#Remotely Piloted Aircraft

[nocternalrandomness]

US Navy QF-4N at Luke AFB, Az - 25 OCT 1995

[rodspurethoughts]

GA-ASI Performs Cold Weather Validation Using MQ-9B SkyGuardian

Validation Flight Satisfies the Cold Weather Operational Capability Needs for Nordic Countries SAN DIEGO (Newswire.com) – General Atomics Aeronautical Systems, Inc. (GA-ASI) successfully performed Cold Weather Validation (CWV) using a company-owned MQ-9B SkyGuardian® Remotely Piloted Aircraft System (RPAS) in late Jan./early Feb. 2023, adding to the cold weather experience of the MQ-9 family of…

[historyofguns]

In the article "Flying in Alaska — The Last Frontier," Will Dabbs, MD recounts his experiences during his military service in Alaska. Despite his initial desire to be stationed in Europe, Uncle Sam sent him to Alaska, a place vastly different from his humid upbringing in the Deep South. Dabbs describes the unique and challenging conditions of Alaska, from the intense cold to the stunning natural beauty. As an operations officer and later an aviation liaison officer, he flew CH-47D Chinook helicopters across the state, participating in numerous missions, including high-altitude rescues and resupply operations. He shares vivid memories of the rugged wilderness, abundant wildlife, and the camaraderie of military life. Through these experiences, Dabbs developed a deep appreciation for Alaska, despite the hardships of service and the extreme environment.

[msilwrites]

The Mystery of Ghost's Better Half (Simon 'Ghost' Fic)

Gamekeeper! Reader, Groundskeeper! Reader, Ex-MI5! Reader, Stalker! Reader, Naughty! Ghost, Naughty! Simon, Stalker! Reader, Possessive! Reader, Sunshine! Reader, Shy! Reader, Introvert! Reader

A/N: This story features the same Y/N (that’s YOU!!) from How I met your Mother, Midnight Snack Mystery and The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That?

You’ll notice I’ve kept physical descriptions and most of your aesthetic to a minimum—no name, race, or colour—because I want you, the reader, to be able to fully immerse yourself in the story. Imagine it’s you!

That said, I’ve crafted your background and bio to be absolutely awesome. Let’s be real—you deserve to be as amazing as the characters you’re sharing the story with! 💪

For those curious about the timeline, this story takes place WAY before both The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That? and Midnight Snack Mystery. and after How I Met Your Mother. I’ll be putting together a proper timeline for all the chaos soon—stay tuned! Genre: Comedy/Fluff

Summary: Set almost a year into your relationship with Ghost, a casual supermarket run takes an unexpected turn when you bump into Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick—who also happens to be your former subordinate. As stories unfold and secrets unravel, Ghost discovers there's more to your past than you've let on... and you learn he’s been keeping a few surprises of his own. What starts as a mundane errand turns into a hilariously revealing chapter in your lives together.

Some terms to take note of;

RAF: Royal Air Force – The air force branch of the British Armed Forces, responsible for aerial defense and operations.

UAV: Unmanned Aerial Vehicle – A drone or remote-controlled aircraft used for surveillance, reconnaissance, and sometimes combat, without a pilot onboard.

MI5: Military Intelligence, Section 5 – The British domestic counter-intelligence and security agency, primarily focused on national security, including counter-terrorism and espionage.

SAS: Special Air Service – A special forces regiment of the British Army, known for its expertise in counter-terrorism, hostage rescue, and covert operations.

SBS: Special Boat Service – The Royal Navy’s counterpart to the SAS, specializing in amphibious and maritime operations, including counter-terrorism, reconnaissance, and hostage rescue. RMP: Royal Military Police – The military police branch of the British Army, responsible for maintaining discipline, investigating crimes within the military, and providing security for military operations.

SRR: Special Reconnaissance Regiment – A special forces regiment of the British Army, specializing in covert reconnaissance, surveillance, and intelligence gathering.

MI6: Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) – The British foreign intelligence service, responsible for collecting intelligence from outside the UK, mainly focusing on espionage, counter-intelligence, and security issues abroad.

SCO19/CTSFO: Specialist Crime and Operations/Counter Terrorism Specialist Firearms Officers – A unit of the Metropolitan Police Service responsible for handling counter-terrorism operations and armed responses to incidents involving firearms or other serious threats.

Case Officer – A role within intelligence agencies, such as MI5 or MI6, where the officer is responsible for managing agents or assets, gathering intelligence, and overseeing operations involving covert operations and surveillance.

----------

The supermarket buzzed with quiet chatter and the soft clatter of carts. Simon pushed their trolley with one hand, the other draped over Y/N’s shoulder. Both wore masks—not because they were hiding from the world but because they were both introverts who preferred to keep their faces to themselves.

“Why do we always look like we’re about to rob the place?” Y/N muttered under her breath, glancing at their reflection in the freezer doors.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Simon replied, his voice dry. “You’d be the worst getaway driver. Too many stops for snacks.”

“Bold words for someone who insisted on two different types of biscuits last week.”

He smirked behind his mask, steering them toward the drinks aisle. “Tea,” he said. “Running low.”

She chuckled softly. “Heaven forbid we face a morning without tea.”

They rounded a corner when a familiar voice stopped them in their tracks.

“LT?”

Simon glanced up sharply to see Kyle Garrick standing a few feet away, looking equal parts amused and bewildered.

“Garrick,” Simon greeted, nodding in acknowledgment.

Kyle closed the distance, clapping Simon’s shoulder in a friendly grip before offering the traditional handshake-bump. “Didn’t think I’d ever catch you out here, sir, in a domesticated way!”

Simon rolled his eyes but let a smirk slip through. “Everyone’s got to eat, mate. Even me.”

Kyle chuckled, but his attention drifted to Y/N, and his expression froze. His eyes widened in disbelief. “No bloody way.”

Y/N blinked, tilting her head. “Kyle?”

“Ma’am!” Kyle’s grin split wide as he snapped a playful salute before pulling her into a hug. “It’s really you!”

Y/N laughed softly, hugging him back. “Look at you, all grown up and out of trouble.”

Simon stood off to the side, arms crossed and brow raised. “Ma’am?” he echoed, his tone skeptical but sharp.

Kyle stepped back from the hug, hands raised as if to placate him. “Relax, LT. Not nicking Mrs Riley.”

“I’m not yet—” Y/N started, only for Simon to cut in.

“She will be,” Simon said matter-of-factly, his voice laced with quiet authority.

Kyle chuckled, shooting Y/N a knowing look. “Fair enough. But seriously, LT, you’ve bagged yourself a legend.” He gestured to Y/N. “This woman was my case officer back when I was just starting out. Pulled me and my team out of more fires than I care to count.”

Y/N winced. “Kyle, don’t.”

But Kyle continued undeterred. “She’s the reason I got placed with the CTSFOs before Price found me. Without her, I wouldn’t be where I am now.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed slightly, the edge in his tone unmistakable. “That so?”

Kyle nodded earnestly. “She didn’t just handle the logistics—she made sure we got in and out in one piece. Always had a knack for knowing when to pull us before things got messy.”

“Kyle,” Y/N interrupted, raising a hand. “Enough. You’re making me sound like a bloody action figure.”

Kyle grinned, sheepish but unapologetic. “Sorry, ma’am.” He turned to Simon, adding, “Go easy on her, LT. She’s earned it. And don’t worry—I won’t tell the lads.”

“Good,” Simon said curtly, his tone clipped but not unkind. “I’ll interrogate her myself. Now, get on with your shopping, Garrick.”

Kyle saluted again, grinning. “Aye, sir.” He turned back to Y/N with a softer look. “We’ll catch up one day, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said with a faint smile. “Take care, Kyle.”

As Kyle walked off, Simon’s amber eyes fixed on her, curiosity and amusement dancing in their depths. “So,” he drawled, “you’re a legend, are you?”

She groaned, pushing the trolley forward. “Don’t start.”

Simon followed, his tone low and teasing. “You’re my Mrs Riley, and yet I’m only hearing this from Garrick? What else are you hiding, love?”

She sighed, glancing over her shoulder. “Plenty.”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “We’ll sort that later. For now, let’s stock up. Wouldn’t want to run out of biscuits again.”

Y/N muttered something under her breath but let him guide the trolley forward, knowing full well that “later” was going to be anything but quiet.

----------

Back at Simon’s house, the rustle of grocery bags filled the quiet kitchen as Y/N started unpacking their haul. Simon leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his amber eyes fixed on her with that signature intensity she found equal parts alluring and irritating.

“So,” he began, voice low and calm, “how exactly do you know Kyle?”

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes as she pulled out a loaf of bread and a jar of honey. “He’s just a kid I looked after, that’s all.”

Simon arched a brow. “Looked after? He was going on about saving lives. Sounds a bit more than babysitting, love.”

She set the bread down and shot him a look. “It’s not worth mentioning. Besides, you never asked.”

His brow shot higher, and a hint of amusement flickered in his gaze. “Never asked, huh?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, focusing on the next bag. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hi, I used to babysit rookie agents and soldiers when they couldn’t keep themselves out of trouble’? Bit of a conversation killer, don’t you think?”

Simon snorted, stepping forward to help as she tried—and failed—to push a box of tea onto the top shelf. His hand brushed hers as he easily slid it into place. “Funny how you leave out that you were apparently some kind of mastermind,” he said, his tone casual but teasing.

She rolled her eyes, but a faint smile tugged at her lips. Then she turned the tables. “I heard Kyle call you ‘LT.’ And since he’s SAS, that means you’re SAS, too, yeah?”

Simon smirked, pulling another bag closer. “And here I thought you knew everything about me.”

“All you told me is you were RAF,” she countered, her arms crossed now. “Are you really going to act smug about not mentioning that detail?”

He set a box of biscuits on the counter and leaned in slightly, his voice dropping an octave. “You never asked. How was I supposed to tell you?”

She snorted, trying to brush past him to grab more groceries, but he moved faster, blocking her path with his broad frame. His eyes glittered with mischief. “Anything else you’ve been keeping from me? Or do I have to wait for Garrick to fill me in again?”

She tilted her head up, glaring playfully. “Oh, I’m sure there’s plenty you don’t know about me.”

“Plenty?” he repeated, feigning surprise. “Should I be worried?”

“Maybe,” she teased, pushing at his chest lightly. “You’ll find out eventually—if you’re lucky.”

Simon caught her wrist, his grip firm but gentle, and pulled her closer. The corner of his mouth curled into a smirk. “Lucky, am I?”

“You might be,” she replied, her tone breezy but her pulse quickening as his thumb brushed her wrist.

“Guess I’ll have to keep asking then,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble. “Can’t have my Mrs. Riley keeping secrets from me.”

“I’m not—” she started, but he cut her off with a soft kiss, the groceries temporarily forgotten as his teasing turned into something much more serious.

When they broke apart, her breath hitched, and she quipped, “You’re still putting away the rest of those groceries.”

He chuckled, leaning back slightly but not letting her go. “Fair enough. But don’t think you’re off the hook, love. We’ll have another chat about Garrick soon enough.”

“You know, we don’t have to wait until later,” she teased, “might as well start the ‘interrogation’ now.” She raised a brow at him. “But fair’s fair. For every question about me, I get to ask you one. Deal?”

Simon grinned. “Deal.” His voice was steady, but there was an undeniable edge of anticipation as he leaned in, clearly ready for his next round of questioning.

“How do you know Sergeant Garrick?” Simon asked again, now that the gauntlet had been thrown down.

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyes flickering briefly to the side before she met his gaze. “I was a Case Officer for MI5,” she began, her voice steady but with a note of something deeper. “I worked with MI6, the SAS, SBS and SCO19/CTSFO. Gaz was stationed in the Middle East during a critical operation. There was a leak within MI6 that affected MI5, and I had to pull his team out at the last minute.” (A/N: Gaz working in the middle east is actually canon material, you can find it in his bio)

Simon didn’t interrupt, his curiosity piqued.

“Garrick was just starting out, but he was good,” she continued. “His team was in real danger. I saved them—kept them from walking into a shitstorm that would’ve cost them their lives.” She paused, her expression clouding slightly, as if remembering the tension of those moments.

“Fuck,” Simon muttered, clearly impressed. “You really didn’t mention any of that.”

She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You never asked.”

Simon was about to speak again when Y/N raised a finger. “Now, my turn. Is that why you’d disappear for weeks before we got together? You were deployed?”

Simon’s jaw tightened slightly, but his expression remained calm. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly, “that’s why.”

Y/N nodded, her lips pursed as she processed that. “I thought so.”

Simon let out a soft breath, the air around them suddenly heavier. “Your turn now. How did you end up in the military?”

Her eyes flickered for a moment before she spoke, the story tumbling out with the quiet weight of years gone by.

