The Paths of Destiny
Interlude - Mediterranean Adventure

“RAF Delta Foxtrot Tango Seven Niner Seven requesting clearance to land at RAF Gibraltar,” the pilot said for the tenth time.

The eyes of the woman in the co-pilot’s seat narrowed.

“Call again.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

If it were possible to sit at attention, the pilot was. But before he could obey, the radio crackled into life.

“Hey, Delta Foxtrot, no need to get antsy! This’s Sunny Spain, you know — siesta, ‘n’ all that!”

The pilot glanced at his companion and then cleared his throat. She nodded at him to continue.

“Need clearance to land — man, I’ve been calling for seems like forever!”

“Okies, DFT 797, got ya vectored in on runway Seven West. Wind fresh and from the east, seas ten foot, tubular and glassy — hope you brought your board.”

“Ah — that’s affirmative, RAF Gibraltar.”

If he’d had a handkerchief, he would’ve mopped his brow. Had he been alone in the cockpit that is.

The woman smiled a tight, unpleasant smile. She motioned for the pilot to take them in.

The sleek plane landed perfectly on the runway and taxied to a stop yards from the entry. The woman unfastened her belt then turned to the pilot.

“Good job.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

The woman swung the cockpit open, grabbed a bag from behind the seat, and dropped to the ground. She swung the bag onto her shoulder and strode towards the entry, pausing once to signal the pilot that she was clear. Then she pushed the door open and entered.

“Well, hey, darlin’,” the serviceman behind the desk greeted her. “Where’d you blow in from?”

As if in answer, the plane she arrived in took off with a shattering roar.

The woman stood five-foot-nine, with short, brown hair, brown eyes and a light tan. She was dressed for flying in a simple flight suit with no insignia.

“Corey Lloyd Reese.”

She let the bag slide to the floor and looked around.

“Base Commander in…” she leaned forward and looked at his name badge, “Evans?”

“That’s Flight Sergeant Evans to you, Missy!” he said, winking.

Corey smiled.

“Base Commander?”

Flight Sergeant Evans came around the desk, grinning.

“Gi’es a kiss and mebbe I’ll tell you?”

“I don’t think so.”

Corey took two steps away from her bag, ready for action. As the Flight Sergeant grabbed for her, she moved — just to evade, then, when he clearly wouldn’t stop, she seized his wrist, jerking him off-balance. As he staggered forward, she pivoted, maintaining contact and dropping him to the ground.

He landed heavily, on his face, arm up behind him, still controlled by Corey. She placed the toe of her boot against his armpit.

“One false move, Flight Sergeant Evans, and your shoulder will be out of its socket,” she warned.

He stilled.

“Now. Where’s the Base Commander?”

“You’re in a lot of... Ow!” as she moved his arm slightly.

“The... Base... Commander?”

“Gone to town,” Evans said.

“His Second?”

“Gone with him.”

“Indeed. If I let you up, will you co-operate?”

He muttered something she didn’t hear, and then twisted. Corey skipped adroitly aside, and then straddled him, right arm still controlled.

“I’ll take that as a ‘No’,” she said. “We seem to have reached an impasse, Flight Sergeant Evans.”

Behind her, the door opened, and two men came in. Both had been drinking. She could smell the alcohol.

“Well, well, well,” one said. “Who’s the girlfriend, Evans? Better step away from him, young lady.”

Corey released her captive and stepped away sharply as he bounced to his feet. Again, she evaded as he reached for her.

“Base Commander?” she asked again.

“That would be me,” the man wearing the insignia of a Group Captain said. “John van Lieu.”

Corey snapped sharply to attention and saluted.

“Corey Lloyd Reese.”

She pulled an envelope out of a pocket of her flight suit.

“My orders, Group Captain.”

“Thank you. You’re in a lot of hot water, young lady,” he began as he opened the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper it contained. “Rough-housing is... Oh, shit.”

He looked at her.

