VI




September 9, 1947

Dear Scott,

Has it been two months already? Golly, how time flies! Its very hot here in New York, though I imagine it must be hotter still down where you are. It is the desert, after all.

By the by, how is your mission going? I hope its going well. Its been going ok up here; Sherry's been having fun at school, so that's very good for me to see. My job at the office is getting a little more hectic, but I'm ok with that.

I also brought your father to the doctor; he wouldn't say what was wrong, if anything. That cough's gotten worse, but you know your father; he's as stubborn as a mule. No use in getting him to talk, even if he is your father.

Well, I hope everything goes well for you!

Love,

Mary



September 12, 1947

Dear Mary,

Sorry for the short letter, but I was happy to get your letter. Its good to hear everything is going swell with you. Don't let my dad get you down; just keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't do anything terrible, right? And watch out for when he insults you.

Tell Sherry to be good, and to say her prayers before bedtime.

XXOOLL

Your Hedgehog

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

September 14, 1947

"Base, this is Yeager, flying at 24,000 ft, over."
"Copy, Yeager, we read you. Over."

The XS-1, the Glammorus Glennis, flew valiantly overhead in the bright desert sky. It was nothing more than a tiny dot above to those on the ground; even then, one could only see it with binoculars. Nevertheless, it was in judging Yeager's voice that one knew how well the flight seemed to be going.

"I'm flying high, base!" The men in the control tower could hear a laugh as the radio crackled. "Going up to .93 Mach and waiting spot."
"Hoover here, spotting your speed." The voice of the spotter, Lt. Robert Hoover, came on. "Looking good. Compression looking good."
"Copy, we read you. Over."

Boyd clicked off his remote. He gave a nod; everything was going well. However, he knew that they were close to an important point in the trials, and that what happened next would be very important to the entire project. After all, .94 Mach was the speed in which many pilots had suddenly lost control of their planes, had started to tailspin, or had even started to vibrate so badly that the wind resistance caused their plane to explode.

"I need a spot check on some of the engine controls….Redson?" Boyd looked around as he began to fan himself. Unknowingly, he had clicked on his remote as he spoke. "Where the hell is he?"
"Drinking, most likely." Bud Anderson's reply caused Boyd to jump. "He was down at Barnes' last night getting completely shit-faced, sir."
"….God damnit." Boyd's face darkened. "How many times has this been so far that he's been so damn drunk.."
"At least the tenth," came a voice from the corner.
"Well, holy shit." Boyd shook his head. "Any more and he'll be discharged! He knows what's riding on this! Tomorrow is NACA inspection time!"

With a huff and a sigh, Boyd marched out of the room. The rest of the crew in the tower looked at each other uneasily. The NACA was the scientific advisory board that inspected various military projects and reported them to the US government. Run mostly by a constituency of scientists and military personnel, its main concern was that of safety and testing - and its policies were very strict. Any flaw that they noticed could spell disaster for Project Blue Gale.

"Flight," Yeager's voice echoed into the room. "This is Yeager, going up to .94 Mach, stand by, over…."

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

Scott gave a stretch and a yawn as he put down his binoculars. Despite the fact that it was a test day, the atmosphere of the project - at least where Scott was - was relatively calm. In fact, as he had nothing to do, he was sitting in the shade of the hangar, looking up into the sky to watch Yeager as he flew.

…..Damn….

Scott couldn't have been happier working on Glammorus Glennis; it gave him the challenge of his life. Both he and Jack Ridley, the head of engineering for the project, had been working day and night to improve and repair the orange bird. It was difficult for Scott - he had only been working on the project for less than two months, while the others had been working on it for at least six - but nevertheless, he felt it was reward enough that he was chosen to be on the crew. He even had the feeling that Ridley was letting him work on a lot of the schematics because he was liked. He had never been happier on a test.

…..Man…….Chuck is going so fast….

