XII





France, 1943.

It was almost hell on earth for the young man.

"Cette façon!"

A faint light, the only bright object in the night, was briefly shone onto his face as he struggled to run. He was still badly shaken from what had happened to him just hours before, and it didn't help that he could not completely understand the man's orders. He could only hope the shadowy figures he was following were, in fact, allies.

"Pouvons-nous fier cet homme?" The nervousness of one of them was laid into his voice. "Que s'il est-il un Allemand faire semblant d'être Américain?"
"Le vieil homme qui a trouvé lui dit autrement. i" The man who had been shouting to him was talking in a low voice. "Il a vu que l'avion explose, il dit. Il est un informateur fiable. S'il s'avère être un espion. ....let's garde au moins en haut des apparences pour le moment. Nous saurons bientôt assez pour faire une décision."

He would have to trust that they were friends. As it was, he was in the middle of enemy territory, a shot-down pilot who was far away from his base amd out of his league on the ground. He took in great gasps of air to keep himself awake...

*BAM!!!*

The shots were distant, but it was more than enough to warrant a reaction from everyone. The dispaced man was immediately down, and he felt for his gun if he was needed to fire back. The other two went behind a bush.

'Non!' The hiss was followed by a grab at his gun from one of the men. 'Garder en bas! Ne pas déplacer ou dire un mot!'

The American felt the sweat drip off of his neck as the shouts of German Nazis started to come closer to the place they were hiding. There were screams - mostly female screams - as the gunfire continued.

*BAM! BAM BAM BAM!!!*

'Bâtards.......' The man could almost hear the French roll off like venom. 'Je veux les tuer quand j'entends les cris des femmes, des enfants. ........condamne Dieu des bâtards Nazis...... '

The American shut his eyes as the screams continued. He could only close the sounds off from his helpless mind, but they kept getting louder....the bullets, the sound of firing guns, kept getting closer...

*BAM! BAM! BAM!*

The sudden jolts and noises gave Yeager a terrible start. He burst up our of the bed, only to give a loud cry of pain. His hand immediately went to his chest.

'What in....' Yeager felt movements and murmurs next to him. 'Sweet.....Jesus, its only four in the morning....'

Yeager would have taken a deep breath at the sound of Glennis' voice. It had all been a dream. On the other hand, his injuries would not allow him the luxury to breath in relief.

'I'll....' He slowly got up. '....I'll send them off.'

He was bent over as he walked out of the bedroom. His back twitched from the walking, even though he had taken extra care to wrap the bandage tight enough to compress the pain in his chest. Unfortunately, broken ribs were not so easy to take care of.

Chuck and Glennis knew that he had broken his ribs even before they had called Boyd up to check on them. Yeager was someone who had gotten a broken leg before, and he knew how a broken bone felt. This time, however, he had broken two or three ribs when he was thrown into the tree, and it was a miracle that his back hadn't gotten screwed up at all in the process. As it was, it was difficult for Yeager to take deep breaths without his lungs touching the fractured areas, and that in itself was a sign that something was wrong.

It was this, then, that Boyd had been worried of, and this is what caused Chuck's sudden absence. Boyd had exracted from him a promise to go see a doctor, though Chuck had not yet done it.

*BAM! BAM!*

Chuck gave the best irritated sigh that his condition allowed. He took off the chain lock, unlocked the doorknob and threw open the door.

'......Jack?'

It was the last person he had expected to see. Jack Russel stood there in front of Chuck, his head down and shoulders slumped. When he heard Chuck's startled voice, he looked up at Chuck. His face was completely solemn; his eyes seemed darker than normal, as if the light in them had somehow flickered out.

'......Jack.' Chuck repeated himself uneasily. 'What are you doing here?'

There was a moment of silence at this. During that moment, Chuck's uneasiness slowly turned into fear. Boyd had assured him that no one on the team was to know that he was out on an ordered sick leave, that they would think him to have been called on a last-minute military business of sorts which caused him to end up out of Muroe. Why the colonel had decided on such things, Chuck was not sure, but he had obeyed the colonel's orders and had kept himself in the house; it had seemed urgent enough for him to keep low.
It was only two days after he left. Now, looking out his front door, Yeager knew something was wrong - very wrong - if Russel had come to his house at such an ungodly time.

'Chuck.' Russel finally said. His voice was low, and it began to tremble. 'We....something's come up. The colonel wants you.'

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

'This is our ass.'
'This is not the end.'

Boyd wiped his forehead and took a deep breath. He began to pace his office once more; since he left the tower following what had happened, he had paced frequently during each passing conversation he had with the crew. This time, it was Anderson he was talking to as the sun began to slowly rise in the inky sky.

'We still have Glennis, and she'll be here in twenty minutes.'
'But what about....' Anderson puased. 'What about this morning? All of us saw what happened. What about the generals, and our other superiors? They don't tolerate peacetime casualties!'
'Captain,' Boyd turned to face him. 'How would you know this to be true?'
'It wouldn't be right not to, sir.' Anderson stared back at Boyd. 'You and I both know that.'
'You and I both know that, and I know others may agree to it.' Boyd turned towards the window. 'However, there are some instances where only the end counts. If Yeager can.....fly the plane.....'

Boyd's voice faltered a bit at this. Anderson did not need to know anymore; he understood what the colonel was getting at. He certainly did not like what he was implying.

