Author’s Note: Be aware that any direct quote of Miss Austen's characters, and some of her description or narration, may be knicked straightaway from the source TEXT file, PridPrej.ZIP , or its components. During November, 2010, it was fetched from: Pemberley.com (or one of its links). Pride and Prejudice is reputed to be in the Public Domain. Much of the Western classic literature has been made available, at minimum cost, through the Public Domain. Using such blocks will help ensure canon with the [book] Pride and Prejudice (P&P) ([(P&P? the question mark {? :== [0..3] Set as of April 2011} is a common computer wild card for one and only one character) If Pemberley.com did not set:
P&P0 as the 1940 Warner Brothers adaption,
P&P1 as the BBC 5 episode mini-series about 1980,
P&P2 as the 1995 BBC/A&E 6 episode mini-series, and
P&P3 as the Focus Features adaption of 2005;
then that is where I learned the associated codes. -r.e.h.)]_.

As a result, some "Emendations to the Text" ("Emend:") and "Explanatory Notes" needed to be added as footnotes within the source text file. The emendations are not always marked as distinct from the other notes, and sometimes these two distinctions pertain to the same point. (When I try to hold a place in a book, and then look up an endnote, my language reveal the moral superiority of the footnote!) The modified file, distinct from the download version, has these emendations, and have been brought along with the packets as used within this story.

A copy of that file is modified, using WordPerfect 5.1 for DOS, to incorporate certain features that enhance readability. First, the endnotes were converted into footnotes, since footnotes are so much more convenient and usable. Next, chapter titles were added. Then some fixes and typography enhancements were added as I deem fitting. Other references may be listed and expanded at the end.

Since this story file is intended to be posted to a Jane Austen Fan Fiction web site, certain amendments must be made to bypass HTML's alteration of token use. One is the current footnote tokens, taken from 1980 AppleWriter 1 " (<Footnote text.>)_" must be modified to something like:

" ([<Small>Footnote text.</small>]_ "

Otherwise, the footnote text in the old syntax would disappear at the readers' end as the posting engine try to make it out such indicated directive. Be aware that a footnote on a web page will not appear at the bottom of a screen, but more like an endnote. Therefore, this inline syntax has been adopted, so that the note can stay closer to its object.

IT is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife, however little is known of the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood. This truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

"My dear Mr. Bennet," said his lady to him one day, "have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?" Mr. Bennet replied that he had not. "But it is," returned she; "for Mrs. Long has just been here ([P&P2 Suggest they are coming home from church. However, P&P3 may be closer to canon by showing Mr. and Mrs. Bennet having this discussion in his library. The keyword, "here," may be why P&P3 put this scene in the Bennet house instead, which is one of the few areas that interpretation or depiction may be more faithful to the [book] than P&P1 or P&P2! -r.e.h.]_, and she told me all about it."

Mr. Bennet made no answer. He wait for her to fix her point.

"Do not you want to know who has taken it?" Cried ([A sorrowful wail, as we know it, could not have been what Jane Austen meant. "Asserted," "stated," or "asked," &c. would probably be the verb in a modern dialog tag. -r.e.h.]_ his wife impatiently.

"You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it."

This was invitation enough. "Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four (["Generally an enclosed four-wheeled carriage seating up to three people, and driven by a rider mounted on one of the two or four horses (see "postilion"). The more or less standard vehicle for families which are `respectable,' but not extremely wealthy."]_ to see the place, and was so much delighted with it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas ([Before Michaelmas (i.e. Sept. 29, one of the four `quarter days' according to which houses etc. were rented).]_, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week."

"What is his name?"

"Bingley."

"Is he married or single?"

"Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!"

"How so? How can it affect them?"

"My dear Mr. Bennet," replied his wife, "how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them."

"Is that his design in settling here?"

"Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he may fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes."

"I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better; for, as you are as handsome (["Handsome" must have had a sex change since the Regency Era to before my time. -r.e.h.]_ as any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the party."

"My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be any thing extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty."

"In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of."

She does not take a slight. "But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the neighbourhood."

"It is more than I engage for, I assure you."

"But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on that account, for in general, you know they visit no new comers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit him, if you do not."

"You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying which ever he chuses ([During Jane Austen's time, this was the way "choose" and its tenses, were spelled. -r.e.h.]_ of the girls; though I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy."

"I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so good humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving her the preference."

"They have none of them much to recommend them," replied he; "they are all silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters."

"Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse ([Jane Austen could not have meant the word to be inflicted with the malice of intent, as the word has today. -r.e.h.]_ your own children in such way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves."

"You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty years at least."

"Ah! You do not know what I suffer."

"But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood."

"It will be no use to us if twenty such should come, since you will not visit them."

"Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty I will visit them all."

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts ([An "obsolete use in OED; abilities, talents, &c."]_, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three and twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develope. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous ([Mary Wollstonecraft seem to suggest women of the time have a socialized hypochondria, but Mrs. Bennet, is one of the few in the P&P story so afflicted.]_. The business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news.

And so it was, for two ladies to come to our notice and acquaintance. So it was written, so it was done. That is the way it was, late summer-to-early fall, 1811.

We will not forget the past as we look closer to the present day. Dateline: 18 March 2011, ([FYI: The actual date of this part's composition. -r.e.h.]_ within the western world, west, beyond the colonies, of which the Bennets may have been aware. Now, we continue with some more of our cast of characters...

