onto his back and dove, blasting for the ground, trying to get his gun reticule on one of the shadowy boxes that were currently moving out from in front of the C-5s parked on the guard ramps. The ace knew that his 20mm shells wouldn't do jack squat to a tank like that, but the mammoth transport plane behind it would do some damage.

The glowing green circle on his HUD slid over the Galaxy's wing, around the spot that Forrest knew the fuel cells to be located.

'Hope this works,' the ace thought and squeezed the trigger. A rain of hot lead spewed from the cannon in his right wing, making Swiss cheese of the cargo plane's fuel tanks. To Blaze's great surprise and satisfaction, the Galaxy promptly became a mammoth fireball that shot hundreds of feet into the air. The moving tank, plus the one that had just started to emerge from the cavernous hold, were hit by a massive shockwave and a rain of speeding shrapnel, turned into slag before they even knew what hit them.

As he pulled up and away, Forrest started barking out the orders that would put Wardog on the attack. Like avenging angels, the other three F-22s rolled and dove, imitating his earlier maneuver. Three C-5s were lit up like Christmas trees and one exploded just as spectacularly as Brian's had. In the light of the two burning transports, the ISAF ace caught a glimpse of tiny figures carrying what looked like logs, sprinting for the other enemies that Wardog hadn't gotten around to killing yet.

'I'll bet those are…' A plume of fire and smoke erupted from one of the pairs of men and a burning flare climbed high into the night sky. 'Yep, rocket launchers.' The missile nosed over and dove, spearing through one of the tanks that had managed to make it through to the taxiways, turning it into a burning scrap pile. 'Javelins by the look of 'em.'

"Blaze to Wardog, the Guard has things handled here, let's give them some air cover."

"Roger!"

Four dark shapes climbed back into the sky and began circling the onrushing Osean ground forces. Forrest thought that it was kind of stupid to attack an airport with an Air National Guard base on it, but it also made sense. After all, who would question military planes parked on a military ramp? But that raised the question of who'd allowed them to sit there in the first place. Blaze smelled a rat, and he was going to be pretty highly placed if he had enough clout to get the base to allow unscheduled transports to sit there.

A call from tower cut him off. "Tower to Wardog! More contacts coming in! Same vector as before!"

Chopper cursed as the four-ship rolled out onto the appropriate heading. "Man, I can't believe this! This is the middle of fricking Osea! How the hell are they getting in?"

"I wish I knew," Edge replied grimly as she began to make preparations to launch an AMRAAM at the incoming contacts.

"Never mind that now," Blaze cut in. "We need to splash these guys before they make it to Apito. Otherwise we can kiss the Guardsmen good-bye." He couldn't tell them about his suspicions of a mole in the government because all transmissions during battle were recorded. If the mole or moles got word that he was onto them, Forrest would probably find himself with a one-way ticket to the ocean floor.

"You're right sir," Archer answered. "Archer, Fox Three!" A missile dropped from the belly of Grimm's Raptor and shot off into the darkness. A second or two passed and there was a flash off in the distance.

"Splash one Grimm!" Chopper crowed, even as he launched a missile himself. Edge and Blaze broke off and went higher up, in order to force the enemy to either get shot down, merge with them, or dive, in which case all four Wardog fighters would reverse and get on their tails. An explosion erupted a few miles out and quickly turned into a streak of fire and smoke that blotted out some of the lights of the city behind them. What made Blaze uneasy though was that there was only one explosion. That meant that one of the pair below them had missed.

"Careful Wardog," The ace warned. "There was only one explosion. That other one's around here somewhere." The tension that followed his statement was thick enough to cut with a knife. Every one of the four teammates was twisting in their seats, trying to see something that would point to where the enemy had gone.

"I'm spiked!" Grimm shouted as the warning alarm went off, alerting him that someone was thinking of shooting him down. Blaze wrenched around in his hard ejection seat and saw his comrade throwing his jet all over the sky in an attempt to break the lock the enemy had on him. Blaze was the closest to him.

"Edge, cover Chopper, I'm gonna go and help Grimm."

"Roger. Be careful sir."

"Always am." That was an outright lie. After all, he'd been the crazy son of a bitch who'd flown a speeding jet down the tunnel leading into Megalith's central missile silo not even knowing if he'd be able to get back out again in anything more than a body bag. "Hang in there Grimm, I'm coming."

