Chapter 22
Terresa Cole’s Bunker, Flight Line for White Sands R-n-D Center. Day 2 of the relief.
I couldn’t believe the layout for the new FB-11A2. The two 40-millimeter Gatlin guns and new 105-millimeter gauss rifle had addressed the close quarters combat problem big time. While I love to be able to stand off and blow my targets to kingdom come. PPLs and PPCs are just no good in a gunfight between aircraft. If you don’t have enough standoff distance those powerful weapons lose their greatest attributes. Heat and impact. When I told Chief Daily about how that bitch Calisto had gotten inside the effective ranges of those weapons and stayed there he went to work. He promised me a solution and he delivered his answer with the redesign of the FB-11A2 before it ever left the factory hanger.

James had taken me over to see the new aircraft and hand me the ‘keys’. As much as I wanted to name this one the Silver-Eyed-Witch II. I just couldn’t do it. I was stuck for a name until James patted the side of her. “She is a real close quarter killing bitch, Terresa. She will be meaner than my mother Maiha on a holy tear out for blood. The day you finally get Calisto in your sights. It’ll all be over but the dying. This is one is a real Death Scythe.”

“Thanks for naming her James.” I walked over the work bench and started look for a permanent marker. When I didn’t find one I turned to one of the ground crew. “Hey Sparks, you got a marker?”

“No ma’am. But if you’ll give a few minutes I’ll get one for you.” As he climbed out from under the portside wing. “What da’ ya’ need it for, ma’am?”

“I plan on naming my new baby that’s what for.” I told the man.

“Just write the name down on a piece of paper ma’am. I’ll make sure to painted it on the nose after we give her, her camo. Or do you want to go outside the box ma’am?” I gave Sparks a strange look. “The General sent down orders that pilots can request any paint scheme they want for the FB-11s. And seeing as how you were the original FB-11 pilot Colonel McQueen said that you get to name the new Squadron and choose your color scheme. Chief Daily laid out a set of paint chips for you.”

To say that I was stumped would be saying the sun rises in the east. So, I turned to the only source of help I had. James. “Any ideas Colonel?”

James just chuckled. “Terresa, I love you. You can take a fighter up and bring it back on a prayer. You can do things in flight that are so far outside of the box that you leave other pilots asking what the hell just happened. And yet, with all that imagination and passion you come up short on something so simple.”

“Damn it! James! This is not funny!” I seethed.

That just got to laughing harder. “Oh yes, it is! In fact, it’s downright hilarious.”

I stamped my foot and screamed at him. “STOP LAUGHING AT ME!” Which of course had the opposite effect. It got the fool to laughing even harder.

I waited until he had regained his composure before approaching him with the subject again. Until then I just turned my back to him. I know that I was acting like a spoiled brat just then, but he didn’t realize the importance of what I was being asked to do. The naming and picking the colors of a Squadron is normally a Division Command Level decision. You just don’t let a lowly Lieutenant name and form a Squadron for shits and giggles. The lowest rank ever recorded for doing something like this was a Marine full bird Colonel. If anyone should be naming a new Squadron it should be Colonel McQueen, not me.

I felt James’ arms wrap me in a hug. “Sorry for laughing love. I just couldn’t help myself. I thought you would have jumped at the chance to name the new Squadron.”

“That’s just it, James. Have you ever read the regulations concerning the naming of a unit or picking out a unit’s color scheme?” I asked while barely keeping the whine out of my voice.

“No. I honestly can’t say that I have. Why? What’s so important that there are actual regulations for it?”

I sighed. “James, if I did it, it won’t be legal. I don’t have nearly enough rank to form a Squadron. Let alone name one or pick out their colors. That has to be done at Division or higher. Unless you’re a full bird Colonel.”

“Oh, you mean that PESKY regulation. I think you need to read this before you go getting all nutso over not being able to name YOUR Squadron, Colonel.” James handed me set of folded pieces of paper. “Those are an Imperial order from the Empress herself. They came in with the morning dispatch packet from Empyreal High Command.”

I unfolded the papers and began to read. The first page was a listing of all my aerial victories. Beside every tenth was a notation marking or markings. I started matching the notations up with their corresponding notations on the second page. By the time I got done reading I had been promoted four times to the rank of Colonel, received five Air Medals, four Imperial Bronze Stars, three Imperial Silver Stars, Two Fly Crosses, and the Imperial Cross for Victory. I wanted to raise bloody hell with James for using his family connections until I read who had put me in for all of the Medals. Three of these medals all come with automatic promotions. This whole mess fell on the head of General Carol Davenport because she had to have signed off on three of those medals. The three that come with automatic promotions.

