Even though these things give you about as much legal coverage as a G-string on a stripper, I am going to include it anyways. Most of the characters in this story are the property of Harmony Gold, and a whole lot of other companies who's names escape me at the moment, and are used without their permission. However, since this is a not for profit undertaking, I dont think its neccecary to worry about it. At any rate, I'm so broke suing would be a waste of time. The few original charecters in here are mine, so please ask before using them in a fic of your own. Comments and Criticisms welcome: E-Mail Starrngr@aol.com. Flames will be promptly filed in file 13 and ignored. Previous parts of this story can be found at: Ranger HQ: HTTP://home.talkcity.com/TheSanitarium/Da_Muck/Libr/wndr/ AND at Sofaspud's Couch HTTP://www.sofaspud.org/ ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Tales of the Wanderer: Book 2 - Wandering Aces Chapter 11: Wedding Bell Blues. The SDF-1 was once again a hive of activity; this time, though, they were making love, not war. The impending nuptials of Max Sterling and Miriya Padrino were on the forefront of most people's minds. The few that weren't concentrated on defending the ship, as always. Still, they rationalized that they were helping the wedding preparations in their own way, by ensuring that 'unruly gatecrashers' did not disturb the wedding, as they put it, often with a smile. Muck was one of the latter... with the air groups' two top pilots temporarily out of action; With Max as groom and Rick as Best Man, Muck was running the air wing for the time being. He hadn't been drafted for the job either, he'd volunteered, noting that he'd been so rested and recuperated he had a raging case of cabin fever! He'd also taken advantage of the chaos caused by the wedding to move up his flight physical and flight re-quals; citing the need for pilots who would not be involved in the wedding in some way. All of this explained why he was now over on the Daedalus, about to launch with a scratch team of twelve for Bar-Cap, while everyone else was placing the final touches on the 'big do'. The big D, as the squadrons assigned to it called it, was finally fully operational again after the damage caused by the Zentraedi's counterattack up the arm following a Daedalus maneuver, much to the relief of the pilots stationed on Prometheus - the resultant overcrowding had been a pain. Muck looked around at his scratch team and sighed. Half of his pilots were so green that this was their first sortie, and he'd been hard pressed to find any seasoned pilots to pair them with. Eleven thumbs-up met his visual query, and he sighed again before getting taxi clearance. He switched a side screen to a video feed and watched the 'honor guard' assemble on Prometheus... that meant the bride and groom would be arriving soon. However, the handler started waving him forward onto the catapult, so he killed the feed, and wished the couple luck as he taxied forward into 'the box'. * * * * * * * * * Bar-Cap on the SDF-1 could best be described as hours of numb backsides punctuated by minutes of sheer terror. As his team approached their patrol area, Muck hoped for the former, rather than the latter. Especially with half of his pilots so damn green, that's why he got on the radio one last time. "Ok people, listen up. On my call, break by pairs and take up your patrol stations. You greenies stay with your wingman no matter what... If any of you take off on your own, you'd better hope the Zentraedi get you, because I will give you such an ass chewing there won't be anything left to attach your legs too when you get back! Hammer flight, Standby to break by pairs and take station... Ready, Break!" Six pairs of fighters spread out and twelve pairs of eyes scanned sensor screens and the darkness ahead. Muck had the greenest of the green for his wingman, and his next two most experienced pilots were at each end of the spread; Muck hoped this would mean that no one was too far from mutual support, if his memory was right, the bad guys were coming... the only question was when. He'd placed the feed from the SDF-1's early warning radar on the center screen; and had just flipped from a close-up of his flight to check spacing to the 'god's eye' view for the umpteenth time when the first blips started to paint the edge. Two sweeps later that sector was a single lurid green splotch, just as CIC popped up on a side screen... "Hammer flight, CIC. Raid warning..." "I see them, Sandy. Request permission for engagement plan Jericho." "Wait one..." It didn't take long, though. "Engagement plan Jericho approved. We're scrambling everyone, hold line is Indigo." "Hammer lead copies Jericho to Indigo, out." Muck flipped to the squadron channel. "Ok you apes, time to earn your pay. Engagement plan Jericho. One salvo per fall-back, re-enforcement's will be waiting at Indigo." Five half bored and six rather excited rogers echoed back. The enemy was close enough now for the VT's on-board radar to start tracking them, and Muck designated targets; passing four to each pair of fighters. Muck