Chapter 6
Medical bay aboard the Amazon Super Carrier Anaconda orbit around New Mississippi.

Flight Leader Emily Calisto sat fuming as the med-tech worked on her cyber prosthetic arm. Her prosthetic leg would take another three days to repair, because it would have to be replaced. Which was not helping her mood. The report from her personal aircraft mechanic wasn’t any better. Her beloved Marybelle would need two weeks in the repair bays before she was ready to fly again.

She still couldn’t understand how an out of date P-38D Lightning had been able to damage her KV-81 so severally that she was forced to retreat. Not only that but cause enough damage to her Sturmgewehr to the point she was injured. She still couldn’t understand how that pilot had managed to pull that maneuver. By all rights she had the Lightning dead to rights. There was no way for it to turn the tables and attack her first. Yet the pilot had done just that.

How that light weight fighter had been able to target and destroy her portside engine was beyond her. Especially from an inverted position. It should have been impossible for any pilot to do what that pilot did. Emily couldn’t do half of what she had seen that Lightning do. She just knew that it was being driven by an illegal A.I. system of some kind. She didn’t care what the tactical officers were telling her. She knew better. She was the premier Amazon pilot, not them.

With seventy-eight confirmed victories in air-to-air combat Emily Calisto was a force to be reckoned with in aerial combat. She had been genetically bread for aerial combat. Thanks to her injuries over the last ten years Emily had been forced to use illegal means to keep flying. To that end her left arm, and eye, along with her right leg had been replaced with cybernetic prosthetics. She even had an illegal obtained Death Dealer A.I. One that gave her an edge over most of her counterparts in the Amazon military. Yet, filthy males were telling her that the only aerospace fighter to score a damaging strike on her Sturmgewehr was manned by a living pilot. A test pilot just out of the academy at that.

Emily knew, just knew, that their spies on New Texas had to be wrong. Yet, every report she could get her hands on all said they were telling the truth. The problem was none of their spies could find out the name of the pilot. Also, the reports contradicted each other as to weather the pilot was a normal human or Second-Generation Death Dealer. Even going so far as to what sex the pilot was. None of this made any sense to Emily. Surely their spies within the civilian workforce at the Huston spaceport can find out those simple facts. The dropship that pilot had worked for landed three days ago, and still their spies had been unable to find any information on who the pilot is.

Then there were the reports from their spy within the research and development compound on the far side of the main continent. Reports that were as fascinating as they were disturbing for Emily. A new test pilot that was a Claymore. If the reports were accurate then that was who she faced in that Lightning. The one worrying fact was what this Claymore was doing with the Empire’s new aerospace fighter. These new F-1E5 Strike Eagle aerospace fighters truly outclassed her beloved Marybelle. Not only were they faster but they were better armed and carried more armor. These fighters would be the first of a new class in aerospace fighters, the Super Heavy or Fire Support class fighter weighing in between seventy to eighty tons. More than a match for her Flight’s KV-81 Sturmgewehrs. Thankfully those fighters were still experimental. Thus making them far too expensive for the Empire to use if things get out of hand with the genetic scum of New Texas.

No, her only concern when it came to the R-n-D center was that freak, the Claymore. She knew that the reports had to be mistaken as there had never been a successful conversion of a Claymore aerospace fighter pilot. Yet, their spy within the center was one of their most reliable. Nothing in the reports out of New Texas were making any sense to her. Even the reports on the fools refusing to just surrender to the superiority of the Amazon way of life.

To Emily the only path forward for the human race was through purpose designed cloning. The same type of cloning that had produced her and her family. Whole families of pure soldiers with unquestionable loyalty to the Amazon High Council and Grand Councils. Each member of their society was engineered for a sole purpose with their happiness in mind. Farmers were happy being farmers, soldiers were happy being soldiers and dying for the greater good, factory workers were happy being factory workers. This was the way of an ordered and peaceful society. The random combining of genetics and free thought were an antithesis to her and all Amazons.

The one thing that kept the gene-scum from taking over fully was the Amazons’ political clout within the Hall of Lords and Parliament. As Emily reread the latest reports from their spies on New Texas she found that a new Commander had been appointed to the R-n-D center. At first the name didn’t really register, then like a bolt out of the blue it hit her. The Crown Prince was now in charge of the security for the center. This piece of information made her pay closer attention to the rest of the report. When she saw who the new XO was Emily Calisto let her rage take hold of her for the first time in years.

