Disclaimer
Macross is owned by or licensed to lots of people - Tatsunoko Studios, Harmony Gold, Studio Nue, Streamline Video...note that none of them are me.
The same can be said of Ranma 1/2 - Rumiko Takahashi, Kitty, Shonen Sunday Comics, Viz Video. Not me.
I didn't create any of them, and I certainly do not own them. Any use of them in this story is meant as nothing more than tribute. Please don't sue me.
Wednesday's Child
Five: On The Dawn Of A New Era
March 24th, 1999
Dear Ranma,
That was a pretty rotten trick that Daddy pulled, placing you and your men right in the worst of the fight. I'm pretty sure that it's because he doesn't like you, which is weird, because you seem like a nice girl. Even if you were some hoodlum boy with a bunch of tattoos or something, though, sending you out to get shot like that is just plain nasty.
The TV networks are talking about nothing but the meteor, or whatever it was. They say that the force of it passing over New York basically levelled the city. It started a big fire over the Ozarks, broke every window in San Francisco, and here in Pearl. Don't worry, I'm all right. Maya and I were in Alberta when it happened. The world's biggest mall. You'd hate it. I know you loathe shopping.
Funny thing is, I looked at some maps, and drew some lines. For the places that were damaged when the meteor, or whatever it was, it's impossible for a simple ballistic trajectory to hit all of them. The meteor, or whatever it was, must have changed directions at least one, possibly twice.
Which means it's less likely to be a meteor, and more likely to be a whatever it was.
Anyway, take care of yourself when you get to it.
Your friend, Hayase Misa.
"Looks like a ship, Sir."
"Glasses."
The lookout handed Captain Hayase the field glasses, and he raised them to his eyes. It took him a second to find the focus; his eyes weren't as good as the Leading Seaman's.
The prow of the ship - for it was unmistakably a ship - was buried in thousands of tonnes of rock and sand. South Ataria was an overgrown coral reef, millions of years old, and had risen above the waves through tectonic activity. The base was dead coral, the limestone formed through natural sedimentary processes. How it had survived the impact was a bit of a mystery in itself.
He traced the lenses back, adjusting the focus as he did. A conning tower of some sort rose up behind the prow. Slightly behind that, a massive gun turret - it could only be a gun turret, though the weapons were twisted and abbreviated by the heat of re-entry - jutted out of the bed of rock. Aft of that, two massive engine nacelles jutted outwards and upwards. He felt certain that a second gun turret, on the opposite side, lay buried under the heaped rock.
"Hull took a pounding, but looks like it survived. I'd bet that if the equipment inside survived the deceleration trauma, it's pretty advanced." Hayase lowered the field glasses. "What does security look like on this, Leon?"
"The United Nations has called an emergency session, and the last of the delegates required for a quorum would have arrived this morning." Commander Leon Tremblay was back on his feet, but looked as though he'd prefer not to be. "My guess is that they're going to declare this object property of the United Nations. South Ataria is officially uninhabited, and therefore belongs to the UN."
"What about unofficial inhabitants?"
"Never heard of them, but just as a guess..." Tremblay indicated the ship, and the destroyed island. "If there were any, they won't be speaking up about this."
"Signal from flag, Captain." Radioman Davis turned from his console. "One UH-1D inbound, five minutes out, requesting clearance to land."
"Mister Tremblay, take us to flight quarters."
Tremblay nodded. "Flight quarters, aye." He flipped a switch, and a horn sounded. "Smoking lamp is extinguished topside." Down on the deck, cigarettes went flying over the rail. "Helm, bring us to one fifteen, increase to flank."
"Nice of them to give us enough warning," grumbled Hayase.
"They did, Sir, if only just."
With her bow turned into the wind, and speed at maximum, the ship had enough speed, relative to the wind, to allow an easy landing for the Huey. Hayase watched as the helicopter's pilot touched down cleanly. Four crewmen ran forward, snapping hold-downs onto the Huey's skids, and the pilot killed the engine. He scowled, staring as the passenger disembarked and marched towards the bridge.
The cook crossed his arms and scowled down at Ranma. "You know the rules about chow after mess call, Sergeant."
Ranma nodded. "Yep. Sure do, Mike."
"Just so we're clear on what regs we're breaking." The cook turned and pulled a loaf of bread off the shelf. "Myself, I favour tuna fish. But if y'all prefer, I got some spam--"
"What the heck is spam?"
"Canned ham."
Ranma shuddered. "Fish is fine."
