Previously:

Karen stays behind to explain that the different groups have grown so large that they’re now divided, so consultations are more difficult and the pace is slowed, but the good work continues. There are still lives to save.

Magician has finally found her way home, and she’s pulled another rabbit out of that silk hat of hers, Houdini, who has a few tricks of his own.

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Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf by T D Aldoennetti on Wed, 2010/01/06 - 09:22 PM, Air Force Sweetheart -- TacPzlSolGp Epilog is posted on Wed, 2010/01/06 - 09:22 PM. ~Sephrena

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Looking toward the future:

 

Epilog

 

========== The Start of the Beginning ==========

To all of you, our readers, who have made it to the end of this the first volume of Air Force Sweetheart….

Thank you so much for bearing with my shenanigans, time bending of various inventions, or surgical capabilities, etc. and my rather strange and demanding uses of the written word. I promise to take Lucy on further adventures of equally strenuous fact bending.

OF MORE IMPORTANT NOTE… Upon reading the editors comments placed during the previous 34 chapters, we wish to offer our APOLOGIES to you the readers if within these writings we have too accurately portrayed emotions which have, at various times, brought some discomfort to you. If we had not at some time experienced those emotions ourselves, we could not have placed them into words which would cause you to recall same.

It was not our intent to cause hurt or recollection of painful memories but to allow those who have not experienced such pain or emotions to at least, in some small way, perhaps understand that which we have experienced, usually upon too many occasions. May God lift your burdens and relieve your pains.

=====#####=====#####=====#####=====

For the edification of a few, the SRS of the present day was not completely unknown in the 1960’s. There were no less than three (gray) programs which had advanced quite far in that area. Sufficiently so that slightly less than 100 individuals were processed through the programs and, to the best of my knowledge, 40 survived beyond the ten year “observation” period. Those 40 remain undetected by today’s “modern medicines” except for natural failures which are a distress for all of us.

For the purpose of this story, we have taken the liberty of allowing Charley/Lucy to have been born partially hermaphrodite and to have been one of those who was processed within these programs. This liberty has been taken since one of us was born so, quite extensively by the way.

Further, also to the best of our knowledge, none of those so processed ever were sent to Vietnam.

=====#####=====#####=====#####=====

The further misadventures of Lucy will return in “Assorted Biologicals” if, by then, you think you’re up to another round of my “strangeeee taless of Lucyhood.”

Also, for those of you who are curious of the relationship between the “real” Lucy Ann Jackson and the altered state of Charles to “Lucy Ann Jackson,” we provide the following information.

You will need a pencil and paper, there will be a test….

Jaques DePeltier and LUCY ANN Murdock (great, great grandmother to Charley/“Lucy” AND to the real Lucy) had a daughter named Susanne C.

DePeltier (great grandmother to Charley/ “Lucy” and the real Lucy) Susanne married Roger K. Montgomery and they had two daughters (twins), Patricia Sue and Laura Sue.

Patricia Sue Montgomery married Adam R. Pendleton. Laura Sue Montgomery married George S. Jackson. (S=> Sherman, not Samson) Patricia Sue is the real Lucy Ann Pendleton’s grandmother, whereas Laura Sue is Charley/“Lucy’s” grandmother.

Patricia Sue and Adam R. Pendleton had two boys (not twins) Adam Q. Pendleton and Phillip Pendleton (the general). These two brothers married two sisters. Adam married Patricia Christine Pell and Phillip married Julie Ann Pell.

Patricia and Adam had several children, one of whom is the real Lucy Ann Pendleton.

Lucy Ann married Roger L. Jackson, the paternal grandson of George S. Jackson (above), who is also a maternal grandfather to Charley/“Lucy”

NOW, backing way back up to Laura Sue Montgomery (grandmother of Charley/“Lucy”), who married George S. Jackson, they had two children one of whom is Laura Ann Jackson (Charley and Janet’s mother).

Laura Ann Jackson married Bryan R. Mason. Their two children are Charles/“Lucy” and Janet.

Janet marries Tony MacNeil but, like Charley, they haven’t had any offspring yet.

Now… Charley’s maternal grandfather is George S. Jackson… He’s also the father of William B. Jackson who is the father of Roger L. Jackson…, husband of the real Lucy Ann Pendleton and thus the source of her last name Jackson.

Due to this relationship between the two Lucys, they share some similarities of appearance, so Aunt Julie experiences periodic confusion when seeing Charley/Lucy and occasionally lapses into thinking that they are one and the same.

Further, one of the daughters of General Pendleton (Daddy) and Julie (Mom too) is also related to both Lucys and is within the same general age group, so she bears some resemblance to both.

Convoluted enough for you???

God Bless You, Teddi

===== ===== ===== =====

NOW… Our thanks and gratitude go to all the proof readers and editors who caught both my mistakes and intentional ‘blunders’ such as creating VTR movies or certain ice cream parlours a couple of decades early… Fortunately this is Fiction and we are allowed that latitude. Most of the time, anyway.

God Bless You, each and every one….

===== ===== ===== =====

MEMORIES & CAST

Our thanks and appreciation go to all the “Tactical Puzzle Solutions Group” personnel. The leaders always get the glory, but you do all the work.

In this story, those leaders are: ‘Skirmish’ Cap. Donald McIntosh, tactical action planner ‘Whizz’ Cap. Donna Marten, photo interpretation and missile spotter extra ordinaire.