The med-tech barely had time to get out of the raging High Class’s way a she throws glass and diner wear along with the reports she had been read across the room. All while screaming at the top of her lungs. “THAT GODS BE DAMNED SYLVESTER COLE JUST WON’T STAY FRACKING DEAD! WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO KILL THAT MAN?! WIPE OUT HIS WHOLE STINKING GENETIC FAMILY POOL?!”

Emily’s outburst brought help of the med-tech in the form of two doctors, four nurses, and six very large medical orderlies. The first doctor through the door to her room had to holler over her ranting. “Flight Leader Calisto, you will desist this unbecoming behavior this instant. I do not care if you are High Class I will not have you terrorizing my staff in this manner.”

The reaction from Emily was immediate and volatile as her outburst. “I beg your forgiveness my esteemed Doctor. I shall endeavor to control my emotions.”

“Thank you, Flight Leader Calisto. May we know what has angered you so?” the senior doctor asked of her politely.

“It is the contradicting reports from our spies coupled with some unwelcomed news that an old foe is still alive, esteemed Doctor. I had not meant to frighten the medical technician in my disgraceful display of emotion.” Emily hated the way her genetic programing made her react to those in authority at times. This was one of those times.

The two doctors sat down in the few chairs in Emily’s room. Each picking up a stack of reports off the floor. The two medical professionals passed the documents back and forth after reading them. It took them more than an hour to go through all the reports before they came to a final conclusion. One they knew Flight Leader Emily Calisto would not only hate but want to kill over.

“Flight Leader Calisto, these reports are accurate. We can also see why you became so angered.” The senior doctor told her with a heavy tone. “The pilot that you did engage was the same pilot that is currently a test pilot at the R-n-D center. That same pilot is indeed a Claymore, the first of its kind. And by all reports a very stable Claymore. As for the Crown Prince being assigned to the R-n-D center it would be a natural progression in rank for the gene scum.”

“Excuse me esteemed doctor.” Emily asked just as politely as they had addressed her. Even though she wanted to scream and pound the two doctors her genetic behavioral programing just wouldn’t let her. “How is it that our colleagues in the Intelligence Community have been unable to spot a rarity among the Empyreal as a Claymore within their pilots?”

“That Flight Leader Calisto is a question that the High Council is currently investigating with extreme prejudice. Four of the lower class, two of the educated class and one high class have already been recycled back into the Whole for this breach.” Emily shivered at the doctor’s comment.

To be summerly executed by cellular breakdown was terrifying. It was the ultimate punishment among the Amazon people. The idea that the High Council had sent a high class for genetic recycling was unheard of. The lower class yes, even a member of the educated class was a rarity. She knew that High Council were angered by this breach in their Intelligence Network if they were already setting this kind of example. Then a thought occurred to her.

“Esteemed doctors, could this sudden emergence of an undocumented Death Dealer be due to the Empyreal scientists using illegal A.I.? By that I mean could this Claymore in truth be a Secondary-Configuration and not a Second-Gen.”

Both doctors looked at each other then started to chuckle. They had heard the tales of the fearsome and deadly Secondary-Configuration Death Dealers from old. Everyone in the Empire knew of these tales. Especially those of the medical profession. Those deadly creatures were a thing of the past, now. Thanks in part to the work of First High Lord of the Death Dealers, James Owens.

“I understand that you would want that to be the case, Flight Lieutenant Calisto. Sadly, that cannot be the situation. Not with all the safeguards the Empire has put in place on their Death Dealer A.I.’s. No, this is a case of a Second-Generation Death Dealer Claymore surviving past its first flight and actual combat mission. As for how the freak slipped by unnoticed we have a theory that fits with the facts.” The junior doctor explained to Emily.

“Yes, this is a situation of member of the High Families or even a royal going through the Second-Gen process becoming a Claymore. To hide this from public knowledge the reject was given a new name in the hopes they die a glorious death. It would save face for both the High Family in question; as they would not want to accept a genetic freak among their ranks, and the Empire’s elite military force.”

