A Tan Beret Goes to Nellis

[Poohbah]

08 December 1987
Headquarters, Tenth Air Force
Nellis Air Force Base
Las Vegas, NV

After checking in, Sophie reported to the operations shop, and was escorted to Colonel Stewart's office.

Stewart looked at her with distaste. "You expecting a firefight, Warrant Officer Henrix?"

"Sir, I'm expecting someone to try to collect the bounty on my head. $20,000 in genuine Benjamins, assuming Ivan doesn't just hand out counterfeit money. People have been known to get really stupid for a lot less, sir." She paused, then said, "I'm going to need a rifle rack at my desk, sir. I can install it myself if necessary. I need this for transit to and from my billet."

"You buckaroos ever hear of maintaining a low profile?"

"Also known as 'security through obscurity,' sir. It has only one defect: it doesn't actually work in the long run. I'm TDY from 23rd Air Force, standing orders say I carry longarms out in town, our working assumption is that RED knows who we are, knows where we are if we're there for over a week, and has sufficient assets in any major theater support location to go after high-value targets. And RED really likes going after special operators, sir."

Stewart sighed. "Well, I'm stuck with you for the duration. You're going to be working up the detailed development of 23rd Air Force's EIGHTH CARD concept into a sound operational mission. I'll leave you with some templates we developed for our Effects-Driven Aerospace Operations concept, that's how we want it." He turned back to his paperwork and said, "Dismissed."

* * *

Sophie read through the Effects-Driven Aerospace Operations doctrine document.

Twice.

And then read through it a third time, taking frequent notes.

* * *

Sophie tapped on the entrance to Major Ventnor's cubicle. "Sir? Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Ventnor turned and smiled. "Absolutely." He gestured to the chair next to his desk. "Have a seat."

After Sophie sat down, she asked, "Sir, does anyone here have some mathematics to back up the assertions made in this document?"

Ventnor blinked. "Math?"

"Well, sir, at some point, you need some mathematical tools to assess the effectiveness of the campaign. There's an entire operations research section that's essentially folks like me--serious math nerds--that do nothing but develop those tools and pass them to the planning staff so they can wargame and assess their plans against an objective standard."

Ventnor asked, "Where did the Air Force dig you up, anyway? We don't see many cowgirls around these parts."

"On Day One, sir, I was beginning my junior year at MIT, full ride scholarship, double major in computer science and applied mathematics. By the end of the day, I was at Rome Air Force Base, bunked down in a warehouse with some field showers and latrines installed, and I'd memorized the name of one of the recruits who was supposed to be starting at Lackland that day when Ivan grabbed the place in a coup d'main. I was talent scouted by 23rd Air Force and did the Special Reconnaissance Operator's course at Eglin, commanded a Special Reconnaissance Team for a year, then went to staff work at Eglin. So, back to the mathematical tools. Operational effects should be Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Relevant, and Time-Bound. I'm not seeing any of that. Could you walk me through that?"

* * *

Sophie went back to her desk with about ten pages of notes, and a nagging sense that she'd just parachuted into a lunatic asylum--one that was being run by the inmates.

She went down to the operations research shop and got a floppy disk full of spreadsheet templates used to plan operations, and disks with operational data for the Red River sector.

She began running effects-driven operations through the TACSTRIKE model--a simple Lotus 1-2-3 spreadsheet-based "wargame" that allowed for all kinds of permutations.

She got loss rates that were truly appalling. But a cross-check of operations in the Red River sector showed nothing--until she loaded up September's spreadsheet and found a very abrupt spike in the casualty rate in the second week--which promptly disappeared.

Oh, this is getting interesting.

She consolidated the operations for September, October, and November, and applied some statistical tests to the data, then sat back in her chair and looked at the screen.

Good news: nobody here was dumb enough to cook the books. Bad news: they didn't need to because nobody in the Red River AOR is following the Air Tasking Order.

She thought back to a few operations that had gone awry at 23rd Air Force--last-minute deconfliction of ingress/egress routes for SOF insertion, including one where an MC-130E had to be vectored away from a wild dogfight between F-15s and MiG-29s just south of Dallas.

Everybody up front is lying to higher about what they're doing. Because they have to. Goddamnit, it's fucking Vietnam all over again.

She typed up a "MEMORANDUM FOR THE RECORD," printed out her work, then went in search of General Markham.

I can't trust Stewart; he has to suspect something. This is his baby. He's pretending it's working.

General Markham's secretary told her that Markham was playing golf with General Hurley.

Sophie went downstairs to the Chief of Staff's office. The civilian secretary looked at her dubiously.

"Good afternoon. I know this is extremely sudden, but I just found something that needs a general officer's attention, and General Markham's on the links right now."

She handed the folder to the secretary, who opened it, scanned her memo--and went pale.

"Warrant Officer Henrix, how certain of this are you?"

