The B Team

All characters that appear in this chapter of B-Team are my own. This story is a continuation of the original four part "B-Team". My special thanks to Tigermark for his continued assistance, participation, and encouragement in the crafting of this story.

The B Team is copyright © The Silver Coyote
2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007

2 January 2007

Her whispering tickled a bit, causing his ear to flick involuntarily at random intervals as she spoke quietly to him.

“She's worried sick.”

“Why?” he whispered in reply.

“Why do you think? He didn't call.” He could hear the reproach in her voice. “He said he would, and he didn't.”

They were in the guest room of the Latrans home, the cougar and her marmot husband, under the covers of the queen size bed. Their hostess and her pups were likewise in bed elsewhere in the home, presumably asleep, although they each doubted whether the red fox was sleeping well, if at all.

Had the situation and the topic of conversation been a less worrisome subject, they both would have been grinning and giggling about his mild discomfort. At six foot three, the marmot was just a bit longer than their bed was, which caused him to try and imitate a pretzel lest he bump his head on the headboard or have his feet sticking out beyond the footboard. As it was, his feet were getting a bit cool, but neither of them noticed.

“Things happen, Jan,” Tim Riggins whispered. “You know that. Time probably got away from him and he didn't call out of fear he would wake her up.”

“That's weak and you know it,” his wife whispered in reply.

In the dark room he couldn't see the cougar's muzzle, although he could feel her presence mere inches from his own nose. She didn't sound angry, nor did she sound worried. If anything, she sounded slightly sad.

“What are you thinking?” he asked as his paw sought her muzzle. Finding her in the dark, his paw gently caressed her muzzle, drifting towards the side of her throat.

She shivered slightly in response to his touch. “It doesn't matter what I think. What matters is what Annie thinks.”

“What did she say to you?” His paw stopped at her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Nothing,” the cougar grunted quietly. “She didn't need to. I know her.” Janie paused, organizing her thoughts. “Think about it, Timmy. Think about what she shared with Joe before he left, under pressure from Joe's mom. It's all she's been able to think about since he took off this morning.”

Tim Riggins nodded, thinking. “You're saying that she's afraid that he didn't call on purpose? That she thinks he doesn't want to talk to her?”

“I'm saying that's exactly what she's thinking.”

Tim shook his head in the dark. “No way, Jan. You know him better than I do. That's not Joe. If he had problems with what she told him he'd have said so up front, and at the worst would be calling her to discuss them further. More likely he would have bailed on the flight altogether and stayed home with her. But by her own admission he seemed fine before he left.” The marmot shook his head again. “I don't buy it. Joe didn't call because he couldn't.”

Janie Riggins sighed, the sound barely perceptible to her husband. “Sell it to her, Tim. She's the one who needs convincing.”

Down the hall, alone in her large master bedroom, Annie Latrans growled softly to herself behind eyes tightly shut. Not quite asleep, her mind raced down empty subconscious corridors, all dark and foreboding. The rational part of her mind told her she was worried about nothing, but as nighttime stretched and stumbled and staggered on towards sunrise, she had no reassurances from her husband, and her subconscious mind began to assert itself.

He hates you, her subconscious accused in her troubled slumber. And because she was already scared, Annie Latrans' racing mind paused to listen.

 

# # #

 

Father, keep me strong in your Will. Give me the strength, the stamina, to make it through this week safely, professionally. Afford me the time to reassure the hearts that matter, and I will fly to your glory. Help me stay on my game, Lord, and I will deliver for You.

She watched him from the darkened doorway. His attire was what she was becoming used to seeing him in, jeans and boots. Whatever shirt he wore was hidden by the A2 jacket. His head was bowed as he stood. A paw rested gently on the nose of his companion, moving almost imperceptibly, as if he were stroking the flesh of some draft animal, or perhaps a cherished kali. His back was to her, his tail was still, pointing towards the tarmac he stood on.

Father, be with Annie in my absence. Make your presence know to her, watch over and protect her from the demons of her past, grant her peace of mind and firm faith in my commitment to her. Keep our pups, and our friends Janie and Timmy, in your sight. Grant them peace and serenity while I am away.

Lola Baker looked to the east, across Hamilton Road and past the small golf course there, past Interstate 270, towards the horizon, which was growing lighter by the minute. It was cold. The skies were clear this morning, and the eastern horizon was shedding it's scales of gray to become a weak, faded blue. Sunrise was perhaps thirty minutes away. She heard a muffled sound, and turned her attention back to the coyote in time to see him patting his companion.

