JANE AND ELIZABETH'S PARANORMAL JOURNEY pt.3 of 5

Time for the third notch of flaps. On course, and on glidepath, and now the 3,000 Hertz tone in my headset mark our pass over the inner marker.

"Flare time, boys and girls." We fly over the base's western fence, the road around to the base golf course, and then over the 2-4 overrun.

---

THE GATHERING (ACT III)


{SCRITCH!} Rear axle of the portside's dogbone; at crosswind direction. ([These are not references to a character in Ice Age. -r.e.h.]_

{Scritch.} Starboard dogbone's rear axle.

{Scritch-scritch.} Then the front axles touchdown.

{Scritch.} Nose gear touchdown. I have rudder pedal steering.

When I engage all four engines' thrust reversers, the roar come up to almost deafening, even or especially inside the cabin. We aircrew members have on headsets, but the din must overpower the sisters' sensitivities, even with their hands over their ears. I gently apply brakes and roll past the center turn-off. I could have stopped short enough, but no good reason to rough up these old birds more than they get. I shut off the landing light, because the taxi lights are enough. The runway is 10,000 feet long and 200 feet wide, so it may as well be used for comfort. I turn 67-0007 to port at the end taxiway and stop for Ground Control instructions.

At that quiet point, Bugsy mention that now would be a good time for the ladies to see what there is to be seen when the aft is open for air drop or cargo loading or unloading. The girls decide that one of them should see everything, and with Elizabeth being more inquisitive, she go aft for the tour, while Jane is content to watch whatever can be seen at the flight examiner seat as we taxi.

I call out for their information; "we will taxi about a mile and a half before we park. - In about six-to-seven minutes."

Elizabeth smile. She resist the temptation to jump down from the flight deck, like we do, and so she probably would if she wore trousers. Then we get our taxi clearance.

***

Bugsy fetched an extra headset and had it plugged into the other side's interphone cord when Elizabeth marched back toward him. They would not communicate much, but the headset does attenuate some of the high pitch noises. He help her set it on over her bonnet, but hold one cup open so she can hear him for this one piece of information.

"Right now, it ain't so bad. When we fire up the APU, that engine'll scream like a banshee, and then again when I start moving metal." He grin, and then let the cup close, and she is temporarily shocked to hear all of the cockpit and radio chatter going on.

She hear: ``Zero-seven, Ground. Be advised that you have company waiting for you. Ops and Maintenance expects you to park on - Charlie Three.''

``Roger, Ground. This's been a real good flight. Now proceeding as directed.'' Major West pass on to them that this airplane is in good condition, but withhold that any problem has been no fault of the airplane. In fact, if this crew could get assigned one aircraft, a bit like jet-jocks, we would put our "dibbies" on this one.

Bugsy point to the pressure door, calling Elizabeth's attention, then operate the controls for opening. They hear the four engines run up a bit to begin taxiing, and then idle back to sustain the momentum. She watch in awe as the massive door hinge by the top side and swing forward, until it is all tucked up under the ceiling of the cargo bay. He watch her scan the inside of the petal doors from their prospect, and then when she give him a "what next?" look, he operate that control, of which the sequencer open the medial locks first, and then the drive mechanism make the doors swing out and open, bilaterally, also hinging from their upper edges.

She gasp and inhale when she see nothing between her and the great outdoors. Although long after sundown, the desert air is oddly clean and the field lights, with the aircraft outside lights, make for great "see-ability." Unfortunately, at that end of the runway, not much exist to see. The orange orchards are too far away to see the trees. The Santa Ana River wash is lower and beyond the far trees. In the distance, they can see the lights of Redlands before the shades of black delineate the hills from the sky. The sky is the part that has the stars.

The last task to opening the cargo bay is to lower the aft section of flooring that get hinged up like a ramp, so the aircraft skin can close the slip-stream. A pump motor evacuate the pressure used by the ramp lift actuator. Bugsy step out onto the ramp, about three feet forward of the back edge, and gaze at the open prospect. Elizabeth follow, but stay a pace behind him. She does not have the years of standing open at taxi speed, and ten-to-fifteen miles an hour on the ground may be more than the peak of her travelling experience.

