The woman was tall very tall. She bent down, tagged the fallen Hellion with the transporter ID and waited until he was delivered into the hands of justice. Another report to be filed but some good work done and it wasnt even lunchtime. Being a hero was proving to be fun. She grinned to herself and trotted towards the old man. Hed stood up now and leaned heavily on a stick, but he had a straight figure and even if he did have cataracts, his eyes had a quality about him.
Hullo Sir, are you alright? she enquired.
The old man jerked his head up, surprised. Now thats an accent Ive not heard in years. Not since
Whats an English girl doing in Paragon? And by God a tall one too. He looked up at her, and grinned. Im sorry, I should offer a seat to a lady. Would you care to share my bench?
The tall woman sat with a smile. Thanks. My name is Rosie. Rosie LaRouge. Im somewhat new here. I guess you know this place fairly well.
He leaned on his stick and extended his right hand. Wayans, Frank Wayans
its a pleasure to meet you Miss LaRouge. I guess youre here as part of the superhero initiative. Thankyou for the help you were gonna offer me but I think I saw to it.
Rosie shook his hand, surprised to find it was still firm. Call me Scarlet, Scarlet Shocker. Thats my hero name. Im sorry I should have given you that first. Im new, she explained almost shyly.
Well Scarlet, youre doing fine I reckon, offered Wayans as he sat, slowly and carefully on the park bench next to her. I reckon if these old bones would stand it, Id get myself a cape and join you. Times have changed since I was a youngin I reckon. Now, mind you dont get breadcrumbs on your outfit, he admonished.
Scarlet grinned. Thanks Mr Wayans. Its fine. Now tell me, how come the Hellions, Skulls and Vazhilok arent all over you here?
Frank Wayans grinned. Well Scarlet, its a trade secret. But you need two things. The first is a cool head. The second is nerves of steel. But failing that, he paused and with a deft hand movement that belied his age, hed hung his walking stick on his arm and had produced his pistol, cocked it and held it straight out, pointing out towards the park. Failing that, a Colt .45 works wonders.
Scarlet laughed at his infectious grin. It was boyish despite the wrinkles and crows feet around his eyes. Now, Mr Wayans, I really hope youve got a licence for that. Id hate to have to take you in for it.
Oh of course, Miss Shocker. Its my old service pistol. Betsy here was issued to me in January 1942, right after I signed up for the big one. Weve been together ever since. She keeps me company, and keeps the Vazhilok and other baddies away. That youngster you arrested, I guess he was a rookie. Mostly they dont bother me. They know Im more trouble than Im worth. Im not like a cape, so theres no glory in taking me down. I dont have any money to speak of so they get nothing. Im tougher than the average nut to crack I guess. I just wish half of these fools realised which side their bread was buttered.
Scarlet nodded. Mr Wayans, are you sure its wise for you to come out here alone? I mean, its dangerous, and I dont mean to be rude but youre not as young as you once were.
The old man nodded and shrugged. Miss, I appreciate your concern and I thank you for it. But I believe that freedom is a precious thing and its something we have to use. Its no good saying we are free, then staying in all day watching tee-vee. We have to actually experience it and use it and stand up for it when its threatened. He tapped her on the knee, to reinforce the point. I once had a silver hip flask. It was a thing of beauty. But if I ever put it away, it went black and tarnished. If I kept it in my pocket, it would stay shiny. Freedoms like that stop using it and it becomes less than it was.
I fought in WWII. I lost some good buddies. Some of the best I had. And we fought for freedom. Now I see these damned fools abusing that freedom. Mark my words Miss Scarlet, this is only the beginning. These fools think they can take what they will with impunity. I know you guys are there to stop them when you can but
he sighed and trailed off and seemed to visibly shrink. Ah never mind me. My wife was called Rose. I miss her, shes been gone, what, twelve years or more. Will you walk me home Miss Rosie?
Scarlet stooped to take his arm, and smiled. Of course Mr Wayans, or may I call you Frank? They walked slowly, arm in arm back to his apartment in Kings Row, where he took his leave on the steps of the run-down building.
