#finally tracked that down to what appears to be a short involving the ignition run circuit internal to the fuse box under the hood

[selkies-song]

Solved a REALLY interesting car case today (albeit with a lot of help) and I'm on cloud 9. This is why I'm doing what I'm doing.

[lambourngb]

Duty of Care and /or Gravedigger’s Union

I did Grave Dancer’s Union - a nod to my 90s love of Soul Asylum here.

Duty of Care was another torture Michael fic- I wrote it pre-season 2, when I thought the love triangle was going in a particular way. I don’t know if there’s still an appetite to season 1 au stories? There’s some season 1 characterization of Alex ahead, particularly in regards to Jesse.

Here’s what I had - some of which already appeared here before Last Year’s Wishes ate my brain.

****

“Can’t believe Maria is still wearing the pendant of alien poison around her neck while she dates your alien ass, Guerin..” Kyle commented watching the decay values multiply as Liz titrated pollen into the samples.  

The current theory on alien resurrection, and it said a lot about his life that he had competing theories on alien-involved resurrection, was that their ability to manipulate energy changed based on their needed life skills at the time of adolescence. Michael had been separated from his siblings young, and needed to develop defensive skills. The defiant and pained look on his face when he explained stopping an item being hurled at his head at the age of 7 was a needed survival tactic courtesy of foster homes he had passed through kept Kyle from questioning any further.

Isobel had through her mother Ann’s never-ending dinner parties and charity benefits, found comfort in seeing and knowing what was meant under the sugary sweet words of adults around her. Being a small child paraded around adults who were charmed by her blonde hair and blue eyes meant she had the most exposure to social events while Max hid in his books. 

Finally Max had anointed himself as a fixer early on in their life. He had taken responsibility for Michael being left behind, and had tasked himself to protect his sister afterward. The defensive use of healing fit with his offensive ability to kill in the service of keeping those he loved safe. 

At the most basic level, it was all energy from synaptic responses in brain waves to manipulating molecules to move or stop an object. How a pollen interrupted that energy use could theoretically solve the problem of how to jump start an ability.

“You think you might get around to telling her the big secret anytime soon?”

The mask over his mouth and face did little to block the glare Michael shot at him. “Shut up Valenti.” 

“I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s Maria. She is a card carrying member of the ACLU and the Nature Conservatory. I had to bail her out of jail last year during an ICE protest. She’s not going to turn you over to the government.” 

“Kyle!” Liz scolded, “We talked about this. Agency. It’s up to Isobel and Michael who knows. I already broke that with you.”

Michael ran a gloved figure over the counter absently. “I hate secrets, okay. This isn’t any fun for me, especially considering how many people already know. I went from having just Max and Isobel, to basically the whole graduating class of New Roswell High in on it. A lot of loose lips.”

The habit of 20 years of paranoid silence was probably a lot to try and break with a new relationship if that was the basis of it. There was a good amount of slack that Kyle could extend to Michael, including trying to be understanding when he started up with Alex’s best friend in the wake of Max’s death, but exclusion of Maria from the secret felt wrong to him.

He couldn’t fathom the reasoning behind lying to someone that he wanted to be in a relationship with, and he had a feeling that it wasn’t because of worries that she would tell someone about the aliens living in Roswell. While he couldn’t outright call Michael an asshole on Alex’s behalf, he could poke and prod him when the opportunity surfaced.

“You should look at this way Guerin, that larger circle means if something does happen, you’ve got more back up than just Isobel, with Max being out of commission.”

“Oh yeah, so if the government disappears me to a black site, you’re going to ride to my rescue?”

“Yes.” Kyle replied seriously. “I wouldn’t be alone either.” The name Alex Manes went unsaid, but from the brief wince on Michael’s face, he knew exactly who was being referred to obliquely. Scored hit again.

“Well as fun as this discussion is, I’m going to take off. Iz and I have practice plans.” Michael slipped his hat on, and tucked the stool away. “Liz, call me if you have a breakthrough on nullifying this stuff. For a rare flower, there sure was a lot of it stockpiled in Noah’s cave.”

“Sure thing, Mikey.” 

“Valenti, make sure she goes home to sleep and eat at some point. I don’t want to have to put her in a pod next.” He ducked out of reach of her hand, laughing at the offended look she sent his way. 

“Far be it for me to agree with him, but he’s right. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends and the middle between rebuilding your lab, researching Max’s healing power, studying this pollen, not to mention working at the diner. We should make time for something else, like a drink or a movie. Recharge.” The past month since Max’s ‘death’ brought back the manic energy burst from solving the issues with the depowering serum. From one catastrophe to another, it was barely time to recover before the next happened.

“I know, I just. I need to stay busy. It’s so quiet without him.” Liz stretched and started to tuck her last slide away into the cooler. “But I think I am done today, if I work anymore, I’ll just be making mistakes.”

Kyle slipped on his coat and held the door. “Not that I don’t believe you leaving on your own volition, but let me walk you out.”

“Lucky for you, I’m too tired to be offended.”

Kyle kept his hand on her back gently steering her through the hallways. The third shift was on at the hospital, and he winced to think about his own upcoming shift at noon tomorrow. Balancing football, his pre-med studies and his social life in Michigan taught him valuable life skills in working on short sleep, but even the hours of residency had no competition on his current life of alien lab work and tracking down government funding of a black ops prison project with Alex. When he mentioned a night off, he wasn’t only including Liz in that need.

Inhaling the cool night air, he calculated if he made it home, heated up a meal, and fell asleep promptly there was the opportunity for 6 good hours of sleep before meeting up at the bunker to check in on the data mining project Alex was running. 

“You know, you should go a little easier on Michael.”

“I thought everyone in this town was in love with Max Evans, but apparently it’s Guerin.” Kyle retorted sarcastically. 

Liz bit her lip at the mention of Max before sighing softly. “I’m serious, Kyle. He’s really messed up right now. I was actually shocked he was somewhat sober tonight.”

“I’m not going to be petty here Liz, and mention the obvious that we are all really messed up right now. I get where you’re coming from about their need for secrecy, but Maria really deserves better. I’m not her best friend like you are and Alex was, but I’ve been here in this town with her. She was there for me after my dad died, and she supported my mom’s election for sheriff. With Mimi getting worse, she deserves to have someone to count on, not someone who is lying to her, and by extension, making all of us lie to her as well.”

“Alex was? Past tense?”

He arched his eyebrow in disbelief, “I guess I am going to be petty tonight, but seriously Liz? Have you talked to Alex lately? Every time Maria comes up in conversation he puts his best ‘Baghdad was a little warm and I was just doing a job’ face on and repeats to anyone listening how happy he is for them. Guerin messed him up, and worse, took away from him one of the few people he lets himself drop that soldier bullshit front he has.”

Liz sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I know the history with Michael is a little complicated, but we don’t always get to choose who we fall for and who we don’t. Love is messy. It doesn’t color inside the lines and follow any of the rules.”

“Maybe you’re right about that, and maybe there’s no avoiding the heartache. I do believe though that you can choose whether or not to be a dick about things, and Guerin not telling Maria is a dick move and it’s got consequences.” Kyle unlocked his car, and opened the passenger side with a gesture. “Our sister doesn’t have many friends, and he’s robbing her of one right now. Rosa lost ten years because of aliens, don’t you think that’s enough loss for all of us?”

“Do you know how annoying you are when you’re right? I’ll talk to Michael, better yet, I’ll talk to Isobel about letting Maria in on the secret.”

He slid into the driver’s seat, smiling across to her. “Tomorrow. Tonight, what’s left of it, is for sleeping.” He turned the ignition, and stopped,  as the headlights came up illuminating the familiar green Chevy sitting across the lot from them. “That’s Guerin’s truck.”

“He left before we did, what’s it still doing here?” Liz ducked out of the passenger seat and ran toward the truck without waiting for an answer. Kyle swore softly, untangling his hand from the ignition to follow her. The truck looked undisturbed, no sign of the occupant. Liz reached for the driver’s side door, testing it, and gasped as the door swung open. The ever present black hat slipped off the dash into the floorboards.

There were three things Michael prized above all others, his truck, his cowboy hat, and his sister. To leave two out of three unprotected was highly out of character for him. Kyle turned around the parking lot, scanning for signs of him. 

“Kyle, look,” Liz grabbed his arm and pulled him down toward the wheel well of the truck. Gleaming silver in the light , tucked on top of the tire tread, was a syringe needle with a depressed plunger.

“That’s not good.”

She stuffed her hand into her pocket and withdrew a spare latex glove to wrap around her fingers as she lifted the syringe from the tire.  She peered closely at the vial, a sickly yellow liquid film thinly coated the inside. “I think someone took him, and without testing it, I’m guessing this is some sort of knock out drug based on the pollen.”

Kyle reached for his phone, mentally saying goodbye to the idea of sleep anytime soon. “I’ll call Alex, you call Isobel. And I don’t know, I guess call my mom? I mean, we usually call the police when someone gets abducted.”

Liz thinned her lips, holding the needle with one hand as she dug out her phone with the other. “I don’t think you can call the cops on the government, which I’m guessing that’s what we are dealing with since they knew how to knock out Michael.”

The government, or more specially it was probably someone related to Project Shepherd. Kyle sighed, holding his phone to his ear. It rang once, before he heard, “What’s wrong?”

He pulled the phone away from his ear to make sure he had called Alex and not the psychic alien sister, “How did you know something was wrong?”

“You’ve called me twice in the last three months, once to tell me you put my dad in a coma and once to tell me about Max. You’re a texter, even though I explained it’s easier to keep things secret if you call. So again, what’s wrong?”

Kyle slowly walked back toward the hospital. He should have volunteered to call Isobel, because this was not going to be easy. “It’s Guerin.”

“Is he okay?” 

“We don’t know. We think someone took him. Liz and I found his truck at the hospital, unlocked. It looks like he got jumped by someone who knows how to incapicitate him.”

“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” 

Kyle wasn’t surprised to see the call disconnected. It was a forty minute drive from the cabin to the hospital if someone followed the speed limits. 

*** 

“It’s Guerin.”

Alex was somewhat aware that he must have replied. He was in his SUV and away from the bunker, before he’d registered that the call had ended. He could only be thankful that today had been a ‘pull day’, rather than a ‘push day.’

Alex could divide his days into two motivations, he either wanted to be as far from town and the chance of running into someone he knew (Michael) or he wanted to be close in case something happened that he could help fix (for Michael). The cabin was isolated enough that only Kyle made the trip from Roswell, but not in recent memory with the pace of lab work and hospital hours. Alex could comfortably avoid reality with his laptop until the second feeling took hold. The Project Shepherd bunker was an easier location to reach Isobel or Liz from when the inviatble call for assisting an intoxicated Michael came. 

Seeing Maria meant seeing Michael in the evening hours, and it was strange to resort to in his post-service life the habit of a decade before; lying and hiding himself in every interaction. His calendar had a weekly reminder to join Liz and Maria at the Wild Pony for a beer, usually scheduled early enough that Michael was still at Sanders working, but late enough that the automated work emergency text to his phone could reliably give him cover for an exit. 

Psychic as she was, Maria always let him go with a pained but relieved look. It wasn’t her fault that he was still in love with Michael. It wasn’t her fault that Michael wasn’t in love with him. Neither he nor Maria had so many friends that they could afford to lose one, but neither was fooling the other that the relationship hadn’t changed in the aftermath of her dating Michael. 

This wasn’t his first go around with unrequited love. 

He’d survived Brendon Urie, and he wasn’t ashamed to have been a sixteen year old pouring over fan meet and greets on livejournal before hitting the road with Rosa to see Panic at the Disco in Albuquerque just after school let for the summer. He might have mapped out Los Angeles coffee shops to busk at after he turned legal and could escape west to be a musician, coffee shops close to Silver Lakes and Encino neighborhoods to be organically discovered by his crush.

He had survived his fourteen year old obsession with Kyle, that lasted until it was safer to love unattainable rockstars versus the childhood friend now high school bully. He could laugh at himself for thinking that Kyle had turned on him because he felt the same way but just didn’t know how to articulate it outside of shoving him against the lockers and jeering at him in gym class. 

Unrequited love that had once been returned was a higher bar to clear than a fan fantasy or a childhood crush, but then the sins Alex carried were deeper and more lasting as well. More than a ruined but now healed hand and a discarded scholarship, he had the murder of Michael’s mother to carry.  He would survive Michael not loving him, he was reasonably sure of it. He wasn’t sure if he would survive something happening to Michael because of the Manes family legacy. 

Someone knowing how to subdue and take Michael pointed to his family’s involvement. 

He didn’t bother with the visitor’s desk at the hospital foyer this time, walking purposefully toward the elevator and wing where Liz’s new lab resided. The door opened to his touch, revealing Isobel hovering anxiously near Liz’s shoulder as she swabbed a syringe. 

“You made good time.” Isobel greeted.

“I hacked the traffic lights.” Alex informed, setting his laptop case on the lab table, and popping the case open. A few keystrokes and he was inside the hospital network and probably breaking a dozen federal laws of privacy. 

Kyle closed the door, and shook his head, “Seriously?”

“No. I was at the bunker.” He brought up the internal security logs, noting visitors and elevator access. “So what do we know?”

“Not a lot,” Liz replied, her gaze fixed on a spread of swabs and slides. “I’m trying to pull as many samples as I can from this syringe so I can analyze it. There looks to be a reservoir of 3 CCs. My original serum required a dose of at least 6 CCs to incapacitate, so whatever they used was more concentrated.”

“Hopefully less lethal,” Isobel observed. “Are you in the hospital network already?”

“Just what’s linked to the internal wifi signals. I’m going to need access to their security office since it appears the actual camera footage is on a closed circuit.”

Kyle pulled out his ID badge, “I can take you there, but how are you going to get the guards to let you look at the footage? I can still call my mom and make this an official police investigation.”

Alex dug into his pockets for a thumb drive, and then turned to Isobel, “I’m hoping you can influence the guard into letting me download the footage. If you can’t, then we will need to bring the sheriff into this.”

Isobel tapped her forehead knowingly, “If I can’t influence the guards to let you in, I can at least make one of them think he left his car unlocked or his coffee pot plugged in.”

“Let’s go then. Michael has been missing for at least an hour.”

Kyle tapped his badge at certain checkpoints, opening the electronic doors as they headed down to the security room. Alex made a mental note to scrub the ID tags once they were done, on the off chance someone was curious about the movements of a doctor who should have been long off duty.

The windowless room was covered in screens and held one guard boredly sipping his coffee while he watched a television show on his phone. There was a chance they didn’t need a psychic to gain access, but it was probably better safe than sorry.

Alex moved quickly after Isobel held the security guard’s mind in hers and slide behind the desk to call up the footage on the parking garage. Mindful of time, he plugged in his drive and started transferring all the raw data from the camera recordings. The antiquated hospital computing system did nothing to soothe the anxiety. 

Long experience working with poor computing power and broken infrastructure while deployed in Iraq was the only thing that kept his inner impatience off his face. Touching the mouse or tapping his fingers never moved data faster. 

Finally the file clicked over complete, he slid back from the bank of monitors, and nodded to Isobel. The security guard took a deep breath and look around briefly before picking up his phone and restarting the television show on his app.

The door clicked shut as the three of them hastened back to Liz’s lab. His hip barked at the hurried extension he placed on his body. With the clock ticking, the discomfort slipped into the box marked ‘to deal with later’. Once the drive was inserted, it was a matter of minutes to set up a scan for vehcile traffic entering and exiting the hospital parking lot. 

Liz dug out a bottle of acetone for Isobel, who accepted it with a small smile and then nodded over to the laptop. “I hope you are having more luck with the security footage, than I am having with this drug.”

“I grabbed everything from the last 72 hours, just in case. It’s possible someone followed Michael to the hospital,” Alex balanced carefully onto the stool, keeping the weight off his prostetic. “I would have found a less populated area for a snatch and grab, but maybe they were worried about Michael’s powers and if so, then likely they scouted the view points of the cameras before they made their move to minimize their exposure. At least that’s what I would have done, if I had discarded the open road or home as possible targets.”

“Well we all know what a paranoid and careful asshole you are, Alex.” Kyle observed, working on a second set of samples. 

“I try not to repeat my mistakes.”

“Like Caulfield?” Isobel asked pointed. 

A sharp stab of pain went through him at the reminder. As if the prison ever left his mind for a moment these days. “Yes, like Caulfield. I should have found a more covert way to gain information than assume it was abandoned. I should have realized my dad had more going on than surveillance on Roswell.”

Kyle touched Alex’s shoulder with a comforting clasp, “At least we know he’s not personally behind this. Master Sergeant's main nurse likes me, she would have called if something had changed.” 

Alex stayed silent, knowing that his next task would be gaining access to the long term rest home in Santa Fe where they had transferred his comatose father after he had attacked Kyle. There had been initial protests regarding the forged records until he had pointed out the other option had been to kill Jesse. 

The classic body Chevy truck flashed on the screen with the timecode marking it as Michael’s arrival at the hospital. Alex paused and marked the frame for reference, then eased through the later clips watching for his exit. There were two cameras concentrated on the parking lot, one at the entrance/exit, and one with a long panoramic view of the lot, primarily to ward off a car thief or would-be mugger. It was grainy in grey scale, but at least he could be thankful that Michael drove such a distinctive truck. The task of finding an unremarkable Honda Prisius would have been daunting.

His hand stilled as he paused the footage on the slow but unmistakable swagger of a figure striding away from the hospital entrance toward the parked Chevy. Michael’s black cowboy hat hid his face but even absent such an identifiable marker Alex was sure could have picked out his body in a sea of others without question. 

Michael reached his truck with no issue, unlocking the driver’s side door. His hand swept off his hat and casually tossed it into the front seat of the cab. Behind him, in the next parking aisle a nondescript panel van, a door opened slid open and a glint peeked out. Michael reached behind his neck, his body half in the truck and slapping at the skin there. 

Alex inhaled sharply, fear and dread rising. It was a terrible thing to watch knowing it had already happened. Two figures dressed in plain dark clothing emerged from the van, and started toward the truck. Michael’s body half fell from the cab, and curled around the front wheel. Alex watched as the two effortlessly brushed off the weak struggles to fight their grasp of Michael’s shoulders, tugging him backward to the waiting van. 

His body was tossed without care into the back, the door sliding shut blocking the last view of Michael. The two men split up from the van, circling around to the front doors. Alex numbly clicked on the frame, saving it, and switched over to the second camera focused on the entrance. 

Watching his brother Flint calmly pay the ticket machine was not much of a surprise at this point. 

“Kyle, I’m going to need you to call your nurse friend to check on my father.” He was proud that his voice was calm and even, despite the rising sickness within. “The good news is, this wasn’t a government issued black ops team that took Michael.”

“And the bad news?” Isobel prompted.

“It was personal, which means they aren’t as invested in keeping him alive.”

* * * * 

[Isobel details their mental bond. That it feels blank]

“I was always closer with Max. I don’t know if it was a twin thing or being raised together, but Michael was always harder to connect with until recently. We’ve been practicing so much together, he started to take up a bit of space here, “ she patted her chest. “Not enough to fill the void where Max was, but enough that I could tell if he was happy or if he was angry. Strong emotions only came through. Lately it was a lot of anger but he wouldn’t tell me what was going on… “

“And now? Do you feel him now?”

Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. “It’s empty. Blank. Like it was when we kids before he moved back to Roswell. I think he’s still alive, but he feels very far away, or very weak.”

[Alex waits patiently for the call. He thinks this is going to be an exchange of Michael for his dad, until he realizes his dad is not at the long-term care facility any more]

[Round table discussion at Max’s house to figure out what Jesse wants. Isobel finds out more about the shared past of Michael and Alex- and Maria shows up at the end looking for Michael]

“It’s been 2 days, why hasn’t your dad called with his demands? Is he not reading from the classic villain script this time?” Isobel wondered bitterly. “What is with your family, Alex?”

Kyle injected, “We don’t know that Sergant Manes is involved.”

“Don’t we? He disappeared from the nursing home just before Michael was taken. It seems pretty convenient timing to me.”

Alex pressed his fingers under his eyelids to relieve the building pressure. It had been a long two days of nothing after he received the call that the psuedonmyn he had checked his dad in unrder was no longer a patient in the long-term coma ward in Sante Fe. The staff was calling it a miracle that just after a devoted son had prayed at his bedside, he had woken up. Alex knew it was anything but divine intervention to have Jesse awake and free in the world. 

“Isobel is right, this has Dad written all over it. Somehow Flint found out what had happened and woke him up. It’s been two days because I’m guessing he is still weak from the inactivity.”

Liz stirred from her claimed spot on the couch, cracking an eyelid. “What makes you think there’s going to be a demand, Isobel? Manes has what he wants, a new alien to test and torture. If you look at the research side of things, the aliens in Caulfield were all weak and elderly, and Michael’s a healthy 28 year old. Whatever fucked up weapon he was developing might need a younger test subject.”

“Now there’s a comforting thought.” Kyle muttered. 

“I don’t think it’s research. This still feels personal to me. Michael still has an offensive power to defend himself with, the softer target would have been Isobel if he just wanted an alien to grab.”

“Gee, thanks Alex. Come closer and I’ll show you what I’ve been working on and see if you think I’m still a soft target after I turn your skull into crushed bone.”

***

Alex’s fingers were numb, as he pressed in his code to access his Whatsapp account. Waiting in his inbox was an unknown number and a video attachment. He abruptly dropped into the deck chair as the video opened to his worst fear made real.

Michael’s left eye was swollen shut, blood staining from the corner of his forehead, dripping down his cheek bone. His arms were stretched high above his head, disappearing out of frame. His shirt was missing, and there were sluggishly wounds striping over his shoulder and licking across his collar bone. 

The camera turned, Michael blurring out of view. The monster that starred in seventy percent of his nightmares filled the screen. “Hello, Alex. I was hoping to keep you out of this, son, but this creature is being very uncooperative.” 

Off screen, he heard a weak, “Go fuck yourself, Manes. I keep telling you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jesse nodded to someone out of frame, and Michael screamed in agonizing pain. Long hiccuping gasps for air puncuated another softer, “fuck you.”

“Like I said, uncooperative. When we last saw each other, you had something that belonged to me. Jim Valenti stole it from our base, and refused to tell me what he had done with it despite my best efforts at persuading him.” 

Michael cried out again, choking on a soft sob. Alex forced himself to watch, drinking in every detail for his later plans. 

“With N-38 gone, I can’t hurt this thing the same way I did dear old Jim so I’ve had to get creative. Electricity just makes some of them stronger, but good old heat and sharp still work on them. We both know you can break its bones with enough force.” Jesse turned, pointing the camera toward Michael again, focusing on the dangling bare feet. “There are more bones per square inch in the foot, than anywhere else in the body. I am telling you this so you don’t doubt my resolve. This thing is relatively harmless for its kind, and I’m willing to return it to you in more or less good condition, if you bring me what Valenti stole. Let me know what you decide to do.”

The video cut off. 

****

There was an expected role to play, like there always was when Jesse Manes was involved. Once it meant peppering his speech with ‘yes sir’ and ‘sorry sir’ and toning down his clothing in hopes of escaping his fists, and when that proved futile, it went in the opposite direction with makeup, nail polish, and piercings.

For all of his proud talk about the service, his father never served anywhere but stateside. His knowledge of tactical defense and enemy counter measures were likely twenty years of date, and Alex was counting on his father’s pride from keeping him unaware of the technology shift. The set up of the Project Shepherd bunker confirmed that.

He tucked his personal side arm into his thigh holster, securing to his left leg and reached for his secondary weapon to slip into his boot strapped to his prosthetic. The weight of the kevlar and vest registered briefly on his shoulders before it slipped into the blank shroud that had enveloped him as soon as he heard Michael’s cries. Knives and a pair of percussive grenades weighed down each side of his pockets.

A floorboard behind him creaked, his gun cleared the holster before his mind caught up on who would have followed him to his cabin. It was a little concerning that the sound of a vehicle hadn’t registered until now.

“Whoa, don’t shoot.” Kyle lifted his hands, halting abruptly.  He took in the dark clothing, combat hardware and the array of weapons spread on the cabin’s table. “I guess we are going full cliche today, good to know.”

Alex dropped his arm away, resecuring his gun. “Then you know what I’m going to say already.”

“Humor me, then. This is a trap, Alex.”

“I’m well aware.” Alex flipped open a black case and pulled out his phone and laptop. Carefully he pulled out three silver discs, and a pair of jeweler’s glasses. He sat down in the chair, slipping the glasses on to peer down at the discs. “I’m going anyway.”

Kyle sighed, aggrieved. “Well I did promise Guerin if he got his ass kidnapped by the government, I would come to his rescue.”

Alex didn’t look up from his work, pressing a small pin on each disc. “You’re not going with me, Kyle.”

