"Mama Bear calling Papa Bear, Baby Bear, and the Cubs," I called across the radio to the rest of the Mad Dogs, "Report in and form up, Cubs take top cover until further notice."
"Papa Bear reporting," called in Major Jerry Clause, our own 'Bear'. He slid into formation above and behind me to the left in his shining, brand new B-29 Super Fortress affectionately called Lady Luck. The lady painted on her side, however, was no innocent little kid. It was her maiden voyage and Bear's first mission in her as pilot, his former position as copilot beside me in Hogan's Goat now filled by young, spastic Spaz.
"Baby Bear calling in, Mama," 'Jazz' Armstrong reported from my top left in Blue Note Baby, the B-25 Mitchell. The Mitchell looked tiny beside the bulk of the Super-Fort.
"Copy that, Papa and Baby," I responded, adding: "Where you at, Cubs?"
"Right where you asked us to be, Andrews," chimed in 'Mack' Mackenzie from the Lighting, leading today's escort flight. "Excuse me, Cub one reporting in from top cover," he added with sarcastic formality.
"Cub two, reporting," called 'Wanker' Chambers from his Spitfire, his archaic English accent adding a strange warp to the words.
"Cub three, Mama B.!" added 'Sake' Osaka from his Zero.
"Cub four, Mama," 'Sugar' Jones reported from the Mustang with a chuckle. "If you don't mind me saying so, Sake," he continued, "you seem to be in a good mood today. Don't tell me you got somewhere with that hottie you were all over last night."
"Well," replied Sake, "You know me…"
"We sure do, mate!" added Wanker, "Went home alone and had a go with ol' 'Rosy' again, eh?"
"Get bent, Wanker!" Sake laughed.
"Alright, children," I interrupted, trying unsuccessfully to hide the laugh in my voice, "shut up and cloak up. Change heading to vector 287, angels 7. We have a mission to complete."
"You heard him, blockheads," Mack interjected, "get to it."
Soon, all the planes shimmered out of existence as they cloaked under a spell of invisibility, and soon reappeared as I slid my pilot goggles (endowed with 'see invisible' magic) over my eyes. I looked over at Spaz, who already had hers on. She winked at me through her goggles and multi-colored braids, looking even crazier with the goggles on than she did without them, which was crazy enough! Her name was Lieutenant Lucy Sanders, though no one ever called her that. She was 'Spaz', a Phaeton Juicer with minor psionics. She had incredible potential as a mystic warbird pilot, but needed to be calmed down a bit (well, a lot) before I let her pilot a fighter. Hopefully serving as the copilot on the Goat would do the trick, if her head didn't explode on the slow flight to the target.
"Doin' alright, Spaz?" I inquired. She responded with only a maniacal cackle, which meant 'yea', I guessed. Hard to tell with Juicers.
"Damn it, Colonel," Sgt. 'Genghis' Kahn said across the intercom from behind me in the top turret, "Give her a Prozac, or somethin'. She's giving me the creeps!"
"This coming from a guy that cleans his pistol at the dinner table!" interjected 'Red' O'Malley from the left waist gun.
"Up yours, Carrot Top!" was Genghis' reply.
"Couldn't of put it better myself!" added 'Jerky' Bosco.
Today's mission promised to be a "milk run", so everyone was relaxed and jovial. A new Xiticix hive had sprouted up just northwest of Tolkeen, pushing Bugland a little too close for comfort, and we planned to bomb the living hell out of it before it had the chance to get established. 'Operation Bug Bomb' Sake had christened it (Cute, Sake). We were flying in at over 7000 feet doing 200 knots. Although Xiticix could see the invisible we figured we'd be too high for them to do much to us even if they did see us, and to get away fast enough to avoid anything but a few pot shots. The hive was even close enough by that the trip promised to be short, not stretching Spaz's nerves too far.
"Sir," called Spook from the nose, our Navigator and Psi Sensitive, "We are ten minutes from target and no threats detected." His timely answer made me wonder if he was reading my mind.
"Copy that, Spook. Squadron!" I called, switching the mike from intercom to radio, "Ten minutes to target; Cubs switch to low cover. Keep your eyes peeled for Xiticix scouts and other treats. Let's give this roach motel a nice blanketing!"
