Do Thunderbolts

Strike Twice?

PART II

 

a CAPTAIN SCARLET AND THE MYSTERONS story

by Mary J. Rudy

 

 

      "Angels Two and Three--immediate launch," was the command heard from the Cloudbase control room.

      A soft French voice flowed over the airwaves, that of Destiny Angel:  "S.I.G., Lieutenant--ooh, I'm sorry, Captain Ochre."

      "No harm done, Destiny."  It was an easy enough mistake to make; Ochre was filling Lieutenant Green's regular post as Cloudbase's communications and flight deck operations officer.

      Destiny and Melody Angel jumped into a pair of seats in the Amber Room.  As the two female pilots put on their helmets, the seats elevated into the two fighters parked directly above them.  Within seconds, they were airborne and joined Symphony Angel, who had been on regular alert in the lead aircraft and had taken off immediately upon a previous order.  Ochre waited until the planes assumed their arrowhead formation before he spoke again.

      "Angel Flight, you are to set course to 328 magnetic and proceed at normal altitude and cruising speed to the suburban Washing­ton, D.C. area.  You will escort the group of vintage aircraft to Bong Air Force Base in the southern part of the city.  When the show begins, you are to fly a circular patrol above said aircraft and report on anything suspicious.  Spectrum helicop­ter B21 is already in the area to provide additional air-ground support and emergency evacuation if necessary.  Do you have any questions?"

      "Captain, I thought the King Convention was the primary target," commented Symphony Angel, Captain Ochre's fellow Midwesterner.

      "That hasn't changed, Symphony.  The Planes of Extinction's flight plan takes them directly over the convention complex.  You'll be overflying both proposed targets."

      Melody spoke next, her usual Atlanta drawl subdued by the concern in her voice.  "Captain, some of those planes carried more weapons in wartime than our three put together--you'd know that better than any of us.  What if the Mysterons have con­trol of the entire flight and are loaded with live ordnance?"

      "Andrews Air Force Base is on standby.  Just say the word and you'll have assistance in less than one minute.  Remember, our planes are much faster."

      "Maybe, Captain Ochre, but these pilots are war veterans," replied Melody.

      "Oui, and they will outnumber us," added Destiny.

      "Don't worry, girls," reassured Symphony.  "Captain Ochre is right.  There's a fully-operational air base less than ten miles away.  Besides, we're not even sure if the Mysterons are in control of the flight."

      "That's true," noted Ochre.  "There's been nothing unusual so far to report, although a press release did state that one of the planes would do some low-level flying."  He stopped and checked the Angels' position on the radar.  "Well, Angel Flight, your ETA Washington is one hour. Keep your eyes open and good luck."

      "S.I.G., Cloudbase," said Symphony for the trio.

 

      The one-hour mark came and went with the Angel jets still en route to Washington, delayed by a fierce headwind.  Captain Ochre was not overly concerned by the delay because there was still plenty of time.  Apparently the Planes of Extinction were also behind schedule, for the radar screen was blank.  As Ochre radioed course and speed corrections to Symphony Angel, the door slid open.  The captain rose to his feet as Colonel White strode in.

      "Good morning, Colonel."

      "Good morning, Captain Ochre," replied the snow-haired man with the cultured British accent, motioning for Ochre to sit back down.  "As you were."  The colonel sat at his circular console and rotated it so he faced a huge monitor in back of him.  "What is the current location of the Angel flight, Captain?"

      Ochre projected the radar screen on the monitor.  "ETA Washington city limits is about thirty minutes, sir."  At that mo­ment, a cluster of lights appeared on the edge of the screen.  "That will be the Planes of Extinction flight.  Wind conditions have caused a slight delay.  I've calculated a new intercept course for the Angels."

      "Good," said White absent-mindedly.  He was counting the number of planes in the antique aircraft group.  He frowned and counted again.

      "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Captain Ochre.