"On Day One, I was majoring in computer science and applied mathematics at MIT. I'm pretty certain I'm right."

The secretary picked up the phone and hit the intercom button.

"Sir, there's a young lady who says she needs to see you urgently, and she has a memo for file that's pretty strongly worded."

Pause.

"Yes, sir."

The secretary frowned, then said, "Sir, the language she's using is pretty clear--what I understand of it. She's using a lot of math terms, and there's a bunch of spreadsheets."

Pause.

"Yes, sir."

The secretary hung up, handed the file back, and then hit a button on the desk. The door buzzed. "The General will see you now."

Sophie marched in.

The nameplate on the desk said BGEN GLOSSON.

Sophie stopped precisely six inches from the desk, and gave her very best salute. "Sir, Chief Warrant Officer Henrix reports!"

Glosson nodded. "Is that the file?"

"Yes, sir." She proferred it to Glosson, who took it, opened it, and read the memo.

"Chief . . . I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a mathematician. Please give me the BLUF."

Sophie recognized the term: "Bottom Line Up Front."

Her brain went into vapor lock for a few seconds, until words came to her.

She blurted out, "Sir, the Ops staff apparently rode the short Starlifter to the AIr War College."

[Matt Wiser]

Even SASS and AWC graduates screw up-and this bunch did. She'll actually be pleased when she sees mission reports showing targets that were tasked to be hit with 48 Mark-82s and got up to 4 GBU-10s instead. Then there's the whole thing about sending a second element or flight onto a target ten minutes after the previous strike-when the bad guys' air defenses are still ornery and alerted.

[jemhouston]

For those bad guys who survive, that is.

Matt the Good Guys (?) in blue suits just found out Sophie can cause non-Lethal SUCK.

[Wolfman]

For those bad guys who survive, that is.

Matt the Good Guys (?) in blue suits just found out Sophie can cause non-Lethal SUCK.

It’s not her fault that Tenth Air Force’s ops staff is composed of idiots…

[Poohbah]

For those bad guys who survive, that is.

Matt the Good Guys (?) in blue suits just found out Sophie can cause non-Lethal SUCK.

It’s not her fault that Tenth Air Force’s ops staff is composed of idiots…

It's just her fault that she noticed.

[jemhouston]

Matt the Good Guys (?) in blue suits just found out Sophie can cause non-Lethal SUCK.

It’s not her fault that Tenth Air Force’s ops staff is composed of idiots…

It's just her fault that she noticed.

I'm really hoping she enjoys taking down idiots. If you're good at something, you should enjoy doing it.

[jemhouston]

Matt the Good Guys (?) in blue suits just found out Sophie can cause non-Lethal SUCK.

It’s not her fault that Tenth Air Force’s ops staff is composed of idiots…

It's just her fault that she noticed.

In fairness, they didn't take care hiding the fact. The closer you were to the spear's tip, the more you notice.

[Poohbah]

08 December 1987
Headquarters, Tenth Air Force
Nellis Air Force Base
Las Vegas, NV

Sophie answered questions about the spreadsheets for ten minutes.

The phone rang, and Glosson said, "Excuse me."

He picked up the phone. "General Glosson . . . on my way, sir."

Glosson said, "Wait here, please."

Glosson left, and Sophie felt a small wave of fatigue pour through her. She glanced at her watch, blinked, rubbed her eyes, and looked again.

December 9th. Oh, dear Lord.

She glanced at the 24-hour clock on the wall, and realized that she'd pulled an all-nighter...and a good chunk of the day, too.

Ten minutes later, Glosson opened the door and said, "General Tanner would like a moment."

Glosson led her to the commander's office. Sophie marched in, stopped at Tanner's desk, and started to salute.

"At ease, Chief. Sit down." Tanner pointed to a chair.

Sophie sat down, sitting bolt upright. Tanner sighed. "Chief, please sit at ease. I need you calm, relaxed, and focused. I never shoot the messenger."

Sophie relaxed slightly in the chair and did a quick breathing exercise to calm herself.

"All right, walk me through this."

Sophie said, "Sir, I was directed to take the revised EIGHTH CARD operations plan and put it fully into the Effects-Driven Aerospace Operations template--"

Tanner shot a glance at Glosson, who nodded slightly.

"--and develop it into what Colonel Stewart believes is a sound mission format."

That resulted in a more signifcant exchange of looks between Tanner and Glosson.

Tanner said, "I see. So, what happened next?"

"Sir, I read through the EDAO doctrine document, and I started having questions. I spoke to Major Ventnor about the mathematics underlying the concept, and I wasn't satisfied with the answers, mostly because there isn't any math to support it. So, I went downstairs to Operations Research and spoke to Ms. Mulholland, and I got some models and historical data from her. I then ran the EIGHTH CARD plan as they modified it through their TACSTRIKE spreadsheet model, and the answers I got indicated 25% losses to the attacking force and a less than 50% chance of mission success. And since their effort was much larger than the original EIGHTH CARD concept, that translates to losing a significant chunk of our strike capability in theater."