"Roger!" replied the Mad Dogs. The Cubs soon dove down from their high aft cover to a low forward cover. Low cover was a new formation invented specifically for defending the bombers from the slow, low flying Xiticix.
"Spike," I called to the Wolf dog boy bombardier when we reached the IP (initial point), "she's yours."
"Copy, boss," he responded, his voice drifting off into a soft "Here, buggy, buggy!"
"Two bugs at ten o'clock," called in Sugar.
"Copy, Lieutenant," Replied Mack, "Want us to swat 'em, Colonel?"
"Be my guest, Mack," I responded, "Too late for them to stop us anyhow."
"Roj. Chambers, you and Osaka take 'em. Me an' Sugar will stay up here and cover the Bears."
"Roger, mate!" Wanker replied, "You take lefty there, Sake!"
"Easy money!" said Sake as he nosed down and dove on the unsuspecting Scout. The Xiticix never knew what hit him as the Glorious Geisha's twin 20 mm and twin 7.62 mm guns turned him into a gooey yellow mess. The second fired a few shots into Sake's TK force fields to little effect as Wanker dove on him in Royal Bender, quickly reuniting him with his old chum.
"Ha!" Wanker cried, "Last thing through his mind was his bloody arse!"
"Good job, guys," I commended.
"Bombs away!" howled Spike across the intercom as we dropped our eggs on the new hive. The Goat bounced slightly with the loss of the 9,000 pounds of bombs.
"Holy…!" cried Sugar as the bombs landed on target, "did you see that dusting?"
"Ouch!" called Brick from the tail, "that got to hurt!"
"Good pattern," reported Butch from the ball turret, "That new Super Fort sure packs a wallop, don't she?"
"That's why we built her, Butchie!" I replied. The 22,000 pound bomb capacity of the B-29 was just incredible compared with the 9,000 pounds of a B-17 like the Goat. Between the B-17, B-25, and the new B-29, the new nest was carpeted with explosives! Special 500-pound deep penetration bombs, made using an elementally enhanced fusion explosive concentrated into a pinpoint blast, were used. They would blast 1000 yards into the earth cooking anything in the explosion's path. With a little luck one of 'em would breach the royal chamber and fry the queen.
"Think we got the bitch?" called Jazz, echoing my own thoughts.
"Don't know. We'll find out in a couple of weeks based on whether the hive's still here or not." Below us a few survivors dug themselves out of the wreckage and started to fly up towards us, taking ineffectual pot shots at us. "Alright, boys," I called to the squadron, "cloak up and let's go home."
"Come on, Lance," Sake pleaded, "Can't we stick around and splat a few more bugs? Two more and I'll be an ace!"
"Negative, Sake," I ordered, "in a few seconds this place will be swarming with pissed off Xiticix and I'm not willing to risk any casualties."
"Hell, Colonel, I didn't know you cared!"
"In your case, Sake, I'm more worried about the Zero!"
"Thanks, Bud."
"Don't mention it," I replied lovingly. For us pilots the greatest compliment you could pay someone was to insult him. "Ok, boys, heading 125, angels 15; Cubs take top cover. Let's take a quick pass over the front lines on the way home and get some nice recon pix to sell to the Tolkeen merc groups."
"Copy, Lance," Mack responded, moving back upstairs, adding, to the Cubs, "you heard him, meatheads, top side, vector 125."
As we formed up, everyone shimmered under an invisible blanket and moved southeast towards the front lines in the Coalition-Tolkeen standoff to get some good pictures. Operation Bug Bomb was a roaring success and, as I had suspected, a 'milk run'.
"Smile for the birdie!" sang Spike to the Coalie forces far below. The Goat's Mystic Norden bombsight was changed over into camera mode and he was snapping some recon pictures of their forces. We were 15,000 feet above the front lines in the stalemate that had broken out in the last year of the battle for Tolkeen. Spike was getting some good recon too; we would get a good price for the shots in Tolkeen.
"Sir," Spook called across the intercom, his voice shaky, "I…I have a feeling that we are in danger, but I can't pick up anything on the sensors. There aren't any Coalie aircraft for miles!"