“Oh, and don’t feel like the Lone Stranger Terresa. You’re not the only one to have gotten a hefty boost in rank. I got my orders this morning also. You’re looking at the youngest Brigadier General in Death Dealer history.” For the fist time that morning I looked over at his rank insignia to see the single star of a Brigadier General on his shoulders. “And when your brother gets his happy ass back from wherever the hell he is. He is to be promoted to Lieutenant Colonel. In the words of my mothers. ‘The bravery of the One-hundred-and-first is the stuff of legends. Only two other times in the history of the Death Dealers has such bravery been such a common trait. Therefor it is by Imperial Command all those who serve upon New Texas be rewarded for their efforts.’ Basically, they promoted everyone in the one-oh-first one to two grades. But you my dear got something extra for everything you have done. You get your own Squadron of FB-11A2 Claymores.”

I doubted that James understood the enormity of the orders and the impact they would have on my life. I mean a less then six months ago I was a happy go lucky twenty-two-year-old carefree test pilot. Now, according to these fracking orders I am a full bird Colonel tasked with forming, training, naming, and finally commanding a brand-new Squadron. If my hair wasn’t already white it would have turned that way at the thought of what was before me.

“I don’t understand James. I know that I’ve gotten lucky and racked up one hell of a record in the air.” I said waving the orders in my hand. “But that doesn’t explain how I could have earned all of these awards. Let alone those last three.”

“Terresa, I want you to stop and think about something.” I wave my right hand for him to go on and get to the point. “Fine you want it short and sweet. Then I’ll give it to you. You have managed to save this base and division with nothing more than skill and a fast as hell fighter four times. That alone would have earned you the two Flying Crosses and ICV. When you start counting your air victories you jump off the damned chart for awards. By all rights, you should have received one Air medal for every five victories instead of every ten. Those bronze and silver stars are for everything else that falls under the header of fracking stupid you’ve pulled in helping to win this war. Shit like taking on eight super heavy bombers at altitude. On your own. Am I getting through to you yet, Terresa? You have earned every last one of those awards.”

“Okay, James. I hear you. It’s just that I don’t see what I’ve done as being all that special. I got lucky to have a Crew Chief and ground crew that know what they’re doing to keep me flying. I don’t know jack-shit about being a Commanding Officer. I’m still basically a newly commissioned test pilot. I was supposed to serve under a few dozen Commanding Officers before I got this kind of responsibility. Commanding Officers that were supposed to teach me HOW to be a Commander. DAMN IT! I don’t know one quarter of the shit I’m supposed to, to be a Commanding Officer.” I was almost in tears by now. I was beyond scared of screwing up and getting people killed in the air. I didn’t want the responsibility, not yet anyway.

“Look, Terresa, I know that you have gotten your new rank at a pace that is fracking nuts. The problem is those hardcore awards and no you can’t turn them down. Before you ask, I did not put you in for any of them. As much as I love you. I won’t dare to use my position as the Crown Prince to influence something so important. Getting you into the newest movie sure, but not rank changing medals. Not that you would have needed my recommendations. More than thirty some officers and over two-hundred Enlisted put you in for those awards, love. It just took time for the gears to slowly grind away through the massive amounts of paperwork. Oh, and before you blow your top. There is one more award coming to you that has yet to be announced. Before you ask no I didn’t put you in for it. Nor did anyone on this planet.”

I gave the man I had come to truly love a hard look. I have gotten pretty good at spotting the bullshit zone with James. I didn’t see any signs of him trying to bs me so let it drop. Besides, I knew that he wouldn’t ever think of using his rank and status to get me promoted. I had already warned him against that shit. The problem was there were only two awards that come down from Parliament and the Hall of Lords that I know. I already know that I don’t want either one. Thankfully, I can turn down those awards as they are proposed by civilians.

“Okay, I’ll deal with that shit after the war is over. Right now, I need help. Any ideas for what to name my new Squadron?” I asked of James. Only to have him shrug his should and give me a quirk of his lips. “Well, you’re no help.”

“Um… ma’am can I make a suggestion?” Sparks asks.

“I’m open for any and all suggestions, Sparks. What did you got?” I know that I was grasping at straws, but al least he was offering me something.