‘Dizzy’ Cap. Elizabeth Montaine, field report analysis ‘Benny’ Cap. Benjamin Nordhall, interpretations and recommendations compilation ‘Prue’ Cap. Prudence von Kletsch, report coordination and our important ‘watcher of the clock.’ She kept us on track and on pace.

‘Cypher’ Cap. Bruce Bellamy, cryptography and his two ‘inside out’ thinkers who seem to know the answers before we knew what questions to ask.

‘Chance’ Cap. William Carter, reverse psychology — devil’s advocate and purveyor of that elusive talent allowing him to see things which no one else could possibly ever see.

‘Spooky’ Mjr. Karen Delheim, OIC TacPzlSol Gp. She had a way of pulling answers out of thin air much as in the way an apparition appears.

…and, of course, not to be forgotten.

‘Magician’ Col. Lucy Ann Jackson, Mentor and producer of talents and capabilities in people which they never knew they had, hence, rabbits out of a silk hat – Magician. I’m glad you found yourself, this story would not have been possible without you.

Other thanks go to: Israeli Consulate: Thank you for allowing us to paraphrase some of the abilities of certain of your personnel, I hope we have not made you disgusted you shared them with us. We tried to make the story seem moderately realistic without giving away secrets, especially concerning those, the specifics which you shared.

Thank you again.

Last, but not least, Happy, a Fur Person and Ambassador of Good Will from the Animal Kingdom, more human than human, retired protector of all good souls, large and small and the amalgam of many fur people whom we all have come to love in our trials. We considered writing you as a cat but most people would have difficulty with a cat doing some of the things they would accept your doing.

Besides, a cat would likely have had Lucy taking the bath, not just sharing in it….

My special memories:

• Mrs. Carter, secretary to Major (Two Star) General George
• Aunt Julie Pendleton, ‘Mom Too’
• Brigadier (One Star) General ‘Uncle Phillip’ Pendleton, ‘Daddy’
• Janet Mason – MacNeil, Sister to Lucy and emotional support when she badly needed it.
• Laura Mason, ‘Mom’ (and all which that entails). By the way, Mom, we need to have a little chat about the book on my head… You and Janet were in flats, but you had me in three-inch heels.
• Randolf Scott, Colonel (Eagles/Full Bird), USAF, Someone Special. Very, Very Special
• Kathy, General Pendleton’s secretary and a good friend whenever Lucy needed one

General Knowledge in passing:

FLASH traffic: This precedence is reserved for initial enemy contact messages or operational combat messages of extreme urgency. Brevity is mandatory. FLASH messages are to be handled as fast as possible, ahead of all other messages, with in-transit station handling time not to exceed 10 minutes.

IMMEDIATE traffic: This precedence is reserved for messages relating to situations gravely affecting the security of the nation. It requires immediate delivery. Examples include reports of widespread civil disturbance, reports or warning of grave natural disaster, and requests for or directions concerning search and rescue operations.

They are to be handled as quickly as possible, with in-transit station handling time not to exceed 30 minutes.

PRIORITY traffic: This precedence is reserved for traffic requiring expeditious action by the addressee. PRIORITY precedence messages are to be handled as quickly as possible, with in-transit station handing time not to exceed 3 hours. Examples include requests for supplies or equipment during the conduct of an operation, time-critical items requiring quick response, as well as situation reports.

ROUTINE traffic: This precedence is used for all types of message traffic justifying transmission by rapid means, but not of sufficient urgency to require higher precedence. Examples include any message that concerns normal operations, and periodic reports. They should be handled as soon as traffic flow allows, but no later than the beginning of the next duty day with an in-transit station handling time not to exceed 6 hours.

Autovon: Automatic voice handling system (military touch tone phones and more)

AutoDin: Automatic digital routing data message system.

##### ***** #####

A preview of Lucy’s next adventures….

ASSORTED BIOLOGICALS
Volume II of The Air Force Sweetheart Series
by T D Aldoennetti

Chapter 01

“Randolf, I still wish you’d reconsider. We’ve only been back a little less than a week now, and you’re not so much a field agent as a controller these days.”

“I’m sorry, Princess. We need the information and they’ve discovered that we were trying to get it. We don’t have any time to waste, so there are three of us going in from separate directions,” Randolf continues to pack.

“But you don’t even look like them. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

“So I’m visiting. I speak the language.”

“Yes, about as well as I speak Swahili, which is not at all.”

“I’ll do better than anyone else who’s actually available just now. I’ll be all right, and I’ll come back, Princess. I have a reason now.”

“I hope so. We’ve been playing post office the past few days and I don’t want to wind up pregnant until I’m married,” I make a mental note to actually call my doctors in Dallas to see if they can arrange an appointment soon.

“No danger of that is there? Or is there?” he says, as his face lights up with a hopeful smile, holding me close as he says it. But then, he lets me go and turns back to close his suitcase, locks it, and begins to pull one of the straps tight.

“That’s for me to know and you to wonder about. For now anyway. By the way, which would you prefer, boys first, or girls?”

He pauses a moment to consider my statement, then continues to close the straps on his suitcase before he comes over to give me a kiss. Not some wishy-washy anaemic little thing, but a kiss. The kind that sets bells to ringing, stars to falling out of the sky, and fireworks to burst in bright showers of sparks.

“That’s a deposit. Balance of payment to occur upon my return in six or seven days. Look for my Intel to start landing in the unit’s ‘in basket’ soon.”

“I’ll check with the doctor while you’re gone.”

“The doctor?”

“About being pregnant or not.”

His face goes into consideration mode again, a smile crosses his face, then a frown, then a smile again accompanied by a little nervous laugh. He’s uncertain if I mean it or not.