      "They're two short," said the base commander thoughtfully.  "Put me in touch with the squadron leader."

      Ochre snapped on the radio and nodded.

      "This is Colonel White of Spectrum wishing to speak to the commanding officer."

      "Good morning, Colonel," replied a nasal American voice.  "Colonel Karl Dietrich, acting commander of the Planes of Extinc­tion, at your service."

      "Colonel Dietrich, do you require assistance?  We have radar contact with you, and we count two aircraft fewer than origi­nally planned."

      "Colonel Stone, flying our A-10, returned to base late and was refueling as the main body took off.  Our commanding offi­cer, General Moriarty, stayed with him.  They should be right behind us, but thanks for the offer."

      "Are the missing aircraft important to the air show activities?"

      "The A-10 is very important, Colonel White; he's the star of the show.  The Mustang piloted by General Moriarty only plays a minor part in the festivities.  Request that the show be postponed for fifteen minutes or until all aircraft have assembled, whichever is sooner."

      "Understood, Colonel Dietrich.  My aide, Captain Ochre, will advise when we have the two aircraft on our radar."

      "Thank you, Colonel White.  Out."

      White rotated the console back to its original position, facing the computers and Captain Ochre.  The Spectrum commander sat for a minute deep in thought, his chin in his hand.  Then, his face lit up and he turned to his aide.

      "Well, I think we've just found some use for that hobby of yours, Captain.  What can you tell me about the aircraft?"

      "I'm great as far as fighters, sir.  The Mustang is probably the best-known fighter of World War II--"

      "I think I'm familiar enough with the Mustang," the colonel interrupted.  "What do you know about this A-10?"

      "Judging by the designation, I'd say it's an American attack plane of the late 20th century.  Other than that, Colonel, I don't know anything about it.  I'm pretty rusty when it comes to post-1960's aircraft, particularly attack planes."

      "Do you have some sort of encyclopedia or reference book where we can quickly find a picture?"

      "Yes, sir.  I should be able to find a picture in one of the books in my quarters."

      "Well, then, let's get cracking.  I'll run checks on Stone and Moriarty while you research that aeroplane."

      "S.I.G., Colonel," called Ochre from the doorway.

 

      "Good morning, Mr. President," said Captain Blue as the chief executive sat at the breakfast table.

      "Good morning, Captain.  Do we have time for coffee?"

      "Plenty of time for a full breakfast if you like, sir."

      "No, thanks, I'm not hungry.  Just coffee, please," Roberts said to the servant, who filled the President's cup before clearing Blue's dishes.  Roberts spooned sugar into the cup and stirred slowly as he spoke.

      "So, Captain Blue, what's the order of the day?"

      "Our Maximum Security Vehicle is waiting outside, sir.  The motorcade will stop to pick up Space General Perreault and General Murray, and then it'll be a non-stop trip to the Air Force base."

      "And the security of the other chiefs of staff?"

      "The Secret Service and Spectrum security will take good care of them."

      Roberts nodded and took a long sip of the coffee.  "What about the air show?"

      "As of an hour ago, the Planes of Extinction flight was en route to Washington.  If everything goes according to plan, the planes will make their grand entrance shortly after we arrive."

      "But what if they're Mysteron planes?  What's to stop them from strafing the grandstand?"

      "A Spectrum helijet with a cannon in the nose, plus our three Angel pilots.  Also, don't forget about that special grandstand."

      "And if they fail, there's always Andrews."

      "Exactly right, Mr. President.  They're lined up for inspection by the Joint Chiefs later today, but they can be alerted quickly."

      "Sounds like Spectrum has everything covered."

      "You should see what they're doing at the convention center for the King Conference, sir.  This is nothing."

      "I've heard.  Captain Scarlet is as efficient as you."

      "More than usual, when he and the lieutenant team up."

      "Maybe you'll introduce me to this Lieutenant Green someday, Captain.  From what you were telling me last night, he sounds like some type of whiz kid."