“I left home at eighteen,” she said, her voice low but clear. “Got into a bad relationship... ran off again when I realized what a mess I’d gotten into. Ended up in Scotland, working at a distillery as an apprentice brewer.” She sighed, the memory bittersweet. “I was happy, for a while. But then my ex found me. Kept harassing me, threatening everyone around me. I had to leave, for my own safety and everyone else’s.”

She paused for a moment, her gaze distant, before continuing.

“For a while, I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I had nothing left. But then, one day, I saw a recruitment ad for the RAF. I remembered a colleague I’d worked with at the distillery. He’d always said I had some kind of observational ability that might make me good in the military.” She gave him a dry smile. “I guess I thought, 'why not?' Free food, free place to sleep, and some semblance of security. Plus, they offered sponsored education, which was a bonus. And then there was the therapy—” she hesitated for a moment, her voice softening. “That helped. More than I thought it would. It gave me the space to sort myself out, to stop feeling like I was constantly looking over my shoulder.”

She glanced at Simon, her expression resolute. “I’d had enough of running. Joining the military taught me how to defend myself—and fight back when I needed to.”

Simon’s eyes softened as he listened. She wasn’t finished yet, though.

“I joined the RAF first as an infantry soldier,” she explained, her tone matter-of-fact. “Did a few tours overseas, got some solid experience under my belt, and eventually took an opportunity to upskill as a UAV pilot.” She paused, the faintest smile tugging at her lips as she recounted the progression.

“After that, I transitioned to the RMP and later the SRR. Both roles had me deployed for more tours, sharpening different skill sets along the way,” she continued, her gaze steady. “Eventually, MI5 took notice and recruited me.”

She sighed, leaning back slightly as if the weight of those years momentarily settled on her shoulders. “Stayed there for more than a decade, till they told me to retire. Ran into Kyle during all that, though. Didn’t think I’d see him again, but here we are.”

Simon was quiet for a long moment, processing everything she had just revealed. His eyes never left hers.

“You really know how to keep a secret,” he murmured, clearly impressed—and maybe a little surprised.

“When were you planning to tell me?” he asked after a beat, tilting his head slightly. “Were you ever planning to tell me? Or were you just hoping I’d find and figure it all out?”

Y/N leaned against the counter, crossing her arms with a sigh. “I was just hoping you’d figure it out,” she admitted with a soft laugh, her tone tinged with playful exasperation. “Accept me and my crazy head.” She paused before adding, “To be fair, though, you wouldn’t have believed me even if I told you! I mean, look at me, Simon!” She gestured to herself dramatically, as if presenting a case in court.

Simon’s lips twitched into a sly grin, his gaze sweeping over her as he let out a low chuckle. “Alright, you’ve got a point,” he admitted, amusement lacing his voice. “Small, unassuming, and, dare I say it, bloody adorable. Not exactly what springs to mind when you think of MI5, yeah?”

Her jaw dropped slightly, though her grin remained firmly in place. “Excuse me? Did you just—”

He stepped closer, cutting her off with a laugh. “It’s a compliment,” he teased, his eyes glinting with mischief. “But yeah, unless someone like Kyle spilled the beans, I’d probably still be clueless.”

Simon closed the distance between them, his smirk softening as he looked at her. “Oh, and since I did find and figure it out,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, “let me just say—your ‘crazy head’ might actually be my favorite thing about you.”

She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her lips as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close in a firm embrace. He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, the faint scratch of his stubble brushing against her skin and drawing another burst of laughter.

“Simon, that tickles!” she protested, trying to squirm away, but his grip only tightened.

“Good,” he murmured into her hair, his deep chuckle vibrating against her cheek.

As the laughter subsided, she tilted her head, her expression suddenly thoughtful. “Alright, my turn,” she began, her voice carrying a teasing edge. “Why didn’t you ever mention you were in the SAS?”

Simon’s grip loosened just enough for him to lean back and meet her gaze. His expression shifted, the humour giving way to something more serious. “It’s not exactly something you drop into casual conversation,” he replied. “Most of it’s classified, anyway.”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking in amusement. “Oh, so it’s alright for you to keep secrets, but when I do it, it’s a problem?”

Simon let out a low chuckle, conceding with a nod. “Touché.”

But then his gaze softened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly choosing his words carefully. “Truth is… I was afraid.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Afraid of what?”

“That you might run off,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “If you knew I was SAS, I thought… I thought you might see the risks, the danger, and decide it wasn’t worth it. And I wanted you too much to risk losing you like that.”

Her brows knit together, her expression softening, but before she could speak, he continued.

“And then there was the other fear,” he added, glancing away briefly. “That you might… I don’t know… only be with me because of what I do. You know how it goes—there’s always someone sniffing around, looking for the ‘glamour’ of it, wanting to brag about dating a ‘hero’ or whatever rubbish they’ve built up in their heads.” His tone held a mix of frustration and vulnerability. “Didn’t want to be someone’s bloody trophy.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing.

Simon frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, Simon,” she said between giggles, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “You’re telling me that was your big worry? That I’d only be with you because of your job?” She grinned, giving him a playful jab to the chest. “Mate, I dated you because you’re hot. And, let’s be honest…” She leaned closer, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “I couldn’t resist the free show you were giving me at the reserve.”

Simon’s brows rose, a sly smirk creeping onto his face. “Free show, eh? So you’re finally admitting it? All that time you denied it, called me full of myself—and here we are. Caught you, you cheeky little bird.”

“You, lugging those sacks around, all sweaty and brooding?” She waggled her eyebrows at him, her grin downright wicked. “Honestly, Simon, who needs an OnlyFans subscription to some bloke when I could just hide behind a tree at the reserve and watch the free show? I might’ve been pretending to work, but really, I was just enjoying the live performance.” She gave him a cheeky shrug. “So don’t get it twisted, mate—I’m only here ‘cause I fancied you.”

Simon let out a bark of laughter, his initial frown dissolving completely. “You’re an absolute menace,” he said, shaking his head as he pulled her into his arms. “But I guess it’s a good thing I was giving you a free show, eh? Saved you from wasting good money on some bloke online who charges for access.” His smirk turned downright wicked as he added, “Though now that I think about it, I probably should’ve started charging you admission—could’ve made a tidy profit. Maybe even a subscription service, just for you.”

“And what’s your mode of payment, then?” she asked, her tone dripping with mock curiosity, eyes gleaming mischievously.

Simon raised a brow, his lips curling into a sly grin. “Oh, I think you know,” he teased, his voice low and playful. “This show is exclusive to you, love. No one else gets the ‘personal, one-on-one access.’” He leaned in slightly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “As for payment? A bit of affection, maybe. A kiss here and there. And, of course, the occasional batch of those baked goods you make. Can’t say no to those.”

She didn’t hesitate. With a gleeful laugh, she jumped on him, her legs wrapping around his waist as his strong arms instinctively caught her, hands gripping her thighs to hold her securely. She grinned wickedly, leaning in close and playfully nipping at his jawline.

“Rawr, rawr!” she growled, nipping and biting at his cheek with exaggerated ferocity. “Good! Because you’re all mine!”

Simon barked out a laugh, his hold tightening as he steadied her against him. “You’re mental,” he teased, his voice filled with warmth and amusement. “Utterly bonkers, but yeah... all yours.”

Her triumphant giggle filled the room as she adjusted her arms around his shoulders, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes.

Simon’s smirk softened, his gaze steady on hers. “You’re trouble, y’know that? The kind that sneaks in and takes over before you even realize it.”

“Trouble?” she echoed with a playful scoff, tilting her head. “You love it. Admit it.”

“Maybe I do,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face with a tenderness that made her heart flutter. “Maybe it’s the kind of trouble I’ve been needing.”

Her grin turned victorious as she tightened her arms around his shoulders, pulling herself closer. “Good, because you’re stuck with me. No take-backs, no loopholes, and absolutely no chance of escape. You’ve been claimed, Riley.” She gave him a mock-serious glare, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And I’ll make sure you’re glad for it.”

Simon chuckled softly, shaking his head as he gazed at her. “You’re completely off your trolley,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

What Simon didn’t realize, though, was that he’d only scratched the surface of who he’d fallen for. Sure, she’d hinted at her “crazy head” and shared just enough to keep him on his toes, but the full truth? That was a different story. As he was soon to find out, being with her wasn’t just about late-night tea debates and cheeky banter—it came with a side of secrets, surprises, and the occasional “how in the hell did you even know that?” moment. Poor bloke thought he’d seen it all. Spoiler: He hadn’t.

A/N Please Read: Hi, everyone! The inspiration for the character bio of You (Y/N) actually comes from Nathan Muir in the film Spy Game and Charles Heller from the book The Amateur (soon to have a film adaptation starring Rami Malek!). I chose these influences because of their unconventional approach to operations, leaning heavily into psychological warfare and intricate strategizing. I found it fascinating that I couldn’t resist putting it into Y/N’s backstory.

As for the next part of this story in chronological order, it’s actually The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That. However, these stories can stand alone if that’s how you prefer to read them! For those who want to follow the timeline, I’ll include a “Next Part” link below to guide you.

Hope you enjoyed this one! Cheers! 💀✨

Next part --------->

[fearfulfertility]

CLASSIFIED OPERATION SUMMARY

DRC, Planning & Evaluation Office, Logistics & Infrastructure Division

Date Initiated: [REDACTED]

From: Assistant Director [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

To: Director [REDACTED]

Subject: Operation Overdue

Background

Paternity Compound 110 exceeded maximum capacity due to an influx of high-multiparity surrogates and operational delays due to the ongoing [REDACTED] in the Philadelphia metropolitan area. Overcrowding led to strained medical staff and diminished care standards.

Operation Overdue was launched to mitigate these risks. It was a cross-country air transport initiative intended to distribute surrogates to Paternity Compound 133 in Portland, far below occupancy capacity. This initiative required covert execution to avoid public attention and ensure all surrogates reached their destination intact.

Paternity Compound 110 (Philadelphia)

Paternity Compound 110 is an aging and overcrowded facility located in a repurposed commercial structure in Philadelphia. Designed to house a maximum of [REDACTED] surrogates, it currently holds over [REDACTED] (20% over capacity), leading to severe resource strain and cramped conditions. Despite its deteriorating infrastructure, the compound remains operational due to its proximity to a high-fertility urban population, ensuring a steady influx of conscripts.

Paternity Compound 133 (Portland)

Paternity Compound 133 is a modern, state-of-the-art facility in a remote area outside Portland. It is designed to accommodate up to 1,000 surrogates and boasts cutting-edge medical technology and advanced monitoring systems. However, its location in a region with a lower urban population has led to concerns about underutilization, with only a sporadic influx of conscripts to fill its capacity. 

Transport Details

Stage 1: Ground Transfer 

Surrogates were loaded into climate-controlled transport vehicles with hydraulic lifts to accommodate limited mobility.

Vehicles were disguised as commercial cargo containers to minimize civilian interference.

Stage 2: Cross-Country Airlift

[REDACTED] cargo planes were requisitioned from [REDACTED] for the operation. Each aircraft was retrofitted with cushioned flat beds, oxygen units, and onboard medical stations.

Medical personnel monitored surrogates for complications, administering sedatives to those exhibiting distress or restlessness.

“Flying cargo is one thing. Flying this cargo? Another beast entirely. I could hear the medical staff scrambling in the back every time we hit turbulence. It wasn’t until we touched down that I realized how close we came to disaster.” - [REDACTED], Pilot

Stage 3: Arrival & Integration at Compound 133

Surrogates were offloaded and delivered to their assigned wards, where medical personnel assessed their condition.

Immediate hormonal stabilizers were administered to counteract the physical strain caused by altitude changes and prolonged immobility.

Mobility & Transport Constraints

Issue

Many surrogates, especially those late term (+25 days), were unable to walk or sit upright due to the size and weight of their pregnancies. The average weight of surrogates and supporting equipment was over [REDACTED] lbs, +300 lbs average surrogate weight, 489 lbs max weight transported.

Solution

Specialized equipment, such as reinforced stretchers, forklifts for heavier surrogates, and bariatric wheelchairs, was employed to move surrogates from Compound 110 onto the planes. Stretchers were secured in a palletized format inside the aircraft to maximize space.

“The forklift crew had a hell of a time loading the bigger ones. You’d think they were moving industrial machinery, not people. One was so massive they had to be rolled onto the stretcher like a beached whale. It wasn’t pretty.” - Anonymous Ground Technician

Issue

While the standard [REDACTED]-type plane has a cargo capacity of approximately [REDACTED] lbs and an internal volume of [REDACTED] cubic feet, the vehicles needed retrofitting to accommodate the unique needs of heavily pregnant surrogates. This included safety measures for turbulence and environmental controls to maintain appropriate temperature and pressure levels.