Joe Latrans smiled slightly as he patted the nosecone of the C-130. Keep this old warhorse airworthy, Lord. Protect my crew and cargo, and see us safely to our destinations so that we may return to our families. Thank you for Jerry and Matt and our ground crew, and for the ceaseless work they did for us. Give us clear skies and light winds, Father God. In the name of your Son Jesus, Father, thank you for another day.

The coyote dropped his paw to his side as his face came up, still facing away from her. His nose twitched a bit as he sampled the light breeze, and his smile became a small grin. He was already raising his right paw in a wave of greeting as he turned to look at her.

Lola waved back to him as she began the short walk that would take her from Intermountain's hangar offices to the nose of the transport. As she approached him she was aware of the extra energy her hips and tail were making use of, and did nothing to limit or curtail the motion. While she was still half a dozen steps away he greeted her.

“Good morning, Lola.” The grin on Joe Latrans face broadened a bit. “Did you find a place to sing a song for Slam last night?”

To his mild surprise the fox-coyote hybrid strode right up to face him nose-to-nose, and placed a paw gently on his cheek in a slow caress. She ignored his question (and his raised eyebrows), preferring to ask one of her own.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” She lowered her paw, returning it to her side.

The coyote with the dark muzzle nodded slightly, warily. “A bit,” he replied.

“Angie said you guys were still hard at it when she went home at midnight.”

“She's here?” Joe asked with a note of surprise.

The younger canine nodded. “She and Matt arrived a few minutes ago, while I was getting the flight plan squared away.” Lola gestured briefly with a thumb over her shoulder. “She's making some coffee right now.”

“I could use some,” Joe said, trying to stifle a yawn.

“So how much sleep did you get?”

Joe rubbed a paw quickly over his muzzle. “We got everything squared away around oh one thirty.”

“Everything's operational?” Lola asked, placing both paws on her hips and tilting her head slightly to the left, staring into his eyes. “We're good to go?”

“Yup,” Joe said, staring impassively back at her. “Jerry signed off on everything, and the ground crew got our ship squared away for today's flight. In fact, they loaded up a few extra goodies to keep us going for a few days.”

“So it's on...”

“Oh yeah, it's on.”

The two canines stared at each other for a few seconds, the tip of Lola's tail describing small circles near the asphalt. Then she snapped her left arm out straight, causing the sleeve of the pullover sweater she wore to pull up a couple inches above her wrist, exposing a pilot's chronograph. She bent the arm, drawing her wrist up towards her chest, and made a point of scrutinizing the watch for a few moments.

“So we're talking... what? A couple hours? Three if you've only been up for a few minutes?”

“Something like that,” Joe said quietly, the tone of his voice suddenly flat.

“Is that enough for you, Joe?”

A blaze flashed in the larger coyote's eyes, accompanied briefly by an expression she hadn't seen before in him. His jaw stood out a bit and his head tilted back slightly as his voice went lower, taking on a note of a growl. “Are you questioning my ability to fly, or command this aircraft or crew?”

She reacted with a hint of mild shock, which was quickly replaced by a softening of her expression. She placed a paw on his upper arm. “I'm expressing concern, as a friend, for your well-being, Joe. I have no concerns whatsoever regarding any of your abilities.”

Joe's ears wilted a bit, and he willed himself to relax as he looked directly into her eyes once again. “I'm sorry, Lola.” he apologized, shaking his head. “I've had a lot on my mind besides flying the past couple of days.”

She squeezed his arm gently. “I'm here if you need a friend to talk to.”

He remained silent, the embers in his eyes dying. Somewhere in the distance, on the still-sleeping east ramp of Port Columbus International, a single bird broke out in song.

“What were you doing?” she asked by way of changing the subject.

“When?”

“Just now, before I came out here.”

Joe's voice softened even more and his smile returned.

“Talking to the Boss.”

He grinned at her look of incomprehension.

“I was praying,” he elaborated.

“Praying?” she asked slowly. She studied him for a moment. “To who?”

“God.”

“You're a Christian?”

He nodded. “Some might say so.” He turned to stand beside her, the two of them facing east, and looked into the sky, which was now a clear blue hued with a touch of pink.

“I claim Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior,” he said to the sky. He glanced at her. “And also as a good friend.”