Blaze didn't wait for a response, finding his teammate's location and hurling himself into a crushing turn that would take him to the area, then went into a zoom climb, going up to around six thousand feet and looked down. It would be impossible to spot Grimm from where the ace had been before. Now that he was above the action, the ace was able to see Archer quite clearly, the Senior Airman's jet clearly silhouetted against the dazzling city lights, and right behind him was the twisting shadow of the enemy pilot's jet.

"Right, I got him Grimm. Hang on and I'll be right there."

Forrest Split-S'ed and got in behind the enemy fighter who was locked tight on the young man's tail.

'This guy's good,' Blaze thought tightly, grunting against the g's as he kept the other pilot in front of him. The other pilot was managing to stay on Grimm's tail and keep the former ISAF ace at bay at the same time. Not many pilots could do that. The only ones Brian knew of were himself, the Mobius Squadron, and Yellow Squadron. Wardog would probably get there eventually, but the newer pilots were still a long way off, despite their knack for air combat. "Grimm! How you doin' buddy?"

"Hanging in there, sir!" came the forced reply. The cause was quite clear, seeing as his jet was standing on one wing and Forrest could see straight up the tailpipes from the thrust vectoring. "But a little speed would be appreciated!"

The enemy jinked and Blaze followed, straining against the crushing force of gravity. "Give me a minute. This guy's keeping ahead of me!" He reversed again, staying with the other fighter.

'This guy must be an ace' floated across Blaze's thoughts even as he concentrated on getting the gun pipper on target. 'I haven't had a battle like this since Farbanti and the Yellows.' He could still remember trying to get all the Yellows while keeping his own bacon in the sky. It had been five minutes of grunting and groaning, making loops and turns so fast that he'd been disoriented flying back to base. 'I need to spook this guy!' He got his pipper where he thought the cockpit for the fighter was and squeezed off a burst. Red hot rounds flashed across space and the enemy fighter wobbled a bit, as if realizing that there was someone behind him.

That crucial second cost the enemy dearly. Blaze's next burst slammed into his tail section and set the engines on fire, shrapnel ripping from the shredded engines and perforating the fuselage. Burning and barely controllable, the enemy dropped away and Forrest thought he saw something that set his teeth on edge.

On the port wing, there looked to be a band of yellow on the wingtip.

Grimm came up beside his flight lead and said something, but Blaze was too busy looking at the burning fighter to hear, trying to see through flame and thick oily smoke.

'Did I just see that?' He wondered. First a voice that he thought belonged to an ISAF pilot, and now this? 'Is it really a Yellow Squadron fighter, or am I imagining things?'

"BLAZE!" Chopper's voice made the other pilot jump, bringing him harshly back to reality.

"Wha?"

"You still alive in there? You won't answer us!"

"Y-yeah…I'm alright. Status?"

Edge was the one who answered. "We're all fine. The enemy's in retreat and the forces on the ground are being rounded up and taken to POW camps. I think we're done here."

Blaze was silent for a moment then shook himself and resumed his role as Captain of Wardog. "Roger. All right, good job guys. Let's get back on the ground and see what we're going to be doing from here."

"Yes sir!" Nagase answered for them all.

Two hours later and all four pilots were assembled in briefing room number 13 in the Pentagon, awaiting the verdict of their hearing, sortie and subsequent orders. The VP was gone, not surprising, seeing as he had other duties to attend to in the White House.

It was General Sutherland who was receiving them.

"Welcome back, Wardog," he greeted gruffly as the four pilots filed into the room, still in full flight gear, and took their seats across from him. "I'll say this for you guys, you can get the job done damn fast!" He seemed a different man from before somehow, maybe it was his lack of a scowl and steely holier-than-thou gaze. "Thanks to you four, Apito suffered minimal damage and the Air Guard guys on duty were able to take out or disable the tanks."

"What about the enemy air forces?" Edge inquired. Sutherland's lip tugged in what might have been an attempt to smile.

"In full retreat, or at least what was left of them after you four got through with them."

Forrest spoke next. "And the attack on Bana sir? What about that?"

Now the general sighed heavily, seeming to age right before their eyes. "Well, I won't lie to you. The casualty count was heavy, there're close to one thousand dead and another two thousand who aren't expected to make it through the next forty-eight hours." The four aces exchanged horrified looks. "However, the good news is that we were able to spread an airborne neutralizer and managed to mute the casualties somewhat."