"No problem." The cook uncapped a jar of mayonnaise. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
The cook indicated the front of Ranma's uniform. "Why do you always come down to wheedle food in female form?"
Ranma shrugged. "Always seems to work for me."
"Well, I enjoy cooking almost as much as I enjoy eating. You don't gotta work your feminine wiles on me, Sarge. Especially considerin' I know you're really male, and not into guys."
"We can't all be Navy."
The cook chuckled, and slapped a spoonful of mayo into a mixing bowl. "Might as well make up a large batch, and we can serve it on midwatch as well. You wanna grab the fish? It's just--" He was cut off by the sound of the 1-MC pipes.
"Sergeant Saotome, please report to the Captain's quarters."
"Crud." Ranma rolled her eyes. "You got some hot water around?"
"Keep a pot handy for dishes." The cook indicated a large pot, not overly tall but quite wide, resting on the stove. "I've rinsed some plates in it, but that's about it."
"It'll do." She grabbed a nearby coffee cup, scooped a cup of water, and upended it over her head. "Ouch. Damn, that's hot."
"Has to be, to kill microbes and such." The cook didn't even bat an eye at the transformation, never had. It was another thing that Ranma liked about him.
Ranma hesitated at the door. He'd avoided unnecessary contact with the Captain; he was quite certain, based on Hayase's reaction on the beach, that this was the most prudent course. However, this was not an avoidable situation. He checked his uniform, slipped the beret onto his head, and knocked.
"Come."
He undogged the hatch and stepped through, closing it behind him, and snapped off a salute. "Sergeant Saotome, reporting as ordered, Sir."
"Siddown, Sergeant. Caps off." Hayase returned the salute crisply, then removed his cap and tossed it back onto his bunk. Ranma removed his beret and tucked it under his epaulet - his off-duty uniform still retained the epaulets, for just this purpose - and sat down opposite the Captain.
"I'd like to clear the air between us, Sergeant." Hayase picked up a sheet of paper, and examined it. "Seems my daughter is very upset with me. She thinks I sent you into harm's way in an attempt to get you killed off."
Ranma could think of nothing to say about this, and chose to keep silent.
"It's nonsense, of course." Hayase grinned slightly. "Your dossier led me to believe that you could have taken the island single-handedly, but I couldn't condone sending a single man into that situation."
"Actually, Sir," offered Ranma. "I was in female form throughout that operation."
"Of course. You had a bit of a swim beforehand." Hayase nodded. "Now, the current situation. We've got a Brigadier General aboard who thinks highly of you, and he wants your team to investigate the alien ship."
Ranma's eyebrows rose.
"For my own part, I try not to muck with the ground side of any operation. I objected to this order, however. Your team got chewed up in the tsunami, and you're still lacking your squad leader. Plus, the other three Platoons got to sit on their butts throughout the prior engagement. They need the exercise." The Captain's face hardened. "However, the Brigadier decided to ignore my recommendation, and issued the order directly to Major Addams."
"So Delta is going ashore again." Ranma nodded. "When do we leave?"
"You can't go into combat without an officer. This isn't wardroom mentality; the TO&E--" The Captain referred to the Table of Organization and Equipment. "--doesn't permit this. There are good reasons, and I'd rather not ignore them."
"If I might suggest, Sir, Lieutenant Silva could lead Delta. Or even Major Addams himself."
"Unfortunately, I may have caused you further problems, Sergeant. I informed the Brigadier that Delta was without an officer, and he promptly came up with a solution."
Ranma rolled his eyes. "Tell me he ain't leadin' us himself."
"No." The Captain tossed a small cardboard chit between them.
Ranma picked up the chit. Pinned to it were two gold bars. He looked up at the Captain. "Sir, I'm a Sergeant. I ain't been through OCS, and I've never led anything larger than a Section."
"Not quite true." Hayase pulled out another piece of paper. "According to this, you were handed command of the 401st Marine Training Platoon. Acquitted yourself well. Plus, you were Top for your Platoon. While your direct responsibility was only one Section, you had control over both."
"Sir, I got three up and one down." He tapped his rank insignia, pinned to his beret. "There's no way I can be an officer."
"Field brevet. You return to your permanent rank at completion of mission." Hayase scowled. "I don't really care for this, either, but the decision was taken out of my hands. Unfortunately, arguing with me will do you no good, and Brigadier Enomoto has already left the boat. Therefore, you cannot refuse the order, cannot even argue it with the person responsible. All you can do is register a formal complaint, put on the damn butter bars, and do your best."