She turned her head to look at him. “I didn't know. You don't... behave... like a Christian.”

Joe's expression changed slightly. “It hasn't been an easy trip for me,” he agreed. “I may not measure up very well.”

She turned her back to the brightening horizon, to face him. She studied his face briefly in the light of the dawn. “That's not what I meant. I...”

A shrill whistle interrupted her in mid-sentence.

They both looked towards the sound and beheld a small group of furs from the hangar approaching them. A large black Labrador was paw-in-paw with a Calico. To his left a huge coyote-hybrid towered above the other two. Angie Rockwell held two large coffee mugs in her free paw, and Matt carried a large Thermos. Slam carried two large mugs in his paws, each trailing a significant vapor trail of its own.

Before the group came within earshot Lola turned to Joe with a conspiratorial wink and a hushed, hurried voice.

“Can we finish this conversation later?”

Joe Latrans nodded, watching the approaching furs. For himself the conversation was already forgotten. His nose told him the coffee in those mugs Slam carried was fresh, and he really wanted some.

 

# # #

 

“Here ya go,” Slam said a bit later, handing a clipboard to Jerry Kitt.

Jerry examined the paperwork on the clipboard. Amongst other things it contained the repair records from last night's work, as well as notations from the ground crew's servicing of The Bitch overnight. After fixing the latest gear problem Jerry and his crew had spent all night going over the aircraft and her systems. Jerry had written up a detailed report of what had been found, and had submitted it to the aircraft commander for his review and approval as part of the pre-flight process.

That individual's signature should have been on the top sheet, but was not.

“Where's Joe's signature?” the brown bear asked in a not-quite-pleasant grumble. Jerry had not slept at all last night, and the long hours were beginning to tell on him.

Slam Whiteline was not accustomed to acting in a precautionary manner around most furs. At six foot four he was an imposing mass of muscle and sinew, behind which he kept his gentle personality well concealed. He was a Marine, first and foremost, even if he was no longer on active duty. Yet the look on Jerry's face and the tone of his voice caused Slam to hurry a bit with his explanation, just the same.

“He's seen it. I watched him look through it. I guess he just forgot to sign it for you.”

The growl in reply sounded threatening. “I'm not releasing that Bitch without his signature.”

Slam shrugged, smiling slightly. “What can I tell you, Jerry? He probably forgot to. He's been up all night like the rest of us.”

Which wasn't quite true. Somewhere around 0200, after the fix for the gear problem had been secured, Joe Latrans had in fact managed to grab a couple hours of sleep, rising to begin his pre-flight chores well before sun-up.

“Well where is he now?”

The coyote – mountain lion hybrid motioned with a thumb over his shoulder towards the ramp in front of the hangar the two furs stood in.

“Where else? With the aircraft.”

The bear stuffed the clipboard under his arm, mumbling under his breath as he started for the gaping doors of the hangar.

“You're welcome,” Slam called after him.

“What's eating him?”

Slam spun around to find his second in command, Lola Baker, approaching. The coyote-fox hybrid regarded him coolly, smiling faintly.

“You're looking refreshed,” he commented with a grin. They had been out until the wee hours themselves, cruising the local area around Port Columbus International, looking for a live mic in a bar. They hadn't found one, and it had therefore been a relatively quiet and uneventful evening, at least in Slam's opinion. She hadn't wanted to drink much, as she would be flying the next morning. He had knocked off a few beers and put a couple of casual moves on her that she had, while not altogether discouraging them, gracefully deflected. The game was starting, it seemed.

Lola shrugged. “Three hours sleep and a shower can do wonders for the soul,” she opined. Her nose wrinkled a bit. “Speaking of which, what have you been doing? I thought we were deadheading to Knoxville.”

Slam's grin grew as he feigned offense. “I've been up all night working with the ground crew!”

Lola tisked lightly. “Such displays of stamina! What's a poor girl to think?” She began to walk towards the open doors of the hangar as well, her tail waving slightly with her steps.

Slam stared after her, enjoying the view while trying to think of something to say. This morning Lola was dressed in well-fitting denim jeans and a pullover of some sort that flattered her figure quite nicely.

“Well...?”

She had stopped several steps away and half turned, paw on a hip, as if annoyed. Had he not seen the tips of her fangs in a grin he would have thought she was mad at him about something.

“Well what?” he asked, realizing that he had been caught staring.