"Any idea on who did it?"

Here the general scowled. "Most of the intel we have on the situation points to either a Yuke special operations force or a Yuke extremist cell." He looked at them gravely. "I'm sure you guys know what this means?"

"Escalation," Grimm murmured. The word seemed to hang over the room like some dark fog as each person present absorbed what that meant. Osea would no longer be able to sit still after this. The troops would be ready to push to Cinigrad and raze it to the ground. The citizens would riot in the streets and demand harsher measures to be taken against the Yuke country as a whole. And deep penetration missions into Yuktobanian airspace would become commonplace.

"It's a little too…convenient," Blaze said softly to no one. "A Yuke Special Ops group in Osea? A Yuke terrorist cell? Either way it seems that someone's trying to pin it on Yuktobania!"

Sutherland chuckled. "You're in the wrong service Forrest," he said. "There is enough brass around here thinking the same way. They've started pushing for Congress and the White House to commission the NSA, FBI, CIA, all the three letter agencies to look into this and see if there isn't some other third party at work here." His gaze bored into each of them. "Now, about you four's hearing." The pilots sat forward on the edge of their seats. "Well, it was swinging towards conviction…" Their faces fell. "But, after seeing you four in action against the enemy, it swung the vote and you four are all cleared." Relieved looks and sighs passed all around.

"Now, regarding your orders," the gentle babble that had broken out at the news died almost immidiatly. "We want you four to return to Sand Island and continue to take the fight to the enemy. I must admit, I thought you four were a bunch of hotshots, but you really want to end the war. So, we're counting on you. Even as we speak, the forces on the front are gearing up for a blitzkrieg push that will take them straight to Cinigrad. So, get back to your base and start getting ready to take down Yuktobania!" He stood and saluted, an action which the other four mimicked.

"Wow," Chopper remarked once the four Raptors were in the air and had put an hour's worth of flight time behind them, "that General Sutherland turned out to all right after all, didn't he?"

"After what he put us through?" Grimm asked. "I'll bet he was just trying to get on our good side."

"Hey, look on the bright side," Blaze told them. "At least we weren't convicted!" He added silently, 'and at least I didn't have to go back to ISAF.'

"So what do we do now?" Edge asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Chopper answered before Blaze could. "Now we go back and listen to that fat commander of ours!"

"Great," Forrest muttered. "Just what I love to do. Get told what to do by a lazy member of the Chair Force." The other three laughed and continued on their flight back to Sand Island.

It was well past midnight when the Four Wings of Sand Island returned to their nest, and none other than Colonel Perrault was waiting for them on the ramp when the F-22s rolled to a stop and began to shut down. Blaze noticed and took his time, making sure to go over each step of shut down one at a time and back up each part of the list in excruciating detail, trying his best to delay getting out of the jet as long as he could. If it meant not dealing with Perrault, he would've slept upright in the ejection seat.

Finally there was no delaying the inevitable and his canopy came up, forcing the ace to get up and descend the ladder that Pops had put up when his engines began to spool down.

"Took you long enough, Lieutenant!" Perrault barked by way of greeting.

"Sorry, sir!" Blaze said in return, keeping his voice light. "It's just that flying a jet is a precise skill you know. You have to take your time and get it right." Perrault muttered something that was probably an insult, but was spared answering by the arrival of the rest of Wardog.

"Okay. Now you four will have an escort mission tomorrow in a few hours, so you better get some rest."

"What!?" Chopper and Edge shouted together.

"A mission!" Blaze repeated. "You can't be serious! We just got back from Oured! We're tired! We need a day off!" He trailed off for a moment then added a grudging "sir!"

Perrault's grin was visible even in the dark. "Too bad, Lieutenant. You guys are back, so it's time you got back into action. You had your day off in Oured." He turned and waddled away. "I'll see you in the briefing rooms in four hours."

"That bastard!" Chopper shouted as soon as the door to the offices had closed. "We just got back!"

"You're right, Chopper." Forrest said dangerously. "Screw this, I'm pulling us off that mission tomorr…today." He headed for the ops building. "You guys go and get some sleep. I'll pull us off the mission." The ace trudged into his room and flopped onto the lower bunk, burying his face in his pillow.

'They must be crazy, trying to send us on a mission like that.'