Solution

The [REDACTED]-class plane could transport [REDACTED] surrogates per flight with DRC modifications. 

Planes were equipped with mobile dividers so that if surrogates suffered complications, they could be rapidly isolated from view for treatment or birth. Climate control systems were enhanced to maintain a stable environment and portable restroom facilities were added for staff use (surrogates were catheterized to avoid the need for movement).

“They told me this was for my own good, but I can barely breathe in here. Every bump in the air made it feel like my belly was going to burst. I just want this to end—I don’t care where we’re going.” - Surrogate S110-523-Q

Key Incidents

Mid-Transport Medical Emergency

During the flight, Surrogate S110-399-Q, pregnant with septendecuplets (17), began exhibiting severe respiratory distress. Initial symptoms included difficulty breathing, chest tightness, and visible [REDACTED]. Onboard medical personnel swiftly administered oxygen and sedatives to stabilize, but within minutes, signs of early labor emerged, prompting the emergency medical team to prepare for an in-flight delivery.

The medical team worked tirelessly to assist the surrogate as he delivered all 17 fetuses before arrival in Portland. Each newborn was immediately evaluated for viability and determined to be stable. As expected, the surrogate's vital signs rapidly declined following the final birth, and he succumbed to [REDACTED] failure. 

"I’ve never seen anyone that big in my life. I couldn’t stop staring. His belly was so massive it looked like it was about to split open. When he started struggling to breathe, the medical staff was all over him, but the sounds he made… it was like he was suffocating under his own weight..." - Surrogate S110-403-I, Observed Situation

Public Visibility Concerns

Several bystanders filmed the convoy and uploaded clips online during the ground transfer stage. DRC Cyber Security immediately intervened, scrubbing social media platforms and issuing cease-and-desist orders to content creators.

Surrogate Stuck in Chair

One surrogate, pregnant with octodecuplets (18), experienced significant growth during the flight, reportedly due to hormonal surges and fluid retention. Upon landing, the crew discovered that the surrogate had become physically wedged in his reinforced seat due to his expanded abdomen and swollen extremities. Extraction required the partial disassembly of the seat and the use of specialized equipment to free him. 

“I wasn’t even surprised anymore. His belly was literally spilling over the armrests. That’s when you realize these missions aren’t just logistical—they’re borderline impossible.” - Anonymous Transport Specialist

Behavioral Issues

Three surrogates attempted to resist boarding at Paternity Compound 110, citing fears about the unknown destination and poor treatment. They were sedated on-site and securely transported.

Post-Operation Notes

Total Surrogates Transported: [REDACTED]

Surrogates Expired En Route: [REDACTED]

Fetuses Delivered During Operation: [REDACTED]

While operational challenges were anticipated, the results align with DRC efficiency standards. The use of modified cargo planes and specialized medical protocols ensured the safe delivery of most surrogates despite several complications during transit.

Additional safeguards are required to manage the physical strain of long-term pregnancy during extended transport. Enhancing hormonal regulation pre-flight may mitigate extreme growth events.

Stronger sedation measures, particularly during boarding, will reduce incidents of resistance and streamline pre-departure logistics.

Transport plans must minimize exposure to the public. Future operations should prioritize routes and timing to limit interaction with civilian populations.

Conclusion

Operation Overdue underscores the complexities of large-scale surrogate relocation efforts and demonstrates the DRC’s capacity to execute such operations precisely and adaptively. Lessons learned during this mission will inform future strategies, ensuring the continued success of critical population sustainability initiatives.

----------------

Click Here to return to DRC Report Archives

[usafphantom2]

One of the unwritten requirements to become an SR-71 Blackbird crew member/maintainer was to have an outrageous sense of humor.

An SR-71 crew consists of a pilot and a reconnaissance systems officer (RSO).

One of the unwritten requirements to become an SR-71 crew member/maintainer was to have an outrageous sense of humor. This was displayed numerous times by flags, flunking inspections, silhouettes of U-2’s on your driveway etc.

Here’s a ifunny story by Danny C. Williams DS that appears on SR71.com website. I remember my father [Col Richard (Butch) Sheffield’s daughter, SR-71 RSO] telling me about this.

Drag Chute Deployed”

‘When the SR-71 lands, the Drag Chute is deployed to slow the aircraft down to taxi speeds. Then, a pickup truck races down the runway and picks up the Drag Chute, returning it to maintenance operations for repack.

‘Once upon a time at a remote operating location a few devious Crew Chiefs of the Blackbird banded together to frag a pilot. It seems this particular pilot (name withheld) was of mind and attitude of being quite superior to all lower grade maintenance personnel and he had this particular air about him that definitely was out of step with how other pilot’s treated Crew Chiefs. The camaraderie between pilots (Habu’s) of the SR-71 and ground maintenance personnel was always first rate. The rapport was always without question one of a friendly relationship.

During the preflight and preparation for this pilot’s flight the drag chute was loaded into the chute bay. A few nights earlier several Crew Chiefs had contacted the Women’s (WAF) barracks and requested some unmentionable items for a priority project concerning the Blackbird. Gleefully, the ladies knew that something was up and a quantity of items was secured for the project.

‘The Drag Chute was loaded into the SR-71 along with white pieces of clothing packed around the encased Drag Chute. Upon landing and subsequent pilot deployment of the chute (which is Orange), the chute deployed as normal and also a quantity of White Items flew all over the runway. The Transient Alert person in the chase truck inquired to the pilot of the Blackbird, if he wanted him to also pick up all the white items.

His response was silence.

‘At debriefing the pilot inquired as to what the white items were deployed on the runway. “Ladies Underwear, Sir” was the response. Had it not been for some fast talking by the Maintenance Superintendent, some disciplinary action would have been taken against those involved. However, the message was clear: pilot’s attitude adjusted and the Drag Chute compartment was never again packed with anything other than the Chute.

First-hand knowledge of this episode is denied.😊😉

@Habubrats71 via X

[paingoes]

Destroyer

Prologue

(Masterlist)

It was the first sunny day of the season and they had spent it out over the water. By the morning light, the sea was blinding. Each steel gray battleship reflected the White Sun’s rays right into the cockpit. The aircraft, small and inconspicuous, hovered above the enemy fleet like a nervous fairy. It was no weapon of war. The shipmen down below took notice and little green lines of inquiry began to flash upon the craft’s receiver. 

The pilot tilted the screen down and positioned the craft a good mile away from the north-most ship. A reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, a finger pointed in the right direction, and then the unbearable cacophony of steel rendering.

The sea rushed in to fill the gap, causing massive waves to rock the once-still ocean. Where the SS Iselin had been only seconds prior, there now sat a deformed metal mass no larger than the length of a truck. The surrounding water filled with a reddish color, blood and oil escaping the same clutch. As the radio went wild between the remaining fleet ships, the broken body of the Iselin sunk quietly beneath the waves. There were no survivors. Delta had been twelve.

The hovercraft took him back to dry land. The Emperor, the only person the show had ever really been for, stood up to shake the hands of the pilot, of the scientists, and of his Admiral who had pushed so hard for the demonstration. The Emperor lowered himself to speak to Delta, the way you might any child, and saw the tremors all through his body, the cold sweat of convulsions. The Emperor wiped Delta’s hair from his face and said no more.

He was returned to his own quarters back at the institute. The nurse had to hold up one side of him just to make it down the hall. He kept it together as he’d been taught to while in company, but back in his own territory he could no longer suppress the nausea. He spent most of the night on the cold tile floor of his bathroom, as the doctors and the scientists buzzed around taking vitals and hooking him up to strange machines.

By the next week, the deal was done. The royal guards had been sent to collect him. All that he owned could fit into one suitcase, which the director had packed for him personally. The director had also picked who would be leaving with him as a charge - one physician, one scientist. Dr.Martino’s grip tightened harshly on his neck whenever he fidgeted too much. Dr.Yanna had a bad drinking habit. Delta was not happy about these choices, even from the most remote corner of his mind. But he had learned to tolerate both of them at the institute and could appreciate the familiarity. He wasn’t scared of the guards. He kept his head down until they arrived at the palace - and long after that too.

It had presented an interesting but not unprecedented engineering problem, finding out where to keep him. In the past week, they had built the basement up with the same dense psychic insulation that the institute had perfected. Delta had five hundred square feet of space, at the time sparsely furnished. His vague hope was that while in the isolated chamber, they would remove the dampening collar from around his neck. But they left him there with no mention of it. He thought back to the wreckage of the Iselin and realized it was unlikely the collar would ever come off again. He rubbed at the raw skin idly, leaning against the new bed frame. The space was larger than his old room had been, but he had not gotten up to explore it. He sensed that the guards would not like to open up the chamber doors and find him anywhere they had not left him. It was the inclination of many third parties to treat the psionics like machinery - and to be disconcerted by anything that contracted this. Besides that, he knew they were scared of him. As isolated as he had been, even in such ascetic surroundings, he could read fear. It radiated off all of them now.

[lonestarflight]

Space Shuttle Challenger lifts off during STS-7 from Launch Complex 39A at 7:33 a.m. EDT.

"The crew consists of astronauts Robert Crippen, commander, the first two-time space shuttle astronaut; Frederick H. Hauck, pilot; and three mission specialists -- Sally K. Ride, John M. Fabian and Norman E. Thagard. During the mission the crew will deploy the Indonesian PALAPA-B and the Canadian ANIK-C communications satellites. They will also use the Remote Manipulator System (RMS) arm to deploy and retrieve a platform for space experiments called the Shuttle Pallet Satellite (SPAS), and serve as a spaceborne laboratory for OSTA-2, a scientific payload. Getaway Special canisters and materials processing experiments will fill out the complement of payloads on the mission."

"This high-angle view of the liftoff, a lengthy stretch of Florida Atlantic coastline and a number of large cumulus clouds was photographed with a handheld 70mm camera by astronaut John W. Young. Young usually pilots the Shuttle Training Aircraft (STA) for weather monitoring at launch and landing sites for STS missions."

Date: June 18, 1983

NARA: 6375200

NASA ID: DF-SC-83-09267, KSC-83PC-0419, S83-35702, S83-35620

[gumnut-logic]

It all happened so fast.

But then this was International Rescue and Scott Tracy, everything happened fast.

A plane on an irrecoverable dive towards the ocean. Fifteen passengers needing to be saved. One daredevil brother perched atop the aircraft, lasering a hole into the dying craft’s fuselage so he can yank those fifteen people out of their flying coffin.

Virgil at the helm of Two executing the fine control needed to keep his ‘bird a pace and able to lower the rescue rig to get those people off the plane.

Fast, extremely difficult, and one of International Rescue’s ‘Tuesdays’.

That completely went to all shit just as fast.

Virgil had pulled up all fifteen souls and stashed them safely in the belly of his ‘bird and Scott was the sole person remaining. Virgil saw him stand up and call One with his wrist control.

Just as the dying plane shook, causing Scott to stumble. Something flew off the front of the craft and hit Virgil’s brother from behind.

“Scott?!”

The pilot fell face first and onto the back of the plane, obviously not entirely unconscious, but the lack of response from comms as both Virgil and John called their brother’s name again clearly indicated that something was not right.

“I’m getting erratic vitals, Virgil, and he is not responding. Sixty seconds and that plane is in the water.

Virgil was already moving. “You have Two. Allow for my remote adjustments.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Two.”

Fast and ever so professional.

Two was flying parallel to the ailing plane, directly above, but simply lowering himself wouldn’t be enough to reach his brother. Calculations bounced around his brain as Virgil attached his grapple line and activated the hatch.

Wind tore at his helmet.

Scott was still prone on the back of the aircraft. It was a miracle he hadn’t been thrown off.

The ocean loomed far too close below.

Calculations made, Virgil jumped.

It was a wild ride, something his older brother would have revelled in. For a moment, Virgil was virtually weightless until his boots hit metal.

Then he was fighting the wind and running the length of a falling plane.

He didn’t have time to scan his brother, the ocean was far too close. So, it was with a prayer to the universe itself that he grabbed Scott, holding him close, and leapt off the plane. It collided with the water in a violent spray and died an all-consuming death.

Virgil grit his teeth as Two caught their line and coasted them just above the waves until John could push the Thunderbird into an gentle climb.

Scott’s head lolled against Virgil’s shoulder, limp.

He clung to his big brother.

God.

Virgil hooked Scott’s harness to his own and set the grapple line to retrieve. They were safe.

He held Scott ever so tight all the way up, regardless.

Surfacing inside Two’s cockpit was a relief battered only by Scott’s unknown condition. Unclipping Scott’s harness, Virgil lifted his legs properly into his arms and carried him over to one of the pull-down stretchers. Virgil nudged it with a foot and it unfolded, letting him place his brother down gently on the soft surface.