We stand there for a few moments as I look into his face and gently run my fingers through his hair. I can’t resist smoothing a few mutinous hairs back into place. “Randolf, stay safe. Please stay safe.”

“I will, Lucy. Remember, I’m Houdini. I always find my way out of tight spots.”

“Just don’t end up like him. He died you know.”

“Yes. But not from his stunts.”

“True. It was from his stupid bravado. Please play it smart and safe, and then come home to me as quickly as you can.”

“Now that’s something which I fully intend to do, Princess. Coming home to my Lucy is important to me.”

“Call me?”

“If I can. But don’t forget, you’re in my heart always. I, uh, Lucy, how well….”

“What?”

“Lucy….”

“WHAT?”

“Uh….”

“Oh come on. Say it.”

“Okay. Okay. I, uh….”

By now I’m getting understandably disturbed with his sudden inability to talk with me.

“RANDOLF, TALK TO ME! Or so help me I’ll throw you out the door myself.” I think that did it.

He takes one look at me standing there shaking my little fist at him with my other hand on my hip and he starts laughing.

Of course that doesn’t do much for my desire to obtain an intelligent response from him concerning whatever it is that is bothering him. I pick up his suitcase with some effort (I think he packed an anvil in it), then half-lug, half-carry it to the door, toss-dropping it out in the hall, then head back for him.

He starts laughing louder than ever.

I take hold of his ear with my thumb and forefinger and start walking toward the door as he howls and complains, laughter forgotten, stumbling along trying not to lose his ear but not wanting to do anything to hurt me.

“OKAY. I’ll talk, I’ll talk.”

I release his ear and give him my best pissed-off woman look.

He begins by trying to apologize to me.

“You can earn my forgiveness faster by saying whatever it was you originally were going to say.”

He collects himself for a few seconds, I grant him that few seconds of respite, then reach for his ear again.

“Wait.”

My hand reaches for his ear as he pulls back.

“Okay already. Lucy, I know you have firearms training, but are you any good with a hand gun?”

I look at him with an incredulous expression, I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

“Of course I’m good with a hand gun.”

“No. I don’t mean can you hit a paper target fifty feet away. I want to know if you could hit someone in the head when they are fifty feet away and you’re both running in different directions. Not once out of fifteen shots but fifteen out of fifteen.”

I look at him like he’s crazy.

“Okay, that look is enough to tell me you can’t do it. Then tell me how many weapons you’ve qualified in.”

Again I look at him like he’s nuts, “Biretta 9mm, AR-16, Uzi, the big one, not the small one. I’m okay with the first shot out of a .45, but need to regain control of it before the second.”

He looks at me like he is pitying me. “We’ll start your training when I get back. I want my wife to be able to protect herself, and possibly to be able to protect me should something unforseen happen. If we ever go out on a mission together, then you’ll need to know how to use the ordinance available in whatever country we happen to be. You must also be able to physically defend yourself.”

I smile at him and daintily reach my hand out to him, he takes it and I throw him across the room.

Well…, so it was about six or seven feet. He stands about six foot two and must weigh 220 pounds. I stand a bit less than five foot ten and weigh in the neighborhood of 125 to 130, about two or so weight classes below him. Training counts for a lot but I’m not even close to his weight class. He comes back and I find myself flying, a bit more than six or seven feet. I’m glad we aren’t really trying to hurt each other. He manages to pick a clean non-injurious spot for me to land each time and pitches me in a manner which is unlikely to injure me. I try to do the same for him but it shortens the distance down to three or four feet for my throws. We spar for a while and I discover that although I’m a third order black belt, there’s a lot to be said for actual field experience.

After we finish checking each other’s pedigrees, we make up. That’s the best part and which brings us around to the original conversation.

“Boys first, or girls first?” He begins to howl with laughter again.

“Let’s have the girls first. They can be a steadying influence on the boys.” He gives me another big kiss, then turn away and starts for the door.

I watch him, and I know that my face is filled with worry, which I try to hide. I hope I’m not being too possessive, but I want to become his wife and be the mother of our children. Being a widow before I’m even a wife won’t sit very well with me, especially since it has taken so long to find someone nice who likes me for who I am. Well…, mostly. Even as we’d ‘fought’ he’d tried to find soft spots for me to land on.

I watch him go out through the open door of his room at the BOQ, where he’d been staying ever since we returned to Maryland. The daily trip from south of DC to here and back had proved too far for both of us. He leans down to pick up his case and I give him a wolf whistle. He turns with a raised eyebrow, then a smile, finally walking away down the hallway toward the front as I run to grab my purse and cap, check my uniform, hair and makeup quickly in the mirror — adjusting as necessary — before rushing out to join him.

His ride is just pulling up as we exit the building. He gives me a quick kiss as the non-com is putting his suitcase into the trunk and then waits, holding the door open for him. Randolf looks back for a moment as he gets in, giving me a wink and a smile then the door closes and a few moments later the car is pulling away with my husband-to-be in the back seat. My fears flood back, and I have a terrible feeling that I’ll never see him again.

A minute later I see the second car approaching, this one will take me ‘home’ to ‘Mom and Dad’s.’ I’ll have to begin a concerted search for a nearby rental home for us. Unfortunately, it’s very likely to cost as much or more than we earn collectively, since we’re living in what’s probably one of the most expensive areas of the country, as far as housing goes.