Glosson said, "Sir, that's not the worst of it." He turned to Sophie and said, "Tell him the rest of what you told me."

"I ran some examples from the doctrine document through TACSTRIKE, and I got some utterly horrific loss rates--12% of all generated sorties per day. And the TACSTRIKE model is fully validated; we used it at 23rd Air Force for co-planning ops with 9th and 10th."

Tanner blinked. "Um . . . Chief . . . if I understand what you're saying, applying the Rule of 72 in reverse means I lose about half my force in less than a week."

"Yes, sir."

"I haven't lost that much of my force, let alone that quickly."

"Yes, sir. There was a brief spike in September, but it went away. The notes for the data say that Ops Research decided it was a fluke, which is technically true. This is where the real issue comes in: the guys on the front line are not flying the ATO as written. Now, somewhere, that should've become obvious when the expected results for EDAO never showed up. The good news is that nobody's falsifying the data up here, sir; the bad news is the squadrons are, solely for reasons of keeping then chain of command happy and themselves operational, pencil-whipping the sorties as flown per the plan when they aren't. And we're seeing some knock-on effects at 23rd Air Force--we've had to do some hasty deconfliction with 10th Air Force in the Red River sector because we didn't know about this."

Sophie paused, then said, "Sir, every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth."

Tanner stared at Sophie for a long moment, then nodded. "And, sooner or later, that debt is repaid."

The phone rang. "Just a moment." He picked up the phone. "Yes--they're here? Good."

He hung up, then said, "Chief, if you could please wait outside?"

"Of course, sir."

Markham and another general she presumed was Hurley were standing by in flight suits--but she could see golf shirts underneath. They entered Tanner's office.

Five minutes later, both men walked back out with chastened expressions on their faces.

Ten minutes later, Glosson stuck his head out and gestured Sophie to come back in.

Sophie marched back in, and Tanner said, "Well, first off, thank you for bringing this to our attention. It's telling me I have more to do than I thought--and I already had orders from Sundown himself to clean house." Tanner said, "Could you give a summary of Option 2, please?"

He gestured to an acetate-covered chart.

"Yes, sir."

Sophie laid out the plan.

"It's bigger than what we did with Option One, but makes far more sense. But we'd never get the assets." Tanner smiled lopsidedly. "That's a pity; it's astonishingly simple for a plan of that magnitude. It's just throwing a lot of ordnance at a few important targets, and short-term deception to wrong-foot the enemy just long enough to succeed."

Sophie figured the best thing was to say nothing.

Tanner looked at Sophie and said, "Chief, General Gorton told me about you. He said you're all killer and no filler--and that we recruited you out of MIT, of all places. So, you're part of my ops staff now. I'm going to have to beg and steal a bunch of bodies to recover from this debacle. Sundown told me to clean house; if you'd gotten this to me yesterday, I would've been able to say it was already done."

He paused, then said, "And I understand you've been working this literally around the clock."

"No excuse, sir."

"Chief, I'm impressed that your brain still works as well as it does after this long without sleep. That said . . . with respect, you look like you haven't slept. Go back to your billet and get some sleep. Take tomorrow off. Be back on Thursday, ready to contribute." He paused, then said, "Chief, this war won't be won in a day. Why did you push so hard on this?"

"Sir . . . so far, I've written two letters." She paused. "One from Kamchatka, one from the Great New Mexico SCUD Hunt."

She paused again, then said, "That has to be the hardest part about this job. This was a ticking time bomb. I needed to defuse it, and I needed to be absolutely certain I was right before shooting my mouth off. Sir."

Tanner nodded, then said gently, "I understand, Chief. And you're absolutely right; writing letters is the hardest part of the job, and if you have a decent heart, it never gets any easier." He paused, then said, "Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir."

* * *

Sophie made it back to her billet and saw her roommate, Lieutenant Cassie Siegel. "Ooh-la-la, Sophie! Did you get lucky last night?"

"Yup. Avoided getting fired on the first day."

She locked up her rifle, then grabbed a shower and lay down on her bed.

Sleep came quickly.

[clancyphile]

Matt the Good Guys (?) in blue suits just found out Sophie can cause non-Lethal SUCK.

It’s not her fault that Tenth Air Force’s ops staff is composed of idiots…

It's just her fault that she noticed.

And had the moral courage to stand up and say something.

Kinda like Matt Clancy when he found out some defense counsels took a knee with their clients at the Tier I and Tier Ii trials in Reno.

[jemhouston]

When Sophie brushes her teeth, she likes being able to look the person in the mirror in the eye.