Of course, his nature was always to be a pilot. From the first test, all he had ever wished to do was fly Glammorus Glennis just once. He knew it was impossible - as far as he was concerned, he wasn't on the pilot payroll - but he had the longing to do it. It was almost as if it had been injected into his blood to want to do it. And boy, did he want to do it so badly.

It was to the point where he dreamed about it some nights, where he was in the cockpit of the XS-1. He imagined that it was an incredible experience, one that transcended normal sensations. Sometimes, he could almost feel the wind around him as the jet shot across the sky. He went faster, and the wind pushed back to try to stop him, but he always managed to go ever faster. The sensation of going to fast that time slowed down just for one man - that was something he wanted to experience, and whenever he thought of it that strange feeling of excitement he couldn't explain would come back, almost as if to coax him into doing it right that instant…..

A pipe dream now, but he was determined that one day he should do it. Now, though, was the present. He took up his binoculars and gave a start.

Hey…..he's coming back down already?

Quickly, he was on his feet. His folding chair was kicked over, and he was running into the hot sun, where he instantly began to sweat. Running from another direction was the silhouette of Capt. Jack Ridley.

"Hey! Hedgehog!" Ridley motioned to Scott as he ran up. "What's with the full gear? Its 100 degrees in the shade? Waiting for it to snow?"
"…..Oh…..I…."

Scott looked down at himself, then looked back up. Indeed, he was wearing three layers of clothing - his undershirt and pants, his pilot suit and his jacket. He turned beet red; he had his reasons.

"You should strip a little so that you don't dehydrate!" Ridley turned around. "Woah! Here comes Chuck."

Everyone on the field was almost instantly near the hangar as the rocket circled lower and lower towards the airstrip. As the rocket-propelled jet was new technology, the original designers had not been able to install wheels onto it; they feared the Black Betsy would explode if the wheels malfunctioned. So when it took off, it did not take off on its own, but rather was dropped from a B-29. When it landed, likewise, it landed with no wheels to belly it. Much of the repair work Scott did was to the underside, where the plan skidded across the field, as it did now upon its landing.

"Damn," Scott heard some whispers as the plane bounced to a landing. "Redson not here again?"
"Who cares?" The plane stopped. "Let's shut up and get Chuck out of there, right?"

Quickly, the crew was on Glamorous Glennis. Nearby, Hoover's spotter plane landed, and a somewhat stern-looking Hoover climbed out. Without another word, he jumped out and walked off, virtually unnoticed by the crew.

"Hey hey hey!" Ridley gave a laugh as Chuck's head popped out of the cockpit. "Having fun there, eh? You were soaring, man!"
"Yeah….sure." There was a bit of disappointment in Chuck's voice. "I was having problems with the steering, though."
"Steering?"
"Yeah, when I got to .94…" Yeager shook his head. "Yep, the wing kept me bouncing around. I wasn't stable enough in the air, hitting lots of self-made turbulence."
"The wing?"
"The fin back there?" Scott pointed.
"Yup. Yeager nodded. "Kept me unstable. Almost thought it was going to rip off."

Ridley's eyebrow crimped up at this. He turned to Scott, who in turn gave him a look of confusion.

"Well," Ridley gave a huff. "It looks like our work is cut out for us, ne?"

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

It had been a long day, long and hot for Scott for what he was wearing. He was not able to change into anything lighter until the sun practically set.

"Hedgehog! There you are!" Ridley stood in front of his barracks door, carrying several rolls of paper and two Budweisers. "You ready to buckle down and clean up?"

Scott gave a slow nod. After Yeager had disembarked from the XS-1, Boyd had called Ridley in to discuss what to do with the plane with the potential problem of wind shear. There were many problems that the plane was encountering as it got closer to the big 1.0, but it was the tail of the plane that was the big news at the moment, and perhaps the biggest problem if Yeager's words were to be believed. After several hours, during which Scott and several others were called in to give their analysis, Boyd decided to leave the problem up to Ridley, and Ridley gladly complied. He immediately engaged the entire ground crew in a frenzy of shouts and ideas over a table cluttered with beer, design layouts and paper, several doors down from Boyd's office, in an effort to figure out the exact problem before NACA came the next day.