The plane turn onto the long taxiway, and run up to a high speed taxi, where it will travel the mile-and-a-quarter or so, before it make a right turn onto another taxiway toward the flight line. She watch as their panorama leave Redlands swinging to their right, and then Highland come into view from their left, with the San Bernardino mountains rising in the dark, with an occasional light showing some cultural edifice. The engines then idle down a little bit so that the airplane can coast at taxi speed that long stretch.

***

I slow and turn the plane to the right at the end of our long fast taxi. Jane is amused to read the lit: "Follow Me;" sign when we come behind a blue pickup truck serving as a pilot car. She can not see horses drawing a wagon, and can not yet comprehend self-powered wheeled vehicles have the ability to run lights and any other device of their purpose. By now, the ball park lights at the flight line perimeter, and other flood lights on top of hangars and other buildings, provide near-daylight.

"I see edifices, but what are those strange things? They appear to be made of metal and some may be half whitewashed!" She ask with a childlike wonder.

"The near one, off to our left, is another aircraft, very much like this one, but a newer design. At that spot, it is in cannibalization status." Before I force her to phrase a query, I add; "when supply can not provide a part, one is - `borrowed' from that one while any new parts are coming, and then when all the new parts come in, then it will be put back together for service."

"Oh." She secured the answer, but file it away for future calculation to comprehension, should such need ever arise.

I cut power to a more deliberate taxi speed as we get closer to the flight line activity and congestion. Then Tex call my attention; "look there, Highway." He point. "Betcha that buggy with the birdie's Colonel Adrian."

"That man - must have a very unhappy marriage." Perhaps I should reserve my charity for when a suckup is needed.

"Or else she's very happy he's rarely at home." Tex's supposition draw a guffaw from us, but Jane give us a courtesy giggle, because and fortunately, she does not fully comprehend; or she does and she choose to withhold her worldly wisdom that pass through the ages.

We taxi between the Base Operations and Fuel Cell ([A hangar dedicated to the protection of aircraft in maintenance with open fuel cells. Nobody but fuel cell mechanics and extra qualified technicians work inside this metal, lightning-hardened, extra-grounded building. Of course, smoking is more than a bozo no-no. -r.e.h.]_ buildings, and proceed straight past the yellow centerline turning to Charlie Four. From our left, between spots on the Alpha and Baker parking rows come a 463L 25K-loader; a special truck of 4X2 axle configuaration. We do not have that much on board, but that is the smallest of that type, though 40K (6X4), and 55K (8X4) cargo loader trucks are in the fleet. ([A most efficient way of handling air cargo loading and unloading. The trucks with their cargo beds look a little like aircraft carriers. The cargo floors and the truck beds have rails of rollers by which the pallets roll when being transfered from one to the other. As long as the load can be accomodated by one truck, complete loads can be shifted in about a minute. -r.e.h.]_

Our "Follow Me" truck turn on the line curving to Charlie Three, so I turn Zero-seven. That truck then drive straight through the parking spot and out between other vehicles parked nearby. The ground crew is out and about, doing their jobs, so I follow the Marshaller's signals. By her, with little doubt, I am confident the nose gear strut follow right over the yellow line.

She signal "come ahead slow," then about where I anticipate, by our position between the Fuel Cell hangar door at out right and the Air Transport Terminal Building at our left, she signal for "slower." A couple heartbeats later, she wave the "stop" signal. I tiptoe hard on the brakes, so by the time we have slowed gently, the plane only lurch in the least, to shed the last of its momentum.

Zero-seven has stopped. By now, the ground crew is stuffing chocks at the main gear tires; as if the plane is going to roll on the level fore and aft. Here in the Land of "Shake-n-Bake," anything can happen.