We’ve discussed putting Randolf’s property in Virginia up for sale, mostly because it’s too far to commute, which is why Randolf is now living in BOQ and I’m living with Uncle Phillip and Aunt Julie, but also because Claire, his deceased wife, and I are very different people, despite our similarities, and she’d made the house uniquely her home. When I walk through it, or even look around, it’s as if she’s just stepped into the next room, and it makes me uneasy. I can’t help but compare myself to her, and having her ‘looking over my shoulder’ all the time is just a little too much for my fragile ego. Randolf can’t understand, of course, but knows, because I’ve told him, that it isn’t jealousy (well, not exactly) but what I think is an instinctive desire in every woman to make her very own nest for her husband and children.

Then too, Randolf has only recently overcome his own overwhelming feelings of guilt and depression, because he survived the mission that wound up with Claire, his beloved wife, dying in his arms, killed by a sniper’s bullet just steps from safety. If I was a little fragile about my womanhood, because I’d lived the first two decades of my life as a man, Randolf has only recently managed to turn away from what his superior officers had thought was a wish to die, taking near-suicidal risks on dangerous missions because, without Claire, his life didn’t mean anything to him. I didn’t want him to be constantly surrounded by all those memories, whether painful or dear, because…, well, just because.

Our real estate agent is looking for properties in our price range, but up here in Maryland, preferably about halfway between Fort Meade and DC. That would probably be best for us, to be centrally located. Unfortunately, everyone else had exactly the same idea, to live near the Beltway, so the housing we wanted was among the most expensive in the USA that wasn’t in New York City or on the Beach in Southern California.

I’ve spoken with the real estate agent again, to tell her that somewhere a little out of the way will be fine. She is checking and trying to see what she can find which is within our budget. I remind her again that we’ll receive a housing allowance, so thirty percent of our income, plus the housing allowance, is the max for our payments. She thinks that if we could raise our contribution to forty percent, we’d have a much better chance of finding something nice, with perhaps ten acres of land around it.

I don’t know about that. If we lose the housing allowance then our forty percent would suddenly jump to over eighty or so, and we could be in deep trouble. Of course, if we use all of the funds from Randolf’s property sale then our monthly would be far lower, but that would leave us nothing for an emergency or furnishings. Complicated. I wish I had some idea of the value of Randolf’s property. At a Lieutenant Colonel’s pay I suppose it couldn’t be very much. At least now he is receiving full pay for a Colonel’s slot, but I’m still stuck with that of a Major for the remainder of this year. I may wear the eagles and act the part of a Colonel, but I won’t have that pay for another twenty-nine months, since my pay will step to Lieutenant Colonel first, then to Colonel. A Major’s pay just isn’t much to add to our pot for these next five months.

I know he has a lot of furniture from when he and Claire were married, but it’s the same problem as living in Claire’s house, except we’d just be moving Claire’s house into new rooms. I’m fairly certain that it wouldn’t be good for either Randolf or me in the long run. I actually like her furniture, which scares me sometimes. Randolf has told me several times that Claire let herself die because somehow her soul knew that I was coming along. That scares me too, because I’ve thought the same thing. Claire died because sniper shot her as they tried to return to West Germany. But if Claire was destined to die so that Randolf could marry me, what’s my destiny? Is there a woman out there, next in line for Randolf? Or is Randolf the placeholder for the man I’m ‘supposed’ to marry? Brrrr. The whole idea makes me nervous.

On the other hand, if Claire’s furniture didn’t make us both crazy, then the entire yield from the sale of his home could be used as a down payment, so we’d probably be in good shape, even if we purchase a more expensive property. Decisions, decisions.

I think about the flowers decorating my desk. Although the roses which I won from the General are delivered every week and are very nice, I can’t help pay our mortgage with roses. I’ve talked with Mom about it far more than once. She is likely becoming tired of being my ‘sounding board.’ She has also told me that it is my ‘nesting’ instinct which is driving me toward a home of our own.

‘All women have this need, Lucy,’ she’d said.

I guess there’s a lot more woman to me than I’d ever thought. Speaking of women, I’d better remember to purchase more tampons today or I might be in trouble soon.

My period should be here any day…. Maybe that’s why I’m so broody and miserable.

My other problem is jealousy, which happens whenever I see Randolf near another woman, especially if she’s attractive. I know he isn’t up to anything and he tells me I’m beautiful, but it’s difficult to accept. I’m still having trouble handling my fairly recent about-face from male to female. I may have been fooling myself, but it was just a little more than a year ago that I saw what I thought was a man’s face when I looked in the mirror. I think I see a woman’s face now, and I think that I’m attractive, but I thought I saw a man’s face back then, and I wasn’t half bad. Am I just crazy? Does it make it better when the doctors tell me that I was intersexed? What the heck does that mean? All I know is that I have difficulty believing that any man could want me when there are ‘real’ girls lying around for the taking. Okay, I look feminine, but part of that is clever cosmetic surgery, so being “beautiful” in his eyes is still difficult for me to accept. Not to mention the fact that I knew that at least half the women in the building we’d worked in before our current assignment went all dreamy-eyed when they saw him in the hall, and not all of them were even single.

Period! Ohmigosh, Lucy, you’re so stupid. We’ve been doing it for weeks now, and I never thought to have him use a condom. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid…. Girl, you’ve got it bad not to remember that.

The trouble is that I’m not even sure whether I can have babies or not — my doctors weren’t sure, but they couldn’t rule out the possibility — but I’d spent most of my adult life with no more notion of becoming pregnant than flying to the moon on gossamer wings. It just hadn’t occurred to me, even after they’d discovered a uterus and ovaries inside me, that having periods meant at least the possibility of having babies, and flipping a coin doesn’t strike me as the best way to plan our lives. I think an appointment with my doctors is decidedly in order. I spend ten or fifteen minutes chastising myself before I begin to come up for air again. A trip to Dallas to see the doctors is not exactly like driving next door, or even down the block.