      The captain laughed.  "I guess he is at that, Mr. President."  Seeing that Roberts had finished his coffee, he looked at his watch.  "Whenever you want to get going, sir."

      "Now's as good a time as any-- no, wait."  Roberts picked up the telephone.  "I might as well call my photographer.  One nice thing about this job--I get to enjoy the air show while someone else has to fool around with the camera."

      As the President placed his call, Blue said with a smile, "I wonder if I might ask a favor of you, sir--"

      "Of course, Captain," interrupted Roberts, holding up his hand and winking at him.  "I'll have an extra set made for Captain Ochre.  If you don't bring him back a souvenir, you won't hear the end of it."

 

      Colonel White had been a good choice to head Spectrum.  Besides his ideal previous assignment with the Universal Secret Service, he was a former admiral in the World Navy.  His experience as a captain of a destroyer early in that career had carried over perfectly to the hovering nuclear-powered structure known as Cloudbase.  The Spectrum headquarters was practically the same as an aircraft carrier, only without the water and with other modifications to compensate for high altitude operations.  The control room was located in the "island" above the flight deck, which now seemed naked and vulnerable without the Angel air­craft in alert position.  Although Cloudbase had no need for defensive armament due to its exceptional mobility, it was still a strange feeling not to have the aircraft there.

      Fortunately, White had found only one General Moriarty still living in the world, a retired U.S. Air Force general who had headed the Planes of Extinction for several years.  With "Colonel Stone," however, there were hundreds.  The colonel glanced at the computer printer spitting out sheet after gray-barred sheet of lieutenant colonels and colonels named Stone either active in or retired from the U.S. Air Force, Army and Marine Corps.  And he was only beginning.  There were still Canada and the other countries to check.  White sighed.  Sifting through all of these records would be time-consuming.

      Although this type of search was tedious, it had proven to be the most accurate when combined with the information sup­plied from the news media.  Colonel White, and Captain Ochre whenever he got back to the control room, would match up names and other data and eliminate all but a few likely suspects.

      The problem was that Spectrum had only a few criteria with which to work--Colonel Stone, male, jet pilot.  He had been unable to contact Colonel Dietrich again over the radio, for the squadron leader was either transmitting or receiving, and his old type of radio handled only one voice transmission at a time.

      Also, Colonel White still could not be sure that they had even identified the Mysteron or Mysterons.  The Mysteron agent could be anyone, or even an object such as one of the planes, and there was no way to identify a Mysteron.  What if Stone and Moriarty had been the ones unfortunate enough to discover the plot and had been eliminated?  That would leave someone in Dietrich's group, and White did not wish to reveal Spectrum's plans to the wrong ears.  They still had not stumbled upon the missing link, the one clue which would tie everything else together.

      Finally, Captain Ochre appeared in the doorway with five large books cradled in his arms.

      "What in the blue blazes took you so long, Captain?"

      "Trying to find books that would include the A-10, sir.  Most of mine only deal with the 1940's."

      "I thought I asked for only one picture.  Why do you have all those books?"

      Ochre, staggering under the weight of the thick volumes, set them on his desktop with a bang.  "In case we need more details, Colonel.  It made more sense to bring them all instead of hunting through the whole bunch again."  He leaned over the computer console and punched a couple of buttons.  "Let me set up the scan of the news and I'll check these books while that is running."

      "Very well, Captain Ochre.  Get to it.  But before you open those books, notify Captain Scarlet, Lieutenant Green and Cap­tain Blue of the situation."

      "S.I.G. sir."

 

      "Well, Captain, Lieutenant," said Mayor Cherry, nodding at each of them in turn, "here's to the success of the King Conven­tion and the failure of the Mysterons."  He held up his glass, which was filled with champagne.