A flicker of yellow light and the mediscanner declared that while Scott had a pile of new bruises across his back, his only major complaint was a concussion.

As if the diagnosis was a trigger, Scott groaned and attempted to curl up.

“Hey, relax. You’re okay.” Virgil reached over and unclipped his brother’s helmet, sliding it off carefully and lowering his head to the pillow.

“Virgil?” Scott screwed up his face and raised a hand to his head. “Ow.”

“You’re okay. Just a little encounter with some random fuselage.” He gently pulled Scott’s hands away from his face. “Let me see those baby blues.”

“Not babies.”

Virgil arched an eyebrow as Scott opened his eyes and squinted.

“Urgh.”

The baby blues disappeared quickly into a grimace.

“Nausea?”

His grunt was affirmative.

“Hang in there. I’ll get you something and then we’ll get you home.”

“One?” It was a single syllable, but it meant everything.

“John has her. Don’t worry.”

Another grunt. Scott’s face was still scrunched up and Virgil grabbed a kit, hunting for the anti-nausea meds.

“Virgil?”

“Yeah?” He was going to have a word with Gordon. Why was this pack out of order?

“Thanks.”

Virgil turned to his prone brother and found those blue eyes struggling to stay steady enough to convey exactly what he felt.

Virgil reached out and placed a hand on his brother’s arm. “Hey, anytime. You know that.”

His brother groaned again, and Virgil went back to locating medication before he had to clean up a mess.

Fortunately, he found it and, moments later, both brothers breathed a sigh of relief. Scott melted into the mattress, knotted muscles unwinding and Virgil leant against the side and took a moment.

He would have to pick up control of Two shortly, deliver the fifteen passengers to the nearest GDF base, and then fly home.

But right now? He reached over and brushed a stray hair off Scott’s forehead. His brother wrinkled his brow in response, eyes still closed, and Virgil couldn’t help but smile just a little.

Injured, but safe.

Thank god.

-o-o-o-

[123countwithme]

Break Buddy - Father Figure Movers & Reader

Summary: You take a much needed break with your dads to do something fun together.

Note: Several mini stories of each dad because struggles.

...

DAVE:

Your Dad had made a new invention and you were helping him test it out. He called it the "Double Loop De Loop Looper Flyer Hoverwing." Basically, it was a stunt-type remote control plane. You two were testing it out in the aircraft room. A room with a runway, control tower, and wonderful blue sky up above.

"And this comes up like that and there! it's ready for its first test flight" He tada's it stepping back so you can see it.

"Wow!" You look at the remote control plane toy with a smile.

"Now are you ready to go to the control tower?" He asks. You nod happily waving a little bye to the toy plane as you walk over and up the stairs of the control tower with Dad holding his hand.

He picks up a headset sitting on the bench and hands the other one to you. "Testing testing 123 can you hear me co-pilot y/n?"

"Loud and clear pilot Dad sir!" You respond saluting him causing him to chuckle at the action.

"It looks like a splendiferous day for a test flight wouldn't you say so co-pilot kiddo?"

"For sure! The sunny skies and the lack of wind are perfect conditions for this little plane."

"Turning the controller on can I get a countdown?"

You start counting down he joins in with you and soon enough the little toy plane is off the ground and in the air.

"Up up and away!" He steers the little plane higher and higher.

You watch it zip to and fro without a care. You then gasp as the little plane does a loop-de-loop.

"We're just getting started" The little plane performs heaps of tricks including barrel rolls, twirls, and loads more loop-de-loops.

"Cool," You said in awe.

The little plane started going out of control. "Uh-oh," He spoke quietly while his fingers were frantically trying to keep it under control.

"Not working?" as you questioned the remote controller broke with buttons springing up and falling to the floor.

You took your Dad's hat off of his head as he focused on fixing the controller. You placed the cap on your head letting it connect thinking of what you needed. Then you took it off of your head and reached in pulling out two butterfly-catching nets. Placing the cap back onto your Dad's head causing him to look up at you from where he was kneeling on the floor.

"Butterfly catching nets?" He questioned.

"Better yet extendable butterfly nets so we can catch the little plane." You nodded handing one to him.

"Clever."

"Learned from the best" You let go of the other net once he took hold of it and started going down the control tower stairs. He smiled following close behind.

Once out on the runway you both quickly spotted the little plane. He extended the net and just missed it sending it off further up the runway. The two of you chased the little plane around for a good while before stopping to catch your breaths.

"We're so close" You shake your head.

"If only we could get a little higher to catch it." He scratched his head.

After brainstorming for a moment your eyes lit up. "I've got it! Can I have your net please and a screwdriver?"

"Certainly since you asked so nicely." He searched inside his hat pulling out a screwdriver and handing it over to you.

"Thanks!"

"You're welcome!"

You used the screwdriver to get the net off of the extendable pole then laid it down and put your net above so it was all in one line.

He got a drill out to drill in the screws to piece it all together. He tried high-fiving you but missed causing you to chuckle.

"Now what's next?" He asked gently smiling as if he didn't already know what came next. (he did).

"Can I get on your shoulders?"

"Sure thing kiddo hop up"

While on top of his shoulders, the little plane came flying above in your direction. You lifted the net up and extended the pole which extended greater than before and the little plane flew right into the net the propeller at the front getting stuck in the net causing it to stop and go quiet.

"Got it!" You joyfully celebrated.

"Way to go you!" He cheered as you got down from his shoulders.

You retracted the net pole and he turned the plane off so it didn't fly off again. A butterfly flew past catching your attention.

"Ooh butterfly" You proceeded to chase it with your butterfly net.

Your Dad chuckled watching you chase the butterfly. "Definitely my kiddo." He then gets another net from his hat. "Wait for me!" he then joins in the chase. The two of you goofy ran all over the place following the butterfly.

...

SCOTT:

It was an arts and crafts kind of day today you and Dad were making sock puppets using anything you could find in the craft cart.

"Check out this rainbow sock!" He showed you.

"I like all the swirls!" You traced it lightly.

"I know right!" He beamed causing you to smile brightly back.

"I think I'm going to go with this sock." You showed him a soft light green sock with a variety of sizes of darker green spots.

"Groovy"

You both then get right onto it rummaging and creating your characters. Sequences, beads, googly eyes, and glitter ended up scattered all around the cart on the floor trailing to the bench where you two currently worked.

"Be careful the hot glue gun is hot" Scott reminded you as you picked it up to use it.

"Yep," You said focused.

He took his eyes off of you and focused back on his own sock puppet but not even two moments later movement caught his attention looking up he saw you shaking your hand.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Mhm."

"Did it get you?"

"Yeah," you said quietly.

He walked around to you, took your other hand and led you to the kitchen sink tap, and ran the cold water. "Put your hand under it'll help." The sting came first, then the cooling sensation straight after calming you down, letting you breathe.

"Is it working?" Scott rubbed your back soothingly.

"It really is" You regained your smile to which Scott's face relaxed and smiled back.

When you didn't need to put your finger in water anymore you still didn't feel 100% like yourself. Scott sensed this tension and did what he did best. He put on a puppet show for you to make you feel better. Of course, it worked. It worked like magic. The movers called it "Scott magic" No one knows how he does it or what his secret is but boy does it make anyone feel better. It was a gift you'd hope to learn from him someday.

"Hey, Mr Flip Flop why don't you come and join!" One of Scott's puppets spoke. You picked up one of the puppets you made and joined him.

While you two were being silly together it was never spoken but you could feel it. You could feel the conversation between the two of you. The silent conversation playing out like 'You always know how to make me feel better thanks Dad' and the response 'I'm glad you're okay. I love you. Always.'

...

RICH:

"Alright, go ahead and start guessing," He says, drawing in the air with a scribble stick. You two were playing Pictionary, a fun game in which one person draws and the other guesses as the drawer draws.

You thought hard as you watched him draw in the air carefully watching each stroke with curiosity and determination.

It clicked. "A sleeping bag!" You point at the half-made drawing in the air.

"Correct!" He points his scribble stick in your direction. "Well done!" He proudly smiled. He then walked over to you and held out the scribble stick in front of you. He had never let you use his scribble sticks before.

"Are you sure?" You look at your Dad unsure if he's serious.

"Very sure. I trust you. Plus how will we keep playing this game if you don't have anything to draw with." He puts a softly firm tone like he's quite sure about his decision.

You smile brightly as you hug him with gratitude. "Thanks, Dad" he hugs back wrapping his arms in a secure embrace.

"Anytime, darling," he gently rubs your head with such love. "Do you know what you're going to draw?" he asks you as you finish the hug.

"I sure do!" You step back 4 steps and then turn around bringing the scribble stick up and clicking it on making it glow blue. You began to draw.

"An elephant?"

"No"

"A tiger?"

"Nope"

"Ah, I know a sailboat!"

"Not even close." You chuckle.

He raised an eyebrow confused as anything squinting his eyes with such focus.

After a while of guessing, "I give up. What are you drawing?" He smiles shaking his head in utter failure.

"You."

"Me?" He was surprised to hear that to say the least.

"Yep." You smile at him fiddling with the scribble stick in hand.

"Aww, you come here." He walks over to you in pure adoration and pride. This time, he cuddles you longer and a little tighter, too. He loves you more than you'll ever know.

...

SMITTY:

"I've got an idea. Come with me." He holds out a hand, and you take it.

He leads you to a door in the warehouse. You look at the door then at him a bit confused.

"I reckon you'll like this but you'll have to close your eyes first." He softly says. You do as he says and you shut your eyes tight as you were led into the room. Smitty closed the door behind you and his footsteps were heard walking around the room.

The footsteps then fell silent. You started to worry a little.

"I'm still here do not worry. Only a few more seconds and there. Okay, you can open your eyes now." He warmly speaks.

You open your eyes slowly, then widen with awe as you take in the scenery that goes on and on and on forever. It was a meadow with lush, long green grass, wildflowers growing throughout the meadow, and a gentle breeze that swept through the field. You take a deep breath in and out, filling your lungs with the freshness of it all.

"You ready?" Smitty asks coming to a standstill beside you holding a picnic basket with a blanket attached holding a hand out towards you.

You nodded happily and went to take his hand but he booped your nose and proceeded to shoot off running through the grassy meadow.

"Tag you're it pumpkin!" Your Dad shouts as he runs.

You giggled and chased after him, trying so desperately to tag him. He eventually stopped and set the picnic things down, to which you tagged his back.

"Oh, I'm gonna get ya!" You ran off with Dad not too far behind.

Eventually, you both ran out of energy and Dad set the picnic blanket up and called you over. You lept up from where you were lying down in the grass and bounded over to him

The meadow was filled with laughter that afternoon.

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, bear." He puts an arm around you and gives you a side hug, holding you close as you both enjoy sitting on the picnic rug, the scenery, the food, and each other's company.

[phillippadgettwrites]

The First Time, Every Time: Deep Throat

Rated X / 1451 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Mulder knocks firmly on her door three times. Okay, maybe it’s more of a pound than a knock, but it’s justified.

He’s pissed. No, enraged. He’s fucking furious, namely because he knew from the start that he shouldn’t trust her, but he stupidly let her wide blue eyes and pouty mouth lull him into a false sense of security. His father always told him to watch out for the pretty ones, and for once he’s seeing value in the cold-hearted bastard’s advice.

His jaw is sore from clenching his teeth, and there are little half-moon indents on the meaty parts of his palms from his balled-up fists. If she were a man, he’d hit her. He’d knock her ass halfway to Sunday and never look back. Her car is parked outside but she’s still not answering, and his anger begins to boil over. He lifts his arm and knocks again.

The door flies open and she appears on the other side, regarding him with shock and concern. She’s bare-faced, and she’s tying a fluffy white bathrobe around her waist. She’s so fucking small, so soft, and he feels his anger begin to wane. But then he remembers, and it comes charging right back.

“Mulder, what’s wrong?” she asks, stepping aside and gesturing for him to come in. “How do you know where I live?”

She’d be pissed if he told her how he got her address, and there’s no room for her anger right now. This is about him. He stalks into her pristine kitchen and wheels around, holding up the rumpled field report in his shaking fist.

“What the fuck is this, Scully?” He barks at her, and she flinches but quickly recovers, then steps forward and takes the paper from his hand, giving it a cursory glance.

“It appears to be my field report on the Budahas case,” she says calmly, handing it back to him.

Mulder snatches it from her and crumples it up, then tosses it into her immaculate living room. Her apartment looks like a fucking magazine. She cocks an eyebrow at him and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Is there a problem with my field report, Agent Mulder?” she asks haughtily.

She’s not even remotely intimidated by him, and it makes him want to punch something. He takes two steps toward her, attempting to leverage his height, but she only lifts her eyes to his face, not even giving him the gratification of craning her neck up to look at him.