-o~O~o-

I should be thankful. At least one problem has been removed from my life. My ex-husband, the Creep. Randolf came up with a wonderful idea, since the Creep apparently cannot resist hurting women. Randolf had a search made of brutal attacks upon women in a hundred mile area surrounding DC, plus all the areas he could find where the Creep had been posted. The research found nearly a hundred women over ten years whose injuries matched the ones he’d inflicted on me during my several months of marriage.

Anyway, Randolf had discovered that at least fifteen of these women had died from their injuries. Certain documents related to his research were ‘accidentally’ delivered to the various detectives working the murder cases and they collectively started watching the Creep. It wasn’t long before they obtained direct evidence of his involvement and then they snatched him up and charged him with multiple counts of battery and murder.

The Agency bailed him out of his first incarceration, and tried to force the charges to be dropped, citing National Security, but he jumped bail and ran off, but was caught again, so they recanted, and now officially disavow any knowledge of his crimes, perhaps because several DAs had hinted to them that the information tying the Agency protection of the Creep and demonstrable knowledge of his ongoing crimes — they’d covered up his death threats and almost fatal assaults on me, for only one example — to all the subsequent deaths of many women just might find its way to multiple national and international news agencies.

So now there are several cities and states who want a crack at him, and a few foreign countries, so they’re all rolling dice to see who gets first crack at him, but will wait their turn until he’s out of prison, if they don’t make their point. Texas, which has the death penalty, and is fairly enthusiastic about using it, wants him extradited there first, so they can try him for several murders he perpetrated there. If he’s convicted there, then he’ll be permanently out of the picture. I’m not at all vindictive but, if they do convict him, I am going to watch him put to death just so I have some closure. I wonder if they will allow me to pull the switch; or command the firing squad or whatever they do there? Okay, Lucy, maybe, just maybe, you’re a tiny bit vindictive.

There’s overwhelming evidence against him, thanks partly to Randolf, so his troubles are unlikely to be over for a very long time, unless he goes to Texas.

We arrive at Mom’s and Dad’s and, after checking with them about their days, and telling Father that Randolf is off in pursuit of the villains again, I go upstairs to take a nice scented bath and get some shut eye. I’ve only been up for twenty hours, so six hours of sleep might be just what I need.

The phone rings sometime during the middle of the night and a pleasant voice informs me that it’s six AM. I growl a thank you, trying not to sound upset and debate playing hooky today. Girl, it’s morning, for cripes sake, and you need to get moving. Your ride will be here in just thirty minutes. I start getting ready, but I just can’t get myself in gear this morning. I guess I’m depressed over Randolf being away.

My ride arrives promptly at seven, about twenty minutes after Daddy departed for his offices. I wish I still worked in the same building.

Unfortunately, I’m not ready to depart for another ten minutes, my all time personal worst, which will cause all sorts of repercussions for those who also depend upon this transport in order to arrive at their own destinations. I know my inconsiderate lapse will have a ripple effect on those many others who need a ride to work today. I tell the driver to just drop me off at the front of the building, which will save him a few minutes, since I am responsible for placing him behind.

“Thank you for waiting for me. I’m so sorry that I was so late.”

“That’s okay Ma’am. It gave me a chance to catch up my paperwork. See you tomorrow?”

“Very likely.” I nod and step away from the car. “Thanks again,” I say, as he takes off for his next stop, and I turn and walk to and up the few stairs which bring me to a large terrace, replete with small potted trees (large wooden pots about five foot by five foot square) arranged in neat military rows. Each must weigh in the neighborhood of 800 to 1100 pounds. I go up another few stairs and into the building.

Some day, I should take the Maryland driving test and get licensed again. Then, when we can afford another car, I could drive myself. Randolf does, so why shouldn’t I? I ride in with him when we’re both working with the ‘group.’ but my work sometimes takes me all over the area. Which reminds me, tomorrow I have to go help the General and Nora again.

He wants me to check some papers and work up a presentation. That might help me keep my mind off Randolf and his trip, for a few days at least. What was that the General said about the audience…? Oh yes, ‘the big guns.’ You don’t suppose this is going to be another one of those? I need to buy a whistle. Maybe I could requisition one from quartermaster stores, since it would be a job requirement.

I show up at my office, only to be informed by my secretary that there is an officer’s meeting at 0800 in conference room 44. Wonderful. No time to get out my papers and accomplish anything before I’d have put them away again. I take my time to talk with my Secretary and my Staff Sergeant to learn what is on the plate for today before walking into my office. First order of business is to call and arrange for a change of destination tomorrow to the General’s offices, then the second order of business is to have a cup of coffee before departing for conference room 44.

I love rehash, NOT! Why do we have meetings when there is nothing new to discuss? Such a waste of time. Guess it makes the higher ups feel important. I hope I don’t do that. We do have our meetings, but if there’s no new information to impart, then our meetings are over within a few minutes.

An hour of old information is worse than a reminder.

I fume my way back to my office and pull my work out of my safe, noting that the Staff Sergeant has left a note for me that there’s new material in his safe waiting for me. I ‘com’ him and ask him to bring in the new data, which he does, a minute or two later.

We discuss the material I’ve already handled and get his take on the new stuff and we exchange stacks of paper.