“I know this face is distractingly handsome, but tell me you remember all the time we spent on the range together as kids. I can shoot a gun.” 

“Shooting a paper target is different from shooting at a human being.” Each disc beeped softly, then went silent. He pulled the glasses off with a satisfied smirk, “Besides, I need you to come with the cavalry. These are military grade GPS trackers that I’ve linked to my laptop and my phone. Once my father sees I’m there without the piece of the ship, he’ll take me to Michael so he can teach me a lesson.”

“What makes you think your dad won’t find these trackers?”

“I’m sure he will, but I’ve got a back up plan on that as well. My father has underestimated me my entire life. He thinks I am weak, that my emotions and desires cloud my judgment. He’s going to see he was wrong.”

“Alex.” Kyle hesitated, struggling for a moment before taking a seat at the table. He gently laid his hand on Alex’s wrist, stilling the other man. “We all want Guerin back safe but I want you to consider for a moment that your father is right, that your emotions are clouding your judgment. Because what I’m seeing right now is kind of freaking me out, dude. You’re dressed from head to toe in black ops murder gear with GPS trackers, which I didn’t even know you could buy, talking about going in alone, guns blazing, against your dad.”

“I got them on Ebay.”

“That’s what you’re choosing to focus on?”

“What are my other options, Kyle? He’s got Michael. He’s had him for two days, and there is exactly zero chance he doesn’t want both the UFO fragment and Michael.” Alex wrenched his hand away,. He inhaled deeply and pushed down the swell of thoughts of what had already happened to Michael in two days.

“I agree, but back when I laid him out with barbiturates in our bunker, you and I had a discussion about killing him. I seem to remember we decided against that.”

“No, Kyle, you decided against it and I went along with it. Which was clearly a mistake. This has been a long time coming, okay? He brought this on himself when he took Michael.”

“I knew there was no talking you out of this. I just don’t want you to do this alone.”

* * * 

The lights were all on at the formerly known as Evans-Bracken residence, now just Evans. 

“You look like you’re ready to storm the castle.” Isobel commented, before pushing the door open and turning back into the house. “I still haven’t felt anything from Michael. He could be dead, and all of this would be pointless.”

Alex winced and acknowledged the point before pushing the thought down. “He’s not dead.”

“How do you know? Your so-called cosmic connection?” She sipped from the glass in her hand, the scent of chemicals wafted to him. It was clearly not water.

Gently he wrapped his fingers around her hand, guiding the glass away before resting it on the table next to him. “Maybe, but in reality, if he was dead, my father would have taken someone else as leverage and he would have taunted me with my failure to protect Michael.”

****

[ So as you can see it needs a massive rewrite to fix my characterization- but I still like the plot of Jesse taking Michael for the ship piece- especially since the show fumbled on this so badly in 2x10-2x11. ]

[quarterfromcanon]

#afewofmyfavoritethings

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 17 - Cold [2,838 words]

“Um... guys? You might wanna come take a look at this.” 

The cushion of the sofa dipped beside Heather when Valencia joined her at the window. Paula and Rebecca leaned over the armrests and pulled back the lace curtains. The group gazed through the frosted pane at the rolling hills that had transformed into a wintry world overnight. 

Rebecca squealed. “It’s even better than I expected! I know the weather called for snow but look at all that!” Her nose bumped the glass as she craned to take everything in, and she pulled away from the frigid contact. “Oh, it’s so much prettier when there aren’t cabs driving through it and city grime isn’t turning the drifts all gray and gross. The view from my mom’s house was okay, but nothing like this.” She sighed. “Well, ladies, I think you know what this means.”

“Photo sesh?” Valencia shifted to access the phone in the pocket of her space onesie.

“Snowman contest?” Paula rubbed her hands together. She grinned in the dangerous way that told them all they were toast before construction even began.

“Sledding?” Heather suggested. She dropped to a seated position and leaned against Valencia’s biceps.

“Okay, yes to all of that,” Rebecca pointed at each of them in acknowledgement. “But for the grand finale...,” she paused for dramatic effect and shimmied, “... snowball fight!”

“Oh boy,” Heather murmured. She watched the competitive gleam ignite behind the eyes of the other three women. “This is gonna be a bloodbath.” 

They broke off in separate directions. Paula wandered down the hall to wake Scott and Tommy; Rebecca went to the loft for the end of Nathaniel’s morning exercise routine, and Heather and Valencia headed back to their room to change clothes.

Scott cooked them all breakfast beforehand -- a task which, to be fair, was no small undertaking given conflicting dietary preferences. Paula sat perched on a stool nearby, ready to intervene in the event of a crisis. However, Scott made it through the endeavor with minimal profanity and only one fleeting incident involving his apron and an open flame. The end result was an admirable improvement over the quality of his culinary skills several years ago. Strategic seasoning masked any mildly crispy edges.

“He’s getting better,” Paula noted quietly to the girls. She crossed the floor and give him a peck on the cheek. “Good job, babe.”

Scott beamed.

Once everybody was fed, fully dressed in adequate layers, and equipped with tissues for runny noses, they trooped out of the rented cabin and into the frozen landscape. The photo session came first while the neatness of everyone’s ensemble remained intact. It was agreed that Nathaniel, Scott, and Tommy could be spared on-camera participation in exchange for behind-the-scenes help getting the perfect shots. This entailed holding back tree branches that cast unwanted shadows, standing side-by-side to block glaring sunlight, and tossing gloves full of flakes into the sky so the Gurl Group would appear to be caught in the middle of heavy snowfall. The edited results were approved by all parties featured, and Paula goaded their assistants into a single commemorative picture with their mitten thumbs raised and semi-forced cheerful faces.

Snow angels met with more unanimous enthusiasm. Rebecca and Heather stood beside one another, shared a glance and a nod, then dropped backward as if they were letting themselves fall into a pool. Scott and Tommy gave each other teasing kicks with their boots every time they slid their legs in a broad chevron. Paula observed the father-son bonding from a short distance away while she made her own outline of a spiritual being. Nathaniel’s and Valencia’s approach to the activity was significantly more tentative and involved a great deal more grimacing. Once they got settled, however, they began to embrace the fun. Nathaniel’s long limbs produced very impressive wings and a flowing skirt. Valencia’s angel gave the impression of a certain grace despite the fact that her main goal seemed to be brushing Heather’s gloves with her own on each upward stroke of her arms. 

They divided into teams for the snowman contest. An hour was the chosen allotment for their creations to take shape. Additional materials were both allowed and encouraged, which caused the subsequent flurry of activity to be particularly chaotic. Their shouts echoed over the treetops. Friends narrowly escaped collisions while running and stumbling over the soft ground. 

Rebecca and Nathaniel constructed a suitably scrawny Harry Potter. He was equipped with green M&M eyes, a red licorice lightning bolt scar, a broom from the kitchen pantry, and Rebecca’s scarlet and gold scarf. Surprising absolutely no one, building the beloved protagonist led to a steady stream of magic-related innuendo spoken in undertones, the extremity of which ultimately prompted Rebecca to cover the boy wizard’s nonexistent ears. “Oh my god, contain yourself. There’s a child present.”

Heather and Valencia rendered extra roly-poly versions of their cats, Shadow and Esperanza, with stick whiskers and playfully curled tails. Esperanza had her signature queenly bearing and expression, while Shadow’s gravel eyes were upturned in pure adoration. Heather tracked down a couple of decorative glue yarn balls and wedged them beneath their pets’ paws. 

Team Proctor reached football-game-at-a-bar levels of raucousness as they worked on their entry. The Peeps for Peace t-shirt Paula slept in the night before got tugged onto their snowman’s body. They balanced a few thin logs of firewood on its shoulder and secured a hammer from Scott’s toolbox in its hand. Tommy drew a lackadaisical smirk on the snowman’s face and styled straw for the hair. When their efforts were complete, a Snow Brendan stood before them, built to scale and adorned with a heroic blanket cape.

“I wanna cry foul for emotional manipulation,” Rebecca confided to Valencia afterward, “but it’s just, like, so cute I can’t even get mad.” Valencia begrudgingly inclined her head in agreement.

To her credit, Paula managed to blink back her tears and genuinely smile for the photo they saved to send real-life Brendan later, informing him of his role in the family’s success.

The prospect of voting on hills for sledding was too daunting, so the group settled for the first drop-off they found. The guys were extended the offer to go first, due to the limited number of sleds in their possession, and they gladly accepted the chance. Nathaniel shifted from one foot to the other and brought his palms together in a muffled clap. 

“This is a race, right? There’ll be a winner?” 

Heather thumped her hand against his jacket with an indulgent shrug. “Sure, bud.” 

Nathaniel pumped his fist in the air. “Yes!” 

Scott and Tommy exchanged looks. Paula, Rebecca, Valencia, and Heather all clung to each other for support and made their way down the slope to help verify who reached the bottom first. 

“Good luck, honey!” Paula called. 

“Channel that Slytherin energy!” Rebecca paced like a coach. 

Heather nudged Valencia’s arm and angled her head. Valencia’s brow furrowed but then, following the line of sight, she got the hint.

“C’mon, Tommy!” she whooped. 

“Yeah, Tommy, you’ve got this!” Heather chimed in with her fist held high. Tommy’s chest puffed out and he readjusted his grip on the plastic toboggan.

Paula grabbed a fallen branch and dragged it through the snow to delineate the end of the path. The four judges shouted the starting cue in unison -- almost. “On your mark, get set, go!”

Scott’s style of descent was traditional but effective. Tommy barreled down the hillside on his stomach. Nathaniel’s technique reminded Heather of the luge participants from the Winter Olympics, unwavering serious features and all. Tommy and Nathaniel were neck and neck for at least three-fourths of the race but, in the home stretch, Tommy’s lean frame made him just enough faster to cross the finish line mere seconds before Nathaniel did so. 

Nathaniel was clearly frustrated by the loss but, the minute he saw Tommy’s broad grin, the irritability visible in his brow and jaw smoothed into nonexistence. He lifted his chin and approached his competitor for a congratulatory shake. “Well done, Proctor. Excellent form.”

Tommy’s eyebrows quirked at the odd formality. He clasped Nathaniel’s hand and brought him in for a couple of genial slaps on the arm. “Thanks, man.”

The girls reluctantly ascended to the crest of the rise for their turns -- an arduous journey with an entire chorus of grumbling and winded breathing. The uppermost layer of snow caved beneath Valencia’s boot and she yelped, but Heather caught her elbow and prevented the fall. 

“My hero.” Valencia secured her forearm over Heather’s to prevent a second slip.

“Full disclosure, I would’ve laughed my ass off if you slid back down the entire hill when we were this close to the top, but I also knew you’d be really pissed, so...” 

“You’re not wrong.”

Heather chuckled and hip-checked Valencia, but not hard enough to throw off their matching stride.

They arrived at their destination with a collective relieved exhale. Paula and Heather set up their respective sleds. Rebecca clambered behind Paula and held onto her shoulder blades. “Take us home, Mama!” 

Heather fronted the second toboggan while Valencia surrounded her in a tangle of limbs. “We’ve got this in the bag,” Valencia declared with confidence. 

“I mean, totally, but what makes you so sure?” Heather asked.

“Because, if you get us there first, I’ll --” Valencia noticed Paula’s and Rebecca’s attention on her. She cupped Heather’s ear and whispered the rest of her incentive for so long that Paula pretended to check an invisible watch. 

Heather’s eyebrows disappeared beneath her beanie. “Well, shit.”

“Ah, damn it,” Paula lamented.

“She promised her NC-17 stuff,” Rebecca seconded with a pout. “Now we’re really gonna have to pull out all the stops to beat them.”

Though it was not for lack of trying -- including an unsportsmanlike sideswipe midway down the incline (“Craterface ’em, Paula! It’s our only hope!”) -- they reached the bottom of the hill a heartbeat after Heather’s triumphant first place achievement. Valencia covered the side of Heather’s face in a barrage of kisses.

“Yeah, all right.” Paula fished out her camera. “Get over here so we can take a picture of our three winners, ya horny monsters.”

Valencia and Heather posed on either side of Tommy for the photo. Heather affectionately ruffled the boy’s hair and the pink in Tommy’s cheeks deepened to a bright red.

The only event that remained was the snowball fight, and its onset sparked an immediate change in atmosphere. Much like Heather predicted, no one showed any signs of restraint over their hunger for victory. They crafted forts in near silence, already coiled for the siege. Direct hits qualified as ‘out’ while a graze with a snowball meant a one minute pause behind the player’s designated barrier. Teams were the same as the divide during the building contest.

Tension rose while everyone hunkered down and waited for the first throw. 

“We probably should’ve figured this part out before --” Heather remarked, but her words were drowned out by Rebecca’s battle cry.

“UNLEASH HELL!”

Heather crouched low. “Here we go...”

The cloudless sky was blurred by a torrent of tightly packed spheres. 

“Trebuchet!” Tommy boomed.

Heather’s and Valencia’s fortress stood firm but the sound of multiple piffs of impact reached their ears even over all the yelling.

Things went eerily quiet after that. Heather peered over the wall. “The Proctors are entering No Man’s Land.”

Valencia peeked around the side. “Rebecca’s walking out to meet them. Nathaniel’s spotting her.”

What followed was a rather comedic standoff in which Rebecca lost her nerve after meeting Paula’s determined gaze and took off screaming. She zigzagged as per Nathaniel’s frantic advice and barely evaded being struck at least half a dozen times. Nathaniel’s tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth and he wiped out Tommy with a snowball square in the middle of his back. Tommy swore colorfully but accepted his fate. 

Seeing an opportunity as the chase neared their station, Heather aimed a round of icy ammo at Scott’s chest and made a hit. 

Rebecca’s panic became a single, loud “AAAAAAAAAH” before she lobbed a ball over her shoulder without warning and somehow pelted her best friend in the face. 

Paula’s vocabulary surpassed even Tommy’s creativity - like mother, like son. Rebecca apologized profusely and supplied her scarf for a towel. When Paula wiped the snow away, she cast a glance around and realized which players remained. “Ohoho, it almost makes it worth it just to watch this,” she cackled darkly.

“Bring it on, Plimpton.” Valencia tensed with a murderous scowl. Nathaniel rose to his feet.

Their other opponent veered toward the encampment, and Heather planted herself between Rebecca and Valencia.

“You and me, Davis,” Rebecca challenged. “Moi et toi. I’m unstoppable now!” 

Heather darted forward without hesitation. Rebecca had to swerve to avoid the attack. Valencia hurled a snowball with all her might and then ran full-tilt in search of a better location to strategize. 

Rebecca and Heather wound up traversing uneven soil and tripped simultaneously. From that point on, they were both too busy giggling to pursue each other in earnest. They faked left and right and jogged in circles. When they found themselves face-to-face again, they reached the unspoken decision that enough was enough. Heather separated her snowball into two, one for each hand, and Rebecca held her arm at the ready. Rebecca’s fingers whacked against Heather’s side while Heather sandwiched Rebecca’s face between both palms. They erupted in uncontrollable laughter and hugged.

“Oh, come on!” Paula groused from her seat on the cabin steps. “Where’s the carnage?”

Scott tapped her knee and pointed to the far side of the clearing. “I think that might be coming up.”

Valencia wove through a copse of trees. She held her coat in a cup formation stuffed with snowballs that were perilously close to leaving the makeshift pouch. Her arm windmilled every so often with remarkable force, leaving her tracker to dodge the sudden breeze past his ears. Nathaniel paced himself with an armload of ready-made orbs condensed for swift delivery. Those he let loose tumbled to the earth or broke against bark on the trunks. Nothing found its mark.

“Make a stand and take your shot, V!” Heather projected the command to carry across the distance between them. 

“Yeah, avenge your lady!” Tommy added from the porch railing.

The adversaries returned to the middle of the playing space and paused to catch their breath. 

“Yoga and spinning are non-confrontational,” Valencia panted. “This is seriously not my area of expertise.”

“Follow your gut,” Paula recommended, although her tone and premature wince indicated that she was not optimistic about the outcome.

Nathaniel wound back his arm. Valencia did as her friend told her and took action on instinct. She launched herself at an angle, shoes-first, to glide past Nathaniel’s feet. He adjusted the throw and caught her on the clavicle. Her snowball flew back at a curve and nailed the small of his spine.

The assembled companions reacted as one with exclamations and applause. Nathaniel held out a hand for Valencia. She stood without assistance and shook the outstretched palm. 

“Good game?” Nathaniel said cautiously.

Valencia bared her teeth in a terrifying smile. “Prepárate, gigante. Próxima vez, peleamos en mis términos.”

Nathaniel gave a respectful nod. “Comprendo.”

They returned to the warmth of the cabin, exhausted but happy. Rebecca helped Nathaniel remove his silver and green scarf and they commandeered the coziest couch in front of the fireplace. Paula went in search of extra towels and blankets while her husband and son retreated to the bathroom to drape their wet winter gear over the tub. Heather and Valencia walked to their bedroom and the waiting comfy clothes in their luggage.

“Oh my God, my thighs are like a fire engine,” Valencia announced as she sat on the bed. Heather knelt and rubbed the numb skin until the friction started to drive the discoloration away. She received thanks in the form of a grateful nuzzle before Valencia crossed the room to find the fluffiest pajamas available.

While Heather tugged on a sweater and sweatpants, Valencia rolled up an already used pair of leggings and crammed them against the crack below the door.

“What are you up to over there?” Heather inquired without facing her.

“Soundproofing.” Valencia twisted the lock with a click.

Heather climbed into bed and turned down the other side to make space for Valencia. “That’s thoughtful of you.”

“Mm, I figured the others might appreciate it.”

“I’m sure they do.”

Valencia wriggled under the comforter and pulled Heather toward her. “We’ve got at least an hour before dinner’s ready.”

Heather inched Valencia’s shirt collar aside gradually and trailed kisses all the way to her shoulder. “Are you sure that’ll be enough time?” 

“Maybe.” Valencia maneuvered by degrees until Heather was horizontal against the mattress. She tugged Heather’s earlobe with her teeth and wrapped one leg around her waist. “If we start right now.”

[meliecho]

Hearts and Heroes: One Shot - chpt: 10 - A Second Chance

The final chapter. (There may be an epilogue. This is 69 pages on my open office document, and I am so freaking proud of myself for that beautiful accident.)

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Summary: An old teammate makes an appearance. Sun wakes up and learns what Blue’s team did to save her life. She’s given a second chance, and Mark realizes that in saving her, he’s given himself a second chance.

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The Markihub – same night…

The portal opened in a colorful swirl of energy just ahead of the back wall behind the stage. 2 teams of 4 stepped out onto the stone floor and heaved collective sighs of relief. One of the older guys with dark blue eyes and gifted with an athletic-yet-trim 6’ tall frame carried the rescued mission target on his back.

A short girl who looked to be about 16 years old with cropped curly brown hair and wearing a dirty white dress rested her head against his shoulder at the fringe of his shaggy chestnut colored hair. The leaves speckling her locks, and the dirt smudges on her clothes and skin suggested her nightmare took place in a forest setting.

The two teams thanked each other for the help, and went to restock their supplies and to take care of injuries. The leader of team 1 adjusted his square black framed glasses and carried the mission target to the infirmary.

A few passerby in the hallway give him a warm 'welcome back,' which he returned. They were also other oldies to dream rescues. The hub still looked like a barely-populated NPC village. He knew time zones were a thing, and if kept track of time right, the USA west coast should be starting to rouse.

People were gradually finding their way back from the hubs of other various personalities peoples’ hearts followed, but it still saddened him to see the place he'd called a second home speckled with small holes in the surfaces, and cracks spidering along the walls. He, himself, had only found his way back three weeks ago. He knew something was wrong when he couldn’t access the hub, so he did what many of the oldies did: helped coordinate people of this hub who’d been sent to others. It sucked that he couldn’t remember much when he woke up.

Whatever had hit Mark had done enough damage to leave this place in derelict condition. Even after a month and a half, it was still in the process of repairs.

And that meant so was Mark.

He had faith that the leader of his home hub would come back even stronger from whatever it was that took him down. He was sorry he hadn't been there to help, but at least he knew who was.

He laid the rescued girl on the bed next to Blue, who continued to stare at the ceiling. “S'up, Blue?”

“You're mom.”

“Sass game: strong.”

“Always.”

“Good.”

She didn’t want to leave until her team had awakened. So far, Purple and Jade were the only two to return to the waking world. She watched Red’s body disappear in a rush of blue light as he woke up. Good. Now all that remained were Peach and Mark.

She also wanted to make sure Sun would be ok. She understood Mark's need to save her more than ever, now. Had that been Teal, she'd have been in Mark's place, gladly giving whatever she could to save her life.

But now they were home, recovering, and everything would be ok.

Tim bobbled over and hopped up to treat the wounded girl.

The one who’d brought her in moved across the aisle to where Mark sat watching over a girl in a blue hoodie and red scarf.

He tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Hey, nerd.”

Mark finally moved for the first time since the energy transfer ended –not because he was upset, or moody, but because he was drained, dead-exhausted, and really didn’t have the strength to do more than breathe. “Hey.”

“Whoa. You look like shit.”

“Nice to see you, too, Nate.” Mark stretched.

“What used you as a pinata? I haven't seen you this beat up from a mission in forever.”

“It was...involved. You’re up in Vancouver for that thing right now, right? Shouldn’t you be awake?”

Nathan shrugged. “Eh. I woke up once already to pee and fell back asleep to finish the mission. We just got back.”

“How’d it go?”

“We got her,” he glanced across the aisle. “Rescued her from a survival game called 'The Forest'. We found our mission target hiding in a tree house from Terrorlings who looked like cannibals.” The bed springs creaked as he sat next to his friend. “Her name is Liz. She’s just a kid, but she’s a fighter. I think she’ll be able to do some good here once she finds her bearings. I already know who should be here when she recovers to show her around. Marly could use someone else on her team. She has 7, but 8 is a good number.”

Mark nodded and turned lazily back to watching Sun. “Good. Yeah. Marly. Good call. She's a solid leader.”

“What, no witty retort?” When he received no reply, his eyes moved from the girl to him and back, and the tenor of his voice turned more sympathetic. “Was it really that bad?”

Mark exhaled and worried his face. “Yeah. She, uh...” He didn't want to bring up the lost teammate's name, or invoke that memory. Sun's nightmare came too close to being a repeat experience.

Nate’s chest clenched from a shot of dread when he noticed his friend’s dim hero mark. “Dude, your heartlight…” he swiveled quickly toward the other row of beds across the aisle. “Tim!” He called over to the little box.

“Calm your tits, Mom. Tim already got to me. I’m recovering before I leave.”

His friend settled down. “Yeah, it’s just…call me paranoid, ok? What the hell happened to you, anyway? You look…no joke, man, you look terrible.”

“It’s a long story,” Mark muttered.

“You're being avoid-y. I don't like it when you do that.”

“I just don't want to talk about it right now, k?”

“Fair enough.” He pursed his lips. Something had transpired between him and this girl—perhaps his mission target—that brought up painful reminders that only existed here in the dream world. He was thankful most memories of this world left him and the others alone while awake. He cleared his throat and tried to lighten the mood. “She’s kind of cute. I bet she has a cute laugh. I wonder if she’s single…” he rubbed his chin.

A light snort left Mark. That was just like this friend, the womanizing ladies man. He wanted to tell him that this girl carried a Somni that could bust his balls, but he wasn’t in the mood to explain anything now, even if it was to an old teammate. “Just go wake up, ya bastard.” He lost the mirth. “I’ll explain everything later.”

He watched as a girl in a peach colored hijab on a bed in the row ahead of them returned to the waking world. “Was your entire team in here?”

Mark nodded.

“Damn. Maybe you guys should take tonight off.”

He shook his head. “I know my team.”

“Yeah. It sounds like you do,” Nathan smirked and squeezed his friend’s shoulder in support and reassurance. “Take care of yourself, pal.”

His friend left the infirmary and disappeared back to the waking world.

Mark exhaled. Once more, he was alone –save for Blue, whom he knew would stay until he disappeared back to physicality. He’d do the same; in fact he was doing just that. Call it a curse of the Team Leader. As hub leader, he never lost that habit.

He remained as a guard over Sun for the next ten minutes. She would crack open her eyes occasionally, then close them. Tim had explained that her spirit was adjusting to the massive amount of life energy within her. It had to settle down and join her own, but he didn’t know how long it would take since that particular method of saving someone had never been applied before.

Blue's, Red's, Purple's, Peach's, Jade's, and his life energy were all a part of her, now.

A soft repetitive sound tickled his ears and his vision began to fade. He recognized it instantly as the one thing that could override his willpower: the ringtone set as his alarm to go off at 8am.

The sound grew louder. He saw Sun’s eyes open again and tilt toward him just as his world faded out. “I’ll come back,” he whispered.