Tex look out his side window to verify the ground crew is plugging in a heavy cable from a yellow trailer mounted motor-generator, to our plane's covered ground power recepticle. I identify the usual vehicles; the ground crew's truck, the line chief's pickup, a couple usual security and specialist trucks, our aircrew van, and a yellow Dodge Diesel R-9 refueler truck coming from our far and slightly right. It is called because this area does not have jet fuel hydrants.

Scotty post; "we have ground power."

I direct; "begin power transfer and shut down procedures." So we turn to our respective checklists, and do so.

***

Bugsy step back to where Elizabeth stand at her comfort limit, and there he began to answer her questions with extensive explanations. They watched the panorama change and retreat for viewing out the back of a taxiing aircraft. The mile and a quarter run was not particularly remarkable because not much came close into view. They watched the slow zoom out and she called out for the vehicle headlights on the road at their left, beyond the inner fencing, between main base and "Area Two."

Just as the airplane turned onto the last taxiway toward the flight line, the "Fox" parking row peeked into and then out of their view. It was enough to show Elizabeth three C-17s parked in various states. One was all shut up and dark, the other was lit and crawling with ground crews and mechanics doing work, and the third was dark and wide open.

"Am I to comprened? Sir. That those are flying machines? Like the one we are in as we speak?"

"Like enough to be of the same purpose, but those are newer models. If you get a chance to make a closer look, those have many `improvements' from this basic engineering."

"Oh. I fancy I comprehend." She look at him and simper. At that moment, the swing of the turn show just this side of the runway; "what is that curious little building? It look like a fool's cap. It is pointed like a witch's!"

Bugsy's glance follow her point. "That is the local `VOR-TAC' station." Not waiting for a logical following question, he add; "That stand for Visual Omni Range and Tactical Air Navigation. Those are two separate systems that give pilots ways of knowing where they are and how to get - Here." He point a finger down for emphasis. "Any more is quite technical, and I knew that well enough - long ago."

She color and accuse; "are you suggesting? Sir. That I can not comprehend?"

"Oh, no. I hope you understand that I believe you have the - Ability, but its use is so dependent upon many prerequisites."

"`Prerequisites?' Pray. Would you explain?"

He shrug. "Well. The maintenance troops tell me that they get four months of solid, basic electronics, and then another four-to-five months of their specialty systems and components. Just knowing how to use it flying is several hours in a basic instrument flight course." Then he detect her down cast, so he add; "women usually do - Very well in these kinds of things."

"Oh! They do? Do they?"

"Yes. They do. Darcy's - check pilot was a woman."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

A few moments later, the turn of the aircraft reveal the Base Operations building to those viewing from the aft of the cargo bay. The plane stop turning, and a long time for a few feet later, they hear the squeal as the disk brake pucks clap tightest to the rotors, the clunks as the landing gear components shift back, and then they feel the slight jar of the brakes being applied hard.

He point out to her the old, World War Two Navy-built hangars that is used for scheduled maintenance. The doors of both on this side are open, a plane is in the north hangar and the south hangar is empty.

"I hope you get a chance to see how this cargo bay get emptied." He offer, but only get a quizzical look, so he ask; "how long do you think it will take?"

"Oh, Sir. I have no comprehension."

"Surely, Miss. You have seen wagons unloaded. - Perhaps you can extend those observations."

"Very well, Sir." While she ponder, he sidestep over to the sidewall and open the pallet locks. She notice the retraction sound. "Sir. Are you changing the rules of the game?"

"Not really. Certain unique preparations can be excluded. May it not? Take the tarps off the wagon load?"

"Very well. - What?"

He hold off answering for a few heartbeats. "The APU and engines have been shut down. We're here. - The power is coming from an external source, which - is making the most noise now."

"Oh, Sir. I am wild for peace and quiet!"

"And - home, no doubt."

"Of course."

Bugsy is puzzled that the cargo truck is stopped on the far side of the taxiway. With engines shut down, the air freight crews prefer to be quick about their chore, and leave a vacant cargo bay for maintenance.

***

I offer to those nearby, which principally for Miss Bennet: "This is the way to leave an airplane: At leisure. The ground crew will put the bird to bed." I am near last to unhook my harness, as if the Captain should be last off his vessel.