“Begging your pardon, Ma’am.”

Her eyes softened slightly.

“Do you wish to escort me to your office, Group Captain?”

“I think so. Brad...”

“I think that covers both of you,” Corey said diffidently.

“Oh.”

Group Captain John van Lieu motioned for Evans to return to his post, and then opened the inner door himself, ushering Corey through. She turned for a last, speculative look at the puzzled Flight Sergeant before leaving.

Once in the office she stood quietly, waiting. Group Captain van Lieu looked around and then opted to remain standing. He looked levelly at her.

“Flight Sergeant Evans was insubordinate,” she began. “True, I am deliberately not wearing visible insignia. But to offer to trade information for a kiss — then attempt to take said kiss after it was refused — isn’t standard operating procedure, regardless of the respective ranks of the personnel involved.”

Van Lieu winced.

“It’s also not customary for both the Base Commander and his Second to be off-base at the same time. This is one reason why we’re given on-site quarters, Group Captain.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Wing Commander Bradford Dhoury,” Corey said turning to the other man.

She sniffed, incredulously.

“Have you been drinking?”

Brad glanced at his superior. John van Lieu was standing rigidly at attention.

“Ma’am, uh...”

“I am Wing Commander Corey Lloyd Reese, and I’ve been sent here at the express request of Air Vice-Marshal Reese to take over this base and — in his words — clean up the mess. As of this moment, gentlemen, you are officially relieved of duty — both of you.”

Now Wing Commander Dhoury snapped to attention.

Corey unzipped and stepped out of her flight suit. Underneath she was wearing full uniform. Complete with Wing Commander insignia.

“Gentlemen, I shall require an escort — preferably not Flight Sergeant Evans. I’ll also need quarters, and an office. We won’t make this official until those things have been provided.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” van Lieu said.

After a nod from Wing Commander Reese, he went to his desk and picked up the phone.

“Visiting Brass, Annabelle. VIP quarters, equerry, office, the whole bit.”

He covered the microphone with his hand.

“I’m assuming a separate office?”

Reese nodded.

“Thanks, darlin’ — iced coffee would be perfect.”

He hung up and then shrugged.

“This isn’t my first posting to the hotter parts of the world, Group Captain,” Reese said. “I do understand that certain compromises with the climate are necessary. And a constant, rigid formality can be very wearing.”

She smiled briefly as if remembering.

“No... I won’t take note of that last familiarity. But, unless the rules are very different here... the both of you’ve been drinking while on duty. You were both off base... at the same time. Cell phones and pagers aside, one at least of you should have been here in case of an emergency. This is a very dangerous world we live in, gentlemen. And here, you are right on the edge of perhaps the most dangerous part...”

She broke off as a knock came at the door.

Van Lieu hesitated and then called, “Come in!”

The door opened and a pert young Flight Lieutenant came in, pushing a teacart. On the cart were tall glasses, sugar, cream, and a carafe of iced coffee. The Lieutenant nodded to them.

“Flight Lieutenant Annabelle DeMarco, Ma’am. Liaison for visiting officers, tea- and coffee-provider, and all-around hospitality maven.”

Reese smiled. A genuine smile that lit up her whole face.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant DeMarco.”

“Pilot Officer Audrey Gooding will be your assigned guide while you are here, Ma’am. She’s my own second in command, so she’s very good at what we do. And I’m arranging quarters and an office. How long will you be here, Ma’am?”

“I currently have an indefinite posting,” Reese said.

“Indefinite? I had arranged for temporary quarters, Ma’am, but you’ll need permanent, won’t you? What are your assigned duties, Ma’am? That way I can base you close to your job. Less walking in the heat,” Annabelle explained, preparing two glasses of iced coffee, and then gesturing to Reese.

“Black, thank you. With sugar. My duties are largely administrative, Lieutenant.”

Reese took the cup and drank deeply.

“Good. Even at Mach 2, it’s a long way from England.”

