Lieutenant Colonel Knoxville Cuddy stared off into space, figuratively speaking, lost in the static coming over Missle Command’s speakers, the typical chaotic noise of the room having dropped to a shocked hum at the Colonel’s unprecedented dismissal by the odd, and yet somehow oddly appealing, voice of the woman flying her rocket to the moon to “get away for awhile.”
“Mojave?”
“Mojave?”
“. .”
Cuddy’s dream broken, he turned suddenly to the pudgy man sitting slack-jawed to his right at the main viewing console, one hand poised above the intercom button the other plowing through the generous muss of hair above his regulation buzz over the ears and sending his headphones into a temporary skew.
“Major Mojave!”
Mojave snapped back to reality and began to busily flick switches and spin dials.
“Colonel?”
“You alright Major?”
Mojave’s hands paused. He looked woefully up at his commanding officer, his signature calm shattered. He had always wondered how he would deal with a crisis—a real crisis. Now he knew.
“Sir, the Vulture?”
“Easy son. Clearly we’re dealing with some sort of deranged personality here, woman with a mouth like a chicken’s ass.”
“Sir?”
Cuddy clapped his hands loudly the way he normally would when he was getting down to business and ready to issue himself some orders.
“We got a bead on this rocket?”
“Sir, we’ve only been tracking it for the last 10 minutes.”
“Well, OK, let’s get Charlie to extrapolate the trajectory back to the source, find out just who in the hell we’re dealing with here.”
“Sir Sgt. Sweetwater’s in Florida. "
“NASA?”
"Magic Kingdom, Colonel."
“NASA?”
"Magic Kingdom, Colonel."
“Well if that don’t just dill my pickle. Well, who we got on S&A?”
“Capt. Campbell’s on systems and Corporal Johnson’s aeronautics.”
“Johnson?! Johnson’s so useless if he had a third hand he’d need another pocket to put it in. OK, then, get me Cheryl on the blower. And tell the General I’m on way up. Meantime get the wonder twins started on finding me the lauching pad of that goddammed rocket and keep trying to get this uh…Captain Turdie…”
“Truly Tess Trudy sir.”
There was something about the way Mojave said her name that gave Cuddy the creeps. He had never known him to even like women in the flesh, let alone over the comm. system and three miles up. Cuddy gave him the thousand-yard stare.
“You sportin’ wood for this lunatic Major?”
“Sir, I-…”
“Listen Major--save your excuses. Excuses are like assholes. Everyone’s got one and they all stink. Are you ready to sit-up and fly right with me on this one airman?
“Yes sir!”
“Are you ready to be my WARRIOR?! To answer your NATION’S CALL?! To fly, fight and WIN?!”
“Absolutely Colonel!”
“Goddammit son, we’re Americans here. This woman’s fucking with our protocol. Get Cheryl on the horn and try to get me this Capt. Trudy before she leaves the goddamn atmosphere.”
Cuddy looked with wonder at the Command Room’s main screen and the dotted line blip that was the Vulture streaking across the afternoon sky.
“I’ll be in my office. Hell, I ain’t ever even been to the moon. Who in the hell does she think she is anyway.”
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