Elizabeth observe Bugsy as he is already up in the baggage rack, passing our luggage, mostly B-4 bags, to Scotty. Scotty then pass them out to a support troop on the tarmac. Tex pass me the aircraft forms as he pass by us, leaving the flight deck to assist the others. Now Jane enplane with mixed feelings: Apprehension of the unknown versus what has become familiar.

Now I am mostly in apprehension of administrative actions against my crew or myself, because technically, we have undocumented foreign nationals on board. Will the fact that they were NOT on board when we left Hickham be a good defense? Especially when that fact can be debated, disputed, and/or disregarded.

Jane follow me to the cargo floor, and then Elizabeth come around forward to reunite with her. Darcy and I are last out before the Miss Bennets, and they seem to understand that this sequence is best. Shortly, all of us mill about near the entry ladder, but standing on concrete. I converse with the line chief about routine matters, and he brief me with what he know of all the others who seem to have business here and now.

A security police team approach, leaving a detail behind them, and after due protocols, the Lieutenant advise; "Sir. We have been ordered to inspect this airplane. Would you tell us, Sir, where anyone could stow away?"

No doubt they have already drilled mechanics and other personnel, so veracity is due. "We don't have as many as the Q.E.2, but the lavatory in the comfort pallet, the crew latrine, the avionics bay. Yes, they could hold a stowaway, although getting out past the flight deck ladder - of the latter, could be a bit of a problem. And there's up the T-tail. Or between the pressure door and the petal doors, but that'd be a problem getting in, staying alive, and dropping out. And there's on top of the baggage rack. - No. The old SKE ([Station Keeping Equipment. Not all the fleet were so equipped.]_ rack would make that too tight. - There's no way to get under the cargo floor, not without dismantling the plane, and the rest of the overhead's taken up with mechanical accessories. Does that help? Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Sir. I believe it does. - We'll work the comfort pallet first, so the crews can take the freight off."

"Sounds good to me. Carry on." I do not know what they may find, but it should not be the size of a person or any more prejudicial to us.

He lead the sergeant toward the plane, but stop and turn back to me; "by the way, Sir. Were your - guests - confined?"

"Oh, no. We gave them the $20.00 tour."

"I thought it was $2.00."

"Inflation."

"Hmm." He muse as if he is resigned. Then he turn toward his duty.

***

Darcy extract his cell phone from a pocket of his flight suit, flip it open, see that he has more bars than Skid Row of signal strength, and then call a preset number. "Hello, Aunt Barbara." He answer to a familiar voice.

``Hello, Willy-boy. Been expecting you to call soon.''

He momentarily forget that Caller ID is a cell phone standard feature, then; "well. Is this soon enough? Here we are!"

``"We?" Are you and Hiram in some trouble again?''

"You know us too well, Aunt." He amble back closer to Jane and Elizabeth. "All we need is some jam, because I think we're gonna be toast."

``Uh oh. What'd you two do now?''

Then he brace the phone away, so Elizabeth, being nearest can overhear. "Well. It's a long story, and it's probably only began. You see? We're probably the best to be guardians for a couple very special young ladies." Here is a good time to let a shoe drop.

``"Young - ladies." I think we can save some minutes if you just tell your ol' Mrs. Santa Claus what you - Really need.''

"We need a better place to stay, than our apartments, for young ladies like these. You ready to see their picture?"

``Lay it on me.''

-Just what I need.- Darcy say with his mouth out of gear. -Old relatives that are as hip as kids.- "Here they are." He twist the phone camera toward Elizabeth, then slowly pan to Jane. "Ah. Well?"

``We're gonna have to talk. Bring them on over.''

"We will when we can, Aunt. I don't know when everything here will be - fixed to everyone's satisfaction. We should know something in about an hour." He continue to hold Elizabeth in his confidence, so at least she can know and share intelligence with her sister.

``Such as how much longer it'll be?''

"Probably."

``Well. It's Friday night, and Dan's got his heart set on watching Operation Petticoat or Down Periscope. So. We'll be up for a while.''

