Operation Pacifica: Baggage Handling
by Trooper Charcharadon (highland@iastate.edu)

 "You took WHAT APART?!?"

 The question echoed through the mecha hangars of the Doberman Naval
  Yards in San Francisco.  Trooper Charcharadon had snagged a few hours sleep
  and was stopping by to check on his Viper before getting his hands on a
  meal.  What he saw made him wish he had stayed in bed.

 Half the booster assembly was lying strewn about the hangar floor
  at the feet of the mech, an incredible jumble of generators, vernier
  nozzles, and directional vents.  Charcharadon was now conversing with the
  technician in charge of the team working on his mech in an attempt to find
  out what they were doing to it.  Well, perhaps conversing was not the right
  word.

 "We were doing a routine check on your mecha, which is standard
  procedure for all new equipment arriving at the base, and we discovered that
  your jump jet system was running at power levels above red-line."

 "So you _removed_ it?"

 "No sir, we took it apart to determine and correct the
  malfunction."

 "But there is no malfunction, it's supposed to be running at 150%
  rated level!"

 The tech's eyes popped slightly.  "But sir, at that level the
  thrust chambers would melt right out of their mountings.  It's not safe to
  risk that in a combat situation."

 Charcharadon made an effort to be patient.  It was obviously going
  to be one of those days.  "Look, this is a test frame for experimental
  systems in addition to being combat rated.  And that," he made a sweeping
  gesture that took in a large portion of floor, "used to be a long range
  booster system, not jump jets.  We designed it in an attempt to create mecha
  that could replace high performance fighters, but we never could quite get
  it to deliver everything up to specs.  Still it gives pretty good speed and
  altitude performance.  At least when it's in one piece."

 The tech began apologizing.

 "That's all right.  I should have expected something like this to
  happen.  Murphy's Law and all that.  Let's try and get it back together
  before the fleet leaves.  I just hope you didn't damage the thermal coating
  in the thrust system, or it really will melt out of its housing when turned
  on."

 Turning to the intimidating mess in front of them, they went to
  work.

 A number of hours later, a messenger finally located them, and
  informed Charcharadon that he was to report to the DTT Freedom at 1330
  hours.  He glanced at his watch.  1320.

 "Damn.  I'm going to be late again.  Why does this sort of thing
  always have to happen to me?"

 "We had a lot of trouble locating you.  Sorry."

 "Well, that still doesn't get me there on time.  I better bolt.
  Can you guys get this thing shipped back to Iowa?  My people will do the
  final checks for you."

 Trooper Charcharadon left the hangar at a pace somewhere between a
  brisk trot and a dead sprint.

 Back in his quarters, Charcharadon proceeded to shovel everything
  he could get into his duffel.  Clean uniforms and flight suits.  Light
  battle armor.  Sidearm.  One not-so-clean set of work fatigues, and of
  course a couple requisite sheaves of paperwork.  He looked up at the
  chronograph on the wall.  If he ran he might just make it...

[To be continued at sea...]
c. 1996-97 by myself, so there.