Ranma sighed. "Aye, Sir." He slipped the rank bars into his pocket. "When's brief?"
"Major Addams will fill you in. Oh, one other thing." The Captain dropped the page he was holding, and picked up the first one he'd examined. "If you could kindly tell my daughter that I am not trying to get you killed, I'd appreciate it."
Ranma blinked. "You knew--?"
"Of course. Do you think I'm stupid?" Hayase grinned tightly. "I'm convinced that you're not a bad guy, and Misa seems to like you. She also believes you're female, which if you don't mind we're going to keep her believing. More importantly, she's not spoken to me since we met on the beach at Pearl. I'd rather have her chatting with you than not chatting with me."
"Aye, Sir."
Ranma watched from the door of the SH-60 helicopter as two F-14 Tomcats, attached to the Americans' Task Force 65, screamed over the island. It was their third high-speed pass, and so far the jets had drawn no fire. Ranma's helicopter was being escorted by two somewhat slower aircraft, AV-8B Harrier II jump jets. Manufactured by the American McDonnell-Douglas corporation under license from Hawker-Siddley, the two VTOL jets were slow, much less maneuverable than the public believed, and loaded for air-to-ground - two packs of rockets, nineteen each per side, and two Walleye missiles.
If the massive intruder had any hostile intent, however, Ranma firmly believed that all five airplanes would be blotted from the sky in a matter of seconds.
The Tomcats came about again, passing low and slowly over the ship. Ranma would have preferred a recon flight by an RA-5, but the entire operation had been laid on in a hurry. The voice of the lead Tomcat's RIO crackled in his ear.
"No sign of any movement. We've got a hatch of some sort in the deck just aft of the conning tower. Big; looks like an aircraft elevator."
"Land there, Sir?" asked the Chief Petty Officer flying the helicopter.
"Good a place as any." Ranma snapped his dropline to the chopper's drop gear, and grabbed his MINIMI. Behind him, Platoon Delta - reinforced from its sixteen effectives to a full Section of twenty - readied their gear as well. The chopper slowed, came to a hover, and Ranma jumped out the door.
The dropline played out behind him as he fell, acting against gravity and reducing his drop speed. He tugged the handbrake, bringing himself to a halt mere inches above the surface of the alien ship, and then dropped to the metal deck. He watched as the remainder of the first Squad dropped around him, and then disconnected his line. The chopper moved forward about fifty meters, and the second Squad dropped down and formed up.
"Evans!"
"Sir." Corporal Evans had his grenade launcher up, his secondary weapon - an HK UMP10 - slung on his back.
"I want your Squad to cover this hatch. Once we get it open, we will proceed ahead of you. Sling that grenade launcher."
"Yes, Sir."
"PFC Velikovsky. Get this hatch open."
"Aye, Sir." Velikovsky waved three men forward. "We've got an electronics package here, might be door controls."
Ranma stepped back, joining First Squad, and unlimbered his big machine gun. One box of ammo was already attached; he jerked back the charging handle, bringing the first round into battery.
"No good, Sir." Velikovsky stood and trotted over to Ranma. "We got zero power on that panel, and nothing with us with enough juice to crank open that door."
"At least you could tell that much," commented Ranma.
"It ain't so alien that we can't tell it's broken."
"Can we blow the door?"
"Your guess is as good as mine."
"Probably not. If it could survive re-entry and crashing, a bit of Semtex won't even scratch it." Ranma considered, then raised his voice. "All right. Fan out. Find another way in. When you find one, report immediately; do not go in by yourself. Clear?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Move!"
"Four, this is Private Road."
"I just can't wait to promote that guy," mused Ranma. He clicked his radio. "Go ahead, Private."
"I got a hatch on the port side of the conning tower. It's cracked open a bit; we might be able to get in through there."
"Why didn't the Tomcats spot that?"
"Better if you come and see, Sir."
"All right, I'm on my way." He clicked over to the command frequency. "Brigham, Evans. Bring your teams to the port side of the tower."
"Aye aye, Sir."
The hatch was tilted towards the ground, and shrouded by metal; an airborne observer could easily have missed it. However, there were other factors as well. The line of the hatch zig-zagged oddly, making it look more like structural damage than an actual entrance. Plus, the size was a little difficult to grasp.
The hatch stood twenty meters tall.
Ranma looked at the crack, and nodded. "We can squeeze through that. But I'm going in first."