And then he woke up.

Their mission lasted the entire night.

* * * *

The Infirmary – around 10pm PST the next night…

The din of the infirmary reached her ears. She heard footsteps as the rare person walked by along with the tell-tale thump thump thump of Tiny Box Tim's hopping motion in a doppler effect.

She inhaled the sweet, faint aroma of flowers. It smelled like lavender. That was always a scent that soothed her. She didn't know if it was real or sense memory tricking her. Either way, she enjoyed it. It smelled so nice.

She remembered being taken from the tower through a portal that looked like someone swirled colored dye with oil in water, and then the rush of people moving swiftly around her as she was carried through a large room into one with multiple beds. Everything was a blur of faces, emotions, and then darkness.

Hear heart slowed. The pink light at her sleeve faded away. For a very brief moment, she heard a high-pitched mechanical beep like from medical monitoring equipment, followed by an unfamiliar woman's voice so quiet, she could have imagined it; 'We're losing her. Call the doctor!'

However, something stronger replaced it.

It pulled her out of the void back to her body, and she felt the pink energy pulse through her, igniting the heartlight. It pulled her into it and surrounded her.

The stranger's distant voice returned; 'She's stabilizing? How?' another spoke; 'I don't know, but thank god.'

It faded out of her hearing just as quickly as it came.

Five new colors joined it. The new torrent of energy refused to let her go. It contained familiar voices, images, and the presence of people she knew that formed phantoms within the void; it was the team that saved her.

She'd heard them, and made a promise to them and to herself to live.

All six colors of energy braided through her so tightly, it became hers. The first and last of it, a steady stream of pink iridescence, tied it all together.

Shadow retreated and stayed quiet, locked away.

After running forever, she could finally rest.

She existed within that cocoon where time had no meaning, and dreamed within her dream. Images of places that felt familiar flashed through her mind long enough for her to process what they were, but not enough to be identified as specific locations: the ocean, the setting sun, a Ferris wheel, a city. The team was with her. They were there, all of them, and she was happy.

The sounds of shifting fabric nearby urged her to pay attention. The greater fraction of her made of the pink energy flashed for no longer than an eye blink, and for some reason, she knew she didn't have to worry about who'd just arrived. In fact, she was curious to see whom that energy belonged to. Her perception of those colors dissipated and she was left with the darkness of the backs of her eyelids.

Sun opened her eyes and blinked to bring a languidly revolving ceiling fan into focus. She sat up slowly. There were beds in a row ahead of her, and a 'Keep Calm' kitty poster on the wall. A few cracks adorned the smooth surfaces, like this room had gone through an earthquake, and someone was in the process of filling all the breaks with plaster. An empty bed next to the wall set to her right, and to her left sat the most familiar person in her dream world life, and the source of that pink energy.

She blinked. “Mark?” Her voice—like herself—felt raw.

Mark sat on the bed with his hands clasped between his knees and smiled. “Welcome back, Sun.”

She looked around. “Where am I?”

“Home. You're in the infirmary of the Markihub.”

She regarded him curiously, “What’s a Markihub?”

“It's,” he searched for the right words, “Like a safe zone. It's our HQ.”

“Oh,” she rubbed a warm point just below her clavicle, but paused and took the end of the red scarf in hand. “I guess everything was real after all.”

He nodded. “Yup. Extremely. How are you feeling?”

She ran a quick mental check of her senses. “A little tired, numb, kinda cold, and eviscerated. And confused.”

“That sounds about right.” He knew what she was suffering through right now without any further explanation. “It'll hurt for a while. You basically ripped open a wound and dumped rubbing alcohol on it. You're going to feel like you have no skin for a few days.”

She shuddered. “Because of Shadow?”

He nodded. “You're going to feel it clawing at your psyche. It damaged you pretty good, but you've got it under control. Believe it or not, you won. It might not feel like it, but you did. You'll be ok, though. You'll figure out which voice is yours and which is hers.”

“How?”

“I'll help you.”

Her head bobbled lightly in acceptance. “How long have you been here?”

“I just got back. It's technically night, at least where I am.” He scratched at his hair. “You remember what I told you, right? About you being in a coma?”

She took a deep breath. She felt alive, like this was her body, and it wasn't lying in a hospital somewhere on life support. “Yeah, I remember. I remember everything from the past year, but still nothing before it.”

“Give it time.”

Sun recalled his face whenever she'd open her eyes after the others had gone. He'd stayed within her line of sight. He'd said he'd come back, so that must have been when he woke up. She'd believed him.

“Ya know what was weird? My wrist hurt the entire day. I had to wear that damn brace the whole time.”

“From when Shadow grabbed you?”

“Yup.”

Her gaze dropped to her hands in her lap. “I sorry I couldn't stop her. I tried, but I wasn't strong enough. She had full control and all I could do was watch as she forced me to hurt you and I hated it. I felt so helpless and terrified. I didn’t want to hurt any of you guys. I kept screaming at her to stop, but...”

“That's not your fault. Believe me, I know how hard it is to fight that thing.”

She looked back at him, into his sincere expression, and knew he told the truth. She now had someone on the sidelines that she could look to, see him nod, and know he understood. He was perhaps the only one who did.

“I mean,” he continued, “this isn't the first time I've felt the after effects of a difficult mission, but it was up there in ‘pain-in-the-ass’ annoyance.”

She tried to stand up, but lost her balance and braced herself against the bed. The new energy left her stronger than before, but it wasn't native to her, so she had to compensate. She felt light headed.

“Easy. You should take it slow for a while.”

Her legs felt heavy, but she forced them to work anyway. The more steps she took, the simpler control became. To her relief, Shadow stayed locked behind her wall. Sun's body was hers again without interference.

She moved up the aisle to the middle of the waiting area.

Mark walked casually behind her, hands in his pockets.

A couple of people entered the infirmary, making her step aside to give them room. One of them limped as their friend helped them sit on the bed Mark just vacated.

A high-pitched, small voice caught her attention from the floor at her feet. “Hi, Sun!”

Sun looked down at her sneakers to a small wooden box with a smiling face, big blue eyes, and skinny arms sticking out from the sides. It waved at her. She stepped back almost into Mark. “Y-you're a tiny box.”

“Yup, I am,” Tim's grin remained.

“And you're talking,” She blinked.

“Sometimes you can't get him to shut up,” Mark joked.

“Hey,” Tim looked up at his friend, “You have no room to talk.”

He held up one hand. “I...pfffft....whatever, blah blah, Tim, blah blah.”

She crouched down on one knee to get a better look at the little animated guy. “I haven't seen anything like you before.”

Mark shifted to his other foot. “You don't know who he is?”

Sun shook her head. “No idea.”

“And you don’t know who I am at all?”

She shook her head, ashamed at the feeling that she should implied by his question. “Sorry.”

“Nah, nothing to be sorry for. I'm just a guy.” He felt a swell of relief. Sun had accepted him for who he was not based on any previous knowledge of his public life. He realized the only 'Mark' that she knew was the one she met here. He wondered if that would change if her memory came back. It surprised him that a small part of him didn't want it to.

That eased her concern. “So, where’d you find him? Out there somewhere?”

“Oh, I came from Mark,” Tim stated calmly. “I'm a Somni. My job is to heal the heroes who come back from missions, like you guys.”

Sun's face snapped to instant fear and she fell backward. “A Somni?!” She scooted back on her hands until she hit the wall, and held up her right forearm in defense, suddenly wary of this adorable box boy.

Tim pouted and reached out. “No, I’m not like that.”

Mark knelt down to scoop up the little box in his hands. “You don't have to worry about Tim. He's one of three Somni here, but he's not like Shadow, or—“

“Or that giant jerk, Dark,” Tim growled.

“…Or that giant jerk, Dark,” Mark accepted that answer. Why not? Seemed accurate enough.

“He knows about Shadow?” Her hand covered her mouth in embarrassment. “Oh no.” She stood and flopped down in the nearest seats.

He sat next to her. “Listen. If there's anyone in this place you can trust, it's Tim. Your secret's safe with him.”

“That's right,” Tim saluted and smiled.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” he assured her.

“Well, I trust you, so,” Sun reached out and flinched a little when Tim took hold of her hand. “I guess he is pretty cute.”

The little box blushed, “Ah, jeeze, Sun. Thanks.” He hopped back to the floor. “I wouldn't recommend you leave the hub yet. It took a lot to bring you back. Healing from that and from a Demonling possession won't happen over night.”

“What do you mean by that?” She asked.

Mark found his shoes to be more interesting at that moment. “He means you were kind of...almost damned close to...well, dead.” He noticed her surprise and continued before she could blurt anything out. He kept his voice low. “We had to pull some drastic measures to save you, and it worked, and here you are. So...Yay.”

“What he's trying to say is that they gave you their life energy. Yours was pretty much gone. They saved your life by replacing it with theirs,” Tim clarified.

“We didn't even know if it would work, but we're all glad it did.”

Her eyes widened. So, she hadn't imagined it. What she'd felt truly was them. “How...” she cleared her throat. “How much of me was left?”

Tim answered softly. “From what I could tell, about 5%.”

Shock at her almost-reality zapped through her. “5%?” she whispered. “Then I really was... And everything else isn't me. It's...”

Tim gave her a 'no' motion. “No, it's yours now. Captain Overkill, here, and the others gave you a ton. You just have to wait for it to settle down. This hasn't been done before, so whatever happens from now on that you don't understand, you can talk to me about it. I'm here for you, Sun.”

Mark rubbed at his eyebrow, not able to look her in the eye. She was quiet, and when he did turn to lock eyes with her, he saw disbelief, and confusion, but mostly gratefulness. She recognized what they had given her. She was still stuck in a coma, but alive because of them.

Oddly enough, he felt that connection, as well as the sense of the Somni within her. Now that Shadow and Dark has interacted...ish...that part of him could tell it was there the same way Shadow detected Dark at the Glen when they'd found her. 

He cleared his throat. “That was a bitch to do, let me tell ya. Don't want to do that again.”

“A-are you ok from that?” She still couldn't believe it. “It sounds super serious.”

Tim interrupted the awkward moment. “I checked Mark when he got here. He's not at full power yet, but he's fine—up to about 65%.

“69. Don't sugar coat it for her.”

“The others should be ok, too. It'll probably take a couple of days for everyone to get back up to 100, so don't worry about them.”

He stretched. “Felt like 30 when I woke up.”

Tim poked him in the shin. “I had to tell you to stop.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know.”

Sun leaned forward, trying to come to terms with the fact that only 5% of her own life energy remained.

“Well, I gotta patch up some heroes, so I'll see you later,” Tim waved. “Good luck out there!”

She watched him bobble down the aisle to help with the two who'd walked in moments ago.

Mark stood. “I need to get going, too. The team should be here soon and we need to prep for the next mission.”

She looked up, worried. “You're going back out there already? Those things are out there, and Tim said—”

“Hey, no life draining procedure ever stopped me from doing something that's potentially stupid.”

His humor reached her and she smiled slightly. “That made no sense. Are you sure you're ok?”

“This is nothing kicking some Terrorling ass won't fix.” He shrugged. “If you're up to it, you should explore the hub,” he offered. “But I’d steer clear of the Weaponry for a while, if I were you.”

“Why? What's wrong with the Weaponry?”

“It's not so much what’s wrong with the place as it is the guy,” he dragged the last syllable out to emphasize the instability of Wilford. “Look, just trust me, ok? If you see a guy with a pink mustache, do not approach. In fact, come back to the infirmary. He doesn't like it in here.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“Eh,” he pitched up his voice and it cracked, “To a degree, but he won't hurt anybody here. I made sure of that.”

“Oh-kay...” That wasn't very reassuring. She got to her feet. “Hey, when you see your team, please tell them I said thank you.”

“Nope,” he said. “They'll want to see you before we head out. You can tell them yourself.”

That sounded reasonable, and more preferable. She wanted to see them again, too.

He opened the door.

“Mark?”

He paused in the threshold to look back.

“I know who you are.”

He paused with that knot of concern in his chest. Shadow has said his voice was the last one she heard before she fell into her coma. Maybe her memory had started to return. The possibility of her perception of him changing due to his profession gave him a twinge of loss.

“You’re the one who called me back. When Shadow had full control, I heard you. I held onto that. So, …you’re…you're a…friend.” This man was no longer just a random stranger she came across in this world. She felt comfortable around him. He was important to her. After everything he'd gone through to save her, she thought he should at least know that much.

For the first time since they'd found her in the dream world, he saw her smile genuinely and completely. It brightened her spirit, and poured into the depths of her words that only a feeling could convey. He picked up on all of it. A thousand pages would never be enough.

“Thank you.”

He returned it in kind. “You're welcome.”

Sun watched him leave and exhaled.

She walked up to stand in front of the ‘Keep Calm’ kitty poster. “Now what?” she whispered to the adorable kitten in its scuba suit and clear round helmet. It gave a thousand-mile happy stare as an answer.

A few veins of cracks etched into the walls from beneath the poster. She'd noticed there were random areas like this all over the room. A couple of larger ones, some medium breaks, but mostly hairline fractures in clusters, or alone in jagged lightning strike lines. She touched the edge of a crack near the poster, and jerked her hand back when it suddenly sutured itself together. The damage healed completely. “Whoa.” She was pretty sure she’d never witnessed a building self-repair.

She felt like she was suddenly inside a massive creature that went through a gruesome battle and was slowly regenerating from getting its ass kicked. Was this another aspect of the dream world?

Shadow’s whispers—her negativity—tried to surface, but she shut her eyes against it and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering from an internal cold. She had 7 reasons to fight it, now, even if she didn’t really know what she was doing yet.

“Sun!” An exuberant squeal of delight resounded through the room.

Sun turned around just as Purple dashed down the center aisle and glomped her in a tight hug. The force of the hug-attack made her stumble back, but neither of them fell. “Wuh.”

“You’re awake and you’re ok!” Purple’s cheek squished against the scarf.

“Purple?” She recognized her, even though they hadn’t had a conversation before. Whether that familiarity was due to the mix of energy gradually becoming hers or not, she accepted it. This little girl with two-toned colored hair was part of the team that saved her. She'd bravely fought the horde of Terrorlings that Shadow summoned to take down the group. Though small, she was definitely not powerless. She was precious. Sun hugged her back. “Purple.”

“We were so scared. You fought so hard, and we went through all that, and we were scared to lose you, and... I’m so happy you’re ok!” A tear of elation slipped down her cheek.

“I’m up, aren’t I?” She held on tightly. “It’s because of you. Thank you, Purple.”

Purple’s grin reached ear to ear and she smooshed her face harder into the fabric. She wasn't useless, and now she knew she had saved a life, and that life mattered to her.

“Sheesh, Purple, don’t put her back in the hospital bed,” a taller boy in a beanie and warm hued flannel strolled over with his hands lazily in his jeans pockets. “As soon as she heard you were up, she took off.”

“Red,” Sun didn’t want to take her eyes off of him. He was beautiful. He came across as coarse and brash, but what he’d given her was strength and loyalty.

“Sorry,” the white mage apologized, but didn’t let go.

Four others followed behind their companion.

“Sun, you’re all right!” Peach jogged up and hugged her from the other side, since Purple refused to give up her spot in the middle. “We were so worried. I couldn’t concentrate at all today.”

“Peach,” she smiled.

“It’s about time you woke up!” Jade bounced down the aisle and gave Purple a run for her money when it came to hugs. “What were you going for, a world record?”

“Maybe, Jade.”

“Guys, come on, she just woke up,” Blue chuckled as she and Mark tailed the group. Though she couldn’t help herself and joined in on the group hug. “Let her breathe.”

“Says the team leader adding to the problem,” Red smirked. He felt the same joy at seeing her up and around, since the 6 of them had given her a part of themselves to bring her back. “Ah what the hell.” He wrapped his arms around her from Peach’s side. It was rare that he’d choose to be this open about his feelings, but he and his team had gone through enough together that they were some of the few people he was ok with. Besides, it’s not every day you give up part of your life energy to save someone else.

“Guys…” Sun sniffled as the immense amount of caring from those surrounding her poured out as tears. She knew all of their names. She didn't know how, but that mystery didn't matter. Shadow’s whispers faded away. Even if she wanted to drop to her knees, she couldn’t. These people were holding her up.

Mark folded his arms and just watched. He remembered this from Sun’s position, and knew how therapeutic that moment between him and his team had been. It stayed with him as part of the lock that kept Dark behind his wall.

“Hey, Mark, get in here. You’re the only one missing,” Blue held out her hand.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, keeping his voice light. “We had our moment.”

Sun looked over Purple’s head and gave an understanding nod. It was fine if he didn’t. She was ok with that. She’d said what she needed to earlier anyway.

Purple shuffled slightly sideways and held out her hand. Jade, Peach, and Red did the same. They all knew their teammate was still healing.

“You’re the main reason we even got her out of there,” Purple’s smile came out in her soft voice. “Blue put it together that you’d be the only one who could get through to her and you did. And Tim wouldn’t have been able to max out his healing spell without you. I don’t think any other team here could have rescued her. We fought our hardest, but if it wasn’t for you, Sun wouldn’t be here.“

“Yeah, being crushed by a bunch of nerds,” Jade added with a grin.

“The best nerds,” Peach wrapped her other arm around Red.

He knew they were right. He was the only one in this hub to experience possession of a Somni-Demonling, but he also knew if he’d gone into Sun’s dream alone, despite his story, skill, or history, he wouldn’t have been able to rescue her. He may even have fallen into darkness again trying.

Blue's team was a bunch of sensitive, ass-kicking memers—himself included—and dick jokes were the norm. Then again, he had a collection of tear-filled vlogs the world could view at any time, so he really didn’t have room to talk—like Tim said.

Sun was surprised when Purple relinquished her precious spot to let him in, but more surprised when he accepted it. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Purple squeezed back in between him and Blue and the group filled in the circle.

He was only a few inches taller than her. This was part of the dream world. They were spirits. But they were so warm. Tears of joy spilled from Sun's eyes. If only to these 6 people, she held value.

The pink glow from her hero mark remained steady—a constant reminder that a part of this team lived within her. She may fall down as she healed, but she wasn’t alone anymore. She could pull from their strength to continue, and maybe even wake up from her coma. The only thing she wanted was to always remember them. She would do the best she could to never betray that gift.

They let her go one by one, renewed and ready to go save someone from the Terrorlings.

“Come on, guys, we’re burning nightlight,” Jade bounced on the balls of their feet. Though they weren’t back up to 100% yet, they were psyched.

“I’m not sure that’s the right expression,” Purple giggled, “But I guess it fits, since it’s currently night time.”

“I’m going full throttle on this one,” Peach clenched her fists, ready for action. “We’ll rescue our mission target in record time.”

“And then we’ll be dragging your exhausted ass back,” Red stated.

“Red has a point. Let’s take it easy on the next couple, ok, guys?” Blue said.

The team accepted their leader’s ruling. They bid Sun farewell, said they’d be back soon, and talked to each other as they headed to the door.

…All except Mark.

She glanced back.

He remained hugging Sun tightly. He didn’t speak, and neither did she. It was an intimate, wordless conversation no one else would know the details to.

Blue caught the glint of a tear slipping down from behind his glasses. At first she was concerned that he was slipping backward—as had happened before—, but then she noticed his expression. It wasn't sadness, regret, or guilt. It was acceptance, and the evaporation of a very old weight.

Sun's expression changed to kind support and her arms tightened around his waist. Tears slid down her cheeks as she rested her head on his shoulder. Whatever she picked up, it had turned from 'I'm glad you're alive' from his end, and 'thank you,' from hers, to 'I understand. You'll be ok' from her, and 'I'm sorry. Forgive me' from him.

Her new knowledge of his past let her understand a fraction of that conversation.

He wasn’t embracing only Sun.

He was also embracing the one he couldn’t save.

Blue felt herself smile. Saving Sun had let him fully forgive himself and accept that the death of his teammate wasn't his fault. ‘You kept your promise,’ she told him in her heart, ‘Your teammate would be proud.’

“Hey, you comin', Blue?” Red caught her attention.

“Yeah,”

“What about him?”

Blue rested her hand on his upper arm. “He'll catch up. We're not leaving without him. Come on, let's stock up on ultra balls.” Hopefully soon, one of their missions would lead to Teal, and a second chance. She and Red left their two friends to take their time.

He had found closure in the most circuitous, introspective, unique way possible.

After 5 years, Mark could finally let go of the guilt and truly say good-bye. 

 ------------

TBC

Prologue: A Light in the Darkness

Chapter 1: Weekend Warriors

Chapter 2: Something’s Suspishy

Chapter 3: Chasing the Sun

Chapter 4: The Nightmare’s Truth

Chapter 5: Light and Shadow

Chapter 6: Lifeline - part 1

Chapter 7: Lifeline - part 2

Chapter 8: Phantom Power

Chapter 9: Mark’s Past

Chapter 10: A Second Chance

Chapter 11: Learning to Breathe

Epilogue: Ad Infinitum

[tragicblood-archived]

Dossier

Disclaimer: This contains the basics that mainly center around a more modern world. Any verse specifics can be found under her VERSES page.

The backstory TL;DR of her bio is at the bottom. Backstory tws: child/domestic abuse mention, alcohol, drugs, and death.

Visuals - Tattoo and Scar Guide (coming soon)

General

Name: Faye Rivera

Nicknames: Red

Race: Human (most verses)

Age: 26

Gender: Cis-Female

Orientation: Demiromantic pansexual

DoB: May 3rd

Appearance

Height: 5'3"

Body Type: Hourglass

Skin Tone: Tanned

Hair: Dark Auburn

Eyes: Heterochromia blue (left) & brown (right)

Notable features: Freckles over bridge of nose, beauty mark on left jaw, notch in right ear, scar across right side of neck, and small ones scattered over body

Modifications: Three piercings in right ear, five piercings in left ear, tattoos on right forearm, behind left ear, and on her left hip.

Personal

Skills: Various martial arts, marksmanship, swordsmanship, first aid, cooking, animal magnetism

Weapons: Dual swords/daggers, hidden blades, dual pistols (occasionally sniper rifle)

Likes: Cooking, eating, the ocean, space, danger, animals

Dislikes: Authority, traitors, failing, needles, spiders (borderline phobia), Ex-lover, being alone, losing her temper

Fears: Blackout darkness, claustrophobia, her father

Family: Fiona Rivera (mother), Ryder Rivera (older brother), Cesar Steele (father), Kenji Mori (adoptive father/mentor)

Personality: Faye in short is cocky, tenacious, and optimistic. She does everything in her power to live life to the fullest and is always ready for the next adventure. She doesn’t only flirt with death but is extremely intimate with danger, taking risks at the drop of a hat, only worried about the consequences when someone else is involved. And even then it’s a rare occurrence. Some say she has a death wish and others would say she’s just reckless. She’d say she’s just a girl who loves the rush of adrenaline. She always has a great sense of humor even if it is in the wrong setting.     Her mouth tends to operate faster than her mind which often gets her into some sticky situations but she’s learned to adapt and roll with the punches. Literally and figuratively. Many gravitate toward her upbeat personality but the more observant are certain to see that there’s more to her than meets the eye. It’s a side she’s sworn to keep behind closed doors if she can help it. And be warned, she has a temper that can ignite in the blink of an eye.