“Special Agent Mulder’s insistence that Budahas may have been a test pilot on a top secret project involving aircraft using recovered UFO technology, and may have suffered severe stress related trauma by flying these aircraft, is inconclusive,” he recites from memory, spitting the words at her.

Scully sighs and slowly rolls her neck to the side, leveling him with an exasperated stare. He can smell her, the perfume she wears at work and something else that’s fruity, maybe lotion. She smells good.

“Are you of the opinion that my field report is inaccurate?” she asks, emotionless.

“You were there, you know what we saw!” he shouts, pointing off to the side as though indicating that the lights in the sky are now hovering around her foyer. “You just don’t want to admit it!”

“There’s nothing to admit, Mulder,” she says sternly, raising her voice ever so slightly. “What we saw was some flashing lights in the sky. Flashing lights does not a UFO make.”

“You know as well as I do that there was something in that hangar, Scully! Just because I can’t remember it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist!”

“And it doesn’t mean that it does!” she throws back, and he has the sudden confusing realization that he’s hard.

He stares at her. At her freckled cheeks and ocean irises. Her blonde eyelashes and that little mole over her lip that she tries to cover with makeup. He wants to hate her so fucking bad, but he doesn’t. He normally convinces himself that he doesn’t care whether anyone believes him, but he cares whether she does.

Her eyes narrow slightly and her lips part as though she’s preparing to speak, but he doesn’t give her a chance to. He takes one more step forward and grabs both sides of her pretty face, registering her surprised gasp before he covers her mouth with his. One second, two, three. He finally pulls away with a huff, and she gapes at him, stunned.

He waits for the sting of her slap, and the subsequent banishment from her apartment—and perhaps her life. Her eyes dart down to his groin and then back to his face, and then her tongue peeks out and flashes across her bottom lip, wet and red. He wants to taste it. He wants to know what it would feel like on his lips. He re-enters her space and kisses her again.

She is surprisingly acquiescent to his advance. She kisses him back this time, and he tastes the tart bite of wine on her tongue. She doesn’t stop him when he pulls the tie on her robe loose, revealing remarkably matronly silk pajamas. She’s such a fucking enigma, he doesn’t know what to make of her. Is she a school marm or a sex kitten? A friend or a foe? Maybe she’s everything. Maybe that’s why he can’t stop thinking about her.

She’s nude under her pajamas, and he happily fills in the details of what was obscured by those little bra and panties back in Bellefleur. She eagerly unbuttons his jeans, and he wonders how long it’s been since she fucked someone. For him, it’s been a long time. He hoists her up onto the arm of her couch and pushes her legs open, stealing a look at the red slash of her cunt before she pulls his shirt off over his head. He’s so fucking angry, so fucking turned on, so fucking afraid of what they’re doing. He runs the head of his cock up and down over her slick folds, then pushes into her.

Scully makes a sharp sound that stills him, and he feels her cunt beating around him like the tell tale heart.

“We should use a condom,” she says, more of an observation than an admonishment.

“Do you have one?” he asks, flexing the muscles in his thighs to keep from thrusting.

“No,” she says, breathless. “It’s okay, I’m on birth control. Just…don’t come inside me.”

“I won’t,” he promises, then experimentally withdraws a little and rocks forward.

Scully whimpers, and the sound makes his balls tighten. He wants to fuck her so hard she can’t speak, can’t tell him all the reasons he’s wrong, can’t make him want her approval so badly. But he doesn’t want to hurt her, her body or her feelings. He’s all mixed up and he can’t figure out how to feel.

He does fuck her, but not angrily. She’s so small, and soft, but she’s also powerful and dauntless. She held a man at gunpoint for him, stole a vehicle. She probably saved his life. He wants to hate her, but he doesn’t. He can’t.

“Oh, I’m gonna come,” she whispers, and he feels the strangling grip of her as she unravels around him. He waits as long as he responsibly can, teeters as close to the edge as he dares before he pulls out and grips himself, using her wetness as lubricant as he jerks himself off and spurts a milky streak of cum across her belly.

He steps away from her, his jeans still bunched up around his ankles, and she wordlessly slips off the couch and disappears into her bathroom, collecting her robe and pajamas on the way. He dresses and sits at her dining room table, and when she re-emerges a few minutes later she is all business.

“I take it you’d like me to make some changes,” she says casually, retrieving the balled-up field report from the living room floor and smoothing it out with the edge of the table. “I won’t put my name to anything that’s untrue or intentionally misleading, but if there’s something you’d prefer that I omit, I’m willing to consider it.”

He looks at her, stunned by her sudden change in demeanor. Her lips are slightly swollen and he can see the beginnings of beard-burn on her chin, but if not for that, he might think he imagined it.

“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head once to clear it. “There are a couple parts I’m hoping you’ll make changes to.”

She meets his eye and hands him a pen.

“Make some notes and I’ll look at it in the morning.”

[sjsmith56]

Island Recluse

Summary: A woman writer is drawn into a 10 million dollar prize being offered to the person who finds and writes about Bucky Barnes, who went into hiding after helping Captain America deal with the Flag Smashers. Tracking the clues to an exclusive resort on a remote island in the Bahamas, she finds things there aren’t quite what they seem.

Length: 6.1 K

Characters: Named OFC (Maya Riggs, no physical description), Jerry the pilot, Curtis (resort attendant), Antoine (resort manager), Jake (resort bartender), and Kelly, (worker at the resort), Pepper Stark. (The resort people are in disguise.)

Warnings: deliberate over serving OFC alcohol, deliberate drugging of OFC (not done for malicious purposes), description of further trauma for Bucky Barnes, deliberate memory loss (for good reason).

Author notes: This plot appeared in a dream but was considerably darker. Told in first person by OFC.

Masterlist

🏝️ 🍹

It started out as rumours; someone was offering a big commission to find an individual and write an investigative article about him, a man who was an enigma from the time his identity had been connected with the infamous assassin known as the Winter Soldier. The man, Bucky Barnes, had defied all attempts in the second half of the 20th century and then another decade into the 21st to find and neutralize him. The longest serving PoW ever recorded, he had been kept as a prisoner of HYDRA, changed into a super soldier, tortured, brainwashed, then forced into becoming an assassin, taking out whoever HYDRA ordered him to, until his final mission. That was the one where he was ordered to kill his childhood friend, Steve Rogers. His own memories had resurfaced, fought the programming that forced him to kill. He saved his friend and, in the process, helped to bring down the secretive organization that were this close to taking control of the world. Then Barnes, after helping the next Captain America, Sam Wilson, defeat the Flag Smashers kind of fell off the radar. He left New York, moved to Louisiana for a while, then just disappeared.

There were sightings of him; running a bar in the Maldives, operating a fishing boat charter in Huatulco, Mexico, even a rumour he had opened a restaurant in Thailand but by the time anyone wanting a piece of that commission got there he was gone, like the ghost he was thought to be at the height of his assassin years. When I got a mysterious email, offering me, Maya Riggs, still struggling to pay my college tuition, the chance to join in the search for the elusive Barnes I jumped at it. This was my chance to prove I could work with the big names in journalism; find the clues that would lead me to Barnes, then write about the chase, and perhaps about the man. My reward would be a cool 10 million, as well as the title of the writer who cracked the mystery of where Barnes was.

Two years later I was on the cusp of what I was sure to be the biggest story of my life. I was in a seaplane flying in a long sweeping arc over a remote crescent shaped island in the Bahamas group of islands. On the aircraft’s final approach towards the multipurpose dock that seemed to be the only access point to Lunatum Island I noticed the thick foliage on the small but lush isolated refuge. It was thicker than I expected, almost as if it was saying I was going to have to dig deeper to find any answers. As the pilot skillfully landed the small aircraft on the calm turquoise waters, the seemingly endless white sand beach looked like it extended forever but I knew from looking at maps that the beaches were only present on the inner part of the small crescent shaped isle. Still, when it’s the only land for many miles it could feel bigger.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked the pilot, Jerry. “You’re fortunate to come here. It’s very exclusive and I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve ever flown here.”

“Yet the resort can hold a good two dozen guests,” I replied. “How do they get here?”

“Personal aircraft,” he said. “Not by charter, not mine at least.”

A man on the dock waited for us, signalling the pilot when he was close enough to the dock, then stepping onto the pontoon with a rope to fasten the plane to the structure. The man, with light brown hair smiled as he opened the passenger door.

“Miss Riggs? I’m Curtis. Welcome to Lunatum Island. Your publisher sent a radio message that your pickup will be in one week. Jerry here will return for you then. We’re just waiting for an outgoing guest to get here. If you want to wait in the shade, there are some refreshments in ice for you under the trees on the beach. You’ll go back on the golf cart with Antoine. I’ll bring your luggage.”

So much for coming here incognito. I had already lined up a publisher for a travel story on the mysterious island resort, convincing them to pony up the money to stay here. It wasn’t cheap, more than a year’s tuition at many prestigious colleges. But I was certain that I had the final destination of James Buchanan Barnes. That commission check would be mine.

I thanked Jerry for the great flight then walked on the dock towards the beach. A large metal washtub filled with ice was full of assorted bottled drinks, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic. Picking up a beer I opened it then sat on one of the lounge chairs and put my feet up while I took a long drink of the cold beverage. Curtis was talking with Jerry, the pilot, joking in the way that men of brief acquaintance often do. Then he reached in back of the aircraft and pulled out my suitcase, bringing it down the dock towards me.

“How long have you worked here?” I asked when he stood near me.

“A few years,” he replied. “Got out of the services, bummed around a bit, then heard they were looking for someone to handle incoming flights and be a gofer for a private resort. It’s nice and quiet here.”

“How many staff?”

He shrugged. “Many of our guests bring their own. Other than me, there’s Antoine, Jake runs the bar, and we have different chefs that work on their newest creations in solitude that provides the cooking, plus the odd person who is hired on as needed. It works.”

“How many guests are here right now?” I asked casually. “Anyone famous?”

He turned a serious gaze on me. “Our guests come here expecting complete and total privacy. They get it. I would suggest you tone down your curiosity as it could lead to problems, and you wouldn’t be allowed to stay to write your travel article.”

If it was a threat, it was a subtle one but before I could respond we both heard the sound of a golf cart approaching. Driven by a dark-haired man with a single passenger, a very angry but beautiful woman, the cart stopped at where the dock met the sandy beach. Without even waiting for Antoine to get out the woman angrily stepped off the cart and grabbed her suitcase, depositing it loudly on the dock.

“I have never been in a place with such indifferent service,” she complained to Antoine. “No tip for you and I’ll be giving you zeroes across the board on every travel website I can. You call this exclusive? I call it a scam.”

She stalked towards the seaplane, leaving Curtis to bring her suitcase. Antoine, seemingly not bothered by the little scene looked at me.

“Miss Riggs, I presume,” he stated. “Sorry about that. Miss Webster had a different type of resort in mind when she booked her week here, expecting to be waited on hand and foot in a spa experience. That’s not what we’re about.”

I looked at her, now struggling to get into the small seaplane. “She didn’t know you offer a complete break from the world I take it. No wifi, no cell phone coverage, just a place of calm to recharge.”

He smiled. “You get it. Come on, I’ll take you to your bungalow.”

Grabbing my suitcase he put it in the back of the golf cart, waited for me to get in then started towards the other end of the island. While he was happy to talk about the natural beauty of the location, when I began questioning him about the type of people who stayed here, he reacted just like Curtis did and told me not to pursue questions about any of the guests. When we got to the bungalow, I walked inside, pleasantly surprised to find a beautifully laid out oasis of calm. The pastel colours of the walls seemed to promote the feeling of total relaxation. The bed, a large king sized one, was covered in what were evidently expensive linens. Showing me the bathroom facilities, I could tell that no money had been spared in the quality of the fittings.

“The bar is open from 11 am to 11 pm daily,” said Antoine. “It is also where breakfast is served until 10 am, lunch from noon to 2 pm, and dinner from 6 pm until 9 pm. All food and drinks are included in the cost and tipping is not permitted. Power is solar and battery operated while we have a very deep well to provide water so you can shower as long as you wish. As you already know there is no cell phone coverage or wifi so you are completely cut off from the rest of the world.”

“How do you stay in contact?” I asked.

“Long distance radio,” he answered, just a little too quickly for my tastes. “As Curtis no doubt explained and I am confirming again, the privacy of our guests is paramount. You are not at liberty to photograph them without their permission, nor are you to go snooping around their bungalows. The same goes for them as regards to you. I hope you take this opportunity to take a break from the rat race and enjoy our relaxing atmosphere.”