He'd glanced at the order out of curiosity and had shuddered at the request. Four F-22s taking out a hardened jungle facility that had man-pads hidden around the foliage? No thanks, find some other sucker. But to keep Perrault from riding them too hard, Blaze had put them on an escort mission to take out another supply depot the following day.

'That should calm him down somewhat.' He snorted against the fabric of his pillowcase. 'Yeah right.' His eyes dropped closed.

Not five minutes later, or it seemed that way at least, a fist was hammering on his door and Blaze's ears were abused by an enraged commander's voice.

"Forrest! Get you ass out here NOW!" The ace yawned widely, noticing with a glare that it was still dark outside. He went into the hall and looked down at Perrault, who looked like he was about to blow up.

"Yes sir?"

"Why the hell aren't you and your squadron in the damned briefing room!?" Farther down the hall, Chopper's door creaked open and the loud pilot stuck his head out into the hall, blinking blearily at the racket.

The Ace of Aces managed to stop a yawn from coming up. That would be a good way to get his butt transferred out. "I pulled us from the mission."

Whatever rant Perrault had ready died on his lips. "What did you say, Lieutenant?" He asked in a dangerous voice. It was clear to Forrest that he wanted the ace to round up Chopper and the rest and get down to the briefing room to get started on their mission.

"You heard me sir. I pulled us from the mission because the other members of Wardog and I are just too tired to fly today."

Perrault's tone promised bad things were coming Brian's way and coming fast. "You do not have the authority to do that, Lieutenant."

"Actually sir, you'll find that I do. See, the regulations say that the squadron commander, that would be me, can change his team's mission if the commander feels that his men are unfit to carry out the one they are assigned to. After coming back from Oured and a mission there, you'll find that we are indeed unfit for the one today. That's why we're on for the escort mission tomorrow." Perrault wanted to play the authority game? So be it. Blaze could play that game with the best of them, and beat them at it.

The Colonel looked about ready to light into him when Hamilton, who'd come with the base commander, tapped him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear. As the cold man spoke, all the steam seemed to leak out of Perrault until he was slumping on his feet. With a childish 'Hrumph,' he turned and stomped off down the hall.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant Forrest," Hamilton said. "I would've pulled you off the mission myself if I'd known he'd put you on for that assault."

"Thank you Captain Hamilton," Blaze said with a salute.

Hamilton saluted back. "Good night, Lieutenant."

"Good night sir." The ace caught Chopper's eye and received a tired grin and a thumbs up from the younger pilot before his door closed and both men went back to sleep.

The next day was filled with Blaze and the members of Wardog pretty much just sleeping in and not having to worry about fighting a war. Once they were all up, the four pilots went to the break room and Chopper brought out a deck of cards and the pilots began having a fun time playing everything from Poker to Old Maid and then Forrest taught them a few from Usea, claiming that he learned them when he was a kid.

Finally the aces grew bored with constant card games so they headed over to the mainentance shop to talk with the crews that kept their planes up in the air.

Pops was busy fiddling with some component in Edge's F-22's engine, stopping and wiping greasy hands on a red rag which he draped over the open panel door that he'd been leaning under.

"Well well," the hiding ace said with a wide grin when he saw the four pilots sauntering towards him. "Back from Oured I see. So, don't keep an old man in suspense. How'd it go?"

Edge and Grimm filled the older pilot in while Chopper played Frisbee with Pops' dog Kirk.

Brian was over by his Raptor, looking at the flat gray-painted war machine and wondering about that fighter he'd shot down in Oured. Could it really have been a Yellow, or was he imagining things? Somehow, the former Mobius 1 didn't want to believe that his old rival squadron had found him. He'd seen reports in the years preceding Operation Katina that hinted at possible attempts on his life by disgruntled members of Yellow Squadron. They hadn't bothered him too much then because aside from Yellow 13's group of five, the rest of them were pushovers, especially the ones who'd been guarding Megalith. Blaze and the revived Mobius Squadron had torn the green pilots to shreds. Hell, according to intercepted comms, Forrest himself had shot down the squadron leader in the opening exchange of fire.

"Reliving the old days?" Pops' voice asked from behind him. Blaze turned around and saw the old pilot looking at him with a fatherly smile.

"Sort of."

The mechanic's gaze sharpened. "You're brooding on something. What's going on?"

Pops listened without interruption as the other ace explained and then was silent for a minute before answering. "You're sure that you saw yellow on the other fighter?"