Brief Bio: “I guess some of us are just born with Tragedy in our blood.“     Bother her parents lived hard lives and while her mother tried to make the best of it her father went down a darker path. The two met in an unfortunate way that would lay the foundation of what would become her inauspicious life. Her father was a cruel man who had no qualms with abusing his children nor his wife. Her father, Cesar, controlled a large underground crime ring that not only respected but also feared him. What he didn’t account for was how tenacious and disobedient both Faye and Ryder would become as their fear and hatred of the man grew. Faye became more brazen with her attempts to disrupt his work and dealing which often ended with harsh and inhumane punishments that only fueled the burning fire inside her. Their mother had made several attempts to protect her children and escape but never managed to be successful with the latter and was ultimately punished.     However, when Faye was about seven her mother managed to bribe one of the newer recruits to assist which allowed the three of them to get farther than before. But, Cesar was always quick to track down what was his and was swift to act and hunt down his wife and spawn. Fiona sacrificed herself in order for her children to escape and unfortunately, the siblings had to watch as their mother was murdered. Running deep into the woods, they managed to use their smaller size to their advantage and escape their father. Assuming they’d succumb to the elements, Cesar gave up the chase and returned to his base of operations. The pair traveled, sneaking onto a train until they came to the outskirts of an old slummy town where they survived by stealing and learning from the other orphans on the streets.     A year passed when Faye attempted to pickpocket a stranger who turned out to be a mercenary by the name of Kenji. Ryder was quick to come to his sister’s aid but both were easily overpowered with little effort from the man. They expected him to turn them into the law but to their surprise found he offered something neither could resist – a new chance at life. Kenji saw something in both he greatly admired and offered to take the orphans under his wing and train them in mercenary work. The next seven years were exhausting and difficult but the pair were determined to continue in hopes of avenging their mother and taking down Cesar’s entire empire.     When their true intentions became clear, Kenji confronted the pair and had a large falling out with Ryder who refused to bow down, believing he had learned all he could from his mentor. A fight ensued and Kenji was quick to show there was still much for the 18-year-old to learn. However, this had the opposite result and Ryder took off, leaving Faye and their mentor. This hurt Faye deeply but she remained with Kenji, unable to deny that she looked to him much like a father. By the time she was twenty-one her mentor had retired from the line of work, suffering from old wounds. While she did fine on her own she craved having companionship and used her ties in the underground to form her own small company of individuals. This allowed them to take on a new variety of missions as well as ones that paid more due to the higher risk of failure.     Romance blossomed between her and one of the newest members, Ethan. She felt as though everything was finally going well for a while but soon she had an unsettling knot build inside her. Faye chocked up the feeling of dread up to the fact that the crime lord her company had recently been butting heads with was, in fact, her biological father. Suppressed memories and feelings of rage and loss clouded her judgment and she led her team straight into a trap. Things only got worse when she realized Ethan had been selling all them out the entire time and had constructed the trap, knowing Faye wouldn’t be able to resist the bait. She completely shut down at how easily she was blindsided by him and listened to her companions get tortured to death in front of her after being restrained. Her initial rage once again flared up in a violent fiery storm as she was taunted and mocked by Ethan and her father’s men.     Breaking free from her restraints, she went into a blind rage, killing without mercy and fighting like a vicious animal. If she was going to go down it was going to be fighting and she was going to take down as many of the bastards as she could. Her main target was Ethan but her rage had made her sloppy and he managed to escape but not without slicing open her throat first during their struggle. At some point a fire hard gotten started and with every ounce of willpower and strength she had left she stumbled out of the building as it became engulfed in flames. She collapsed outside, losing consciousness only to awake in a hospital. To her surprise, both her mentor and brother were there. She remained unresponsive after her initial shock and laid in the bed, forced to come to terms with the fact her actions had costed the lives of her companions – her family.     Faye soon spiraled out of control, grief and guilt-ridden. Unable to fully cope she completely cut herself off from her emotions and ties with her mentor and brother and took off, leaving no trace of her whereabouts. She continued to work, only now she didn’t care what type of job she took nor the consequences that came with it. She turned to alcohol and drugs to keep herself numb when not working as the pain and shame was too much for her to bear. For nearly a year she continued down a destructive path only to be stopped in her tracks by a woman by the name of Aria who could see through all the walls Faye had put up and to the suffering buried deep inside. Aria always had a way of finding Faye and eventually broke through to her and helped her grieve and come to terms with her mistakes and assisted in teaching her how to continue moving forward.     Aria helped Faye get back in touch with her family and eventually, the two began a romance that worked well – for a while. Enemies had been made during her shut down and they finally had a weak spot to hurt the mercenary. While Faye was away Aria was killed in their home in an attempt to force her to them. And it worked, only she wasn’t alone. Her mentor and brother were there when Faye went to seek revenge, once again blinded by her rage. Despite their best efforts to stop her from pursuing them, she managed to track them down. Prepared to die she went in and did what she did best, cut off her emotions and slaughtered anyone who got in her way. She managed to eradicate the gang of thugs but her mentor took a blow that would ultimately take his life.     Once again, she was left to realize her anger was her biggest downfall and had taken more of her loved ones from her. Her mentor held no ill feelings for her but made her promise not to lose sight of who she was. Faye mourned and started slipping down a familiar path but with the help of her brother was able to get back on her feet. She kept her promise to do what she could to not return to how she was before. Faye kept in touch with her brother, putting on a facade to make others believe everything was fine and dandy in her world. As far as anyone knew she was optimistic and someone who enjoyed taking on all sorts of jobs unaware of the night terrors that plagued her every night that she could only drown with alcohol and drugs. TL;DR: Father was a crime lord and murdered her mother in front of her and her brother as they were trying to escape. The siblings lived on the streets for a year before a mercenary took them in. She trained with him even after her father and brother had a falling out and her brother left. Eventually, Kenji returned and she ended up making her own little company that was then betrayed by her current lover. Her companions were tortured and killed in front of her before she let her rage take control.     She was gravely wounded and barely managed to escape only to awake in a hospital bed with her brother and mentor at her side. Afterward, she lost herself and became cut off from her emotions until she met a woman, Aria, who broke through to her. They started a new romance after she got back in touch with her family. Aria died due to enemies Faye made during her shut down. Faye once again lost control of her rage and went after the thugs. Her father died due to fatal wounds he received trying to help Faye control herself. And had it not been for her brother she would’ve slipped back down a dark path. She struggled with her demons but managed to put up a front to keep anyone from realizing just how in pain she is.

Extras

Knows a few different languages

Highly allergic to avocado

Can be quick to lose her temper despite her best efforts

Won’t openly admit she enjoys being bad

Claustrophobia and fear of darkness stems from being locked in a footlocker/closet/cellar as punishment from her father

Usually always has snacks on here

Sometimes gives people nicknames

Mun

     Yo. Call me Monster! I’m just your average 25+ year old trying to survive day to day nonsense and adult responsibilities. I am female but I honestly don’t care what pronouns you use for me! I like to think I’m real easy-going and down to earth so hit me up OOC if you ever wanna just shoot the breeze or something. This is especially if you want to ship because I just think it’s more enjoyable to know the other mun so we can scream at each other over ship stuff haha. That’s about it so yeah!

[axelisrose]

2. THRONVS

"This is something far greater. The question is, do I need to elaborate, or will I be understood?"

A vast creature, enchained in a frail body, walked betwixt the unkempt and solemn parts within his mind. Unknowing of his resounding footsteps, he kept walking step by step ignorantly and imagined himself standing in a field of rouge roses, what a normal life would be like and finally inhaled, like it was his last, dying breath he was going to take. However, rather than dying, he was yet walking on a stairway, exhaled and watched with his reopened eyes how the walls next to him lethargically came together, touched and shaped anew.

-"Beautiful.", Leo thought to himself. Albeit he did not describe the mutation of the military facility, but rather the pain he needed to endure in exchange to enforce his Will to make that reshaping reality. Those three long scars running down his back were marks of his past, engraved whilst abusing his innocence and body against his will. To think a victim alike himself would, in return, abuse painful memories and traumata to lessen his current pain, would paint a bizarre picture but it was exactly that and nothing else, which made him so fearsome. His carefree persona was the result of various confined self-harmful thoughts which would eventually lead to his death when executed or so desired. The pain had grown weaker, it became number during the climb to the top but one could see it in his eyes still. The sweet tone of magenta filled those petite, hueless gems which were, from time to time, cut in by long strands of brunette hair, slightly seeming to jump upward before returning down only to replicate the very same motion over and over as Leo was making his way up, towards the fourth floor. His appearance had changed since he was not involved in battle anymore and thus he wore a black one-shoulder top matched with his black pants around which a cocoa brown rope entwined his narrow waist and kept the pants from falling, blanketed by a dark coat. Leo always carried a thought-provoking look, yet the slurs he had been called with ment but naught to him.

-"Ah. Kate was right, after all.", he said to himself, yet as if talking to someone else. His caved knee expanded again, once the open wound on his left palm leaked enough blood for Leo to shape a cane out of it, pushing him up and returning him to stance worthy of his seventeen years of age. He closed the wound and moved on. Controlling his blood was something he had learned and made use of a great quantity of times, since his liberation from a place he would be thankful for to simply forget about but his mind wouldn't allow him to. And so he walked, three-legged and cut, thence leaving behind trace of dark-red dots which were soon to be accompanied by tears.

-"Anyway, I'm sure you're still keen enough to listen to the main part of my story, Mr. Atrox."

-"Mr. Renwick, I-", he stopped in mid-sentence to admire that childish look of his interlocutor. It carried arrogance and ignorance, it was provoking, it was...

-"Mr. Atrox? Is something the matter?"

..cruel.

As the late ground floor revealed itself to manifest into an elevator which kept aspiring to reach the top, the main concern had shifted to your soldiers, for we were not the only ones getting a lift.

Apart from the screeching walls, the dancing sound of bullets was filling the air as soon as the soldiers had taken aim and started their fire. They shot down a fair amount of third-parties and the ones who were still alive had either fallen into a frenzy or-

-"Mr. Blackwood!" -"Ray! What's the plan?!"

His mind was being filled. Noise. Cries for help. The sound of battle. The visual information he couldn't  understand in Londinium was ruthlessly thrown back at him by fate, in a situation, now far too familiar and that very difference was precisely what made him act accordingly. In an instant he forced thin air to become fire and made an orbital wall around his team with those protective flames. They scored security in a warfare and cold betrayal for Bruce. Walter, although bearing strong Will, it was creeping onto his limit slowly and so he did away with their security. At last, Walter was beginning to feel alive again, after destroying his unfaithful façade and throwing Bruce on the wall of fire, he unmasked himself and quickly hid behind a small chunk to recover his lost stamina. Was he seen? Had anyone noticed anything? He did not know, being left in uncertainty and unnerving suspense he prepared for his misdeed. His ears caught the sound of flying bits of fire which were directed at anyone who dared to come near the Blackwoods and sadly, there were no few. Walter was perhaps the first to notice how all of them were trapped in a loop. As the elevator steadily climbed heavenward with rising speed it would never reach its goal, for by now they must have crashed into the ceiling and suffered maybe even more than a few cracks and broken bones but nonetheless here they were, or rather what was left of them.

"Oh, our little devil is having fun, eh?"

Walter crunched his teeth with embitterment but slowly stood up as to waking up from a dream which had been going on far too long. His movement were numbed  by a curious pair of greens. Their eyes met and Walter became not only aware of his only choice but too that it had to be done right now or else he would be burned alike Bruce. So he clapped his hands and stepped backwards because of the massive recoil it had created and gathered everyone's attention along with it. Ray Blackwood ran, he ran toward the portal-look-alike that formed afor Walter. Would Ray be asked what exactly motivated him to start running, he were to give no answer. His actions, right now, were purely based on instinct and his gang knew this and so they knew he'd come back for them and until then they will survive, no matter the cost. The bullet hell was given new ammunition, three fronts so close to each other yet so far away in understanding, they shot. Walter cared more for his mission than he did for Ray and so willingly stepped into the nothingness that had appeared, followed by Ray who took one last look at his friends before dissolving and leaving materialization. Such an eerie realization. Having just started daring to take a breath in this dimension, Ray's green eyes were about to bear witness yet again to the unfathomable. The short, comforting stud, when connected with the floor again, would be met with disharmony as Ray eyed the figure of Leo standing next to him. His head hurt, lit cigarettes being pushed onto his skin, twisted and turned until dead. The sound of lapping water arose as Walter stepped into puddles of his own blood- the price for the teleportation- hastily he leaped forward into the last safe room, Daniel's office, since he knew that it would have come:

-"Daniel!", Lizzy let out a terrific scream to which Daniel responded with a quick turn to face Walter. Cherrywine's chin dropped, leaving his mouth half opened in astonishment, utterly having to face acknowledgement.

-"I knew you'd come..", he whispered half-heartedly.

-"Good for you-", Walter's chains leapt out like hissing snakes, then wrapping around Daniel's throat, strangling the man in the suit.

-"Oh dear God, Daniel!", Lizzy cried aloud.

-"I'm sorry, love. God won't help us tonight because of our Devil here..", his stubbles around the edges of his mouth were slightly rising, "I'm almost complete again."

"Get out!"

Charles was standing there. Freed by Leo and now yelling at him and Ray as a father figure who wanted nothing but to protect his children from any harm. They were behind him and Charles knew Walter needed to kill Daniel for him to regain access to his full potential for he'd been split once into two seperate human beings. Sparks ignited in both of Charles' hands which acted as a warning sign since the office was about to be inflamed with a huge conflagration. Leo quickly pulled Ray under his dark coat and made it as fireproof as he could, just when he had heard the first frame of the blaze, albeit it did not come from within the building but outside. Multiple catapults had been deployed and were now firing at the military fascility.

-"Right after the first crash into the office and the collision with the firestorm everything turned black.", Walter took a sip in a calm manner. Atrox cautiously observed Walter, having fallen into his flurry, he couldn't help leaving his shaking hands unremarked.

-"What.. excacly had happened in this situation? I mean this is not an average- No- I mean-"

-"Why, let me explain, Mr. Atrox. The cost of my teleportation was far greater than I had envisioned and so, when  I finally reached my destined place, blood-soaked, but yet clear in mind. Roseblood and Blackwood were both there, as well as Cherrywine and his late secretary and the only one I had lost memory of was Charles Blackwood... His firestorm combined with the  Layla-Clan's catapults had caused the downfall of everything."

Once the crash happened, the root for Leo's rose was pulled harshly out of the soil and torn apart. The loop was erased and reality reverted back to its originality, reunified with logical inconvenience. The room broke but time kept moving and so, as a result, the elevating ground floor descended rapidly and the mere seconds fore collision were filled to the brim with shoutings, cries and laughs. Leigh's temporary whereabouts, the room Leo had created was, too, erased and she, along with countless corpses, were shifted to the ground floor, joining everybody else, the stairs Leo had climbed, leaving behind tracks of blood and tears, everything was disappearing at once and still, Ray held tightly onto Leo and Leo tightly onto Ray. The dark cloak fluttered as if panicking, dying to fly away from this hell, bidding  goodbye and welcoming a new life- If such a dream were to achieve! The moment had come. All interior noise died down, as everybody was silenced, collectively, their gazes rose, through a scenery full of flying shreds of bullets, blood, tears, flames and burnt architecture, to the beautiful golden frames which encased large windows, welcoming the great burning sphere behind them, that had been lauched by stark catapults. A greeting and the end of a raid.

-"During the crash in that office, my skills insisted on getting me what I had wished for.", Walter rested his chin onto his hands. His view seemed blurred for a second or two. Atrox cleared his throat.

-"So that was it? Do you know nothing of the death of Lizzy? As I recall it, she was there, yes?"

-"Oh but I do, of course. How could I forget..", he scoffed.

-"Well then, please enlighten me, Mr. Renwick."

-"After killing Daniel Cherrywine, just before that crash I shifted my position with hers. I-"

-"You!"

-"I  changed my death with hers so I could survive. A simple trick, really. Plus, I freed her of her lovesickness before she could ever have gotten it. Both are resting reunited, I'm sure."

-"She. Lizzy. She was my daughter.", a strong tear ran down Atrox' face as he kept staring at the unconcerned child. He started weeping, trying to force out a reaction from Walter but it was all for naught. He'd truly lost all three of his children and it hurt bitterly.

The collision had happened simultaneously with the smashing of the windows.

The front was peeled, thence a shockingly small group of people were running inside to the core, storming in and battling everyone whilst searching for their savable targets aside from their hunting bloodlust. Ray slowly got up but fell right onto his shaking knees again. As he pulled the blinding cloak off of  his head, the audible situation was getting joined by incomprehensible visuals, while his hair regained its golden blonde colour due to illumination by moonlight. His pupils moved to one corner of his eyes and to the next, looking for his team but failing to do so. A nauseous smell was getting to his head, his body felt heavier and heavier, the frame he was able to see through was shrinking and the air didn't taste anything like it had before. His head shifted slighty to the left, as he was falling backwards. "Leo...?" With closed eyes, he listened to the remaining sounds crawling into his ears, telling them about a particular shot, piercing his tympanum and knocking him out of consciousness, seconds after last, big roses of flames were storming into all directions devoid of any seeking. Leo fell, too, down to the floor after being shot down. The Layla-Clan had made out the two boys and with them their targets. Their mission was to find and secure them and bring them to a peaceful place. As for Leigh, she was getting similiar treatment, however unlike the boys, she had another, singular savior.

-"Bruce!", Leigh futilely tried to break free from the pair of arms which were holding her back.

-"Fuck! Why?!", she exclaimed but her shouts weren't listened to. It felt like her voice was muted and that was frustrating to her, seeing her dead guardian lying on the floor, unable to comprehend, forced to watch and remain in ignorance. She wanted to close her eyes and fall, wake up from this bad dream.

-"This is not fair!!"

The moon shone  brightly and arose everything's elegance with a dreamy shimmer.

The roses stopped withering and breathed in new life under cover of darkness.

Illumination welcomed all, even the shadows, to begin anew.

From root to bud to thorn and head.

They were alive.

-"Between the devil and the deep blue sea", whispered words told the wind.

Ray Blackwood was on the ground, on his back nearby a dock on a summer's eve, though not alone he felt a lonesome breeze touching his face. The sky still too bright to count stars so instead he sat up and glanced over to his left side where he found a pleasing view. Unharmed and on the brink of waking was Leo, resting. In a foreign moment such as this, an average person's mind had been filled with questions until the glass might have been overfilled, the water could have run down the glass and leave behind a mess, maybe a bigger one than just a mere puddle, a leak and grow into a sea to be admired by lots. The blonde was gazing however, a love drunken boy lost his logic and committed to his heart right away. Leo turned around.

-"Good morning.", he yawned, crawling out of the sleepiness one by one.

-"Good evening.", Ray responded with a shy smile, afore he held out his hand to help Leo sit up as well, "Tell me, was it worth it?".

-"What ?"

-"I'm.. talking about how you changed it, reality I mean. Are those memories I treasure all but naught?"

-"Albeit everything in this world is false, it doesn't mean your memories have to be too. I mean, it comes down to what you truly desire. If you want something, then go get it right?", Leo talked out loud.

His body wore scratches all over, thin, dried out lines formed stained patterns on his pale skin. The marks and wounds were still young, as the raid turned one day old.

-"Hey. Your arm.", Leo pointed with his index finger in a child-like manner.

-"Oh- This is.. kinda..", Ray's eyes examined the black, burnt skin, which coated the entire flesh of his left arm.

The blonde almost flinched once the hand of the brunette had reached out to touch his blackened arm.

-"The skin is still smooth though.", Leo stated and Ray confirmed that by checking himself.

-"This is nice, I like it.", Leo let himself fall into the security which Ray's lap would provide for him. Altough it should bear a familiar sense, a new, better understanding formed in Ray's head.

-"That wasn't the last battle however. We'll have to get up eventually again and fight-"

-"Yeah.. let's just stay this way.. a little longer.", Leo's arms wrapped around the waist and pulled Ray's upper body lower, closer to him.

Ray saw the brunette strands of hair getting a golden tan from the setting sun whoose light already added to the beauty of the sea behind that docking station. His own hair, which was usually worn in a stylish manner, hanged down, partly cutting in between his field of vision.

To be close again.

The boys' silhouette was visible from afar as well and it was creating an image of peaceful comfort. Knowing that the battle had not just ended yet but would continue to do so was nothing new to them, for they were engaged in such conflicts already when the First Situation was still stable and hadn't been broken by Leo Roseblood. Ray Blackwood hadn't just lost his old arm in a sense but too, a few centimetres in size but he would soon realize that fact when standing upright and facing Leo.

-"Yeah, let's stay like this for a bit."

Ray put the hand of his new arm atop Leo's head and faced heavenward again, then closing his eyes, he smiled. He smiled out of pure joy and happiness until the tear walked down his cheek but was wiped off by a pale hand. The very same had happened to Leo and it became more than obvious when they looked each other into their teary eyes.  

A sweet harmony filled both until they started giggling and hugging.

"It's good this way, right?"

"You expect me to deny that?"

"Of course, not, idiot."

"Calling me an idiot, when you were-"

"Shh, listen.."

"To what..?"

"To my heart."

End of TRONVS

[courtneytincher]