He now has reports and memos which need typing and corrections and I now have new things to work on. I wonder how many projects I can juggle before I begin dropping some? A few minutes later, I place most of my work back into the safe and the papers he just brought me go into my briefcase.

I clear my desk and walk out to make copies of the papers, then I tell my secretary that I’m off to find Spooky and possibly go on to lab 31. If I go somewhere else, I’ll call and let her know when I check in for messages.

“When the Sergeant finishes with the material he’s working on, you can put it into a folder marked ‘Justification’ and retain the original designations as a subtitle, then lock them in the safe until I return. Do you have anything new for me?”

“No, ma’am. I’m finishing the three from yesterday afternoon’s conference, and I have one for the Sergeant to do later. Our morning delivery hasn’t arrived yet, so we’re still good here. One thing, General Pendleton called. I’m to remind you about tonight. You’re expected for dinner. He wanted to be certain you didn’t work late.”

“He reminded me this morning before he left for work, but I forgot again. Thank you. Would you remind me again just before we leave? I have a lot on my mind, so I’ll likely forget it again,” I say with a grimace.

She smiles, nodding her head, “Yes Ma’am. I know what you mean. I’ll put it into my pop-up. Then I won’t forget.”

“Thank you. While I happen to think of it, would you order a few Lieutenant’s bars for your desk? Also a few sets of stripes for E-5, and E-6, just in case we suddenly need them for some reason.” She gives me a funny look, then says, “Yes Ma’am. Two of each okay?”

“Maybe three each of both O-1 and O-2, after that we’ll just need to wing it. As we use them we’ll replace them.

“Yes Ma’am.”

As I go out into the hall and close the door I hear the phone ring. I manage to make it into the elevator with the doors closing again before she has a chance to come out into the hall to find me.

Once I arrive at Spooky’s office, they tell me she’s in the lab, so I ask them to tell her that I’m on my way over, then I’m off to L31. A few minutes later, the scanner at the lab door decides that my ID card is an acceptable security risk and unlocks the door to let me in.

The usual bedlam is in progress. Anyone not accustomed to the operation here would think the place was populated by lunatics. I think back to our little lab at the school and wonder why it had to grow and become like this. I know the answer, but nostalgia’s important too. A few of the people recognize me and wave, I wave back.

We are relatively informal inside the labs. We must be, or nothing would be accomplished except a lot of Sirs, Ma’ams, and protocol. Here, we’re all nearly equal. Some deference still occurs but everyone knows the job takes priority. The new people are still in awe of my sudden resurrection from the folds of the ‘dead.’

The disuse of nicknames as a sign of respect for my ‘death’ has been replaced with the heavy use of the nicknames by everyone.

As a result, whenever Magician or Houdini walk into a lab, it becomes quieter for nearly two minutes before things begin to pick up again. If we walk in together, everyone thinks something is about to happen, and if we both walk in with Spooky, everything effectively comes to a halt while everyone tries to decide what pearls or extra burdens we’re going to cast about, if any. Not terribly efficient, but then, it’s human nature.

Spooky is finally able to break free and we go over to a corner where we discuss this new intel and my slant on it. I want a quick analysis, potential actions, repercussions, all the normal stuff. As the material is somewhat ‘stilted’ in its language and presentation, I ask that Cypher’s group be given a copy to look for a hidden message, if any.

Spooky says that she’ll get a small team on it within half an hour and we should have the preliminary report by 1600, if not the final. Things are a little hectic just now.

I look around, “It seems just about normal to me.”

She smiles, “Well, you’ve been away for a while. Things have calmed down a lot since school. We have nearly three times as many working on about the same amount of data now and our speed is up. Then too, the forced breaks due to the isolation of each sub group into their own labs, which has us walking from one location to another, has slowed us enough that we’re able come up for air once in a while. I’ll tell Cypher this is from you. He’ll probably want to work on it himself.”

I smile at her and reach out to touch her with great fondness. “You’ve come a long way, lady.”

“We all have. Before you returned, we were doing the job all right but the fun was gone. Now that you’re back, the whole group acts differently. It’s like we need to prove to you that we can do the job, so we’re working harder, but we have more fun doing it. Besides, you still pull answers out of a hat when you look at material, Magician is a good name for you. The rest of us have to work at it. Although everyone knows you’re not in charge, I think any of them here would immediately accept criticism and direction from you in a positive light. It’s been difficult for me to follow in your shoes.”

“Then don’t. Make your own path. These people accept you, they are your command and the way you run your labs follows the same path you started at the school. It works, and people appreciate the method. Don’t let anyone change it. I’m just an advisor. You’re the boss, but if you run into any difficulties, my door is open and I’ll jump in as best I can to help you solve them.”

“Thanks. I hope I won’t need the help, but it’s nice to know it’s there. I’d better be off and get your papers into the mill. Bye.”

“Bye, Spooky. If my Secretary or Sergeant call, tell them I’m grabbing a sandwich to bring back to my office, so I’ll be a few extra minutes.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I give her a quick scowl, then a long smile and exit the lab, heading for the ‘cafeteria’ to pick up my sandwich before returning to my office.

I check in with my ‘team’ and my Sergeant hands me the folder with the typed notes and original papers. He says, “I’m going to take a quick break and run for a sandwich myself, Ma’am. A lot has just come in, so I may not get a chance before lunch time rolls around.”

“Have you had a chance to scan the material?”

“No, Ma’am. It came in just a minute before you returned.”

“Let me take it all to my desk, then. I’ll scan the stuff and make a few quick notes. It might help us set a priority for it all and give you the opportunity to complete it faster than if you just tackle it blind.”