[clancyphile]

When Sophie brushes her teeth, she likes being able to look the person in the mirror in the eye.

So did Matt Clancy - both for brushing teeth at night and when shaving in the morning.

[Poohbah]

10 December 1987
MGM Grand Hotel
Las Vegas, NV

The phone woke Sophie.

She picked up on the second ring. "Room 2304."

"Chief, General Lodge. I'm in town for some meetings, and I thought I'd invite you to lunch."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

They grabbed soup and sandwiches at the Deli restaurant.

"Chief, I want you to know that you've popped up on General Cunningham's radar twice in two weeks, both times involving identifying problems and reporting them up the chain of command. He's thoroughly impressed."

"Gaah. I hope nobody told him the details about this one, sir. I damn near went walkabout--"

"No, you didn't. You pulled an all-nighter, which special operators can get away with every now and then because they're in superb physical condition. And I know you haven't gone walkabout since you were 14."

Sophie blinked.

"Sophie . . . I was keeping an eye on Adam's associates, and associates of his associates, all the way back to when he was a pea-greener at Pershing. One of his closest friends was a fellow altar boy named Joshua Mantell, and you got watched because you were friends with Josh."

Sophie nodded, then said, "And there I was, walking in Princess Del Cerro Park at two in the morning, in my underwear. The sprinklers woke me up. That was . . . embarrassing. And now you tell me that there was someone watching me?"

"Valerie Morgan, SDSU Class of 1980. She's a major now, works at DIA's Pacific Command fusion center at Aiea. Very sharp human intelligence operator, but her cover got blown by the usual gang of leftists, so she's an analyst now. She was watching over you. If anything had started looking dangerous--like someone kidnapping you, stuff like that--she would've intervened, and she was packing heat--and a can, too. Wouldn't have disturbed the neighbors."

"Well, that's good to know. At least they wouldn't have seen a 13-year-old kid in training bra and panties next to a dead guy."

"You were safe. Look, my point is that whatever treatment you got--and I don't know what it was--actually worked."

"But I lost track of time on Momday."

"Happens to me, Sophie. You're just like me in some ways. You don't half-ass things. We do not like loose ends, we want to make sure that we're not jumping at shadows, we realize we have exactly one chance to make our case--and so we do the work, and working hours are midnight until we're finished. At least when I hit 45 I started face-planting on my desk if I tried to work around the clock like you just did. This wasn't your brain betraying you. Enough of that." He smiled, then said, "When Sundown is happy, the Air Force is happy. When Sundown is NOT happy, ain't nobody happy. The responsible parties in the Salt Lake City Military District have been sacked, and for all I know, the people responsible for sacking the people who have just been sacked, have been sacked. And he ordered General Tanner to clean house."

"Sir . . . last I checked, and God knows I might be wrong, but I was kind of under the impression that we've been at war for the past two years, three months, and six days. Shouldn't we have gotten rid of the non-hackers who aren't packing the gear by now?"

Lodge rolled his eyes. "You would think that, but we are not so blessed. Some supply weenies need to be reminded about that--you know that there were memos about Team MONTANA using too much Raufoss ammo during the Great New Mexico SCUD Hunt?"

"Sir, you must be joking. We used exactly three rounds across two months."

"Not joking. Some folks really don't understand that we are at war. So, I wanted to pass on Sundown's accolades, and to warn you that Las Vegas is probably at least as dangerous as Oklahoma City. We think PSD has the lead here because they're more able to blend in than WARPAC and other fraternals are without a lot of specialized training, and there hasn't been a need for a resistance movement to teach everyone caution. I'm running an operation to check security."

"I'm strapped 24/7."

"Good. That said, sleep with one eye open."

"Yes, sir."

"Also, I really am running an operation here. I need you to exercise cover for status to support my operators."

Sophie remembered the conversation with Adam during their R&R a year earlier.

"Adam and I had a discussion about that."

Lodge swore quietly.

"You had to see that coming, sir. We're important to each other, he wanted my OK, I granted it because the shortest path to the altar involves winning this war, the sooner, the better."

Lodge nodded. "Fair enough. But you aren't supposed to be aware of his assignment."

"What's done is done, sir. So, cover for status. To what degree?"

"All of the operators are women. You'd be a friend they could reach out to. We can arrange meetings." Another pause. "It might be advantageous to engage in some PDA, and to generally indicate that you're in an intimate relationship with the operator. I can't order you--"

Sophie said, "No problem, sir, I can do that. I don't shriek, 'Oh, God, lesbo cooties, GROSS!' Yes, I've thought of it a few times, and Adam and I have enjoyed some very spicy sex after reading some Penthouse Forum letters. Heck, I even wrote three of those letters, and all of them were published. I write top-drawer smut, even if I say so myself."

Lodge sighed, then said, "There is such a thing as too much information, Sophie."