watched the range close until the targets were in sure kill range before giving the command to open fire. Twenty-four missiles screamed from the twelve fighters and found their targets, but the VT's hadn't hung around to watch. As soon as the missiles were away, they'd turned 180 and fell back under after-burner to the middle bar-cap line, Mauve. The Zentraedi pushed forward in pursuit of the flight, only to loose another two dozen pods as the fighters of Hammer flight turned and launched again. The enemy had blood in its eyes now as it tore after the once again retreating fighters, only to run into a solid wall of missile launches as it reached the inner Bar Cap area Indigo. This time, however, the fighters did not fall back; the fighters of Hammer flight, re-enforced by the inner patrol squadron and the pilots from the wedding surged forward into the killing ground. In that swirling melee unit cohesion broke down, individual wings and pilots turned and fired and lived and died. Muck had just hosed down a pod with GU-11 fire, only to have an explosion behind him announced the loss of his wingman. The enemy pod settled in behind him, clinging doggedly through break and jink, closing in for the kill. Just before the pod opened fire, Muck went to Guardian mode and full deceleration, placing him behind the pod, just in time to see its fundament belch flame. The pod, still intact, drifted off otherwise lifeless as a blue-trimmed D model trainer flashed past. "That wasn't a kill, Max..." Muck growled. "Nope, but he's still out of the fight," came the reply. "It's time to put actions to words and stop the bloodshed. By the way, thanks for the coffee pot." "It's just a loner, Max. Fabrication has been so backlogged they can't make yours till next week. Use mine till then." Even as he was talking with Max, the probe brain he shared space with was analyzing the results of Max's attack pass and displaying the target point as well as the firing points to hit it from in one corner of Muck's vision. A quick pass showed that it worked as advertised, and Muck too started disabling pods with a vengeance. Yet, for every pod destroyed or disabled, two more moved in from the rear of the formation to take it's place. Slowly the defensive sphere formed by the fighters contracted, drawing closer to the SDF-1, with the massive Zentraedi battle-wagons moving in behind. Then, much more suddenly than the attack began, it was over, the battle-wagons recalling their mecha and falling back from the SDF-1. For Muck, it was even more sudden and disorienting... He'd found Rick in the chaos and formed up as his wingman. The two of them were up to their eyeballs in pods one moment, locked in a deadly dance of dodge and disable, then the next, or so it seemed, space around them was empty. "Do we pursue, Boss?" he asked. "Negative. We need to get re-organized first. Squadron Leaders, Skull one. Get your flights back together and lets see where we stand." "Roger that, One. Hammer flight, Hammer lead. Check in." By the time the SDF-1's defenders got everything re-organized, it was clear that the enemy had broken off action, not just fallen back to re-group. Hammer flight had been lucky... only Muck's wingman had been lost. Every group had losses, but they were less than Rick had originally feared. Hammer flight was low on ammo and fuel, so they were recovered first, a relatively fresh squadron replacing them on patrol. * * * * * * * * * Rick was relaxing in his cabin when Muck finally arrived to bring him up to speed on the air group's affairs while Rick had been busy with the wedding; not that Rick had any doubts about Muck's judgement, but so that Rick was aware of the present state of ongoing activities. Occasional sounds of cooking and general marital bliss drifted through the wall from the Sterling's new quarters next door; clearly the sound-proofing hadn't been installed yet. Muck had just moved from general squadron updates to the status of his ongoing development of the capitol ship strike plan when he was interrupted by the beeping of a smoke detector. A concerned check revealed that the detector in question was next door in the Sterling's quarters. From the overheard conversation, it became apparent that Miriya had accidentally added some cooking oil to the coffeepot... was that wrong? A thumping noise distracted Rick from the rest of the conversation... it seems that Muck was thumping his head on the coffee table. "What gives? You'd think it was the end of the world, Muck." "I'm the one who gave them that coffee-pot, boss." Rick smiled at that. Muck's coffee snobbery had made him the butt of more than one joke in the ready room, but this was a touch of over-reaction. "You'd think it was your miracle machine the way you're carrying on." "It is... or was, anyway. Fabrication couldn't make a duplicate for the wedding in time because of all the other work going on... so I lent Max mine until they could catch up." The pained look on Muck's face as he finished the explanation was the final straw as Rick broke down into hysterics at that. * * * * * * * * * The next three