The result was that Ridley decided that the problem was not so much that the rear of the plane was too light, not so much as that there was nothing on the back of the plane to neutralize the weight imbalance. Nor was there anything on the back that was designed to help stabilize or deflect the wind resistance that the plane was being subjected to. If the plane went too fast without any type of mechanism to steer the wind properly on the back of the XS-1, the group decided, the tail would simply rip off the plane from all the pressure.

And it was with this in mind that the whole crew then got to work. It took seven hours in the scorching sun, but with thirteen young, highly motivated men at the helm of the project, it was a godsend that it didn't take longer. Scott himself was in charge of measuring out the side of the plane, as well as the bottom and the back with the tail. With the measurements, he and several others, with Ridley at the helm, managed to create a small rudder for the plane - a small, streamlined piece of metal attached to a swinging mechanism, which would then be attached to the bottom of the tail. The theory the gang came up with was that, as the plane moved faster, so too would the rudder, which would act as a deflection to wind resistance on the tail, even as the plane went faster and faster. In this way, it was hoped that the amount of turbulence created by the plane would be greatly lessened, thus preventing the plane from literally ripping itself to shreds.

"Long day, huh, Hedgehog?"
"Long day." Scott only wore a brown t-shirt, though it was soaked with sweat. "Too long for me."
"Now, Hedgehog," Ridley shook his head. "You know what I told you about wearing all the layers this morning, right? It'll kill you; you'll get a stroke at this rate."
"I know, but-"
"Hmph."

Suddenly, Scott was bounced back several inches as a body suddenly bumped past him. He turned to see Bob Hoover, his body stiff towards Scott and Ridley as he walked away with a brisk, angry stride.

"Excuse….me…" Hoover said nothing back to Scott as he opened the door to his room and closed it with a rude slam. "Huh. What crawled up his ass?"
"Heh. If only you knew, Hedgehog." Ridley gave a smirk, "He's just a little angry that he's not spoiled is all. Boyd won't let him ride the plane."
"Huh? Why not?"
"Simple. Too dangerous to risk two pilots on experimental rocket technology." Ridley kept walking. "I don't blame Boyd. We've been having problems with Glamorous Glennis as it is, and the second plane is only for emergency purposes, like if Glennis had to be repaired, or if something happened in the air…..you know."

Scott nodded as Ridley opened the door to the meeting room that the ground crew had been in that day. He knew exactly what could happen up in the air.

"Well….." Ridley chuckled as he set the box down. "Looks like I've got work to do here, huh?"

The room was a complete mess. Chairs were overturned, papers were scattered everywhere, beer stains stained the table, and the windows were open. There had been things like pens and pencils being cleared off for the layouts, or people had brought in food, drink and cigarettes, among other bits and pieces. These were also scattered on the floor. What made it worse was that the room was small to begin with, so that the two were quite literally stomping on a sea of trash.

"My God," Scott could only look at the room with a bit of disgust. "Maybe I've been married too long, but we are pigs."
"Muy Guad" Ridley chuckled as he imitated Scott's words. "Aw man, Hedgehog, if there was ever a moment where you sounded like where you came from…"
"Aaw, bust my balls. You have an accent, too."
"All right then." Two Budweisers were suddenly placed on the table by Ridley. "These are for later. I'll be right back with brooms, and afterwards the ball busting can begin."

With a hop and a skip, Ridley was out the door, leaving Scott to his devices. Running his hand through his hair, he gave a deep sigh. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he walked over to the door and shut it.

Better late than never…

After he had shut the door, he slowly began to take off his shirt, looking around nervously towards the door as he did.

….No one's coming….right? No one's coming…..