* * *
Thelonious Monk
January 5th 1944
Leutnant Helmut Kessell grinned as he sighted his quarry, a broken up squadron of Boeing B-17Fs leading the formation of five hundred or so bombers into the industrial heartland of Germany, the Ruhr valley. Flak had shaken the lead element and knocked out two of the lead ships. Now two of the Fortresses in the lower element were vulnerable, and he had a brand new FW190, full of fuel and ammunition. Tight formations were tough nuts to crack, but this formation was very loose. It would be much easier. He flew parallel to them for a few minutes, just outside of the range of their point-fifty calibre Browning machine guns. He, like all Luftwaffe pilots knew how deadly they could be in the hands of the enemy, and Flying Fortresses were notoriously difficult to knock down. He picked his target, an olive drab model with no nose turret, a big yellow T on the tail and a splash of red and white art on either side of the nose just forward of the pilots. Kessell was 1.2cm under regulation height for a Luftwaffe pilot, but his exceptional eyesight (and heel risers) had got him the prized position as a flier. He could see from 200 metres out the words on the nose, Ten Flak Fightin Freaks. More, having spent several years before the war as a language and mathematics student, he understood. He marked that as his target and accelerated his fighter to get several miles ahead, wondering (not for the first time) at how odd it was that the weakest point of the enemy bombers was straight ahead.
From six kilometres out he began his turn and rolled into his attack, his feet skilfully guiding his rudder, his left hand on the throttle, keeping the fuel-injected engine at optimum revs, his right controlling the joystick, rate of turn and angle of attack.
* * *
Clem, youve got a bandit coming in at twelve oclock level, warned Wayans, at 25 a very young but promising Lieutenant Colonel, (DFC & Air Medal) of the United States 8th Army Air Force, otherwise known as the Mighty Eighth and captain of this second ship the aptly named Flak Fighting Freaks.
Clem Clements was an atypical bombardier huge in stature, slow in speech, and Texan. But beneath that apparent hick exterior lurked a sharp mind and even quicker reactions. He never seemed to hurry but he was on the case immediately, and grabbed a Browning on the right hand cheek gun, and peppered the incoming FW190 with fifty cal shells, a mix if incendiary, armour piercing and tracer bullets. None hit. Clem and Frank never expected them to, for check guns could not fire directly forward. Nor did Cecil Trump, Lieutenant and Navigator, mirroring Clements on the left cheek gun.
Kessell noted the streams of bullets and checked his turn. He realised there was no chance of him being hit by those streams but he equally new he was now on a direct trajectory to the Flying Fortress and they knew he was coming. Now it was a test of nerve, his fighter vs. their bomber, one man against ten. The first one to lose his nerve would be at a serious disadvantage. But equally, he was in a vehicle weighing around three tonnes, closing on an opposing vehicle weighing twenty-five tonnes, and their closing speed was close to 800kph. Kessell grinned. His Fokker-Wulf was adorned with four white stars on blue discs, signifying his credited bomber kills. He had six confirmed kills, one more than the five needed to be accredited Ace Pilot. There were other markings also, to denote damage, and even a silhouette of a Spitfire to denote his success in the Battle of Britain, although almost all those awards had been earned in a Messerschmitt Bf109F a machine the equal of the Spitfire. No matter the capabilities of either machine, Kessell and Wayans had similar thoughts one slip and there was an awful lot of kinetic energy going to go somewhere.
Captain, I got a line on him, yelled the excited voice of Hubert Baby Powers, five feet, one inch of pure energy, the man in the ball turret, the worst job in any Fort, but the one with one of the highest kill ratios (and the first Congressional Medal of Honor winner.*)
You hold your fire Baby, commanded Wayans. Wait til you can [censored] in his eye son, then give him hell. I dont want you wasting ammo or melting those guns. He recalled his first mission over France in August 42, when the top turret gunner, a rookie like him, had kept his fingers on the trigger until the guns had glowed red then warped with the heat, even in the sub-zero temperature of 22,000 feet.
Gotcha Cap, grumbled Baby, but he obeyed. He had been part of the same crew for eighteen missions. Cap as they called Lt Col Wayans, had done some 27 more. He could have gone home but chose to stick with a crew hed moulded into a well oiled unit.
Suddenly: Bandits, nine-oclock high! yelled Jonathan Hawker, the top turret gunner and aircraft engineer. He was from Virginia and at 22 a senior member of the crew. Hed given up a wealthy farming career to fly high in the skies over Western Europe.