"Begging your pardon, Sir." Evans cleared his throat. "Since you're an officer, you can't be the first in."
"Hell with that," grumbled Ranma. "I'm a Sergeant, not an officer."
"You're brevetted, Sir. That makes you a real Lieutenant, like it or not."
"I don't like this leading-from-the-rear crap. The view sucks. All right, Evans. You first, and your team. Report back by radio."
"Aye, Sir." The Corporal waved his Squad forward. They slipped through the crack, one by one, and disappeared into the darkness within. Ranma could see flashes of light from their vest lumens as they searched the area within, and then his radio crackled.
"Sir. Area is secure. We're in some kinda staging area, and there's a staircase going down."
"Second Squad, move in." Ranma led them through the hatch.
The staging area, or whatever it was, was the size of a football field. And as Evans had indicated, there was a staircase. Each step was a full meter in height, and two meters deep.
"Doesn't look like the people in here were very small, Sir." Evans played his lumen across the stairs. "Figure forty to fifty feet high."
"We'll proceed downwards. Rapelling lines, bounding overwatch."
The lines were fixed, and Delta started moving down the stairs. Each soldier used the line to stabilize himself as he dropped down a step. It was slow going, made slower by the overwatch; each Squad paused after six steps to allow the other to overtake them.
But eventually they reached the bottom. Another massive hatch silently greeted them, but this one stood open. Beyond it was a massive compartment.
"Looks like a hangar bay, Sir." Evans played his light around the chamber. "We got some small craft. Big, larger than a Tomcat." He approached one warily. "Complex, too."
"Stay away from 'em. Leave 'em for the Intel weenies."
"Aye, Sir." He turned and waved his Squad forward. "They ain't so big that a forty-foot pilot would fit inside. Doesn't make sense."
"What about those berths down there?" Ranma pointed into the gloom. "They look a bit smaller."
"Second Squad, hold here." Evans waited until his team came to ready position, then turned back to his Lieutenant. "Brigham's team will have to look into that."
"Okay. Look sharp." Ranma trotted back to Brigham.
The Master Corporal had his radio out, and was scowling at it angrily. "Sir, we got a problem. I can't raise Shankland."
"On our own, I guess. Let's move forward; I want to check out those berths ahead."
"Aye, Sir." He returned the radio to his belt, and waved his team forward. They broke into a trot, advancing past Evans. Brigham turned his lumens on the first berth in the row.
"Christ in heaven."
The machine in the berth was not readily identifiable. Fins and vanes stuck out at odd angles from the mechanical nightmare. A glass canopy seemed to imply that it was a vehicle, and massive robotic hands and feet seemed to indicate a humanoid shape. But it was damaged by the crash, and it was only with some difficulty that Ranma could be certain of its original form.
"Giant robot?"
"Looks like." Brigham played his light over the form. "Thrusters on the back - you can see an exhaust port there. Those look like cannon of some sort, and there's what look like hard points for external armament, here, and here. Sensor boom there, where a head might be."
"Why the fins?"
"Dunno. Maybe for controlling its flight in atmosphere?"
"No." Ranma took a step forward. "Notice the indentations here, and the joint here. This is the same sort of craft as the ones in the earlier berths."
"Sir, the ones back there are jets of some sort, not giant--" Brigham paused. "You mean they can change the shape?"
"Why not?" Ranma flicked his light to the hand. "See, the hand folds up there, to clean up the air flow. Wing connects there."
"I'm sorry, Sir, but I still ain't seein' it."
"Trust me." Ranma cracked a grin. "I'm an expert on shape-changing."
"Movement!"
Ranma whirled. "Where?"
"Far end of the hangar. Something's there, looks like--"
He saw it now, another massive robot, easily twenty meters high. This one did not seem to be transformable; it was humanoid, though lacking a recognizeable head, and a massive backpack-like arrangement protruded from around the shoulders. Blisters on the arms housed massive cannon, the muzzles protruding near the wrists. The colour scheme was the most bizarre thing about it, being pink and lavendar with green highlights.
Evans shouldered his grenade launcher, but Ranma grabbed the muzzle and forced it down to the deck. "Hold fire," he yelled. "It ain't done nothin' to us yet."
The robotic figure paused, then raised an arm, pointing the cannons at him. He dived to the side as red beams flashed from the muzzles, tearing into the deck around him. He rolled to his feet, unlimbering the MINIMI, and yelled to his troops.
"Okay, now you can shoot it."