As the senior doctor outlined their theory, Emily knew it was wrong. The Death Dealers accept all into their ranks. Ever since the Second-Generation process ‘fixed’ the problem with the original Death Dealer A.I.’s they replaced had the normal Empyreal Military across the board. They were still the premier military force to have ever existed. Only amongst aerospace fighter pilots were the odds still considered even between House troops and Empyreal troops. Then there was the idea that a High Family just writing off a member of the family because they exited their cocoon as a Claymore. Unlike the doctors, Emily had spent time among the gene-scum of the Empire. She knew that to these ‘free breeders’ family ties meant everything. While Amazons practiced genetically matching mates the concept was still abhorrent to the rest of the Empire. That and all children within the Amazon controlled worlds were bred by genetic engineering and tube grown removing the uncertainty of undesirable traits.

“Esteemed doctors, has any of your brethren figured out what causes the Claymores?” Emily still wanted to know more about these rare Death Dealers.

“They are nothing more than genetic freaks, Flight Leader. Put all thoughts of them being better than our perfectly genetic engineered pilots and soldiers from your mind. You are a far superior specimen than the Claymore could ever have been.” Emily wanted to smack the senior doctor for so casually dismissing the Claymores. These educational class fools were not the ones having to face off against an unknown enemy.

“Thank you for your vote of confidence in our abilities, doctors. I would like to get some more sleep, now.” Emily knew that her request would be granted. If for no other reason than the two doctors had been harping on her to rest more. She kept the smile from her face as the medical staff filed out of her room. Once she was alone Emily sighed and closed her eyes. “Damned fools are going to get our society dismantled with their attitudes. We maybe the perfect example of humanity, but they cannot see the one percent that pose a real threat. Like that damned Claymore.”

White Sands Research and Development Center, New Texas
Personal journal of Terresa Cole.
For the first three days I spent my time just getting signed into the unit. I still couldn’t believe that the Flight Sargent made me watch that middle school vid ‘Your menstrual cycle and you.’ I know that I have only been a woman for twenty-four days, but damn it. I’ve lived with two women growing up, not to mention four girls at the academy, to know about a woman’s cycle. Then there was the trip to the quarter masters for new uniforms, flight suit, helmet, and underwear; which I learned was called lingerie for women. I don’t know which was more embarrassing. The OB/GYN exam or the bra fitting. No, on second thought I know exactly what the most embarrassing moment in the past twenty-five days has been. Telling my mother, that her youngest son was now her youngest daughter.

To say mom was not pleased at hearing this news would be an understatement. She got even more pissed off when I had to tell her that I couldn’t tell her how it happened. When she demanded to speak with Sy, or Sylvia, I knew things were going to go from bad to worse. It took only four minutes and mom made her decision. When my mother makes up her mind about something, you can forget about changing it. She was on her way here and nobody was going to get in her way. I had six more days before retired full bird Colonel Andria Cole, Empyreal Military Medical Core touched down on New Texas. I was just glad my father wasn’t still alive. The idea of Brigadier General Jackson ‘Ironwood’ Cole showing up was enough to send most regimental commanders running for the hills. When you added in my mother there was pure hell to pay and it would be in the devil’s coin.

I still can’t believe that my new Commander is my worst nightmare. First off, he just has to be a royal, not just any royal, but the Crown Prince James Nakatoma. Second, the man is not even an aerospace fighter. All he understands is Armored Power Suits. He has no idea of how aerospace fighters work. Third, the man gives me the willies with the way he looks at me. If I didn’t know any better; I would swear he was looking at me with ideas of marriage. Well, dating anyway. My brother and sister aren’t helping matters either.

The only times I’ve gotten any peace of mind has been during two test flights. Both were with the new F1-E5 Strike Eagles. They are a true dream to fly. They are not the fastest bird in the air, but they damned sure are the most acrobatic. I know that the development team are not too happy with me after my last flight though. It seems that I pushed my bird a little too hard. They can’t figure out how I was able to stress the fuselage to the point of cracking. All I did was pull a seven-g inverted loop followed by an Ingram spiral. How was I supposed to know that the Strike Eagle’s airframe was not stressed for that kind of g’s. I still think the look on the designers’ faces was priceless when I told them they needed to shift three of the supports to fix the problem.