History Forgot About the Dogfights Over Pearl Harbor

Incongruously, scant attention has been paid to the drama of swirling air-to-air combat over Oahu on December 7.The night before, Lt. Col. Clay Hoppaugh, signal officer for the Hawaiian Air Force, had contacted Welby Edwards, manager of KGMB, and asked that the station remain on all night so a flight of Army Air Corps Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress bombers flying from California could home in on the station’s signal. Actually, it was a less than well-kept secret that whenever the station played music all night, aircraft flew in from the mainland the next morning.Being nondirectional, however, that same music also drifted into the radio receivers in the operations rooms of Vice Admiral Chuichi Nagumo’s six Japanese aircraft carriers, Akagi, Kaga, Soryu, Hiryu, Shokaku, and Zuikaku, located roughly 300 miles north of Oahu. Nagumo’s task force monitored the station throughout the night for any hint of a military alert on Oahu, and at approximately 7 am on Sunday Lt. Cmdr. Mitsuo Fuchida, leading his formation toward Oahu, also tuned in KGMB to guide his 183 aircraft to their destination.  While Fuchida homed in on KGMB’s signal, 18 U.S. Navy Douglas SBD Dauntless dive bombers took off from the aircraft carrier Enterprise 200 miles west of Oahu and tuned in radio station KGU to get some homing practice of their own. Shortly after 8 am, the three converging formations, each tracking inbound on the same innocent radio beams, collided in brutal and deadly aerial combat that would plunge the United States into World War II. The date was December 7, 1941.Recommended: China's H-6K: The 'Old' Bomber That Could 'Sink' the U.S. NavyRecommended: Why an F-22 Raptor Would Crush an F-35 in a 'Dogfight'Recommended: Air War: Stealth F-22 Raptor vs. F-14 Tomcat (That Iran Still Flies)The story of the Japanese surprise attack on Perl Harbor is, of course, much broader and more nuanced than just the events surrounding the devastating strike against the United States Navy’s Pacific Fleet. In the over 70 years since the attack, there has been no shortage of books and articles detailing events on the “Day of Infamy,” yet most accounts focus almost exclusively on what happened to the U.S. Navy at Pearl Harbor.Incongruously, scant attention has been paid to the drama of swirling air-to-air combat over Oahu on December 7. For the most part, the aerial battles and dogfights are relegated to footnotes or to a few obscure paragraphs scattered among dozens of sources. Yet the clashes in the air are as compelling, electrifying, and powerful as any actions at Pearl Harbor. Although new sources, American and Japanese, have clarified and in some cases altered the facts about a few iconic episodes, the handful of airmen who fought, and in some cases died, that Sunday morning were truly American heroes who willingly flew to the sound of battle and carried the fight to a determined enemy. Their fight adds a vital missing dimension to the long-established Pearl Harbor story.“Tora! Tora! Tora!”The aerial saga began at approximately 6:15 am on December 7, as Commander Minoru Genda, principal planner of the Pearl Harbor attack, watched anxiously aboard the carrier Akagi as his close friend and Eta Jima Naval Academy classmate Mitsuo Fuchida led the first wave of aircraft into the gray dawn. Both men were seasoned carrier pilots and combat veterans from China. Genda had also served a tour in London in 1940 as assistant naval attaché. He had been extremely impressed by the British carrier-based torpedo plane attack that sank or damaged several ships of the Italian Navy’s Mediterranean fleet at the harbor of Taranto, so he felt confident that Fuchida would accomplish a similar feat at Pearl Harbor.Confidence also permeated the thoughts of the strike commander. As he flew south in his Nakajima B5N2 Kate bomber, a flamboyant Fuchida wore red underwear and a red shirt, reasoning that blood would not show if he were wounded and therefore would not demoralize the other fliers. So it was in that frame of mind as he approached Oahu’s North Shore that Fuchida observed a tranquil, peaceful panorama before him; his first wave had achieved complete surprise. He gave the attack order at 7:40 am, unleashing 43 Mitsubishi A6M2 Zero fighters, 49 high-level Kate bombers, 51 Aichi D3A1 Val dive bombers, and 40 Kate torpedo bombers into battle.  Then, at 7:53 he sent his infamous message confirming total strategic and tactical surprise: “Tora! Tora! Tora!”The first-wave fighters wasted no time. Ironically, the opening aerial combat of the Pearl Harbor attack involved a civilian aircraft. One minute after Fuchida’s “Tora!” message, several Zeros from the carrier Akagi stumbled across a Piper Cub flown by solo student Marcus F. Poston. Unable to resist the temptation, the Zeros opened fire with their two 20mm cannon and two 7.7mm machine guns, ripping the Cub’s engine from its mount. The startled but lucky student pilot leaped unhurt from his plane for his first and only parachute jump. Zero pilots Takeshi Hirano and Shinaji Iwama shared the kill.Running Into a WarGenda’s brilliant and bold plan, executed to perfection by Fuchida’s first wave, unfolded without a hitch. Between 7:55 and 8:10 a host of Val dive bombers escorted by Zeros laid waste to the two major military air bases on Oahu. Attacking from different quadrants, 25 Vals dropping 550-pound bombs turned Wheeler Field into a raging inferno. The Curtiss P-40 Tomahawk fighters on the tarmac of the 14th Pursuit Wing offered a particularly inviting target. By order of U.S. Army Lt. Gen. Walter C. Short, commander of the Hawaiian Department, all aircraft at Wheeler and Hickam Fields were parked wingtip to wingtip in precise rows, ostensibly to facilitate guarding against sabotage.Rampaging Vals and strafing Zeros found easy pickings. They destroyed 58 fighters on the ground and damaged another 37. At Hickam only 19 of 58 bombers from the 18th Bombardment Wing survived the attack.  Simultaneously, huge columns of black smoke boiled above Pearl Harbor where Type 91 Model 2 Japanese torpedoes had already smashed into the battleships Oklahoma, West Virginia, Arizona, and California.Into this maelstrom of devastation and confusion stumbled the 12 B-17s of the 38th and 88th Reconnaissance Squadrons, led by Major Truman H. Landon. Contrary to a widespread contemporaneous view, they did not make the 13-hour trip in formation; each of the four B-17Cs and eight B-17Es flew and navigated separately, their flights beginning at Hamilton Field, California, about 25 miles north of San Francisco.Emphasizing the importance of the mission to the Philippines by way of Honolulu, no less a personage than Chief of the Army Air Forces General Henry “Hap” Arnold was there to see them off. Interrupting a quail hunting trip to address the crews, he warned them, “War is imminent. You may run into a war during your flight.” Armed with that admonition but nothing else, the big bombers began taking off at 10:30 pm. The prevalent feeling was that a war would not erupt until after they reached the Philippines. Therefore, none of the ships carried armor or ammunition; they were stripped down and packed to the brim with every gallon of fuel they could carry for the long hop from California to Hawaii. The B-17 Flying Fortresses did in fact carry their potent arsenal of .50-caliber machine guns, but they were boxed, stowed away, and packed in Cosmoline.As Major Landon’s B-17E approached Oahu from the north at approximately 8 am, he observed a group of planes flying toward him. His first thought was, “Here comes the Air Force out to greet us.” Seconds later the unidentified aircraft dived on Landon, cannon and machine guns blazing. Over the intercom the crew heard someone say, “Damn it, those are Japs!”Landing Under FireTo evade the attackers, Landon skillfully flew into a nearby cloud bank, then took up a heading for land. As Landon maneuvered his bomber on the short final run to the Hickham runway, the tower operator advised, “You have three Japs on your tail!” In spite of the hail of fire coming his way, somehow Major Landon managed to get his bird down in one piece. Following right behind Landon, another B-17E appeared through the heavy smoke and touched down. Not believing his eyes, the pilot, Lieutenant Karl T. Barthelmess, thought it was the most realistic drill he had ever seen.Captain Raymond T. Swenson and crew were not so lucky. After one aborted approach, the pilot positioned his B-17C for a second attempt at Hickam’s runway. At that point a Zero piloted by Lt. Cmdr. Shigeru Itaya riddled the aircraft at point-blank range, sending several bullets into the radio compartment and igniting a bundle of magnesium flares. The Flying Fortress was engulfed in flames when it touched down, and halfway through the landing roll the incinerated fuselage broke in half just behind the wing root. The crew jumped from the burning wreck and ran across the field for cover. All made it except one. The squadron flight surgeon, Lieutenant William R. Schick, was gunned down by a strafing Zero. He died the following day at Tripler Army Hospital.After repeated Japanese fighter attacks, 1st Lt. Robert H. Richards gave up trying to land in the shambles at Hickam and headed east. Dangerously low on fuel with three wounded crewmen aboard and heavy damage to the ailerons of his B-17C, Richards guided his aircraft in for a downwind landing on the short runway at Bellows Field, a fighter strip on Oahu’s southeast coast. Richards flared out and touched down at approximately midfield on the short strip. Realizing he would not be able to stop, he retracted the wheels and slid off the runway over a ditch and into a sugarcane field bordering Bellows. Maintenance crews counted 73 bullet holes in the plane.First Lieutenant Frank P. Bostrom also discovered that Hickam, under heavy dive bombing and strafing attacks, was a less than inviting choice for landing. After his B-17E was harassed by nine Zeros, he headed west for Barbers Point, only to be driven off by more Japanese fighters. Desperate to land anywhere and sincerely believing that necessity really was the mother of invention, Bostrom finally set his damaged B-17 down on a fairway at the North Shore’s Kahuku Golf Course.  In addition to one Flying Fortress on the golf course and one at Bellows Field, two other B-17s slipped into Haleiwa’s small fighter strip. The remaining eight staggered into Hickam, although one Flying Fortress apparently landed at Wheeler before relocating to Hickam. All were on the ground by 8:20 am. To a man, each crewmember vividly recalled General Arnold’s prophetic warning: they had indeed run into a war.SBDs  Take on the ZerosWhile Major Landon and his B-17s were mixing it up with Japanese aircraft over Hickam Field, 18 U.S. Navy Douglas SBD Dauntless dive bombers in nine flights of two aircraft each approached Oahu’s west coast. The aircraft from Scouting and Bombing Squadrons Six had launched from the carrier Enterprise at 6:18 that morning en route to Ewa and Ford Island. Their mission was to scout ahead of the Enterprise on a 90-degree sector search from 045 degrees to 135 degrees for 150 miles, then practice navigation by homing in on radio station KGU’s signal. Between 8:15 and 8:30 am, they flew directly into the gunsights of marauding Zeros from the carrier Soryu. An ominous radio transmission from one of the SBDs set the tone. Over their radios most of the squadron members of Scouting Six and Bombing Six heard the voice of Ensign Manuel Gonzales shout, “Do not attack me. This is Six Baker Three, an American plane!”  Gonzales and his radioman/gunner, Leonard J. Kozelek, were never seen again.Although the SBD Dauntless was no dogfighter, it did have some teeth. It sported two .50-caliber machine guns in its nose cowling and a .30-caliber machine gun manned by the radioman/gunner in the rear cockpit. Ensign John H.L. Vogt armed his guns and unhesitatingly flew his SBD-2 into a group of first-wave aircraft forming up for the return flight to their carrier. Marines on the ground at Ewa watched in amazement as Vogt tangled with a Zero in a twisting, turning fight from 4,000 feet down to just 25 feet above the ground. Marine Lt. Col. Claude Larkin, commander at Ewa, witnessed the battle. According to Larkin, during one of the abrupt turns the Dauntless and the Zero collided. Vogt and his radioman/gunner, Sidney Pierce, managed to bail out, but they were too low. Both perished when their parachutes failed to fully deploy. Subsequent investigations of Japanese combat records revealed that there was a near miss but no collision; only three first-wave Zeros were lost and none in the vicinity of Ewa. Vogt’s SBD-2 apparently went down under the guns of a Soryu Zero piloted by Shinichi Suzuki.At that point another Enterprise flight of SBDs was approaching Barbers Point from the south. Lieutenant Clarence E. Dickinson and his wingman, Ensign John R. McCarthy, were cruising at 4,000 feet when McCarthy spotted two Zeros. He slid under Dickinson so his gunner could get a better shot at the approaching fighters, but that move placed his aircraft in the direct line of fire. McCarthy’s SBD-2 instantly began smoking and crashed, killing his radioman/gunner, Mitchell Cohn. McCarthy managed to bail out, suffering a broken leg when he landed.Now without a wingman, Dickinson was attacked by four enemy planes. He managed to get in two short bursts from his guns when a Zero overshot, and his backseater, William C. Miller, damaged one of the Zeros while the others hammered his plane from the rear. Miller apparently died or was incapacitated in the deadly exchange. With his left fuel tank on fire and his controls shot away, Dickinson attempted a hard turn to the right away from his attackers, but the SBD-3 went into a spin. He “hit the silk” at approximately 1,000 feet. Fortunately, he landed unhurt on a dirt embankment just east of Ewa. From there the resourceful naval aviator, dragging his parachute, walked to the main road and hitched a ride with Mr. and Mrs. Otto Hein, who happened to be driving by in their blue sedan. They had no idea that a battle was raging above them. The middle-aged couple turned around and drove Lieutenant Dickinson to Pearl Harbor.Two more SBDs went down during the first wave. Over Barbers Point, Zeros pounced on Ensign Walter M. Willis and his gunner, Fred J. Ducolon. No trace of either man has ever been found. The final victim was Ensign Edward T. Deacon, shot down by friendly ground fire from Army troops stationed at Fort Weaver near the entrance to Pearl Harbor. Deacon ditched in shallow water several hundred yards from the beach. He and his radioman/gunner were rescued.The Pineapple Air ForceThe Japanese attack had caught the Hawaiian Air Force, affectionately known as the Pineapple Air Force, completely by surprise. General Short had received a war warning message on November 27 from Army Chief of Staff General George C. Marshall advising, “Hostile action possible at any moment…” and further directing Short “to undertake such reconnaissance and other measures as you deem necessary.” At that point all Hawaiian Army units went on full alert and languished there for a week. By the morning of December 6, General Short elected to stand down and give his men the weekend off.Marshall’s war warning proved prophetic. When the attack materialized 10 days later and caught the chain of command napping, a handful of individual Army Air Force pilots got airborne on their own initiative and engaged the enemy, but there was no coordinated defense. The few serviceable aircraft were launched piecemeal as pilots arrived to fly them.Just before 8 am, when the first Japanese bombs exploded among the parked aircraft at Wheeler Field and shattered the Sunday morning calm, two second lieutenants, “brown bars” only a few months out of flight school, sprang into action. Kenneth M. Taylor from Hominy, Oklahoma, and George S. Welch from Wilmington, Delaware, were still a little groggy from a round of Saturday night partying. Sporting tuxedos and white dinner jackets, the lieutenants had begun the evening at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel before moving on to a dance at the Hickam Officers’ Club. From there they adjourned to the Wheeler Officers’ Club for a late-night poker game before turning in around 3 am.At the sound of the first bombs, Taylor staggered out of bed and hastily dressed in the nearest apparel, tux trousers and formal shirt. Immediately he ran into the street and met Welch, who shouted, “What the hell is going on? Those son-of-a-bitches are bombing the hell out of us!”Both young lieutenants realized that a war had started, but they were not exactly sure with whom. Dumbfounded by the catastrophe unfolding before his eyes, Taylor eventually had the presence of mind to call Haleiwa, the auxiliary field on the North Shore where his squadron’s P-40B fighters had been bedded down, and direct them to get the planes ready for immediate launch. With that, both men jumped into Taylor’s red Buick and raced to Haleiwa about 10 miles away. The field had been fortuitously overlooked in Genda’s attack plan.America’s First Aerial VictoryOn arrival the Army pilots hurriedly strapped into their P-40s and took off. Right behind them, 2nd Lt. John Dains arrived in another car and took off in the next available P-40. Although many historians and newspapers credit Taylor and Welch with America’s first aerial victory of World War II, there is a strong possibility that Dains may own that honor. Early in the second wave, radar operators at Ka’a’awa on the windward coast watched as Dains engaged in a vicious dogfight with a Val piloted by Satoru Kawasaki and shot his opponent down. Unfortunately, as Dains returned to Wheeler from his second sortie, this time flying a P-36 fighter, trigger-happy gunners at Schofield Barracks opened fire and killed him.When Taylor and Welch took off from Haleiwa, for unknown reasons only the four wing-mounted .30-caliber machine guns in each plane were loaded. The plane’s two .50-caliber machine guns were not. Although estimates vary widely, the two lieutenants probably got airborne around 8:55 with instructions to patrol over Barbers Point. Finding nothing there, Welch, nicknamed “Wheaties,” spotted about a dozen aircraft circling over the Marine airfield at Ewa.Using Taylor’s nickname, Welch shouted, “Hey Grits, I see Jap bombers down there just like sitting ducks.” With that, both pilots put their P-40s into screaming dives and closed on the circling Val dive bombers. The novice fighter pilots simply dropped into line behind the wagon wheel formation, picked individual targets, and began firing. Welch lined up a Val in his sights. With only three of his four guns firing, he sent a long burst into his opponent and watched as the smoking Val tumbled out of control and fell to earth.In an interview shortly after the fight, Welch described the action over Ewa: “Their rear gunner was apparently shooting at the ground—because they didn’t see us coming. I got him in a five-second burst—he burned up right away.”  Welch was credited with the victory, but years later further investigation indicates that in the chaotic combat Hiroyasu Kawabata’s Val recovered on the deck and was able to limp back to the Hiryu.Taylor brought down the first plane he engaged. He noted, “It was a short burst but the guy immediately exploded into flames and rolled over. All I could see were those two fixed landing gear sticking up. He crashed very close to Ewa.”Confusion in the Fog of WarAfter watching the first Val plummet toward the ground, Welch went vertical by executing a loop and lined up another D3A in his sights. Welch explained, “I left him and got the next plane in a circle which was about one hundred yards ahead of him. It took about three bursts of five seconds each to get him. He crashed on the beach.”While Welch’s .30-caliber machine guns ripped Hajime Goto’s Val apart, the rear seat gunner returned fire, forcing Welch to break off.  At that point Japanese sources claim that Taylor opened fire on the same Val, wounding the gunner and scoring more hits on the enemy plane.In the confusion and unaware of Welch’s duel with Goto, Taylor’s account of the action stated, “With my first burst I killed his rear gunner, and then began to pour it into the Jap. Black smoke began to stream out of him and he started to lose altitude fast. I didn’t want to get too far out to sea, so I headed for Wheeler Field, and I didn’t see this fellow crash.”Army officials saw it differently. In view of the fact that Welch’s deadly fire had raked Goto’s Val and that he observed the aircraft crash, they assigned credit for the victory to Welch.The duo of Taylor and Welch latched onto other Vals and saw them smoke but never witnessed the crashes. Low on ammunition, Grits and Wheaties broke off the engagement and individually set course for Wheeler.Over the years the exact time and details of the Taylor and Welch combat over Ewa have been repeatedly analyzed and in some cases questioned. Clearly the proverbial “fog of war” and lax record keeping contribute to the confusion, but the two pilots inadvertently fed the fires of controversy themselves. In testimony on December 26, 1941, before the Roberts Commission investigating the Pearl Harbor attack, Taylor related somewhat confusing details about what happened on December 7.Taylor testified that after getting airborne from Haleiwa, “Lieutenant Welch and myself started patrolling the Island. There wasn’t any .50-caliber ammunition, so we landed at the field [Wheeler].”Taylor never mentioned the battle over Ewa.  Moreover, both pilots’ descriptions of combat to the Roberts Commission focused on their second sortie, leaving the impression that all the action had occurred after the wild launch out of Wheeler. Any inconsistencies were officially put to rest when the citations awarding Taylor and Welch the Distinguished Service Cross included the Haleiwa to Ewa combat sequences.Rearming For a Second SortieAfter landing at Wheeler, Taylor and Welch quickly climbed back into their rearmed P-40s for a second mission. They got airborne just as a Japanese second-wave formation bored in on the field, and according to eyewitnesses Taylor began firing his guns while still on takeoff roll. Once in the air, Taylor immediately began pouring machine-gun fire head-on into a Val, only to be jumped from behind by a second Val piloted by Saburo Makino. One of Makino’s bullets shattered Taylor’s canopy and went through his left arm, hit the metal trim tab, and then sent a dozen pieces of shrapnel into his legs.Taylor broke into a high G turn in an effort to lose his foe, and then Welch came to the rescue. To keep from overshooting Makino’s Val, Welch resourcefully lowered his flaps and began pummeling his opponent with .50-caliber machine-gun fire. Mrs. Paul Young, standing in the door of her house in Wahiawa, watched as Welch blasted the Val. Makino’s D3A pitched down, shearing off the top of the eucalyptus tree in her backyard before it crashed into a nearby pineapple field. This was Welch’s third confirmed kill of the day; a few minutes later he downed a Zero off Barbers Point.With his 6 o’clock clear, Taylor engaged a Val flown by Iwao Oka. In spite of a blistering volley from the rear-seat gunner and wounds to his arm and legs, Taylor attacked Oka’s aircraft mercilessly, sending the Val crashing into the ground near the entrance to a Civilian Conservation Corps camp.Attack on Kaneohe Naval Air StationAt Haleiwa Lieutenants Harry W. Brown and Robert J. Rogers of the 47th Pursuit Squadron each took off in obsolete P-36s, an earlier version of the P-40 fitted with a radial engine. They headed for Kaena Point, the westernmost tip of Oahu, where Rogers encountered a mixed flight of Japanese aircraft. When two enemy planes singled Rogers out, Brown, from Amarillo, Texas, dived into the fight, shooting down one of the attackers. Rogers poured a long stream of tracers into the other aircraft, which smoked and fell away, but he did not see it crash. Brown then joined up with Lieutenant Malcolm A. Moore’s P-36 and engaged two departing Zeros. Neither enemy fighter was seen to crash, but neither made it back to its carrier.On the opposite side of the island, the battle turned tragic for the P-40 pilots of the 44th Pursuit Squadron. A flight of nine Zeros led by Lieutenant Fusata Iida had just wreaked havoc on Kaneohe Naval Air Station before moving south to Bellows. Several of the Marine ground crews at Kaneohe extracted a measure of revenge when they poured multiple Browning automatic rifle magazines into Iida’s fuel tank. Realizing he could never make it back to his carrier, Iida elected to dive his Zero into the Kaneohe base armory. Instead, his plunging aircraft struck a glancing blow on a street and then skidded into an earthen embankment. Later, Iida’s mangled remains were removed from the wrecked aircraft and placed into a garbage can—not out of disrespect but because that was the only thing available. Iida’s body, along with the bodies of 16 Americans, was left outside the sickbay entrance.Then, at 9 am, as three young pilots sprinted for any undamaged parked aircraft on the Bellows tarmac, the remaining Zeros from Iida’s group strafed the ramp, killing 2nd Lt. Hans Christenson as he climbed into his P-40B. Two other lieutenants from the 44th Pursuit Squadron, George A. Whiteman and Samuel W. Bishop, gunned their engines on a hair-raising takeoff scramble. Before Whiteman got 100 feet into the air, a Zero piloted by Tsuguo Matsuyama blasted the vulnerable fighter with a burst right into the cockpit; the P-40 crashed into the sand dunes at the end of the runway and exploded. Bishop’s P-40 attained 800 feet of altitude before a Zero literally pounded it into the ocean. Bishop crashed about a half mile off shore but got out of the wreckage and was able to swim to the beach.Four P-36s at WheelerBack in the shambles at Wheeler, Lieutenant Lewis M. Sanders of the 46th Pursuit Squadron found four serviceable P-36s and a ragtag collection of pilots to fly them. Second Lieutenants Phillip M. Rasmussen, John M. Thacker, and Gordon M. Sterling each jumped into the cockpit of a P-36. As he strapped in, Sterling, from West Hartford, Connecticut, handed his wristwatch to the crew chief and said, “See that my mother gets this. I won’t be coming back.”At approximately 8:50, Lieutenant Sanders got his flight airborne between the first and second waves and headed east toward the naval air station at Kaneohe. From his altitude of 11,000 feet, Sanders spotted a formation of enemy aircraft, six Soryu Zeros about to join up with the same Hiryu Zeros that had ravaged Bellows. With no hesitation, the Americans dived into the numerically superior force.At 9:15 Sanders opened fire on the leader and observed his tracers tear into the Zero’s fuselage. The plane nosed up then fell off to the right smoking. After executing a fast clearing turn, Sanders saw Gordon Sterling in a near vertical dive pouring deadly fire into a Zero. But a second Zero latched onto Sterling’s tail and peppered him with 20mm cannon fire. Sanders executed a diving turn with plenty of angle-off and engaged that Zero at maximum range.In a terrifying scene, the line of four aircraft—Zero, Sterling’s burning P-36, Zero, Sanders—disappeared into an overcast.  In his combat report Sanders stated, “The way they had been going, they couldn’t have pulled out, so it was obvious that all three went into the sea.” Ultimately, however, Japanese records showed that only Sterling went into Kaneohe Bay. The two Zeros, although badly damaged, made it back to the Soryu.11 Japanese Aircraft DownedArguably, the title of luckiest pilot of the day belonged to Lieutenant Phil Rasmussen, a native Bostonian. As he dived into the dogfight as part of Lew Sanders’s flight, Rasmussen, flying in purple pajamas, charged his machine guns only to have them malfunction and begin firing on their own. At that precise moment a Zero passed directly into his runaway machine-gun fire and exploded. Only a minute or two later Rasmussen was jumped by two Zeros that laced his P-36 with a volley of devastating machine-gun and cannon fire. The enemy barrage tore off his tail wheel, severed his rudder cables, and shattered his canopy. Rasmussen only escaped by ducking into a convenient cloud.A handful of other Pineapple Air Force pilots saw action on that Sunday morning before Commander Fuchida rounded up the second wave and departed around 10 am. The 19 Army Air Force pursuit pilots who got airborne during the attack downed 11 Japanese aircraft, claimed five probables, and damaged at least two others. The Japanese confirmed losing 29 aircraft over Oahu and were forced to jettison an additional 19 aircraft from their carriers because of extensive battle damage. On December 11 the Honolulu Star Bulletin published an article attributed to General Short declaring that Army fliers downed 20 Japanese aircraft during the attack.Four to One Against the ZerosWithout question the American pilots and airmen who squared off against the Japanese in aerial combat at Pearl Harbor faced overwhelming odds, danger, and mass confusion. In spite of the chaos and turmoil, the relatively small number of inexperienced young lieutenants gave better than they got, and ironically nobody told them not to dogfight with nimble Zeros or Vals. Instead, they tackled their opponents in classic one-on-one air battles.Many historians accept as a matter of faith that early in the war the Mitsubishi Zero maintained a high victory ratio against mediocre American fighters like the P-40 Warhawk. The statistics in general and Pearl Harbor in particular suggest a different conclusion. Although George Whiteman and Sam Bishop both fell prey to the vaunted Zero, they were on takeoff leg and in no position to bring their guns to bear. Lieutenant Gordon Sterling was the only pursuit pilot actually brought down in air-to-air combat with a Zero, whereas the American pilots flying supposedly inferior equipment downed at least four Zeros and two probables, thereby punching the first holes in the Zero’s aura of invincibility.Unfortunately, most Americans have no knowledge of these meager yet significant aerial victories and remember Pearl Harbor only as an unmitigated naval disaster. Perhaps a comment by Admiral Husband E. Kimmel, commander of the Pacific Fleet on December 7, best captures that gloomy sentiment. Watching the attack from his office window, Admiral Kimmel flinched when a spent bullet crashed through the glass, striking him on the chest and leaving a dark smudge on his white uniform. Picking up the bullet, he muttered, “It would have been merciful had it killed me.”There was no such negative sentiment among the surviving American fliers of that Sunday morning. A more appropriate mind-set for the fliers who battled above Pearl Harbor is captured in Winston Churchill’s epic observation, “If you’re going through hell, keep going!” They did. The Army Air Force crews and naval aviators engaged in aerial combat over Oahu, while unable to change the course of the battle, wrote the first American chapters in the World War II handbook on war in the air. They set the bar high and defined the aggressive spirit of American warriors who kept fighting in the face of overwhelming odds.This first appeared in Warfare History Network, authored by Tom Yarborough, here. Image: Creative Commons.