Kessell cursed inwardly as he saw the FW410s dive in, their trajectory shallow. What the hell were night-fighters doing here? Why hadnt he been told? He shrugged and put it out of his mind, focussing on the plane ahead. It was almost in range and he sighted once more, then counted to seven, for no other reason it was a talisman of his, then pressed fire, on cannon, on machine gun. His plane shuddered with the effort and his air-speed indicator dropped markedly as the weapons slowed his attack, but he was close enough to see the Perspex nose-cone of the Fort shatter with the impact of his bullets, then he was over it and away slipping to freedom, safe at last as he passed just metres above the Fortress. He grinned, then, allowing himself to feel and, finally to breathe. Hed held his breath, he realised, for literally minutes. He passed over the tail and banked left and up, forcing the throttle forward. He looked behind to see his handiwork; an engine on fire. Then suddenly three punches in his back. Nothing dreadful, just dull thuds and he felt his control on the joystick slip. His feet failed to work, nor did his hands, and it was suddenly hard to draw breath. His eyes flared open as he realised he could hardly see for the blood spattered on the inside of his cockpit windows. Damn. He remembered a colleague telling him that you could almost fit your thumb in the barrel of a Browning. It took his plane thirty minutes to hit the ground by which time hed been dead for twenty-eight.
Clem Clements sat back with a deep sigh of whooof and clutched his chest. Cap, I dont think I can make this one. Blood seeped through his fingers, wrapped tightly through his flying jacket. His face was grey.
Somebody go see to Clem yelled Wayans, feeling real fear for the first time, then the rattle of the Brownings and the point thirties of the Me410s. Wayans squeezed the huge steering wheel-like joystick of the fort and leaned forward, focussing on an imaginary point ahead as if to wish everything away, powerless other than to guide his ship to the target and home. He focussed his will and gritted his teeth, willing his charge to come through the fight with him and his crew safe.
Isaac Beringer, co-pilot and general pain-in-the-[censored] yelled over the intercom. Cap, I dont think Clems gonna make it.
Woooooooooooooooo hooooooooooooooooooooooooo yelled Baby as his guns raked a 410 smashing cockpit and suddenly flames shot from the wings.
Frank Wayans rubbed his face. Ike, you are the bombardier. We go on your signal. Baby, you did good. Now everyone tighten up and close up formation. He was tight lipped. Lets paint the target red! But Ike, you make damned sure those bombs hit that armaments factory and no civilians!
* * *
Thelonious Monk
July 2007
Frank Wayans struggled to his feet and looked out of the hole that had once been his kitchen wall, onto a devastating scene, reminiscent of something by Dante, in Kings Row. His front wall was gone, leaving rubble and a view to the outside world. It was a miracle he was still alive. Dust swirled in the air. His cat, Rufus, lay under a slab of concrete and mortar, clearly dead. He gaped through the hole to see a space ship slowly wending its way through the towers of Kings Row, dropping bombs, apparently indiscriminately. Some exploded on impact with a flare of flame and a hollow, bone-sinking crump while others lay there, serenely ticking, enticing innocents to partake of their last moments. Wayans looked aghast as he looked out over the scene of devastation. For the first time in his life, he was glad Rose wasnt here to watch this. Forty years of marriage, and he was glad she didnt have to go through this.
He looked from the shattered hole of the half of his building. Some people, heroes he presumed by the capes and bright colours, were heading for a UXB. He was glad hed had that second cataract operation only weeks before. Then he saw the yellow hazy globes. A trap! The Heroes were being boxed in. He yelled until he was hoarse but his voice wasnt what it was forty years ago. He watched them get backed up and boxed in. In a tribute to them he once more hunched over the wheel and never once let his eyes flinched from the grisly scene as the Rikti, as theyd been called on newscasts, did their work. He vowed to avenge them if ever he could.
The bombardment lasted hours. Yet, once the Rikti had it won, they retreated. They came, conquered and left. It was a game. Or worse. But they were going to go back again. They had to return. Hed gone to Schweinfurt three times, not for jollies, but to get the job done. The first time theyd lost a third of their force and missed. The second time theyd gone and hit a bit of it but lost ten percent. The third time theyd laid waste. The Rikti were doing that in reverse but retreating at the point of victory.