--- end of journal entry ---

I sat back in my desk chair and stretch. I double check the time to make sure that I’m not running late. With a smile I pulled up the zipper to my new flight suit and head for the door. I know that I can use just my bio-armor but after two years of wearing flight suits for my duty uniform I am pretty much like most other pilots. That and the Base Commander frowns on personnel in bio-armor only around the base.

I have another reason for wearing a flight suit that the other pilots don’t. Unlike the other pilots, I can’t change the color of my armor for some reason. Hell, my armor even lacks the stealth features of the regular Second-Gens. When I engage my bio-armor all I get is a brilliant metallic silver, which would be fine if I was on an ice planet. The problem was New Texas was more like its names sake. Parts of it were swampy, wooded, plains, or desert. With the desert areas having whole sections that are made up of fields upon fields of white sand dunes composed of gypsum crystals. I look out my rooms window at the white sand dunes that stretch over into the distance.

‘Lilly what is our progress for the new fighter?’

‘Currently, we are at sixty-one percent Terresa. The biggest problem we’re facing is the performance vectors of the current airframes in use. Each combination that we have tried fails. Even with the data I collected from our last flight with Strike Eagle I just cannot find a combination that will hold up to YOUR abilities.’

I thought about what Lilly just told me and sighed. It was as if for every step forward we take, we take two steps back. We had already gone through five configurations of airframes. All have failed in our simulator tests. The only thing that worked with each try was the aeronautics package for the Strike Eagle. It was everything else that made up an aerospace fighter that was the problem. We tried using every fighter in the current inventory and none of them could hold up to the maneuvers that my new abilities allowed me to perform.

The problems were everything from lack of power to too much power or lack of mobility to too much to the point of uncontrollability. We just couldn’t find the right balance between the two. Lilly had run simulation, after simulation, all to no avail. There was just no fighter, bomber, or ground attack craft that could stand up to what I could put the craft through. There just wasn’t an airframe out there that would work for me and Lilly.

‘Terresa, I really hate to tell you this but we may need to go outside of the inventory for our airframe. The only airframe that I have found that has all of our requirements is a defunct experimental airframe. One that was deemed too unstable for production at the time. I believe that with the new aeronautics package of the Strike Eagle and our enhanced abilities that we can make it work.’

‘Tell me about this experimental fighter, Lilly.’ I really hope that she was right.

‘For starters the airframe is not a fighter in the traditional sense. It was supposed to be a fast, long-range, high-altitude photographic reconnaissance aircraft. There were two prototypes built. The first prototype XF-11 used Pratt & Whitney R-4360-31 cyclone engines with duel thrusters. Each engine increased performance and stability, at the cost of increased mechanical complexity. Due to constant problems with the propulsion system, the second prototype had regular single thruster variants. Both variants were exceptionally fast and extremely maneuverable. Both were more suited for the roles of intercept fighters. As reconnaissance aircraft they were dismal failures.’

‘Why did they fail, Lilly?’ I was already liking where she was going. An experimental airframe that was both fast and maneuverable like the one she was talking about could fit our needs. The problem would be getting our hands on the designs.

‘They failed, because no one could fly them without crashing, Terresa. The design team that worked on those airframes could never find the right balance between avionics and power to weight ratio. I believe that if we use the aeronautic package from the F1-E5 and this airframe we would have solve both problems.’

I thought about what Lilly just told me. I knew that the F1-E5 had the foremost avionics and aeronautics package in the Empire. It took me pushing the two that I have flown to the very edge of their flight envelope to see that. They were a dream to fly for most people, to me they were ecstasy in flight. The biggest problem I had with them was they just couldn’t keep up with what I wanted them to do.

‘Lilly, just how old is that design?’

‘The XF-11 design predates the current Empyreal calendar by two-hundred-and-eighty-eight years, Terresa. The last known reference for this airframe is in the Royal archives as a failed experiment in aerospace craft design.’

There was something about that last comment that made me want to know why Lilly even looked at the design. ‘Lilly, why did you even look at an already failed design? Wouldn’t an already proven design be a better place to start? Especially a design that is over what seven-hundred years old?’

‘Because all of the proven designs just will not meet our needs. And the design is just over seven-hundred-twenty years old. Before you dismiss the design out of hand let me show it to you.’