      "Hear, hear," replied Lieutenant Green as he touched glasses with the mayor, the fine crystal emitting a musical tone that lingered in the crisp early-morning air.  The mayor had remembered this time that the Spectrum officers were on duty and had provided them with freshly-squeezed orange juice rather than the champagne.  Instead of joining in the toast, however, Captain Scarlet continued to stare at the city skyline to the west.

      "Aren't you going to toast the success of the convention, Captain Scarlet?" asked Cherry.

      "Hmm?  Oh, yes, cheers."  He raised his glass and took a quick sip from it.  "I suppose I've got a lot on my mind this morn­ing."

      "Are you still worried about holding the buffet on the roof, sir?" asked Lieutenant Green.

      "Yes, Lieutenant, I am.  I don't like the idea of that air group flying directly overhead.  It's too risky."

      "But they won't get here for some time, Captain," Cherry reminded him.  "That was the main reason you allowed this buffet in the first place."

      "If you want me to clear the roof, just say the word, Captain," commented Cherry.

      "Let the people finish eating, your honor.  Another few minutes won't make any difference at this point.  I'd rather stretch the time a bit than start a panic."

      "Whatever you say, Captain Scarlet.  If you'll excuse me for a few minutes, I'd like to chat with Senator Reid."  The mayor placed his empty glass on a table and strolled across the rooftop garden.

      Shortly after the mayor left, Scarlet's epaulets flashed.  The wire rim on his cap lowered to place a small microphone by his mouth.

      "Cloudbase to Captain Scarlet."

      He recognized the voice right away.  "Yes, Captain Ochre?"

      "We may have found something.  Radar picked up the Planes of Extinction flight two aircraft short, an attack jet and a P-51 Mustang fighter.  We don't have a fix on them yet."

      Scarlet and Green exchanged glances.  Captain Ochre continued, "Colonel White advises you to take minor precautions at this time.  We are researching the missing pilots and planes."

      "I thought you knew the old planes like the back of your hand, Captain Ochre."

      "Not this time, Captain.  The star of the show, the A-10 attack plane, is one of the missing ones and I'm not familiar with it.  You're to get the guests to safety while I check it out."

      "S.I.G."  Scarlet turned to the lieutenant.  "Well, what did I tell you?  Get the mayor and tell him we have to evacuate the roof.  We'll send the delegates down to the Metro station."

      "Why the underground, Captain?  Cloudbase said minor precautions.  The Metro station is part of our emergency plan."

      "Trust me, Lieutenant.  I have a hunch."

      "Yes, sir."  Green knew better than to argue when Captain Scarlet was on to something.  He relayed the message to Mayor Cherry, who took the microphone and persuaded the guests to leave in an orderly yet quick fashion.

      As the black civic leaders made their way off the roof, Scarlet stood by the table deep in thought.  The aircraft designation echoed in his mind.  A-10, he said to himself as he turned the mayor's champagne glass in his hand.  I've seen or heard that term recently, within the past 24 hours.  But the big question is, where?

 

      "S.I.G., Captain Blue," replied Captain Ochre and turned off the radio.  He had moved his chair to the pile of aviation books at the other end of his station.

      "What's the situation, Captain?" asked Colonel White without looking up from his work.

      "Captain Scarlet and Lieutenant Green are evacuating the convention delegates to safer quarters."

      "And Captain Blue?"

      "The motorcade has made its last stop and will arrive at the air base within the half hour."

      "Good."

      "Any luck on the names, sir?"

      "Only frustration, I'm afraid.  There are too many American active or retired colonels named Stone.  We're only fortunate he's not a captain or lieutenant, or we'd also be digging through naval records."  The colonel flipped to the next page of the printout and rubbed his eyes.  "Are you coming up with anything on that aircraft, Captain?"

      "Just opening to that page now, sir."  He stood the book on end so that White could see the picture.  "Sure is an ugly thing, isn't it?  No wonder they call it the Warthog."

      "Never mind the aesthetic details, man.  Give me some statistics."