"My identity is - Major Hiram `Highway' West, 445th Military Airlift Wing, United States Air Force Reserve, - at your service. `Let me tell you a tale, a good one I own-' No. That will not do." I inadvertently started singing `Strawberry Roan,' a favorite Western Ballad of my Dad and myself. We almost harmonize when we break away from "she who must be obeyed" ([Horace Rumpole used this referring to his wife, but the phrase fit better about a mother, who is not of the Donna Stone (The Donna Reed Show) or Kate Bradley (Petticoat Junction) school of mothering. -r.e.h.]_ for a pizza and a pitcher of Miller's finest draft.

"We had just taken off from Hickham Air Force Base in Hawaii on our last homeward bound leg from taking supplies, satellite tracking system updates, and the installation crew to Woomera, Australia. The old C-141-A ([This type was flown much longer than its designed service life, they were updated to "B" and a few to "C" models, and most has been retired to the boneyard at Davis-Monthan A.F.B., because the type has been replaced in service by the more modern, C-17 many years ago. -r.e.h.]_ number 67-0007 had behaved fairly well for us. It should. It is among the newest acquired of that fleet and had been overhauled recently, and our base maintenance people have repaired it from that ordeal quite well, in spite of referring to the type as `swept-wing subsonic bug-suckers.' ([An actual belittlement; I vouchsafe I used it myself. -r.e.h.]_

"Reserve Air Crews relieve the Air Force Regular pilots by a substantial amount. Most of those crews suffer `burn out,' which is what happen when flying more than 400 hours a quarter. True, that may not Sound like much over a forty-hour week, for three months, but those 400 hours are between take-off roll thrust and turning off the landing runway. ([Never been a pilot or an aircrew member, so "I am guessing!" (Hear "Captain Tom Dodge," Down Periscope) -r.e.h.]_ Now add mission briefings, safety and weather briefings, about two hours for the `dash-one' pre-flight, and finally mission and maintenance debriefings, and a short mission or a local sortie (flight) can make for a long day with only a few flight hours for the logbook.

"I happen to be Pilot In Command of a crew who are otherwise `in between situations.' These mission requirements lay no economic hardships upon us, that is, taking us away from lucrative paying jobs. Some quarters, we get within a whisker of `burn out' ourselves.

"Let me introduce you to my crew. Lieutenant `Tex' Martin, over there in the right seat, is our Country and Western boy. He is in about the third verse of a C&W song. Like us, he has lost his civilian job, and therefore, he lost his amply-stacked blonde girlfriend, and to add insult to injury, she took up with whom he thought was his best friend. I must ground him if he can not keep making payments on his new Chevrolet pickup truck and then lose his black Labrador retriever.

"Behind the copilot, our flight engineer is Master Sergeant Scott `Scotty' Montgomery from Montgomery, Alabama. It is only coincidence that his video-literary hero is `Montgomery Scott' of Star Trek renown. Like his hero, he has a fetish for bagpipe music, and to confess my truth, I can be fond of orchestrated bagpipes. His hobby is pitching telephone poles; the caber toss: He does not win or place when he enter Highland games, up against the big lads, but he `show' often enough to keep up his encouragement.

"Sitting on the bottom bunk, aft cabin wall, is the loadmaster of our crew. Technical Sergeant Harrison `Bugsy' Marlowe hail from Georgia, even though his nickname suggest South Side Chicago. His sisters are `Georgia peaches;' as much Southern Belles, in the antebellum sense, as may still exist. His pastime better be his hobby, because he has given `wall-to-wall counselling' to those who he deemed were not good enough company for his sisters; sometimes to the young ladies' chagrin.

"Finally, behind me at the Navigator's station, is Captain William `where-are-we?' Darcy, hailing from Butte, Montana. He told me his first experience navigating was getting back to the ranch house in a sudden white out. He had went out riding fences, just as his father, grandfather, and great-grand father had done; on horseback; when a blizzard liberated him from his complacency. I believe him. He has a bad attitude toward his own mistakes, and is not charitable to those of others.

"Yes, boys and girls. That is our happy band of brothers.

"When we first formed for our first mission together, we were all of the opinion that an equitable number of female crew members would make us a merry party. After our experience in C-141-A number 9402 when it started a `Dutch Roll,' we were convinced of that folly. In a few heartbeats, we were upside down, supersonic, "flaking skin" (top panels between the wings were ripped off), and with the only thing blue in the upper window views, was water. We were glad to have all the beef on the yokes. We were too busy going by checklists as we recovered the aircraft, to do something infantile in our skivvies. We saw pine needles out the windows when we finally got the bird righted, and then we had disagreeable and uncomfortable feelings in our colons. ([So what if this event occurred during the late-1970s. When fracturing time, scramble it. -r.e.h.]_

"Happiness was being on the ground then at Comox, Canada. In my right mind, I will never complain about $400-plus as a government cost for an aircraft toilet seat again.

"If the aircraft mechanics knew, they would appreciate the standard. I think most of them did anyway, when they learned of the incident.

"Oh, yes. On with the story..."