'Is that how they'll see it?'
'That's how they'll have to see it.' Boyd's face did not turn to look at Anderson. 'History does not remember all of the Army men who died at Normandy, and that was only three years ago. This is because, in the end, the invasion did what it had to do. And we were victorious as a result.'
'...So you want Chuck to succeed.' Anderson looked down. 'At the expense of Scott-'
'Captain,' Boyd's voice became raised. 'The truth of the matter is, the situation has always been a hazardous one. Project Blue Gale was and is a high-risk project. Captain Garnet's death, as tragic as it is to all of us who saw it and to everyone who knew him, doesn't matter.....in the event this is successful. And with the investigation started, we will find out the truth to the accident. Do you understand?'

Boyd took a deep breath to calm himself down. He of all people knew full well what was at stake now, and that success and failure had costs to everyone. Success meant Scott's unwitting sacrifice was not at all in vain. Failure, of course, meant two dead bodies instead of one.

On the other hand, Boyd knew also who was to blame for what happened. The captain's blood was all over his hands, and if he could find the right evidence to at least explain that the accident was sabotage, then it would prove to everyone that rocket technology wasn't that the main culprit behind the death of Scott Garnet.

'Anderson.....' He finally spoke after another moment of silence. 'I want you to ready yourself for Yeager's arrival at the base. We will prep the plane as soon as he gets here, and we will fly again before noon. Understood?'
'....Yes, sir.'
'Good. Dismissed.'

Slowly, Anderson stood up and saluted the colonel. Then, without another word, he walked out of the room.

.....I'll get you. Boyd looked out of the window as the rest of the sun started to rise over the distant mountains. You son of a bitch. I will make you regret messing with me and with my men...

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

Chuck's arrival at the base came at about nine o'clock that morning.

'.....You sure you want to do this?'

Yeager said nothing to Russel; he instead stared out the window as the military jeep slowly pulled onto the airfield. His eyes were dried out from all the emotion he had felt during the long drive; Russel intentionally made it so, inorder for Yeager to have the angry crying fit he needed to have. Russel himself had done it before coming to the Yeager house. A normal drive from Los Angeles and back took three to four hours; the time if took for Russel to go arouse Yeager and bring him back was roughly twice that. Naturally, it was a shock to everyone what had happened.

'...Damn.' Yeager's voice was hoarse. 'I don't have much of a choice, whether or not I'm up for it.'
'I think Hedgehog would have wanted you to go.' Russel put on the brake. 'But God help us if it's what we all think it was.'
'...Sabotage.'
'Boyd has Pendleton send MPs along with Glennis...or at least thats what I was told his intentions were.' Russel took a deep breath. 'If that's so, then they may be here any minute, or now, and they'll be going to scour the wreckage.'
'How bad was it?' Yeager combed his hand through his hair shakily. 'I mean.....'
'I don't know Chuck.' The driver opened his door. 'The debris looked like it went everywhere. But I don't really want to know, and you don't want to know either. Not yet. Agreed?'
'...Yeah. Sure.'

Slowly, painfully, Chuck got out of the car. It was difficult to do; his left side was the side impacted by the accident, and it was difficult to get out of the car even though the door was on his right side. With a slide on his bottom, he hopped out of the jeep, though this was a half-hearted action at best.

Damn..... As he began to walk, Chuck noticed a distant trail of smoke around the mountain ranges in the north. He shook his head. Damn, Hedgehog.....

'Captain Yeager.' Boyd's voice interrupted his thoughts. 'They're waiting for you. Glamorous Glennis is over there on the airfield.'
'Yes, sir.' Yeager saluted. 'I'll do my best, sir.'
'.....Yes. Please do so.'

Without another word, Boyd turned and left. Yeager gave another nod before turning towards the airfield. He walked, his shoulders slumped. He did not want to do what he was about to do, not under the circumstances he was being thrust in. On any other day, he would have been ecstatic to be going up in Glennis, smiling as he strapped himself in, giving a thumbs up to the crew before he was loaded onto the B-29. This was not a normal day by any means. All Yeager could wonder, as he walked painfully towards the waiting Glamorous Glennis, was whether he would share the same fate.

'Chuck.' Ridley met him halfway. 'Its time. Glennis was outfitted with landing gear at Pendleton, so you won't have the bounce down with no wheels.'
'Thanks, Ridley.'

With a solemn nod, Ridley gave Chuck a good slap on his shoulder. It took everything Chuck had to not cry out in pain, as the pressure went right onto his ribs.

'Get in there, and make some magic,' Ridley replied as Yeager stumbled towards the plane. 'We definitely need it right now.'

The pilot gave a nod as he slowly began to climb into the plane. As he looked upon his controls, upon his station in the plane, he began to realize - if he had not done so already - that there was untold amounts of pressure on him. Practically all that they had done rested on him, and if he could not at least get past Mach 1.0 - hell, if he didn't live.....

He was so distracted in his pondering that it was not until he was strapped in that he realized there was a very big problem. He could not reach the door to close himself into the cockpit. His left side was practically unmovable from the pain, and it was his left side which was required to shut the cockpit door. He tried to cross his right arm over to no avail. The minutes began to crawl by; any second, they would understand completely why he had been taken off as primary.

'....Chuck?'

The voice made him give a start. Nevertheless, Chuck managed to look over sheepishly at Ridley with a pained laugh in his throat. Ridley was staring at him, both confused and concerned.