      "Right, sir."  Ochre thumbed through a smaller book.  "'Attack plane, active duty mid-1970's to mid-1990's.  Mainly used for ground attack and close support anti-tank missions, fired 30-millimeter shells through a rotating cannon in the nose'-- Wow!" he exclaimed.

      "Just read on, Captain," said Colonel White tiredly.

      "…'It could also be equipped with bombs, rockets or missiles, and toward the end of its career an experimental version used a special fitting for additional maneuverability.'"  He pointed to a variant with a distinct bulge in the underside and commented, AThe Mysterons couldn't pick a better aircraft for the job, Colonel."

      "But how can we be sure--"

      "Colonel!" interrupted Captain Ochre.  "I've got it!  Listen to this."  He pointed to a paragraph in the smaller book.  "'The A-10 is much better known by the appropriate nickname of Warthog than its official Air Force name, Thunderbolt II.'"

      "What?!"

      "There's your answer, sir! 'Day of the thunderbolt!'"

      At the same time, the computer displayed a newspaper story from that morning, in which the wreckage of Stone's A-10 was positively identified.  White enlarged the screen on the main monitor.

      "And there's the verification, Captain.  Put me through to our people on the closed channel."

      Ochre flipped a switch.  "Go ahead, Colonel."

      "This is Colonel White to all alert personnel," the Spectrum commander announced calmly.  "The Mysteron agent is posi­tively identified as--" he looked up at the monitor.  "--Colonel Francis J. Stone of the Planes of Extinction.  His A-10 Thunderbolt II is not-repeat-not part of the group currently en route to Bong Air Force Base for the air show.  Since the acting commander of the aircraft group said that Stone was delayed taking off, we have no idea of his plan of attack or which of the two targets he will engage.  The A-10 is a rather slow jet plane with two large engines in the tail and a square-sided body.  It will most likely be armed with a full load of 30-millimeter shells and possibly other hardware such as bombs or missiles.  Let's just hope that this Thunderbolt does not strike twice, that he will attack only one target as is the Mysterons' usual plan.  For now, however, I am putting all of you on red alert.  Cloudbase will keep you apprised of the situation.  Since so many of you are on this assignment, I'll ask for you to acknowledge in turn, starting with the Angels."

      That Thunderbolt could just possibly strike twice, thought Ochre.  And if it was the model with the underbelly pod, it could easily strike both targets, the King Convention and the Chiefs of Staff, and get away from anything that tried to stop it without much effort.  He hoped it was an earlier variant.

 

      Now Captain Scarlet remembered where he had seen the A-10 mentioned.  A convention delegate had been reading a newspa­per in the elevator that morning, and he had noticed a grainy photo of a wrecked airplane.  He had ignored the rest of the article because the type of aircraft was only speculative at that time.  With all the discussion and argument about the rooftop buffet, he didn't have time to think about it.

      But now this possibility deserved more thought.  As Ochre was researching the airplane in his books at Cloudbase, there was no need for Scarlet to do the same.  But there was another way to speed up the search.  His cap microphone lowered.

      "Lieutenant Green, can you handle the evacuation without me?"

      "No problem at all, sir," was the aide's reply, crackling with static.  "We've just reached the Metro concourse and everything is going smoothly."

      "Good.  The mayor and I will be delayed a few minutes.  I'll explain later."

      "S.I.G., Captain."

      "What do you need from me, Captain Scarlet?" asked Cherry, walking alongside the captain into the hotel office.

      Scarlet gestured to the telephone.  "Ring up the editor of your morning newspaper.  There was a story in the early edition that may provide some answers."

      Cherry picked up the phone and placed the call.  In seconds, he was through to the editor's secretary:  "Diane?  This is Mayor Raymond Cherry.  I need to speak to Mr. Gesualdi right away.  It's an emergency."  A moment later, "Hello, Dominic?  Ray Cherry.  I need that fourth-generation-journalist's know‑how of yours."

      "What can I do for you, your honor?"