He left me then and I opened my suitcase, pulling out a bathing suit and coverup. Quickly taking a shower I changed and headed towards the bar, located centrally on the widest part of the beach. I had to start somewhere. When I got there several people were sitting in scattered groupings. They all stopped talking when I entered then resumed their conversations after I sat at the bar.

“Hi, what’s your pleasure?” asked the bartender. “I can make just about anything.”

“Surprise me,” I said. “Something tropical and sweet but refreshing.”

With a grin he began mixing some drinks, glancing up at me every so often. I watched him, noticing his well-built physique under the tight shirt he was wearing. His muscular arms were definitely impressive, and I wondered how he kept fit in such a remote environment. Placing an aqua blue coloured drink that matched the colour of the ocean around us in front of me, he topped it off with a skewer of lime and a maraschino cherry.

“A Hypnotic Breeze,” he stated. “Hypnotiq, white rum, lime juice, pineapple juice and simple syrup. Tell me what you think.”

Sipping it gave me a rush of sweet and tart but definitely tasty and I told him, making him grin as if I had made his day. After that one he made another while we talked about various things. It was a different cocktail, but equally as good and definitely potent as I could feel myself becoming more relaxed. It also made me bold as I began to study the other guests, trying to figure out their identities. The bartender, whose name tag Jake confirmed the name that Curtis gave me, watched me while he made drinks for the others, taking them out on trays. He would stand and talk with them, joking about different things, then come back to see if I wanted another drink, which I did as they were so good. When dinner was announced I couldn’t believe the time had gone by so quickly.

“Would you like your meal here at the bar or at one of the tables?” asked Jake. “It’s your choice.”

“Here,” I answered, “so I can look at your pretty eyes.”

He smiled slightly when I said that and set me up with cutlery. I had just enough of my wits about me to push my luck.

“No one ever said you had pretty eyes before?” I asked, trying to keep my voice soft and unthreatening.

“Sure, many times,” he answered. Then he leaned towards me. “It’s just that I never heard it from a guest who hasn’t been drinking.”

“That’s too bad,” I replied, feeling even more bold with the alcohol flowing through my system. “I thought you had pretty eyes before I started drinking. And a nice build, and a hot ass.”

He blushed, which surprised me, that a man as good looking as him would still blush at being complimented. Someone from the kitchen, the chef maybe, appeared with a tray of food and together they served everyone, still sitting at their tables, finishing with me. As I speared a shrimp, I realized that no one had taken an order from me. Then I bit into the shrimp and didn’t care as it was plump and juicy and perfect. Seasoned with just the right amount of butter and garlic I couldn’t get enough of it or the pasta it was paired with. It was incredible food. The wine that was served with it was sublime, and then the pièce de résistance was the chocolate mousse dessert that appeared in front of me. Jake smiled at me, watching with amusement, as I dug into it, seemingly enjoying my cries of delight over the rich creaminess of the final course in the meal. It was the perfect way to finish my first day at the resort. Afterwards I stuck to sparkling water, lounging on a beach chair in the deepening twilight, until I returned to my bungalow and fell into an incredible sleep.

The following day I went to the bar, where breakfast was served buffet style. The assortment of tea, coffee and juices were also self-serve, and I ate without any worries. Although I looked for Jake he wasn’t there, and I guessed he had mornings off. I spent the morning exploring, avoiding the residences as I was warned but I did look for any sign of technology, still not quite believing this island was as cut-off as they claimed. I saw Antoine and Curtis a couple of times, waving to them as I walked. After an excellent lunch of all sorts of salads, and cold dishes designed to refresh I took a nap, then went swimming. Despite my misgivings over the legitimacy of the resort I could feel myself being lulled into the sense of timelessness it offered.

Dinner was as superb as the night before as I sat at the bar, once again admiring Jake. There were other guests there, but he seemed to be focused on my needs.

“So, you had a good first day?” he asked, as he made me another Hypnotic Breeze without asking. “What did you do?”

I told him about exploring and swimming. After sipping my drink, I looked at him again.

“So, what’s your story?” I asked. “You seem awfully young to be working in such a remote location.”

“I’m older than I look,” he admitted. “Was in the army, had some issues, couldn’t function well in a busier place so I looked for a small quiet corner of the world and found it here. I’m happy.”

“No one special in your life?” I asked, toying with the maraschino cherry.

“No. Haven’t met the right one yet. Most women my age like being where all the excitement is, and I don’t.”

He left me then as one of the other guests waved to him and I watched as they spoke, making him grin a little then they looked back to me. Returning to behind the bar he made another round of drinks for them and served them. By the time he returned I was ready for another drink.

“How about a Tropical Bay Breeze?” he asked. “Coconut rum, pineapple and cranberry juice. Easy but tasty.”

I nodded, finding it as good as he suggested. Throughout the evening he gave me more drinks to try. If I had been more suspicious, I would have wondered if he had designs on me based on the amount of alcohol he served me, but he never crossed any lines of behaviour. Not once did he use a pickup line on me or touch me. I did talk to him about writing and how much debt I was in after finishing my journalism degree. Somehow the topic of the 10-million-dollar prize to the writer who found Bucky Barnes came up. He smiled slightly, if a little sadly.

“Is that why you’re really here?” he asked.

“No, not at all,” I spluttered, wondering why I had mentioned it, even as the alcohol haze settled over me. “I’m here to write a travel article. I mean, this is the most exclusive resort in the world. Any writer would give an arm and a leg for an opportunity just to write about this place, right?”

I looked behind me to see what the others thought and was surprised to find I was the only one left in the bar.

“Where did they all go?” I asked.

Jake smiled sadly again. “Back to their bungalows. They do that with every new guest on the island. They don’t want to affect the lottery.”

I didn’t understand what he was saying. “Lottery, what lottery?”

He smiled again and I got the feeling he was disappointed in me. “On the people that come looking for Bucky Barnes,” he replied. “There’s a lottery on what happens when they don’t find him.”

Okay, I was detecting a definite amount of emotion in how he said that, and I suddenly wanted to go back to my bungalow. I slid off the barstool, almost falling over with the motion. He reached out to steady me, but I put my hands out, not wanting his help. I was a big girl. I had been drunk before and could make my way home by myself. I headed one way and heard his voice.

“Maya, your bungalow is the other way,” he said softly.

“Right,” I nodded and turned around, stumbling out of the bar.

It took a while, step by step, one foot in front of the other, but I made it back and fell onto my bed before I had a thought. Who brought up the topic of Bucky Barnes? Was it him or me? Who were these people, really?

🛌 💊

When I woke up, I was under the covers of the bed, still in my clothes, although my shoes had been removed. My head was pounding from the hangover. Beside the bed was a bottle of water and a couple of painkillers. Someone knew I would need this, and I took them, draining almost half the bottle to chase the pills. When the headache subsided, I roused myself to have a shower and changed into shorts and a tank top. I dispensed with putting on the makeup and did my hair in a single French braid. As I did, the last thoughts I remembered from the night before came to my mind.

Determined to get an answer I headed for the bar. Breakfast was still ongoing, and like before it was all self-serve, with no sign of Jake. A young woman came out to replenish one of the dishes and I went to her.

“Is Jake around?” I asked. “I want to apologize to him for my behaviour last night.”

“Jake is off this morning,” she replied.

I looked at her name tag, Kelly.

“How long have you been here, Kelly?” I asked, pouring myself a glass of orange juice and taking a sip.

“About a year,” she answered. “Not full time as I have a job on the mainland. When I have breaks there I come here to work as it’s just as relaxing as taking a vacation. It’s so laid back, you know?”

“Sounds ideal,” I said. “Were you in college?” She shook her head but didn’t answer. “Jake said something to me last night that puzzled me. Maybe you can explain why he said it.”

She stopped what she was doing and stood directly in front of me with her arms crossed. Her demeanour had shifted somewhat but I couldn’t really tell why she seemed irritated with me, considering I had never met her before.

“Go ahead,” she said. “Ask away.”

“He said something about a lottery involving people looking for Bucky Barnes.” I spit it out. No point pussyfooting around the question. “What did he mean?”

“What do you think?” she asked, sounding defensive.

“I think he thought I’m here looking for the Winter Soldier,” I replied.

“Don’t call him that,” she retorted, suddenly sounding protective. “It’s wrong, so wrong.”

“What do you know, Kelly?”

Antoine appeared from the kitchen. “Kelly, take your break, okay? I’ll take over.” He looked sternly at me. “Miss Riggs, I warned you about asking about the other guests.”

“So, he is here,” I stated. “This is where he’s hiding out. I haven’t even seen him but I’m in trouble for just asking. What’s this about a lottery involving the people looking for Barnes? Why do you think I’m looking for him?”

Antoine sighed. “Because you are, aren’t you? Nearly every stranger that comes here is looking for him and he just wants to be left alone. He’s suffered enough and the world will continue on without knowing anything more about Bucky Barnes.”

“Just let me talk to him,” I said. “If I hear it from his lips then I’ll leave, and I won’t say anything.”

“I bet 10 million dollars that you will,” said Antoine, who nodded at someone behind me.

As I turned to see who it was, I felt something prick my neck and I began to feel lightheaded then drowsy. The weird part is that Antoine took his face off and underneath he was Tony Stark, but everyone knew that Tony Stark died in October 2023, from the injuries he received when he and the Avengers saved the world from Thanos.

“I really thought she would be different,” said a familiar voice, Jake’s voice.

Then I blacked out completely.

💉 🌅 🌌

It was almost sunset when I woke up. I was still in the bar, but I was seated on one of the plush armchairs, curled up on it like a cat in front of a fireplace.

“There she is,” said a soft voice and I turned my head towards it.

It was him, Bucky Barnes, his face lit up by the setting sun, his hair long but the top part pulled back away from his face and fastened with a hair tie. His lower face was covered by his full beard, but it was his eyes that caught my attention as they gazed at me, studying every part of my face. Self-consciously I sat up and he handed me a water bottle.

“You should drink it, so you don’t feel dehydrated,” he said. “The sedative can do that. I’m sorry about that. They’re pretty protective of me and once you spooked Kate, Tony had to intervene, and Clint decided to take action.”

“You drugged me?” I was angry. “What gives you the right?”

“What gives you the right to come onto a private island looking for a man who’s in hiding?” asked another voice and I turned the other way to see Tony Stark.

“You’re dead,” I said. “You died.”

“I almost died and decided to check out permanently,” he said. “This is my island, and you were my guest, but you couldn’t even respect my wishes. You had to ask questions even though you were warned.”

“Tony, please,” interrupted Bucky. “Let me talk to her. I know you’re angry, but she was only at the question stage because I mentioned my name and the lottery. Kate did overreact and so did Clint.”

Kate, Clint … was he talking about Kate Bishop and her Hawkeye predecessor, Clint Barton? I was so confused. Bucky stood up and offered me his hand. At first, I hesitated.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” he said calmly. “I’m going to tell you everything, but I need you to trust me, just a little. Please, Maya.”

Tony huffed a little, but he raised his hands in surrender, and I stood up, taking Bucky’s hand. He led me out onto the beach. We walked silently for a bit, and I have to admit it was nice, romantic almost, but the fact remained that they drugged me, and I wanted answers. He stopped where there were a couple of lounge chairs facing the water and gestured for me to sit.

“A few months after Sam Wilson and I dispensed with the Flag Smashers I was kidnapped, drugged, and woke up in one of the HYDRA bases I had been kept in,” he said. “Of course, I was afraid, but I thought I could fight my way out, except for one thing. They found a way to reinstall the Winter Soldier, permanently, and were prepared to stop me from leaving in any way imaginable so they could force the transition on me. Before they could do it, I was rescued by the Black Panther, Captain America, both Hawkeyes, the sister of Black Widow and US Agent.” He smirked after the last name. “I was surprised at his cooperation, but they asked for his help and with a million-dollar payout from Pepper Stark he agreed. The Black Panther took the information on how they were going to turn me back and realized there was nothing that could be done to stop or undo it. So, it was suggested that I retire and go into hiding. Except it always seemed like people found me.”

“So, the Maldives, Mexico and Thailand really were you?” I asked.

He nodded. “I’m adaptable and a quick learner and would have been happy doing any of those things for the rest of my life but people kept looking for me. Then Pepper Stark let me in on a big secret. Tony survived his encounter with Thanos. He was sick a long time, but he got better. He wanted out, wanted time with her and their daughter so he bought this island and offered me a place to live. The Avengers come here to relax, and I act as chef sometimes, bartender other times, but most of the time I read, work out, swim, and enjoy living a life of peace and quiet.”

“The arm.” I gestured to his apparently flesh left arm.

“It’s an enchantment,” he replied. “The nano mask is problematic on a body part.”

“The commission, it’s really a bounty, isn’t it?” I asked, feeling sick at the thought.