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Incongruously, scant attention has been paid to the drama of swirling air-to-air combat over Oahu on December 7.The night before, Lt. Col. Clay Hoppaugh, signal officer for the Hawaiian Air Force, had contacted Welby Edwards, manager of KGMB, and asked that the station remain on all night so a flight of Army Air Corps Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress bombers flying from California could home in on the station’s signal. Actually, it was a less than well-kept secret that whenever the station played music all night, aircraft flew in from the mainland the next morning.Being nondirectional, however, that same music also drifted into the radio receivers in the operations rooms of Vice Admiral Chuichi Nagumo’s six Japanese aircraft carriers, Akagi, Kaga, Soryu, Hiryu, Shokaku, and Zuikaku, located roughly 300 miles north of Oahu. Nagumo’s task force monitored the station throughout the night for any hint of a military alert on Oahu, and at approximately 7 am on Sunday Lt. Cmdr. Mitsuo Fuchida, leading his formation toward Oahu, also tuned in KGMB to guide his 183 aircraft to their destination.  While Fuchida homed in on KGMB’s signal, 18 U.S. Navy Douglas SBD Dauntless dive bombers took off from the aircraft carrier Enterprise 200 miles west of Oahu and tuned in radio station KGU to get some homing practice of their own. Shortly after 8 am, the three converging formations, each tracking inbound on the same innocent radio beams, collided in brutal and deadly aerial combat that would plunge the United States into World War II. The date was December 7, 1941.Recommended: China's H-6K: The 'Old' Bomber That Could 'Sink' the U.S. NavyRecommended: Why an F-22 Raptor Would Crush an F-35 in a 'Dogfight'Recommended: Air War: Stealth F-22 Raptor vs. F-14 Tomcat (That Iran Still Flies)The story of the Japanese surprise attack on Perl Harbor is, of course, much broader and more nuanced than just the events surrounding the devastating strike against the United States Navy’s Pacific Fleet. In the over 70 years since the attack, there has been no shortage of books and articles detailing events on the “Day of Infamy,” yet most accounts focus almost exclusively on what happened to the U.S. Navy at Pearl Harbor.Incongruously, scant attention has been paid to the drama of swirling air-to-air combat over Oahu on December 7. For the most part, the aerial battles and dogfights are relegated to footnotes or to a few obscure paragraphs scattered among dozens of sources. Yet the clashes in the air are as compelling, electrifying, and powerful as any actions at Pearl Harbor. Although new sources, American and Japanese, have clarified and in some cases altered the facts about a few iconic episodes, the handful of airmen who fought, and in some cases died, that Sunday morning were truly American heroes who willingly flew to the sound of battle and carried the fight to a determined enemy. Their fight adds a vital missing dimension to the long-established Pearl Harbor story.“Tora! Tora! Tora!”The aerial saga began at approximately 6:15 am on December 7, as Commander Minoru Genda, principal planner of the Pearl Harbor attack, watched anxiously aboard the carrier Akagi as his close friend and Eta Jima Naval Academy classmate Mitsuo Fuchida led the first wave of aircraft into the gray dawn. Both men were seasoned carrier pilots and combat veterans from China. Genda had also served a tour in London in 1940 as assistant naval attaché. He had been extremely impressed by the British carrier-based torpedo plane attack that sank or damaged several ships of the Italian Navy’s Mediterranean fleet at the harbor of Taranto, so he felt confident that Fuchida would accomplish a similar feat at Pearl Harbor.Confidence also permeated the thoughts of the strike commander. As he flew south in his Nakajima B5N2 Kate bomber, a flamboyant Fuchida wore red underwear and a red shirt, reasoning that blood would not show if he were wounded and therefore would not demoralize the other fliers. So it was in that frame of mind as he approached Oahu’s North Shore that Fuchida observed a tranquil, peaceful panorama before him; his first wave had achieved complete surprise. He gave the attack order at 7:40 am, unleashing 43 Mitsubishi A6M2 Zero fighters, 49 high-level Kate bombers, 51 Aichi D3A1 Val dive bombers, and 40 Kate torpedo bombers into battle.  Then, at 7:53 he sent his infamous message confirming total strategic and tactical surprise: “Tora! Tora! Tora!”The first-wave fighters wasted no time. Ironically, the opening aerial combat of the Pearl Harbor attack involved a civilian aircraft. One minute after Fuchida’s “Tora!” message, several Zeros from the carrier Akagi stumbled across a Piper Cub flown by solo student Marcus F. Poston. Unable to resist the temptation, the Zeros opened fire with their two 20mm cannon and two 7.7mm machine guns, ripping the Cub’s engine from its mount. The startled but lucky student pilot leaped unhurt from his plane for his first and only parachute jump. Zero pilots Takeshi Hirano and Shinaji Iwama shared the kill.Running Into a WarGenda’s brilliant and bold plan, executed to perfection by Fuchida’s first wave, unfolded without a hitch. Between 7:55 and 8:10 a host of Val dive bombers escorted by Zeros laid waste to the two major military air bases on Oahu. Attacking from different quadrants, 25 Vals dropping 550-pound bombs turned Wheeler Field into a raging inferno. The Curtiss P-40 Tomahawk fighters on the tarmac of the 14th Pursuit Wing offered a particularly inviting target. By order of U.S. Army Lt. Gen. Walter C. Short, commander of the Hawaiian Department, all aircraft at Wheeler and Hickam Fields were parked wingtip to wingtip in precise rows, ostensibly to facilitate guarding against sabotage.Rampaging Vals and strafing Zeros found easy pickings. They destroyed 58 fighters on the ground and damaged another 37. At Hickam only 19 of 58 bombers from the 18th Bombardment Wing survived the attack.  Simultaneously, huge columns of black smoke boiled above Pearl Harbor where Type 91 Model 2 Japanese torpedoes had already smashed into the battleships Oklahoma, West Virginia, Arizona, and California.Into this maelstrom of devastation and confusion stumbled the 12 B-17s of the 38th and 88th Reconnaissance Squadrons, led by Major Truman H. Landon. Contrary to a widespread contemporaneous view, they did not make the 13-hour trip in formation; each of the four B-17Cs and eight B-17Es flew and navigated separately, their flights beginning at Hamilton Field, California, about 25 miles north of San Francisco.Emphasizing the importance of the mission to the Philippines by way of Honolulu, no less a personage than Chief of the Army Air Forces General Henry “Hap” Arnold was there to see them off. Interrupting a quail hunting trip to address the crews, he warned them, “War is imminent. You may run into a war during your flight.” Armed with that admonition but nothing else, the big bombers began taking off at 10:30 pm. The prevalent feeling was that a war would not erupt until after they reached the Philippines. Therefore, none of the ships carried armor or ammunition; they were stripped down and packed to the brim with every gallon of fuel they could carry for the long hop from California to Hawaii. The B-17 Flying Fortresses did in fact carry their potent arsenal of .50-caliber machine guns, but they were boxed, stowed away, and packed in Cosmoline.As Major Landon’s B-17E approached Oahu from the north at approximately 8 am, he observed a group of planes flying toward him. His first thought was, “Here comes the Air Force out to greet us.” Seconds later the unidentified aircraft dived on Landon, cannon and machine guns blazing. Over the intercom the crew heard someone say, “Damn it, those are Japs!”Landing Under FireTo evade the attackers, Landon skillfully flew into a nearby cloud bank, then took up a heading for land. As Landon maneuvered his bomber on the short final run to the Hickham runway, the tower operator advised, “You have three Japs on your tail!” In spite of the hail of fire coming his way, somehow Major Landon managed to get his bird down in one piece. Following right behind Landon, another B-17E appeared through the heavy smoke and touched down. Not believing his eyes, the pilot, Lieutenant Karl T. Barthelmess, thought it was the most realistic drill he had ever seen.Captain Raymond T. Swenson and crew were not so lucky. After one aborted approach, the pilot positioned his B-17C for a second attempt at Hickam’s runway. At that point a Zero piloted by Lt. Cmdr. Shigeru Itaya riddled the aircraft at point-blank range, sending several bullets into the radio compartment and igniting a bundle of magnesium flares. The Flying Fortress was engulfed in flames when it touched down, and halfway through the landing roll the incinerated fuselage broke in half just behind the wing root. The crew jumped from the burning wreck and ran across the field for cover. All made it except one. The squadron flight surgeon, Lieutenant William R. Schick, was gunned down by a strafing Zero. He died the following day at Tripler Army Hospital.After repeated Japanese fighter attacks, 1st Lt. Robert H. Richards gave up trying to land in the shambles at Hickam and headed east. Dangerously low on fuel with three wounded crewmen aboard and heavy damage to the ailerons of his B-17C, Richards guided his aircraft in for a downwind landing on the short runway at Bellows Field, a fighter strip on Oahu’s southeast coast. Richards flared out and touched down at approximately midfield on the short strip. Realizing he would not be able to stop, he retracted the wheels and slid off the runway over a ditch and into a sugarcane field bordering Bellows. Maintenance crews counted 73 bullet holes in the plane.First Lieutenant Frank P. Bostrom also discovered that Hickam, under heavy dive bombing and strafing attacks, was a less than inviting choice for landing. After his B-17E was harassed by nine Zeros, he headed west for Barbers Point, only to be driven off by more Japanese fighters. Desperate to land anywhere and sincerely believing that necessity really was the mother of invention, Bostrom finally set his damaged B-17 down on a fairway at the North Shore’s Kahuku Golf Course.  In addition to one Flying Fortress on the golf course and one at Bellows Field, two other B-17s slipped into Haleiwa’s small fighter strip. The remaining eight staggered into Hickam, although one Flying Fortress apparently landed at Wheeler before relocating to Hickam. All were on the ground by 8:20 am. To a man, each crewmember vividly recalled General Arnold’s prophetic warning: they had indeed run into a war.SBDs  Take on the ZerosWhile Major Landon and his B-17s were mixing it up with Japanese aircraft over Hickam Field, 18 U.S. Navy Douglas SBD Dauntless dive bombers in nine flights of two aircraft each approached Oahu’s west coast. The aircraft from Scouting and Bombing Squadrons Six had launched from the carrier Enterprise at 6:18 that morning en route to Ewa and Ford Island. Their mission was to scout ahead of the Enterprise on a 90-degree sector search from 045 degrees to 135 degrees for 150 miles, then practice navigation by homing in on radio station KGU’s signal. Between 8:15 and 8:30 am, they flew directly into the gunsights of marauding Zeros from the carrier Soryu. An ominous radio transmission from one of the SBDs set the tone. Over their radios most of the squadron members of Scouting Six and Bombing Six heard the voice of Ensign Manuel Gonzales shout, “Do not attack me. This is Six Baker Three, an American plane!”  Gonzales and his radioman/gunner, Leonard J. Kozelek, were never seen again.Although the SBD Dauntless was no dogfighter, it did have some teeth. It sported two .50-caliber machine guns in its nose cowling and a .30-caliber machine gun manned by the radioman/gunner in the rear cockpit. Ensign John H.L. Vogt armed his guns and unhesitatingly flew his SBD-2 into a group of first-wave aircraft forming up for the return flight to their carrier. Marines on the ground at Ewa watched in amazement as Vogt tangled with a Zero in a twisting, turning fight from 4,000 feet down to just 25 feet above the ground. Marine Lt. Col. Claude Larkin, commander at Ewa, witnessed the battle. According to Larkin, during one of the abrupt turns the Dauntless and the Zero collided. Vogt and his radioman/gunner, Sidney Pierce, managed to bail out, but they were too low. Both perished when their parachutes failed to fully deploy. Subsequent investigations of Japanese combat records revealed that there was a near miss but no collision; only three first-wave Zeros were lost and none in the vicinity of Ewa. Vogt’s SBD-2 apparently went down under the guns of a Soryu Zero piloted by Shinichi Suzuki.At that point another Enterprise flight of SBDs was approaching Barbers Point from the south. Lieutenant Clarence E. Dickinson and his wingman, Ensign John R. McCarthy, were cruising at 4,000 feet when McCarthy spotted two Zeros. He slid under Dickinson so his gunner could get a better shot at the approaching fighters, but that move placed his aircraft in the direct line of fire. McCarthy’s SBD-2 instantly began smoking and crashed, killing his radioman/gunner, Mitchell Cohn. McCarthy managed to bail out, suffering a broken leg when he landed.Now without a wingman, Dickinson was attacked by four enemy planes. He managed to get in two short bursts from his guns when a Zero overshot, and his backseater, William C. Miller, damaged one of the Zeros while the others hammered his plane from the rear. Miller apparently died or was incapacitated in the deadly exchange. With his left fuel tank on fire and his controls shot away, Dickinson attempted a hard turn to the right away from his attackers, but the SBD-3 went into a spin. He “hit the silk” at approximately 1,000 feet. Fortunately, he landed unhurt on a dirt embankment just east of Ewa. From there the resourceful naval aviator, dragging his parachute, walked to the main road and hitched a ride with Mr. and Mrs. Otto Hein, who happened to be driving by in their blue sedan. They had no idea that a battle was raging above them. The middle-aged couple turned around and drove Lieutenant Dickinson to Pearl Harbor.Two more SBDs went down during the first wave. Over Barbers Point, Zeros pounced on Ensign Walter M. Willis and his gunner, Fred J. Ducolon. No trace of either man has ever been found. The final victim was Ensign Edward T. Deacon, shot down by friendly ground fire from Army troops stationed at Fort Weaver near the entrance to Pearl Harbor. Deacon ditched in shallow water several hundred yards from the beach. He and his radioman/gunner were rescued.The Pineapple Air ForceThe Japanese attack had caught the Hawaiian Air Force, affectionately known as the Pineapple Air Force, completely by surprise. General Short had received a war warning message on November 27 from Army Chief of Staff General George C. Marshall advising, “Hostile action possible at any moment…” and further directing Short “to undertake such reconnaissance and other measures as you deem necessary.” At that point all Hawaiian Army units went on full alert and languished there for a week. By the morning of December 6, General Short elected to stand down and give his men the weekend off.Marshall’s war warning proved prophetic. When the attack materialized 10 days later and caught the chain of command napping, a handful of individual Army Air Force pilots got airborne on their own initiative and engaged the enemy, but there was no coordinated defense. The few serviceable aircraft were launched piecemeal as pilots arrived to fly them.Just before 8 am, when the first Japanese bombs exploded among the parked aircraft at Wheeler Field and shattered the Sunday morning calm, two second lieutenants, “brown bars” only a few months out of flight school, sprang into action. Kenneth M. Taylor from Hominy, Oklahoma, and George S. Welch from Wilmington, Delaware, were still a little groggy from a round of Saturday night partying. Sporting tuxedos and white dinner jackets, the lieutenants had begun the evening at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel before moving on to a dance at the Hickam Officers’ Club. From there they adjourned to the Wheeler Officers’ Club for a late-night poker game before turning in around 3 am.At the sound of the first bombs, Taylor staggered out of bed and hastily dressed in the nearest apparel, tux trousers and formal shirt. Immediately he ran into the street and met Welch, who shouted, “What the hell is going on? Those son-of-a-bitches are bombing the hell out of us!”Both young lieutenants realized that a war had started, but they were not exactly sure with whom. Dumbfounded by the catastrophe unfolding before his eyes, Taylor eventually had the presence of mind to call Haleiwa, the auxiliary field on the North Shore where his squadron’s P-40B fighters had been bedded down, and direct them to get the planes ready for immediate launch. With that, both men jumped into Taylor’s red Buick and raced to Haleiwa about 10 miles away. The field had been fortuitously overlooked in Genda’s attack plan.America’s First Aerial VictoryOn arrival the Army pilots hurriedly strapped into their P-40s and took off. Right behind them, 2nd Lt. John Dains arrived in another car and took off in the next available P-40. Although many historians and newspapers credit Taylor and Welch with America’s first aerial victory of World War II, there is a strong possibility that Dains may own that honor. Early in the second wave, radar operators at Ka’a’awa on the windward coast watched as Dains engaged in a vicious dogfight with a Val piloted by Satoru Kawasaki and shot his opponent down. Unfortunately, as Dains returned to Wheeler from his second sortie, this time flying a P-36 fighter, trigger-happy gunners at Schofield Barracks opened fire and killed him.When Taylor and Welch took off from Haleiwa, for unknown reasons only the four wing-mounted .30-caliber machine guns in each plane were loaded. The plane’s two .50-caliber machine guns were not. Although estimates vary widely, the two lieutenants probably got airborne around 8:55 with instructions to patrol over Barbers Point. Finding nothing there, Welch, nicknamed “Wheaties,” spotted about a dozen aircraft circling over the Marine airfield at Ewa.Using Taylor’s nickname, Welch shouted, “Hey Grits, I see Jap bombers down there just like sitting ducks.” With that, both pilots put their P-40s into screaming dives and closed on the circling Val dive bombers. The novice fighter pilots simply dropped into line behind the wagon wheel formation, picked individual targets, and began firing. Welch lined up a Val in his sights. With only three of his four guns firing, he sent a long burst into his opponent and watched as the smoking Val tumbled out of control and fell to earth.In an interview shortly after the fight, Welch described the action over Ewa: “Their rear gunner was apparently shooting at the ground—because they didn’t see us coming. I got him in a five-second burst—he burned up right away.”  Welch was credited with the victory, but years later further investigation indicates that in the chaotic combat Hiroyasu Kawabata’s Val recovered on the deck and was able to limp back to the Hiryu.Taylor brought down the first plane he engaged. He noted, “It was a short burst but the guy immediately exploded into flames and rolled over. All I could see were those two fixed landing gear sticking up. He crashed very close to Ewa.”Confusion in the Fog of WarAfter watching the first Val plummet toward the ground, Welch went vertical by executing a loop and lined up another D3A in his sights. Welch explained, “I left him and got the next plane in a circle which was about one hundred yards ahead of him. It took about three bursts of five seconds each to get him. He crashed on the beach.”While Welch’s .30-caliber machine guns ripped Hajime Goto’s Val apart, the rear seat gunner returned fire, forcing Welch to break off.  At that point Japanese sources claim that Taylor opened fire on the same Val, wounding the gunner and scoring more hits on the enemy plane.In the confusion and unaware of Welch’s duel with Goto, Taylor’s account of the action stated, “With my first burst I killed his rear gunner, and then began to pour it into the Jap. Black smoke began to stream out of him and he started to lose altitude fast. I didn’t want to get too far out to sea, so I headed for Wheeler Field, and I didn’t see this fellow crash.”Army officials saw it differently. In view of the fact that Welch’s deadly fire had raked Goto’s Val and that he observed the aircraft crash, they assigned credit for the victory to Welch.The duo of Taylor and Welch latched onto other Vals and saw them smoke but never witnessed the crashes. Low on ammunition, Grits and Wheaties broke off the engagement and individually set course for Wheeler.Over the years the exact time and details of the Taylor and Welch combat over Ewa have been repeatedly analyzed and in some cases questioned. Clearly the proverbial “fog of war” and lax record keeping contribute to the confusion, but the two pilots inadvertently fed the fires of controversy themselves. In testimony on December 26, 1941, before the Roberts Commission investigating the Pearl Harbor attack, Taylor related somewhat confusing details about what happened on December 7.Taylor testified that after getting airborne from Haleiwa, “Lieutenant Welch and myself started patrolling the Island. There wasn’t any .50-caliber ammunition, so we landed at the field [Wheeler].”Taylor never mentioned the battle over Ewa.  Moreover, both pilots’ descriptions of combat to the Roberts Commission focused on their second sortie, leaving the impression that all the action had occurred after the wild launch out of Wheeler. Any inconsistencies were officially put to rest when the citations awarding Taylor and Welch the Distinguished Service Cross included the Haleiwa to Ewa combat sequences.Rearming For a Second SortieAfter landing at Wheeler, Taylor and Welch quickly climbed back into their rearmed P-40s for a second mission. They got airborne just as a Japanese second-wave formation bored in on the field, and according to eyewitnesses Taylor began firing his guns while still on takeoff roll. Once in the air, Taylor immediately began pouring machine-gun fire head-on into a Val, only to be jumped from behind by a second Val piloted by Saburo Makino. One of Makino’s bullets shattered Taylor’s canopy and went through his left arm, hit the metal trim tab, and then sent a dozen pieces of shrapnel into his legs.Taylor broke into a high G turn in an effort to lose his foe, and then Welch came to the rescue. To keep from overshooting Makino’s Val, Welch resourcefully lowered his flaps and began pummeling his opponent with .50-caliber machine-gun fire. Mrs. Paul Young, standing in the door of her house in Wahiawa, watched as Welch blasted the Val. Makino’s D3A pitched down, shearing off the top of the eucalyptus tree in her backyard before it crashed into a nearby pineapple field. This was Welch’s third confirmed kill of the day; a few minutes later he downed a Zero off Barbers Point.With his 6 o’clock clear, Taylor engaged a Val flown by Iwao Oka. In spite of a blistering volley from the rear-seat gunner and wounds to his arm and legs, Taylor attacked Oka’s aircraft mercilessly, sending the Val crashing into the ground near the entrance to a Civilian Conservation Corps camp.Attack on Kaneohe Naval Air StationAt Haleiwa Lieutenants Harry W. Brown and Robert J. Rogers of the 47th Pursuit Squadron each took off in obsolete P-36s, an earlier version of the P-40 fitted with a radial engine. They headed for Kaena Point, the westernmost tip of Oahu, where Rogers encountered a mixed flight of Japanese aircraft. When two enemy planes singled Rogers out, Brown, from Amarillo, Texas, dived into the fight, shooting down one of the attackers. Rogers poured a long stream of tracers into the other aircraft, which smoked and fell away, but he did not see it crash. Brown then joined up with Lieutenant Malcolm A. Moore’s P-36 and engaged two departing Zeros. Neither enemy fighter was seen to crash, but neither made it back to its carrier.On the opposite side of the island, the battle turned tragic for the P-40 pilots of the 44th Pursuit Squadron. A flight of nine Zeros led by Lieutenant Fusata Iida had just wreaked havoc on Kaneohe Naval Air Station before moving south to Bellows. Several of the Marine ground crews at Kaneohe extracted a measure of revenge when they poured multiple Browning automatic rifle magazines into Iida’s fuel tank. Realizing he could never make it back to his carrier, Iida elected to dive his Zero into the Kaneohe base armory. Instead, his plunging aircraft struck a glancing blow on a street and then skidded into an earthen embankment. Later, Iida’s mangled remains were removed from the wrecked aircraft and placed into a garbage can—not out of disrespect but because that was the only thing available. Iida’s body, along with the bodies of 16 Americans, was left outside the sickbay entrance.Then, at 9 am, as three young pilots sprinted for any undamaged parked aircraft on the Bellows tarmac, the remaining Zeros from Iida’s group strafed the ramp, killing 2nd Lt. Hans Christenson as he climbed into his P-40B. Two other lieutenants from the 44th Pursuit Squadron, George A. Whiteman and Samuel W. Bishop, gunned their engines on a hair-raising takeoff scramble. Before Whiteman got 100 feet into the air, a Zero piloted by Tsuguo Matsuyama blasted the vulnerable fighter with a burst right into the cockpit; the P-40 crashed into the sand dunes at the end of the runway and exploded. Bishop’s P-40 attained 800 feet of altitude before a Zero literally pounded it into the ocean. Bishop crashed about a half mile off shore but got out of the wreckage and was able to swim to the beach.Four P-36s at WheelerBack in the shambles at Wheeler, Lieutenant Lewis M. Sanders of the 46th Pursuit Squadron found four serviceable P-36s and a ragtag collection of pilots to fly them. Second Lieutenants Phillip M. Rasmussen, John M. Thacker, and Gordon M. Sterling each jumped into the cockpit of a P-36. As he strapped in, Sterling, from West Hartford, Connecticut, handed his wristwatch to the crew chief and said, “See that my mother gets this. I won’t be coming back.”At approximately 8:50, Lieutenant Sanders got his flight airborne between the first and second waves and headed east toward the naval air station at Kaneohe. From his altitude of 11,000 feet, Sanders spotted a formation of enemy aircraft, six Soryu Zeros about to join up with the same Hiryu Zeros that had ravaged Bellows. With no hesitation, the Americans dived into the numerically superior force.At 9:15 Sanders opened fire on the leader and observed his tracers tear into the Zero’s fuselage. The plane nosed up then fell off to the right smoking. After executing a fast clearing turn, Sanders saw Gordon Sterling in a near vertical dive pouring deadly fire into a Zero. But a second Zero latched onto Sterling’s tail and peppered him with 20mm cannon fire. Sanders executed a diving turn with plenty of angle-off and engaged that Zero at maximum range.In a terrifying scene, the line of four aircraft—Zero, Sterling’s burning P-36, Zero, Sanders—disappeared into an overcast.  In his combat report Sanders stated, “The way they had been going, they couldn’t have pulled out, so it was obvious that all three went into the sea.” Ultimately, however, Japanese records showed that only Sterling went into Kaneohe Bay. The two Zeros, although badly damaged, made it back to the Soryu.11 Japanese Aircraft DownedArguably, the title of luckiest pilot of the day belonged to Lieutenant Phil Rasmussen, a native Bostonian. As he dived into the dogfight as part of Lew Sanders’s flight, Rasmussen, flying in purple pajamas, charged his machine guns only to have them malfunction and begin firing on their own. At that precise moment a Zero passed directly into his runaway machine-gun fire and exploded. Only a minute or two later Rasmussen was jumped by two Zeros that laced his P-36 with a volley of devastating machine-gun and cannon fire. The enemy barrage tore off his tail wheel, severed his rudder cables, and shattered his canopy. Rasmussen only escaped by ducking into a convenient cloud.A handful of other Pineapple Air Force pilots saw action on that Sunday morning before Commander Fuchida rounded up the second wave and departed around 10 am. The 19 Army Air Force pursuit pilots who got airborne during the attack downed 11 Japanese aircraft, claimed five probables, and damaged at least two others. The Japanese confirmed losing 29 aircraft over Oahu and were forced to jettison an additional 19 aircraft from their carriers because of extensive battle damage. On December 11 the Honolulu Star Bulletin published an article attributed to General Short declaring that Army fliers downed 20 Japanese aircraft during the attack.Four to One Against the ZerosWithout question the American pilots and airmen who squared off against the Japanese in aerial combat at Pearl Harbor faced overwhelming odds, danger, and mass confusion. In spite of the chaos and turmoil, the relatively small number of inexperienced young lieutenants gave better than they got, and ironically nobody told them not to dogfight with nimble Zeros or Vals. Instead, they tackled their opponents in classic one-on-one air battles.Many historians accept as a matter of faith that early in the war the Mitsubishi Zero maintained a high victory ratio against mediocre American fighters like the P-40 Warhawk. The statistics in general and Pearl Harbor in particular suggest a different conclusion. Although George Whiteman and Sam Bishop both fell prey to the vaunted Zero, they were on takeoff leg and in no position to bring their guns to bear. Lieutenant Gordon Sterling was the only pursuit pilot actually brought down in air-to-air combat with a Zero, whereas the American pilots flying supposedly inferior equipment downed at least four Zeros and two probables, thereby punching the first holes in the Zero’s aura of invincibility.Unfortunately, most Americans have no knowledge of these meager yet significant aerial victories and remember Pearl Harbor only as an unmitigated naval disaster. Perhaps a comment by Admiral Husband E. Kimmel, commander of the Pacific Fleet on December 7, best captures that gloomy sentiment. Watching the attack from his office window, Admiral Kimmel flinched when a spent bullet crashed through the glass, striking him on the chest and leaving a dark smudge on his white uniform. Picking up the bullet, he muttered, “It would have been merciful had it killed me.”There was no such negative sentiment among the surviving American fliers of that Sunday morning. A more appropriate mind-set for the fliers who battled above Pearl Harbor is captured in Winston Churchill’s epic observation, “If you’re going through hell, keep going!” They did. The Army Air Force crews and naval aviators engaged in aerial combat over Oahu, while unable to change the course of the battle, wrote the first American chapters in the World War II handbook on war in the air. They set the bar high and defined the aggressive spirit of American warriors who kept fighting in the face of overwhelming odds.This first appeared in Warfare History Network, authored by Tom Yarborough, here. Image: Creative Commons.