Muzzle flares flashed brilliantly in the semidarkness of the hangar as the troops opened up on the robot. Ranma winced as a ricochet went wheet past his ear. It was obvious that the small-calibre firearms were doing nothing to the 'bot. In response, the machine turned, and chest-mounted cannon on its plastron roared. The projectiles were non-explosive, but shattered quite nicely on impact, and three men were killed as fragments tore into them.
Evans' grenade launcher coughed to his left, and an HE round detonated against the machine's armour, peeling back armour on the torso. Ranma lowered the machine gun, and grabbed his radio.
"Velikovsky!"
"Da, tovarishch?"
"LAWs, now!"
The LAW was a light antitank weapon, single shot and disposable. Four of Ranma's Section carried them, all in PFC Velikovsky's Lance. Ranma dodged again as the machine fired on his position, then dove behind one of the ruined transformable robots.
Four LAW rockets slammed into the back of the machine, staggering it. The report of the high-explosive shaped charge warheads was deafening in the confines of the hangar. The machine straightened up, though Ranma's practised eye spotted hesitation in its movements, and turned towards Velikovsky's position. Hatches flipped open on the machine's hips, and the contrails of missiles streaked towards the fire support Lance.
Ranma roared his battle rage, dropped the MINIMI, and leaped towards the machine.
Giant-ass robot, but it ain't invulnerable.
The robot turned towards him, missile hatches still open.
Grenades hurt it, the LAWs hurt it.
He twisted in mid-jump, dodging two missiles.
So I can hurt it!
He felt his confidence, and the energy generated by it, singing in his ears, and brought his hands together in front of him.
"Mouko Takabisha!"
The blast caught the armour suit dead center, and it staggered backwards, falling onto its back. Ranma landed lightly on the plastron, standing over it, and smirked.
"Okay, guys, I think this thing is down for the count. Let's check it out."
It shifted. Ranma jumped backwards, landing beside it, and gaped as the plastron swung open.
"There's a pilot. Stand ready."
A hand appeared over the edge of the pilot's compartment. The hand was almost as large as Ranma. The pilot sat up, and Ranma took a step back.
She was quite obviously female, her flight suit revealing curves instantly recognizable, and appeared almost completely human. Almost; if she were upright, Ranma estimated that she'd stand ten meters tall. She slowly removed her helmet, and long purple hair spilled down around her shoulders. She looked towards Ranma, and he was struck by the beautiful lines of her face, and the hollow look of pain in her eyes. She struggled to rise, then collapsed backward into the machine.
Ranma jumped up, and looked down at her still-open but now lifeless eyes.
"I'm sorry." He glanced down at the horrible burn on her abdomen. "But you chose to start this fight."
Evans climbed up, and looked down at the pilot. "Damn. If it weren't for her height, I'd be trying to get her phone number."
Ranma nodded. "I feel like shit. Burnin' down a woman like that."
"Sir, she was trying to kill us."
"I know." He sighed. "It still feels bad, though. Too much time around my sexist Pop, I guess."
Evans glanced over at Ranma. "First time I've seen a chick with bigger tits than you, Sir."
"The machine that the female giant was piloting is of a notably different design." Ranma clicked the slide projector's button again. "Chief Engineer O'Toole is of the opinion that it is also of a different technology base. It lacks transformation capability, and appears to use a more primitive form of thrust vectoring and of pilot feedback control."
"What about culture?" The Captain leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee before continuing. "The female pilot attacked your party with the barest of provocation. Moreso, you demonstrated peaceful intentions before she opened up on you."
"Sir, this is the part that worries me." Ranma clicked to the next slide. "We found the galley, some crew quarters, and what appears to be a training area. We did not, at any time, find anything like a recreational facility."
"Any conclusions, Lieutenant?"
Ranma shrugged. "It's a warship, sure as hell. But even submarines have some recreational facilities. I'd be tempted to believe that the original owners of the ship had little interest outside combat."
Hayase nodded. "That was what I was getting, too."
Ranma clicked to the next slide. "About forty percent of the ship's compartments appear to be scaled for people somewhat about our size, perhaps the height of an average Japanese citizen. The other sixty percent appears to be scaled for the giants, and the sizes of compartments we found suggest that a ten-meter individual, like the pilot who attacked us, must be on the small side."
"Makes sense, seeing as she's female."
Ranma glanced over at Lt. Ibuki. "Actually, Sir, the typical compartment size we found was scaled for someone closer to fifteen meters tall. Even if their females tend to be considerably smaller than their males, the compartments we found would be difficult for her to get around in. Relative to human average, she'd be effectively three foot eight."