Starlifter 67-0007 had behaved quite well, this late in a long mission, which used to be the type's bread and butter. Hauling Air Freight during the Vietnam War caused them to put on enough flight hours to go between Major and Minor, or v.v., inspections within one mission. After that, the C-141 had been stretched, modified to receive air-to-air refueling, and then replaced by the C-17.

The C-17 is probably a nice aircraft. It should be. They are new. However, a pilot does not have a hair on their chest unless they are flying old aircraft. The BUFF, excuse me; B-52; pilots must be downright wooly. I am sure their female pilots have something to say about that, but I have not had the cheek to ask.

So far, the only repair concern with this airplane is the number two TACAN. It broke DME ([Distance Measuring Equipment.]_ at about 100 nautical miles out, and its azimuth was 40degrees off; not 45 or 60. The transceiver probably clapped out, but the old timers told us that azimuth error was a common problem with the RT-220C receivers of the post-Korean War AN/ARN-21 system.

Usually, I do not get fidgety when approaching the point of no return. Every mission, flight, dream or scheme, has one. At some point, a failure or an impending disaster does not justify going back to the last settled situation. Press on! Even though the Non-Destructive Inspection schedule is stringent, age and one last treatment from near-sea level summer tropic temperature, to the probable -60degreesF temperature at 33,000 MSL ([Mean Sea Level.]_, has got to collimate the sub-microscopic fatigue fractures into one massive failure of a wing spar.

An airplane can be slid into the water if the worst come after total power failure. By the time an aircrew flare for best splash down, Air-Sea rescue is probably on their way. However, when a wing fold, and the plane is falling like a maple seed, the water get very hard at the bottom.

So, yes. I am uncomfortable. "Take the yoke, Tex. I need a break."

"Sure thing, Highway. I'll probably be due one when you get back."

The work has not changed much. We are trimmed for straight and level flight, which leave little true work for the autopilot system's heading and attitude hold. Somebody has to stay behind to burp the baby.

WHEN Jane and Elizabeth were alone, ([The [book] does not specify the environment, or the time. Two of the three recent adaptions (P&P1 and P&P3) show the girls within their room, as if right after the assembly, while a third (P&P2) show them outside during daylight. P&P0 Omit the parts between the Meryton Assembly Ball and when Jane go to Netherfield park.]_ the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much she admired him. "He is just what a young man ought to be," said she, "sensible, good humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners! - So much ease, with such perfect good breeding!"

"He is also handsome," replied Elizabeth, "which a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete."

"I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment."

"Did not you? I did for you. But that is one great difference between us. Compliments always take you by surprise, and me never. What could be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help seeing that you were about five times as pretty as every other woman in the room. No thanks to his gallantry for that. Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a stupider person."

"Dear Lizzy!"

"Oh! You are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in general. You never see a fault in any body. All the world are good and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being in my life."

"I would wish not to be hasty in censuring any one; but I always speak what I think."

"I know you do; and it is that which makes the wonder. With your good sense, to be honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of others! Affectation of candour ([``The words "Candid" and "Candour" did not generally take on the connotation of being brutally frank, as they sometimes do now. The most usual meaning of "candid" according to Dr. Johnson's dictionary, was "Free from malice; not desirous to find faults", though according to the OED, it could also have the connotations "unbiased, impartial, open, sincere".'']_ is common enough; - one meets it every where. But to be candid without ostentation or design - to take the good of every body's character and make it still better, and say nothing of the bad - belongs to you alone. And so, you like this man's sisters too, do you? Their manners are not equal to his."

"Certainly not; at first. But they are very pleasing women when you converse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother and keep his house; and I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming neighbour in her."

Elizabeth listened in silence, but was not convinced. Their behaviour at the assembly had not been calculated to please in general; and with more quickness of observation and less pliancy of temper than her sister, and with a judgment, too, unassailed by any attention to herself, she was very little disposed to approve them.

The eldest Bennet sisters may have been about to continue their observations about the Bingley sisters, when come a sudden disruption. In a flash of time, but a black unlike any darkness could have been within their world, they can see nothing, sense nothing, and can not be certain the ground is still beneath their feet. Both young ladies scream as if to the universe's Intelligent Designer, but trapped in such a void, could He hear their wordless pleas?

I feel a little better after "the pause that refreshes." I amble back around the front of the cargo bay, toward the crew entry door, to the food service counter of the comfort pallet.

We left Hickam with a flat of some day-old pastries, which we stowed in a kitchen cabinet, so I put a maple bar on a paper plate, and then into the microwave for ten-seconds. Not much time seem needed to defeat the day-old "crustiness." Then I pour a cup of coffee and cap it with a safety lid. Shortly, I take a bite and then a sip, restore the lid to stuff the coffee in a pocket of my flight suit and clamp the paper plate in my teeth, and am ready to climb the ladder back up to the flight deck.

"How'd we get fresh doughnuts?" Darcy ask before I get my headset plugged back into the intercom lead. He sit where he can get the bouquet as I pass by.

"Microwave rejuvenation." I shift my seat up to where I can put my feet on the rudder pedals, and then reconnect my harness.

"What?" He heard, but just need to bridge a credibility gap. "Oh."

"I'm ready, Skip." Tex post. He could wait if need be, but he too, experience a pastry deficiency.

"Sure. I got it." I assure, with the yoke in one hand, my cup in the other, and my plate tilting on top of the instrument panel.