August 30, 2019 at 10:04PM via IFTTT

[itsworn]

1969 Dodge Charger R/T Revived After Near Disaster

It took Mark Stornant nearly 20 years to get his 1969 Charger R/T on the road—and just the blink of an eye for it to be wiped out almost entirely. In the fall of 2016, while Mark and his son Tyler were heading home on the last drive of the season, the beautiful R4 Bright Red Mopar was sideswiped by a pickup truck trying to overtake a slow-moving semi-truck on a narrow two-lane road. He crossed double yellow lines, putting the truck on the same parcel of pavement as the Charger.

Fortunately, no one was hurt in the collision, but the driver’s side of Mark’s car looked much like the Charger in Bullitt after it rubbed sheetmetal with Steve McQueen’s Mustang and got smacked around by those roadside guardrails. The crash didn’t send Mark’s car careening into a gas station as in the movie, but plenty of damage was done, leaving him to nearly start over on car that had been a labor of love for his family.

It started back in 1992, when Mark bought it from the second owner. He paid $3,500 for the Charger, a real XS29L-code R/T with the A33 Track Pack, which included a 3.54-geard Dana 60 rear axle and Hemi four-speed transmission. The original owners were reportedly a pair of twins who used the Track Pack as intended on the dragstrip.

At some point the rear wheel studs sheared off on one of the axles with predictable results that included, among other things, body damage when the quarter-panel crashed onto the tarmac. And that was before the twins blew the original engine. The car was unceremoniously pushed into a carport and left exposed to the unforgiving Michigan climate for the next 13 years or so.

In that time a number of the original, hard-to-find front-end parts were stripped off the car. The second owner got the car running, replacing the original engine with a date-code-correct service replacement block and a mildly built short-block. He also replaced the front-end sheetmetal and added a 1968 Charger grille because used 1969 grilles were already in short supply in the 1980s and repros weren’t even a glint in OER’s eye.

“The guy ended up respraying the car red, but it was a quick-and-dirty job,” says Mark. “It was clear the replacement body panels were green because of the lousy or nonexistent prep work, and the quarter-panel damage was never addressed. They just sprayed over the dents.”

Not Bad for the Rust Belt

“It was a runner, but far from a driver,” says Mark. “But I’d loved 1969 Chargers since I was young, and I could see the potential in this one. The rust wasn’t as bad is it could have been for a Michigan car.”

For B-bodies of that vintage, anything less than complete, corrosion-induced structural collapse was not “that bad” in the Rust Belt. There were a couple of holes in the floorboard and some expected rust spots on exterior panels, but all those years spent in the carport absolutely dissolved the trunk floor.

Work and family obligations prevented Mark from diving into the restoration for the next seven years or so, but he used the time to accumulate as many parts as possible. The car was less than 30 years old at the time, so there were still some good used and even N.O.S. parts out there, including a pair of N.O.S. front fenders, an N.O.S. hood, and a good used grille.

Around 2000, work on the car commenced in a meaningful way, with friend Randy Oswald tackling the major bodywork, including hanging new quarter-panels, and John Schultz, who led the way on the mechanical side. A rotisserie was constructed for the unitized chassis, and the team did their best with early repro sheetmetal and making due with used or restored original parts when reproductions weren’t available.

“A lot of that early repopped sheetmetal wasn’t great,” says Mark. “The trunk floor panel, for example, didn’t have the drain holes stamped in it, so we had to do that and other things. That was just the state of the industry at the time.”

Mark had worked in a body shop before beginning a career with his regional water and light utility, and he took on the task of block-sanding and painting the car himself, while another friend, Doug Jones, helped revamp the black vinyl interior with new upholstery, a new headliner, and new carpet. Mark himself restored the instrument panel.

The car boasts a number of period day-two mods, including a vintage Stewart-Warner tachometer lashed to the steering column, the same kind Mopar legend Dick Landy used. Stornant’s wife, Lori, found it in a milk crate at a swap meet more than 20 years ago.

“I’d been looking for that very model myself for years,” says Mark. “And she pulled it out of the crate and simply said, ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’”

More apparent than the tach, which is wired into the dashboard to illuminate and dim with the gauges, are the vintage 15-inch Torq-Thrust wheels.

He says, “That was another thing I’d been looking for for a long time. I wanted the wider, 8.5-inch-wide rear wheels to fill out the fenders, and saw them on a 1964 Chrysler Newport, which was parked near a water-main break that was being repaired by my utility crew.”

Mark approached the owner later and purchased the wheels, then spent about 25 hours per rim to restore them. Up front, 15x7s roll on G70-15 Polyglas reproduction tires; in the rear, the coveted 15×8.5 wheels are wrapped in L60 rubber.

Mark also added a set of new, but period-correct, Gabriel HiJackers air shocks to ensure adequate quarter-panel clearance, giving the car the tough stance that was as popular on the boulevard in the 1970s as yellow slapper bars and snorkel hoodscoops.

And as was the case back then, the strong stance provides additional clearance for a deep-sump oil pan protruding beneath the K-member.

“It was on the car when I bought it, and I thought it was a great holdover from the era,” says Mark. “With the wheels, it just looks right.”

The stout short-block to which the oil pan is attached is filled with a forged crankshaft (undercut 0.010 inch), forged pistons bored 0.030 over, and a Comp Cams’ Purple Power PP292H hydraulic flat-tappet camshaft, with 0.509/0/509-inch lift, 292/299 degrees duration, and a tight 108 lobe separation angle that gives the RB big-block a head-turning lope.

The engine is finished off with an Edelbrock Torker II intake manifold and Edelbrock carb, TTI long-tube headers—although Mark admits a set of period, white Hooker headers would look better—and an electronic ignition conversion. An electronic distributor was also added to support the tach drive. Mark modified the pulley arrangement with a Hemi crank pulley and other minor changes that give the drive system a more uniform appearance.

He says, “Typically, it looks like something’s missing in the system when there’s no air conditioning or power steering, because there are pulley grooves with no belts. This arrangement makes the front of the engine look more complete.”

Seamless Repairs

The Charger finally hit the road again in 2010, and Mark and his family enjoyed it for the next six years, until that fateful day in November 2016.

“It was devastating,” he says. “We had spent so much time on the car and, just like that, it all changed.”

Fortunately, the car was properly insured. Hagerty, the underwriter, deemed the Charger repairable, per the policy’s Guaranteed Value coverage. It would pay up to 75 percent of the agreed value to make the car whole again. Mark’s next step was finding a shop to do the repairs.

The search led to Wing’s Auto Art in Ionia, Michigan, where Nyle Wing has specialized in muscle car restorations for the better part of three decades. He was initially cautious about the project, as such a job clashed with his shop’s standard process of complete, tear-down restos. He took the job, which involved replacing all the driver-side sheetmetal and painting only about half of the car. That meant the paint job would involve painstaking color-matching for a seamless blend.

“The result was nothing short of perfect,” says Mark. “It’s impossible to tell the car has been only partially repainted. The blending is completely invisible, and I couldn’t have been happier when I saw the car after it was completed.”

If the car were a Cougar, this is probably the place in the story where we’d make a joke about the cat having used up two of its nine lives. That wordplay doesn’t work so well with a Charger. We could also give a brief sermon about the importance of properly insuring your muscle car, but we’ll skip all that to focus on the fact that this vintage Charger R/T is back among the living and Mark is back behind the wheel.

Here’s to hoping that R4 Bright Red paint doesn’t need anything more than an occasional microfiber wipe-down from here on out.

 At a Glance 1969 Charger R/T Owned by: Mark and Lori Stornant Restored by: Restored initially by the owner and Randy Oswald, John Schultz, and Doug Jones; collision repair by Wing’s Auto Art, Ionia, MI Engine: 440ci/375hp Magnum V-8 Transmission: New Process A-833 4-speed manual Rearend: Dana 60 with 3.54 gears and Sure Grip Interior: Black vinyl bucket seat with center console Wheels: 15×7 front, 15×8.5 rear American Racing Torq-Thrust Tires: G70-15 front, L60-15 rear Goodyear Polyglas reproduction Special parts: A33 Track Pack (Hemi 4-speed, Dana 60 with 3.54 gears, Hurst shifter, 7-blade cooling fan, 26-inch radiator with shroud), Edelbrock intake and carburetor, TTI headers

The 1968-1970 Charger’s distinctive “flying buttress” roof was reportedly a design compromise between a full fastback and a conventional rear window profile, allowing for less-expensive rear interior trim. The 1966-1967 Charger’s full fastback styling required more detailed and expensive interior treatment

Chrysler manufactured the RB-series big-block from 1959-1979, with all variants—383, 413, 426 and 440—sharing a 3.750-inch stroke. The 440 was introduced in 1966, and the 375hp Magnum version was standard on the 1969 Charger R/T.

Along with a lumpy Comp Cams Purple Power hydraulic camshaft, this restomod RB optimizes airflow with an Edelbrock Torker II aluminum manifold (stealthily painted engine color) and a contemporary Edelbrock carb.

According to the fender tag, the black vinyl interior (up-level SE models received leather seat inserts) was originally equipped with a Tick-Tock-Tac, but it wasn’t there when Mark Stornant purchased the car. That provided the perfect excuse for him to add a vintage Stewart-Warner tach to the steering column.

According to the fender tag, the black vinyl interior (up-level SE models received leather seat inserts) was originally equipped with a Tick-Tock-Tac, but it wasn’t there when Mark Stornant purchased the car. That provided the perfect excuse for him to add a vintage Stewart-Warner tach to the steering column.

Offset Hurst shifters for Track Pack Chargers can be difficult to locate. This is an original. The iconic Pistol Grip shifter didn’t arrive until 1970.

Vintage Torq-Thrust wheels show red-painted 11-inch brake drums through the spokes. Disc brakes were optional on the R/T, and this car was ordered originally without them. Somewhat tall G70 front rubber helps give the car’s nose a little lift for adequate oil pan clearance.

Grim to Great

After the fall 2016 crash, the Charger entered Wing’s Auto Art in need of all new driver-side sheetmetal. The saving grace was that the accident didn’t injure anyone.

Along with outer sheetmetal, the inner rear wheelhouse needed to be replaced, too. The replacement sheetmetal all came from AMD via Roseville Moparts.

Only about half of the car was repainted, but the color blending by Wing’s Auto Art was superb. After the car was reassembled there was no trace that it ever had as much as a door ding, let alone the entire driver’s side replaced.

The post 1969 Dodge Charger R/T Revived After Near Disaster appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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[rebeccahpedersen]

Monday’s Quick Hits!

TorontoRealtyBlog

There’s something about a long weekend always leaves me “ready” to go back to work.  Is that odd?

Long weekends often leave the Toronto real estate market high and dry, and this weekend was no exception.

So without any ground-breaking stories from the weekend that was, let me gather a few smaller stories and off-topics for a Quick Hits to get us started this week.  A little this-and-that, some odds-and-sods, a few bits-and-pieces, and maybe a snippet or two…

Easter Risk/Reward

Every year, we have the same conversation about whether or not to list your home before the Easter/Passover long weekend.

And every year, we’re fascinated with the single-family home owners that do.

It’s a risk/reward equation for sure, and one for which I could make an argument either way.

Consider that there’s an ever-present “chicken and egg” relationship between buyers and sellers.  The buyers are only active when there are properties to see.  The sellers only want to list when the buyers are out in full force.  This is why the single-family housing market is far more cyclical than the condo market, as families are more likely to take vacations in the summer after the completion of the school year, or go away for long weekends.

Buyers are away, and sellers are away.  The sellers aren’t selling because the buyers aren’t buying.

So as a seller, do you want to list your property before a long weekend, when you know a massive chunk of the buyer pool won’t be around to see it?

That’s the downside, of course.

The upside is that you’ll have far less competition.

We saw a handful of freehold properties listed last week, with offer dates on the Tuesday following Easter Monday.

It will be very interesting to see how these properties fare…

–

Lockbox Lament

I have a listing coming onto the market in one particular condo building downtown, where the board of directors has instituted new rules regarding lockboxes that are going to make things very tricky.

For years, lockboxes for this particular building were on the railing at the side of the building.  And over time, you’d see the lockboxes pile up, as Realtors neglected to come pick them up after the sale had closed.  I recall showing in this building a year ago, when there were about 15 lockboxes, and only one unit for sale.

The board of directors decided to act, and so they cut off ALL the existing lockboxes, and then determined that lockboxes must be kept in a designated area inside the front foyer of the building.

Totally reasonable, right?

Except that this is a very small, boutique building, with no concierge.

The board determined that with the unit key being kept inside the building, Realtors would gain access by using the intercom to buzz the owner.

See the problem here?

In this red-hot market, we might see 80 showings in a week.

That’s 80 times that the seller has to answer his or her phone, and buzz somebody into the building.

What if the seller wasn’t available?  What if he or she was in a meeting, or on a flight?

I understand the security issues here, and I understand that the world does not revolve around real estate showings.  I also know that many of you might say, “Tough luck.  It’s the seller’s responsibility to allow access to his unit, if he wants to sell!”

But every buyer that doesn’t get access to the building is a lost potential offer.

And it’s my job to maximize the sale value of the property.

So is it really breaking the rules, if you only break them for a week?

–

Location, Location, Location

Here’s an odd one…

There was a listing last week for a downtown loft, that had a set offer date, like most other properties in the city.

When it comes to the offer presentations, some agents do them in person, some do them by email.

When they’re in person, some agents do presentations at the property, and some do it at the brokerage.

In this case, the offers were being presented at the brokeage.

But the brokerage was in Markham!

How bizarre is that?

I can see holding offers for a King & Sherbourne property at Re/Max in the Beaches, or Royal LePage in The Kingsway.

But Markham?

On Wednesday night, to get there at 7:00pm, a downtown agent would have had to leave around 5:45pm.

We’re talking Elgin Mills here, folks.

Iwasn’t involved in this one.  I didn’t have a buyer, so I’m not complaining because I was somehow hard done by.

I just can’t understand the logic behind this.  It’s already problem-enough that the seller of this gorgeous loft hird an inexperienced, early-20’s agent who works in a completely different market to place his or her property on MLS with photos taken on an iPhone and spelling mistakes in the listing.  But why did the seller listen to the agent when he said, “We’ll hold offers 36 KM away from your condo?”

–

Not A Stickler For The Rules…

Every condominium corporation has a declaration, by-laws, and rules.

If you were to actually sit down and read through the entire package, you’d be shocked at how many by-laws and rules you’re breaking.

Two of the most-broken rules revolve around window coverings and flooring.

Think about your condo for a moment.  Consider how much hardwood or laminate flooring you have.

Now consider that in most condominiums built in the 2000’s, the Declaration states that “at least 65% of gross floor area must be covered by broadloom.”

And how many people do you think abide by that?

As for window coverings, here’s a recent example of a Status Certificate that a client and I went through:

A little aggressive, no?

“The corporation may enter the Unit without such entry being trespass and remove the blinds and/or may fine the owner….”

WOW!

Seriously, can you envision a situation where property management hires a big dude in a yellow “SECURITY” jacket to accompany a handyman up to the unit, to enter with a master key, and rip out somebody’s curtain-rod?

I don’t understand by-laws like this.  They’re almost never enforced.

Maybe they just have to include them in case somebody wants to hang a 20 x 10 Coca-Cola banner in the window, or install purple drapes with flashing lights.

–

Billiard Balls & BBQ…

Do you have a pool table in your building?

If you do, would you agree that it kinda, sorta, maybe makes sense to keep the billiard balls down at the concierge, and have residents go “sign them out” to keep track of who is using (and abusing) the table?

I think we all wish that people are responsible enough to not lose one ball from the set that would render the set useless.  And I think short of keeping a video recording of what goes on in the room, having people sign out the billiard set is a way to know who is coming and going, and thus who spilled beer on the table, or sliced the felt with an awful miss of the cue ball, or broke a cue over their knee after a bad loss.

In lieu of a sign-out process, the condominium corporation would essentially have to build a maintenance cost into their budget every year, assuming somebody will do something stupid.

But what do you think about putting a chain on the common BBQ, complete with a padlock?

There are at least two condos that I know of that implement this “feature” in the building.

There is a BBQ on the rooftop terrace, but just like when you want to play billiards, you have to go to concierge, and sign the log!

You’re then handed  small key, which opens a MASTER padlock, which is attached to two large chains that wrap around the lid of the BBQ.

So put the key in the lock, unwrap the chains, and voila!  Just a cozy little dinner at your warm and inviting condo terrace.

What do you think, folks?

Is this overkill?  Or are we at the point where we just can’t trust people anymore?

Is the issue that people leave the BBQ dirty?  Or that they leave the gas on?  Or that they grew up in a household where the igniter button was always broken so they think you light a BBQ by turning the gas on, and throwing matches at it from ten feet away?

I think it’s a fair assumption that in order for a condominium corporation to get to this point, they must have had a major incident.

But that’s just my assumption.  Perhaps the board of directors are both just nuts…

–

A Breath of Fresh Air

Here’s something I’ve never seen before…

My buyer clients were bidding on a house two weeks ago, and upon reading through the home inspection, we realized that the Air Conditioner wasn’t inspected.

There were notes about the age of the unit, but the unit was, according to the inspection, “inaccessible.”

While I’m sure you’re not making mental notes of where the A/C units are located at your home, your mother’s house, your friends’ house, and the house next door, in your mind’s eye, you can picture the box-sized units sitting in front of the house, or elevated above the ground at the side of the house, or in the backyard.

Some people get creative, and build around the unsightly contraptions, whether they’re located in the front yard with the garden gnomes, or in the backyard next to the patio set.

And then some people, in trying to put the units out of sight, forget that you might, possibly, maybe, one day need to access the damn thing!

The house on which we bid had central air conditioning, but the unit was located under the back deck.  And unlike, well, every unit I’ve ever seen that’s under a back deck, this unit was completely inaccessible.  These geniuses built a goddam deck over-top of the unit!

Where’s the logic in that?  How did this come to pass?

In building a deck, you likely have a couple of trades-people who are outside measuring and cutting lumber, carefully planning, using levels, perhaps even pouring a concrete foundation.  So in the midst all of this skill and preparation, not once did these folks ever realize they were entombing the A/C unit?

In the end, the home inspector had to “take the sellers’ word for it,” and note that the A/C unit was present, when it wasn’t seen, and specify the age of the unit, according to the seller.

It’s something so seemingly insignificant, but any time I see something in this business for the first time, it’s worth noting.

–

So what lays ahead for the market now that we’re through Spring Break and the Easter/Passover long weekend?

I expect the market to pick up significantly this week, and we’re going to see a lot of new listings, right across the board, in every location, style, and price.

A lot of folks used this past weekend for the final clean-up or de-clutter of their homes, hoping the April market bears fruit.

I think the new inventory levels will be strong, and as a result, perhaps the downright insanity that exists in some segments of the market might dissipate.

Oh – and TREB stats will be released later this week.  I’m sure we’ll have a LOT to talk about…

The post Monday’s Quick Hits! appeared first on Toronto Real Estate Property Sales & Investments | Toronto Realty Blog by David Fleming.

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2018 OPTIMA Ultimate Street Car Invitational at Las Vegas

OPTIMA’s Ultimate Street Car Invitational, presented by Advance Auto Parts, has been a big deal in Vegas for the past ten years and the 11th edition promised to be the toughest yet. Competitors battled their way across the country in seven different qualifying events, just for the opportunity to make it to Las Vegas for the SEMA Show and the OUSCI. Eleven Fords and one Mercury made the final cut for the big show and did battle over two days at Las Vegas Motor Speedway.

Up to 100 points are awarded in five different segments, which put vehicles to the test as both functional street cars and capable track machines. The first order of business was the Lingenfelter Design & Engineering Challenge, in which three judges evaluated each entry and that began while the SEMA Show was still going. A freshly-built 1969 Mercury Cyclone from D&Z Customs was the top-finisher among QA1 GTV Class entries and finished third overall, while the Mustangs of Jonathan Blevins and Cliff Elliott were the best among the Franklin Road Apparel GT Class entries and also finished inside the top ten overall.

Once the show was completed, all the vehicles made their way out to Las Vegas Motor Speedway for the beginning of competition in timed events, starting with the Detroit Speed Autocross. Jonathan Blevins’ Mustang once again turned in an impressive performance, finishing third among his GT contemporaries and 20th overall. When action ceased on the track Saturday, all the competitors made their way to the Shelby American headquarters on the Lucas Oil Road Rally. This segment proves these cars are legitimate street machines that can handle cruising down public roads, idling in traffic and otherwise navigating the urban terrain of Las Vegas. We’re proud to report all the Fords successfully completed this portion of the event, which isn’t a claim every marque could make.

Day two of the event included the PowerStop Speed Stop Challenge and the Falken Tire Road Course Time Trial. It’s a format that mirrors what competitors see in the qualifying series, but the level of competition is at its most extreme. The Speed Stop favors all wheel drive cars and those with traction assist, but Mustangs held their own, with John Laughlin & Jonathan Blevins both finishing inside the top five in their class and just outside the top twenty overall. Blevins & Laughlin swapped finishing order on the Falken Tire Road Course Time Trial, but once again both finished inside the top-five in their class and just outside the top twenty overall.

With the best of the best going head to head, competitors pushed their cars to the limits and beyond. Several of the top contenders fell by the wayside before the end of the weekend, but the Ford contingent held together and posted very strong finishes with Blevins’ Mustang leading the way. His consistent performance was rewarded with the Franklin Road Apparel GT Class Cup and an 11th place overall finish. With the season wrapped up, competitors now turn their attention to the off season, which means repairs, upgrades and new cars to prep for the 2019 season.

If you’d like to get in on the action, head over to www.DriveOPTIMA.com to read up on the rules, see the full schedule and sign up to run. We’re told registration will open before the end of December and all of these events routinely sell out, so it’s best to make plans early.

2018 OPTIMA Ultimate Street Car Invitational Champion Mike DuSold, 1967 Chevrolet Camaro

QA1 GTV Class (Pre-1990, 3,200+ pounds) Efrain Diaz, 1969 Chevrolet Camaro

RECARO GTS Class (Post-1989, 3,200+ pounds, two-seaters & AWD vehicles) Austin Barnes, 2010 Dodge Viper

Holley EFI GTL Class (Non-compacts under 3,200 pounds) Mike DuSold, 1967 Chevrolet Camaro

GTE Class (BEV electric vehicles) Matthew Scott, 2017 Hyundai Ioniq GTC Class (Two-wheel drive compacts, 107-inch wheelbase or less) Brian Johns, 1993 Mazda RX-7

Franklin Road Apparel GT Class (Post-1989, 3,200+ pounds, 2wd sedans, 4-seater coupes, trucks, etc…) Jonathan Blevins, 2008 Mustang

2019 OPTIMA Search for the Ultimate Street Car Tentative Schedule

Las Vegas Motor Speedway                                      March 16-17

Daytona International Speedway                            April 12-13

National Corvette Museum                                       June 1-2

Pike’s Peak International Raceway                        July 6-7

Road America                                                             August 16-17

Auto Club Speedway                                                 September 14-15

To Be Determined                                                      October 5-6

OPTIMA Ultimate Street Car Invitational            November 9-10

    All of the OUSCI vehicles exit SEMA via the now infamous SEMA Show exit parade, which involves zigzagging through a maze of back alleys around the Las Vegas convention center, before being spit out into an arena with packed grandstands and thousands of onlookers at the SEMA Ignited after party.