He had plenty of reasons to wear so much clothing, even in the scorching California sun. Most of those reasons were easily found, if one looked hard enough. They were all over his chest area, all over his back, some on his legs, a few on his arms - particularly in the underarm elbow area where the veins were - and some were even down near his groin area. Each and every one of them was a reason.

God damn….is it hot…..

With no shirt on, they were all there on Scott's bare body. Thin, brownish in color, most of them ranging from four to eight inches long - these were the very ugly, almost grotesque reasons Scott could not bear showing to anyone. They were scars from another time, another place, one that disfigured his body, moving it away from its natural beauty and towards a realm of pity and near-loathing for those who may have beheld them. There were few points on his torso that has a natural flesh color to them anymore; all of them had been replaced by an almost inhuman amount of scar brown and black.

But they were not just normal scars. He gave a sigh as he started to wring his shirt from all of the sweat. They were scars of devotion, scars of sacrifice. It was the bend of devotion and sacrifice, and the results of his efforts - scars included - that shook him, that moved Scott to not show the scars to anyone. Few people knew of his story; those who had tried to learn, those who eventually learned, were badly hurt in the process. It was also in that he had actually done something to hurt the people he loved in trying to protect them….

"Scott?"

Scott's head jolted up. He had been so engrossed in wringing his shirt, or something of that degree, that he completely forgot about Ridley. He did not hear the door open, but not that Ridley had gotten his attention, he heard the broom simply drop from the engineer's hands and onto the floor in obvious shock.

"Scott? What the hell…."

Scott froze for a moment. It was so stupid. He thought he wouldn't get caught. Yet Ridley was staring right at his back, his scar-beaten back, and he knew what Ridley was thinking. He knew exactly what Ridley was thinking.

After all, only one type of pilot got scarring like that. A pilot - hell, any military man - like that had three words attached to them; they were three simple, yet almost disgraceful words to hear in front of a man's name.

Prisoner of war.

"I……"

Scott groped vainly. He felt the embarrassment and shame come to his stomach, and he began to shake as he started to put his shirt back on. It had been a mistake to even think he was going to get away with baring himself without anyone finding out.

"……Hedgehog?" Ridley's voice had a hint of concern in it. "…..I…..you know, I…."

It was obvious Ridley was trying to find words. Scott, however, knew he wouldn't be able to find them. He had to get out of there before he broke; his hands became even shakier, though he finally got the shirt on.

"Jack….." He felt his voice shake. "You know, I-"
"-Your shirt's on backwards."

Scott stopped. He turned towards Ridley, a look of horror on his face.

"My shirt….?"
"You know, Hedgehog…" Ridley's voice was calm, though it was obvious he would have not expected something like what he had seen. "…You know, I had a Marine friend named Gene, and he…..he got caught by a few Nazis down near Warsaw back in 1942. Good friend of mine. Didn't see him for almost two years." Scott watched as Ridley rubbed his nose. "Found out he'd been taken down into the ghetto and beaten up a bit, and then they……..No use keeping it in a closet, Did they stick you in a tub, Hedgehog?"
"…..W….." The tub reference struck him. "No."
"They stuck Gene in a tub down in some basement. Filthy, filthy tub." Ridley looked down and shook his head. Scott could almost see the disgust in his eyes. "Water was so dirty, he said, he thought it was really @#%$. But it was cold as ice. I heard they'd sometimes make the scalding, though, or they'd put salt in if they especially hated the prisoner. Gene didn't get salt, but man….it was still nothing less than hell."

Slowly, surely, Scott looked down towards the beer-stained table. He saw that his hands were grabbing onto the table so tightly that they were turning purple.

"…..Uh…." It was slow coming out. It was a shock that someone could be so calm when talking of such experiences. "………they…..they stuck me in a shallow hole….outside the house. Only the Germans could…..use the bathroom…..it had been raining."
"Damn." Ridley's eyes widened at that. "What the hell did they use on you?"
"Kitchen knives." The quaking words came out so bitterly that Scott almost felt himself spit venom. "At the end….of a toaster. They also stuck them into a……baby…..chainsaw engine…."
"They stuck a radio in the tub." Ridley sucked his lips in at this. "I swear, the way Gene described how those men stood and laughed as he convulsed land flopped like a fish…..Damn, if they were alive, if I'd gone through it, I'd have loved to shoot every last one of them, or thrown them in that tub…..Hedgehog?"