"Sir, it's the 1980s. Women now officially have permission to enjoy sex. We're even allowed to wear shoes and have our own checkbooks."

Lodge chuckled. "All right, then. There's one other thing; these operators are all porn stars--the industry relocated here. Some are in their thirties--they were stars ten years ago--some are in their late teens and early twenties, and are 4-F for various reasons, and some are . . . well, they're old enough to be your mother."

"Yet another thing that's changed because of the war. Hell, one of the gals in my boot camp at Rome was really pissed off because she was supposed to be in the November 1985 issue of Penthouse, and everything involved in the shoot--negatives, prints, photographer, the woman she did the shoot with, the editorial and business offices, and her damn paycheck--got vaporized. Now, the youngest Playmate since spring of '86 is 30-plus and a mother, and we now have the acronym MILF in our language. So, what's the mission?"

"Looking for leaks...and signs of targeted collection. Look, you know where the prewar porn shops were?"

"No, sir."

"San Fernando Valley--just down the 14 from Plant 42, a lot of aerospace executives and senior engineers live there--and the Bay area, home to the Navy, Air Force, and Silicon Valley. And then, they all just kind of turn up right next to Tenth Air Force Headquarters now that Plant 42 isn't doing cutting-edge work so much."

"Mob involvement in porn . . . could be that they're relocating their porn ops to Vegas to cut down on travel."

Lodge shook his head. "That idea crossed everyone's minds, but we have a source . . . "

* * *

Amanda Harris had run away from her home in Tennessee shortly after her 14th birthday in 1981, and made her way to the Sunset Strip.

She'd ended up getting pimped out, and when she'd suddenly blossomed from a typical teenage girl to a stunner at age 16, she'd been handed to another kind of pimp, one who worked in different circles. For two years, she'd graced VHS tape boxes as "Roxy Skye," just below Ginger Lynn, Christy Canyon, and Traci Lords in the pantheon.

Shortly after her 18th birthday, World War III had broken out. She'd been picked up in connection with a black-marketing ring her pimp had hatched during the chaos of the Tri-County Military Emergency.

* * *

Brigadier General Samuel Lodge stepped into the interrogation room in Air Battle Uniform, carrying a briefcase. He looked at the young woman in front of him, then sat down opposite her.

He eyed her critically, then said, "My guess is you've either just turned 18, or you're about to."

The woman broke eye contact.

"Ms. Kohlman--assuming that is your real name, and I have a good reason to believe it isn't--please look me in the eye."

She looked at him, and he saw her fear.

Lodge kept his voice gentle. "Let's start with your name. Your real name, please."

After a long moment, she said, "Amanda Harris."

"Hello, Ms. Harris. I'm Brigadier General Samuel Lodge, United States Air Force. I work in intelligence."

He extended his hand to her. After a couple of seconds, she shook it--nor especially firmly, but not entirely a dead fish, either.

"I'm from Boston. I'm guessing, from your accent, you're from the Nashville area."

This time, her answer was more relaxed. "Uh, yeah. I'm from Thompson's Station, a bit south of Nashville and Franklin."

"I'm familiar with the place; I did a paper at Air Command and Staff College about the battle there in 1863. Walked the battlefield at Preservation Park."

Lodge reached down and grabbed his briefcase, laid it on the table, and opened it. He pulled out a file. Copies of her drivers' licenses were clipped to the left-hand side of the folder; the right-hand side had her school transcripts and graduation picture.

"You lived as one Tina Kohlman, also known as Tina Danielle Kohlman, also known as Roxy Skye. Tina Kohlman and Roxy Skye are, according to their legends, 22 years old. You do not have the appearance of a 22-year-old woman. When the physical facts give lie to your legend, we go with physical facts, which happen to match the legend of Tina Danielle Kohlman, above-average--but not too noticeably above-average--recent graduate of San Fernando High School."

Harris frowned. "Uh . . . what's a legend?"

"It's a term we use in running intelligence officers. The legend is the officer's claimed identity--name, birthdate, where they were supposedly born, schools attended, et cetera. So, your claimed identity is your legend. I'm going to teach you another term we use in spying. It's known as 'walking the cat back.' That's where we reconstruct what happened before. Usually, we're trying to figure out where an operation went wrong. What we're seeing is where an operation went very, very right. Unfortunately, we think it was the bad guys' operation." Lodge paused, then asked, as gently as he could, "What were you doing from 1981 to 1983?"

Harris glared at Lodge. "I think you know."

"I suspect. I don't know. I need to hear it from you, and I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. Amanda . . . America is at war, and right now, we're losing."

Harris was silent for a long moment. "I was a whore. Not much of one . . . but enough."

Lodge nodded. "That's the final piece of the puzzle. You were in school, a loner. Let me make a guess: you were pimped up in Antelope Valley on weekends. How am I doing?"