'You ok...?'
'....Sorry....' Chuck shook his head with a small chuckle. 'I....I'm kind of havin' a problem with the door, I guess...'

For a moment, Ridley kept staring at Chuck. Chuck knew his secret was out, at least to Ridley. Nor was the pilot sure how the engineer would react after he got his tongue back, or if there was any way to remedy the problem.

'....A.....' Finally, Ridley shook his head in frustration. 'The tip of the iceburg. The tip.'
'Sorry, Jack.' Chuck shifted his body again when his chest began to hurt. 'I know....you've had the world's...shittiest morning...'
'This can be remedied.' Ridley looked around and pointed towards a young man walking towards one of the storage barracks. 'You! sir! Yes, right now, I need you right here. Go get me a broom, a saw, a hammer....'

Chuck watched as Ridley finished his list of items. With a firm smack on his shoulders, the boy ran as quick as he could to the building in question. Two minutes later, he returned with another worker, who carried a saw and an old, splintered broom in his hands.

'Here.'

Ridley was suddenly on the side of the door, sawing the broom down to pieces and then hammering them to the side. Within ten minutes, a long, wooden handle, nailed to the door, was attached via duct tape to Yeager's right arm. With relative ease, Yeager moved his arm, and the door closed in response.

Damn good, he thought as he silently strapped himself in. At least THAT's come out right....

As soon as he was in, he felt the plane move. He was being loaded into the B-29.

Calmness…. he took a deep breath. Forget the pain and let's see how well I hold up in the air, Glennis...

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

The flames still burned brightly in the mountains beyond the base. Though what could be seen from the base was minimal and nothing more than a trickle of smoke, closer in it was much more virulent. Much of the debris was still hot from the explosion, and at the core of the wreckage - where the cockpit, the engine, and the pilot would have been situated - there was a gas fire.

'Holy......shit!' One of the men assigned to the cleanup quickly covered his face as the flames popped. 'Its hotter than the desert up here! Has to be!'
'There's a fire, you dumbass!' Another one of them men gave a motion. 'We're going to have to put it out before we can do anything!'

The group of men - a combination of military police and army officers - were gathering around the singed debris of what was once an XS-1. It was no longer what it had been; it was now a heap of flaming mess. The fires, though miraculously self-contained, had been burning non-stop for several hours. There was no hint of the former beauty of the plane; all of it had disintegrated, leaving only a hardened metal skeleton of parts that were soaked in gas.

"One odd-looking plane they got," another commented as he approached the side of the plane. "You don't suppose someone down there shot it down to see what would happen, do you?"
"Stupid shit. Not even the Army would shoot down a plane like this." A fourth guy rubbed his chin in thought. "Look at the design. Its nothing I ain't seen before. It must be a bad prototype."
"Well, whatever the hell they used it for," The other man grumpily took up a hose, "they made it pretty urgent that we put it out and give it a once over and report anything that may have caused it to blow up like they said it did."
"That's enough." One older man - obviously the leader of the group - finally came up to the men. "Get back to work and shut your mouths."
"…Yes, sir."

As the four men filed out, another, younger man walked up to the leader. He was sweating profusely from the heat, and as he spoke his mouth spat everywhere.

"A damn waste, huh?"
"Damn waste."
"Our guys are collecting debris everywhere, sir."
"How long a radius do you project, lieutenant?"
"I'm estimating about ten-to twenty miles, give or take a few thousand feet." The younger man scratched his nose. "That thing must have been going real fast to leave a debris field that large, sir."
"…..Well…..its none of our business to inquire that deeply into how fast the plane was going unless an inquiry is drawn up. Most likely, there will be one." The leader wiped his brow and then raised his voice. "Ok, men, let's get this fire out so we can make the clean-up a little more inconspicuous, right?"
'But, sir! Its all gas!' From in front of the leader, another man holding a hose shook his head. 'We'd never get it out with our equipment!"
"…Very well." The man paused. "This is getting better every minute. Looks like we're going to just have to let it burn out on its own. Don't touch it and don't spray water on it!'

The group nodded; everyone knew it would be foolish to even attempt to master a gas-induced fire. They knew that it was possible that such a decision would destroy the body of the pilot trapped inside, but they also knew that no one could have possibly survived the explosion, let alone the crash. If he had survived the explosion, the sudden fall and the air pressure would surely have finished him off.

"At least the flames are keeping to themselves in a small vicinity." The younger man picked up a metal beam. "It's a miracle nothing else has caught on fire."
"Well, just you wait." The old man steadied himself on a tree. "Come in the afternoon, when the sun's up-"
'AAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!'

Everyone's head suddenly jerked up at the sound of this. From behind the wreckage came another member of the crew, running and screaming.

'What in...' The leader of the group began to feel himself turn red. 'Sam! What in the hell are you-'

His question was answered when he saw what was in the workers' hands. It was a small device, whatever it was, and it was on fire. With a scream, the worker threw it on the ground and stomped his foot on it. The fire on the object was completely smothered out within moments.

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!"
'SAM?!?'

The now pale faced-worked collapsed as the leader ran over to him. His hands were almost completely charred from the fire, and his face was shrivelled in pain.