The intercom system report a little {sssquippf} whenever a headset is plugged or unplugged. Darcy and Scotty follow. If Bugsy join them, then I may feel deserted. No other aircraft or ships are within sight, though. Even the weather RADAR picture is blank, other than that high cirrus about 150 miles out ahead.

Flying is like a lot of military activities. It is composed of 99.99% boredom out of our minds, seasoned with 0.01% trouser soiling panic. So far, this mission has been boring.

I like boring. It is said; "there are old pilots, and there are bold pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots."

When I was young, like that Tomcat Jock that teased us during our climb-out from Hickam, I too sought thrills. Now, I am not mortified at the laundromat because of embarrassing brown stains in my skivvies. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt, scrapped the dingy BVDs.

My mind blank out as unperturbed as our environment. My BAD!

Such is the exact conditions when disagreeable surprises come. I got away with it: This time!

Darcy and Scotty plug back into their stations, so Bugsy will get to choose from the remainder of the pastry supply. Sorry, Bugsy. Rank has its privileges (RHIP).

Suddenly, everything went black! I can see nothing. I hear nothing, and when I try to holler, I utter no sound in my side-tone. This is not the way death is supposed to set in! Still, who can know?

I still palpate the yoke within my left hand, and feel my seat at my sitting end, but I no longer hear the background wind roar or the turbofans' purr. No sound or light come from the Master Caution system. Now, why do I hear the sound of ladies screaming? My crew members each have too much testosterone to sound like that, and I am certain my measure is adequate. The harmony in the sound seem to be from more than one, but we may have more important worries than by my most probable audio hallucination.

As abrupt as the dark came upon us, light come back. The wind sound now is as it was, but the engines "do not sound right. They sound like they are wind-milling." I glance around the cockpit to see the whiskey compass spin like a mad electric meter. The ADI has tumbled. All engine instruments are at zero, and the "steam gauges" (really electrical) are at zero. The tapes in the engine tachometers collapsed. The Master Caution panel, at the front of the console, is as dark as it should be in normal flight. I push on a panel light's "press-to-test," but no light come on. The consoles and instrument panel are dark and dead, as a plane on cann-bird row. ([Sometimes an aircraft cannot be put to flight condition for a few weeks until a certain part come. During that time, it become the source for cannibalization of other spare parts. If a plane can not be put back together and ready to fly, in about twenty days, the nature of the hydraulic fluid tend to start corroding shafts and eating seals. Soon after that, the craft can not be put back together and may become a "grey ghost" and never be flown again.]_

"What manner of place is this?" Jane crouch from the noise and their sudden arrival within a very cramped chamber; very unusual environment for them.

Elizabeth clutch her sister's shoulder and draw back away from the action she perceive, and come against the bunk post. She glance around the cabin, but can only offer; "I know not. We have no intelligence for such a fix!"

"I agree."

"Surely we must stay out of their way. These men seem most fierce and their visage! What devices are upon their heads? And two of them seem to be grappling with something monstrous."

"Can it be demons they battle?" Jane stammer in total fear.

Elizabeth is not much calmer, but in a little more control of herself. Still, she may erupt in her outburst upon more cause for fright. She may be able cope with straight and level flight, because she know boats tend to obey that general rule. Can she keep her good wits within an aircraft's normal maneuvers?

Darcy fume, about the same time I realize we have total electrical power failure; "what the bloody hell happened?" I hear him behind me, not in my headset, so I shove it to my shoulders.

Scotty report; "all indications out. No fuel feed, no oil or hydraulic pressures, no EVI ([Engine Vibration Indication]_, no EGT ([Exhaust Gas Temperature]_, or anything. AC and DC volts are flat-line."

"Blast! The checklist for emergency power says only to shut down everything and restart." Tex call out, and then mutter; "must be Windows." So we start switching off as much as has a knob, and then start pulling on the circuit breakers, by the rows.

Bugsy unbuckle the lap belt, stand, narrowly avoiding bumping into our suddenly-boarded passengers, and declare; "Major. We've got company!"

"Strap 'em in, give 'em a magazine, and let them know it'll be a while before coffee, tea, or me!" I advise as I try to begin emergency procedures.

"Yes, Sir!" He show them the bench seat and the buckle ends, and assume they can figure it out for themselves, so then he pull the breakers' at the wall aft of the flight engineer's station.

The aneroid altimeter and the turn coordinator still seem normal. The altimeter is working too hard; revealing that we are gliding a little better than a flat rock. All four engines are "choo-choo"-ing because the spark boxes have no power. Those unaware of turbo-fans may think the combustion is continuous, because the airflow is continuous, but the compressed airflow at flight speed can actually blow out the fires. Turbines and turbofans do not get the benefit of the hard compression like a diesel. ([Do not take this as gospel. "I'm only guessing," even though "choo-choo"-ing was a frequent problem with the TF-33s in the C-141s. -r.e.h.]_

"Any DC yet?" I call out.

"Not without an essential DC breaker in." Scotty advise, then reset the primary DC instruments breaker. "We have battery DC! - Now let's see if we can get some gin in our generators! - The Primary field DC breaker is in. AC excitation breaker in. - We can have Essential AC and Essential DC!"

"Restart sequence Number Two engine." Tex call out as I pull on the number two starter bulb and then fall back to the normal start-up procedure.