"There shouldn't be any Coalition aircraft," Spike added, over the bomb/camera sight, "we blew the hell out of their base just about a month ago!"
"SAM sites? Triple-A?" I asked.
"Not that I can detect."
"Maybe something other that Coalies," I replied, "Use the mystic sensors."
"Who the hell else could it be but the friggin' Coalies?" asked 'Jerky' Bosco from the right waist gun, "we're on Tolkeen's side."
"Since when has Tolkeen ever showed any appreciation for the work we do for them?" Red rebutted.
"Good point, Red," Jerky conceded.
"There!" screamed Wanker, "five o'clock! Ten of 'em, invisible! FW-190s or I'll be buggered!"
Who the hell would be flying 190s? I asked myself. The only ones with FW-190 warbirds other than ourselves are the Federation of Magic, whom we traded the design to back in my dumber days. And why the hell would they want to help their biggest rivals?
"Oh God!" screamed Spook; "they're on us! We're gonna die!"
"Chill, Spook. Cubs, move to intercept, but don't fire 'till fired upon," I warned, "Let's not start anything if we don't have to. Voodoo, Patch me through to standard Tolkeen air traffic frequency!"
"Yes, sir!" 'Voodoo' Smith replied, "You're on, big guy."
"Unknown fighters," I called out on the Tolkeen frequency, "This is Mama Bear. We mean you no ill will, please cease your pursuit."
"Unauthorized aircraft," a deep, yet somehow familiar voice responded across the radio, "You have violated the sovereign airspace of the Kingdom of Tolkeen. Surrender your aircraft and allow yourselves to be escorted to the nearest Tolkeen airbase for your internment."
"Internment!" I cried, "Look, damn it, we're doing you guys a favor up here, taking recon photos of the coalition forces!"
"We will be the judges of that," he replied, an air of righteousness in his voice.
"For crying out loud…why the hell would Technowizard aircraft be helping the Coalition!"
"You could be Vanguard."
"Vanguard, those idiots? What kind of mages defend a government that kills them on sight!"
"Enough, Andrews!" our unknown assailant screamed, losing his patience, "Surrender immediately or we will be forced to attack!"
"How the hell do you know who I am?" I demanded. Suddenly I recognized the voice. "Behrens?"
"I'm not going to warn you again, Andrews!" he replied, anger and exasperation in his voice, "We've had enough of you and your rogue Technowizard scoundrels!" Above and behind me the Cubs and the 190s played an aerial game of 'cat and mouse', maneuvering for an advantageous position over one another.
"That is you, Behrens!" I replied. Otto Behrens was an old 'associate' of mine from back when Tolkeen still worked with us (back when they though they could control me, that is). "Hell, Behrens," I continued, "You still mad about Angelique? How was I supposed to know she was your wife? Besides, she came on to me firs…"
"Enough!" Behrens demanded, "This has nothing to do with Angelique! This is about the defense of the sovereign state of…"
"Yea, ok Behrens," I interrupted, "I've heard this before. Just let us go about our business and you go about yours."
"Nasty little bludger, isn't he?" interjected Wanker across the Mad Dogs' frequency. "Please tell me this Angelique was worth it."
"Frankly," I replied, "I've had better."
"I heard that, Andrews!" Behrens screamed, "I've been monitoring your communications for quite some time now! We finish this now, Andrews!" Above me, Behrens and his men dove to attack. The headset screamed at me in a high pitch whine, warning me that several of the 190s had locked on to me with their mini missiles. "Squadron! Evasive action! All units, switch to emergency frequency Alpha four!" I called.
"Cubs! Split into elements and engage!" screamed Mack. The Cubs split up into wingman pairs and moved to intercept the Tolkeen attackers. In the cat and mouse jockeying for firing position the Cubs had won out and gained the better position. They were rewarded with the first strike. All four were armed with air to air mini missiles and soon sent them flying. "Cub one, fox alpha," Mack continued, indicating that he had fired his batch of minis. They streaked towards one of the 190s and hit it dead on. A huge explosion marked the end of one bandit.