Scott couldn't take it. He flopped into a chair and put his face in his hands.

"Muh…." He blubbered. "I'm….so sorry……I didn't….."
"Hedgehog…hey there now, man." Ridley's hand was almost instantly on his shoulder. "No shame here. No shame, got that? You'd be surprised how many guys got the status. You're not alone. No shame in not saying anything; you're not an open book. Trust me," at this, Ridley gave a laugh, "If you knew how open Yeager's life was, you'd wonder why there's no minute-to-minute commentary-"
"I took it for a Nazi."

Scott wiped his eyes and gave a sniff. He took several deep breaths and shut his eyes before he continued.

"I had been befriended….by a Nazi….who was a member of the Italian Resistance." Ridley looked on, slightly wide-eyed, as Scott continued. "I had been flying stag - and then I was paired up….with an RAF pilot. We were in Salerno, we hit a Luftwaffe bomber…." Scott rubbed his nose. "Miles, he died when the plane crashed. I survived and was captured."
"Miles?"
"…Lt. Miles Power." Scott nodded as his mouth gave a twitch. "He was my co-pilot, he did coordinates on the ship. Don't know him long, but we were good with each other. He was young, but when he and I trained together, we were almost like brothers. We knew what we were going to do before we did it. He…..I managed to bury his body before I was found. Found, then taken to Termoli."
"And that's where you met the Nazi."
"His name was Max Schliemann," Scott replied. "But….Max wasn't a believer of Hitler; something happened to his parents or someone, and he was against his country since day one. He relayed messages concerning certain German strategies to various couriers, who then took them to the Allied commanders in charge of the invasion of Italy. One of them got captured, and revealed that someone from Termoli was involved with getting the information. They started to center in on Max, but….he treated me well. I helped him in creating some the coding he used. We would even talk about our girlfriends and our families. We were friends. I knew….." Scott choked, but forced the tears back. "…I knew if he died, it would be a blow and the Allies would lose an informant. But a prisoner like me…I convinced them I had slipped the information through a crack in my cell."

There was a moment of silence as this. In front of them, the ice that had been clinging to the glass bottles of beer had evaporated into virtually nothing, and the ringlets around them were becoming larger by the minute.

"…..He live, Hedgehog?"
"No." Scott's voice, at this point, was hoarse. "He didn't live. He died when an amphibious squad raided the town."
"…..Damn." Ridley looked at the beer. "You ever tell anyone else?"
"….My wife." Scott looked down again. "But…..the circumstances I told her under….they were not good."

Of course, in Scott's mind that was simply an understatement. They had been terrible. Worse than terrible, even; catastrophic.

"I caught her talking to my kid about it…about two years ago…"
"None of us like talking about it, especially if its bad."
"I was so mad at her….she was telling Sherry about how her dad was a hero….and when I caught her, I…." Scott's eyes became distant. "I totally lost control that night. I was so mad because she didn't know what had happened back in Italy; I never thought she'd understand…."
"We all lose our tempers once in a while, Hedgehog." Ridley quietly replied. "No shame in it. You're a guy. We're all guys. You're just younger than most, is all."
"….I never saw Mary - anyone - so…..scared." Scott sadly nodded. "I got her pretty good. She had three shiners on the left side of her face, on her cheek. Her right side was all swollen from where I'd slapped her. And I'd grabbed her hair, ripped a small chunk of it out. And I also took her by the hips….she had marks there too."
"Hedgehog…" Even Ridley sounded shocked. "But you never did it again, did you?"
"No." Scott shook his head forcefully. "I could never do that again. Not after that night. I was so stupid, I never knew how much I had hurt her until I had calmed down. And I freaked out. I thought that by telling her the truth, I could set it right. So I confessed everything I just told you to her the next morning. But even after that, we didn't talk for three weeks straight."
"….Nobody's perfect, Hedgehog." Ridley stood up. "Hell, if we were perfect….I don't know what would happen. But…..did you really think I'd hate you for that stuff?"
"….Well……" Scott hesitated. "I-"
"I don't, you know." Ridley walked to the door. "I'm pretty sure if you told others, they wouldn't be mad. But…" Ridley took up one of the brooms. "Even if the past is past, I know some things are still nothing but pain. I've had my share. Pain is pain. And, a secret's a secret. You get what I mean?"

