AN: Thanks for the reviews for those that posted. I am very new to writing Daria, and do keep in mind. This is a very different Daria. She's had to come out of her shell. It's one of those things military aviation will do to you. As for the interlude, please thank Matt Wiser. It's becoming his story as much as it is mine. He's going to help me with the upcoming target "folders". Oops? Did I spoil something?

Chapter 2

7 Months Later

Officers Club

RAF Lakenheath

Lakenheath, United Kingdom

Monday, July 22nd, 1985

1835 ZULU/1835 Local

Mondays were always dead days in the O-Club at Lakenheath, and tonight was no exception. But, as young officers found out, it was one of the more affordable options one had when deployed to the UK. So, on a whim, and armed with the fact neither of them was scheduled for the flight roster tomorrow, it seemed a pizza and a beer at the O'Club was in order.

Daria and Jane had arrived at Lakenheath in February, ferrying an F-111 from the depot that had been "zero-timed" or practically rebuilt. It had also been upgraded to an F model from it's previous D model and had been assigned, like Daria and Jane to the 492nd Tactical Fighter Squadron of the 49th Tactical Fighter Wing based at Lakenheath. It had been a somewhat leisurely flight, with plenty of time to talk, and reminisce. Of course, Jane had also taken the crew rest opportunity in Iceland to go nuts in the Reykjavík duty free store. I didn't think we could fit that much smoked fish and Stoly in the damn bomb bay! Miracle none of it broke. It was quite the introduction to their crew chief, who still complained to anyone who would listen he couldn't get the fishy smell out of that aircraft. Loudly.

What followed next was a hectic training schedule to learn the nuances of the F-111F versus the D they qualified on back at Mountain Home and Cannon. As of last week, they were fully qualified on the Pave Tack system in the aircraft. Pave Tack was an electro optic targeting pod that also had forward-looking infrared (FLIR) and laser targeting capabilities. Pave Tack was found on both the F-4 and the F-111. It was a big pod, and weighed almost 1400lbs and took up a good chunk of the bomb bay, but it allowed the F-111 to be an all-weather threat.

It had been a grueling time, and the two of them were wrung out between the ground school and the airborne training flights. But, as of last week, they were proclaimed, "qualified". Of course, that week, they had to sit "Victor" or nuclear alert, cut off from the world in the alert shed, hoping the nuclear klaxon never went off.

It was with the end of that that 1st Lieutenants Lane and Morgendorffer were given a rare week off. Priorities being priorities, they had managed to score some off base housing. A small cottage was for rent by an elderly English woman who normally didn't rent to pilots, but since "you're young girls", she figured it was ok. She was moving south to London to live with her daughter and son-in-law, who after their landlord's heart attack wanted her closer to something resembling a hospital, not "living out in the sticks next to an American air base with jets going all hours of the morning and night". The rent was reasonable, and so was the cottage, which for its rustic appearance had all the modern conveniences. It was also a quarter mile to the Lakenheath main gate, which was a bonus. Next was well, getting to know people. Jane and Daria soon found out they were one of only two female crews in the entire wing, and the only one in the squadron. The other female crew, naturally, was looking for like gendered folks that wouldn't constantly see them as a dating opportunity. Though, Daria admitted, most folks had been way too busy around here to do any of that kind of thing.

So, on a rare day all four crews were off, it was a few phone calls, and off to the O'Club for Pizza, Beer and girl talk. The crew from the 494th was a study in contrasts. The pilot was a blonde, girl-next-door looking 1st Lieutenant from Midleville, MI named Lisa Cunningham. She was an AF brat whose father had been an F-105 driver over North Vietnam, and had thoroughly infected Lisa with the flying bug. Lisa had excelled in her AFROTC classes at Michigan State, and her proud father pinned on her wings, and attended her F-111 replacement unit graduation. Her call sign was "Pony Girl" due to her father revealing to her replacement instructors that she was, well, horse mad. She was a bit shy on the ground, but she flew the F-111 with precision, and sometimes made even the long serving pilots in the squadron feel a bit insecure.

The WSO, was a short, diminutive Asian-American 1st Lieutenant named Alice Kanagawa, she was third generation Japanese-American Yonsei and hailed from the most unlikely of places: Mobile, Alabama. She was nuts about the University of Alabama football team (Her brothers had played on it) and her call sign, "Crimson" was a reference to that. Her 'Bama accent sometimes seemed out of place with her ethnic origins, but as she put it "Shit, there's been Japanese in Mobile since the war." Her father was a shrimper who had worked hard to put her and her two brothers through school, but they'd all gotten ROTC scholarships, with her brother Tony a tank platoon leader in West Germany and her other brother a platoon leader with the 82nd Airborne. She took jokes about her height in stride, and many a male aircrew had asked Lisa "So, do you put a phonebook in the airplane for her?" Alice was the opposite of her pilot, she was the life of the party, and had made bringing Daria out her shell a joint project with Jane.

A baseball game between the Mets and Braves was on in the corner, on the TV, but none of the four were watching. All of them were laughing over the tale of just how much Jane had bought at the aforementioned duty-free store.