“Name them the Wraiths.” He held up his hand to stop my questions, so he could explain. “All of the members of your new Squadron have been shot down at least once. Like enraged ghosts you’ve all arisen from the grave seeking out vengeance. With the Death Dealer upgrades and these new Claymores. Every member of your Squadron has been reborn as Wraiths. Wraiths that are bent on destroying the Amazon Air Corps with every breath that you take.”

“He does have a point, Terresa. Your whole Squadron is a new and deadly thing. One so deadly that in your first engagement your squadron downed enemy fighters at a five to one rate. Even you were able to down two of the enemy KV-81s before being forced to quit the field. That was after you made not one, but two bombing runs in some of the tightest canyons in this god forsaken planet’s mountain ranges. I’ve talked with Colonels McQueen and McManus, they have both said basically the same thing. You and the new Death Dealer pilots fly as if you are ghosts.”

I thought about what James and Sparks were telling me. I was forced to see that they were only telling the truth. In a way I kind of like the fact that all the members of my new squadron had been shot down at one time and survived. That would make them more than willing to push their fighters to the edge just to get revenge. It also meant that we all had some thing in common. Which is never a bad thing.

Looking over at the paint chips I got this crazy idea. I quickly wrote out the name for my new FB-11A2 and what color to paint the squadron’s planes. “Sparks, get with Chief Daily and the others. Here are your instructions.”

“Um… ma’am, you know the Chief is going to have a bitch fit over this color scheme.”

“Don’t really care Sparks. If the Wraiths are going to make an impact on the battlefield we’re going to do it in style. By the way do you know what the designation for my new unit is?” I ask him.

“Yes ma’am. You’re now in command of the seven-hundred-and-seventy-seventh Interceptor Fighter Squadron. Why do you want to know ma’am?”

“I needed to know for my paperwork. That and to come up with a moto. Which you will paint on the tail fins of every bird. Felicis Fossor. I want it in bright yellow. Got that Sparks? I want those two words to stand out like a two-credit hooker on payday. During Fleet week on Earth Prime.”

“Lucky Fools? Really, Terresa? What kind of moto is that for a unit?” James asked with his trade mark smirk.

“One to remind my pilots to keep their heads on a swivel and in the game.” I gave James a hug, then turned to Sparks. “Make sure to tell Chief Daily exactly what I said about the color scheme for the squadron, Sparks.”

The crewman just salutes me and starts to mix the paint colors. As Terresa and James walk away from the bunker they can hear Sparks mumbling to no one in particular. “If that crazy assed officer thinks I’m telling the Chief about this paint scheme before I do it. she’s crazier than any of us thought.”

“You do know love that your ground crew must really love you dear.” James said as he placed his arm over Terresa’s shoulders. “Why do you insist on driving them crazy like you do?”

“I know that James. As for me driving them crazy. Let’s just say that payback is a bitch and leave it at that.” I chuckled.

“Okay, love. I leave you and your Ground Crew’s insanity alone.” James started guiding me towards the CP. With the arrival of the eighteen combat divisions of the twenty-second Death Dealer Battle Group things have changed some. Davenport was promoted to Planetary Commander. Gone were the days of her holding her morning meetings and commanding from general purpose large tents, mobile command posts, and hastily made bunkers. Now, in their place stood two T-98C2 Goliath Command Post transports. They were the first thing to offload from the massive Ogre dropships. The second thing was a full communications Battalion complete with an FTA transmitter.

AS those two units were setting up the eighteen divisions of Death Dealers deployed out across the white gypsum sand dunes that gave the complex its name. Even now those divisions were breaking up into combat teams. Three divisions to a CT. One light division and one medium division backed up by one heavy division. The Combat Teams would soon move across the Western continent of New Texas reclaiming the planet from the Amazons.

I for one was more interested in the two massive Super Carriers that landed at the extreme far end of the desert floor. When this war started there was just me and the fifteen test pilots of the R-n-D center providing what little air support we could for the 101st Division. Then we got a massive boost to our small yet dwindling air force from the local reserves. Not that it mattered. We were still losing fighters and pilots to the enemy forces. Of the original fifteen test pilots, only three of them were still flying. I know that mom, Sylvia, and the other doctors over in the MASH unit had done their best to save the lives of the few that were rescued after being shot down. I’ve visited the few that did survive in the hospital. As bad as the base’s losses were, they paled in comparison to Colonel McManus’s unit.