"Cub two, fox alpha," screamed Wanker. Soon another 190 disappeared. "Got one!"
"Cub three, fox alpha," called Sake, who too was rewarded with a bright explosion. "Holy crap! They don't have shields!" Sure enough the attackers didn't have TK force fields on their aircraft the way we did. It was a stroke of luck that just might save our bacon.
"Cub four, fox alpha," added Sugar and was rewarded with a kill of his own. Behrens' force split up into wingman pairs and broke off as the deadly missiles streaked in and detonated. The piercing scream of the headset stopped as the attackers broke off. Four of the ten attackers had now ceased to exist as the minis slammed home.
"Cub two, take Cub three and engage the pair at eleven o'clock. Sugar, follow me!" Mack ordered, banking off to engage the pair at one o'clock.
"Watch it, boys," added Wanker, "They've got rocket pods under wing!"
"No kidding! They're locked on to me!" screamed Sake
"Dive, dive!" yelled Wanker as Sake nosed for the ground, too late.
The first launched, and the missiles slammed home in a bright yellow fireball. "Aagghh! I'm hit!" Sake yelled, "Shields down, engine smoking, and number two still has lock!"
"Hold on, Sake!" called Wanker, "I've got you covered. He's diving on you at five o'clock.
"They're on me, too!" yelled Mack, "Sugar, split up and see if we can't shake 'em up!"
"Roger, Mack," Sugar replied matter-of-factly, adding, "The other one's locked on me, though. I'm hittin' the deck!"
"Roger that," said Mack. "Oh hell, missile launch!" he continued, "Attempting to shake some of these…" Too late, the missiles slammed into Split-tail Sally, his P-38, tossing it around violently. "Shields low! Nearly down!" The 190 dove in behind him on his tail to attempt to finish the task. Behind them another explosion marked another batch of minis finding their mark.
"You think you got problems!" countered Sugar, "My shields are gone, and he's on my tail and chewin' me up proud!"
"Pull into a tight turn, Sugar!" called Wanker. "He's got you in rate of roll, but your Mustang's got him in a turning fight. Get into a sharp circle and you will negate his roll advantage. 190s bleed off energy pretty quickly, too!"
"Hello-o!" yelled Sake, "I've still got problems here! This jerk behind me still has lock!"
"Then don't give him a firing position," rebutted Wanker, "Tight circles!"
"Easy for you to say!" Sake screamed back.
"Sake! Pay attention and break right! Now!" Wanker called, too little too late. Sake had hesitated for only a second. It was long enough for the 190 pilot to get a firing angle and let his deadly payload fly. A huge explosion marked where Sake's A6M had been, and where now was only smoldering wreckage.
"Sake, no!" I screamed. "Voodoo, did he get out?"
"Can't say, colonel," he replied, worry in his voice, "The ejection system transponder went off, but we won't know 'till I talk to home." Every Mad Dog aircraft was fitted with 'ejection' systems designed to automatically teleport the crew back to home base in case of critical damage to the aircraft. It was untested, and we couldn't know for certain if it would, if it had, worked. "The plane's definitely gone, though."
"To hell with the plane, I want to know if Sake's alright!"
Suddenly the damned lock tone returned to my ears, loudly. It was a double lock! "Sir, we've got problems of our own," called Genghis, "Two 190's, four o'clock high!" There was no way the Goat could survive a double hit, and most of the gunners didn't have ejection systems, assuming the systems did work!
"No sh…" I started, before a new tone entered the headset. Launch tones!
Before I could even react, however, the Goat was on her back and screaming towards the ground as a huge explosion wrenched the whole of the Goat. We went into a dizzying spin, the ground getting larger and larger below. Were we hit and spinning to our doom? Growing g-forces held me solidly in my seat as the altimeter read below 1000 feet.
"Colonel, what the hell are you doing?" screamed Jerky, "Yer crushing my grapes back here!"
"I'm not doing anything! The…" Suddenly we leveled off and started gently to climb. I looked over to the copilot's seat to see Spaz, her face calm and composed (at least for her), gently pulling the Goat back up towards the rest of the bombers, who were gunning it out with the two 190s. In the time it had taken me to realize what was happening, she had rolled the Goat over, dove towards the ground avoiding most of the missiles, and saved the Goat. She winked calmly at me before breaking into one of her patented cackles.