      "I have Captain Scarlet from Spectrum here with me.  He needs an update on a story from the early morning edition.  While you log in to your computer, I'll give him the phone."

      Scarlet introduced himself to the editor and began, "In your early edition, I remember a story in the national section about the crash of a small aircraft, possibly an antique military jet, somewhere to the south of here.  The type of plane was not con­firmed at press time.  I need to know if anything has been verified so far."

      "Hold on, Captain."  There was the sound in the background of fingers rapidly tapping a keyboard.  "Ah, here it is.  Your news item did get updated, sir."

      Scarlet fumbled in his pockets for his notepad.  "Lovely.  Now if I can find something to write it down--"

      Cherry took the receiver.  "Put it through on the computer relay like you did yesterday, Dominic.  The one in the Independ­ence Hotel lobby.  Thanks a million."

      "Any time, your honor.  Glad to be of help."

      Scarlet did not remain for the last bit of conversation but raced to the front desk, his boots ringing on the polished marble floor of the deserted hotel lobby.  When he burst through the door of the cashier's office, the article was already printed.  Just as he suspected, the wreckage was identified as the A-10 belonging to the Planes of Extinction.  Besides the picture from the early edition, the newspaper had printed a photo of the pilot, a Colonel Francis J. Stone, United States Air Force, retired.

      Scarlet recognized the name from his military background.  A rather tough customer.  He was well-known as one of the World Army Air Force's top fighter aces--

      Just then Mayor Cherry approached the desk.  "Get what you wanted, Captain Scarlet?"

      "Precisely that.  Thanks."

      "Is there anything else I can do to help?"

      "No.  Get down to the concourse and see to your family.  Lieutenant Green and your security people are taking care of the delegates.  I have to report my discovery to headquarters."

      Cherry held out his hand.  "OK, Captain.  Good luck."

      Scarlet returned the handshake and was about to say the same when his epaulets blinked.  Mayor Cherry waved and headed for the elevator as the cap microphone lowered.

      The Spectrum officer was about to inform Cloudbase of his success when Colonel White began:  "This is Colonel White to all alert personnel..."  As the colonel announced the information about the Mysteron agent, Scarlet only half-listened.  He was still thinking about Colonel Stone.  Besides his flying prowess, Stone was also renowned as an officer with little respect for authority.  He often went against orders, right or wrong, didn't like generals in particular--

      Generals!  He stopped.  The Chiefs of Staff--they were the primary target!  Stone was the perfect assassin--

      "Captain Scarlet, acknowledge," interrupted Colonel White.

      "S.I.G., Colonel.  Message understood, but I still say the main danger is to the Chiefs of Staff.  Request permission to assist Captain Blue--"

      "Negative, Captain," the senior officer snapped.  Remain at your position.  Lieutenant Green, acknowledge."

      "S.I.G., sir.  I can handle our assignment myself, Colonel--"

      "I said negative.  Captain Blue?"

      There was no answer.  "Captain Blue, please acknowledge."  Again, nothing.

      Scarlet radioed, "Change it to 'receive,' Captain Ochre.  See if his radio's dead."

      A loud blast of marching band music echoed through Captain Scarlet's receiver, causing him to cover his ears and shout into the microphone, "Turn it off!  Quick, before you blow out my speakers!"

      "Sorry about that," called Captain Ochre.  "Can you read me OK?"

      "Loud and clear, save for the ringing in my ears."

      "Well, it's obvious that Captain Blue can't hear us," White commented.  "What do you suggest, Captain Scarlet?"

      "Colonel," he began again, "I remember this Francis Stone.  He was probably the greatest pilot in the history of the Air Force.  But most importantly, he hated generals, really despised them.  He has to make the air show his first target.  Captain Blue and the Joint Chiefs will be in grave danger if I don't warn them."

      "Very well, Captain.  Get going.  But be careful."

      "S.I.G.," he replied, already out of the building and on his way to the patrol car.

