Work in Progress

Chapter 1

         "I don't want to do this any more!"
         Admiral Teramore broke out in a broad grin as Mike's voice thundered down the hallway of the Earth Defense Forces building at Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada. He walked several more steps before pushing open the door to Mike's, the director's, office without knocking.
         "Problem?" he asked, trying to hold back the grin.
         "Damn right! All I do is attend meetings, file reports, and beg for money. When I want a building, I build it. When I want equipment, I make it. Here I have a never-ending schedule of meetings and reports.  Thank God that the house can file the reports for me or I would have been totally insane by now."
         "Welcome to the real world" the Admiral laughed, losing his composure. "Now you're stuck in the rat race with the rest of us!"
         "I hate this crud! I do what needs doing...here I have to go through ten committees before they will even consider what is necessary. If I say we need another MiG, I mean we need it yesterday...now they consider the circumstance and spend three months debating before approving it...if they approve it!"
         "Like I said, welcome to the real world." The admiral now broke out into a grin, knowing that Mike's independent nature would rebel against any form of control.
         "Last week I wanted to send half-dozen pilots out the patrol around Neptune. I had to file a formal request that went to committee. Three days later it was turned down! I thought I was in charge here!"
         Now the Admiral was audibly chuckling. "You'll discover that nobody's in charge in a bureaucracy. That's the beauty of them. Nobody has to accept responsibility. You'll get used to it...eventually."
         "I doubt it. Even some of the guys are grumbling that they don't get to fly as much as they'd like. They're feeling more like taxi drivers than combat pilots. The most exciting duty they're getting is ferrying crews up to the ISS or supply runs to the Luna bases."
         "Well, now that you're on the taxpayer's nickel, they want return on investment."
         "That's the other thing!" Mike retorted with disgust. "Everyone knows that I could do this on my own for a tenth the cost. I've got people here that I haven't a clue what their function is, and the purchasing process... It's absolutely criminal having to buy crap at outrageous prices that I don't personally know is going to work properly!"
         "You're probably right about that. I've seen you perform miracles with pocket change. If I remember, you built Vesna in your backyard for less than the cost of a Tomcat."
         "Tell me about it! If I knew that Presidents Forest and Link were this frustrated, I wouldn't have given them such a hard way to go. I'm sorry I'm venting at you, Admiral. What's on your mind?"
         "Sure you would have," Teramore chortled. "You love torturing bureaucrats and now you are one. Now you have an inkling of how I always felt with the Brass above me second-guessing my every move, and you below me ignoring all of us and doing what you damn well pleased anyway. I'd say I've got my revenge in spades!"
         "You don't have to be so damned pleased about it," Mike scowled.
         "What I came in for was to give you some applications we've received from the RAF and the RCAF." The Admiral handed a manila folder across the desk.
         "Misha's seen these?"
         "Yeah, and he's had McKinney check them out, too. These guys are evidently really good."
         "Okay. I'll call their C.O.s and see about getting them transferred."
         "That's just it, Chief. These didn't come up the chain of command with the usual recommendations. These fellows mailed them on their own."
         "I like them already!"
         "I figured you would," the Admiral frowned. "This will require a little diplomacy to break the news to the commanding officers and the governments. We just can't conscript the best pilots that two governments have and expect them to be thrilled about it. We all know that diplomacy isn't your finest attribute."
         "All right, how about you and General Gerasov make the initial inquiries?"
         "I was hoping you'd say that. General Gerasov is already prepping his runabout and we should be in Ottawa in an hour, then to London by this afternoon."
         "Even you're second-guessing me now?"
         "Turn about is fair play. You did it to me for twenty years, now it's my turn."
         Mike wadded up a loose piece of paper and tossed it at the retreating Admiral's back.
         
         There was a delicate knock on Mike's door.
         "Come."
         The svelte figure of Mike's wife, Lana Angel, or as Russian President Dubinov preferred to call her, Svetlana Angelskova, came through the door. Even though Mike was born in the United States and had legally changed his name to Angel when he was a teenager during the cold war, he'd learned to grit his teeth and bear it when people reverted to referring to his Russian heritage.
         "I was wondering if you've thought about dinner tonight," Lana began.
         "I haven't even had time to think about lunch!"
         "I thought having a nice dinner at the Golden Ring would be good."
         "Moscow? It'll be 1:00 a.m. there when I get off."
         "I know, but the city never sleeps. I've got some stories to take care of for NTV tomorrow, so you could leave me at the apartment."
         "That does sound good. It'll be nice to be in cool weather again. I don't have to be back here until 9:00, so I can still get some sleep at the apartment."
         "I wasn't thinking much about sleep," she grinned evilly.
         "But you'll have to be at the station by 9:00, Moscow time," Mike protested.
         "I've always said I could do my job in my sleep; now I can prove it." The smile was still there.
         "Meet me here at 4:00, then. You've got a date." Mike walked around the desk and gave his wife a long kiss.
         "Was that the Admiral I saw leaving the building a few minutes ago?" Lana finally said when they broke the embrace.
         "Yeah. He and Misha are off to Canada and the U.K. on a recruiting mission. It seems we've got some Canadians and Brits that want to become part of this fiasco."
         "But why do they have to go?"
         "It seems these guys didn't clear their applications with their brass, and the Admiral figures he's a better diplomat than I am."
         "Sheesh! A Siberian tiger is a better diplomat than you are."
         "You sound like President Dubinov. I'm learning!"
         "Yeah, right!"
         "Well, I haven't started a war yet."
         "That's not for lack of trying," Lana grinned and danced out of Mike's reach as he reached to swat her backside.
         "Just meet me here at 4:00."
         Mike stood in his doorway and watched Lana's retreating figure until she turned the corner at the end of the hallway. With the figure and looks of a supermodel, Lana had risen to the top of the journalistic profession at NTV. Her expertise as both a journalist and meteorologist had won her a seat on Mike's maiden voyage to Mars. They had married two years later in an Anasazi ceremony at Mesa Verde.
         



Ben W. Gardner
Sedona, Arizona

"I do not fear computers. I fear lack of them." --Isaac Asimov

http://ca.geocities.com/vladilyich/

In The Beginning - ISBN:  1-4116-3848-4
Just In Time - ISBN 1-4116-3851-4
Ad Astra - ISBN: 978-1-84728-518-8
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