“Mach 2?” Annabelle breathed.

“When was the last time you were in a plane, Lieutenant?” Reese asked.

DeMarco pulled a rueful face.

“When I flew over here, Ma’am,” DeMarco replied with a rueful face. “Transport. Six years ago.”

“Well, we shall see if we can get you a ride, then,” Reese said briskly. “I think that will be all for now, unless the Group Captain...”

“No, thank you, Annabelle,” van Lieu said hastily.

DeMarco left, stars in her eyes.

“You didn’t tell her,” van Lieu said.

“No.”

Reese sipped her coffee.

“Nominally, you are still in command. Practically, all your decisions will go through me until I take over officially, so we had better hope Lieutenant DeMarco comes up with an office that is close by. First, though, I need to file a report with AVM Reese, telling him I have officially taken over, and why. May I use your system?”

Wordlessly, van Lieu gestured.

Reese brought the system up and entered her code, then requested a priority channel to the UK. When it was granted, she filed a preliminary report, and then logged off.

“Now what?” Dhoury asked.

“We wait for a reply which will come in to my eyes only. So perhaps we had better work on getting me an office and a system of my own.”

Reese checked her watch.

“I’m still on London time. Do you keep London or Local?”

“Local,” van Lieu said absently. His eyes were fixed on the computer, watching his career diminish and fade as her report transmitted.

“UTC plus one then,” she reset her watch, then looked at them both. “Office?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” van Lieu seated himself behind his desk, ran his hands briefly over the surface, then picked up the phone again.

The office was quickly forthcoming, complete with a state-of-the-art computer system. It was located on the same floor as van Lieu’s, a little further down the corridor. The quarters took a little longer, but Reese was assured they would be ready by the time she wanted to retire for the night.

The response from the UK took a little longer still.

Finally, Reese walked down the hallway and knocked on van Lieu’s door.

He and Dhoury were still there. Still in the positions she had left them some hours before.

“Group Captain John van Lieu, Wing Commander Bradford Dhoury,” Reese began formally.

They stood, coming to attention.

“By virtue of the power vested in me by the Air Force Board, I relieve you of your command, and order you to return to London for a Board of Inquiry. Transportation will be provided for you. You are to leave in three days. Until then, you are confined to base under penalty of imprisonment should you leave for any reason.”

“Can I ask a question?” Dhoury asked.

Reese nodded.

“You can ask. I cannot promise to answer. It may be that I am not allowed to.”

She looked around.

“Sit if you wish, gentlemen. The official part is over... for now.”

“May I smoke?” Dhoury asked.

“That’s up to the Group Captain,” Reese replied. “This is his office.”

“For now,” van Lieu grumbled. “I suppose you’ll be moving in at your first convenience.”

“No. I’ll keep the office down the hall as long as I’m here. That will make a clear demarcation between the old and the new. Besides, if you’re exonerated, you’ll be back.”

“Not much chance of that, is there?”

“I don’t know,” she said surprisingly. “I’m not here to make a decision of guilt or innocence. I’m here to make an investigation, and send information back.”

Out of habit, Reese placed herself at parade rest.

“You will, of course, have a lawyer provided — or you may choose your own. Your lawyer may also choose to make an investigation. If he does, he’ll meet with every co-operation. Including full access to all personnel and copies of all my replaceings. Then the Board will be called. Their lawyer will present the case against you; yours will present the case for you. The Presiding Officers may choose to ask questions, or they will not. Then they’ll retire to discuss the case.”

She paused for a moment letting them digest what she’d been telling them.

“Once they’ve made their decision,” she continued, “they’ll return to tell you of their replaceings. They’ll tell you what your penalty will be — if any.”

“You’ve done this a lot, haven’t you?” van Lieu said.

“No. This is my first formal investigation,” Reese said as she waved away the smoke from Dhoury’s cigarette. “I was... recently the subject of a Board of Inquiry — this is my first posting since then. I’m... not unsympathetic to your plights, gentlemen. But I do have a job to do.”