days were quiet; which was something of a mixed blessing. The mechanics were able to make headway in replacing the air group's physical losses... pilot losses were another matter. And over those three days the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop grew. By the time it did, in a way no one had expected, tensions were wire tight. Muck was one of the few unconcerned... about enemy intentions, anyway. At the moment, he was up to his eyeballs in his own work. He'd finally gotten approval to implement the capitol ship program he'd been working on since his arrival in this fica; at the moment he was down supervising a training simulation for those assigned to the project. There had been some grumbling at first, because the pilots he'd wanted were now quite senior in the air group hierarchy. All had been flying combat since the SDF had arrived at Pluto by mistake; the eleven chosen also had the most combat experience in close proximity to capitol ships as well. The only people exempted from his search were the squadron commanders; in more than one case they'd been upset at loosing their best pilots until it had been explained that this program would be in addition to the pilot's normal flight duties. Muck's ad-hoc attack squadron had unanimously dubbed him crazy when he'd first briefed them on the project; that had changed to crazy like a fox after the first few sims. The progress made had been swift as well; these hardy survivors only needing to have it explained what they did wrong once. Not to say that they always performed correctly in the next sim, but it certainly was obvious that they were aware of areas they needed to concentrate on. For most everyone, that was electronic warfare... something they'd normally had to deal with on the receiving end, not the delivery end. Still, if Muck could just get one more week of training his team, he was certain they'd be more than up to their task. Muck had settled on attack groups of 3. One plane would make the attack run on the engines, that being the most vulnerable target. The other two would concentrate on fighter suppression and electronic warfare, respectively. In addition, each pilot would fly a Super VT, with a weapon load-out that would allow it to perform all three roles, allowing a triad to take out as many as three ships. That was the theory, anyway; he figured he'd be lucky to get one ship per strike at the moment. Any further practice (or authorial exposition) was cut short by the all hands klaxon, calling the pilots to battle stations. * * * * * * * * * Muck wasn't surprised to find that he was the last person to arrive at Skull squadron's ready room. However, it became apparent that he had time to pull on his flight suit and survival gear, because the squadron was not about to launch. Instead, the various TV screens at the front of the room showed a single Zentraedi warship, almost dead ahead of the SDF-1. As he finished dressing for flight, a swarm of mecha came up behind the warship and flashed on past, towards the SDF-1, only to be annihilated by friendly fire from the approaching warship. Muck nodded to himself, a gesture noted by both Rick and Max, who then wondered just what was about to happen next. Both were certain that whatever it was, Muck knew... but they couldn't ask with the other pilots of Skull present. The ready room phone rang, and Rick picked it up. He listened for a long few moments before he acknowledged the message, then turned back to his assembled pilots. "Ok, we have orders. Apparently, the approaching ship is requesting peace talks and wishes to send over an emissary. We're going to provide an Honor guard to escort him in... and to be ready in case this is some sort of trick. Man your planes, but rules of engagement bravo-four are in effect. Absolutely no weapon fire unless you're attacked first. Understood?" The pilots of Skull grumbled a little, but relayed their understanding as they got to their feet and filed out of the room to man their planes. Last out was Muck, again, who stopped for a moment to phone some last second instructions down to his plane captain. This made it easy for the two leaders of Skull to corner him. "Ok, what gives. You look like you've been expecting this," Rick observed. "I don't think you want to know..." Muck hedged. "Yes, we do," Max replied. "Miriya is going to be out there with us... I need to know she'll be ok." Muck read the expression in Max's eyes. "Ok. They really are sending over an emissary. However, shortly after this meeting, all hell is going to break loose." Max and Rick exchanged looks, but the time pressures kept them from pressing further. As the three pilots headed down to the hanger deck, Rick had one last question. "Ok, so what's with the armament change?" "Command's worried it's a Trojan Horse, right?" Rick would have given Muck a piercing stare, was he not used to this by now. Instead, he let Muck continue. "So, I'm gonna fly a Wild Weasel load. Its el-int(1) pod and jamming gear should put that worry to rest." Max gave Rick a 'you asked' look, as the three pilots hurried across the hanger deck to