"100%." Harris blinked. "How did you know?"

"Whoever was running you didn't want you hooking down on Lankershim Boulevard and San Fernando Road. Too much chance of getting arrested. They weren't maximizing cash flow. They made sure you attended school, because they didn't want the LA Unified truancy police after their star girls."

* * *

Sophie blinked. "So, a prostitution ring that wasn't in it for the money? But why?"

"Chief . . . they got rid of Amanda Harris when she suddenly went from obvious jailbait to a very beautiful girl who could just about pass for 18. Now that I've shot the elephant in the room . . . do the math."

Sophie walked through the logic. Not in it for the money, keeping an extremely low profile by having her work in a different location than where she lived, they made sure she showed up in school so that the district got their daily attendance money . . . and replaced when she suddenly became a woman . . .

"Dear God. They were using her as a honey trap. An underage honey trap, even."

Lodge said, "Amazing how much cheaper those classified documents get when you can nail they purveyor for kiddie diddling whenever you want. We nailed a few people from that."

Sophie nodded. "You recruited her, didn't you?"

Lodge nodded. "And, six months later, the entire San Fernando Valley porn industry suddenly packed up for Vegas. Including her. By then, we had about a dozen women recruited into the operation, and we're developing intel on the prostitution ORBAT here, with an emphasis on who's running the underaged girls and where. And there's a bunch of those in town thanks to the refugee crisis. The same people are in the loop as there were in San Fernando and San Francisco; they're connected."

"Why would the porn types hang around the guys pimping underage girls?"

"More like the other way around, for cover. They don't advertise that they're pimping. They just supply money, shooting locations--one of the biggest porn videos of 1984 was shot in a Soviet intelligence safehouse--business services, et cetera. So, she's here, shooting porn, apparently partying, and collecting info. We just need you to help keep an eye on things, supply some moral support for the ladies, and be ready for a shootout if worst comes to worst."

* * *

Harrah's Casino Hotel
Las Vegas, NV

Sophie went to the door of the club, feeling naked without the rifle.

The doorman said, "Ma'am, this is a private party."

Sophie leaned in close and said, "Window seat."

The doorman nodded once, and opened the door.

Inside were about three dozen men and women of varying ages.

A fortyish man said, "Looking for some excitement?"

Sophie raised an eyebrow. "Maybe. But not with you."

She made her way along the bar. Near the center of mass were Ginger Lynn and Christy Canyon. Outside, in the second ring, was Roxy Skye, who took in Sophie's tan beret and said, "Hello, gorgeous! Looking for a good time?"

"Maybe."

"You've come to the right place. Hey, let me introduce you around."

Roxy leaned in and quietly asked, "Ever been to Boston?"

Sophie nodded. "You want to go for the third stage?"

Roxy breathed a quick sigh of relief; the recognition code had been built on her real name. She then led Sophie around the room, introducing various people, and keeping her away from the very center of attention. At one point she said, "Ginger and Christy are with it, but we can't work together in public. So's Traci Lords, same problem. I'm the next tier down, they have to hate me. I'll set up meetings."

Sophie nodded slightly.

Music started, and Roxy smiled. "Dance with me?"

Cover for status.

"Sure."

* * *

They walked back toward Roxy's apartment. Roxy said, "If you stay . . . well, the apartment's provided by the production team, so I assume it's bugged. No meaningful talks, and they're expecting me to take you to bed if you stay. How do you want to play this?"

"Roxy . . . I have a boyfriend."

Roxy nodded.

"But you need cover for status, too, or they're going to wonder why you're hanging around with me. So we enjoy it for what it is, and I fit into your world."

"And your boyfriend?"

"The shortest path to the altar is to win the war as fast as possible." She smiled. "And we used to fantasize about a threesome. Never did the deed, but talking about it definitely made for some spicy sex."

Roxy sighed. "I wish I was brave like you. Not scared of getting caught out."

"Amanda . . . I'm not fearless. Being afraid means you have enough brains to recognize things are dangerous, and that you have to be careful. I'm scared, just as you are. Bravery is pushing through that fear and doing the job anyway." She leaned in and kissed her cheek. "You're a very brave woman."

Roxy embraced Sophie fiercely and gave her a passionate kiss.

* * *

Afterwards, Sophie held Roxy and felt the younger woman relax. She ran finger along her back, and felt the tension knots.

"Want a backrub? I'm told I have very good hands."

Roxy smiled. "Sure."

Sophie worked on the knots in Roxy's back, breaking down the knots.

This turned into a second round, which felt more tender, less frenetic. They lay together, and Roxy whispered, "I feel safe with you."

Sophie kissed Roxy's forehead. "I've got you. Don't worry."

They drifted off to sleep together.

[Matt Wiser]

Something in me is silently screaming "Postwar porn movie" based on this...