 

      Richard I. Bong Air Force Base was a relatively small military property located at the junction of the Potomac and Anacostia Rivers, overlooking Capitol Hill to the north, the Naval Research Laboratory directly south, Andrews Air Force Base some seven miles to the east and the former site of Washington's main airport across the Potomac on the west.  It was not an active base; ironically, it was established thirty years ago on the site of Bolling Air Force Base, another airfield that had long ago been the victim of defense budget cuts and was sold to a real estate developer. Its primary function in recent years was as an emergency landing field for Andrews.  For the most part, however, Bong was a depressing piece of abandoned government real estate.  Other than the occasional Reserve unit or disabled aircraft, the permanent population of waterfowl and other wildlife had the installation to themselves.

      Not on this particular April day, however.  The field had not looked like this since it was crawling with wartime air and ground crews.  The facelift the engineers had given the runway, tarmac and buildings in such a short time was amazing.  The base not only looked like it had never been deactivated, it was so immaculate it appeared ready for a general's inspection.

      It was an appropriate comparison.  Not one, but dozens of general officers would be on hand that day for a spectacle unlike any they had ever seen.  With the world's largest combined marching band providing musical accompaniment, the U.S. President and the World Armed Forces Chiefs of Staff would watch the air show from a reviewing stand facing the Potomac.  This was not an everyday platform; in case of danger, the entire grandstand could be lowered into the ground in 30 seconds.  Security was so tight that the base was closed to any civilian spectators, and people in small boats on the river were ordered to turn back.

      As the Spectrum motorcade entered the main gate, Captain Blue looked out of the window of the Maximum Security Vehicle and returned the guard's salute.  So far, so good, he hoped.  President Roberts had originally planned a much bigger exhibition, with demonstrations by paratroops and mechanized infantry.  Thank goodness he was able to talk the chief executive out of that.  A show by aircraft and pilots both known to be killers was enough for Spectrum to handle at one time.

      Blue stepped out of the MSV and checked to see that the security personnel were in position before opening the door again for the President and the two generals in charge of the conference.  He saluted the three men and then stood at attention beside them on the dais as the other generals filed past them in a leisurely fashion.  It was a long and slow process, but Blue did not move a muscle.  Several of the officers, in fact, glanced admiringly at the fair-haired Spectrum agent standing stock-still, almost as if he were chiseled out of granite, as they took their places on the reviewing stand.

      President Roberts asked the Chiefs of Staff to be seated and Captain Blue stood at ease, his hands behind his back.  He paid no attention to the many speeches that were given but instead pondered Captain Ochre's last radio message.  Two of the aircraft were missing and not yet on radar.  With these museum pieces, it could be mechanical difficulty.  But what gnawed at him was the type of aircraft that were missing, a Mustang fighter and a ground attack aircraft.  The Mustang, of course, was a classic, but all he knew about the A-10 was from the designation, that it was a post-World War II plane.  A pretty odd pair, he mused.  A choice of either two fighters or attack planes would have been more suspicious.  The Mysterons usually choose the perfect person or object to do their bidding--

      Wait a minute!  Captain Scarlet and he had disagreed all along over which event would be the Mysteron target.  What if the Mysterons went against their normal attack plan and hit both?  An attack aircraft drops bombs on a hotel while a fighter strikes an air base a few miles away-- He shook his head and blinked.  It was possible but not likely.  If the Mysterons wanted to fire more than one salvo at a time in their "war of nerves," they would have started much sooner.  Stop daydreaming, Captain, and do what you've been trained to do, as the colonel would say.

      President Roberts introduced Captain Blue to the assembly, and the Spectrum officer snapped to attention and saluted.  The President then described the marching band:

      "And now, ladies and gentlemen, you are in for a real treat.  Never before in the history of the World Government has such a group been assembled.  The musicians you see before you come from backgrounds as diverse as your own, mainly because they come from your own countries' military bands.  Every musical instrument you can name, from West Indian steel drums to Scottish bagpipes, is represented."