Colonel McManus had lost over ninety percent of fighter pilots on the first day of the war and all of his fighters. With those two Super Carriers we now had four fighter squadrons and two bomber squadrons reinforcing what had become a rag-tag force of twenty-eight pilots and fighters. Of those that had been at the base before their arrival most were former members of the New Texas rebel forces. The Commanding General of the Twenty-second Battle Group said that our continuous nonstop action had only been seen one other time in history. Some place called Great Britain during the Second World War of the twentieth century. The Lady Saris Victoria quoted some guy named Churchill. Never had so many owed so much to so few when describing our actions to the Empress.

Another thing that had changed since the beginning of the war was me being at the morning command meetings. Ever since I pointed out the weak points in our defenses and taking on the Peacemakers, Colonel McManus practically demanded that I be included in the meetings. General Davenport just smiled and appointed me to be his Deputy for the meetings. Then again having the love interest of the Crown Prince on hand to keep him in line wasn’t too shabby a move either. Then there was that nasty habit some of the, well a lot of the Officers, have gotten into lately. I keep trying to correct them that I’m NOT some High Families Lady, but yet they still greet me with Lady Terresa. Thank the goddess that the Enlisted haven’t heard them say that shit. As things would get the frack out of hand.

As we walk up the ramp to the massive Goliath transport I felt a chill of excitement run down my spine. The T-98C2 Goliath was a fully contained ground transport weighing in at ninety-five tons empty. When compared to the T-98C2 Goliaths a standard MCU was barely more than armored personnel carrier. The T-98 was twenty-five-feet wide, thirty-feet tall, one-hundred-feet long, with enough armor to make a Fire Support APS envious. Manned by a crew of eight, two drivers, two co-drivers, and four service crew. The wheels were powered by twenty-four all-terrain engines and transitions. Each wheel stands ten-feet tall and are three-feet thick, with half of that height being applied to the ground-clearance for the transports.

With their massive size and weight Goliaths were the prefect platforms for MASH units, Communication Units, NBC units, and Army Group Command posts. They were slowly replacing the Mobile Command Units for those duties. At more than one-hundred-million credits per unit, and more than twelve months to build, Goliaths were relegated for Command and Support units use only. As I thought about the cost of just one of these monsters, I was reminded that they were not indestructible. Mom’s MASH unit had lost one shortly after the war started. Even the massive automated factories, below the Base, couldn’t replace that priceless piece of kit in under twelve months. To have three of them dedicated just to the Command and Control for the twenty-second Battle Group’s combat divisions was a sign of the military firepower that has been brought to free New Texas. Then again, just a few short decades ago the Death Dealer Battle Groups would be considered whole Army Groups. Now, the Empire only considers an Army Group to be three Battle Groups. That is fifty-four combat divisions with a supporting battle fleet.

James and I were greeted by the Sentry with the Challenge of the Day. After giving the Password the Sentry allowed us through. I felt a shiver of fear pass over me as we walk passed the man. It wasn’t the fact that we were Challenged. It was the fact that the Sentry was in full Death Dealer combat armor and stood well over six-foot, closer to seven feet tall. The man was obviously from Doreen V. There weren’t too many Death Dealers from that planet. They were also not know for their control in combat. Only the Walkatonie are more feared on the battlefield. I know that my fear was irrational but when you are barely five-foot tall, people who stand over six-foot are giants. I have really come to hate my short stature and having to look up all the time at most people.

“You really need to get over your fear of people over six-foot love.” James whispered to me as we walked through the trailer. “Sooner or later you will need to meet my moms, aunts, and uncles. More than a few of their bodyguards are from Doreen V or are full blooded Walkatonie.”

“I know that James.” I whispered barely controlling the hiss in my voice. “I just haven’t gotten used to looking up at almost everyone, but people that tower over even you scare the crap out of me.”

“I understand that love, but it doesn’t explain why you’re so comfortable around Chief Daily.” James pointed out to me.

“That is simple. He is my Ground Crew Chief. He’s like most Maintenance Chiefs. He hates having to train new officers, so he covers my ass. I in turn keep him and his Ground Crew out of the bullshit whenever possible.” My quick explanation of my relationship with Chief Daily and his crew made James smile.

“And you’re worried about not having what is takes to be a Squadron Commanding Officer.” James said with a smirk and a wink. “Just get doing what you do with your Ground Crew now. Only do it on a larger scale and you’ll be fine. Just don’t be afraid to come down on them when they screw up.”