He’s halfway to the door by the time I get all that out.

“I appreciate that, Ma’am.” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Do you want me to bring back a cup of coffee for you?”

“No, I don’t think so. Thanks anyway. I think I’ll requisition a pot, then we can make our own so it is always available. It’s less expensive that way too.”

“Great idea. I’ll make up the req for your approval. Be back in a jiffy.”

“Okay. See you in a few.” I ask Tilly, my secretary, for a new notepad, then go to my office to begin scanning this new material, adding notes on a page of the pad for each piece of material.

I’m about halfway through before the sergeant returns. He’s carrying two sandwiches and a large cup of coffee.

“Sergeant, when you make up the req for the pot, make it a twenty cup pot, and add a small six or eight cup pot for hot water, plus a small refrigerator, maybe four or six cubic foot, for it all to sit on. We can put it into the corner over there. Also, please add a sofa or three comfortable chairs to go against the wall over here, in case we have visitors. A bottled water cooler might be nice as well.”

“Can do. I think we can also requisition the supplies.”

I shudder to think what sort of coffee we might be subjected to with that approach, “We can Req the sugar, creamers, cups, bottled water and stirring sticks but I’ll purchase the coffee and tea on my own. I’m rather particular about my coffee and tea, so I’d like to control it.”

“I like Earl Gray, Ma’am,” he pipes up. “Could we have some of that?”

“Of course. I’ll make you a cup of the tea I prefer, French Gray, and we’ll see if you like it as well. I used to drink Earl Gray before I found this. You might like it, since it’s quite similar, but has some added flavors. Oh, I made rough notes on about half of the new material while you were out, which will likely help speed things up a bit. Now I need to go in and get my own work on track. The req can wait until you have a little free time to prepare it. Our work comes first.”

He takes off to his ‘office’ which is actually a cubicle just off the central entrance to my offices, as I go out and tell my secretary about our plans for tea and coffee. She prefers coffee and asks if it could be the blend she particularly likes. I don’t see a problem with that since she’s likely to be the only one drinking it, unless we wind up with a guest or two. I ask her to hold my calls for an hour or two.

“Yes, Ma’am. Do you want me to hold all calls?”

“No. I’m open to calls from the team, Houdini, or any General.” She smiles, because she knows that means I’m basically accepting all calls. We have very few which come in from anyone else.

I return to my office and drag my own work out from my safe again.

Opening my sandwich, I begin working, taking a bite every now and then when I need an excuse to pause and think.

Several sheets into my work, the sandwich is forgotten and is slowly being buried under paper. A couple of hours later my stomach reminds me there is a sandwich here somewhere. I do a search and rescue, coming up with nearly two thirds of the sandwich, a full half and what’s left of the other. I nibble on the smaller portion as I get into my read and write rhythm again.

Eventually, I run out of sandwich, and have to look for the other half. A few bites into that one, I run into a pretty puzzle and it’s again forgotten, to be buried once more. In a way I’m glad I don’t have coffee or tea on my desk. I’d be just as likely to spill it across my desk as I would be to drink it, if it didn’t go cold before I had a chance, or both.

Always a brilliant analyst, I ‘com’ my Sergeant and tell him, “Add a microwave, fairly large but which will fit on top of the small fridge I mentioned previously. The pots can go on top of the microwave.” He acknowledges my addition and we are both back into our work. Pretty soon, I remember my sandwich and go into search and rescue mode again, finding the remaining third of my sandwich, which I eat as I read. I don’t remember finishing it, but it’s not on the desk at the end of the day, nor the floor — I checked — so I suppose I must have eaten it. All I found was the wrapper. I trust to luck that I didn’t put the last bits of sandwich into one of the document folders. They all seem a little too flat for that possibility, fortunately. Thankfully, I did find the wrapper, so I didn’t eat that at least.

I realize that it’s time to begin my wind-down when Tilly calls me and reminds me that I’m to eat supper at Father’s and Mother’s this evening, so I can’ work late. I look at the time, thank her and manage to tidy things up and to put my open work into the safe before checking with my Sergeant about going down for my ride. I would have spent another two or three hours, so it was good that Tilly reminded me to go.

I’d like to spend my time living with Randolf but, for the number of weeks remaining before our marriage, I’d better be good and continue to stay with Mom and Dad. The Army takes a dim view of officers ‘shacking up.’

I make myself a note to ‘bite the bullet” and talk to Randolf about moving into his house in Virginia after we’re married. How bad could it be? With the money we save on the broker’s fees alone, we can afford a new bed (very important!) and enough new furniture to start making it my house, or Claire’s and mine, which would solve a lot of financial problems. It’s quite a commute, though, more than fifty miles right through the metro DC area, but if we could share rides, or even get a pool car, at least one of us could catch up on work while we traveled.

It would cost a lot less to add my touches to Claire’s than it would to begin fresh with a new home. When he finally makes General, then we could move up. Of course, that’s probably about four to six years away, if he manages fast track. With my present rapidly advanced promotions, I won’t be eligible for nearly a decade so I won’t be able to contribute all that much for quite a while.

At least we’ll have my change in grade coming. When that hits, it will help a bit.

-o~O~o-

As I ride home, I get the idea to do a ‘drive-by’ Randolf’s house first, so I can think about it on my own before asking Randolf. Perhaps on Saturday morning. Maybe I’ll ask Father about it, too; he might have some ideas. Maybe I’ll have a little seance and ask Claire.