      Blue sighed.  He couldn't wait to hear the bagpipes.  They had the same effect on him as fingernails across a blackboard.  He began to wish he'd gone to the King Convention.

      The President continued, "When I was deciding on musical background for today, I knew if I selected one nation's march­ing band over another's, this summit conference would have collapsed."  Laughter shook the grandstand.  With the heated de­bates of the day before, such an occurrence was entirely possible.  "So, I decided to invite everyone.  This was planned well in advance of your visit so that the musicians could practice together.  I sat in on a rehearsal the other day, and even to my un­trained ears, they sound great.  Hold on to your headgear, generals.  The planes are due in any minute, so let's start the festivi­ties."

      Blue smiled to himself as the bandleader blew his whistle.  If Roberts didn't win the next election, he could always be a cir­cus ringmaster.  He had the crowd in the palm of his hand.

      Snare drums rattled and bass drums boomed as the band entered.  An almost endless stream of musicians marched before the reviewing stand and formed in a semi-circle in front of the Chiefs of Staff.  There were thousands of them, from every cor­ner of the world, just as the President had said.  Rather than some special costume common to all, the band members wore their own uniforms.  The result was a multi-colored procession which emphasized the international flair of the conference.  Captain Blue couldn't help but notice that the musicians seemed to enjoy it as much as their audience.

      President Roberts gestured for a glass of water and Blue picked up the pitcher.  As the Spectrum officer poured, Roberts asked, "How are things going so far, Captain?"

      "No major problems besides the delayed planes, sir." Blue paused to fill a glass for himself.  Taking a sip, he added, "The band certainly looks impressive."

      "They sound even better, Captain Blue, although I'll admit they'll be a little loud even with all the aircraft engines competing with them.  When I said 'hold on to your hat,' I wasn't kidding."

      The bandleader raised his baton, and it immediately, painfully became clear to Captain Blue and the assembly that the Presi­dent had listened to the rehearsal before the sound system was installed.  The fanfare from the wind instruments actually caused the platform to vibrate, and nearly everyone clapped his hands over his ears and cried out in pain.  It was too loud to hear even one's own voice.  When Blue was unable to get the attention of any of the security guards, he leaped from the grandstand and raced to the building where the sound equipment was located.  During the confusion, he had not noticed his shoulder epaulets blinking, nor could he hear Colonel White's message.

 

      Captain Scarlet knew well enough that the high-speed Spectrum patrol car wouldn't do him much good on the streets of Washington, but the SPC was the only way he had of getting to the air base.  The Angel flight was searching for the A-10 along the general flight path of the other planes, and the helicopter was on the other side of the city to the north.  All of his efforts to contact Captain Blue by radio had been futile.  Then his epaulets flashed.

      "Cloudbase to Captain Scarlet."

      "Go ahead, Captain Ochre."

      "Just thought you should know that I ran a check on the radio equipment.  I'm pretty sure that the blast of sound knocked Blue's set out."

      "S.I.G.  I thought as much."  He paused to steer the car around a corner.  "You said 'pretty sure,' Captain.  I assume you're not positive."

      "You know I'm not the base electronics wizard.  Let's just say that all the evidence points that way."

      Captain Scarlet grinned.  Ochre had served in the World Police Corps prior to joining Spectrum.  "Once a constable, always a constable.  Understood, Cloudbase.  Out."  The microphone flipped back up into his cap visor.

      Now all he had to do was get to the bridge and hop on the interstate.  Scarlet turned a corner and sped toward the Anacostia River, disregarding traffic signals while leaning on the horn and flashing his headlights.  "Why didn't the clot who designed this car put in a siren?" he muttered to himself as he eyed the road map on his display.  Good--only four blocks to go for the bridge.

      "What the--?"  Scarlet jammed his foot on the brake pedal as he came to police roadblock.  One of the officers ran over to the SPC, shouting and waving his arms.