“Haven't you got something to do? Don't you need to be getting yourself aboard this plane?” she retorted, hooking a thumb towards the C-130 outside.

Slam chuckled. “Coming, mistress...”

 

# # #

 

“Mmmmm...”

The skunk stretched with her paws above her head, and then languidly wrapped her arms around her lover as he propped himself up on an elbow next to her. She pulled him down, bringing his muzzle to hers, for a long, delicious kiss.

Parting after a few long moments, she murmured “That was... divine.”

Steve Lupus smiled a little self-consciously, saying nothing. Her hazel eyes stared up at him.

The better part of a full minute passed while the skunk and the wolf locked eyes, passing messages of love without words. Eventually her paw sought his cheek in a caress.

“What are you going to do today?”

His smile broadened a bit. “No plans...”

Her face radiated happiness. “I'll make you breakfast!”

“I'll consume it!”

She giggled, still staring at him. In her opinion he was gorgeous. Muscular, dark, and confident, Steve Lupus radiated that something that just melted her soul. Whenever he looked at her with those golden eyes, that knowing smile on his muzzle, his tail wagging just slightly, she just wanted to devour him.

Steve Lupus was not flying on this day. While flyable, Numbers wasn't airworthy without her ramp mechanism, and Rick was keeping the King Air based at Columbus busy with cargo runs down south. There was no business for the jets, and the Caravan was up in the northeast with AJ on contract to Federal Express. Much of the business seemed to be out west this week.

He'd have been busy had Numbers been airworthy. Half of what Joe and his crew were doing was in the east end of the country. Had Numbers been available Steve would be flying even now. Matt had reassured him that it was only a matter of a week or two more and he would be back in the air with their newest Hercules. Of course, that same two week promise had been passed his way at least half a dozen times already...

A claw dug gently into his ribs. “Hey, don't forget me...”

The wolf started, shaking his head slowly. “Not ever, dear.”

Molly Lomax drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We've got things to talk about, Airwolf.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Weddings.”

Steve looked bored. “Who's gettin' married?”

The claw moved from his ribs across his stomach, heading south.

“OK, OK,” Steve protested. “Bad joke, I admit.”

Molly's paw stopped near his waist and she giggled.

“What are we needing to discuss, dear?” Steve asked with slightly exaggerated interest, eying her paw.

Her other paw rose before his nose, balled in a loose fist. She raised fingers individually as she ticked off items rapidly.

“Where. When. With who. Destination.”

Steve looked puzzled. “Destination?”

Molly shook her head in mock exasperation, still smiling. Her fist closed again and she gently knocked it against the side of his head. “The honeymoon, silly!”

“What about it?” he asked, thumping the mattress between them with a paw. “I figured this was it!”

“Oh my God,” Molly sighed. “You males are all alike!”

“What's that mean? Who's been tellin' you stories?”

“Nobody...”

“Huh,” the wolf grunted. “If I didn't know any better I'd suspect a Latrans – Riggins conspiracy.”

This elicited another giggle from the young skunk, who continued to stare at him with a half-grin on her muzzle, her paw still hovering near his waist.

“Well,” the wolf continued, “We already discussed when. This spring. As for where, that's up to you, sweetheart. I have no concerns over that, as you know.” Steve's family, what was left of them, all lived in the mountains of Wyoming and Montana. It was unlikely many of them would show up if invited, he hadn't seen most of them in many years, and those he had kept in touch with were elderly. “As for who... well I guess most of those in attendance will be either friends of ours or whatever fly-furs Intermountain Charter allows to fall out of the sky on us.”

“You'd want the furs you fly with to be at our wedding?”

His tone turned serious. “Molly, they're my friends. Furs I trust. Of course I'd want them there. What did you think?”

“I don't know.” She paused in reflection. “I'm not that close to the furs I work with, I guess.”

“You don't fly with them, Molly. It's different up there. We put our lives in each other's paws every day.”

She nodded. “Like in the thunderstorm.”

He nodded back, smiling. “Exactly. At the very least I want Joe and his family there.”

“Wouldn't the rest of them feel left out?”

“Probably...”

Molly considered this silently. Their resources were limited, they couldn't afford a large wedding or extravagant reception. More paws meant more money.

As if reading her mind the wolf clarified his thoughts. “They don't care about pomp and circumstance, Molly. Don't put on the kali for them. As long as we're together it's all good. They'll be there for us, not the food or the decorum.”