Shortly, after the engineering station's respective tachometer's short needle wind around to pick up the long needle, and sweep past 77% RpM; "YAHOO!!! She's turnin' and burnin'!" We are glad we all had our headsets down. Scotty put words to our happiness, and add a few ticks later; "engine's indications - at normal."

We are still on battery for DC, so I direct after-the-fact; "restart sequence Number Three engine."

Scotty counter too soon; "abort electric restart: We're not getting 50% current capacity from batteries and generator."

"Scotty?" I test.

"Sorry, sir. Gettin' Number two started took all the battery had to offer."

Then Tex let go of the start button. "Oooops! Ground start procedure." He has egg on his face when he see my scowl. "It assume external AC and DC power." He explain, then flip open the emergency procedures check lists.

I call: "Aborting. Stand by for air start!" At flight-level 29,750, I pitch down like approaching a short field, and watch the airspeed indicator climb to 410 knots and the altimeter wind downward.

"I haven't found that yet!" Tex advise, nervously flipping plastic covered leaves of half-size paper, held together at one corner by a shower curtain ring.

"I'm shootin' from the hip. Stay with me, guys." I post as Scotty watch for engines one and four also spinning up, but he concentrate on the fuel flow and ignition for number three. "Give me a little more throttle!"

"Oh, no! We're sinking!" Jane cry her complaint, for she can feel the slightly lighter feeling on initial descent, and yet still maintain their private conversation tone while huddled against the bunk back wall and each other.

"Hush, Jane. How can we sink until we are quite wet?"

She glance at her sister's face, as if to seek assurance. "How can you be so certain of that? How can we get out of here?" Good question. A good answer is by the dorsal hatch just aft of the sextant port, which is just out of sight past the top bunk.

"I can not be certain. But do you think they would go down with their ship?"

"The Captain is to go down with his ship?"

Elizabeth almost smile. "Do all these men look like captains, my dear Jane?"

"What can we know about such men as these?"

"We can see that they stay at their posts, even though we can not know their office."

"That they do. But I am not so brave as you."

"Nor am I so brave! But I calculate it best if we do not obstruct them in their performance of their offices."

"I agree. We ought do nothing until we are asked, and with diligence."

I budge number three's throttle by a small, but wild analytical guess (WAG) ([You may be assured, that this is not a most accurate code expansion. -r.e.h.]_; enough to pick it up, and draw numbers one and four back to windmill. Hopefully these other two will start easier in their turn. Number three start to choo-choo, so I budge the throttle up a little more. Maybe it is not my imagination, but it seem to be clearing.

"Number three - on line!" Scotty whoop. "Now we can have all the essential AC and DC we need. - That we critically need, anyway."

"Right." I lift my headset a little as I pull back the yoke, past straight and level, but not by much. "We can't let our coffee pot get too cold, so we need the Accessory AC." I glance at the altimeter, and it creep up, now back up through twenty-one angels ([Thousand feet of altitude. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/angel
Is not clear whether this is AGL or MSL. Assume MSL. Over water is the same anyway.]_.

Then I place my headset back into position, and hear; ``...Nimitz calling Starlifter zero-zero-seven: Please respond. Over.'' Sound like an invitation. If I can hear that, my intercom box is set for the right radio to this station.

I shift hands so I can press the microphone button on the yoke: "Hello, Nimitz. Starlifter zero-zero-seven here. Please excuse us while we pick up the crystal and the silverware. - Over."

Enough time lapse for a suppressed chuckle at Nimitz's end. ``Roger zero-seven. Nimitz. We have you on our RADAR. Do you know you are squawking emergency? Over.''

"Negative, Nimitz. Zero-seven, we're not surprised. An old modification to put the 'sponder in Emergency Mode should the Master Caution come on. And it did. I have more lights here than a Christmas display. - Over."

``Copy Master Caution trigger, zero seven. What is the nature of your emergency? Over.''

"Nimitz, zero seven. Some transient event knocked out all power. It caused the whiskey compass to spin and it killed the battery. Over."

``Roger, zero seven. Nimitz here. Do you still wish to maintain the Emergency status? Over.''

"Nimitz, zero seven. Unknown. - Be advised I am restarting the IFF transponder. - Now." I switch off the system at the control box. I count off about fifteen seconds, then switch it back on. "Nimitz, zero-seven. You should see my normal squawk soon. Standing by for I-P. Over."

A few ticks later; ``Zero-seven; Nimitz. We have you. Squawk I-P.''

I reach over and do so. It is a simple momentary toggle switch on the control box, that must be held for the duration of the challenge.

``Zero-seven, Nimitz. Got you. Over.''

"Nimitz, zero-seven. Thank you for the squawk check." I release the switch so the system fall back to Normal mode; as much as normal as we have recovered. "Can we downgrade from Emergency Status to Standby? Over."

``Zero-seven, Nimitz. What is your justification for status change? Over.''

"Nimitz. Recovery so far so good. Your RADAR should show us climbing gently. Over."

``Roger, zero-seven. We see you climbing. You are about 170 miles from us on the 200 degree radial. Over.''

"Tex." I call out over the center console. "Have you found that emergency air start procedure yet?"

"Ah. Negative, Hiram. It's - not here."