‘Okay Lilly, you win. Show me what you think will be our perfect airframe.’ I figured that I would take one look and be able to tear it apart. Boy was I ever wrong. This aerospace craft was anything but a failure in design. It looked right from every angle. While the Lightning was a beautiful aircraft this one took the twin-boom center pod design to a whole new level. This aircraft was massive, mean, and shark like. It was a true apex predator of the skies. Even looking at the raw blueprints made my hands itch to be at the controls. Then I saw something that made me rethink the XF-11. It had no weapons and was a two-man crew. ‘Lilly where are the weapons on this beauty?’

‘That is this craft’s only drawback Terresa. It has none. But I believe that if we shift the pilot’s position back to where the copilot is and shift the central pod towards the rear by a full meter we can arm the XF-11.’

‘What kind of firepower are we talking here?’

‘Twice the number of beam weapons in the central pod of the Lightning and more than three times the number of missiles in wing mounted pods. There is also the additional fuel capacity for longer flight times without the loss to armor.’

‘Wait! Just what weight class is this baby in?’

‘It would be considered a heavy or fire support fighter. Just short of the bomber classes at seventy-five tons fully loaded. The other advantage we have with this design is the central pod configuration we can mount one of the new Gatlin Cannons.’

I thought about what Lilly was telling me. I liked what I heard. ‘Okay Lilly, setup a simulator for that design with the Strike Eagle package. Right now, I have got to get to my appointment with the base head shrinker.’

‘Play nice Terresa. The good doctor is only doing his job.’

If I could get my hands on Lilly just then, I wouldn’t be held responsible for my actions. I hate having to sit and talk about my feelings to some stranger. I really hate talking to shrinks and Doctor Andrew Freud is the biggest dumbass shrink on the planet. The main reason I hate the jackass is he thinks that he is the next great innovator in the fake science of psychology. I know that I’m putting it off but head to my appointment anyway.

As I walk down the hallways of the center I feel the eyes of just about everyone on me. I also hear the whispers. It takes all my control not to draw the Castle Arms .45 caliber automatic pistol on my side and just start shooting a few of them. The moment I have that thought I know I’m on the edge again. “Damn it, Terresa. Get a hold of yourself girl. If you don’t that quack will ground, you for sure.”

“Talking to yourself will also get you grounded, Lieutenant. Faster than shooting the support staff will.” The voice from behind me almost got shot. “Damn LT you really got to calm down there.”

I sigh as I look at the man that is both a valued part of my ground team and a hard-core pain in my ass. Chief Warrant Officer Larry ‘Lucky’ Daily has to be one of the best aerospace mechanics in the Empire. He also had more ‘blackmarks’ for disrespect to the High Families than I. The problem was he just didn’t give a shit about who your family was. The man was also one hell of a poker player.

“You know something Chief Daily. I’ve known your sorry ass for a little less than a month now. During that time, you have told me to calm down at least once a day. You have yet to give me a reason to calm down.” I snapped at the man.

“What can I say, ma’am? I see a nice young lady like yourself, being all nervous like, and I just got to help out.” The man gave me a warm smile. “Besides, Lieutenant. If you keep jumping at every little shadow the quack will ground the best pilot that we’ve seen in over ten years.”

I wanted to pound the man but couldn’t. I had to laugh at him calling Doctor Freud a quack. “Thanks Chief. I needed that.”

“All part of the job, ma’am.” At over seven foot tall, Daily towered over me. I knew that he was from Doreen V. I just didn’t understand why he was trying to be so damned helpful to me. As we continued walking down the hallway I thought about what I knew of the people from Doreen V. I knew that about twenty-eight years ago the medical community finally found an alternative cure for Bowden’s Syndrome that didn’t result in the castration or feminization of so many males from that planet. I had checked Chief Daily’s records. I knew he was too old for the new cure. So, he had to have been subjected to the old HRT regime.

Daily must have picked up on where my thoughts had gone. “Yes, ma’am. I got the old batch. Thankfully the Empress cleaned up my home planet. A lot more of us are serving in the Empyreal Military now, not just the House Units. All thanks to the new HRT cure that came out twenty-nine years ago.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude Chief. I know how that subject is rather touchy for your people.” My honesty must have surprised the big man.