Frank Wayans knew war. If he hadnt learned it over the skies of Germany, hed learned it after getting shot down (ironically on Christmas Day 1944) by flak, over Berlin, and being incarcerated in Stalagluft 89 for three months. Hed learned more in Korea mostly from behind a desk. He knew the face of War and it was Ugly. Frank Wayans was eighty-eight years old. He knew the face of war. Three hours after the first Rikti attack on Kings Row, he was dressed in his old uniform. Hed found his old service papers. He had reloaded his old Colt .45 automatic.
* * *
Five Hours Later
The Longbow Sergeant was bored, fed up, tired and really cheesed off that this had happened on his shift. Rikti! RIKTI! Who the hell expected them to do anything? Now hed got everyone yelling at him, including some old geezer, dressed in some antiquated military uniform, waving a walking stick. Jeeze, it was supposed to be Arachnos. They knew what to do about Arachnos. Instead its Rikti and Kings Row, Talos Island and Skyway City have all taken a massive hit. And hes got some raving octogenarian lunatic prattling on about it in front of his desk. He stifled a yawn.
The walking stick thudding down on his desk, sweeping it clear NO, NOT THE LAVA LAMP! Damn
and the perpetual motion drinking duck! Suddenly they lie shattered on the floor like his dreams. Ok, time to pull rank! He stood, and drew himself up to his full 5 6 and puffed out his chest. Sir, I am a Longbow Officer and I am telling you to PLEASE take a seat and
Then the old man is smacking his desk with his stick again and yelling in time of war, my rank is reinstated and you will do as you are told soldier. What?!?!? Oh [censored]. He really IS a Lt. Col. That beats the rank of Sergeant by a country mile. Time of War? Meh
ok time to roll over and play uncle. He might be bluffing but when it came to the crunch the Sergeants instincts told him the old man knew what he was talking about. He went to knock on his C.O.s door. Ok here goes, knock, poke the head around the door
get barged out the way
what?
Wayans strode forward, his frail frame notwithstanding, he had presence. Captain, we need to talk. Ive been trying to deal with this fool of a desk sergeant you have but you gotta listen to me and I mean now.
The Captain looked up disdainfully. If youll excuse me, Im dealing with an urgent situation here.
Captain, I have something more urgent for you son, retorted Wayans. I see you sitting on your fat behind, but there are casualties needing serious attention. Now get out there and do your job!
The Captain started and stood. He had a couple of inches on Wayans and used them to look down on the frail old man, who stood his ground.
Sir, I dont know who the expletive deleted you are, and in deference to your age I will say this only once get out of my office or Ill have you under arrest.
Wayans grinned and rapped his stick on the desk for added impact. Son, you can arrest me all you want but youre in a war, people are getting hurt out there. Real people. You need to sit up and take notice, because by God if you dont, I will. You might be happy sitting behind a desk getting fat son, but if I had my way Id have you drafted to the front line quicker than you can say Jack B. Nimble and believe me, I do have that authority.
He thrust his papers under the captains nose.
A long pause.
Sir, the captain looked down his nose across the papers, these orders are for the standing military UP TO 2005. The President gave Longbow autonomy in 2005. Im afraid youre a couple of years too late
old timer.
Wayans was physically taken aback. Youre telling me theres nothing I can do?
The captain sneered. Nothing at all. Youre history old man. Youve got nothing we want.
The sergeant began to usher a crestfallen Wayans out, but he turned once more and jabbed his walking stick in the direction of the captains chest. Son, I hope youre proud of yourself. I hope you can look your grandkids in the eye in the future and tell them you fought in this war instead of being a pen pusher. With that, he stalked out, the sergeant grimacing behind him at the bitter truth.
* * *
Thelonious Monk
The place smelled of sweat, blood, cordite and fear. It was crowded. Frank Wayans sat behind the desk and checked names. Hed been there for ten hours straight and was forcing himself to keep awake by willpower alone. Damn old age. But, he was making a difference and he was freeing a nurse to do a proper job instead of administration. He couldnt fly a plane, but he could fly a desk, even if it meant a solid diet of grit, determination and coffee.
Frank, are you ok?
The hand on his shoulder and the voice jolted him. Oh no, had he fallen asleep at his post? He looked up to the voice, the woman in red.
Hey Frank, how are you? It really was her and she was smiling.
Its Miss Scarlet isnt it? Im good thankyou. He stifled a yawn. He had been in Talos for three days, first in the hospital, then community centre halls, what they called Casualty Clearing Stations just like in the war before his. It was so bad some people were talking about moving back to Eastgate.
