Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Phoenix ❯ Chapter 5 ( Chapter 6 )

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

With the Jeep idling outside the squadron building, Marx kissed his wife good-bye. "We should be relieved about this time tomorrow. I'll call you when I'm back at the building."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then, anata." Her husband grabbed his bags from the back of the Jeep and watched her pull away. He cringed as she ground the transmission shifting between first and second.

"Ready for tonight, Scooter?" Doctor asked.

Marx scrubbed his hand through his short, receding hair. "I guess so. Is the Old Man in?"

"Yeah, you just got here," joked Cobb. Marx fixed his wingman with such a glare that promised a thrashing at tonight's poker game. "Surprisingly, the Colonel's in his office, Scoot."

"Good. Give me five, maybe ten minutes, and I'll meet you in the briefing room." Cobb nodded, as the two pilots headed inside. Marx paused at the CO's office, gathered up his courage, and knocked.

"Enter." Marx did as he was requested, and walked into Col. Bell's office. "Lieutenant Marx, what can I do for you?"

"Sir, I'd like to explain to you what happened yesterday between my wife and the CG's son."

Bell sat back. "Lieutenant, I know you'd like to do something about this, but the General has made up his mind. You know that we're not exactly Number One on the General's list of favorite units."

"Maybe if the General would consider having the other fighter squadron actually do their jobs, we wouldn't have to continue to wax their tails when we go up and play." Marx commented, pushing the envelope with the Colonel.

Bell looked at this impertinent lieutenant. "Lieutenant, be careful what you say, and where you day it. I'll let your comment slide, this time.

"Now, don't you have an alert to pull?"

"Yes sir." Marx saluted and left the office.

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Even with the snow, certain base facilities were still open-namely the commissary and the exchange. Ranma had to do some shopping for the house, picking up some food, supplies…doing the domestic things that a family does, even when her husband is at work. And she was quite lucky that both were virtually empty. She hated crowds; it was something that she realized when she reached Beijing, and was trying to find the Japanese Embassy. But at the same time, she had enjoyed the anonymity of being in a crowd.

She was walking down one of the aisles of the commissary, intent on getting particular hygiene products, when she realized she was being followed. Looking out the large plate glass windows in the front of the grocery store, Ranma could see that it was still snowing at a fair clip. She also caught sight of Virgil's reflection in the glass. She nonchalantly ducked down to the main aisle and over to the produce section. Which turned out to be a mistake.

She found herself cornered by Virgil's goon squad from the soccer team. "Kuso," she muttered. "What Virgil?"

"I see you're alone now. So, Ranma, why don't you and I get to know each other better…more intimately." The look on Virgil's face could outshine even the biggest pervert in the world. "And I don't mind if you call me 'Virgil'," he crooned.

"Yesterday didn't teach you lesson," she asked in her slightly broken English. "I not interested."

"You're little dyke lover isn't here, so why don't you give me some loving?" Virgil, at this point, had sidled up next to Ranma, and started pawing the redheaded martial artist, particularly in several…inappropriate locations.

Despite wanting to play "Pound the Pervert", Ranma kept her restraint and began screaming like there was no tomorrow. "Shut up!" Virgil shouted, as his goon squad suddenly broke, and ran.

Ranma didn't respond, instead choosing to continue to scream. She was loud and piercing enough to attract the attention of a combined USAF/JASDF security patrol parked just outside the commissary. They came running in, as the American cop was calling in for back up. The manager was already there, trying to find out what was happening.

The two cops separated everyone, and began interviewing. "Marx-san," the JASDF corporal said, "what happened?" Ranma had begun calming down, and explained what happened in quiet Japanese. Two more Security Forces cruisers and the flight chief's pickup pulled up. The additional cops kept everyone apart, while the initial two cops briefed the flight chief.

"This is the fourth complaint that we've received about the BC's son doing this," the master sergeant growled. "This time we teach him a lesson."

"But Sarge, his father's the commanding general," the initial responding airman stated.

"Doesn't matter, Airman. Have you ever met Lieutenant Marx, yet?" The airman shook his head. "The Lieutenant was one of us. And he takes the time to get know us, work with us, and gets coffee out to us when he's not on alert.

"The young lady over there," the flight chief pointed over at Ranma, "is his wife. And young Mr. Leonard crossed the line this time." Reaching around, the sergeant retrieved his handcuffs from his pistol belt. "Virgil Leonard, we're placing you under apprehension for inappropriate sexual contact and sexual harassment." The base commander's son blanched as he heard the sergeant. "We can do this two ways-the easy way, or the hard way." Privately, the flight chief was hoping for the hard way.

Quietly, Virgil turned and placed his hands behind his back. The flight chief had the initial responding airman handcuff and do a quick pat down of the boy, before escorting him to the waiting cruiser.

"Mrs. Marx," the flight chief said, "we need you to come down to the squadron to sign the complaint against him."