He clicked the remote again. "We found six more robot hangars, and evidence of battle in several parts of them. The female's battlesuit seems to be standard issue for one side; the transforming jets are more numerous, and none of the female battlesuits were found hangared. Therefore, I believe that the ship was under attack by the battlesuits."
"Any other survivors?"
"None. The only body present was the female, that we had to kill."
"Where did they go?" Captain Hayase scowled. "Did you find any evidence of lifeboats being launched?"
"There does not appear to be any lifeboats present, but we found bays where they might have been stored. In both sizes. Plus, we found boat bays, that appear to have held larger craft. Also all empty." Ranma clicked the remote again. "Three of the hangars we found were completely empty of jets. The others appear to hold only damaged units. The other suits of giant-scale powered armour we found had been opened, probably to recover downed pilots."
"So the ship was derelict when it crashed."
"That seems likely, Sir." He clicked again. "Damage from firefights here and there. Forced entry through one liftlock. Odds are, both sides abandoned the ship, after one helluva fight."
Hayase nodded. "All right. Thank you, Mister Saotome. Good debrief."
"Thank you, Sir."
"Dismissed."
Ranma snapped to attention, then turned and left the compartment. He breathed a sigh of relief the instant the hatch closed behind him.
"Don't like public speaking, do you, Mister Saotome?"
Ranma turned, to see a somewhat familiar face. A gold star decorated each of the man's lapels, and Ranma snapped to attention, firing off a crisp salute.
The Brigadier returned the salute, then said, "Stand easy, Lieutenant."
"Field brevet, Sir. My permanent rank is Sergeant, First Class. Which reminds me." He reached up to remove the rank insignia.
"Hold on, Lieutenant." The General raised a hand. "How would you like to keep those butter bars?"
"I'd rather be tossed into a pit full of hungry cats while wrapped in fish sausages, Sir."
The Brigadier chuckled. "Vivid mental image, that. I've been keeping an eye on you since we recruited you--"
Ranma snapped his fingers. "Now I recognize you, Sir. You're the guy who recruited me into the Marines."
"Yes." Enomoto nodded. "Now I'm here to offer you a change in career."
Ranma frowned. "What do you have in mind?"
"Aviator," said the Brigadier. "You've tested high enough to go mustang, get your commission, and use your exceptional talents where they would definitely shine."
"Aviator. You mean a pilot?"
"Yes." The Brigadier leaned casually against the bulkhead. "The Kenosha is being permanently transferred to the U.N. Marines, though the Navy will be operating it. Fighters flying off the ship would be Marine fighters, however, supporting Marine operations. Interested?"
Ranma considered this development slowly. "Sir, I don't wanna sound like I'm bein' suspicious or nothin', but I remember the part of the debrief where the Captain told us that if we even thought real hard about what happened on the island, we'd have a new career as fish food."
"That stands," admitted the Brigadier. "The event is still code-word classified, and likely to remain as such for a long time."
"Then it sounds to me like this might be a price for my silence."
"I can understand that." The Brigadier sighed. "Can you take my word for it that we've been considering this move for you since your recruitment?"
"Since it's your word, Sir, I can." Ranma nodded. "All right. When do I start?"
"Tomorrow." Brigadier Enomoto handed Ranma a folder. "Here's your orders and clearance. My helo lifts off tomorrow at oh-six-hundred. Be on it."
"Aye, Sir."
Dear Misa,
I can't tell you what we found on the island. Security rules, you know how it goes. So I'll tell you some good news instead.
There's this General, who's been kinda looking over my shoulder ever since I signed on with the Marines, and he's decided that I should go officer. I fly out tomorrow morning, for transfer to OCS. The Marines have a new aircraft carrier, and a new jet. Three more years of school. And here I was past that sorta crap.
My flight school will be in California, but my OCS is in Annapolis. I'll get to see both coasts of the USA. If you're in either place, gimme a shout, and we'll get together or something.
And by the way, your father's no dummy. He knows we're corresponding, and he's okay with it. So you don't need to hide these eMails or anything. And really, he wasn't trying to get me killed off or anything. He sent me and my team ashore on that last mission because we're the best, no other reason. I don't think he dislikes me, like you thought. He just feels that maybe a friend closer to your age would be more appropriate. But he's cool with us being friends. I guess maybe he realizes that you don't have many friends, and can use all you can get. Believe me, so could I.
Sincerely, Saotome Ranma.