Scarlet smiled down at him and gently took his arm guiding him to a small office. Yes its me Frank. Its been a while. Im glad to see you. How have you been?
He shrugged. Scarlet, I just wanted to help. How long was I asleep? He looked pained
Scarlet smiled gently. Just a little while. Apparently youd worked for eighteen hours solid before then. But youre not superhuman Frank. Give yourself a break. We ARE holding. You can take a rest my friend.
Frank flopped into the easy chair in the office. I cant stand
I cant stand standing by. Aliens, bombing and shooting and killing our people. I fought in WWII because I believed in it. I believed in freedom. Seems that not so many so called heroes believe that these days. I just wanna to the right thing but.. he tried to stand and flopped back. Who am I kidding. Im almost ninety. I aint done so bad. I just dont wanna go out on the losing side while theres breath in me.
Scarlet looked down on him with a gentle, tender smile. Since that day in Perez, shed kept in touch, sometimes just a call, sometimes a visit. Not often, maybe once in a blue moon. Once, when shed lost a friend, shed been there more often, sharing solace. But she knew this man, this indomitable spirit, a southern gentleman born to do the right thing, yet slumped, exhausted, in front of her, on the chair, and octogenarian of morals and temper. She looked at him tenderly, like the grandfather shed never had. Shed grown up with a power and hed grown up without it and done powerful things. She dialled her phone as he closed his eyes for a moment more.
* * *
Frank, wake up.
Huh? wassup? He shook his head from fog and confusion, and more than a few aching bones. Whats going on? Where am I? Am I on duty?
Scarlet took his hand gently and stroked it, the giantess and the frail old man making an odd pairing. Frank, I hope you dont mind, but I have someone I want you to meet. I think he can help you.
Wayans frowned and gathered himself, slumped in the couch, finding a number of people gathered around him and Scarlet. He opened his mouth then shut it again and stood. I think if its all the same to you, I will go wash up and get a coffee first people. He staggered stiffly to the restroom, noting as he did from the corner of his eye that Scarlet was already arranging the coffee.
He returned in short order, his hair smoothed down, his eyes less bleary. He leaned heavily on his stick. Well, you got someone to meet me. Where is he? He looked around, irascibly curious.
Scarlet stood forward, and introduced a young looking man, all in yellow and red, looking like a flame. This is Sunstorm. Hes the Kheldian liaison to earth. Kheldians are a race of
well let Sunstorm tell the story. She handed Frank a large mug of coffee.
Sunstorm stood forward. Sir, I hear you have an indomitable spirit. Scarlet speaks highly of you and whilst I dont know her well, I have many good reports about her. She is
favoured amongst my kind.
Wayans took the mug gratefully, and held it up to his face. He inhaled and took a swig as a stopgap. What exactly is your kind son? he enquired.
Sunstorm looked discomfited, and cast a glance to Scarlet. She smiled, shrugged and looked back to the old man.
I represent
that is
I am
we
he shrugged. We are a being made from a race of aliens and humans melding. Scarlet tells me you can help us.
Wayans lowered the mug and moved towards Sunstorm. Youre an alien right?
Sunstorm took a step back. I have a symbiotic relationship with an alien being.
You mean youve got bits of alien in you huh son?
Its rather more complex than..
Yes or no? commanded the old man sharply. Get to the point man.
Sunstorm frowned. In principal, yes. However we are more than the sum of our parts.
So whaddaya want with an old geezer like me? demanded the old man.
Scarlet believes you have something we lack
Wayans chuckled then for a moment, letting humour lighten the mood. If it wasnt for the wheezing it might have been described as rich and deep. Yep son, I do. Its called arthritis.
The room burst into muffled guffaws. Few would ever speak to Sunstorm so, but even his laugh seemed genuine.
Mr Wayans. Please sit, he offered, proffering a chair to Wayans, Scarlet and himself about a basic, but functional desk.
They all sat and Wayans waited, stick in one gnarly hand, mug in the other. Well son. Youre here for a reason. I am here to listen but if I havent seen someone prevaricate like you do, then Ill go straight home.
Sunstorm frowned then grinned. He recognised the challenge, and the compliment. Mr Wayans, we believe you can be a great asset to us, not just in fighting the Rikti, but in fighting the Skulls, Vazhilok, Hellions and countless other threats to Paragon because despite the Rikti, they havent all gone away. We believe that you have some unique experiences that we have sadly overlooked heretofore.