And when the Mob finds out that the KGB/PSD/Stasi were using their porn shoots as cover for operations-and they will find out-there's going to be some bodies tossed into trash cans, filled with cement, and dumped into Lake Mead.

[jemhouston]

Something in me is silently screaming "Postwar porn movie" based on this...

And when the Mob finds out that the KGB/PSD/Stasi were using their porn shoots as cover for operations-and they will find out-there's going to be some bodies tossed into trash cans, filled with cement, and dumped into Lake Mead.

They'll hold off until after their Agency friends tell them to.

I don't know why, but Micheal Coldsmith-Briggs shadow is on this.

[Wolfman]

Something in me is silently screaming "Postwar porn movie" based on this...

And when the Mob finds out that the KGB/PSD/Stasi were using their porn shoots as cover for operations-and they will find out-there's going to be some bodies tossed into trash cans, filled with cement, and dumped into Lake Mead.

They'll hold off until after their Agency friends tell them to.

I don't know why, but Micheal Coldsmith-Briggs shadow is on this.

Archangel? That figures.

[Poohbah]

11 December 1987
Headquarters, Tenth Air Force
Nellis Air Force Base
Las Vegas, NV

Sophie collected her gear from the X-Ray conveyor belt and reassembled herself. She saw Second Lieutenant Bauer looking at her, stood to attention, and saluted.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning, Chief." Bauer's salute was crisp without being excessively gung-ho. "I was wondering about that tool thingie. I understand carrying a pistol and knives . . . "

"It's a Leatherman Pocket Survival Tool, sir. I wasn't always a special operator. When I was in high school, I carried a small toolkit in my purse to work on the computers in the school lab; my father got me this as a combination birthday and off-to-college gift. Pretty much replaced the entire toolkit. Still carry it today because you never know when you're going to need a screwdriver or some pliers. Probably need this a lot more than I need the pistol, but it's better to have something and not need it than to need it and not have it, sir."

"Can't be easy living with a price on your head."

Sophie smiled. "It's much easier than being the idiot trying to collect."

Bauer turned pale.

Sophie, gotta remember this ain't Tinker or Gallup, and the folks here aren't used to meat-eaters.

* * *

Sophie sat down, dumped her inbox on the desk blotter and started sorting through the pile for what needed to be done immediately, what was for read-and-file, and what could be blown off. Third day on the assignment and I've already got fifteen meeting notices, ten action items of dubious provenance, and thirty "oh-by-the-ways" I need to read.

She quickly read and filed the informational items regarding various base and 10AF policies, jotted the meetings she was required to attend on her desk calendar, and then read through the action items twice each, writing notes on a legal tablet.

Just as she finished, someone banged on the wall of her cubicle. "Stand-up meeting in five, outside the ops chief's office!"

Sophie got up and pulled her wheelbook out of her cargo pocket.

* * *

General Vandenhelden, the new ops chief, looked around. "All right, looks like we have everyone. I'll make this quick: I have my orders from General Glosson. Starting today, the ATO gets built on reality, not your pet theories of how to use airpower. We have specific missions and tasks. Those are what we write the ATO to. 'Nuff said on that, let's do some admin. Chief Henrix is working on a special project. No, you may not poach her without my concurrence--and it will require General Glosson's approval for the final decision, so please, for the love of God, if you must poach her, it'd better be because we're at a work stoppage without her working your problem. Clear?"

There was a ragged, "Yes, sir."

"All right." Vandenhelden looked at everyone. "General Markham and his brain trust pissed away our shop's credibility. It is what it is. We're going to earn that credibility back--but it's only going to be one drop at a time. Deal with it. Your counterparts at the wing level are going to be extremely skeptical, and they're going to push back hard if your work is less than immaculate. Do your best to do it right the first time, and you'll gain trust. If you make a mistake, don't argue, just own it, fix it, and move on." He looked around again, then said, "Dismissed. Chief Henrix, I need a moment of your time, please."

Henrix followed Vandenhelden into his office. "Shut the door, please."

Sophie closed the door. Vandenhelden gestured to a chair, and Sophie sat.

Vandenhelden poured coffee for both of them, and sipped his.

"All right, so I understand that if you'd gotten here a week earlier, Sundown wouldn't have had to direct the boss to clean house. Good work. I do not approve of you pulling an all-nighter without express direction to do so. I worked at TAC HQ, and I sometimes had liaison duty with Big Air Force in Philly. You tan berets are considered to be Class I Strategic Assets, on a par with a BUFF or a Galaxy, and I expect you to take proper care of your physical, mental, and emotional well-being, if for no other reason than to preserve the readiness of a vital piece of Air Force equipment--but far more because you're one of my people, and I am responsible for your welfare every bit as much as I'm responsible for mission accomplishment. Understood?"

"Understood, sir."

