Operation Phoenix: The Flight of the "Long Shot" Part 1 of 3 I sat at a desk in TRES HQ, reading the latest status reports. The small group in Georgia was meeting heavy resistance. Several Jihaddi had vanished off the map, on "secret missions," the BJSF was still inbound, and satelite reports coming in of an even *larger* Lizard/Lyran fleet coming in close behind or ahead. But that wasn't the worst of it. Ten seconds earlier, a flash report had appeared on my screen. It was from Trooper Charcarodon at WEDJEE. Or at least, where WEDJEE had been. The installation had been invaded and destroyed by a Lizard flying squad, and everybody, including the Dobermensch Fleet Commander, had been killed. With this, the shit had, officially, hit the fan. And here I was, watching it happen on CNN. Not much that I could do about it, considering that my old privateer, the _Skylark_, was now a pile of junk some thirty miles away, my house, along with the EGfaBT headquarters, was a smoking hole in the ground, and the nearest EGfaBT vehicles were on Mars... Then again... Clearing the reports off of the computer screen, I called up my AI, Minerva, who was taking a nap in the TRES computer archives. "Min, wake up, kid. I need a quick status report on something outside Jihad operations." Minerva's voice, somewhat sleepy answered. "Well," I said, "I need to know if the MJ operation is still out in Nevada, or have they moved it." I chuckled ruefully. "Of course I do. I still have the scar. But it's been a few months, and no other little surprises from Wackenhut in my living room. I think they've forgiven me." Several minutes passed, which Minerva used to aggarvate me by playing the Muzak version of "Stairway to Heaven." "I've got those co-ordinates engraved in my skull, if you'll recall. Get back into your CRAIT, Min. We're going to collect on an old debt." I picked up my backpack, still full of microcapsules, grabbed a 75 recoiless from the shelf, and walked down to the teleport station. I flashed credentials at the trooper on duty, gave him a slip of paper, and told him in my best commanding-general voice "Transport me to those co-ordinates immediately." The duty officer looked at the paper, and said "Of, course, Professor. Is this an authorized request?" I looked at him with a glare which had once intimidated scores of workers at my... um, old job. "This is a very unauthorized request. There is to be no record of it in any computer system here or elsewhere. If any of the command staff or others come asking after me, you can tell them that I left, but not where I went. Is that understood?" "Um, yes sir. It is." "Good. Now, please transport me to those co-ordinates." The duty officer touched a few controls, and in a flash of blue lightning the room vanished... ..and was replaced by the stark tan and yellow of the Nevada desert. In front of me was a large mountain, with carefully concealed hangar doors embedded in them. As I walked towards the doors, a small grey saucer drifted down from above and stopped in front of me. "Announce name, rank, and authorization clearance code," it said in a dull metallic voice. "Sean Michael Breen, Techincal Advisor, authorization code MAJIC-002 Alpha Q. The passcode is '23-skidoo'. Now let me in, you hunk of tin!" The saucer moved away from me and back up the rock face. The doors opened a crack, and a man in an Air Force duty uniform walked out to meet me. He grinned. I grinned back. "Mike, you old SOB," he said, "I knew you'd come back here. Everybody does, in the end." "Can the small talk, Nick." I replied. "Yes, I'm back. but not for long. I need to talk to Jarod, and then I'm going to borrow the _Long Shot_. There is serious shit afoot, Commander." Suddenly Nick became all buisness. "Well, I'm sure Jarod will let you have a few minutes of his time. He always liked you. At least, I think he did. With Jarod it's hard to tell. But I don't think the Twelve would allow me to loan out our prototype to a Jihaddi. You are, for all intents and purposes, our rivals in the super-tech buisness. Remember what happened when you left for the Jihad." "Well, naturally. Still, I at least want to talk to Jarod. The Jihad is having a hard time out there, and he might have helpful information. And the _Long Shot_ might be a prototype, but she's the best gunship on Earth. And let me tell you, Commander Menendez, if the Jihad loses this one, the whole planet, including MJ-12, is in the shit! And don't think that--" I was interrupted in the middle of my rant by the sound of a large door opening. And out of that door stepped a small figure. It walked towards us, and stopped a few feet away. Words entered my mind. (So, Michael, it seems that you've come back to us.) "Yes, Jarod, I have. At least, for a little while. Do you know why I'm here?" (Of course Michael, or should I say [mild amusement] "Malaclypse?" I have been monitoring the Jihadlink communcations system for some time. Whit is it that you wish to ask me?) "We've encountered an unusual alien race working with Lord B'harnii's minions." I pulled Min's CRAIT out of my pack and turned on the holographic projector. "Min, playback the footage we have of our new 'Special Friends.'" A hologram image of a group of Lizards talking appeared on the concrete floor. "Look familiar?" Jarod looked impassionately at the hologram. (They are called the X'hirjq. A hunter race. They wander around the Outer Wastes looking for prey. [disgust] They have no compunction about slaughtering an entire species to the last being, solely for the sake of the hunt.) "You've met them before?" (Yes. We have encountered each other. The X'hirjq tried to hunt us as they hunted many other races. [grim satisfaction] They now know not to hunt us.) I stood back slightly and considered that for a few moments. At least the Greys managed to fight them off. So far, that was more than the Jihad could boast. "Okay," I said after a minute, "can you give any pointers on how to fight them?" (I did not fight a X'hirjq, but I know that they will give up any advantage and fight with swords if their honor is challenged sufficiently. Their honor is their weak point. They will not allow low-born warriors challenge the leaders of their prey. Honor and the hunt, that is all to them.) "Gee, then the next time I meet one, I'll be sure to call it a coward. Thank you, Jarod, for all your help." I turned my attention to Nick, who had been fidgeting in the background. "Nick, I want the 'Long Shot,' and I want her *now*." "Allright, you've got her. I want you to know that I shouldn't be doing this. And remember, she's government property. Not one scratch, you hear?" I laughed. "Sure, not one scratch." (Michael,) interposed Jarod into my mind, (the X'hirjq will hunt you if you use Grey technology. They have long-standing debts with us. [concern] You must be careful. Even the "Log Shot" will not stand up to thier fleet alone.) "I'll remember, old friend. The chance to take on a Grey ship might give the Jihad an extra window." TEN MINUTES LATER I was sitting in the control cabin of the "Long Shot," adjusting the seat to fit better. Minerva had downloaded into the ship's flight computer and was running a systems check. she reported, "Minerva, one-third thrust, lift us out of the hangar and towards orbit." And with only the slightest of whispers, we drifted out of the hangar, over the Nevada landscape, and then shot out into space... TO BE CONTINUED --Professor Malaclypse, EGfaBT--