“I don’t have that problem. Just ask Corporal Keller. His happy ass is digging foxholes and bunkers over at the MASH for every last member of that unit. For being drunk on duty last week.” I was still pissed at the man for that stupidity.

“Oh, trust me, I’ve heard all about your less than orthodox method of corrective training. I must say that you really got the attention of the Enlisted with that stunt. I’ve had more than a few of the Enlisted coming to me on Keller’s behalf.” James told me with a chuckle as we entered the Command Center.

Before I could make a comeback, General Davenport stepped in front of me. “Colonel Cole, I expect my Commanding Officers to be in uniform at all times. Especially for the morning command briefings. General McManus see to correcting this oversight by your Staff Officer.”

I looked over at McManus to see that he was indeed a one star General now. I just stood there as he walked around the holograph table to stand in front of me. There was a smile playing across his face. In his hands was a set of silver eagle pins. The insignia for a full Colonel. I handed one to James and stepped to my left side.

“These were my first pair of chickens, Terresa. They were passed down to me from my Colonel as they were passed down from his. You will be the eighth person to wear these eagles and the first female among them. I hope they bring you as much luck as they have brought me. Remember that the one with the broken off talon is always worn on the left shoulder.”

I couldn’t believe that this shit was actually happening. Even as James and McManus were pinning the eagles on my shoulders General Saint read out the orders promoting me to full Colonel. I looked over at James who had a smile on his face. I wanted to pound him but, with all of these General Staff Officers present, I doubted that I could get away with it. As they stepped back General Davenport smiled at me.

“Congratulations Colonel. I know that your promotion has to be a shock, but those orders came in with the rest of your awards in this mornings COMPAC.” She looked around the room at the many new faces that were present. “As you can see Colonel, more than a few faces have been added to this morning’s meeting. They’re the Commanding Generals for the eighteen divisions that have relieved our small resistance. They all wanted to be here to meet the Flight Officer that had racked up such an impressive record of victories.”

There was one Death Dealer Officer that stood out among the others. Her pale skin, blood red lips, and sunglasses marked her as being a citizen of Wallachia. After spending four years with a ‘vampire’ for a classmate I could spot one a mile away. With the twenty-second here she could only be THE Lady Saris Victoria. Currently the only Wallachian to have reach the rank of High Lord or Lady of Death Dealers. The ruby tips of her ‘fangs’ stuck out over her lower lip, giving her a predatory appearance that was almost supernatural.

As Lady Saris walked up to me I had to fight my natural impulse to cover my neck. The ‘vampire’ act was exactly that, an act. I knew far too much about the people of Wallachia from my classmate Silas Tamm. The bit with the teeth was something that more than a few of the military minded Wallachians did for the intimidation factor. Silas told me that it went back to some guy named Valid Dracula. She could tell that she had put me on edge. The woman must have a witched funny bone.

Saris cracked a smile and went with as a greeting. “I vant to drink your blood! Bla babla!” I couldn’t help it and busted out laughing. “It is good to see that you have not lost your sense of humor, Colonel.”

“Lady Saris, I can honestly say that Terresa losing her sense of humor has never been in danger of happening.” General Davenport quirked. “Now, her temper on the other hand is a totally deferent story. She likes to dislocate the joints of people who have pissed her off. That or blow them out of the sky.”

“Yeah, wait a minute I’m not that bad, General.” I had to try to defend myself against these baseless accusations. Needless to say, all of my rebuttals fell on deaf ears. Rebuttals that only produced rounds of laughter. Needless to say, I was miffed. No, I’ll be honest, I was pissed.

Lady Saris took pity on me. “Don’t worry Colonel Cole. I know the value of having such a reputation for being a Hellion. You’ll find that in the coming years that it is an asset rather than a hindrance. Especially when dealing with troublesome young Lieutenants and Captains.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that Lady Saris. Right now, I would settle for certain members of the Command Staff not pegging me for a trouble maker.” I answered.

“On the contrary Colonel Cole. The Command Staff here hold you in nothing but the highest respect. Those awards packets had to come through my office before being forwarded to Empyreal Military High Command. I won’t even go into the number of officers that send in their own recommendations for those same awards. At last count there are over fifty-seven officers on that list alone. As for the Enlisted members of this base there are more than two-hundred names on the list of those who have recommended you for the ICV, Flying Cross, and the Bronze and Silver stars. Hell, you deserve the promotion to Major just for your work in solving AI-burnout among our pilots. Then there is your work on the F1-E5 Strike Eagles. That alone would have earned you a promotion to Captain well ahead of normal time frames.”