Reassured for the moment, the skunks paws went back in the air as her arms once again encircled his neck. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Just like that the conversation died. Which was just as well, as both muzzles in question were suddenly otherwise engaged.

 

# # #

 

He was so cute. His fur was a deep auburn, his arms and paws a charcoal black, his bushy tail ending at a tip of the purest white fur. He wore black denim jeans and heavy black boots and not much else. He had the most dazzling blue eyes. He was a handsome... adorable teenager. In fact he looked a lot like...

Annie shuddered involuntarily.

Those blue eyes of his stared at her for long moments, and then he turned to squint down the sights of a large, cylindrical weapon that he had hefted to his shoulder, the barrel angled up into the sky. She followed the barrel's alignment and turned her face up towards the clouds, gleaming in the sky like polished china. Up there she saw a flicker of light reflecting off of a familiar shape droning in lazy circles overhead.

An electric jolt of terror polarized her nervous system. She wanted to scream, but stood frozen instead.

A clear blue eye squinted through electronic sights. A charcoal finger gently squeezed, igniting a small rocket motor. The weapon bucked in the fox's paws as something streaked away, angling quickly up into the sky. Towards the shape she knew.

Within moments something went pop! overhead. A greasy gray smudge blossomed between the gleaming white clouds, and a trail of smoke followed the familiar shape as it spiraled down towards the green earth.

The C-130 fell nose first into the verdant rolling countryside of western Maryland and exploded on impact, showering tiny bits of flaming metal over a wide area. A mushroom cloud rose like a tombstone over it's final resting place.

The red fox shouldered his weapon and turned slowly to face Annie. He smiled an evil little smile, and faded from sight as he spoke.

“Payback's a bitch, isn't it, mom.”

A loud buzz filled Annie's head, and she jolted awake in her bed in Englewood. It was dark. Her heart was racing, she drew her breath in sudden gulps. She fumbled for her cell phone in the dark and, locating it on her nightstand, silenced the vibrate function as she opened it.

“Hello?”

“It's me, sweetheart. I'm sorry for calling at such an unGodly hour.”

“Joe!” Annie struggled to simultaneously catch her breath and focus on the alarm clock on her nightstand. 4:07. She had just watched him die, and now he was calling her on the phone.

She shook her head rapidly. No, that had been a dream. Joe was fine. Wasn't he?

“What's wrong?” she asked, the terror of her dream rekindling. “Are you hurt?”

“No, Annie. Just tired.”

She sighed briefly as her head cleared and her mind kicked into drive, her nerves settling. “What's happened? You were supposed to call last night.”

Joe couldn't help but notice the mild rebuke in her voice. “I know. We had a minor problem with the aircraft, and I was up late with the ground crew correcting it.”

“What happened?” she repeated.

She heard the annoyance in his voice. “Ah, the damn landing gear again. Electrical this time. We orbited west of Columbus for almost an hour while Jerry and I troubleshot it over the radio. Turned out to be an actuator that had failed. We jumpered it out and the gear extended like it was supposed to, but we arrived over an hour later than scheduled.”

This made little sense to the red fox, but she listened carefully, realizing that the annoyance she heard was about the machine, and not directed at her. With her free paw she maneuvered a couple of pillows behind her and laid back against them, holding the phone to her head as if it were his face. She concentrated on his voice. He did indeed sound tired.

“So we unloaded the aircraft, and then Jerry and I pulled the actuator and replaced it, and ran some tests. The plane is good to go now. The ground crew cleaned it up and got it ready for todays flights. We're supposed to get gear up from Columbus here pretty quick.”

“Joe, did you get any sleep?”

“Yeah,” he answered truthfully.

“How about Lola and... what's his name?”

“Slam?”

“Slam. Did they sleep?”

“Dunno,” the coyote replied. “They went out on the town while Jerry and I were fixing the gear problem. They were still gone when I turned in.”

Annie digested this bit of information. Lola and Slam going out while Joe worked on the airplane. Lola and Slam...

The red fox smiled, relaxing.

Her voice was suddenly infused with warmth coupled with a tiny bit of a frivolous overtone. “Why do you call him that?”

“Slam?”

“Yes.”

Joe grinned in spite of himself. “Well, some say that he's a drinking fur, and that he likes to slam 'em down. On the few occasions when I've had a drink with him he's had beers. Rumor has it he likes his bourbon, too.”