"He was Navy, wasn't he."

``Yep.'' Then they exchange some mundane information, and begin hanging-up protocols.

"Jane. Elizabeth." He held off until he got their response in unison. "I don't know if I'm really doing you ladies a favor, putting you up with them. My Aunt and Uncle, Barbara and Dan Carson, are mid-to-late 60s, and tend to be - very dynamic individuals." Before the talking token pass; "whoah! I'm quite mistaken: They're crazy, - but you'll love 'em too."

The Bennet sisters had nothing to say, so they smile sweetly and mind their business. However, their business by being here and now, is just about everybody else's business.

***

A quick conference occur in the back of one of the limousines parked nearby. Actually, another one occur in the back of the other, but it is of little consequence to the matter at Major West's hand. Mr. Montgomery address his trainee-assistant; "Miss Black. See that blue car, over by the gate we came in."

"Yes, Sir?"

"When a flag officer, is not buzzing about black limousines parked in their domain, smell a rat."

"Sir?" She is as confused as before.

"An officer will make a showing, to make an acquaintence or a challenge. How long they hang about, and what they talk about, will determine their suckup factor. I don't respect a suckup, and I don't trust any officer who will not present themself."

"I see. - I think. No. I don't understand!"

"Why don't you go out, mill about the crews. Get some contact information. We need some eyes and ears on the ground here. The official channels don't tell all of the truth and nothing but the truth."

"How'll I do that?"

"Hmm. I guess I've never told you how to bat a football into the net."

"Sir? That's a mixture of metaphors if I ever heard one." She is more puzzled than confident of her game.

"That's the nature of our work. 99.99% Of the work is done in a routine manner, with the directives that you see in your nightmares, because you're bored out of your skull. Here and now, has all the makings of that one-one hundreth of a percent that need ingenuity and high level management attention.

"Now, as to your question. G.I.s are a gregarious bunch. They'll talk about their hobbies, their hometowns, their lives. And something else: The guys'll sing like birds if a pretty girl ask them something about them, and have something for them." He pause long enough for the talking token to wander.

"Such as? But isn't that sexist?"

"Of course it is. - What's the point?"

"Well?"

"Those who are trying to murder all of sexism really are a hateful bunch. Whether such people like it or not, we all tend to be born with an outie or an innie, and saying it ain't so is like killing off a big part of ourselves. Would you like a world where everybody looks like everybody else? Why. A child could not find their matron parent at the mall unless her number was known to the child. Can you hear it? `Will the bearing nurse of offspring 436554 please report to this speaker to resume your duties?' That scare the willies outta me."

"I guess I can agree to that." She idle.

"Oh. To your question of something. - We'll have a drawing, to be guest at a State function."

"We will?"

"Of course. Where do you think the interesting party guests come from?"

"Oh. But what about the female service members?"

-Oh, LORD! Do I have to tell her everything? If I blow in her ear, will she thank me for the refill?- He sigh. "They're probably just ascurious, but you may need to use your head more than your heart as you will for the guys."

"I think I see." She grab her steno pad and a pen, and then open the door. Miss Black hope that she get some ideas when her shoe leather dance on the tarmac, and before she is face-to-face with a lonely G.I.

***

Shortly, two suits come forward toward me and my crew. A security police honor guard is with them, so that is another variation from normal. They seem amiable as they listen to the line chief. One outstretch his hand.

"Major West?" He has been told, but he seek assurance.

"Yes, Sir."

"I'm Montgomery, Aloysius Montgomery, from the State Department." We exchange civilities, and I ask him if he has kin in the Air Force or its Reserves, which he negate, so he and Scotty have to go more generations farther back for a common ancestor. "And this is my good friend, George Trowbridge. He's the British Consul."

"Mr. Trowbridge. So good of you both to come."

"We understand you have a bit of sticky wicket that needs sorting out."

"Well, Sir. Yes we do. - You see, about three hours ago, the two Miss Bennets, over by the door with my navi-" I almost use -navi-guesser;- "my navigator, they boarded our airplane and by way of the flight deck."