Lady Saris stood before me with a very serious look on her face. “You have shown a knack for finding and then trouble shooting problems that could only be matched by seasoned Field Officers. You have gone out of your way to hide your accomplishments. When the time for actions against an enemy force you have yet to shirk your place on the line. You have continuously pushed yourself to further and further acts of selfless devotion to duty. Always placing the safety of others above your own. I along with just about every Death Dealer Lord or Lady has read the after actions reports concerning your battles. With the exception of a few, you have more than earned your rank of Colonel.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Most of the High Lords and Ladies of the Death Dealers approve of my new rank. I had never expected this kind of praise. Let alone the awards that I had received. I had to set this misconception of me right.

“Lady Saris, of all things that you have said most are true. As for going out there and putting myself on the line that is what I do. I’m a fighter pilot. My battle position is in the cockpit of a fighter going all out pushing the edge of sanity. With my ass set on fire at the same time. Any of the other pilots would have done the same thing that I have. I’ve just been lucky.”

Saris looked over at James. “Is she always like this, your Highness?”

“Yes. I wish she would take more credit for her accomplishments. Hell, I showed her a copy of her orders earlier just, so she would name her new Squadron.” James complained to the gathered officers.

“Speaking of your new Squadron, Colonel. I need their name for the roster.” General McManus said from his position on the other side of the trailer.

“I too would like to know who my pilots will be flying with. No sense in shooting down friendly pilots.” A rather smug looking bitch with the rank of a Naval Commander said. The hand on my shoulder stopped my normal reply to smug bitches on the tip of my tongue. James gave me a look that said, ‘play nice Terresa’.

“Commander, let me be very clear on this matter. Because I won’t warn you or your pilots again. You fire on my pilots they will fire back. Only they won’t do it by mistake, and they will shoot to kill. And understand something Commander, the Wraiths of the Seven-hundred-and-seventy-seventh do not take prisoners.” I didn’t care what the gathered Generals thought. I was going to get my point across to this bitch. If she let her pilots run wild mine will put them in the ground.

“Do you really think your pitiful Squadron of crop-dusters can stand up to fully trained fighter and bomber pilots of the Empire, little girl?” The little girl comment almost got the bitch shot in the CP. I was beyond pissed now.

“Commander Houseman, if I were you, lassie, I would quit while you be ahead. Ye, be not wanting ta tangle with them so-called crop-dusters. Every last one of them is a fully blooded killer of the skies. Each with at least five kills apiece. Can you be saying the same for your pilots?” McManus jumped to my Squadron defense so fast that I thought my head was going to pop off. “I thought not. I suggest you apologize to Colonel Cole before she takes you to task.”

“Believe me, Commander Houseman, that is something you really don’t want to happen. Because unfortunately for your sorry ass, when it happens I’ll be looking the other way. Terresa Cole has earned my respect and loyalty you haven’t.” I looked over at General Davenport like she had just grown a second head.

“Get to it Houseman. Before I beat you the frack down for what you’ve pulled in here. And I got the means and the training to take your ass bare handed.” I spun towards General Camron of the nineteenth Light Infantry Division in total surprise. The man didn’t even know me, but he was willing to fight for me. I got my answer for his reaction from another of the gathered Generals.

“If he doesn’t Houseman, I’ll be more than happy to handle the task. I’ve told you more than once to respect the local assets. Your boys and girls aren’t nowhere as good as you think. One of these days you’re going to let that alligator mouth of yours overload your jaybird ass. I just hope it doesn’t get one of your pilots killed.” The other Navy Commander in the room snapped. “Colonel Cole, you’ll not have any problems out of the Nine-oh-second Squadrons of the Queen Elisabeth.”

“Typical of you Carter. Back the local want-a-bees. Just because the Silver-eyed-bitch got past her expiration date doesn’t mean she good.” That was it I had, had enough. The bitch was going to die. My sidearm cleared its holster faster than Houseman could deploy her weapons. I pulled the trigger twice. I put one round in each shoulder at less than fifteen feet. Even as she was falling towards the floor the other Generals and Naval Officers of the twenty-second Death Dealer Battle Group were looking at me in total surprise. Only the officers of the 101st weren’t surprised by my actions to Houseman and her antagonistic attitude.

Davenport just leaned out the CP door. “Call for a medic, Johnson. No hurry.”