"H-hai," she replied, still a little more than shaken by the whole ordeal, flinching when the flight chief went to put his arm around her, as a supportive gesture, and to guide her to another cruiser. Kami-sama, she thought, have I become that afraid of a man's touch? Then she remembered the differences between her husband, and the crass young man sitting in the back of the other cruiser; the way Marx's hands, calloused as they were, were gentle when he caressed her, touched her. Not like Virgil's overly enthusiastic, sloppy manhandling. When she looked at Virgil, there was a look of scorn and disgust on her face. All she wanted to do when she finished swearing out the complaint against him was to take a long hot shower.
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The poker game in the alert billets was in full swing, with quite a pot sitting in the center of the table. With the weather forecast for more snow, there was probably little chance of them launching. Cobb, Marx, the mechanics and crew chiefs, and the cops from inside the fence were in a heated game, as cigar and cigarette smoke turned the air in the dayroom gray. The only thing missing from the table was the beer; but since they were on five minute alert, soda was the substitute.

Two phones started ringing at the same time. Marx's crew chief, SSgt O'Brien answered one, while Cobb answered the other one. "Lieutenant," O'Brien called over, "your wife is sitting at Security Control. Apparently the BC's son tried to…take advantage of her." The cigar in Marx's hand split and crushed as his hand convulsed. "Don't worry sir. The cops are taking care of it."

"Good. I'm still going to head over there…"

"Uh, Scooter," Cobb said from the other, more important phone. "We have a scramble. Unidentified contacts from the west." With that statement, the poker game was forgotten, and everyone dashed out of the dayroom.

As one of the mechanics started the motors that opened the pod doors, the crew chiefs did a quick inspection of their fighters, and plugged their headsets into an external interphone jack. Marx and Cobb were already in their respective fighters, auxiliary power units running. With thumbs up, the engines on both fighters lit off, and a quick control surface check later, the crew chiefs disconnected and saluted their pilots.

The fighters taxied out of their respective pods. "Misawa Tower, Alfa ready to launch."

"Alfa, Misawa Tower. You are cleared to launch. Contact Skywatch on button 4."

The two-ship formation of F-106s rocketed down the runway, before streaking skyward in a steep 80-degree climb. Marx changed radio channels and keyed the radio, as both fighters climbed past 35 thousand feet. "Skywatch, this is Alfa."

"Roger Alfa. Turn to heading 280. Contacts at bearing 270, speed 250, flight level 550." The controller onboard the E-3C AWACS reported.

The American fighters banked on to their new heading, as their pilots pulled back to minimum afterburner, to close quickly, but still conserve fuel. "Tally-ho!" Cobb called over the radio. "I have a tally on the bandits. Look like two Mike-India-Gulf Two Niners and two Tango Uniform Niner Fives. Looks like they're on a heading for Misawa." The way the full moon was reflecting on the cloudbanks below provided sufficient illumination for both pilots to make out the Soviet aircraft as they closed on them.

As they neared the Soviet formation, the American fighters matched speeds and joined the formation. "Doctor, monitor button 4," Marx said over the radio. "I'll try to contact them." He switched his secondary radio over to the international distress frequency-121.5-and keyed his mike. "Soviet aircraft, Soviet aircraft. This is Air Force Alfa 31. You are approaching restricted airspace. I say again, you are approaching restricted airspace and will need to divert."

Marx heard the controllers on the AWACS passing information back and forth. He switched his radio back. "Cobb, start falling back. Standby to go to weapons arm. Do not, I say again, do not lock your weapons on the targets."

"Roger, Scooter." The pair of Delta Darts fell back with one notch of speed brakes and flaps to slow them down. The two MiG-29 Fulcrums broke off their escort of the two huge turboprop bombers and moved to blocking positions.

"Skywatch, Alfa. Requesting weapons hot, negative reply from Soviet aircraft. Is Bravo airborne yet?"

"Alfa, Skywatch. I copy negative reply from Soviet aircraft. Negative weapons hot at this time. I say again, negative weapons hot. Bravo is airborne and enroute to your position."

"Roger Skywatch. Doctor, try contacting the Soviets. It's possible my alternate radio isn't working."

"Roger, Scooter." Cobb tried contacting the Soviet aircraft. "Negative reply, Scooter."

"Understood." Marx replied. In the inky night, he could make out the positional strobes of the backup alert crew. "Skywatch, Alfa. I have visual on Bravo."

"Roger, Alfa. Standby."

"Roger, Skywatch, standing by."

------

Will the Cold War heat up? Will Virgil get the punishment his so justly deserves? And just what about Genma?

Authors Notes:

Some explanations for this particular story. It takes place today, but it's a definite alternate universe. The Soviet Union never dissolved in the early 90s; the Cold War isn't over. So that means five-minute alerts for PACAF and the rest of the Air Force.

A note about the F-106 variant used in the story. It doesn't exist, except as a kit-bash sitting on my workbench, a logical evolution of the Delta Dart to incorporate modern 21st Century avionics, engines, and armaments. Eventually some images will appear on my website of it.