"Hmm. I don't see the problem." Trowbridge try to get me to add something useful. Montgomery share his confusion.

"I should be more direct. We were above 30,000 feet and flying about 425 knots with the tailwind."

"I see." Montgomery muse, with the other's echo, then; "no, I really don't. Am I right? The young ladies appeared on your - flight deck, as if `poof;' by magic?"

"By some paranormal phenomena. - I can't believe I got that pair of words out."

They chuckle. "So." Montgomery lead. "They need proper processing in, and I'm sure my friend here'll agree, they need proper papers. - `Your papers, please.'" He mock by voice, but not by purpose. "And so that's why you need us."

"And that," I pause; "as they say, gentlemen. Is - It - in a nutshell."

Trowbridge offer; "I'm sure we can make each a passport. Monty, ol' man. If I get you the passports, do you think you can get visas and entry stamps?"

"Of course." Then he direct to the Security Police Captain, who had been listening attentively. He is Security more than pomp and circumstance. "...What all would you need to make an I.D. card?"

"Authority."

"Sir?" Montgomery express confusion that we share.

"I need some authorization to open the Pass and I.D. section. The only cards we could make for them are dependant I.D.s, because they are not active, civil service, or any other category."

"Captain." I address to begin. "If Captain Darcy and myself become joint guardians, will that suffice?"

"How? Sir. Are you going to do that?"

"So far, just about everything else is on our say-so. Why not cover all the bases? And besides, even though the ladies may be of - Legal age, to be independent, they are not of the - Technical age and its minimal competence. They're from the 18-teens: They're not stupid. They just need a little help adapting to this world."

"Well, Major. If the State and the Consul will concur and do any buy-off's for the application papers, I have no problem with opening the shop."

"Well. Captain." Montgomery praise. "Seem like we have a plan. We'll all meet at your Pass and I.D.! We'll follow you there." Then he direct to me; "do you know where this place is? So you can meet us there?"

"Certainly, Sir. My crew can take care of the debriefings. We'll just make a couple stops on the way, and be there about ten-to-fifteen minutes after you."

"Bang on, chaps." Encourage and endorse Trowbridge.

***

"I do not comprehend your women! Sir. - They wear mens clothing, and yet one is over there;" Jane point as discreet as possible while Elizabeth listen in; "does wear a dress, even though it is short."

Darcy spot the attractive young lady as she quit the back seat of a limousine. "I don't know how else to tell you, Miss Bennet, but she is dressed quite modest compared to some."

"Oh, my. Pray tell. Have we landed in Sodom or Gomorrah?"

"That is a frequent accusation. Some say so, more and more."

"And what say you? Sir?"

"A lot. - But not right now." Darcy does not want to burden the ladies with his dread. Sometimes, he believe that he was born decades too late, as he see many things slide into the sewer, which is no surprise to those who are acquainted with prophecy.

***

Eventually, the party has pooped. Everybody that has done what they came to do is ready to leave. The Security team and the ground teams still have some work to do. However, the two limousines drive away and out the main gate to the flight line.

The aircrew bus, sometimes called "the lizard" because of its long and low aspect, is now ready to take the seven souls off the air-plane that just arrived. The driver stand by to take us toward the Operations building for debriefing.

"Ladies. If you'll go on in the bus and make yourselves comfortable;" I invite; "we'll be on our way to get you some identification cards made."

"For what reason do we need these things? We never needed such things before." Elizabeth challenge.

"You were still in the town you were born in, I suspect." I test.

"Of course, Sir."

"Of course. When you are around a community, of those whom you have known all your life, the concept of proving who you are is alien. Isn't it?" I seek confirmation, and I am getting tired of thinking, but only keeping up with her queries.

"It is. When we are introduced to someone new, it is a special event."

"Jane. Elizabeth. Modern societies seem to demand such things, because few people are anywhere near where they were born, or grew up. Staying anywhere for ten years is considered quite settled. Most people used to buy houses, not so much for stability, but to build transferable equity for little more than rent."