"Genghis, damage report," I said, slowly regaining my composure.
"Shields are down and the number three engine is smoking. Minor hull and wing damage, but no casualties," Genghis, the Flight Engineer reported. "You really saved our hides with that crazy maneuver you pulled."
"Save your thanks for Spaz," I replied, "She did that one." She batted her eyes facetiously and cackled as she feathered the prop in the smoking number three engine and gave control back to me.
"Take that, you Bludger!" yelled Wanker over the radio as he flamed the 190 that had gotten Sake.
"Wank, 7 o'clock high!" called Sugar.
"Copy," said Wanker, pulling up into a chandelle climb and narrowly avoiding the plasma blast of the attacking 190. Plasma blast, no sense of style at all! Wanker simply did a slight roll and dive, positioning himself behind the bandit, who had pursued too aggressively and overshot Wanker's Spitfire. "Nice try, old boy," Wanker said, flaming him instead with a much classier burst of TK enhanced 20 mm cannon shells. "You get that 190 yet, Sugar?" he continued.
"Just rolled in on his tail now," Sugar replied, "He'll be barbecue in no time!"
"Here they come again, sir," Genghis called over the intercom, "ten o'clock high, lookin' towards comin' at us head on." The two 190s ignored the other two bombers to attack us. Maybe they were going after what looked to be easy meat, low and smoking, or maybe this was personal!
"Copy, Genghis," I replied, "You heard him, nose, get ready to great out guests."
"Hell, yea!" said Spike, who would man the chin turret.
"God, no!" cried Spook, who would man the free-mounted cheek guns.
"Barbecue is served!" Sugar interjected over the radio.
"Bout time," replied Wanker.
The two 190s banked down to attack, one lining up on us at twelve o'clock high, the other staying at eleven. The reason why we were picked out soon became clear. "See you in hell, Andrews!" screamed Behrens over the radio as the twelve o'clock bandit, obviously Behrens, dived towards the cockpit, guns blazing. Before I could take evasive action Spaz slapped my hands off the control yoke, grabbed her yoke, and said, "Aim two o'clock, Gengh," as Behrens' guns were brought to bear on us.
"But the bandit's at twel…oh!" Genghis called, as Spaz jerked Hogan's Goat sharply to the left, lining him up for a perfect shot. Realizing suddenly what was going on Genghis tore into Behrens' engine, while Behrens' blasts burnt a big hole through the fuselage around the bomb bay, shaking the Goat mercilessly. Behrens limped off smoking while Voodoo and the boys in the rear were greeted by a nice blast of air from the plasma holes, but otherwise unharmed. Behrens climbed briefly for altitude before bailing out.
Meanwhile, the eleven o'clock bandit, confused by the sudden change in direction of the Goat, banked off to avoid a collision, not firing. The move caught Spike and Spook off guard as well, and their tracers went wide. He banked around us to the left, and Red sent some lead ineffectually in his direction.
"Come on, you bastard!" Butch growled, "Fly down low where I can see you. I've got a present for you." The pilot of the 190 ignored his request and instead dove down on our six. It was up to Brick, the new kid, now.
"Oh…oh…oh," cried Brick, dully, as the 190 bore down on him. I was afraid ol' Brick would freeze up for a second, but he didn't. His "oh, oh, oh" soon turned into an "oh, ooh!" as the 190 disintegrated in his sights. "I got him, I got him!" he screamed in his dim, yet likable way.
"Good going, guys!" I yelled over the intercom. "Bears, Cubs, how are things going up there?" I asked, switching over to the radio.
"Fine up here," said Bear.
"Fine here," said Mack, "just taking a little longer with this S.O.B. than planned. He got lucky and took out my guns with a plasma shot."
"Sugar, Wanker," I called, "give Mack a hand!"
"Don't bother," Mack replied, "I've got him."
"You've got no guns, Mack!" yelled Sugar.
"I'll just run him into the ground."
Cocky bastard! I thought.