'What in the hell is wrong with you, Sam?!' The leader grabbed Sam's collar. 'I said, 'don't touch it'! You blind fool, do I have to spell it out for you!?'
'S-sir!' Sam trembled as he spoke. 'I-I'm sorry, b-but I thought I saw something!'
'Saw something?'
'A body, s-sir.' Sam gave a gulp. 'It was there, I th-thought, in the cockpit......then it wasn't there....and th-then something.....dropped into my hands….'
'.....Dropped?'
'L-like someone tossed it t-to me, sir...' Sam shakily pointed towards the object, which lay on the ground. "And it was on fire. S-sir, I couldn't stop it. I swear th-that that is the truth…."

The leader turned to look towards the object. His anger melted away to surprise as his eyes inspected the object, identifying as something important.

"Well….I'll be God dam-"

*KA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM*



Every single head went up at the sound. It echoed in the mountains, over and over again, until it died down after twenty seconds.

"Holy…….fuck." The whole group was looking up towards the sky. "That was loud."
"Like thunder…."
"Or….another explosion."
"Sir, that's not funny."
The younger man squirmed at the leader's words. In turn, the leader looked at the younger man, his expression serious.

"Who said I was playing?"
"Sir, I-"
"I don't exactly enjoy thinking of it, but that sounded like an explosion. A very high-up explosion."

The two looked back up towards the sky, watching, waiting, for the spec in the sky to fall to the earth. Clouds moved by, and the pre-noon sun was high in the sky for an October day. Birds chirped, and a soft wind began to blow. After the end of the moment, the only thing that had changed was that the wind was slightly stronger than before; that was all that had happened.

"Well…..nothing's come down yet." All around them, the trees rustled restlessly. "Let's hope that's a good sign. Now, bag our new plaything and get back to work."

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

*KA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM*



The sound echoed, over and over, in Yeager's mind as he was suddenly smacked back into his seat by a sudden pop and thrust of the plane. It was wind, he knew; it was the force of the sonic wind trying to knock him around and throw the jet around. It was almost as if the popping sound had delayed the wind resistance, which then squeezed and shot the plane forward while it tried to pick things up onto its trail. This resulted in a sharp flux of pain from his ribs, but he forced his urge to cry back down. What was more important was the plane, and what had happened.

Shit… Yeager took a deep breath. I hope I don't blow up……

His mind backtracked to the events before the violent jolt. He had been climbing steadily, and accelerating well, for a good twenty minutes. He thought he was going to do well.

Then, things began to happen. He lost his radio. He lost sight and contact with Anderson. The plane began to jolt violently as he neared the 40,000 feet mark, as he neared Mach 1.0. His chest was practically throbbing in tremendous pain. Things couldn't have gotten much worse.

Then he looked down at his speedometer, and he began to swear. On top of all of that which had happened, his speed gauge was now done for. He knew damn well that he was not going fifty five miles a second. He wouldn't have even been up in the air if he was going that slow.

On second thought, however, Yeager suddenly realized something odd with his situation. There had been the jolt, and the shudder, but then there was nothing. The ride - aside from the turbulence that was starting to gently shake Glamorous Glennis - had suddenly become abnormally smooth. Nothing on the board was working, but yet he was suddenly having no problem flying the plane.

He knew he was flying fast. He was flying too fast for it to be this smooth. Something was up.

"…..ger……."

Yeager's head snapped up. This caused more pain, but he didn't care. It was Anderson.

"…UCK….!"

…..Damn. Quickly, Yeager adjusted the radio. I've got you, Bud. Hang on.

"MNIT……."
"Anderson." Yeager took several breaths. "Bud, its me, Chuck. Do you hear me, over?"
"…….Yeag…."
"Bud." Yeager desperately began to tune in the radio. "Base. Someone. Come on, I'm right here! I'm having problems with my radio. Can anyone hear me?!"
"….lieve it…."

There came another crackle of static. Then, shouts from the end.

"…..huck…." Slowly, Boyd's voice came in on the headset. "Is that really you, over?"
"….Base…." Yeager confusedly began to reply. "This is Yeager….my….radio isn't working right. My speedometer has also broken…"
"Yeager, we thought you were a goner. Over."
"…..Excuse….."

Yeager stopped. He was confused; nothing had happened to him to make them think he was dead.

….The jolt….

It hit him. He gave out a gasp.

"Base!" He quickly composed himself. "Base, may I assume a reason to think I have passed through the wall of air, over?"
"Yeager, this is base." This time, it was Ridley's excited voice. "We have you clocked in at 1.04 Mach!"
"WHAT?!?!?"

Now it was making sense to Yeager. The jolt was the wall of air. The sound was Yeager going right through it. He was going at a speed thought unattainable to man. And it didn't even feel like he was going that fast. He couldn't be going that fast; he couldn't believe it. Such a sensation should have been much more powerful to behold, though in its own way knowing that one was going so fast was a sensation in itself. For one moment, Yeager almost felt disappointed that he had not gotten the rush he was anticipating for all his time at Muroe; he blamed it on the immense pain he was in.

Then he realized that he had just shouted right in Ridley's ear.

"…Oh….I mean….." Yeager cleared his throat. "This is news to me; my speedometer's not reading my speed correctly. It says I'm at……."

For the first time since his accident, he started to laugh as he read his coordinates. He was a damned idiot.

"Chuck…." At this point, even Ridley was chuckling. "I'd fix it if it was even broke."

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

It was a whirlwind day after that. It was another half-hour before Yeager landed; before then, he would go even faster. His final speed: 1.06 Mach.

"….Shit." Anderson was shaking his head. "Just…..shit."