“What have you been doing, then?” van Lieu asked, genuinely interested. “And why were you subject to a Board? I gather you were exonerated?”

“Exonerated — and commended. But people under my command... died. I can’t discuss it — I don’t want to, but I’m also not allowed — I was in Intel. So, gathering information isn’t all that different, really.”

Reese smiled.

“You’ll want some time to get things in order before you officially hand over, won’t you? I suggest we play this as a routine change in command. I see no reason to broadcast this situation to the personnel at large. They’ll replace out soon enough when I start my investigations, but I see no need to embarrass you unnecessarily.”

“That’s... generous,” van Lieu said. “You’re Air Vice-Marshal Reese’s — ah — daughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Trust me — it hasn’t been easy.”

Van Lieu saw a shadow cross her face and immediately decided to drop the subject.

“Three days, you said. What kind of transportation? And what are you going to do about Annabelle getting a ride?”

“Institute a policy of requiring all personnel to get at least five hours of air time a year. Flyers already have a mandatory flight time requirement, but the thinking back in the UK is that if we are an Air Force, we should all be familiar with what an Air Force does, and that means flying. There will be exceptions, of course. Some people are medically unfit to fly. Some people are just afraid to fly. This will be treated as any other disability — if it does not materially affect the conduct of their everyday duties, they will not be required to comply. But... you saw the look on her face. Did you know how much she actually wanted to fly? Before I asked her?”

“Annabelle’s a wanna-be,” van Lieu said with a laugh.

Reese’s eyes hardened.

“Flight Lieutenant DeMarco is a valued member of the Royal Air Force,” she said harshly, “and as such, is to be respected. Her job keeps her on the ground, but she is no less important or valuable for that.”

van Lieu’s eyes dropped. “My... apologies, Ma’am.”

“I am a pilot. I fought for that right and privilege. I continue to fight to keep my quals up. There are those who say that a woman has no place in the cockpit of a jet. I prefer to consider each person on his or her own merits, and judge accordingly. For any job.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Reese turned to leave.

“Wing Commander Dhoury — you had a question?”

“No, Ma’am. You pretty well covered everything I had to ask. Except the transportation home.”

“Normal transport, I believe. Nothing special, I’m sorry. Why?”

“Just wondering, Ma’am. Thank you.”

“Then I’ll see you later. When did you want to have the hand-over ceremony?”

“You’ll allow a ceremony?” van Lieu asked.

“Of course,” she replied “There are no criminal charges, not even outright dereliction. If there were, you would already have been arrested. My orders are to take over in an orderly fashion, see that you are available to return when your transport arrives, then conduct my investigation and transmit the results, while ensuring the smooth running of the base. There is no need to place any shadow over my taking the base — you may be fully exonerated by the Board.”

“Do you want me to arrange it?” Dhoury asked after a glance at van Lieu.

“Carry on, Wing Commander,” Reese said.

The ceremony was scheduled for noon on the day they were scheduled to leave. The transport that would take them back to the UK would arrive at two. After the ceremonies and after they had had enough time to say goodbye.

Reese was convinced the timing was also designed to show her just how hot the tropical sun could be.

She had brought Tropical Whites with her, of course. And her experience in the Middle East stood her in good stead as she listened to the many speeches praising the two who were leaving.

Finally, it was her turn.

She strode to the podium, looking as cool as if she had just stepped out of a refrigerated room, looked out over the sea of faces, and waited.

The crowd stilled.

“I know you are all sad to see your commanders leaving,” she said.

A round of applause.

“Over the next few weeks, I hope to meet with each one of you personally, and at that time I shall be pleased to hear your memories and reminiscences about them. Until then, I am sure you will join me in wishing them the best of luck, wherever their careers take them.”

She paused again, to let the applause die down.