"No guns ain't your only problem, Mack," Sugar continued, "Your number two is smokin' bad." Sure enough a large trail of smoke was pouring out from Mack's right engine. "I'm taking him out and I don't care if you like it or not!"
"Alright, then," Mack conceded, "Take him!" Mack dove sharply, put he on her side, and banked low and to the left. The bandit moved in for the kill, ignoring his tail. They say the fighter that gets you is the one you never see. It was certainly the case for that joker! Sugar dove on him from out of the sun, the Tuskeegee Queen's six .50 cal guns raking into his tail. The entire tail section of the 190 blew off and the bandit augured in, plowing up a nice stretch of earth for some Tolkeen farmer.
"That's two for Sugar! Can you say Ace?" Sugar cried, "How are you doing, Big Mack?"
"Fine," Mack grumbled, "Ten damn bandits and I only got one."
"Guess the first round's on you tonight, eh?" added Wanker.
Suddenly Mack noticed Behrens floating down helplessly in his parachute. "Hey Lance!" he called, "Is that that Behrens guy whose wife you nailed floatin' there?"
"Sure is, Mack."
"You want me to tip his chute for him? He's only gonna give us more trouble in the future if he gets away."
"I know, Mack," I said. Mack was right, he would be a pain in the ass if I let him go now. It would only be a simple matter of tipping his chute with the wing on an aircraft. The air would be knocked out of his chute, which would tangle up, leaving him to plummet to his death. "Nah," I said, "let him go. It wouldn't be too sporting to tip him while he hangs there defenseless."
"Sure, boss," Mack responded, "whatever you say. He'd better not come back and kill me one day, or I'll be really pissed off!"
"I'll keep that in mind, Mack," I laughed, "Ok, boys," I continued with a sigh, "cloak up and let's head home." We were heading home one short. I just hoped Sake made it out of there in time.
"Dog Pound tower," I called, "this is Mama Bear requesting emergency landing clearance." We'd made it out of the fight alive, but I still had to get Hogan's Goat safely on the ground on three engines and with a large hole ripped out of her fuselage by a blast of super hot plasma.
"Roger, Mama Bear," the tower replied, "clearance granted, vector 060."
"Copy that," I continued, "Any word on Lieutenant Osaka?"
"Roger, Mama Bear," tower replied, "He teleported in at 1435 hours, shaken up but with no significant injuries."
The whole crew let out a communal sigh of relief. Even Spaz seemed relieved. "Copy that tower!" I replied. Thank god those ejector systems worked. No, thank Val Mancini since she invented them!
"Roger, Mama, we have you on sensors at ten miles. Wind coming from the northwest at five miles per hour, visibility ten miles, ceiling unlimited. Change heading to vector 052."
"Copy, tower, vector 052," I completed. "Wanker, give me top cover for emergency landing. Sugar, do the same for Mack."
"Copy, Mama," they replied.
"Mama Bear," tower replied, "you are clear to land vector 049."
"Copy that, tower," I said, "I'm on the glide slope and have visual on the runway." I dropped my speed, lowered the flaps, and put the landing gear down. The Goat shook violently with one engine down and a large hole ripped in her fuselage. Slowly I descended onto the runway, fighting the adverse yaw from the wind blowing through the large scar ripped in the Goat. Emergency landings were always a royal pain, but especially so with your plane half ripped in two.
"You're doing really well there, Colonel," Wanker reassured me, flying slowly above me, watching my descent, "You're about fifty feet off the deck, roughly. Watch out for thermals off the runway."
"Roj, Wank," I replied, easing the Goat down towards the runway with the control yoke while jamming my right foot onto the right rudder petal to fight the shaking yaw that threatened to jerk us off the runway. The runway zoomed up at us a little faster than I would have liked, but in this emergency I had to get the Goat on the ground quickly. We hit the runway with a jolt and the Goat bounced. I pushed her back down onto the runway, where she bounced a second, and then a third time before settling down. Wanker did a victory roll above us as I slowed the Goat down to a decent speed and taxied her off the runway (so Mack could land his smoking bird as well) before taxiing her to the main hanger.