"Okay. We're winging it." Then I direct back to; "Nimitz, zero-seven. - When we get to 25 angels, we're going to air start the other two engines. If all go well, we can do a low, flyby so we can check flaps and gears, extension and retraction. If that go well, we should get back to flight level, close standby, and we'll be on our way home."

``Zero-seven, Nimitz. Going back to standby. Over.''

I check the tachometers' N1 and N2 speeds of both working engines, and the feel at the throttle handles suggest their 101% reading is about right, which is less than take-off roll thrust, but more than cruise-out.

Two TF-33s can easily keep us airborne and accomplish normal flight maneuvers. The C-141-A is the hot-rod of the cargo fleet.

One of that type aircraft had an inboard engine explode, on take off from Alice Springs, Australia, which hot shrapnel set fires in the cargo bay and took out the outboard engine. The other two engines got "cooked" on their way back. They had a bird-dog assist from an Australian Reconnaissance C-130, so they made a safe landing back where they left. Then the aircraft was repaired, using at least four new engines, and flown missions back to home base. ([From an actual incident with a 63rd Military Airlift Wing aircraft, late-1970s. Only about 40% confident it was out of Alice Springs, a frequent destination with Woomera.]_

"Nimitz, zero-seven. Over and out."

"Well. That was cordial." Darcy idle.

"Of course. The Navy knows its a long swim home." I answer.

"Highway. Both EGTs are normal, oil pressures normal, CSDs ([Constant Speed Drives take a variable input shaft speed from an engine and turn the output shaft at a fixed speed, within a certain tolerance. This made for electrical power at 380-to-420 Hertz instead of 380-to-1,000 Hertz, better for equipment and systems.]_ are at speed. - Let me know when your ready for the other two to carry their weight." Scotty post.

"Roger, Scotty. Can we fire them both at the same time?" I test.

"Sure, Highway. Got two hands."

"Stand by. - Stand by. 25 angels." I pitch down steeper than before; "give me spark and fuel."

"You got it!"

I creep the outside throttles to where the throttle friction hold the inner two. The aircraft shudder as both engines' compressors stuff air into the turbines' ignition and fuel spray bars. Then I budge those outer engine throttles up a bit more to get the shafts accelerating. Those two engines' tachometers reveal a little work being done. Their speeds are coming up.

"Gettin' EGT on number one. - Wait. Getting EGT on number four also. Whooop! We're turnin' an' burnin' on all four!" Tex and I rejoice with Scotty, Bugsy, and Darcy.

Tex and I pull back on the yokes, to almost straight and level flight, but still climbing, and then begin a two-minute turn toward the Nimitz's fix. Darcy note and record the GPS coordinates. Shortly we get close enough to begin long final, so we set for a nominal approach. A little later, I reduce power for a long, descent to do a fly-by the carrier group.

Later, I look out the forward wind screen to see a flattop in the distance, which we will soon fly over its wake. Then I deploy one notch of flaps, and the whine of the flap motors can be heard aft of the cabin.

Both Bennet sisters can hear a sound like demons screaming. They have no other way of describing the whine hydraulic motors make when running flap-drive screws. It start at a medium pitch, which change about half a step down as the flaps intrusion into the airflow load the screw. They feel the slight shudder that all flap drives tend to cause as the airfoils change shape within the airstream, especially if the craft go through any, even a slight, cross wind.

"Oh, Lizzy! Will we be well? What caused that dreadful noise? What can it mean?" The elder protest when that sound stop, because the flaps are down the equivalent of one-notch, as if her clever sister could know.

"I know not, but it did come first cause when that one up there, at our left, did put his hand to work that wheel." Elizabeth point and is at the right-most position, sitting on the lower bunk and also belted in, so she can see more of what the pilot perform.

Elizabeth observe the pilot's right hand return to the yoke, appear to push a little button with his thumb a few times, alternating with his speech, and then now, back toward the handle she now associate with causing the screaming noise. In anticipation, she cup her hands over her ears, and Jane seeing her do so, then do likewise. They can not know, but they heard the flap drive motor turn the screws to the equivalent of two-notches of flaps and deploy the spoilers.

This time, the shuddering bring a sense of corresponding slowing. They can feel a slight force bending them forward against their lap belts. The two young ladies out of the past are also distressed by the increased whining screams and the rougher sensations, even within the flight deck, caused by lowering the landing gears and deploying the third notch of flaps.

"Hello, Nimitz, zero-seven. Can you tell if we've got Firestones or Uniroyals." I query for a visual on the gears. We have `down and locked' indicated, but after our experience, another pair of eyes' perspectives for validation would bring some comfort.

``Zero-seven, Nimitz. You've got Firestones on the mains and Uniroyals on the nose.''

"Nimitz, zero-seven. That explain the loss of power." I grin, and know they can know it is a spoof as I coax the throttles up to a power setting suitable for climbing out. I add; "mismatched tires. - We of Starlifter zero-zero-seven are grateful to the officers and crew of the Nimitz and group for your courtesy and readiness to aid, which if you weren't around, would certainly be needed. Thank you all. - Over and out."

The Nimitz command center sign off too. They bid us a safe and happy trip. It is too bad that we do not have a pallet or more for the crew of the Nimitz. We could also tally an air cargo drop to our current qualifications. My crew should be able to put one exactly where they want it on their deck.