Everyone was seemingly in jovial spirits at Pancho Barnes as the sun slowly began to set beyond the reaches of the desert. Almost everyone on Project Blue Gale was in the bar, and everyone was having a drink on the house. There was much talking, and much laughing, as many grown men began to drink themselves to a tizzy so that they could belt out the words to "Heart and Soul" and the entire Sinatra catalogue with little shame or remembrance.

"Wow…."

Yeager gave a smile as he stirred a Virgin Mary. He was not drunk, unlike most of the men there, and for once he decided not to force his body to take it. He was injured, and he had an emergency appointment to see some Army doctors to keep in the morning. As numbing as alcohol was, he had the feeling that it was not a wise choice to imbibe any.

"I can't believe I did it." Yeager released the straw from his hold. "Just like that, went through with a bang. There must be a name for whatever that pop was."
"Yeah….this is….." Anderson nodded drunkenly. "…..Just…..shit."

Yeager gave a nod as Anderson staggered to the front for another. He solemnly looked down towards his drink as he rubbed his temple. The sober concoction stared back at him. From his angle of sight, the solution almost looked like a glass of thickened blood with a celery stick thrown in it for flavor.

….Hedgehog.

He pushed the drink away for a moment, and contemplated. He knew fully that these men were capable of much more folly and joy; he had seen it before on days that were deemed inconsequential. On those days, he'd be there as well. Capt. Scott Garnet, the corner boy, his shoulders slumped slightly as he took a sip of vodka or gin. He was a tame one, one who may have seen wilder days, or perhaps anticipated wilder days. Though he was well-respected by much of the crew, some of the guys nevertheless found the boy a bit too tame with his lack of reaction to the jokes and teases that were tossed back and forth.

Not Yeager. Ever since he was carted to San Joaquin, he understood full well why the boy was quieter than the rest. Chuck couldn't blame him for it either; his father was a son of a bitch, and Scott was very protective of his family to begin with. Certainly, he was wild before, and very wild and energetic at that. Yet when he was wild, he'd made plenty of mistakes. Therefore, the energy he once spent trying to be free and wild and defiant, therefore, went to stopping himself from making mistakes, went to devoting himself to his family.

Despite his great restraint, Chuck could see that there something in Scott, a sense of freedom that transcended drinking oneself silly and sleeping with twenty prostitutes. It was a strange sense of freedom, almost locked up within the boy in a way that made Chuck feel that Scott may not have been aware of it - or if he was, he could not explain it. Yeager would notice it when the urge to go over and talk to Scott came to him, and whenever Scott said something he'd give a small, sometimes sad smile in return, as if he were caged by something and no one could understand what was stopping him. Yet his eyes always seemed very bright, as if his eyes could see something in the distance that his body could not conceive.

Chuck could almost feel the weight of Scott's death on everyone in the bar. All he had to do was look at Boyd, who had not had a drop of drink, whose expression was one which mixed anger and mourning, to know that it was on everyone's mind. All he had to do was see that there were those absent for the reason that they had to help the investigation up near the wreckage site of the other XS-1 to know.

"Hey ho! Chuck!"

Chuck turned to the side of the bar. Standing was a ground crew member, a private who was obviously very drunk.

"To the Captain!" He raised his glass with a wobbly hand. "To the fastest man in the world. He beat the sonic wind like a mammy beats a nigger kid with a belt."

There was laughter, drunken laughter, at the comment. One by one, glasses came up, and there were toasts all around.

"To Chuck!"
"Chucky! Chucky boy!"
"Yeager, the best damn pilot on base!"
"To Scott Garnet."

The hullabaloo was instantly silenced. Boyd's face looked upon the false revelers as he raised his glass of water.

"God help that man," he mumbled as he drank his glass.

Slowly, the group began to talk again. The tone, however, was much more silent and subdued; everyone talked in whispers. Yeager watched as Boyd slowly finished his glass, set it down quietly onto the bar, and then proceeded to walk over to Yeager.

"Captain." The colonel slowly bent down and spoke in a low voice. "Watch your back tonight…..I think you should come back to my office when you are finished."

Boyd went to pat his shoulder, though he stopped in mid-air. Realizing why, Yeager gave a nod, and with that the officer briskly left the room. The officers watched as he

It ain't over….. Yeager almost felt sick as he gave the thought his attention, and with it, a terrible possibility. If he's thinking what I think he is…..

He looked down at his glass. He knew that no one would try to do anything smart with the amount of men in the room, no matter how drunk they were. He took several sips of his drink, looked around, and then took several more sips, watching warily the entire time for suspicious activity from any of the men. Finally, he was finished with his drink, and as best as he could he excused himself from the room.

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

In all of his observations, Chuck knew there would be people missing. What his mind did not register was that there was one man who had always been at Barnes', every day, even when he wasn't supposed to be there. That night, he was not at Barnes'. He was waiting for Chuck outside.

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

Boyd's feet walked briskly through the base as night finally set in. It was well past eight, and several minutes after his scheduled appointment with the MPs who had scoured the wreckage. He knew they would be pissed at him for being late, but he would brush it aside. They were not there to adomish him on his tardiness.

….Hmmm?

Boyd's head went up. He looked around for a moment; he thought he had heard a rapid beating of footsteps in his direction. He slowly took out his gun and scanned the area behind him. There was nothing but the wind blowing through.