“Over the next few weeks I am going to be introducing some changes. One of them I am certain you will like — The Royal Air Force has decided to institute a policy of mandatory airtime for all personnel, not just flyers. And Gibraltar has been chosen as the implementation test site.”

She smiled down at Annabelle’s ecstatic face and then held her hand up.

“I understand that there will be medical exceptions, of course — and if anyone is truly unable to fly, for whatever reason, they will not be forced. But we certainly hope you will try.”

She looked at her watch.

“I see that the transport back to the UK will be landing in 30 minutes. So, I am going to close these ceremonies and leave you to say goodbye to your friends in your own way. But I want you to know that my door is open to you all.”

Reese turned and received the salutes of the two men she was replacing, then quietly left the dais and made her lonely way back to her office.

Sometimes, she thought, the only person on the entire base who had any regard for her was Annabelle DeMarco.

A week after taking command, Reese had summoned her to the office.

“Flight Lieutenant DeMarco, are you ready to take part in the new air time mandate?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Reese smiled at the younger girl’s obvious enthusiasm.

“Do you trust me to fly you, Annabelle? I’ve wangled a couple of hours in a Tornado.”

“Will we be able to go supersonic, Ma’am?”

“Oh, I think I can remember how to do that!”

Reese tossed the girl a flying helmet, and then hurried her out to the flight line.

Before Annabelle really knew what was happening, she was in the plane, strapped in, and they were taxiing for take-off.

“RAF Foxtrot Alpha Foxtrot Three Seven Three requesting clearance for take-off,” Reese said into her microphone.

“Tower to Foxtrot Alpha Foxtrot Three Seven Three,” came the prompt reply. “You’re clear for take off on runway Four East. Wind is from the East at seven knots,” came the prompt reply.

The plane roared down the runway and screamed into the sky. Reese heard Annabelle gasp.

“Airsickness bag is right in front of you, if you need it.”

“No, Ma’am — it’s just... it’s all I’d ever hoped...”

Reese laughed, remembering her own early flights.

“Ready to go supersonic?” she asked.

“Yes!”

“RAF Foxtrot Alpha Foxtrot Three Seven Three requesting permission for supersonic flight.”

“Go for supersonic, Foxtrot Alpha Foxtrot.”

Reese pointed the nose of the jet out over the Atlantic Ocean and hit the throttle. The jet seemed to gather itself. Then a loud boom as the sound barrier was broken, then a second.

Annabelle laughed delightedly.

After a few minutes, Reese eased back, and the jet dropped below the sound barrier again, provoking more sonic booms.

“Ready to take the controls,” Reese asked.

“Me?” Annabelle squeaked.

“You. Level flying — nothing to it. Just move us around in the sky a bit — I’ll be here to take over if you run into any problems.”

A little nervously at first, then with growing confidence, Annabelle took over the controls. Reese was watchful to be sure nothing went wrong.

Then it was time to head back.

Alone in her office, Reese smiled at the memory. Annabelle’s feet, she swore, hadn’t touched ground since she’d landed.

And Reese could do no wrong.

At least one person was on her side.

She had started interviewing the personnel about the activities of the base’s former commanders. And what she’d found, she didn’t like.

Other than the occasional trip off base, there had been no actual dereliction of duty. But discipline was very lax. And it was up to her to fix it.

She’d already instituted several policies. Including personnel signing out of the base when they left and signing in when they returned. This was less than popular; everyone seemed in the habit of popping off to town on the slightest excuse.

And she was now ready to issue her next, unpopular decree.

Which was that all trips to town were curtailed unless necessary.

And this was really the fault of only three individuals, who’d gone into town — without signing out. They proceeded to get drunk on the local wine and had... insulted... the mayor’s daughter; she’d been innocently minding her own business in the town square.

Reese shuddered. It had been bad enough when Flight Sergeant Evans had attacked her — she, at least, had known how to defend herself. But Maria Theresa Constanza de la Fuega was a gently reared young girl, and to have a drunk and disorderly man pawing at her and demanding kisses...