“General Davenport, are you just going to stand there and let a junior officer just gun down a fellow officer over self-expression?” One of the General’s from the combat divisions practically demanded of Davenport. “If you won’t do anything to this upstart I will. I want that Silver-eyed-slut in irons before the sunsets.”

I knew that I had just screwed the pouch big time but didn’t care. Me and the pilots of White Sands have been in continuous flight operations since this shit started and I was in no mood for some rich High Families bitch’s bullshit. I was surprised by another of the 22nd Generals coming to my rescue. “Gordon, I would shut the frack up before General Davenport shoots you. The young lady, that you just demanded the arrest of, is more than just a hero on this base. She is the Second Fracking Coming of the Almighty for the Enlisted and can do no wrong in their eyes. I suggest that you start making your apology now.”

“Miller you cannot seriously be taking that thing’s side? I’ll give the Amazons this much. They know how to deal with genetic freaks like that Claymore slag.”

That got more than one weapon pointed at General Gordon. Most surprisingly General Davenport was one of the people pointing a weapon at the man. The snarl that came from between the clench teeth of Command Sergeant Major Southerland had everyone's attention. “Ya’ disrespect our Glinda one more time and none of you will leave here alive.”

That was another change in the past few days. Someone in the ATC Tower had started calling me Glinda instead of Scorpion during operations. It had taken me and Lilly a while to find any references to a Glinda. Something about a Good Witch of the North and an ancient 2-D entertainment video made in some place called Hollywood Land about some girl from Kansas. Glinda, is also known as the Good Witch of the South, a fictional character created by L. Frank Baum in his Oz novels. I wasn’t too keen to the idea of being called some kind of Witch, but then again, I’ve been called a Silver-eyed-Witch from the first hour after leaving my cocoon. Being named after the Good Witch Glinda has been growing on me fast. I have come to like the name and been thinking about changing my Call sign officially.

“General Gordon, let me explain something for you about the Sergeant Major.” Davenport smirked. “He does not make idle threats, has the respect of every last person in this room and he could very well Command the One-oh-first in my place. If he gives the order to fire, you’ll be filled with so many holes you’ll look like that moldy cheese from Switzerland.”

“Alright people let’s all just calm down here. No need for more bloodshed.” Lady Saris said trying to defuse the very tense situation. Only to have James overrule her with a smile and hand on my shoulder.

“That is where you’re wrong Lady Saris. Colonel Cole has been insulted for the last time by your Command. Either you get a handle on the situation or I will. The last time I looked I’m still the Crowned Prince. I will not have such nonsense bigotry within the ranks of our forces. Especially among its Commanding Officers.”

“Prince James, I must admit that I am just now seeing the level of bigotry in my Command. It seems that more than a few of the officers under me believe that they do not have to follow personnel order seventeen-ten or the associated articles.” The was a note of finality in Saris’ voice as she turn to Gordon. “Well, Gordon. We’re waiting. We don’t have time for your petty bullshit.”

When Gordon didn’t answer right away Saris drop her bomb. “General Nathanial Gordon you are here by relieved of command. Guards take him away to wait trial for multiple counts. I hope you like Hoth, Nathanial.”

“You can’t do this to me! I’m a member of the High Families. I have rights!” The more that Gordan ranted the more James just wanted to shoot him. Me. I didn’t give a shit, so long as he was gone. I also watched as three medics came in and removed Houseman from the briefing room. I knew that they would end up in the tender mercies of my mom and sister. I felt no pity for the bitch. As for Gordon he would get to see the inside of the base’s brig for the rest of this war.

“Colonel Cole, I would like to apologize on behalf of my Command. No one should have to put up with such ignorance. Unfortunately, not all members of the Death Dealers can put aside the old hates and fears.” Lady Saris was saying to me as I watched the procession out of the room.

I waved away her apology with a smile. “Ma’am, in the words of my mother. They can go piss up a rope. I’ll live my life despite what they want. Fast, free, and unashamed of who I am. I am more than just a Claymore.”

“She’s my daughter for starters.” Came mom’s voice from behind me as she entered the room. To be followed by Sylvia’s voice.

“She’s my sister, and my hero.” Sylvia walked up to me and hugged. “Congrats on the promotions. You deserve them.”

“Don’t hog the hugs sis. Move over and let me in there.” I looked over to where the voice came from and was surprised to see Sylvester. He walked up to me and gave me a half assed salute then hugged me. “Way to go sis. I just wish I had been there to put in my own recommendation.”