their fighters. The ordies were still scrambling to change the armament on Muck's VT as they mounted up, making him the last plane to be lifted to the flight deck. Still, the long fight had paid its own dividends of a very real sort; Muck's plane was loaded and on-deck before the rest of Skull had finished launching. With the addition of Miriya as a pilot, some had grumbled about who was 'lucky 13'... however the general consensus was that whoever it was, it was someone ELSE. "Combat Diamond, people." Rick snapped over the radio. "Let's look professional. Muck, you're in the middle." Skull's experience as a unit showed as the planes quickly moved into a parade formation without comment; and held station on each other with a precision that the Blue Angels of years past would have envied; even with the addition of Miriya to the roster. The formation turned gracefully and came to a halt midway off the flank of the warship which had come promising peace; as if on cue, a single pod launched from one of the ship's massive bays and flew a non-evasive course for the formation. As promised, the pod had been striped of all offensive weapons; in fact it only carried a single secondary channel radio, one which could be easily jammed by Muck's ECM equipment. Muck didn't even have to make an 'official' report. As he looked up from the secondary displays, all three comm windows were open, showing CIC, the Bridge, and Rick. A single thumbs up was all that was required with the others signing off before he said anything; almost immediately Vanessa came over the audio channel shared with the pod, instructing it to join up with Skull for escort to the SDF-1. Skull squadron turned smartly as the pod formed up on Muck's wing, escorting the pod back to the SDF-1. Muck was caught as much off guard as anyone else when Sammy came on the com-net just after the escort flight cleared the inner-most defense perimeter. "Skull one-three, Skull will escort the emissary the rest of the way in. You're signal is RTB, Buster." "Skull one-three is RTB, Buster." Muck replied, his VT smoothly arcing up and out of the formation before piling on burners and heading for the Prometheus' landing pattern. "Roger, Skull one-three," Sammy noted before snapping off the com-channel. At the front of the formation, Rick raised a mental eyebrow at all of this, but didn't worry to much. While Muck might have been best placed to catch any tom-foolery the Pod might pull, Max and Miriya were at the back of the formation, right behind the pod. Rick figured that even without a warning from Muck, at best the pod might get a single shot off before Miriya disabled it. * * * * * * * * * There was an MP waiting with a Jeep as Muck taxied his VT off the elevator / airlock and into the Prometheus hanger deck, along with a tow cart and his plane captain. Muck cut the engines and was out of the cockpit as soon as it was open enough. As soon as he hit the deck, the MP saluted even as Jake Grafton, Muck's plane captain, handed him the sign-in board. "Captain Thunders, sir," the MP explained as soon as Muck returned the salute, "I'm Lt. Roberts. The captain wants you to be part of the emissary's escort, Sir. If you'll come with me?" "In my flight suit?" observed a startled Muck. "I took the liberty of stopping by your quarters on the way here, Sir. I have a dress uniform in the back; you can change while I drive, Sir." This earned said Lt. a strange look, but Muck hopped into the Jeep and had started peeling out of his flight suit even before Roberts pulled out, tires squealing. The jeep was equipped with flashing lights and siren, and Lt. Roberts made use of them as the jeep roared down various lightly traveled passageways. "Just what am I supposed to do, Lieutenant?" Muck shouted over the wind noise and siren as he slipped on the high collared turtleneck that went under the uniform tunic. "Sir, Captain Gloval wants you to be the emissary's personal escort and watcher, so to speak. He said you'd be best to catch anything unusual, sir." Muck snorted. "How did Maistroff take the news?" "I think he almost had a stroke, sir..." "I think I like you already, Lieutenant. Even if you are an MP." "Thank you, sir... I think," replied Roberts as the jeep pulled into one of the main landing bays and pulled to a stop. The Pod was already in, with the mecha of Skull squadron in battleoid mode at port arms, forming a corridor through which the emissary's pod had clearly just passed. The pod knelt and opened, revealing the giant warrior inside, as Lt. Roberts wheeled the jeep around and left. The fifty-foot warrior unfolded himself from the cramped confines of the pod, and glowered at the mecha around him before a small reedy voice spoke up from inside the pod. The warrior jerked as if shocked by a live wire, and rumbled an apology in his alien language as he turned back to the pod and lifted a rather small person by human standards out and set him gently on the deck. Muck had been to far away to hear the initial exchange, but he hurried over to greet his charge. He'd gotten close enough to hear Minister Exedore's comments about