“I got to say Lieutenant, you’re different from all the other officers I’ve dealt with of the years.” He blushed a little as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Um… no offence meant ma’am.”

“And none taken Chief. Trust me, I know I’m not your everyday officer. Hell, my brother and sister are more along the lines of what an officer should be. Even they are unorthodox at the best of times.” I chuckled at this last statement.

I knew that my family had a reputation. Our grandfather’s grandfather had set the precedence for five generations. In many ways I liked being on New Texas at the research center. Here most people don’t know a whole lot about my family and its history within the Empyreal Military.

We had reached the medical wing by this time. I gave the Chief a sideways glance, then smiled. “I take it that you were sent to ensure I made my appointment Chief?”

“Sorry, ma’am, but that’s on a need to know only basis. And you don’t need to know.” I wanted to pound the Chief, but I could only laugh at the old joke.

“Fine, Chief.” I toss the big a wave and head for Freud’s office. “I’ll catch you later.” I stop as Lilly reminds me of our little side project. “Yeah, Chief. Can I get you to do me a favor? There’s an aerospace craft design setup for a similar run. It currently lacks weapons. Could you see what you can do with it?”

“Sure Lieutenant. I do have to ask. You have been going through simulated designs like made. Almost every last one of them has been a failed design at one time or the other. Just what are you looking for in a fighter?” he knew what I was up to, so I gave the man an honest answer.

“One that will keep up with me and my A.I. Chief.” I smiled at him and headed inside Freud’s office. Of all the people at the R-n-D center only Chief Daily understood what I was hunting for in a fighter. I hear as the door closes.

“I’ll do what I can for you ma’am.”

‘Chief Daily is a very competent engineer Terresa. It was good of you to include him in your plans for designing our new fighter.’

‘I don’t know him being a good engineer, Lilly. What I do know is he has an innate grasp of fighter craft that the researchers lack. Like the old saying goes. It takes a thief to catch a thief. In this case, if you want to fix a problem aircraft go to the people who fix them on a daily basis.’ Lilly chuckled at my comment.

“About time you arrived Lieutenant. Sit down, we don’t have all day and you have already wasted more than enough of my time.” At Freud’s comment I almost shoot the fracking bastard on purpose. Just on the grounds that he is an arrogant ass hat. I know that I was close as my HUD painted him with a set of crosshairs. What I didn’t know was that there was a set of golden crosshairs covering my pupils and irises. The good doctor however did know. As they very clear for all to see. He got the blunt hint that he had crossed the line with me. “I see you’re having anger management issues, Lieutenant. I believe we’ll start with that first.”

If I didn’t have to be here and killing the man would not get me thrown in the brig, I would show him how I manage my anger. As it was I take a seat and breathe deeply. For the next half hour, the jackass goes out of his way to keep me pissed off for some reason. I swear if I didn’t know any better he was doing it on purpose. Finally, I have enough and lash out. All thoughts of his rank and him being a fellow officer went out the window. When you consider that he was a Major and I was a Lieutenant, it was pretty dumb on my part.

“Listen, you two-bit wannabe piece of shit in search of a medical degree! I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m suicidal or a danger to the base, but you need to get your shit together.”

“About time you let some of that simmering anger out Terresa.” Freud sat back with a smile. “I was wondering how long it would take. You actually made further than I or my staff had thought.”

That brought me up short. “Excuse me sir. But just what does that mean?”

“Terresa, until twenty-five days ago you were a normal healthy young of man twenty-two years. According to your medical records you were also extremely heterosexual in your orientation to the point of having four girlfriends during your time at the academy. With the exception of your rather singular medical condition you were the perfect example of a military test pilot.” Freud’s total change in attitude towards me threw me for a loop. “Now, you’re a seventeen-year-old female. One who has had one of the most powerful Death Dealer A.I.’s shoved into her head. Something you were never trained or prepared for. The mere confluence of this event is worrisome under the best of circumstances. Do you understand why the staff are so worried about your safety now?”

I took a few seconds before answering. “To be honest with you doctor, no. I mean it’s not like Second-Gen sex changes don’t still happen. I mean two of my classmates went through the process and became females.”