During the rest of the ride, I think back on everything that’s happened to me during the past couple of years. There’s so much. Becoming a woman, starting my intelligence group of students, going through hell with the creep and nearly dying, finding Randolf…, for such a short time, it’s been a whirlwind. At least my hair is long enough now that I don’t have to wear the wig any more, and it’s growing faster, now that my hormones are working properly. Another three or four years should have it long enough that I’ll be happy with it. It’s a woman’s crowning glory, after all.

I have to go see the doctors who ‘made’ me very soon, though. They told me that there might be a way to jump start my ovaries, if they’re still playing possum, I know that they’re working well enough to give me a normal period, which is half the battle. That would be so wonderful. When I first discovered that I had a uterus all along and that my ‘female’ needs were founded in physical reality, I became so happy, because I’d alternated between euphoria and shame when I’d considered myself a cross-dresser. Living in a sort-of-male, sort-of-female state had played havoc with my mind. Becoming fully what I’d desperately wanted to be, was like a miracle, and at first I’d been almost giddy — maybe drunk would be a better word — with the joy of it. Looking back, I can see that my ‘marriage’ to the Creep had been a child’s dream, and that my dreams had clouded my judgement.

Even with all my problems, even considering my terrible first marriage, it’s no more than many women have survived, so I count myself lucky, extraordinarily lucky. I haven’t been living on cloud nine the whole time, as I’d imagined in my fantasies, but the good parts far outweigh the bad. I have Randolf now, and my ‘creation’ was partly Randolf’s idea, and I flatter myself that I’ve been as good for him as he’s been good for me, so we’ve managed to pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps, and I can’t think how either of us could have got to where we are now without the past hurts that made it all possible. If he gets killed on one of his missions, I’ll swear I’ll never speak to him again. Well…, you know what I mean.

We arrive at the gate and I give my name to the little speaker box. The gate starts to open and I tell the driver he can leave as I begin my walk up the drive to the house.

There are cars in the drive, which surprises me. I open the door slowly and peer inside. I can hear voices, and can’t recognize most of them. I close the door behind me and then walk into the house. I follow the sound of voices to find Mother and some other ladies in the living room. Mom goes through the introductions and the ladies are a little taken aback at my uniform. Mom simply dismisses their astonishment. “Like Father, like Daughter,” she says. “She was always a bit of a tom-boy. I suppose she’ll learn soon enough what it is to be a wife and a mother.”

I know she has accepted me basically as their real daughter. They adopted me and she still becomes confused about my background sometimes. We’re actually quite closely related, a few generations back, although neither of us knew it at the time, so we share a strong family resemblance. She isn’t senile or anything, far from it. She just gets a little too far into my background story.

I give the ladies my greetings and excuses, then extract myself to go up to my room for a few minutes and change. I’m grateful for the gift they’ve given me, to share their home and lives, but I also want to leave as soon as possible, so I can be with Randolf instead. Am I an ingrate? I need to speak with Father about that. I know that neither Mom nor the Army would like me living with Randolf before we’re married, and I suspect that Dad would have to disapprove, at least officialy. Geez, here I was doing so well, keeping him out of my thoughts throughout most of the day, but now he pops into my mind again.

I simply don’t understand all these emotions which wrack my mind. I don’t have the history of dating and crushes that most women experienced growing up, so everything is new to me. I hope he’s okay. He must be, he hasn’t had enough time to even arrive over there as yet.

I guess Mom, my biological mom, was right when she told me I was always a better girl than I was a boy. I was happier, more observant and more ‘emotional’, or at least I showed it more. As a boy I would try to hold it in until I could hide in my room and then I would break down. She would find me on my bed crying, and many times spent hours comforting me until I could face the world again. She thinks that the female hormones now running through my body probably have a bit to do with it too. Most girls get used to having periods when they’re still in school, with other girls around them, but I did everything on my own, even during my marriage to the creep, especially then, until I met Randolf. I see Randolf’s face and hear his voice in my mind. The feelings I have for him are those any woman would have, I think. I’m afraid for him. I’m afraid of losing him.

Strange isn’t it? At work, I’m a whizbang analyst. In my personal life, I’m an rank amateur. I take a little time to freshen up and then go back downstairs and greet Father.

“Hi, Daddy. How are things in your neck of the woods?”

“Pretty much the same. Miss your input on things though. How’s your husband to be?”

“Randolf is off gallivanting around for a few days to a week, and I need the time alone to think anyway. When we are together I find my emotions cloud my judgement. That isn’t a bad thing; I just don’t come to proper conclusions as quickly as if I am alone. Then again, I can hardly wait for the wedding to occur so we’ll have our own place to begin living together.”

“Well, I think that could be expected. You ARE wearing his engagement ring on your finger. Are you ready for your marriage? Or are you thinking about calling it all off?”

“Oh NO!” I don’t have to think about my answer, so it comes out very quickly. “Call it off? NO. In fact, I’d like to marry him as soon as possible. We just have a lot of things we need to work out before that happens. Nothing bad. It’s just that everything is so complicated.”

He smiles and agrees with my assessment, then mentions a few things he and Julie found necessary to accomplish before they married.

I know my mind is slipping now, because I’d never thought of them.

I make a mental note to bring those up with Randolf as soon as he returns. Well, maybe after the first night he’s back…, the following morning…, or maybe that afternoon….

---

 

To Be Continued….       © 2008, 2010 by T D Aldoennetti & Rénae Dúmas. This work may not be replicated or presented in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder) or her assigned representative. ALL Rights Reserved, including but not limited to ownership of Characters, final content decision, and more. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental. An Aldoennetti Original.