He was presently in the brig, awaiting transportation back to the UK and eventual court-martial.

And Reese was very afraid he wouldn’t be alone.

She glanced at the clock. In one hour, she was to receive a delegation from the town — with, she strongly suspected, more complaints against the base and its personnel.

The delegation had come and gone. Reese stood against the back wall of her office, forehead pressed against the glass of the window which was not at all cool. She reached for her cell phone, dialed a number, and then hung up before anyone could answer.

In London, Robert Parker glanced at his phone, which had just rung once. No number showed, so he shrugged and put it away again.

She’d have to do this alone. She’d have to replace her own strength, not reach out to one who was so far away.

She would have to bring four other base members up on charges — and charges far more serious than mere attempted rape...

She picked up the phone.

“Gooding, will you come in, please? Bring your pad.”

The door opened.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

Pilot Officer Audrey Gooding, Annabelle DeMarco’s second in command, was a pert, shapely young woman who filled her uniform to bursting. Reese hadn’t had any fault to replace with her. She’d been very co-operative, even going so far as to make the occasional diffident suggestion to smooth Reese’s path. She hurried in to the office and stood at attention.

“Sit down, please. I have some orders to dictate. I must remind you that these orders are private until I’ve signed and officially issued them, Pilot Officer.”

At Gooding’s look of chagrin, Reese smiled slightly.

“Audrey, your conduct has been exemplary. I’m only mentioning it to be sure we are both on the same page, that’s all. Now. Ready for dictation?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Might as well get it over with, Reese thought.

“Official orders for arrest and detention of the following personnel:

“Richard Bogdanoff - Charges - Attempted rape, assault.

“Robert J Mann - Charges - same.

“Bryan Gowdy - Charges - same.

“John Michael Patrick - Charges - robbery, robbery with violence, assault with a deadly weapon.

“Rosamund Todt - Charges - same.

“Paulina Nesselrode - Charges - same.

“At this rate, we’ll have to bring over an entire Legal Board to sort this mess out...”

“Ma’am?” Gooding looked up.

“Nothing. New document... All personnel are hereby confined to base for the foreseeable duration. Persons wishing to go to town shall make formal application to the base commander, Wing Commander Corey Lloyd Reese, in person... Get that one done first, Gooding. Get it to me as soon as possible for my signature. Then see that it’s reproduced and posted as widely as possible. Oh, and you can alert the rumor mill that violations will be treated very seriously indeed.”

Reese pinched the bridge of her nose.

The new orders caused the expected consternation. Several people came to Reese to plead their case — all were turned down.

And Reese found herself with a few new nicknames, of which “You’re Under Arrest”, “Bitch Queen”, “The Arresting Officer”, and “Il Duce” were perhaps the most complimentary.

The first person she caught executing a Fascist-style salute in her presence was summarily sentenced to produce two book reports — on Il Mio Viaggio dal Trionfo and The Rise and Fall of the Fascist Conspiracy in Germany and Italy.

It didn’t happen again, and the Italian nickname faded soon thereafter.

And slowly, as the base personnel began to realize that her actions were against the worst offenders, she began to acquire a reputation for being tough, but fair.

Take the case of young Airman Timothy Wyatt.

Seven men went over the wall after the new orders were implemented. All of them were interviewed personally by Wing Commander Reese when they came — or were brought — back. Six were immediately remanded for court-martial.

When Timothy Wyatt was brought to her office, Reese sensed there was something more going on.

“You know the rules, Wyatt.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“My orders specifically stated that persons wishing to go to town should bring their reasons to me, and I would rule on a case-by-case basis. You chose to completely disregard this. Why?”

“I... didn’t think it would do any good, Ma’am.”

He was very young — barely old enough to enlist, Reese thought. She had glanced over his jacket, but now she turned to her computer, pulled his file up and quickly scanned it.