Jane rescue me. "Oh, Sir. It seem we have so much to learn of this time!"

"Several decades ago, or was it about a century? Well, a legend of a Rip Van Winkle was that he slept for twenty years. When he woke, he had a horrible time adjusting to the changes made to the things he knew, they way things were done, the new things. And both of you got jumped forward two hundred years, where the last century went from just the introduction of many things, to the refinements of those things that have become indispensible. - So, my dear ladies. You owe no one an apology just because you have not grasped everything immediately."

The bus stop at the back end of the operations building, so we exit. We of the crew put our luggage into our cars, and I put Darcy's in my trunk, because he drove his "murdercycle." Jane and Elizabeth arbitrated who was going to sit in back and who will sit in the right front seat: Elizabeth yielded to seniority, but Jane prefered the back, as if she was in a coach. Tex, Scotty, and Bugsy will cover the debrifings, because they can address the routine matters well enough. Meanwhile Darcy and I will work on a major contingency.

The Colonel's car? It got driven to follow our aircrew bus.

"Darcy. Go on to Pass and I.D. for our meeting."

"What'll you do?"

"I think I'm gonna be roasted." I nod in the direction of the staff car.

"Not alone."

Suddenly I get an idea! "Darcy. Quick. Swap keys with me, and get the girls to Pass and I.D. I'll hold him off." I have my car keys in my hand as he dig out his.

We have been in mischief before, so he trust my schemes' chance of success. "Call me when I get in the car." We make the swap.

"Right." Then he bolt to my car, that I had parked backed into the space, start it, and about the time it need to get oil pressure, he drive it forward, right turn on the lane, and then go at maximum legal ramp speed toward the west gate of the flight line.

I extract my cell phone, dial his number, set the record on, ([Assume a cell phone has such a feature. I have not plunged into the cell phone fray. -r.e.h.]_ and then put it back into my pocket. Then I amble out and stand in the middle of the approach lane, where the bus brought us. The Colonel's car approach, and the driver pull it into neutral and goose the engine. I turn away to see my 1962 Studebaker Gran Turismo Hawk disappear at the west end of the large hangar complex so I stand ready and then salute the Colonel, with my spiffiest cadet-like salute.

He does not return my salute, so I hold mine, in accordance with Customs and Courtesy. However, he protrude his head out the window.

"West!"

"Major West, Sir. - How can I be of service?" As civil as I can. I hold my position, and he is talking close enough at my pants pocket to be clear at Darcy's phone.

"Your rank's only temporary now. You Reservist! I'll court martial you! You know I can do it, because you've had unauthorized civilians on your plane. Where'd you get 'em? You pirates Shanghai them girls from some - `playmates parlor' in Honolulu?"

"Sir?"

"You heard me!"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now, where'd you send them? Where? Where? Where?"

His nasal, big city twang really get up my nose when he get repetitive. "Away, Sir."

"Where's `away?' Wha'd'y' mean? `Away?'"

"`Away.' Sir. As in - not here."

"Damnit! West. I want those girls here! Now! NOW!"

"Sir?"

"What's so difficult for you to understand? I want those girls here now!"

"Sir. Those - girls are not mine to give to you or anyone else."

"Why? Why? Why?"

Maybe he has watched Captain Binghamton of McHale's Navy too many times as a child, or now again as an adult, and admired his dictatorship.

"Sir?"

"Why can't you answer a simple question? Are you Reservists stupid? Or what?"

"Sir? - I'm still holding my salute."

The Colonel is still roasting me from inside the left-back seat of his staff car. "So what. I'm gonna add Insubordination to your court martial charges!"

"`Insubordination?' Sir?"

"Yes, West."

"How was I insubordinate? Sir?"

"You didn't answer a simple question!"

"What was that question? Again, Sir? Maybe if you rephrase your question, - or return my salute, - I may be able to answer it." I think I need to squirt in another: "Sir."

"I told you! I want those girls! Now!"

"Sir."

"What? What? What?"