Dammit. He quickly put his gun back into his holster and made his way into his office building. Pull yourself. You have a meeting to attend.

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

The path from Barnes' to the base was too dark for Chuck's comfort. It was a starless night, and there was no moon to shine through the thick clouds. Quietly, he paced himself so that he would not make too much noise for anyone to know he was there. Nevertheless, he had the feeling he was being followed, and he didn't like it.

Shouldn't call attention to myself…. The wind began to blow a little harder. Just stay calm. Be aware, and they won't take you by surprise. If there's anyone out there, they won't get you so good….

He did not hear any footsteps as he quietly walked.

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

"I apologize for being late." Boyd slumped into his chair. "I was a bit caught up in some issues."
"Its all right, Colonel."

Boyd looked up towards Ridley, who stood to the side of his desk. His eyes were slightly sagged with sleep deprivation, just as Boyd's were. All of those from Project Blue Gale who were in the room turned to the older man who had scavenged the crashed XS-1.

"You have anything that can help us, sir?"

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

Chuck could not silence the voice in his head. Nor could he quell the fear that was beginning to rise up into his throat. He knew someone was following him. There had been a twig snap; he had turned and seen nothing, but he knew someone was following him. If he was any crazier, he'd think there were people following.

He may have done great things that day, but after what had happened to Scott, Yeager felt like everyone was after him now. Why, he was afraid to find out.

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

"You sure as hell bet we do, sir." The older man held up a paper bag. "We know how the plane got sidelined."
"You do?" Boyd was almost instantly awake. "How?"
"Pure and plain sabotage. We found this….by chance, but we found it nonetheless." The older man opened the bag. "Someone got a good hole into the engine of the plane - you can tell it's a piece of the engine because of the type of metal casing it has - and the gas and nitrate leaked all over the electric bits of the plane and caught it all on fire. But the dumb shit forgot to take out what they used to leak it."

With a casual flick of his hand, the older man emptied the contents of the bag out onto the desk. It was mostly a large piece of darkened metal, remnants of the Black Betsy engine. But there was no mistake as to what was plugged into the piece. No one could ever mistake a Bowie knife as being something else. In this case, it was slightly bent, slightly melted by the flames and the heat, and the blade was currently shaped like a half moon scythe. But it was still a Bowie knife. And the owner's initials were blazed into the handle, clear and precise as day.

Boyd's eyes darkened. There was no mistake in his mind anymore.

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

Chuck took as deep a breath as he could. He couldn't panic. He had to hope that he could face whoever was following, whoever had it for him and everyone else on the project….because Chuck knew that was who was following him. His gut instinct, that which had helped him back in France, was practically screaming this fact to him.

He did not know when he would strike. He did not know how he would strike.

He did not know that someone else was trying to stop him from striking. This fact would not be unknown to him for long.

'WATCH OUT!!!'

The voice came out of nowhere. Chuck almost missed the warning, but his instinct heard, and obeyed. He swerved to dodge the punch.

"…AAAAAARGH!!!!!!"

His ribs screamed as he turned sideways, and almost instantly the attacker was on him, putting him in a chokehold.

"JOHN!"

Chuck broke loose at the sound of the unknown voice yelling the name; it had startled the attacker; he had not expected any shouting. It wasn't for long, however; John Redson swung again at Chuck with a powerful retaliative fist. With his left arm, his good arm, Chuck tried to push him away. Unfortunately, even though the fist missed, John was still too quick, and he got Chuck around the neck again.

"You bastard." John chuckled as he gasped for breath. "I guess I should have paid more attention to that kid last night. I wouldn't have done such a sloppy job, eh?"
"J….john?" Chuck fought the pain in his ribs to speak. "What….are you……You drunk?"
"Clean as a whistle, Chuck." The angry, yet calm tone made Chuck freeze. "Clean as a whistle."
'John...'
'You were supposed to be there, Chuck.' The anger in John's voice made it shake for a moment. 'You were supposed to be up there this morning. You, do you understand?'
'What....what are you....doing?!'
'I spent so long to prepare.....then that fucking idiot kid shows up and ruins it.' One of the hands went off of Chuck. 'I have something for you.'

Chuck froze when he heard the sound of a revolver being cocked. His heart stopped when he felt the steel of the barrel on his neck. He let out a gasp as the cold steel touched his jugular; it triggered more pain in his ribs, and the pain simply shot down to his toes.

'John...'
'You were supposed to be up there.' John's voice became calm. 'I had prepared for so long, to make sure that you wouldn't come back down alive. The passion I have told me so. You understand passion, correct?'
'...It was you, wasn't it.....why?'
'Of course it was....but you only know now?'
'You helped to build the plane back at the factory. You knew better than almost all of us. You were the liason.' Chuck's chest pounded as he recited it all; he had not expected it. 'You ...you jammed the nails into the transmission….you started the fire…."
"And you know why?"
"You did something to the engine.....you….you killed Scott...'
'For love. Love makes people do anything.' John laughed, a slight bit of insanity tinting his breath. 'She's beautiful. She's smart. That's Glamorous Glennis, right?'

The sound of Glennis' name drained the color from Chuck's face, and he could almost feel the blood leaving as his face turned to ash. Presperation began to form as well as the adrenaline began to pump, but it was cold on his brow in comparison to the heat of John's stank breath as it drew in closer to his neck.