Freud sighed. “Terresa, I think you need to understand something about those changes. Most of them happen because the subject already suffers from some form of gender dysphoria. Part of the Second-Gen process addresses these problems in order to provide a more stable Death Dealer. You on the other hand never showed any of the signs for gender dysphoria. You already have one documented breakdown because of your new gender and the reactions of those around you.”

I wanted to tell him he was full of shit but couldn’t. He was only telling the truth. “Terresa you have been trying to grunt your way through this and that ain’t going to work. You can’t keep ignoring your new body like you have been. You are a beautiful young lady now. Men and women are going to stare. This is now a very uncomfortable fact of your new life. Walking around with your HUD actively painting everyone you see with targeting crosshairs is upsetting. When you add in the fact that one out of ten has an active Death Dealer A.I. as well. Sooner or later there is going to be a deadly accident for someone. Most likely for you, as you are without the weapons needed to defend yourself. Do you see where I’m going, yet?”

Sadly, I did. For the past twenty-five days I’ve barely done more than shower, go to the bathroom, and dress myself when alone. I hate my new body and it has been showing in my personal appearance. I may have put on a bold face for General Davenport and the Crown Prince during the Courts Martial but that’s all that it was. The only time I have been happy in the past few days was during my test flights and simulator times. Before I could even comment Freud went in for the kill.

“By the way, why are you out of uniform? I specifically stated for you to show in workday Class C uniform. Yet here you are in your flight suit. In direct violation of that order.” Freud might have thought he had me, but he didn’t.

“Sorry, doctor, but the workday Class C uniform for pilots is a standard flight suit. As much as you want to bust me for not being in uniform you can’t.” I smirked.

“That is what I’m talking about Terresa. For the last twenty-four days the only uniform you have worn is a flight suit. I know for a fact that you purchased two additional flight suits from clothing sales. No one has seen you wearing anything resembling a normal uniform or civilian clothing. Your work performance is beyond reproach but your interactions with your fellow officers is nonexistent. You go to work, eat, go back to work, have diner, then just disappear. This self-imposed isolation of yours is not healthy, Terresa.” I want to tell Freud to go frack himself. That he was wrong. The problem was he was right.

“Ah frack it! I’m doing my best here doc. I’ll try harder, just don’t ground me.”

“Terresa, I’m not going to grounded you unless I feel the need to. The problem has been you haven’t been facing your problems. That’s why you’re in here now.” At my blank look Freud sighed. “You have had two live test flights both of which damned near ended in crashes. You have logged another twelve test flights on the simulator that end in you crashing. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“Doctor Freud, I’m not suicidal. I know what my actions look like but I’m just doing my job to the best of my abilities. The problem has been that I keep flying beyond the capabilities of the aircraft I’m testing. I just don’t know where the edge is for these Strike Eagles. I keep trying to find the edge is all.” I tell him in all honesty. I’m almost crying at this point. “As for the simulator flights, only half of them were in Strike Eagles. The rest were well a side project I’ve been working on. To let you know what that is I’ll just tell you now. I’ve been going through every fighter in the inventory trying to find one that I can’t fly past its envelope in normal combat situations.”

“I thought that was the case. With your H.H.S.S. and that D.D.A.I. of yours you would need a truly exceptional fighter to work with. I may not have your engineering knowledge for aerospace fighters Lieutenant, but I can grasp certain aspects of a fighter from a pilot’s point of view.” I gave Freud a sideways look. “My brother was a pilot with the two-ninety-second Blue Devils before being grounded due to combat related injuries. My only question along those lines is why are you just looking at current fighters? You have the mind for it. Design your own fighter.”

“I have already tried going that route doc. I’m just not a design engineer. Now, you give me a proven design and I tell you if it’ll fly. Along with what it takes to crash the thing. That’s why I have been going through the inventory one at a time. I’ll know the fighter when it comes along.” I was smiling over my explanation.

Whatever I said must have made an impression on Freud. “Alright Lieutenant, I’ll sign off on your flight status. You can keep flying but there will be conditions.”