That was a perfect imitation of "Captain Binghamton." Joe Flynn, the actor, is probably doing a dervish in his grave. "I think I understand, Sir."

"At last! Now, what? West. Do you - `understand?'"

"You need a woman! Sir. No wonder! Sir. Doesn't your wife treat you well? Sir? It is no wonder that you're so tense, Sir." What other prattle can I add? "Gee, Sir. Us stupid Reservist bachelors aren't much help when it comes to getting women for ourselves, let alone for fellow officers. - Jeepers, Sir. I wish I could help you, Sir. But - my arm's about ready to fall down, but - I just don't know how. - I don't know how I can catch them. They're probably blowin' soot for mexico, or Texas, or-"

"SHUT UP! West. You're a disgrace to the uniform, - and to the rank you wear. You wouldn't make one enlisted stripe if you were a Regular."

"Thank you, Sir."

"For what? What? What?"

"For explaining it to me, Sir." I still stand beside his car door, holding my salute. My thoughts are mixed about anyone observing this exchange from a distance, without the benefit of a sound track.

"And get this! West. You'd better show up at your court martial with your rank put on with velcro! I'm gonna bust you riff raff out of the Air Force Reserve!"

"Thank you, Sir."

"Why? Why? Why?"

-Arrrrgh!!!- "Maybe green - or grey - suit me. Think so? Sir?" All of a sudden, I wonder what his driver will support. What will be his testimony on the witness stand?

"SHUT UP! West."

"Is that all? Sir?"

"That's all your worth." Then he settle back inside the car, direct his driver to follow my car, and so they depart.

I stand, holding my salute, just long enough for the Colonel to get driven around the corner of the hangar. Then I snap my hand back down, but so hard, I nearly do myself a mischief. My throttle arm hurt, but I amble over to Darcy's Kawasaki, put on his leather jacket and helmet, and go easy to Pass and I.D.

***

Darcy step into my car, start the engine, verify the "record" function on, and then pass his cell phone to Elizabeth, before he buckle himself in. She does not understand the indications of what she see, but she comprehend that they hear the Colonel's abusing a subordinate officer. He launch the car forward, and reluctantly drive away.

He know that getting the girls to Pass and I.D. is most important, though he was not involved in making the arrangements. The base traffic is thin on California Avenue, ([I am minimally confident that was the name of that street. It was so long ago. -r.e.h.]_ the flight line service road, so he drive to the next intersection. Then he wend through the roads, until they see the Third Street gate, but turn left just before it, and park beside one of the limousines.

Darcy grab the keys, dash out around the car, and quickly help Elizabeth out. "Take my phone inside, and let them hear it." The Captain had the building door open, so she dash inside. He help Jane out, and they follow her sister.

The Security Police need only about one sentence from the Colonel to know what is going on. A hush fall on this gathering, while they listen to witness the abuse of an officer. They listen until they hear the staff car roar off.

"Anyone hear enough?" Darcy ask when the abuse seem to have stopped.

All agree that they have. The Captain noted the "record" light on, and offer to download a copy for future use. "All can play that courts martial game."

Trowbridge and Montgomery leave their contact cards as a courtesy. They know the importance of discipline and the disaster that await those so oppressed. Also, they expect Major West to arrive within a few minutes.

***

As planned, paperwork was created, typed up, and signatures gathered. Modern technology has made crafting an identity card easy and quite dignified in appearance. The blank lines on the old DD-2-AF* such-n-such cards get their information from links to the original application workup file. This way, the typed data is perfectly, as close as possible, fitted to the lines on the form. The subject's photograph can be migrated from the camera, to the record file, and as part of the card image.

Jane and Elizabeth "are quite pleased with the automatic likenesses taken of themselves." They want to know more about digital photography.

The Pass and I.D. staff performed another function, in addition to making the cards for Jane and Elizabeth. The provided raw data for the British Consul, so they can make the ladies' passports. A copy has went to State, so the visa application will go smooth.

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"The avalanche has started. It is too late for the pebbles to vote." -Ambassador Kosh Naranek