Slowly, surely, Scott nodded. He knew he could trust Ridley. As he stood to thank Ridley, he could almost feel the weight of his embarrassment roll off of his shoulders. He actually smiled and nodded.

"Sure, Jack."
"Right then!" Ridley tossed the other broom to Scott. "And while we're at it, we'll need some washcloths….we don't want the NACA to know what we really do here, eh?"

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

The meeting with the NACA the next day went off without a hitch. They had come into the hangar, inspected the plane, then went in with Boyd to talk about the new rudder-like part, which they approved quickly. Even Redson was there - though, in some minds, he still looked hung over from his previous binge. He was, as a result, given an unusually harsh warning by Boyd after the NACA inspectors had left.

As for Scott, he and Ridley were walking back to the hangar, talking and laughing. Scott felt much more at ease with Ridley, and it wasn't just because Ridley knew and accepted his secret, though this was a factor. Rather, it was because Ridley was someone who was good with other men, someone who could relate. He could cheer anyone up, and he was a friend of friends. Around someone like that, Scott knew he was in good company.

"So, what now, Hedgehog?" Ridley opened the door to the hangar. "You want to go get drunk or something?"
"Naah, not yet," Scott chuckled as he walked in. "I still have some things I need to do before the weekend."
"You gonna write your wife?"
"I'd love to call her." Scott gave a checking eye towards Glamorous Glennis as he went for the tool shelf. "God, do people put things away?"
"That was NACA's fault." Ridley gave another chuckle as he picked up a hammer. "Well, let's clean…..up?"

The chuckle in Ridley's voice suddenly died. Scott put the tool shelf back in, looking towards him inquisitively.

"Jack, you ok? What…?"

Ridley was staring down towards the bottom of the plane. Scott looked down as well, his mouth dropping as he did.

"…..Shit….."

Almost instantly, Scott was on the ground, crawling under. His front almost slipped into the blue puddle that came from the plane; looking up, he gave a shout.

"HOLY..!!"

Under the belly of the plane here the transmission tank lay, there were nails and screws, the largest kind that the hangar stocked, jammed up though the metal. Most of the nails were an inch long; the screws, several millimeters. There were too many to count, at least at the moment. And they were all soaked, all steadily dripping blue transmission fluid onto the ground.

"Jack…." Scott's voice squeaked as he slid backwards on his stomach. "Jack, get me a hammer."
"I got one. What the hell's going on?"
"Nails and screws. All over. Right up into the transmission tank."
"Oh my God." If Scott had looked at Ridley as he was getting the undercarriage cart, he would have seen that he was sheet white. "You're not-"
"We have to." Scott took up a towel and grabbed the hammer from Ridley. "I have to. There's no time!"

With that, he sat down on the carriage, took a deep breath, mumbled a prayer or two, then stuck the towel over his face. Then he went in.

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

"……Transmission fluid?"
"Yes, sir."
"How in God's name…?"
"Someone drove these up into the transmission tank." A bag of over one hundred nails and screws were dropped onto Boyd's desk as Ridley spoke. "We lost at least half of the fluid in the tank because of it, sir. We don't know who did it, or why… all we can figure is that it must have happened during the meeting, after the NACA came into the hangar."