"You should have seen it, I had three or four shopping carts, and Daria here's sweating like she just got life in prison."

"Did not, I just mentioned what a spectacularly bad idea it was?"

"You'll thank me when you make Captain and we can have a proper wetting down party!"

"Trust me, Daria, you will" Lisa said with a knowing smile.

"Ahem, I am a well behaved Air Force Officer, not like you neanderthals!" Daria exclaimed.

"Uh, sure amiga, is that why you keep running into that F-15 driver from Soesterberg."

"I'll have you know it's the other way around, Jane, and he's getting on my last nerve. Jerk's just waiting to be collateral damage in a battle of wits anyhow."

"I think he's kinda nice" Jane said, a twinkle in her eyes.

"Comeon Daria, how bad could he be?" Alice drawled, "Shit, love or at least a good time is where you find it in the Air Force."

"Ugh, he's annoying, full of himself, and this 'accidental'" Daria waggled her fingers like quotation marks is beginning to piss me off."

"Funny, he says the misanthropic thing ticks him off too." Jane retorted.

"WHAT!" Daria exclaimed, her beer almost taking a tumble.

"Yeah, got his number, we supposedly have a date, but I think he's just using me to get to know you. I intend to play along, Daria."

Daria's face reddened, I am not going to be jealous. Hell, why am I jealous, he's just some arrogant F-15 jock who wants to score with the cute 'Vark driver and-

As Daria was about to complete that thought, a series of curses came from the bar. All four heads at the table turned as one to the TV. It was emblazoned with the words "ABC NEWS SPECIAL REPORT".

"Shit, probably Yugoslavia again, some reporter probably got into a shouting match with a Soviet paratrooper."

Yugoslavia had been in the news a lot, ever since civil war had broken out last month, and the Soviets had invaded two weeks ago. It wasn't long before President Reagan and the rest of NATO had demanded a Soviet withdrawal, which of course, had been denied. A US-led intervention had followed 24 hours later, centering on Rijeka and Ljubljana with more Italian, British and US troops arriving daily in the past two weeks. The alert levels had increased slightly at Lakenheath, but there wasn't too much out of the ordinary…but what the hell did this special report mean.

A voice cried out "Turn it up!"

The camera zoomed in on Peter Jennings, and he began with his clipped Canadian accent "Good afternoon from New York everyone, we apologize for interrupting your baseball game. I wish the news we had to report was better, but we have a confirmed report from the press pool with the Marines in Rijeka that there has been a battle between US Marines and Soviet troops. We're going to go live to CBS's Bob Simon, we apologize for the picture and audio quality in advance.."

"Oh Shit" was all Daria could manage to say.


Interlude 2

The White House

Washington, DC

Monday, July 22nd, 1985

1502 EDT/1902 ZULU

President Reagan sat behind his desk in the Oval Office, going over an update from EUCOM in Stuttgart. The Marines and Army Airborne who'd gone into Yugoslavia, along with British and Italian troops, had taken up defensive positions along the Slovenian-Croatian border. The local population-at least the non-Serbian elements, had been grateful to see NATO troops arriving to help defend their newly declared independence, despite the fact that Soviet troops were reportedly closing in on both Zagreb and Ljubljana. Still, the Rules of Engagement did allow for NATO forces to fire first if their positions were threatened, and so far, that seemed to working for the moment.

The President's biggest problem at the moment was domestic. A number of Democratic Congressmen and a couple of Senators had introduced a resolution invoking the War Powers Act, and had been publicly calling for the U.S., along with NATO, to withdraw from Yugoslavia. This, despite the approval from the Democratic leadership on the Hill, just showed that some in the Democratic Party were still thinking that any intervention abroad was a repeat of Vietnam. Though the Democratic leadership, including both House Speaker Tip O'Neil and Senate Majority Leader George Mitchell, had come out in favor of the intervention. Shaking his head, the President was about to go on to some pressing domestic policy papers when his Secretary buzzed. The National Security Advisor, Admiral John Poindexter, had to see him at once. "Send him in," the President said.

Admiral Poindexter came into the Oval Office, a grim look on his face. "Mr. President,"

"What is it, Admiral?"

"Sir, there has been a shooting incident between our forces and the Soviets. Several, actually." Poindexter reported.

"How serious?" Reagan asked, standing up as he did so.

"Serious enough, Mr. President. The first reports, though those are likely to be wrong, indicate that the Soviets just rolled right up to a forward Marine position. They may have assumed the Marines were Croatians, because they opened fire on sight."

"Unless they had orders to fire on any NATO forces they encountered," commented the President.

"Possible,sir." Poindexter acknowledged. "At any rate, a company-sized Soviet force was pinned up near a village west of Zagreb-which the Soviets seem to have decided to bypass-and a number of Soviet tanks and armored personnel carriers were destroyed. Marine aircraft from Italy have also encountered MiGs while they were flying cover for our forces on the ground, and two MiG-23s tried to engage the Marine F-4s. They were destroyed, and a Soviet pilot was captured by Marines on the ground, along with a number of Soviet soldiers from the prior engagement."