'And you don't deserve her, Chuck. You just don't. You just don't love her like I do.'
'....What....'
'I make her things. I write her love letters. All these things for when we get together.' The barrel pressed harder. 'I have all of her photos in an album, from when I got them from your house. I can see us growing old together, having children, living happily. You treat her like an item to be shown off; you don't love her. Not once did I hear 'I love you' from you those nights you brought her to the bar, or to dinner. She deserves better than you.'
'.....You........' The pain in his ribs was coming back as he hyperventilated. 'You don't.....touch a hair.....on Glennis' head......you crazy fuck….'
'What are ya gonna do? You gonna stop me?' The hand shifted up to point the gun to Chuck's forehead. 'Just try. I'd like to see you. You're injured. That's what bumped you down from being primary. Not a family emergency, not some Air Force general up north. You can't crap me; I saw you when you were horseback riding with her. I was there. I followed you back when Boyd met with you."
"That was….you too?"
"Yeah. You bet. I just wanted to make sure you weren't doin' nothin'….naughty to her." Another chuckle. "Though I admit that whole scaring the horse bit was an accident. The branch I was perched on broke. Probably the only accident from me in this whole mess, too."
"But even when you knew…I was injured….why did you….do it?" The pain was increasing still. "When Boyd…switched me with Hedgehog…."
"Boyd…." John chuckled. "Boyd, smart guy. Almost figured me out from the get-go. If Hedgehog and Riley hadn't seen that leak before on Glamorous Glennis, this would all have been over and maybe no one else but you would have had to die. But no. Boyd, he had to get involved, huh? Thought he could stop me, eh? Maybe I just wanted to prove a point with him, too. That his airs and his know-it-all shit couldn't and wouldn't save his own men."
"You got a problem with Boyd?"
"I got a problem with people who have airs, Chuck." John's voice became darker. "That's the problem with a lot of these higher up guys - they think they know everything, don't they? I almost got kicked out of the army because those guys think they know everything, eh? My drinking gets in the way of my job, they say. Bullshit!"

Yeager couldn't believe his ears. John was crazy. Not just crazy, but crazy. The reasons the flush was giving him, was spurting out, made no sense to Chuck, even with Glennis on the line. They were so foolish, almost stupid, for someone to act on.

Yet Redson was crazy enough, disgruntled enough, to dare it. It gave him power, it gave him a reason to do horrible things. And everyone had trusted him because he seemed too busy drinking to be a threat. The last person any of them would have suspected.

"Ah, well…." The crazy man gave another chuckle. "Not that that part matters anymore right now. Still doin' a favor by ridding the world of a pusswad like you, whether or not anyone really knows of my crap. Because you don't deserve her.' The barrel was digging into his temple now. 'She's mine. Always has been. Always will be. So get the hell out of here.'

The finger was on the trigger; Chuck could almost feel the bullet in the chamber. He closed his eyes, waited for the end. For the nothingness. It was over for him.

Then came the violent tremor.

"UUUUGH!!!"

Chuck was falling, and falling fast. His whole body staggered forward with release, and the pain began to subside. The wind of movement fluttered through his ears, slowly, in rhythm with the wind that blew through his hair. He wondered what would happen now, whether he'd feel any pain in his neck from his injury, as he could feel none. He almost started to wonder why nothing was getting brighter.

Then, he opened his eyes. And heard the plopping sound of the gun falling to the ground.

"ARRGH!!!"

It took him a moment to regain his balance, to realize that though he was in great pain, the gun had actually not gone off. He stumbled forward to the ground, his arms flailing out in front of him to stop his chest from hitting the ground first. His knees helped in this transition, and he ended up on his limbs, gasping for air, his ribs spared from the impact of the tumble.

"ARRRR!!!"

He could hear Redson's angry roar of rejection, followed by a crunching sound and a grunt. Chuck carefully turned himself onto his back in wonder, his arms up in a defensive gesture. All he saw was the silhouette of Redson's head swerving left and right, his eyes filled with a incensed flame of insanity. It was very dark, but the blood still glistened around the assailant's mouth and nose.

"Where the….." Redson's voice squeaked with rage. "Who the he-"

*BOOOM!*

The sound echoed in Chuck's ears as Redson was suddenly knocked into the air, screaming. It sounded like the noise that Chuck had heard as he passed through the wall of air; the odd pop, the strange exploding sound. Then, just like with what had happened in the air, the wind resistance caught up with the sound, and Yeager was nearly knocked off of the ground from the powerful sucking force. It took everything to keep himself grounded, and his persistence in staying down was almost immediately paid off.

For, in front of him, though it was completely dark, he could see it. It was a figure, a thing, a fuzzy, small thing. It was going too fast for Yeager to even see a coherent form. But he knew something was there, that something was creating wind with its very movement and moving very fast. For each time the wind blew, the view in front of Yeager grew fuzzy, our of focus, and blurry. The next instant, Redson would be flying in another direction, his blood flying everywhere, a new part of his body being hit by this force which neither man on the spot could see. But both fully knew something was there. And from it came a fury that neither man had ever seen before.

"UhuhuhUHuhuhuhuhuHYHIHhuhuhuh!!!"