“You’re twenty-two years old, Wyatt. Been in for three years. According to your file you’re a first-class mechanic, and in line for a promotion.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

He stood rigidly at attention in front of her, eyes straight ahead.

“Do they call you Tim or Timothy?” Reese asked quietly.

Startled, his eyes dropped to her face, and then quickly snapped away again.

“Tim. There’s a chair to your right. Please, sit down.”

Warily, he lowered himself into the chair, spine still erect.

“Now, what made you think that coming to me — when I expressly said that I would rule on a case-by-case basis — would not do any good?”

“You didn’t allow any of the others to go, Ma’am.”

“And of course, you interviewed them all. Learned their reasons for going… and my reasons for turning them down... before coming to a considered and informed decision,” Reese asked without a trace of irony in her tone.

His eyes dropped.

“No — Ma’am. But... they were all officers.”

“Then shall we start again? Why do you want to go to town, Tim?”

“I want to see my wife, Ma’am. We were married just before I was sent over here. This is my second posting, an’ I’ve been here six months... I just found out a few days ago that Melissa’s pregnant, and... and...,” he stopped.

“I can... understand your concerns, Tim,” Reese said carefully. “How is it that your wife’s in Gibraltar?”

“She didn’t say, Ma’am. She wrote and told me she was here and asked could I come and see her ’cos she was pregnant and it wasn’t coming easy.”

“I’ve been looking through your file. There is no mention of your marriage. When and where did it take place?” Reese asked. “Also, I’ll need a copy of your marriage lines for the record.”

Tim Wyatt let out a long breath.

“It was last March, Ma’am, in Bradford. I h’ain’t got the certificate yet, it was supposed to be sent on. May-p’raps Melissa has it.”

“And did you get the permission of your commanding officer or base commander before the ceremony?” Reese asked.

Wyatt checked.

“Was... was we supposed to, Ma’am?” he asked.

Reese sighed. “Well, yes. Not to worry though — there are procedures to follow. Are you going to request housing?”

“I didn’t know as we could, Ma’am. I didn’t think I’d been in long enough for solo quarters.”

“Married quarters, actually,” Reese picked up her phone. “Lieutenant DeMarco, a few minutes of your time, please.”

“Yes, Ma’am, right away.”

“Wyatt, I’ll need the address where your wife is staying, please,” Reese said briskly.

Bemused, he provided it.

A knock at the door.

“Come in!”

Flight Lieutenant DeMarco entered.

“You sent for me, Ma’am?”

“I did. I need a car and a driver out front in five minutes. I also need you to arrange married quarters for Airman Wyatt and his wife. Personally, Annabelle.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Of course, Ma’am.”

The car arrived five minutes later — the driver came to the door to Reese’s office and knocked.

“We’ll be right there,” Reese called. “Now, Wyatt — I’m signing us both out as going into town with permission. We are going to pick up your wife, who has just arrived. If you have lied to me, you’ll be bound over for court-martial as soon as we get back. If you’re telling the truth...,” Reese smiled. “Well, consider yourself reprimanded and we’ll go from there.”

“Thank you... thank you!” Wyatt said.

Melissa Wyatt was there. Thin of face and arms, a large belly swollen grotesquely in front of her. Reese took one look at her and reached for her cell phone.

“Reese. Doc, I have an emaciated pregnant lady on her way in. We’ll be bringing her straight to the infirmary.”

She bundled the two of them into the back of the car then told the startled driver to move over.

The trip back to the base was made in half the time — and would have been faster had the car been equipped with a siren.

The doctor was waiting on the front doorstep of the infirmary for them.

“Melissa Wyatt, Doc. Tim Wyatt’s wife,” Reese said briskly. “Dependent. Save them both.”

“I’ll do my best, Ma’am.”

“Wyatt.”

“Ma’am?”