“And just what would you have put her in for Major Cole?” Lady Saris asked.

“Simple ma’am. The Imperial Parliamentary Medal of Honor. Nothing less. If you want a reason that’s simple. She flew escort duty for all six of our deep strike missions with no wingman. More than forty hours in the air. And not one lost transport. That is an unprecedented record. Not only was she able to safely escort six deep strike missions she racked up twenty-three air-to-air victories while in the performance of her escort duties.” There was something about the way Sylvester basically challenged any one to cast doubt on his claims.

Lady Saris held up her hands to warn off the Cole’s. “Peace. I have nothing but the highest respect for Colonel Cole and all she has accomplished.”

I cleared my throat. “Can we get on with the morning meeting? Or does someone else want to pull a bonehead stunt?”

When no one spoke up General Davenport started to chuckle. “Colonel Cole I must say that you know how to liven up a boring assed morning meeting.”

“I do my best ma’am. Sorry about the blood on the new floors.” I said pointing to where Houseman had been bleeding from her gunshot wounds. Which of course brought a round of laughter from those who remained. Davenport waved for everyone to gather around the main holo-tank and then pointed for one of the Intel Officers to start.

“Morning ladies and gentlemen. I’m Colonel Martian Shore with the one-oh-second Military Intelligence Battalion. And for the first time in a month I have the pleasure of reporting some good news.” The man looked over at me and then Sylvester. “Between the efforts of Colonel and Lieutenant Colonel Cole the bridges over the Reo Grand gorge have been destroyed. With the destruction of those three bridges the nine heavy divisions in the northern half of the continent have been isolated. Rendering them combat ineffective and a non-threat to our upcoming operations.”

“What about the air support those divisions have? Can those units be shifted to other divisions or rolls?” Asked one of the relief Commanders.

“Unfortunately, that has already taken place, General. The three squadrons of KV-81 Sturmgewehrs have been shifted to the central command.” Shore looked over at me. “Colonel Cole, you should know that we have reports, unconfirmed, that the Black Witch has already secured a new KV-81 Sturmgewehr with the sole purpose of shooting you down. I wish you the best of luck when you next face off.”

“Don’t worry about me, Colonel Shore. I plan on putting that bitch’s Jolly-roger on my fuselage. When that happen is all up to the Fates. Any idea of when the River Sluts plan to attack us next?” I wanted solid Intel on the River Sluts. As it was they have been sending harassing attacks by squadrons of F-86 Super Sabers over the mountain ranges every few hours. “I know that the guys driving the Strike Eagles have been having fun shooting them down as if they’re in a target gallery.”

“It seems that the Amazon forces have been forced to retreat beyond effective strike range for their air support. They have become extremely conservative of their fighters and light bombers. Between Colonel Cole’s efforts and those of the fighter pilots of this base the Amazons have lost a total of two-hundred-and-eighty aircraft. We have been trying to get an estimate for their total tactical strike aircraft and have failed repeatedly. The best that the Texans have been able to tell us their number was around nine-hundred-and-eighty at the start of the war. The problem is that number is unconfirmed. It could have been higher.”

I couldn’t believe what I just heard. Over nine-hundred aircraft at the start of the war on New Texas alone. That couldn’t have been correct. My thoughts must have shown on my face. Because Shore put the truth to thoughts.

“I know what you’re thinking Colonel Cole and as much as I wish I could dispute the evidence I cannot. The River Sluts could very well have started the war off with more aircraft than we initially thought. Unlike us the Amazon High Command have taken to using a military philosophy and doctrine from around the late twentieth century. One used by a combined arms military. For every division they deploy they deploy two squadrons of fighters, two squadrons of ground attack bombers, one squadron of medium bombers, and one squadron of heavy bombers. For the Amazon Collective the concept of a three-D battle front has been taken to a whole new level. For them there is no front-line trooper without air support. At the start of the war there were twenty-eight enemy divisions on New Texas. Equaling twenty-eight enemy air regiments. Of those twenty-eight air regiments you and the members of the triple seven, have been able to down two full regiments. On the bright side the Amazons lost two full regiments with the destruction of their Super Carriers.”

“What you’re saying is we’re only facing twenty-two to twenty-four regiments now.” One of the Generals said with a smile. Not really understanding the simplest of facts. We were still out numbered by eleven to one.

“Yup, we’re screwed. Any body got the number for a good proctologist?” I asked the room in general with a smile.

-----tbc-----