Boyd frowned; it was obvious to Ridley that he was getting angry. He had worked with the colonel at Wright-Patterson long enough to know how well Boyd tolerated certain things. Insubordination, government feet dragging, nosy reporters and laziness were among the things that had ever been tolerated by him. Yet even with how long they had worked together, Ridley had never seen Boyd react to outright sabotage. He knew he was about to now.

"Who got these out?"
"Capt. Scott Garnet, sir." Ridley looked uneasily around. "He took every precaution he could, but-"

Ridley was suddenly interrupted in his talk by the opening of the office door behind him. In came Scott, his clothing soaked in blue and reeking of the stench of gas. A dirty white towel was wrapped around his face.

"Sir!" His muffled voice came from under the towel as he saluted with a blood red hand. "Sir, the transmission fluid almost leaked onto the-"
"Captain!" Boyd walked over to Scott. "You took out these nails?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why do you have your face covered, captain?"
"Sir, I was trying my best to ensure that the fluid didn't touch me, sir." Scott's voice was somewhat shaky. "I'm afraid I had only limited luck."

Almost instantly, the towel was whisked off of his face by the colonel. The colonel's eyes widened at the appearance of Scott. His face was turned red by the fluid, as it had still soaked through and burnt parts of his face and ears. What was worse was his hair; it was soaked to the scalp, and the look on Scott's face showed that he was in a lot of pain from the liquid seeping into his hair and into his pores.

"In God's name…!!"
"The transmission on Glamorous Glennis is destroyed, sir." Ridley did not look at the colonel. "There's too many holes to patch up. It won't fly; the Black Betsy will be exposed to the fluid in mid-air and if the two mix-"
"I know what would have happened, Captain."

Both men could almost hear the restraint Boyd was placing on himself. He was downright pissed, and he spoke through clenched teeth.

"Its our asses, men." He glared at the two of them. "I will not tolerate sabotage. This will not forgotten, do you understand? Now we have to take Glennis down to Pendleton for repairs. Do you know what Pendleton is?"
"Sir, it-"
"I DID NOT ASK FOR AN ANSWER!"

The angry shout took the two officers by surprise, and they both could only stand where they were as Boyd's anger was taken out on them. Scott could feel himself tremble as he was shot down.

"I….did not ask for an answer." Boyd pointed to Scott. "I know what it is. It's a goddamn Marine base three hours away. A repair shop for the other branches. And do you know what they'll say when I tell them I'm giving them a Army Air Force sanctioned rocket-propelled jet to repair? They'll call me crazy. They'll laugh me off the phone! But you know what? I guess we don't have much of a choice now, do we?" Ridley and Scott didn't take their eyes off of the colonel as he continued. "Because someone is trying to destroy this project. Well, I will not stand for it!!" He slammed his hand down on the desk, startling the two men once more. "Ridley, I want you to call the crew up, and I want you to take both of those XS-1s out of that hangar, right now!"
"Yes, sir-"
"And," Boyd looked them both dead in the eye. "When I find out which one of these assholes did this, they'll be strung up so quick their balls will experience whiplash."
"Yes-"
"And DON'T give me 'yes, sirs!" Boyd walked to the door. "Just DO IT!"

Without another word, he walked out of the room and slammed the door.

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

*SPLAAAAASH*



The oxygen was suddenly forced out of Scott's lungs as the water hit his scar-infested body. The water went into his hair, like tiny knives, and only washed the blue goo down into his eyes and ears. He could barely hold back the screams as the pain was getting worse by the minute.

Help me…. Scott slid to the floor, slowly getting into a fetal position, as if his instincts thought that would make the pain go away. Red hot…

He had heard about what things like battery acid, ammonia and gas could do just on contact with a person's skin. The reality was worse, especially as the goo started to run down the rest of his body. He began to scream and cry; the pain was nothing like he had ever felt before. It was stupid what he had done, nothing but a stupid blunder. He knew he should have waited, yet he didn't. He felt a strange obligation to get the nails out. Now, of course, he was paying big time, and he had foolishly waited until nightfall to wash himself off. Now several clumps of his hair were falling to the bottom of the stall.