Cliff Elliott’s 2016 Mustang GT was the only other Blue Oval to join Jonathan Blevins’ GT500 in the top five finishers in the Franklin Road Apparel GT Class.

As part of their reward for qualifying to compete in the OUSCI, all competitors are invited to the SEMA Show and display their vehicles in OPTIMA Alley.

It was sweet redemption for Jonathan Blevins’ 2008 Shelby GT500. After falling just short of the regular season championship, Jonathan bounced back to capture the Franklin Road Apparel GT Class Cup at the OUSCI.

It was a light year for vintage Ford entries, but OUSCI veteran, John McKissack more than held his own with a 14th place finish among the pre-1990 crowd and 59th overall out of the 87 entries that made it to Las Vegas Motor Speedway.

You need to be an early riser to compete in these events. Most folks show up at the track before the sun rises and won’t turn their cars off until well after sunset.

Many of the cars on display at SEMA had just a handful of miles on them since they had been finished for the show, but the 1969 Cyclone built by Randy Johnson was probably the only one that went straight to a race track after the show and more than doubled its total mileage without issue.

It was an impressive OUSCI debut for John Laughlin’s 2016 Mustang, as he finished inside the top thirty overall in all three timed events, including fourth in class and 21st overall in the PowerStop Brakes Speed Stop Challenge.

  The post 2018 OPTIMA Ultimate Street Car Invitational at Las Vegas appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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Holley LS Fest West: Third Stage Ignition!

Fans of the new-gen small-block Chevy light the third stage of the LS rocket!

For guys who like power, standing in the midway of the Holley LS Fest West is a surreal experience. To one side is a three-acre patch of pavement where Corvettes and Camaros are pounding hard through cones, on the other side is the drag strip where doorslammers grapple for traction and reach for the sky, and above your head is a formation of F-18 Hornets on full afterburner screaming overhead. Even the interstate highway adjacent to the track has a 75mph speed limit that folks back east can only dream of. There is so much octane in the air here that one becomes nearly giddy with the overload of choices.

The Grand Champion Road Course Challenge happens at the 1.7-mile road course at the Las Vegas Motor Speedway. Here, competitors are segregated into groups for their experience and vehicle performance.

The irony is that perhaps three days is simply too short to enjoy all the stuff you want to see and do at the Holley LS Fest West, which is presented in 2018 by Car Craft magazine (May 4 – 6, 2018). As Sunday unfolds—the third and final day of LS Fest West—spectators, drivers, vendors, and the press have a newfound sense of urgency: having leisurely watched one or two of their favorite things for two days, the realization sets in that there’s a whole bunch of cool stuff they haven’t yet experienced.

The Holley LS Fest West is a family-friendly event, which is why Kevin Mullen brought his two daughters, Kyndall (2) and Jayde (5). “I like this car because it’s purple!” says Kyndall. We like it too, but the transplanted LS3 is what got us excited.

Among the activities we’ve yet to report on are the Grand Champion Road Course Challenge, the DiabloSport Side Show Donut Pit, the Hoover Dam Poker Run, the Off-Road Challenge, the Hoonigan Thunderdome, the S3 Challenge, the Off-Road Challenge, and the burnout contest. (We’re forgetting some for sure…) And we’re usually quite happy with just drag racing, a car show, and some autocross! In the end, however, we just couldn’t get to all of these things, but we made a really strong effort.

When we saw Andy Trujillo’s 1972 C-10 in the pits on Saturday, we perhaps didn’t fully understand how violent a ride it is with its F1x Procharger, Holley HP EFI, and 427ci LS3. Andy had it on the bumper for a solid 100 feet.

For all but a few who live in the area, Las Vegas as a motorsports destination is a pretty grueling journey from any corner of the country, but the payoff on that investment—if it’s LS Fest West—is huge. Holley has always been at the forefront of performance and innovation, so we don’t find it strange that they also apply the same level of excellence as it pertains to event planning. All we can say is that Car Craft is proud to be a part of such a well-oiled machine.

Max Ziebell’s 2005 Subaru Legacy GT wagon is just one of many imports turning to LS power. The lesson here that foreign automakers need to learn is that Americans want V8 power. Toyota, Nissan, and even Hyundai have V-8s in their portfolio already, but apparently have no idea what to do with them. Little car + big engine = much fun!

Among the highlights from day 3 was the Hoonigan Thunderdome. These guys had a self-contained sideshow that was part car show, cage match, giveaway, smoke show, and demolition derby. Hoonigan even brought their own grandstands and a bumpin’ PA system to really get the crowd involved. (The Hoonigan fans were by far the most animated spectators at LS Fest West.) With no real quantifiable scale or clock to define performance, it’s all about how much the driver wants to thrill the crowd, and how much the crowd and emcee can encourage the driver.

Dario Gaiga (Calgary, Alberta) heats the tires before another 8-second pass in his 1976 Chevy Chevette. Remember what we said about little car + big engine = much fun? Here’s an example for ya! It weighs 2,350 (empty) and is powered by a stock 5.3L short-block with older CNC-ported NASCAR Camping World Truck Series heads and twin Borg-Warner S369 turbos.

Elsewhere, car crafters and drivers focused on their driving skill and track set-up for the Grand Champion Challenge, a timed road course event on the 1.7-mile road course. Wide open with lots of safe run-off area, the high-speed grip facility had drivers exploiting the power of their LS engines with abandon. Here, new Corvettes and Camaros diced it up with LS-swapped muscle cars, trucks, and imports. Drivers were divided into groups based on their level of experience and equipment; this avoids problems associated with faster cars closing in on slower cars—something neither group wants.

QA1 always has new suspension goodies coming out, and Eric Morrow was pretty excited about their front suspension for Chevy C-10 trucks. “We can get your C-10 to handle like a sportscar,” Eric told us about QA1’s modular system. Priced competitively, the pieces in their C-10 system can be added as time and money allows. (www.QA1.net, 800-721-7761) You can also choose to retain a stock coil spring/shock set-up, or convert to a single- or double-adjustable coilover shock.

In a first for us, we also took in the Off-Road Challenge at the dirt track. (Those who want to see what it’s all about should go to the Car Craft Facebook page to watch the playback of the live video feed.) We were impressed with the level of car building this requires, as these vehicles really take a beating when they launch off dirt ramps and come down hard. The course had been specially prepared by professional off-roaders with bumps, jumps, and banked turns.

Brian Monello (near lane) goes heads-up against Blade Boubon in the finals for LS 275 Outlaw.

Taking a more balanced approach to street performance was the Baer Brakes 3S Challenge. Think of it as a drag race, but with turns and stopping. (3S stands for speed, stop, steer.)  Two cars run simultaneously in parallel tracks with opposite turns, then switch lanes and do it again. The two left-/right-side times are added together, and the fastest aggregate e.t. is the winner. This exercise happened where the regular autocross had been for Friday and Saturday, but was re-coned for the new layout.

Rick Shewell (ST. George, UT) must be a solid friend to car owner Bret Madsen, because Bret left Rick to do the dirty work on his 413ci, 2.9L Whipple-charged, LS3-powered ’68 Camaro! The new set-up had teething problems and needed a colder set of plugs to quell some detonation issues.

With each successive year, Holley and their partner tracks (Beech Bend and The Strip At Las Vegas) develop and refine ways to improve the driver and spectator experience, and as a result LS Fest and LS Fest West are two of the most professionally run events we attend all year. (And that’s a LOT of events.) With all this goodness coming to fans of the new-gen Chevy small-block, we have to wonder when the same attention will be paid to Chrysler Hemi and Ford Coyote fans. Yes, there are plenty of events and promoters catering to that audience, but it just isn’t the same. Holley truly has the DNA of running an engine-specific event down pat, and when they do turn their attention to the others, they will be winners for sure!

See More Holley LS Fest West!

Check out Friday’s giant preview gallery here:  http://www.hotrod.com/articles/huge-holley-ls-fest-west-preview-gallery-las-vegas/

Day 2: Turn It Up To 11!: http://www.hotrod.com/articles/holley-ls-fest-west-day-2-turn-11/

Join Us For LS Fest West: https://www.lsfest.com/west/

HOLLEY LS FEST WEST DRAG RESULTS

 LS Outlaw 275

name: r/t: e.t.: mph: Brian Monello .175 5.026 151.68 Blade Boubon .140 5.265 136.50

  Late-Model Heads-Up

name: r/t: e.t.: mph: Josh Elam .186 9.121 122.52 Dave Beem .241 9.225 144.06

  LS Truck

name: r/t: e.t.: mph: Travis Condos .334 7.406 94.54 Kevin Leffingwell .644 7.521 92.96

  LSX Street King

name: r/t: dial: e.t.: mph: Robert Horton .010 10.00 10.183 123.91 Wayne Darby .093 8.25 8.204 166.33

  LSX Rumble

name: r/t: dial: e.t.: mph: Brenda Cox .068 12.25 12.259 109.16 Julio Villanueva .184 11.75 11.650 116.93

  The Hoonigan Thunderdome was filled with a raucous crowd looking for some vicarious thrills. At this specific moment frozen in time, the crowd and emcee have just convinced this Chevy truck owner to jump the “double-stack” ramp. You think it broke? You’ll have to dig into the gallery to see!

At the 1.7-mile road course, the action was a little less destructive, but certainly just as fun. Here, a ZL1 Camaro is reeling in a C5 Corvette during qualifying for the Grand Champion Road Course Challenge.

We were surprised to find out that until Greg Reimche of LSX Concepts designed a Gilmer belt drive for LS-series engines, none were available. Greg stands proudly next to the drive system he engineered specifically for the LSA crate motor. LSX Concepts can do any kind of custom accessory drive or blower drive system for an LS engine, but Greg says right now he’s specializing in systems for the LSA. (www.lsxconcepts.com, 844-579-7927)

This photo is strictly gratuitous. It brings back warm, nostalgic feelings of the custom van era; boy do we we miss it! The folks at Wide Body Syndicate own it and use it to move their booth full of swag wear.

  The post Holley LS Fest West: Third Stage Ignition! appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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Randi Lyn Shipp is Fearless in Her Wheel-standing 1967 Firebird!

You’d be hard-pressed to find someone more deeply immersed in the sport of drag racing than Indiana’s Randi Lyn Shipp. “Rocket” Shipp, as she’s known, has been strapping herself to racecars since the age of 8, and since then her entire life has revolved around the straight-line sport. Her father Randy, brother Joey, and sister Kristi all race—as does her fiancée—the reigning NHRA Pro Stock champion, Bo Butner. Even her mom Jackie is a huge supporter.

In more than two decades of competition, Randi Lyn has wheeled cars in Jr. Dragster, local Brackets, along with NHRA Super Comp and Super Street. These days, the Hoosier is a regular on the NHRA Mello Yello national event tour, where she’s scored four event victories in Stock Eliminator. By day, Randi Lyn works at the family business, Jim Butner Auto Sales, but at the track she’s focused on running her Stocker, serving as a crew member on the Pro Stock team, and growing their apparel company, Nitro Fish Racing.

“My dad was always into cars and drag racing,” she told us. “He’s friends with Pro Mod racer Billy Glidden, and many years ago he went with Billy’s father, legendary racer Bob Glidden, to Gainesville Raceway for the Gatornationals. That was all it took for him to get heavily involved in drag racing,” she explained. “We’re from a small town outside of Indianapolis, and every car guy knows each other. I was like 7 at the time and there was a raffle for a Jr. Dragster. The guy who won didn’t have kids so my dad bought it from him. He didn’t expect me to do well with it, but I won my third race. After that my dad was thinking ‘she could really be good’ and it turned into a whole childhood of racing.

“When I turned 16 I got a Super Comp dragster and I won a national open at Indy, which is my home track, but my dad was more into full-bodied door cars, so he bought a 1969 Camaro for us to race. We brought it home in boxes and built it for NHRA Super Street, which is on a 10.90 index. At the time my dad and brother raced in Super Street so that made it a lot of fun.”

The ’69 Camaro brought Randi Lyn a win at Summit Motorsports Park in 2009, but what made that race extra special was her final-round opponent. “That weekend I ended up racing my brother for the trophy,” she said. “It was really exciting and kind of careless since we were both in the final. It was as far as you can go, so we were both cheering for each other. If he beat me I would have been just as excited for him.”

Looking to move from Super Street to Stock Eliminator, Randi Lyn and Bo found a clean ’67 Firebird that was already in race trim. “I was 21 when we bought it and I was not at all about the Firebird,” she admitted. “I was a ’69 Camaro girl, but now I’m a certified Pontiac maniac,” she said with her trademark smile. “Bo knew I’d love my Pontiac even before I did. He is supportive and keeps my car going week after week. I couldn’t own and race a car like this without him. People love the car and fans always come up and share Firebird history with me. It’s really special because it took me to my first national event win.”

The Bird was purchased from fellow racer Tony DeFrank, but before hitting the track it went through an extensive restoration and rebuild. John Howard handled the rust and metal repair and he sprayed the Pontiac in Axalta Herr’s Potato Chip White. And since the F-Body was originally equipped with a 285 horsepower 326 H.O. engine, they kept the factory H.O. stripe.

Underneath, the front subframe was cleaned, painted, and reinstalled with a complete quarter-mile suspension consisting of Santhuff springs and shocks. The rear consists of Calvert Racing Suspension CalTracs and Santhuff shocks. With the ’bird rolling, all new wiring was laid in along with the 400-cube Poncho mill, GM Metric automatic, and a 12-bolt rear. Inside, Randi Lyn set up her office with a Sparco wheel, Turbo Action shifter, a VDO tach, and she added a cup holder because, as she stated, “the new Cobra Jet Mustangs have a cup holder and I was jealous.

“Once I got it repainted it looked so good that I left the stickers off the car. It stings when you win without the stickers because you miss out on contingency money, but I’ve come to terms with it because it looks so good. I love muscle cars and the factory look,” she added.

Stock Eliminator is one of the longest-standing classes in the sport and winning is ultra tough. Success requires a car that runs well under the Class index, and drivers must be prepared for both bracket and heads-up competition.

With four NHRA national event wins, Randi Lyn has proven herself as a driver, and her team, including fiancée Bo, Darrel Herron, Greg Esarey, and her entire family have made the Firebird a real flyer. Running at 3,210 lbs. (with driver) in D/SA (11.55 index), the Pontiac has run 10.40 at 124 mph. And when set up lighter for C/SA, it’s run a best of 10.31 at over 125 mph.

Randi Lyn told us she loves every part of the sport including the car prep, the racing, and most importantly the people. In addition to competing in Stock and Pro Stock, they’ve ventured into the world of No Prep outlaw style racing along with NMRA and NMCA action.

But for Randi Lyn, nothing compares to going wheels-up in the Firebird. On a typical pass, she does a burnout, stages, and brings the engine to 3,600 rpm before cutting it loose. The F-body leaves like a “rocket” hiking the hoops sky high en route to 1.28 60-foot times. Amazingly, the Poncho sings to 6,800 before she clicks the gears, and it buzzes across the stripe where no Pontiac should go—revving to 7,800-8,000 rpm! “It’s a lot,” she says, “but it stays together and it’s so much fun to drive.” And by the looks of those monster wheelies, we’d agree. Randi Lyn’s Pontiac chariot is mighty quick and one she’ll ride to victory many more times.

Tech Notes:

Who: Randi Lyn Shipp

Where: Floyds Knobs, IN, but she can be found wherever there’s an NHRA national event

What: 1967 Pontiac Firebird

Engine: Randi Lyn’s Bird was originally equipped with a 326 H.O. engine developing 285 hp, but these days it makes much more power. To fit in D/SA, Randi Lyn chose the 400-cube engine combination, rated by Pontiac at 325 hp and factored to 338 hp by NHRA. It’s meticulously prepared to take full advantage of the Stock Eliminator guidelines and produces north of 500 hp.

Stock rules require the factory carburetor, intake manifold and cylinder heads (with correct casting numbers and no porting), along with stock valves and combustion chamber sizes. Her short-block consists of a factory block and crank with a 4.125×3.750-inch bore and stroke along with Crower rods, CP pistons with Total-Seal rings, a Melling oil pump, and a pan from Stef’s Fabrication.

The D-Port heads feature 65cc closed chambers fitted with 2.11-/1.77-inch valves that are activated by a 0.424-inch lift camshaft. There are no rules dictating duration or overlap, so special attention was paid to the cam to maximize breathing at high rpm. The 400 also uses PSI valve springs, Cometic head gaskets; fire in the hole comes from a MSD Digital 7 ignition with Denso plugs.

A Weldon pump feeds a strict diet of high-octane race fuel to the 750 Q-Jet that was set up by Jason Line and Danny Ashley. Expelling the burnt gasses are stainless headers, bent and TIG welded by Mark Lelchook of Performance Welding. Other essentials are the Butler Performance valve covers, Meziere water pump, and C&R Racing radiator and electric fan.

Transmission/Rearend: The torquey mill sends its power through a Coan Engineering converter and a GM Metric 200 three-speed automatic prepared by ReMax Transmissions. A Turbo 400 would be stronger, but the Metric is lighter and quicker on track. Converter stall is roughly 3,500 rpm.

Chassis/Suspension: Stock Eliminator rules are very specific about what’s legal and what’s not. Bolt-in aftermarket suspension is okay, as long as it mounts in the stock location. The Firebird has a roll bar and frame connectors for safety and chassis stiffening. Its suspension consists of CalTracs leaf springs and traction bars from Calvert Racing Suspensions and adjustable Santhuff shocks for control. Up front you’ll find Santhuff springs and shocks that allow the nose to snap into action.

Brakes: Lightweight Lamb 11-inch manual disc brakes are used to reduce parasitic drag and haul the Poncho from buck-and-a-quarter speeds. The team has employed a dual caliper setup on the rear to more solidly hold the car when she “torque brakes” on the starting line.

Wheels/Tires: Traction and reduced weight is the name of the game for drag racing. Randi Lyn fitted her Bird with lightweight Pro 5 wheels from Mickey Thompson (15×4- and 15-10-inch), along with 9×30-inch radial slicks and short 25-inch tall skinnies from M/T. The short front tires are used to help dial in her reaction time.

Interior: The classic look of the ’67 Firebird interior has been retained, save for the necessary racing items. There’s a roll bar and harness for safety, and Dick Jones from KB Racing wired the F-body, adding a switch panel to simplify the electrical system. Randi Lyn relies on a Turbo Action Cheetah shifter that she clicks when the VDO tach reaches 6,800 rpm. Those rectangular black panels you see are used to “block” the first two amber lights on the tree. That allows Randi Lyn to focus 100-percent on the last amber, without distraction from the tree coming down. This is done to prevent her from anticipating the last amber. You’ll also note the Sparco wheel, Auto-Meter gauges on the cowl, and that blue cup holder.

Multimedia: Randi Lyn spends her time at Jim Butner Auto Sales (jimbutnerauto.com) and Nitro Fish Racing (nitrofish.com). You can follow Randi Lyn on Instagram at @rockitt_shipp and her YouTube channel is “Randi Shipp.”

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[itsworn]

This Restomod ’56 is the Product of Four Decades of Admiration of Tri-Five Chevys

John Clark fell in love with Tri-Five Chevys in a bizarre way. Young John was on his way home from school one day when he had a life altering experience of sorts. First he heard the sirens and then the screeching of rubber on the blacktop. Finally he caught an eyeful of what the commotion was about. It turns out it was a badass bright-yellow 1955 Chevy trying to outrun the local cops. To the youngster that was the coolest thing he had ever witnessed in his eight years of life.

From that moment on John was hooked. Soon he would be on the fast track to being a true Bowtie connoisseur. But first he needed a ride to call his own. He funded his first Chevrolet by way of his paper route, buying a ’55 two-door sedan at the age of 14. Thirty-nine years later and he still owns that ride, but it doesn’t look or act much the way it did when he first brought it home. Now fully caged with a tilt nose and an aluminum headed 427 stuffed between the rails, the Chevy is one tough performer out on the strip and the street.

After owning that ’55 for almost four decades, John decided he needed another Tri-Five in his stable of cool rides. This time around he figured he would build a ’56 as he always liked the more refined look of that one-year design. And since that model gets the least attention of the Tri-Fives, he figured it would be a good one to build up into his dream ride. The only thing left was to source a good starting point for his project.

Luckily for John, a good friend had a decent ’56 shell that was there for the taking. After 25 years of ownership, the buddy figured he would never get to it, so he handed the title over to John. He was more than happy to take the stripped body off his friend’s hands and give this ’56 the attention it deserved. So then he drew up a plan; a strategy to build this ride into a Tri-Five to be reckoned with.

First things first. Even though the carcass was pretty solid as far as 60-year-old East Coast cars go, John decided to mediablast the body and correct a few issues. There was very little rust on the body panels but he decided to replace them anyway. He added a new floor, trunk floor, and firewall, which brought the ’56 to near OEM standards. Next, the newly repaired shell was sent over to C&M Autobody in Middletown, New York, where the Chevy would have its final bodywork done. Once its flanks were straightened to perfection, C&M laid down the Scion Electric Wasabi Green paint, and accented the hue with Mercedes-Benz Black. The two colors worked well with each other and helped make John’s ride stand out from the typical Tri-Five builds seen over the years.

Next, the chassis was broken down, mediablasted, and refinished. John then selected a few choice parts that would ultimately give this Tri-Five the ride quality he was after. Tubular upper and lower control arms and Heidts 2-inch drop spindles were installed up front, while Super Slider 3-inch drop rear leaf springs were placed out back. These mods gave this particular Bowtie the stance and ride John craved. To get this hot rod pointed in the right direction, a CPP close-ratio power steering gearbox was sourced and added to this muscle ride’s menu.

To get this Chevy to come to a halt, a CPP big-brake kit was installed. It’s a four-wheel disc system with drilled and slotted rotors: 13-inch up front and 12-inch in the rear. The system’s four-piston calipers are fed by a Wilwood master cylinder. Out on the corners, John chose to adorn his ride with American Racing Ridler wheels: 17×7 up front and 20×9.5 out back. They are shod in Nexen N3000 tires: 215/45ZR17 and 255/35ZR20, respectively.

For motivation, John started with a four-bolt main 400ci block, cleaned up with at 0.030-inch overbore, which punched it out to a 406. The bores were filled with 10.5:1 pistons and hooked to an OEM GM forged crank. Dart aluminum heads and a Victor intake were added up top and a Comp flat tappet Magnum cam gets the valves jumpin’. A Quick Fuel 750-cfm carb helps feeds this beast the octane it needs. All this splendid power is topped with a killer March Performance air cleaner. It’s kept cool with a PRC polished crossflow radiator and condenser module with a pair of SPAL electric fans.

An MSD billet distributor and ignition handles the start and spark. Patriot Clipster ceramic-coated headers send the spent gasses out to a fully polished Pypes exhaust with electric dumps. This ’56 is shifted with a Turbo 400 with a manual shift valvebody and a 3,500-stall converter. A TCI outlaw shifter gets it through the gears and a beefed up ’56 rear housing with 3.55 Richmond gears gets the power to the pavement out back.

The interior in this stunning Tri-Five is nothing short of stellar. Keith from Amity Upholstery in Newburgh, New York, handled the duties on the ’56. They first built a custom console and a set of door panels and finished it all off in soft-black leather using all real hides. A pair of Procar by Scat seats was sourced for the build and covered in that same leather fabric. A Flaming River stainless column was added next, along with a Vintage Air unit for climate control. As far as the dash goes, John had a plan. “I love the stock dashboards in these cars so to help modernize the look we covered it in leather,” states the owner. To finish it all off, the interior received Clayton Machine Works handles and cranks, and plenty of carbon-fiber accents all around.

All of John’s hard work paid off in spades when he and his father, Jack, (a lifelong hot rodder himself at 77 years young) debuted the ’56 at the Right Coast Nationals in Syracuse, New York. This Chevy was chosen and singled out in a field of almost 8,500 show cars. It won a Top 100 Award and received a Designers Dozen Award nomination from Creative Rod and Kustom out of Pennsylvania. Today, John is enjoying the fruits of his labor, running this swift Chevy out on the streets where it belongs. Who knows, maybe a drive-by in this ’56 will inspire another young gun to join in, get involved, and make the hot rod hobby part of his or her life.

The post This Restomod ’56 is the Product of Four Decades of Admiration of Tri-Five Chevys appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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