“Some say?” she asked, almost coyly. “What do you think?”

“Well...”

“Tell me...”

Joe chuckled. “I heard from a PFC on a loader detail here one time that he got that nickname from an old girlfriend. Something to do with his... ah... enthusiasm.”

“Enthusiasm?”

“You know...” The coyote exposed his fangs in a grin. “I guess he's a real pile-driver.”

Annie giggled. “Joe!”

The coyote shrugged. “It's what I heard...” he offered.

Annie giggled again, the sound pleasing to the both of them. After a few moments she quieted.

“I was afraid you didn't want to call me.”

“What?” Joe asked incredulously.

“I thought you were mad at me for... you know. All the stuff I told you.”

Joe sighed. “Annie...” He shifted his cell phone to the other paw and began walking towards the still open ramp of The Bitch. On the opposite side of the aircraft the noise level was rapidly increasing, the huge paddle blades of the number one turbine were even now beginning to turn. Lola must be running through the startup checklist with Slam. Just like the impetuous kids they are...

He spoke as he walked. “Sweetheart, I just didn't want to call you in the middle of the night. I didn't want to scare you. We worked until the wee hours, and I wanted at least one of us to get a decent nights sleep.”

“Joe...” Worry tinged her voice again.

“I'm not mad at you Annie. Not even close. You need to stop worrying about this. I'm OK with it.”

“I know, it's just...”

He could hear her concern ramping up again. Suddenly Tim Riggins' words came back to Joe. “Annie, God didn't put any of us here to judge each other. Christ commanded us to love each other, not judge each other. As if I have any choice in the matter, Annie, he put me here for you. I love you. Nothing will change that. Nothing my mom comes up with, nothing in our past, nothing in our future will change that.”

“I know, but...”

Joe stepped up into the belly of The Bitch, crosssing the ramp into the cargo hold. He heard the ramp mechanism begin to operate, drawing the aft doors closed behind him. Slam nodded to the coyote from the ramp operating position as Joe passed, the phone still against his head. Lola's running the startup on her own... Joe proceeded into the empty hold, heading towards the stairs to the flight deck.

“Annie, sweetheart, I have to go. Lola's starting up as we speak, and we're trying to get going.”

“I'm sorry, Joe.”

“No, honey, I'm sorry. I will call you just as soon as we get in to Knoxville, it should be around oh six hundred your time. I'd love to talk more, but I'm holding us up. I gotta go.”

She was skeptical. “I love you, Joe.”

“Kiss the pups for me, honey.”

“I will,” she said sadly. “Be careful.”

“Count on it.”

As she hung up her cell phone Annie was convinced anew. The moment she had brought up their discussion about her past he had suddenly needed to get going and had practically hung up on her. She stared at the phone in her paws, clasped in her lap.

“What have I done?” she asked the phone.

 

# # #

 

The on-duty controller watched carefully as the C-130 roared down the long runway at Port Columbus International and rotated, arrowing her way into the sky. As he watched the transport climb to the east, into the brightening sky, he observed the exhaust trail from her number three turbine to be a little more pronounced than the other three engines.

“What do you make of that?” the setter asked in the brightening cab of the control tower.

“Make of what?”

Mac McInnes turned to look briefly at the senior controller and the on-duty ground controller. The wolverine that was his boss leaned against the counter at the ground controller's position. The bespectacled tabby seated at the controller's position smiled at Mac as the wolverine repeated his question.

“Make of what?”

“That C-130 that just took off. Some of the exhaust trails are a bit darker than others.”

The tabby picked up a pair of binoculars and brought them to her eyeglasses. After a few moments focusing, she nodded.

“Number three,” she confirmed.

“Uh-huh,” the setter replied.

The wolverine waved off the binoculars the tabby had turned to offer him. “So what? He's running a little rich on number three.”

Mac shrugged, slightly uneasy without knowing why. Port Columbus did not have the best track record with C-130s, after all. He picked up a remote push-to-talk switch and pressed it with a claw.

“Icy two oh one, contact departure control on one one nine point one five passing two thousand. Have a safe trip.”

After a moment a tired male voice filled the controller's ear pieces in reply “One one nine point one five passing two thousand for Intermountain two oh one. See you guys on the next trip through.”

“Catch you later,” Mac said.

To Chapter Twenty Six: Friends In High Places

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