“Your place is beside your wife, until we’re sure she’s well,” Reese said. “Give the Doctor any information he asks for. Later, I’ll check back to see how she’s doing. And then we’ll sort out that paperwork.”

“Thank you!”

Not bothering to salute, he followed the doctor into the infirmary.

Smiling, Reese watched him go.

Married, on Tim’s last night of liberty. And apparently pregnant the same night. The DNA tests were fairly conclusive.

But... two kids, completely ignorant of their rights and responsibilities. Melissa Wyatt had apparently contrived to hitch her way to Gibraltar on a series of small boats and tramp steamers. Three times, she’d written to her husband to tell him of her pregnancy, but hadn’t received any reply. Checking into that, Reese found Melissa had used an incorrect form of the address, so the letters were never delivered.

And of course, she hadn’t thought to contact Tim’s old base commander, who certainly would have provided her with the medical care and transportation she warranted.

But she and the baby were recovering nicely and talking about naming their child after Corey — no matter what gender it was.

Reese smiled. One of her successes, then.

Christmas, and a 48–hour liberty in Barcelona. Things on the base were going well, so she felt secure in leaving. Smiling, she penned postcards to several friends before returning to the base.

January, 2001 - George W. Bush is sworn in as the forty-third American President, and the Massacre in Tiananmen Square in Beijing, China takes place.

April 8, 2001 - One week before Easter. An urgent telegram ordering her to report immediately to CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia for an urgent debriefing regarding her work in the Middle East. On the way there, she managed a quick stop at the Key West Naval Air Station on Boca Chica Key, picking up another postcard, which she was not able to mail until her final destination.

Then back to Gibraltar.

Things were settling down nicely.

June, 2001 - Air Vice-Marshal Reese, Third in Command of the RAF, arrived on the first of the month for a surprise inspection — and the rest of the month went downhill from there.

As usual, her father was cold, business-like. Until they reached her office.

“You’ve done well, Corey,” he said abruptly.

Pleased, she allowed herself to smile at the compliment.

“One small problem...”

“Sir?”

“You’ve shipped over fifty people out for trial. You’ll be needed to testify at all those trials, and — frankly — we feel you are also needed here. So, we’re shipping them back. Complete with a full Legal Squadron. You’ll be expected to provide quarters for them all, as well as hold yourself ready to testify as and when needed.”

“Yes, sir. When can I expect them?”

“Trials start the tenth of June. Expected to last at least three months. Shorter if possible, but I don’t want to hear of anyone slacking off. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

He still had the power to make her tremble. But she was a lot better at concealing it.

The trials began. Trials indeed, for both Reese and the various officers and personnel who were under charge.

Every day, she stood in court. Emotionlessly testifying to the results of her investigations.

Every day, she watched as men and women who had fallen prey to the seductive lures of the easy Spanish lifestyle were censured, reprimanded, and transferred out to hardship posts. And in the case of the criminal defendants, given jail time, at the end of which their separation without honor was inevitable.

Every night she wept for the waste that was decimating the base and her beloved service.

Was this to be her job from now on?

Air Vice-Marshal Reese had seemed pleased with her. Was his approval worth the price she was paying?

Finally, in a spirit of desperation she reached out to someone who had been there for her before. And, wonder of wonders, he responded. And their correspondence began.

At the end of June, Corey learned that she would be granted a long leave of two months, before going on to her new posting. No word on what that posting would be, but she was given choices, for once. She selected London and Home Counties first, United Kingdom second. And, she felt, she’d done a good enough job here in Gibraltar for one of those to be on the short list.

The trials didn’t take as long as expected, but not through anything Reese did. As the time wore on and the accused realized the inevitability of the proceedings, a number decided to change their pleas to Guilty in return for various considerations. Thus, it was that on the fifth of September, 2001 Corey found herself looking around the office for the last time, ready to leave for home.

Home.

Two weeks with Aunt Melanie and Uncle Marc and the children.

And then...