I didn’t like where Freud was going with his conditions but knew I had no choice if I wanted to continue flying. “First off you will wear your Class A’s or B’s on two of the four days you’re not flying. Secondly you can only wear your flight suit if you’re scheduled for an actual flight or simulator time. Other than that, your uniform is Class C battledress. Lastly you need to get out of your room and see some of the base and surrounding area. You follow those three conditions and you can keep flying. You don’t, and you’re grounded until further notice. Do we have an understanding Lieutenant Cole?”

I knew that I was backed into a corner. The little bastard had out maneuvered me before I knew what was going on. I was just trying to get by through pure grit and plain old military ignorance. Not having to recognize and deal with the whole gender swap bullshit. Sure, I knew I was now a female for the rest of my life, but I had time to deal with this later, not right now.

“Yes, Major. Anything else?” I ground out through clenched teeth.

“Yes Terresa. Go get drunk and while you’re at it laid.” At Freud’s very blunt statement I blink my eyes a few times. Then start laughing.

Once I have myself under control I give Freud a friendly look. “Doc, have you taken a good look at me? I know what my id says, but do you really see a base or civilian bar allowing me to drink? They’ll throw my happy little ass out before I ordered my first damned beer. Not to mention one minor little problem. One that will basically have them calling for the mud puppies.”

“And just what problem is that Terresa?” Freud must what been waiting for this argument from the way he sat forward in his chair resting his arms on his desk. I didn’t care and plowed into the attack.

“I AM A CLAYMORE! YOU STUPID ASSHOLE!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I sat back in my chair knowing I had him now. Boy was I wrong.

“So fracking what Terresa. Who cares if you’re a Claymore. Just be yourself and people will leave you alone. You walk around here with a chip on your shoulder and then they’ll be looking to knock it off.” I gave the man a look that said he was stupid or naive. Freud just sighed. “Look Terresa, most military personnel know that Claymores are not some kind of barely controlled killed machine. You just have to give them a chance to get to know you.”

“That is where you’re wrong Doctor. So wrong that it is pathetic.” I stood up and turned to leave but not without giving him some advice. “You don’t hear the whispers in the hallways or chowhalls. Take some advice. Remove the rank and insignia, then walk around base talking to the enlisted. Then do the same with just your rank among the officers. Just ask them how they feel about having a Claymore on the base. I tell right now what you’ll hear.”

“And just what is that Lieutenant?” I could tell that Freud was taken aback by my challenge and wanted to prove me wrong.

“That one of two things happen. The first is easy. That I die during a test flight. The other is the brass transfers my ass to a combat zone to die. Either way they all want me dead so long as I don’t take them with me. I can tell that you haven’t spent much time around enlisted, Non-Coms, and combat line officers, doc. As far as the ass in the grass troopers go, Claymores are just as dangerous to them as we are to the fracking enemy. More than a few of them believe we should be placed in a box with a glass cover. A cover that reads ‘smash in case of war’.”

With that I snatch the door open and leave. As I jerk the door closed I got a good look at the look of utter disbelief on Freud’s face. It was an especially gratifying sight to see as I slam the door and storm down the hall towards the one place I knew that I would get kicked out. The base Officer’s Club.

As I exit the building I find Chief Daily standing next to a FAV. “The shrink called and let me know he pissed you off ma’am.”

“You could say that Chief. Any chance you got a bottle in that FAV?” I asked as I pointed at the fast attack vehicle. “If not just drop me off at the O club.”

“Get in Lieutenant. We’ll both go. Besides, nobody should have to get drunk alone or deal with shitheads by themselves.” We both climbed in the FAV. Once the big man settled behind the wheel I asked.

“Yeah Chief, why you doing this? It’s not like I’m your problem.”

“That’s where you’re wrong Lieutenant. You’re MY test pilot. That makes you part of my crew. I take care of my crew. Until they transfer your cute little ass, or you buy the farm, you’re my problem.” Then the big man smiled. “Besides, I have always loved pounding the shit out of bigots, assholes, and racists. With you tagging along I also get to watch as a barkeep has to swallow his damned bullshit over carding personnel because they don’t look old enough to drink.”

“Well then Chief you’ll get your wish. Because the moment that assholes tells me that I can’t drink in that club. I’m putting his head up his ass.” Chief Daily gave me a sideways glance as I let the anger I felt fill my words. “That quack wants me to get out more then he’ll get just that. Right along with the body count.”

-----tbc-----