“What is this place, Debbi?”

“This is my Air-Field.  I bought it and I run it,” Smith says, rolling down her passenger side window.

The man Brandi assaulted days before, Sixgun, approaches the black Viper from the right side.  The tall Italian walks with a distinct, over-confident attitude, facing the opposite direction, staring at something.  When he reaches the car, Sixgun leans over against the window.

“Everyone here?” Smith asks.

Sixgun’s head still faces away.  “Yeah.  We got in about an hour ago.”

“So how’s it look?”

“From here... delicious.”

Both Brandi and Debbi soon see what has him so obviously distracted: a curvy blonde woman wearing a tight, black jumpsuit.  She is bending over gathering things she dropped; the front of her jumpsuit exposing a fair amount of cleavage.

“Not her, you lecher!” Debbi slaps his shoulder, “how’s my bird?”

“Oh!” Sixgun turns, giving Smith his full attention.  “I don’t know.   Garcia has been working on it all morning, running tests.  Ask him.”

The car speeds past the check point towards the hangar bays, where the majority of people are concentrated.  Standing directly in front of it is a scrawny, young man in his late twenties, with very short, red hair, in jeans and an imitation Army jacket—the ones you find in surplus stores.  He stands at total attention when the three exit the vehicle.  Keeping close to Debbi, Brandi follows as they approach him.

“Lt. Col. Smith, ma’am!” he emphatically snaps with a salute.

“Knock that shit off, Garcia.  You’re not a soldier and we’re not in the military,” Debbi groans.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

Brandi giggles and Debbi Smith rolls her eyes.  She’s just not getting through to this kid.  “Just tell me how my bird is, Garcia.”

“We just concluded the tests this morning, ma’am.  The adjustments we’ve made gave HP more thrust in aft firing coils,” Garcia reports.

“Great!  We’ll take her up for a test flight tomorrow afternoon.  We have some time before the meeting starts.   Why don’t you give Brandi here a tour of HP?”

“Yes ma’am,” he confirms.  “Follow me please, Brandi.”

“That’s Commander Schofield to you, civilian,” Schofield barks at him.  What the hell, just because Debbi didn’t like authority, that doesn’t mean Brandi will accept disrespect.

She follows the young Garcia into the largest hangar bay on the complex as Debbi and Razor disappear.  This is truly an experience for Brandi: face-to-face with the High Priest of Holocaust—which it’s appropriately named.   It’s more than a fighter; it’s a symbol of authority.  As they enter the hangar, the gigantic F-14 Tomcat looms like a black spectre of impending doom over the area, as if it has a grim personality all its own: its black, smooth, shiny surface giving it an almost sinister countenance.  Even its name, emblazoned on the outside of the cockpit in red, bold letters, gives an ominous look to the fighter’s appearance.  This is more than a machine; in the proper hands, this is Death herself.

Garcia leads the Commander up a ladder, as she stares down the fighter’s dorsal, awe-struck.  Schofield notices something uniquely familiar about the black paint coating the outside.

“Anti-Static Resin, Wave Deflective Plating,” Garcia points out while watching the Commander run her hands along the outer hull, “just like the type on...”

“...the Venome Reconnaissance birds,” Brandi finishes.

“Exactly.  Lieutenant Colonel Smith designed the original working model.  General Riley’s men ransacked her laboratories and stole the formula,” Garcia clarifies.

This information takes Brandi by surprise.  The Wave Deflective Plating was essential to the Venome Air Command’s victory over the EC, and paved the way to create the same frequency bending radioscopes that hide VHQ presently.  The armor not only shielded one fighter from radar detection, but with proper modifications, it would bend frequency signals approximately two-thousand yards in circumference.   Unfortunately, the elements of the formula are so rare, Wave Deflective Plating is only on Reconnaissance aircraft.  A wise move since information is deadlier than any weapon.  But Science Division found, six of the these specially equipped planes flying a standard perimeter flight formation could move an entire squadron of fighters without detection by the EC.

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