Yeager could not take his eyes off of what was happening to him. Redson was being hit so fast that Yeager was positive that no one would have been able to calculate how many times he had been punched, kicked, and smacked by the unseen force. Redson was taking at least five hits a second; it was to the point that Redson's head simply bobbed up in down so that it looked like there were five faces at once. There were a few gasps and angry grunts, but the force did not let up; there was so much anger that emanated from the force that it truly felt as if the attacker fully meant to tear Redson apart, piece by piece. For that matter, Redson had soon ceased even to cry out, and Chuck feared him to be dead. Blood was going everywhere; on the grass, on Redson, on the concrete road. Even Yeager was splattered a bit.

*KA-POOOOOOW!!!!!!!!*



Then, at last, it was finished. Redson's body slumped to the ground, unable to stand up. For an instant, as the man fell, Yeager could see the pure fear and shock in his bloodied eyes, could smell the fresh blood as it gushed out of his mouth. Then, he was down.

……Oh my god….

Yeager was unable to move. He was too petrified at the sight he had beheld. He wasn't sure who - what had made it possible, he wasn't sure where it had come from or where it had gone. But he knew there had some kind of a force, a presence, and it had been watching Redson, knowing of his intentions and of his acts. And with a strength and speed that Yeager could not fathom possessing himself, Redson was stopped. It was an act of rage, of primal anger, of punishment.

Chuck had been saved. And he was as scared as hell of crossing whatever had saved him.

"You."

Next came a voice, one that swore he had heard before, yet sounded different enough to seem as if he had never heard it before. Then, he felt the wind once more on his back, and he could almost feel the presence - the thing - right behind him. The hair on his back stood up and he trembled in fright.

"Get up." The wind was suddenly blowing in front of him, and from the darkness, the silhouette of a hand came out of thin air. "Its over."

Yeager balked; he was not sure if such a violent force could be trusted. After a minute, however, he decided to take the chance and gave the thing his hand. The force had saved him, and the hand, though slightly smaller than normal, looked human enough.

"…..Thanks…."
"Its nothing." The seemingly casual way that the force spoke to him was as surprising as the strong grip that brought Yeager back on his feet. "But now, I must go."
"…Huh?"

Yeager suddenly gave a start. The sky had suddenly brightened; the moon had broken through the clouds, and its rays seemed to almost shine down upon them with a soft, pulsing, almost heavenly light. He could now see his rescuer in a much better light.

"….You….."

His rescuer truly was a thing, at least a thing which Chuck had never before seen in his life. It was short, no taller than three foot at the most. It had some human traits; its hands were human in appearance, it walked and stood upright. It even wore shoes on its feet. But it was not human. At least, it was not completely human from Yeager's estimation. It had small, spine-like appendages on its back, its chest and front was covered with hair, and its ears were tiny and almost pointed like a devil's. There was also a tail on its back.

But perhaps the most striking feature of the creature was its dominant color. It was not dark, as Yeager had expected the creature to be. It was a bright, vibrant blue, many hues of a bright blue depending upon where the shadows hit him. But there was no black on him. However, Yeager noticed that its hands were an almost human hue of peach.

Then he looked upon the face, and he felt all of the blood drain from his face and body.

……Hedgehog.

The sounds of sirens suddenly came into earshot as he realized who had saved him It was impossible. It wasn't real. It couldn't be.

"Chuck." The thing spoke again. "….I'm sorry. I have to go."

Chuck tried to speak, tried to protest, or shout, or something. He had to know. He had to ask him how it was possible. But before he could, he did something that he regretted.

He blinked.

"FREEZE!"

The light, the moon, the thing was gone. The next thing Yeager knew, people were everywhere, shouting, screaming. The headlights of cars glared onto the scene, onto Redson's shuddering body, and they converged onto him.

"Get him up!" The sounds of guns being loaded and handcuffs followed Boyd's scream. "Son of a bitch, we've got him!"
"Get up," the sound of another man's angry voice came into the captain's ears. "Degenerate asshole! Get him up and put him away."

Three MPs dragged Redson up and hustled him towards the car. Yeager watched in shock as they loaded the saboteur into the back of one of the vehicles, slamming the door behind him.

Hedgehog…

"Chuck." He suddenly heard Ridley's voice. "Chuck, are you ok? What happened?"

Chuck was compelled to say everything at that moment. He was still in such awe, such surprise, that he just wanted to explain it all. He wanted to tell how Redson ended up so beaten up. He wanted to explain the blood. He wanted to show it all. He wanted to tell the truth. It was all him.

But the next moment brought him back to his senses. What he had seen, he understood, was for his eyes, and for his eyes only. To speak the truth to another would be imprudent; if he had wanted other to know the truth, he would have stayed to show himself to everyone else. Chuck would never understand how it was possible, and he wouldn't understand why it had happened. It was best not to explain what one didn't understand.

"….I don't know…." Yeager took a breath. "He….he was like that. He came after me with a gun, and I just kind of….pushed him to the ground."
"Gun?"
"Its there, somewhere." Yeager searched for an explanation. "He dropped it."
"…Right."

Ridley took Yeager by the shoulders and led him to one of the cars. Yeager let himself be led; he had seen too much that night to trust himself to his own actions. Too much had happened, and too many questions had been raised. By morning, there would surely be more.

….Hedgehog…

He turned around one final time before he got into the car. And, for one moment, Yeager thought he heard Scott's voice echo through his ears as the wind picked up, tossing dust from the desert into the air towards the cloudy sky.

Live…. The clouds again parted for a moment, and looking up Yeager saw a dark speck up near the halo of the moon. I'll be back again to accompany…the sonic wind…..the sonic wind……….sonic wind…………….sonic………….…….