"Not enough to bet my life on it, but the guy was good enough to hold me off and go after Grimm at the same time. If I hadn't spooked him with the cannon, he would've bagged Archer."

"You're right when you say there aren't too many pilots out there who can do that. Especially against someone of your caliber." It wasn't a compliment or praise. Both of the hiding aces knew that Brian Forrest was the best, with the possible exception of the Demon Lord. "Were you able to get gun camera footage?"

"Probably not enough to make a real argument."

Pops looked sideways at the younger man. "If you're right, this would led credit to that voice you heard over the radio during that intercept mission."

"Still, it doesn't explain why Mobius and Yellow Squadrons are here in Osea." The ISAF ace looked at his counterpart and confidant. "Any ideas?"

Pops shook his head. "Not a one."

All too soon, the day had passed and the four assembled once more in the briefing room for their latest mission. Perrault stood and, throwing a brief glare Blaze's way, got the briefing underway.

"Okay, now that you four are back from Oured, it's time we got this underway. That's all I have to say to you people right now."

The Intel officer stepped up, clearing his throat. "Now, your mission today will be to escort a squadron of B-2 Spirit bombers on their way to strike at an arms factory in Yuke territory. The reason you've been asked for specifically is because the enemy facility is fortified by an Early Warning Radar Network that provides sufficient protection for the enemy up to about one hundred miles out, therefore, it stands to reason that the only aircraft that would be able to make it into the target area would be aircraft with stealth capabilities."

"Sir," Edge said with a puzzled tone. "We aren't going to be garunteed a completely invisible entrance. Even a stealth aircraft gives off a radar crossection, no matter how small. There is a chance that we'll be detected."

The officer nodded. "Yes, we are aware of that, Lieutenant Nagase, however, there is another strike package being launched to attack a suspected submarine pen that's under construction. Their route lies in a close proximity to yours, so the two packages are going to launch at the same time and…"

Blaze caught on. "I get it now, the other package will be diverting their attention away from us!"

The other officer nodded. "That's correct. That mission is being given extra fighter escorts to help deal with any interceptors that may come after them because your target has it's own functioning airport." He clicked the remote in his hand and the sit-rep map changed to a satellite picture of their target. "The bombers will be going after the manufacturing facilities and storage areas. Wardog is to intercept and shoot down any fighters that try to get the B-2s and also stop any transports that try to flee the area. Any questions."

As usual there were none.

"Good. Now go get ready and get in the air. The B-2 force will overfly Sand Island on their way to the target so all you guys have to do is launch and you'll be good."

"Yes sir."

"Alright then. Col. Perrault?"

"Just get out there and give those dirty Yukes a rough time. If you are innocent, then prove it in combat."

Not dignifying the corpulent man with a response, the four aces left and got ready to go. The only thing interesting that happened on the way to the Ready Room was Chopper giving the briefing room door the finger.

And there is Chapter 11. Sorry it took so long, but I've been having a rough time at school and didn't have much time for writing. It doesn't help that the end of the semester is coming up fast and (college kids look away) finals are just around the corner. Uh...Wow. I think that's it. Read and review as always.

Glossary:

Radar Crossection: How obvious an aircraft is on radar. Stealth aircraft generally show up as being the size of a ball bearing or bumblebee. Normal aircraft range anywhere from the size of a school bus to a barn. And yes, stealths can be seen on radar, just not very easily.

Javelin: It's pretty much the replacement for the LAW (Light Anti-tank Weapon). Self-guided, range of about a mile, and easy to reload. Like everything in the military these days, it's pretty much point and shoot. Nasty little bastard can put a missile straight through tank armor.

B-2 Spirit: The Stealth Bomber. Not to be confused with the F-117 Nighthawk. It was developed by Jack Northrop's company. Mr. Northrop's design was so advanced that it had to wait for technology to catch up with it. Rumors state that when the aging Northrop was shown the first B-2, the culmination of his dream, he got tears in his eyes and said, "Now I know why God has let me live as long as he has." One was lost a few weeks ago in Guam, and another was damaged beyond repair when something in the landing gear broke and the frame was damaged. I think that one is now on display at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton Ohio.

Chair Force: Deragatory term for the Air Force. Similar to calling a Marine a Jarhead, a soldier a ground pounder and a sailor a swabbie. (sp)