“Yeah, that’s what it is,” he said. “You’re not the first one to come here. They get the information and approach someone to come to the island, bribing their way onto it, a woman usually.” I could see him smile in the deepening twilight. “They think I’m lonely and that I can be seduced. Occasionally, they send a man, but I like women better.”

I looked back down the beach, seeing the outline of Tony and Clint. “They’re in jeopardy as well, aren’t they?”

“Yup, all three of us just want to live a quiet life without anyone bothering us.” He shifted to face me. “Tony lets the incursion happen wanting to see if the person is aware of how they’re being used or if they’re an actual operative. I figured out pretty easily that you weren’t aware.”

“I got drunk and blabby,” I smiled. “That’s me. I’m so sorry you’re going through this, for all of you. They haven’t figured out that Tony and Clint are part of it, have they?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. It’s been close, close enough that Tony has bought another island and is in the process of setting up there. He’ll sell this one, bury the sale in layers of straw sellers and buyers so that they can’t make the connection. We’ll go to another place and start over.” He stood up, gazing at me as I stood up in front of him. “Out of all the women that have made it here I was attracted to you the most. For a brief moment I pictured a life here with you.”

“I won’t tell them where you are,” I said. “None of you have to fear that.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But it’s not that easy.” Even in the dark, his eyes became glassy. “They can’t take any chances and although they won’t hurt you, they won’t let you remember what happened here. It’s better that way, safer for us and for you. I’m sorry.”

I understood suddenly what he meant, remembering the angry woman who was leaving as I was arriving. She was there for the bounty, but her memories were altered so all she remembered was being treated poorly at a high-end resort. It’s what they would do to me.

“Do I get the week still?”

“No, you go out tomorrow,” he replied. “I wish it were longer so that we could ….”

“It’s alright,” I smiled, then I became bold, one final time. “Would you stay with me tonight?”

He looked down the beach to where the two men were, now joined by a third, the young woman. Gently, he touched my cheek and kissed me. All I wanted was to be in his arms for the few hours I had left there. Afterwards, they would take the memory of him from my mind, and I would lose him. But to keep him and the others safe, maybe it was worth that sacrifice. We ended up in my bungalow and made love in a way that I would have remembered for the rest of my life, except I didn’t. The last thing I did before I fell asleep was cry in his arms as he consoled me with soft words and kisses.

🧳 🛫

“I have never been so humiliated in my life,” I said to Antoine as he waited for me to finish packing. “I paid for a week and just because I got drunk, you’re kicking me out?”

“Yup,” he answered. “You were offensive to the guests and the staff, and we just don’t tolerate that kind of behaviour at our resort. I have radioed our lawyer to tell your publisher that any article produced by you will be considered libellous. Now, if you don’t mind, it’s time for you to go.”

I was furious but what choice did I have. It was written in the booking contract that any unsavoury behaviour by the guest was grounds for immediate cancellation of the booking. It also meant my writing career was pretty finished. No one would ask me to write for them, knowing this happened. Somehow, I kept my tongue as Antoine transported me to the dock. Unlike my arrival there was no one waiting for the ride back to the resort. There was Jake, however, with Kelly and Curtis waiting to see me off in my disgrace.

“Assholes, all of them,” I thought.

I grabbed my suitcase and began the walk of shame towards the seaplane where Jerry was waiting. To his credit he said nothing then nor for the entire flight back to Nassau. I went straight to the airport there and flew back to New York, where a message awaited me on my email to say the contract for the travel piece was cancelled and good luck in finding another publisher. They also told me I was lucky they weren’t going to sue me for the non-refundable cost of the resort stay.

Over the next few months, I worked at a Trader Joe’s. It paid the bills and gradually I got over the humiliation of losing my credibility as a writer when word came out that the perpetrators of a 10-million-dollar commission scam that had been making the email rounds were finally behind bars. Apparently, they were part of a terrorist group looking for Bucky Barnes, hoping to turn him back into the Winter Soldier. I couldn’t believe someone would stoop that low to find the man. He deserved to live the rest of his life in peace. There were more rumours about him, a sighting in Tasmania, then another as a crew member on an African safari, but gradually the rumours died down and for several more months there was nothing heard about him.

One day, while I was stocking the shelves at work, I was interrupted by a woman looking for a product. I helped her then realized she was Pepper Stark, blurting her name out then apologizing for saying it.

“That’s alright, Maya,” she said, looking at my name tag. “You’ve been very helpful. Do you like working here?”

I shrugged. “It pays the bills but it’s just a job,” I replied. “I was a writer, but I crossed a line and lost any chance to go further in that field. I regret that now that I’m a little older and wiser.”

She smiled sympathetically at me. “Well, there’s an entry level position at Stark Industries,” she said. “I liked how you helped me today and I don’t mind giving people second chances. Here’s my card. Call the number and set up an interview. Maybe I can help you get out of this job and into something more satisfying.”

I was genuinely surprised and thanked her, calling the number the next day. With an interview set for the next week I was excited at the prospect of something meaningful finally happening for me after my penance. When the day came, I was brought into a conference room with Pepper and several other people. They were all pleasant and asked me all sorts of questions about privacy and respect for boundaries. Everything seemed great then one of them said something strange to me.

“проснуться,” said a man, who repeated it in English. “Wake up.”

I looked around, knowing where I was but realizing that the last six or so months had happened as if I had been somewhere else, watching.

“What’s going on?” I asked Pepper.

The man who spoke smiled and pressed his hand to the side of his face, peeling it off, to reveal Bucky underneath.

As I cried out his name, he opened his arms and I fell into them, almost knocking the chair over.

“It worked, didn’t it?” I exclaimed. “You found them, found the ones who were looking for you.”

“We found them,” he said. “Just had to make sure we found all of them.” He caressed my face, taking all of it in as he gazed at me. “The plans for the machine are still out there so I have to stay hidden. I thought that you ….”

“Yes,” I cried. “Oh God yes. I’ll go with you anywhere. Just don’t take my memories again. I want to remember everything we do, because I don’t plan on ever leaving your side.”

He looked at both Tony and Clint, who had also taken their masks off. “Told you she was the one.”

“Alright,” said Tony, taking charge. “Pepper, you’ll take care of clearing out Maya’s apartment and getting her things to the new location? She won’t need anything for winter anymore. Bucky, you’re in charge of teaching her what she needs to know about living in hiding, including self-defence. She has to be ready to defend herself if they ever come looking again. Maya, welcome to the rest of your life but don’t forget to phone Trader Joe’s and quit.”

The other two men put their masks back on and left the conference room with Pepper while Bucky and I stayed there.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just knew I didn’t want to go without you. It will be warm; I can promise you that. Tony will have a lab to work in. If you want to write under a pseudonym, he’ll build you an office, and will line up a publisher. I’ll mix drinks, cook some meals, maybe raise some goats if the land is right. I did it in Wakanda and enjoyed it. Just so long as we’re together. I missed you.”

He kissed me again, just like he did on the beach of Lunatum Island, which I found out was Latin for crescent. With that first kiss I knew I was with the right man and went along with the plan to remove my memories, keeping me safe. This kiss in the boardroom confirmed it. There would be a life to live with this incredibly wonderful man; a life of peace and quiet that he craved and deserved. Like the Avengers, I would do my part to keep him safe from those who would exploit him. It was a lifetime commitment, but it would be a lifetime with Bucky and that was worth everything.

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[legendary-pink-dot]

Home at Sunset

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x reader (no gender specified, but female in my mind)

Rating: Mature. A couple references to sexual activity.

Word Count: 1.2K

Summary: Frankie and his aviators. Sunrise, sunset, and all the moments in between.

Notes: No use of "Y/N". No mention of Frankie's canon child. Angsty as hell; I am SO sorry, Frankie and Frankie's emotionally tortured and misunderstood lady.

A sunrise

Civil twilight gives rise to the first rays of sun. It's a sudden flash in the cockpit as they reach the end of the Andes mountain range and the start of the ocean, where their getaway boat awaits them. Frankie gently nudges the helicopter a shade higher, his touch confident but featherlight. So focused he forgets to put on his aviator sunglasses to protect his sight.

"Alright, baby, alright..." As snipers treat their weapons as a beloved and animate object, so too does Frankie with every aircraft he pilots, simultaneously guiding them and giving them exactly what they need.

One final ridge to clear and they'll have put this mission behind them. A mission that had gone wrong right from of the start, their team leader ignoring his instincts in favor of greed, and Frankie and his teammates making the mistake of not standing up to him. The result was having to do things other what they went there for, and running against time to leave with their stolen money and their lives.

"Come on now, come on..." he croons, just as sweetly as he did to you every night when he was home in happier times. A touch more elevation, *right there, just like that,* that's all it would take to get over the peak. She's close, so close, and he's almost there, he's got you...

**bang**

The gearbox blows and the helo suddenly drops, a plunging freefall that brings fearful shouts from his teammates. Frankie is the pilot you can trust, the calm in any storm. That's why he's always chosen. He furiously recalculates, readjusts, recalibrates on the fly, letting his years of experience and training take over.

In the few safe seconds he has left, he makes a controlled descent into the smoothest patch of jungle he can find, fatally spinning out but saving his team.

The loss of their transport hurts more than their cuts and bruises, but it's not the most pressing issue at the moment. Their landing site is remote and full of angry villagers, half fearful of the intrusion and half eager to claim the bags of stolen money that fell from the sky.

The slaughter that happens next is not his fault, yet he supposes it somehow is. The team silently loads the loot onto mules while Frankie packs away every poor decision that led to this moment, leaving the heaviest of baggage to deal with later as they make their slow and perilous trek towards home.

One early morning

"They trust me. They're putting their lives in my hands. It's my job to keep them safe."

It was Frankie's usual justification for going on private missions after retiring from the service, and he had used it again just hours before he was set to leave, both of you still agitated and arguing well into the early hours past midnight.

He takes that responsibility seriously -- too seriously you thought, wondering why he was willing to risk himself and his newfound peace of mind again for a team that didn't truly appreciate him. It was a rhetorical question and you knew it. "What about your responsibility to me? To us? You never come all the way back from these trips, and I hate seeing what it does to you."

Frankie had merely shrugged, raising his hands as if to say, "I have no choice." You knew he didn't, in a way. His loyalty to his teammates, his comrades, his friends ran deeper than you could ever hope to understand. It had helped fuel your love for him, but was also the source of your greatest pain, having to help Frankie put himself back together every time a piece of him was broken off.

"It's just recon," he'd promised. "It's safe. Easy money and no flying. I'll be home in 3 or 4 days." His voice had been calm but you heard the premonition of doubt floating below it. Never a good sign. A good pilot trusts their instincts, and Frankie was one of the best.

You had clung to each other that night, resigned to whatever fate the mission would decide to bring you, the risk always present of him not coming back and this moment being your last chance to savor him. You'd rocked against him, close and tight in his lap for an eternity, chasing a high that usually came easily but for once eluded you. A premonition twinned to Frankie's that you couldn't let go of, or for.

You'd woken a few hours later to discover he'd left while it was still pitch black outside. He hadn't waited for that pre-dawn time you usually love to languish in together, when he quietly slides thick and hot and sweet inside you, free but moored, both of you suspended in time and feeling like the world is holding its breath just for you. You'd slept in too late to catch the moment. You wondered when you'll be allowed to capture another.

An afternoon

It's been a full 5 days without any contact from Frankie, and none of the team's partners had heard anything either. That wasn't normal, but it had happened before. Going no-contact during a private mission was critical for your safety and theirs. You couldn't do anything but trust, hope, and wait.

As you finish your lunch, it's raining hard. You reach into the hallway closet for your umbrella, pausing beside the accessory rack and noticing for the first time since he left that he'd taken the wrong pair of aviator sunglasses with him. He was supposed to take his usual mission pair with the polarized lenses for high contrast, but had apparently taken his daily-wear mirrored chrome ones instead. "Just recon. No flying," he'd said. Right.

The same dread from that earlier promise returns and throttles you. You wish wherever Frankie is right now and whatever he's dealing with, that his vision is clear. It's the best you can hope for.

The sunset

Cars pass your house without stopping, a dog barks, kids are in the street playing out their last few minutes of dusky freedom. The golden hour passed long ago, and you've sat through 7 of them now without Frankie, sitting at your kitchen table paralyzed with fear and doubt. This is your 8th and you don't know how many more you can take.

You know the sound of Frankie's truck intimately: the purr of the well-tuned motor maintained by a dedicated mechanic, how the gravel in the driveway crunches differently than when underfoot the lighter wheels of your hatchback. You hear it now and wonder if it's a mirage. This announcement of his arrival is a sound you'd almost given up hoping for, and you let out the breath you didn't even realize you were holding.