Wayans stood again. Son, nobodys ever used the word heretofore in a sentence to me before. Im guessing youre too wordy for war. You look fancy and you speak fine but I dont want to be wasting my time. I know what war looks like. Its red and its bloody and its angry and itll take your friends quickern you can spit. Theres no room for heretofore in war sir.
Sunstorm grinned. Frank, Im sorry. I am not simply human and Im not just some wet behind the ears kid sent here to talk sweet talk. I am, in your parlance, a real live walking talking warrior. But not everyone understands that in the way that you do. We are soldiers. You said before this is a shooting war. Youre right it is. Its a shooting war and its going to cost more than you imagine. Which is exactly why we want you on board. Because this is just the warm up. When it gets real we are going to need someone just like you to keep things cool and focus on the job in hand. Thats why I want you on board. Because youre the man with the plan cool under pressure. What do you say?
Wayans took a long swig from the coffee mug and banged it on the table. Damn son youre talking my language. But say, Scarlets right. She knows me pretty well and you can see Im an old man. I dont have the strength or stamina to fight super-powered aliens or villains. Id love to tell you I could, but I can fly a desk pretty good still.
Sunstorm grinned wider. Frank, I have a way for you to take part in the action but only if youre one hundred percent ok with it. As I said earlier, I am melded with a being known as a Kheldian. These make us stronger, faster, and more resilient. Without humans, Kheldians are essentially energy. They struggle to interact with the physical world. Together we become a stronger being. I have a Kheldian being that would be very glad to meld with you Frank. He paused for a moment, then explained in detail about how Kheldians and humans existed together. When he finished, Franks eyes shone.
Youre telling me, I could be young, fit and fighting for freedom again, he exclaimed.
Sunstorm nodded, gravely. Yes. But you must take the potential risks into account.
Frank Wayans laughed again. Son, Im eighty-eight years old. Theres not too much risk. Sign me up.
Sunstorm held his hand out palm upward. He is ready. His hand began to glow silver and turquoise. Frank Wayans held his hand over the glow at Sunstorms signal then and the glow passed from his hand, to his eyes. His eyes widened and his mouth opened suddenly as his muscles spasmed and stiffened and he dropped to his needs, clearly in a lot of discomfort. Jeeze! Whats happening to me? he gasped and dropped to his knees.
The process can be somewhat uncomfortable Mr Wayans. Please dont be alarmed, said Sunstorm.
Alarmed? he grunted. Im on fire.
Scarlet took a step towards him but Sunfire motioned her to step back. It will pass Frank, I assure you, very quickly. You are simply experiencing the effects of bonding with a Kheldian its a natural consequence of the merging.
Frank coughed, and pushed himself to his feet. I can feel
He paused for a moment and looked down at his hands, his fingers splayed. Already the muscles seemed to be regenerating. He felt invigorated, renewed, powerful, yet humble at the same time at the enormity of what had just happened.
He sat down and felt the other consciousness of the Kheldian intermingle with his. He felt the change but no loss of self more an expansion. He sat down and contemplated for a while. He took a deep breath and looked to Scarlet. Mind if I join your group Scarlet? I guess Ill be needing a fancy costume and a name too now.
Scarlet grinned. Whatever name and outfit you choose is fine Frank. She noted how he looked at least twenty years younger already, the bonding process rejuvenating him physically.
Well, in that case, I guess Im gonna name myself after my old Fort. Pretty well all the planes in the 8th had a nickname. Ours was Ten Flack Fightin Freaks on account of there being ten men in a B-17 crew. I guess theres only one of me, so Ill be the Flack Fighting Freak now. Now, me and my new pardner, he tapped his temple, are gonna get to know each other. I guess Im gonna report into Longbow first.
Scarlet grinned. She handed him a small card, his superhero ID card. He grinned. Shed known hed say yes, before even having asked the question and prepared everything in advance. There you go Frank, youre all set. Now Officer Flint is waiting to meet you, theres a small problem in a place called Outbreak. Itll be a good opportunity to get to know your abilities.
Flak Fightin Freak grinned, then saluted, ramrod straight. Yes Maam. Ill check in with you when Im done and thanks Scarlet, for everything. He flexed his shoulders and suddenly took to the air, grinning like a young child, eyes wide in amazement as the former airman flew unaided for the first time.