Behind me Mack sent the equally wounded Sally down on the runway and taxied up beside the Goat. The rest of the Mad Dogs soon followed suit, and Joe, the Goat's dedicated crew chief, rumbled up on the towing tractor to return them all to their spot in the hangars. Riding shotgun beside him was none other than old Sake. He stumbled slightly as he jumped out of the tractor, hinting at how he'd spent his time since teleporting back, before walking up to greet me as I slid out of the Goat's forward hatch.
"Bout time you got here," Sake laughed, handing me a silver hip flask.
"Hell, Sake," I said, taking a deep mouthful of the fiery liquid, "Why'd you have to go and leave early. You missed all the fun!"
"Frankly, Lance," he continued, "That's more fun than I care ever to go through again! Sorry I lost your precious plane!"
"Yer plane hell!" Joe screamed through a big wad of snuff as he walked up, "That was my plane. You was only borrowin' her from me!" He spit a big brown spot on the tarmac as if to accent his point before smiling that big goofy grin of his.
"Sorry, sir!" Sake laughed.
"Don't worry about the plane, Sake," I countered. "Chuckles has enough spare parts back there to put Glorious Geisha Two together in no time. "What's important is that I still have a damned fine pilot! Be sure to thank Val for her Ejector Seat, though."
"Thanks, Colonel," he replied, "I never knew you cared!"
"Don't let that little secret out," I rebutted, "or I'll never be able to keep these fighter jocks in line! Come on, meathead," I said, patting him on the shoulder and walking towards our favorite watering hole, the Flight Deck, "we've got some Jäger waiting for us!"
"Hear hear!" responded Sake.
"Did someone say Jäger?" Sugar asked, just exiting his plane and trotting up to join us.
"I do believe he did!" added Wanker, beside him.
"So there I was," Sake was saying to some young lady in a short skirt, "waxing my third bandit, when I noticed three more bandits getting ready to fire on the bombers. I knew that only by flying head first into the barrage, knowing it might well spell my death, could I save the crew of those bombers. So there was only one option: I flew into them, willing to sacrifice myself to…"
His voice trailed off as I walked towards the table where Chuckles and Voodoo sat, laughing to myself. Boys would definitely be boys. A smirk in my direction from a cute blonde soon gave me some plans of my own for later. I sent her a quick wink on the way by, but first I had business to attend to. "Evening, gentlemen," I said, sitting at the table, "what have we found?"
"It was the 190 design we went an' sold to Fedmag, alright," Voodoo said, "The scans I made of 'em proves it. Even had the same performance lag we built into 'em just in case of situations like these."
"Ja, it is true, Colonel," Colonel 'Chuckles' Jäger added, "The flight characteristics were almost identical. How they got them is unknown. We have Darkness and the Gnome working on finding out immediately."
"Whatever the case," I replied, "I don't like it one bit."
"I hear that, sir," Voodoo replied.
"Oh well, we'll worry about the why later," I continued, "It's definitely Jäger time!"
"Hells yea!" Voodoo screamed, "Jäger!"
Two dozen voices soon echoed "Jäger!" as the pilots and air crew dropped whatever they were doing to assemble around the bar. Hermann, the bartender, quickly poured shots in an attempt to keep up with the swarm.
"Ok, you lugs!" I cried as everyone raised his or her glass, "We've got a lot to Jäger about tonight!" The crowd murmured approval. "First to Wanker, who scored an unprecedented four kills on one mission. To Sugar, who scored an equally amazing three kills to become the Mad Dog's fifth Ace! To Sake, with two kills himself. Also, to Mack, Genghis, and Brick, with a kill each, proving their bravery and resolve in the face of combat. To the pilots and crew of Lady Luck (who flew her first mission today), Hogan's Goat, and the Blue Note Baby, who risked their lives on what proved to be a truly dangerous mission. And finally, to Captain Val Mancini: her brilliant invention of the Ejection System for our fighters saved the life of Captain "Sake" Osaka. I guess that leaves only one thing left to be said: Jäger!"
"Jäger!"
I downed my glass and moved over to intercept that blond. Operation Bug Bomb was successfully completed (despite the unwelcome interlopers), but the night was still young!