You sprint to the door and fling it open. Most people would see a tired but normal Frankie walking up your driveway, but all you see is a shell, a ghostly being you recognize from the homecoming of previous missions. It's less of a soul and more of an enclosure for heavy burdens like relief, survivor's guilt, and personal recriminations. Your heart leaps and you forget every frustrated, hopeless word that was said the night before he left.

He drags himself up the flight of steps and falters. You see yourself reflected in his mirrored aviators, and you gently reach out to remove them so you can search his eyes for what you need to see.

Night closes in, the final tint of daylight fades, and Frankie falls into your arms and breaks.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Landsat Plumbs the (Shallow) Depths

As the workhorses for Earth science from space, Landsat satellites have imaged Earth’s land surfaces uninterrupted for over 50 years. The missions continue to execute on the big idea of consistent, long-term observations. But limiting observations to land would have kept Landsat from its full potential.

Scientists at the U.S. Geological Survey have developed a new way to measure ocean depth, or bathymetry, in shallow nearshore environments using Landsat data. By applying a sophisticated physics-based algorithm to satellite observations, their method offers an expedient way to map the seafloor from space without relying on prior depth measurements. Deriving bathymetry from satellites—a process researchers have been refining for decades—can fill in many mapping gaps in coastal areas and provide up-to-date information critical for modeling water movement, tracking coastal changes, studying coral reef habitats, and more.

The new method, described in a 2024 paper in the journal Remote Sensing, relies upon visible-light observations by the OLI (Operational Land Imager) and OLI-2 (Operational Land Imager-2) sensors on the Landsat 8 and 9 satellites, coupled with a heavy dose of physics calculations. In shallow enough seas, sunlight penetrates the water and reflects off the seafloor. Scientists can then relate the reflected light as “seen” by the satellite to water depth.

The calculation is relatively straightforward in clear water with a bright bottom. But it becomes more complex, for example, when light interacts with sediment or plankton in the water column or a grass-covered seafloor. The USGS researchers developed the algorithm to correct for these types of effects on reflected light, as well as those caused by particles in the atmosphere and the reflection of the sky off the water, to determine water depth.

This algorithm was applied to several coastal areas containing coral reefs, including the Florida Keys, shown here. The depth map (right) shows shallow channels cutting between low-lying islands, also called cays or keys. The shallow linear feature running across the bottom of the image is part of Florida’s stretch of coral reefs, which spans 350 miles (560 kilometers) from end to end. The bathymetric map is shown relative to a natural-color Landsat image of the same area (left).

In clear water, it is possible to map depths greater than 20 meters (65 feet), much deeper than expected, said Minsu Kim, the remote sensing and ocean optics expert who led the method’s development. Crucially, the method works without external calibration, although it can be refined by incorporating bathymetry measurements from other sources. The tradeoff is that the model accounts for the optical properties of common ocean components, such as phytoplankton and suspended solids in the water column, and grass or sand on the seafloor. If uncommon components such as a bloom of a specific phytoplankton species or a rare kind of dark volcanic sea floor are present, the model becomes less accurate.

Coral reef zones were good candidates for piloting this method because they influence sediment transport, affect coastal erosion, and provide critical habitat to much of the world’s marine life, said physical geographer Jeff Danielson, co-author of the paper and leader of the USGS Coastal National Elevation Database (CoNED) Applications Project. These environments can also change dramatically over time and would benefit from more frequent re-mapping made possible by satellite-derived bathymetry.

Despite the need for refined shallow-water maps, however, producing them has remained a practical and technical challenge. Bathymetric mapping has traditionally relied upon ship-based sonar and aircraft-based lidar—both cost- and labor-intensive endeavors.

The quest to outsource this onus to satellites includes a pioneering effort by oceanographer Jacques Cousteau. In the 1975 NASA-Cousteau Bathymetry Experiment, Cousteau and a team of divers aboard the Calypso played leapfrog with the Landsat 1 and 2 satellites around the Bahamas and Florida. They would position themselves directly underneath each day’s satellite pass, and divers would measure water clarity, light transmission, and bottom reflectivity. Data from the trip showed that in clear waters with a bright seafloor, Landsat could measure depths up to 22 meters (72 feet).

The cross-purposing of remote sensing instruments for bathymetry has continued from there. Subsequent techniques have included using turbidity as imaged by Landsat as a proxy for depth; combining altimetry measurements from NASA’s ICESat-2 (Ice, Cloud, and land Elevation Satellite-2) with ship-based sonar; deriving depth from stereo imagery; and applying an algorithm to digital photography from the International Space Station.

With the new satellite-based method in hand, Kim, Danielson, and colleagues are looking to scale up nearshore measurements. For example, they want to map waters around Pacific islands and atolls, where data is currently lacking but would be useful for modeling waves, sediment transport, and other processes. Maps are also blank for large portions of coastal Alaska, where hazards including harsh weather, seasonal sea ice, and strong currents have made conventional mapping work difficult.

In the United States alone, coastal waters are currently only 52 percent mapped, Danielson noted. Initiatives such as the National Ocean Mapping, Exploration, and Characterization (NOMEC) and the global Seabed 2030 project are working to increase mapping coverage, alongside the USGS’s CoNED pursuit to assimilate data that now includes Landsat-derived water depth. “It’s one of the hot topics in geospatial sciences right now,” said Danielson. “There is a niche to fill in bathymetry gaps with a new tier of data.”

NASA Earth Observatory images by Wanmei Liang, using Landsat data from the U.S. Geological Survey and data from Kim, M., et al. (2024). Story by Lindsey Doermann.

[againsttheskull]

Destroyer

(Masterlist)

It was the first sunny day of the season and they had spent it out over the water. By the morning light, the sea was blinding. Each steel gray battleship reflected the White Sun’s rays right into the cockpit. The aircraft, small and inconspicuous, hovered above the enemy fleet like a nervous fairy. It was no weapon of war. The shipmen down below took notice and little green lines of inquiry began to flash upon the craft’s receiver. 

The pilot tilted the screen down and positioned the craft a good mile away from the north-most ship. A reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, a finger pointed in the right direction, and then the unbearable cacophony of steel rendering.

The sea rushed in to fill the gap, causing massive waves to rock the once-still ocean. Where the SS Iselin had been only seconds prior, there now sat a deformed metal mass no larger than the length of a truck. The surrounding water filled with a reddish color, blood and oil escaping the same clutch. As the radio went wild between the remaining fleet ships, the broken body of the Iselin sunk quietly beneath the waves. There were no survivors. Delta had been twelve.

The hovercraft took him back to dry land. The Emperor, the only person the show had ever really been for, stood up to shake the hands of the pilot, of the scientists, and of his Admiral who had pushed so hard for the demonstration. The Emperor lowered himself to speak to Delta, the way you might any child, and saw the tremors all through his body, the cold sweat of convulsions. The Emperor wiped Delta’s hair from his face and said no more.

He was returned to his own quarters back at the institute. The nurse had to hold up one side of him just to make it down the hall. He kept it together as he’d been taught to while in company, but back in his own territory he could no longer suppress the nausea. He spent most of the night on the cold tile floor of his bathroom, as the doctors and the scientists buzzed around taking vitals and hooking him up to strange machines.

By the next week, the deal was done. The royal guards had been sent to collect him. All that he owned could fit into one suitcase, which the director had packed for him personally. The director had also picked who would be leaving with him as a charge - one physician, one scientist. Dr.Martino’s grip tightened harshly on his neck whenever he fidgeted too much. Dr.Yanna had a bad drinking habit. Delta was not happy about these choices, even from the most remote corner of his mind. But he had learned to tolerate both of them at the institute and could appreciate the familiarity. He wasn’t scared of the guards. He kept his head down until they arrived at the palace - and long after that too.

It had presented an interesting but not unprecedented engineering problem, finding out where to keep him. In the past week, they had built the basement up with the same dense psychic insulation that the institute had perfected. Delta had five hundred square feet of space, at the time sparsely furnished. His vague hope was that while in the isolated chamber, they would remove the dampening collar from around his neck. But they left him there with no mention of it. He thought back to the wreckage of the Iselin and realized it was unlikely the collar would ever come off again. He rubbed at the raw skin idly, leaning against the new bed frame. The space was larger than his old room had been, but he had not gotten up to explore it. He sensed that the guards would not like to open up the chamber doors and find him anywhere they had not left him. It was the inclination of many third parties to treat the psionics like machinery - and to be disconcerted by anything that contracted this. Besides that, he knew they were scared of him. As isolated as he had been, even in such ascetic surroundings, he could read fear. It radiated off all of them now.

(Part II)

[misejercitos]

Cazas F-16 de la Fuerza Aérea de Rumania en acción por primera vez en los cielos de España

Aviones de combate F-16 están operando estas semanas sobre los cielos de España, varios de la Fuerza Aérea de Turquía y, por primera vez, de la de Rumania están participando en el curso de élite de la OTAN TLP, que tiene sede en la base aérea del Ejército del Aire y del Espacio de Albacete. Tras el verano ha comenzado una nueva edición del curso de vuelo del programa de liderazgo táctico TLP (Tactical Leadership Program), el denominado FC (Flight Course) 2024-3 comenzaba el 16 de septiembre, y concluirá el viernes 4 de octubre, con una duración de 3 semanas. El TLP recibirá unas 650 personas, 34 de ellos se graduarán en este curso, todo un referente en el ámbito de la OTAN, serán 22 pilotos, 6 oficiales de inteligencia y 6 controladores aéreos. Los vuelos, que se realizan de lunes a viernes en periodo de tarde, dieron comienzo el 23 de septiembre, ya que la primera semana se dedica a la actividad académica y a vuelos en simulador. Las naciones participantes en el bando Blue aportarán 18 plataformas, serán España con aviones Eurofighter, Francia con sus aviones de combate Dassault Aviation Mirage 2000D y Mirage 2000-5, Estados Unidos con los espectaculares biplazas F-15E Strike Eagle, y Rumanía y Turquía con F-16. Destaca la presencia por primera vez en España de aviones de combate de la Fuerza Aérea de Rumania, que trasladó a Albacete tres de sus F-16AM MLU (Mid Life Update o Actualización de Media Vida). Esta fuerza aérea de la OTAN adquirió una docena de estos cazas a Portugal de segunda mano en la pasada década, a los que luego sumó otros 5 de la misma procedencia, estando ahora en proceso de recibir otros 32, tras darlos de baja la Real Fuerza Aérea de Noruega. En cuanto a la participación del bando oponente (Red Air), cuentan con un total de 6 aeronaves, siendo las naciones participantes: España con Eurofigher, F-18A y F-18M de sus Alas 11, 46 y 12 respectivamente; y Estados Unidos con los referidos F-15E, de los que en total han llegado a Albacete una docena desde su base de RAF (Royal Air Force)-Lakenheath (centro de Inglaterra), que forma parte de la Fuerza Aérea de los Estados Unidos en Europa o United States Air Force Europe (USAFE). Como apoyo a la realización del curso de vuelo se cuenta, como es ya habitual desde la implantación del TLP en España en 2008, con el concurso de medios de Mando y Control del Ejército del Aire y del Espacio español (EA) durante la ejecución de las misiones. Es de destacar también la participación del avión remotamente tripulado o RPAS (Remotely Piloted Aircraft Systems) MQ-9 Predator B (NR-05) del Ala 23, así como de dos instructores belgas especialistas en misiones de rescate de personal y equipos adicionales de control aéreo táctico americanos y españoles. Como amenaza antiaérea está prevista la participación de sistemas reales de defensa aérea del Ejército del Aire y del Espacio, misiles antiaéreos MBDA Mistral y el de simulación, que realiza la iluminación a las aeronaves con láser o radar Textron Mallina, del que ya hablamos en defensa.com Para simular amenazas también se cuenta con varios sistemas de simulación de la empresa americana Polygon, junto con el sistema del Armée de l´Air et de l´Espace francés ARPEGE que, como los medios españoles, estarán desplegados en distintas zonas del área de operación. Respecto a la intervención de otros medios aéreos, en el ámbito de la búsqueda y rescate en combate o Combat Search and Rescue (CSAR) de las tripulaciones abatidas se espera la participación en misiones específicas de un helicóptero NH 90 del Ejército del Aire y del Espacio en el bando Blue Air, junto con sus respectivos equipos de extracción, y de dos helicópteros Sikorsky MH-60R Seahawk de la Marina de los Estados Unidos en el bando Red. También se contará con la colaboración de un avión de transporte táctico C295 del Ala 35. Finalmente, desde las instalaciones del TLP se continuará utilizando el avanzado simulador de vuelo (MACE), que permite entrenar a los pilotos no solo en el entorno virtual, también interactuar con las aeronaves en misiones reales a través de avanzados protocolos de comunicación. Fuente: Read the full article