Then I horse up the landing gear control lever, and hear the hydraulic motors run to lift the bogies. They also tip both struts back to where they can tuck the gears inside the pods. Furthermore, all gear doors close, including the little trap door at the top of the pod, that open so the strut can protrude up above the pod when the gears are down and the airplane is on the ground.

"Up and locked." Tex verify. Another accent to those words is a disparagement about the feebleminded errors which can plague any organization and vex anyone who must repair the damage.

At cruise out altitude, I slide my seat back and grant to; "Tex. Would you take over for a while. I have some - `aircraft commander' stuff to do."

"Sure, Highway. I'm good for a while."

"Thanks. I should be able to relieve you shortly." Then I rise and step back toward our guests, and see them, knowing that their eyes, and Scotty's and Bugsy's attention, is upon me. "Well, ladies. I know you were not on board when we left Hickham a few hours ago."

Bugsy then introduce them to me. He knew the more energetic one as Miss Elizabeth and the other beauty as Miss Jane. The younger girl has a light cinnamon tone to her skin that take a suntan like a duck take to water. Her brown eyes and light brown hair, with her trim shape, contribute to her natural tint beauty.

In contrast, Jane's skin is a light, delicate alabaster. Her dark blue eyes and raven hair compose a stunning beauty, even though she is not as trim as her sister. ([Jane Austen told little of her characters' general description; other than Kitty was "slight and delicate" (V3, Ch.V) and Lydia as "stout" (V1, Ch.IX). However, these seem to be my best guess by what has been revealed. -r.e.h.]_ The latter is the elder of the Miss Bennets.

"Oh, Sir. We can not account for our presence here. Where are we? Pray. I must ask." Elizabeth beg. She is as frightened, but only more in control of her speech than her elder sister, so she add; "it seems we had breakfast only a short while ago. Oh! Where are we?"

"Well, ladies. We are at 33,000 feet above sea level;" I could check the Inertial Navigation System for a Global Positioning System fix, but that would not help them, so I explain; "flying between Hawaii and southern California, about three hours from touchdown at San Bernardino Depot." The old Norton Air Force Base assumed the call letters from the even older Naval weapons depot; SBD. ([During the 1990s, IIRC, Norton Air Force Base became the largest piece of real property for sale in Southern California (or wider).]_

"`Touchdown?' Oh, Sir. You speak of strange things. We have no comprehension! How is it possible that we can be - `flying?' Sir. Our confusion is so wretched! Pray, tell us!" Jane tag-team with her sister.

"Sir." Bugsy interject. "They couldn't have been in the cargo bay. And the cabin door's been closed since you got your coffee and doughnut."

"That's part of the puzzle, Bugsy." Then I direct to the ladies; "by your apparel, I think your question should be in terms of - `when' as much a matter or more than of `where.'"

"`When?' I do not comprehend your intelligence, Sir." Then Elizabeth read the `United States Air Force' of the command patch ([Sorry. It has been so long since I have seen one, the legend has been forgotten. -r.e.h.]_ on my flight suit, which she is suddenly mortified.

A psychologist question may be useful. "What year do you think this is?"

She answer with hesitation, but it is her best idea. "1811, in the year of Our Lord?"

"That was when you left home. It is now in the year 2011, of the Common Era - or A.D.; March 18th, if that will help you."

"Oh! No. I can not comprehend it" Elizabeth almost wail.

I vow to bring her some comfort. "Somehow, you ladies have time-slipped two hundred years into your future. - No, wait. The event isn't right for a time slip, and they seem to be looking backward into the past. Going forward in time, as you ladies have travelled, can be done by some other unknown, paranormal phenomenal suspension. - Yes. By some paranormal event." The ladies and the crew are willing to let me muse as I ponder with my mouth in gear.

"But how? Sir."

"Conceptually simple, Bugsy. The unidirectional nature of duration's progression would suggest that for anything to be drawn - Forward in time, it only need be suspended in some interstitial space until the normal duration reach some future point in time. The event itself, that set the suspension, must have the end or mirror event to restore that which was captured."

"Or not." Scotty had been reading the mail, as it were, but could no longer keep quiet. "You sing and dance as well as any theoretical fuzzy, Sir. But Sir, we have one most important question:" He pause for emphasis and our coaxing to continue; "what are we to do with, about, and for these young ladies?"

"Hmmmm." I idle. "Good thought. Probably first thing we should do is a proper introduction." Then I begin with Bugsy, whom they are longest acquainted, Scotty, then; "...Tex up there in the copilot seat..." and then; "...our navigator, William Darcy-" I stop at Elizabeth's gasp.

Elizabeth is speechless, so Jane submit; "my sister and myself, are recently acquainted with a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, but he is such a disagreeable person. He regard us with very little esteem."

Then he is an idiot. Maybe I should have left my mouth in gear.

Darcy explain: "Please, ladies. We are two different men. The two time periods must help you see it is so."

"Yes, Sir. I can accept that." Elizabeth nurse another vexation, so she finally put it to words when she ask; "so. Are we to be captives in some war?" She look at me, and the pain in her eyes break my heart.

It is one thing to be yanked two hundred years into your future, and it get quite mucky if you land into the enemy's lap, as she perceive. "Aw, no. Miss. That dissonance has been resolved for 160, 170 years; at-least. Britain and America have been great friends since then. I know of no disagreements among any English-speaking peoples." I vouchsafe.