frail bodies and the impressiveness of full size Zentraedi warriors when the PA crackled to life, calling everyone to attention. A convoy of limousines, complete with bumper flags for the RDF and the UEDC pulled up, between Muck and Exedore; Muck took his cue and walked around to open the door of the lead Limousine, revealing Col. Maistroff. He was rewarded with a poisonous glare, but Maistroff said nothing, instead walking towards the emissary; forcing Muck to fall in one step behind and to the right, as befitted a junior officer, as other officers exited the limousines un-noticed behind them. Col. Maistroff closed to within two paces of Exedore before stopping and coming to attention, capping it off with a sharp salute. "Colonel Maistroff, Robotech Defense Force. Captain Gloval sends his respects and welcomes you aboard the SDF-1." Exedore nodded gravely before replying, switching to English as he did. "Thank you. I am Exedore, Minister of Affairs." He turned to Muck. "And who is this?" Muck stuck out his hand. "Captain Thunders, USAF. I'll be your escort while aboard, Minister." Exedore eyed the proffered hand warily, giving Maistroff a chance to step back in. "This is how we greet friends, Minister," Maistroff provided, and Exedore accepted the handshake. "If you'll come with us, Captain Thunders will get you some more comfortable clothes and take you to the captain." Exedore nodded at this, and started to follow the pair of uniformed officers to the waiting transport. An intermittent earthquake erupted behind them, and the trio turned to see Exedore's pilot had started to follow as well. "With all due respect, Minister," Muck noted, "Could you ask your pilot to wait here on the hanger deck?" Exedore looked at the small scale of most of the hatches on the hanger deck and nodded in comprehension, before raising his voice to address his pilot in Zentraedi. Maistroff took advantage of the distraction to wave a couple of aides over and pass some instructions as well. The trio climbed into the limousine, and the convoy pulled out, leaving the two aides behind. "Something to EAT? You have GOT to be kidding me!" the first aide protested. "The colonel may do a lot of things, but he doesn't kid. I'll call rationing, you round up a couple of flatbeds," replied the second... * * * * * * * * * As the convoy headed deeper into the SDF-1, Exedore took advantage of the relative privacy of the Limousine to try and clear up some of his growing confusion. "Excuse me, but I was under the impression that, like us, your vessel only has one commanding officer." "That's right, sir," Muck replied, as Maistroff remained silent and observed. "Yet you were described by the same rank title," Exedore continued. "That's because I come from a different branch of the military, that uses different rank designations, Minister. My rank is actually more equivalent to a First Lieutenant aboard ship," Muck replied with a twinkle in his eyes. "It confuses a lot of civilians as well." Exedore nodded at this, staring out the window as the convoy entered the hold containing Macross City. Muck took advantage of that to change the topic. "If you'll look outside, Minister, you can see Macross City. In fact, at the moment we're moving through the central shopping district." "Ah, yes," Exedore noted, drawing on the mass of information gleaned from the various transmissions from the escaped battle-fortress. "This is where you use something called Money to requisition goods and services." Beside Exedore, Maistroff looked to be containing a giggle behind his poker face, but the expressionless expression held... barely. Muck winked at Maistroff before taking back up the narrative. "That's about as good a description as I've ever heard, Minister. It's a little more complicated in practice, though." Exedore nodded, and turned his attention back out the window. After a couple of moments, he stiffened as if shot, snapping his gaze back into the car; shuddering and breaking out into a cold sweat as he did. Muck and Maistroff both snapped their heads around to look, catching sight of the Miss Velvet billboard as Exedore finally got his next words out. "And that picture captain?" Exedore's tone of voice sounded rather queasy. "Could you explain that for me." Muck looked to Maistroff, but the answering glare told him; 'You brought it up, You deal with it.' Sighing, Muck tried to explain. "Now THAT is a complicated subject, Minister. I've been trying to understand it for 18 years now, and I still don't know that much." "Ah," noted Exedore, deciding that there could only be one reason one couldn't learn everything about a topic. "I see. A military secret of some form, I take it?" Muck wasn't certain if Maistroff was about to tear his head off, or burst from laughing at the way Muck was on the spot. "Um, Right, Minister. Classified. Whatever you say sir," Muck agreed, as the convoy raced towards the main conference room... Continued in TotW 2-12: The Heavy End... --------- (1) El-Int. Electronic Intelligence: Gathering information about the radio, radar, and other electronic emmissions of an enemy.