"All right. Break-break, let's go over your assignment here for BOLO II. My understanding is that Marine Air Group 11 is planning, mostly at the 335th. So I'm not entirely sure what role we play."

"Sir, in order to get the opportunity to execute, we have to get Ivan to send the Fencers out when we want, not when Ivan wants. And that means presenting a target set worth going after, where we want it, and when we want it."

Vandenhelden nodded. "And that would be something we need to manage. Understood. So, what's the target?"

"For various reasons, sir, I'm preferring a theater nuclear forces target. A Corps headquarters would likely get hit by ballistic missiles, but a truly time-urgent target that can tactically relocate will bring out the Fencers to sweep the uncertainty area."

"Good call. Well, I'll leave you to liaison with Colonel Decker's team downstairs." Vandenhelden took another sip of coffee and said, "Now to the really ticklish part. Tanner had a phone call yesterday with Sundown. Word is that this is the second time in two weeks you've caught onto something that needed to be reported. During that conversation, Sundown mentioned who your rabbi is. I knew General Lodge when I was a Raven in Laos, I know I can trust him absolutely. General Tanner doesn't have that experience. General Lodge is as honest as he can be with the Air Force--but that has its limits when you're doing secret squirrel stuff. His reputation toward the enemy is that he's an underhanded, devious sonofabitch--and he has to sometimes not let the rest of the Air Force in on the joke, which means that the perception of much of the Air Force is that he's a devious, underhanded sonofabitch towards everybody. General Tanner mostly believes that.

"I have to ask you: are you doing any additional duties for General Lodge? It doesn't go past this room unless it becomes an emergency."

"I'm supporting an informal ring he recruited, sir. I'm an SOS resource, extract if anyone is in extremis. They're trying to develop actionable intelligence to see if Ivan or the collaborationists are using some of the Lost Girls for honey traps."

"How risky?"

"Unknown, sir. I am treating it as high risk, mostly because there's a bounty on my head."

"How much?"

"Twenty grand."

"Not great, not terrible." He raised his cup--

"American."

The cup stopped exactly halfway to his mouth.

"Interesting."

He sipped his coffee, set the cup down, and leaned back in his chair.

"Only an idiot would try it. But then I contemplate how stupid the average person is, and shudder when I realize half of them are even dumber than that. And you're working a mission that's high priority--kiddie diddlers are going to get squeezed for whatever access they have. The real wonder is why you aren't working full-time on it."

"Sir, it's not to interfere with my work on this assignment--it's covered to be my social life. Vegas isn't like Gallup, Spokane Valley, or Oklahoma City, it's not one of the usual stops for special operators."

Vandenhelden nodded. "I see. So, if you get spotted out in town, should the staff keep their mouths shut?"

"Good heavens, no, sir. I'm going to attract scandalous comment if anyone sees me. Let them comment all they want. It's part and parcel of my cover."

"Let people gossip about a secret operation." Vandenhelden shook his head. "Crazy."

"Sir, the surest way to blow a covert operation is to stop being covert and to start being furtive."

Vandenhelden sipped his coffee with one hand, tapping his fingers on the desk with the other.

"I see. All right, then." He put the coffee down, grabbed a Post-It Note, wrote a number, and handed it to Sophie. "This is my pager number. You need to pop a smoke, I will make stuff happen. We need a code number that tells me you're popping smoke."

"531-8008, sir."

Vandenhelden nodded. "531-8008 it is."

[jemhouston]

His reputation toward the enemy is that he's an underhanded, devious sonofabitch--and he has to sometimes not let the rest of the Air Force in on the joke, which means that the perception of much of the Air Force is that he's a devious, underhanded sonofabitch towards everybody. General Tanner mostly believes that.

I think that's the best compliment anyone ever gave him.

I'm really hoping General Vandenhelden is one of the good guys.

[Wolfman]

His reputation toward the enemy is that he's an underhanded, devious sonofabitch--and he has to sometimes not let the rest of the Air Force in on the joke, which means that the perception of much of the Air Force is that he's a devious, underhanded sonofabitch towards everybody. General Tanner mostly believes that.

I think that's the best compliment anyone ever gave him.

I'm really hoping General Vandenhelden is one of the good guys.

That makes two of us…

[Matryoshka]

He certainly seems to be looking at the situation with clear eyes and good sense: “OK, this is manifestly unsat — let’s get to work on fixing it”. He’s laid out his Commander’s Intent in clear, concise, unequivocal language, and he knows that he doesn’t want to play stupid games with a Strategic Asset (Sophie) unless and until absolutely necessary, and even then he’d better have a damned good reason or he can kiss his stars goodbye.

As military commanders go, those qualities are far from the worst place to start.

[jemhouston]

I finally looked up Raven in Laos, Vandenhelden is Sophie 20 years in her career. He's a fellow meat eater.