Theres a new hero in town now and Paragon is never going to be the same.
Thelonious Monk
I've tried to make this story as historically accurate as possible. On the off chance that any of you are also interested in the US 8th AAF or the Strategic Bombing Campaign of WWII in general, a brief (and by no means heavy or exhaustive) list of books and films is below.
Films:
Twelve O'Clock High
Memphis Belle (Wyler's 1943 version)
Memphis Belle 1990 version
Books:
Four Miles High - Martin Bowman
The Schweinfurt-Regensburg Mission - Martin Middlebrook
First of the Many - Capt John R McCray & David E SCherman
The Hardest Victory - Denis Richards
Roger A Freeman's excellent four volumes on the 8th AAF (tho recommended for the more serious enthusiast/historian)
Thelonious Monk
That's a fantastic origin story Riff. Really draws you in. The characterisation of Frank as crotchety but wants to do his darnest to fight is superb, and a lovely role for Scarlet too. Gives a nice insight into her feelings - I love the line "Shed grown up with a power and hed grown up without it and done powerful things."
Awesome work 
Spring 2006
Gus the Hellion grinned as he snuck through the trees of Perez Park, for he had spotted his prey, an old man, sitting on a bench in the park, feeding sparrows from a loaf of bread. The old man must be frail, he had a walking stick and looked ancient, his skin speckled with liver spots, his hair sparse and silvery. Gus moved closer, his baseball bat held loosely between the fingers of his right hand, swinging it in a narrow arc.
Go out and get a name for yourself. Bring back three hundred by lunchtime or dont bother coming back, Mooney, his cell leader and boss had commanded him. Do this and you become a proper Hellion. Mooney hadnt elaborated on failure but Gus knew it would end his relationship with them and this was something he wanted. This was his ticket to the foot of the ladder.
He strode towards the old man, slapping his baseball bat menacingly against the palm of his hand. There was nobody else around, the coast was clear and he was going to be in the money in just a few moments. The old man didnt notice him until the last minute, and Gus was slightly surprised at exactly how old he was, his eyes red and rheumy, his skin sallow and sagging. He looked up at Gus only when the Hellion had blotted out the sun and was casting a shadow across him on his bench.
Okay Pops, lets do this nice and easy. Give me your wallet, ID, cards, cash and that wedding band on your finger or Im gonna have to get mean on you, threatened Gus, relishing the idea of pounding the pensioner into the grass, but patient. No sense in having to work too hard for his keep, but battering the old codger was going to be a lot of fun.
The old man looked startled and dropped the bag of bread, which he had been feeding the birds with, although they had long since scattered. He looked up at the Hellion and squinted in the bright sunshine, his eyes blue, but clouded with cataracts. Whatd you want son? he grumbled irascibly.
I said give me your Gus had a sudden horrible cold sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Hed gotten overconfident and suddenly, from seemingly out of nowhere, the old codger had produced what looked like a very big huge in fact automatic pistol and pointed it in the very last place any red-blooded male would want a pistol pointed.
The old man wheezed, but that just sounded like sarcasm. Son, youre new round here. So Im gonna make this very simple for you. You try knocking my head off with that piece of hickory and Im sure you can. But if you do, youll remember this day for the rest of your life for all the wrong reasons. Now I suggest you put that bat down, put your hands on top of your head, turn around and walk away nice and slow. I mean real slow. You understand me son?
Gus nodded a bit, and swallowed. Every second that gun seemed to get bigger in the old mans fist, the barrel a pair of jaws just waiting to bite. Uh.. yes sir.
The old man nodded. Good boy. Now git, fore I suddenly remember I got Alzheimers and pull this trigger by accident and if I ever see you again, Im not gonna be so nice, no-sir, I aint.
Gus nodded, swallowed, dropped his baseball bat and sprinted for the safety of the trees. No thoughts of consequence, just get away fast. Humiliation to be outsmarted by an old geezer and huff! he came to a sudden, unplanned stop as a blur of red cannoned into his midriff, knocking the wind from him and flooring him. His day was going horribly, horribly wrong. His last memory as a free man was a red-clad fist hammering into his jaw and a thousand volts coursing through his body. Sometime later, he woke up in the Zig.
* * *
Thelonious Monk