"Gaaaaaaaaah………nrrrrrrgh….."

Scott grit his teeth and tried again to bear; the pain in his head from the fluid that had gotten under his skin was also getting worse by every passing moment. He couldn't shower; when he tried, all he had done was scream in pain as each tiny droplet of water had landed on him, burning him. He couldn't touch it, couldn't put anything on it, couldn't do anything.

It burns………. Scott could not stop the tears, the infantile tears, as they ran. All around him, a mixture of blue fluid and dark red blood began to fill the shower. It burns like fire……

Thoughts of the flames sprang into his mind. There had been another time in his life, several years before, when he could think of flames. It had been long before the creation of Muroe; long before he had returned from the war. It had been a distant September night, distant, halfway around the world; he had a passenger named Miles with him.

Scott shut he eyes tightly at the comparison. He could almost see the flames in front of him on the control board, could almost see the smoke of the plane mingle with the coastal fog, could almost see the shocked face of the German pilot just before he exploded into flames. Scott did not actually remember crashing; all he remembered were flames, and screams from behind him as flames engulfed the plane. He should have died then; not for pity, not for self-blame, but from the flames. They were there again, the sound of cracking and snapping, the cries of his comrade, the smell of burning wood…..

……Wood?

The dim hallucination suddenly faded in front of Scott, replaced by the stronger smell and heat of reality. The pain was momentarily forgotten as his eyes widened from confusion. He felt his nose hairs twitch from the powerful smell, and he slowly tried to bring his bloody, naked, dizzy body up to the window. It was wood, doused with some gasoline; it was older wood from the seeming mold smell that accompanied it. Who was lighting a fire with that type of wood?

Then it hit him.

He didn't even have to look - it lit up the stall - but he did anyway. Right in front of his view from the window was the hangar where, just mere hours before, the XS-1s had been sitting. Now, the flames coming from the collapsing building leaped up into the night sky, and the smoke covered the stars in the heavens.

Oh my God… Fear pierced Scott's chest. Oh my god……Oh my god….

He turned to get out of the shower. He needed to get out and help the men he could see vainly carrying water out to douse the fire. He was a part of the team; it was his duty.

The sudden turn of his head spoke otherwise. The sudden jerked movement made the pain come back; the strong smell began to nauseate him. He gave another scream from the new spike of pain that came from every inch of his body touched by the fluid; the wind of movement simply burned.

Must…..fight….. The blood from his head, from his badly damaged, burn scalp, began to come down into his eyes. Must…..help……

It was no use. He lost his balance, and he fell forward quickly. For a moment, the burning wind around him seemed to almost try to stop him from landing; like wind resistance, the sonic wind, it threatened to tear him apart, to rip his scalp and then his brains, followed by the rest of his body. His eyes rolled up to the back of his head when the instant flashed; he hit ceramic and all went black.

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

"Hedgehog?!?"

Ridley and Yeager burst into the stall several minutes later. They were covered in ash and sweat, and both had to catch their breaths as they came in. Neither noticed Scott's clothing crumpled behind the door.

"Shit, where is he?!" Yeager looked around. "No sign of him. Somehow this makes me wonder if he may have sta-"

He almost instantly stopped upon stepping into a puddle of pink water that. His eyes quickly scanned up to the origin - a stall with a shower that was still running on full blast. The water from the nozzle was clear.

"Sweet Jesus…"

Under the nozzle was another story. The water was hitting a large, peach-colored mound, with splotches of red covering it and mixing with the water. The water coursed off of the mound and onto its limp, outstretched arms, flooding onto the floor. On the head of the mound was a mixture of dark red, a tiny bit of brown, but most of all, blue fluid. Worst of all, the mound was not moving.

"SCOTT!!!!"