Reagan paused for a few moments, clearly thinking over the situation. Though there had been encounters between American and Soviet forces in Korea, and Soviet attacks on American reconnaissance aircraft, those had been minor skirmishes. Now, Americans and Soviets were facing off on a real battlefield, and he knew full well that things were likely to go down a slippery slope that would likely lead to war. "Casualties on our side?"

"Some, sir. No hard numbers as yet," Poindexter said.

Nodding, Reagan picked up the phone on his desk and called his secretary. "I want the Secretaries of Defense and State here, along with the Vice-President, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and the CIA Director here in an hour."

"Yes, Mr. President," his secretary replied.

"All right, John," Reagan asked his National Security Advisor, "What's next?"

Poindexter took a deep breath. "Mr. President, we'd better start thinking about implementing REFORGER, or at the very least, preparing to do so. The sooner we make that decision, the better. That means calling up the Civil Reserve Air Fleet, and getting NATO and other allied merchant ships into friendly ports to get convoys organized and loaded."

"And what else does that entail?"

"Mr. President, that means that the aircraft that take troops to Europe bring back military and embassy dependents, tourists, and so on."

Nodding, the President stood up and went to the window of the Oval Office. He looked out on the White House lawn, and gazed at the tourists on the sidewalk. "It's been forty years, John. It's happening again." Dear God, what will it be like?

Don Regan, the White House Chief of Staff, had heard, and he was coming into the Oval Office. "Mr. President, I've heard. The TV Networks have this story. They're all calling it 'First Clash,' and there's also video out."

The President turned to his Chief of Staff. "How'd they find out so fast?"

"Sir, after the controversy over the media blackout during the Grenada operation, DOD organized a National Media Pool, as you know." Seeing the President nod, Regan went on, "When the Marines went in, the Pool was activated and they went in a few hours later. CBS has the pool's TV crew, and the networks are sharing the report."

"Let's see it," the President ordered.

Nodding, Regan went to the bank of TV sets in the Oval Office, and turned one of them on-to the D.C. ABC affiliate. Peter Jennings was on, with the "Special Report" title at the bottom of screen, and there was Bob Simon, who was the CBS pool reporter, giving a description of the fighting. "So far, Peter, the Marines here say that the Soviets just drove right up to their positions, and the Soviets just opened fire." The camera panned around, catching several wrecked BTR-70 APCs, a couple of BRDM reconnaissance vehicles on fire, and three burning T-72 tanks, and ominously, the body of a Soviet tank commander hanging halfway outside his hatch on one of the tanks. "Right now, the Marine commander says he's staying right where he is, and if the Russians want this position, they'll have to fight for it."

"How about American casualties?" Jennings asked.

"There are some, Peter, but as to numbers, the Marines won't say just yet. And Soviet casualties? Just take a look around-that should tell you." And the camera did pan around again, focusing in on several wrecked BTRs and numerous dead Soviet soldiers, who had been cut down by small-arms and machine gun fire escaping from their vehicles."And the Marines here say they do have some Soviet prisoners." The cameraman then focused on several bewildered young men in Soviet uniform, guarded by Marines. Then it focused on a nearby Marine M-60A1 tank, its turret swiveling, then a loud BOOM as the tank's cannon fired. On a nearby ridge, a fireball erupted, and a speck that must have been a vehicle of some sort began to burn.

"What happened?" Asked the ABC anchor.

"Well, Peter, the Marine commander says there's at least a battalion of Soviet troops to the east, and a company of them tried to come over that ridge just after the first encounter. They pulled back, but every so often, a Soviet vehicle and some infantrymen have come over the ridge top. The Soviets have pulled back each time, but they keep trying to come over that ridge. And Marine artillery fire has landed on them several times."

"Turn it off, Don," Reagan said.

"Yes, Mr. President," and Regan did so.

"All right, Admiral," the President said, turning to his National Security Advisor, "Who's your best Soviet expert, civilian-wise?"

"That would be Dr. Condi Rice, Mr. President."

"Get her. I want her in on this meeting as well. But how do you think the Soviets will take this?"

Poindexter paused, choosing his words carefully. "Sir, I really don't know, but my best guess is that they won't take this easily. The first real clash between American and Soviet forces, and they were seen to be on the run. It won't go down very well either in the Kremlin or in the Ministry of Defense."


"Shit, are we at war?" some unidentified denizen at the bar asked.

"No, we're not, not yet" a lanky older gentleman opined, twisting his cigar. He wore blue fatigues, and Warrant Officer bars, and looked like the old man of the sea. There was a knowing look in his eyes. "You youngins need to know it. We aren't at war yet. But we will be. The Russkies don't take shit like this lying down. And it won't be like some damn video game. Not by a long sight." He finished his drink and made for the door like a shot from a cannon.

Daria turned towards her companions "So, what now?"

Lisa opined "Let's assume 12 hour rule, head for your place, drink Coke and watch the news."

"And call our folks" Alice added.

"Sounds like a plan, I'll get our coats. Daria, pay the man." Jane added

Daria grimaced as she laid out the money, I think money's going to be the least of my concerns real soon.