Darcy volunteer an important qualifier; "the problem come from some non-English speaking powers."

Elizabeth, the inquisitive, ask; "then what brought about the felicity between our two nations?"

"Well." Darcy idle for a thought, then; "I suppose by the 1830s, the Abolitionist movements in both countries brought more in-common than was different, and that - overcame any lasting anger from the two wars."

"`Two wars!' I comprehend one, the one that ended before my sister or I was born."

"Oh, yes, ladies. - The second went from 1812 to 1814. In our egocentric vanity, we want to believe that Tchaikovsky ([1840-1893]_ wrote his 1812 Overture ([Opus 49]_ with America in mind, but Europe was well involved in wars."

"Pray continue your account." Elizabeth's interest in knowledge overpower her disquiet.

"The American Founding documents reveal the abhorrence of slavery, but by then, the Southern plantations, principally, were economically trapped. And in England, William Wilberforce, a Member of Parliament, had an uphill battle to break the slave trade."

"Oh, my!" Jane gush.

Elizabeth disclose her sudden enlightenment; "perhaps that explain some of the disgust my people associate with `trade!' All business in trade was colored by the slave trade."

"That explanation works for me." Darcy's thought is complete when he turn back for a peek into the RADAR scope. He is concerned about the clouds that seem to be getting thicker. Perhaps it is the usual gathering of moisture at sundown, which make for; "red sky at night, sailors' delight, red sky at morn, sailors take warn."

"We may never hear the rest of that thought." I muse, surely missing some history. Our assurances that the young ladies will not be subject to any deprivations of war seem to bring them a little comfort.

"Highway." Bugsy preamble, then continue when he see that he has my undivided attention. "We have foreign citizens on board, even if they were authorized military air transport, but they're not on a manifest. And you know, Sir. That's got to be a bozo no-no."

"True enough. But they didn't intend to stowaway, and we didn't Shanghai them, but will those facts cover us at a courts martial?" I reply, which get Scotty's attention.

Scotty remind us; "and the 63rd MAW Commander has it in for us Reservists. Especially since we let the crews at Woomera stencil a little green kangaroo over our crew entry door." ([This was a practice during the last half of the 1970s (or longer). Most were yellow, with some red and rarer others green, probably indicating the nature of the airplane's needed repairs.]_

"Yep. I 'spose it was a novelty for them to put a green one on something this old." I grin to break any tension.

Darcy turn our way and suggest; "since the young Bennet ladies are British subjects, they may need services of a British Consul."

Tex ask across the flight deck; "would they have one in L.A.?"

"Everybody's got one in L.A." Darcy assure.

"We could keep this to ourselves." Bugsy chime, then; "who's gonna know?"

Darcy scowl. "Just how do you expect to get these ladies past the ground crews after we land? And then off the flight line with or without any of us? And then off base? To where? Would you tell me how? Without documents? - And that state of affairs, boys and girls, is something to avoid."

"Ouch." Bugsy recognize, and utter my thoughts.

Tex turn toward me; "Hiram. Would you mind taking over? I'm gonna get on H.F. and call my brother."

"What'cha gonna call him?" Scotty pipe his tease as I turn back toward my job.

"Ham and bacon." Tex deadpan his return derision.

"Tex?"

"Yes, Highway?"

"Does he know any good lawyers? Someone who can do military law?" I reach over to the console.

"I'll ask." Tex assure, and he know that I switch my interphone control box's "HF2" switch on, so I hear both sides of his contacts, and so to know what an aircraft commander ought know from having sudden guests.

Anticipating the young ladies' needs and possible curiosity, Darcy take and record the last fix, so he is free to be host for a little while. He borrow Bugsy's flashlight ("torch" in Britain) before he open the cabin door, and turn to climb down the entry ladder. He does so to demonstrate the best way for the ladies. By ourselves, we just swing our legs out and slide hanging by our hands down the polished, stainless steel hand rails.

What does a gentleman do, who is first down a ladder to be followed by ladies wearing long dresses? Be handy, but not at a fix to be a peeper. Short dresses would be more tempting, but if less is more, showing less is more stimulating. Still, he stand beside the ladder as Elizabeth lead and Jane follow to the cargo floor with their guide and host.

"What is this place?" Elizabeth look about when she stand on the cargo floor, and is brief as she voice her curiosity and get her sister's nod.

"This is the cargo bay. You can't see much of it, because right here, is called a `comfort pallet.'" He point to the edge where it is secured; "the lock system keep it secure until its removal, and part of why it's called a `pallet.' The `comfort' is important, because we can carry passengers, and over water, it's not unusual to be eight or nine hours in the sky."

Jane gasp, revealing her incredulity, but then; "pray, Sir. Pardon me. But I do not comprehend - `hours in the sky?'" Now Elizabeth nod, confirming her similar confusion.

"Get two for the price of one;" Darcy muse, then smile. "We have about three more hours flight time before we land. We left Hawaii, of which you may know from your globes and maps as the `Sandwich Islands,' - about five and a half hours ago. It will be dark when we land, because we are flying eastbound, away from the setting sun."

"Oh! Such calculation! I do not comprehend! How shall I remember it all?" Elizabeth complain.

Darcy sigh, but keep his smile. "We can come back to that. I am sure you - comprehend `hours' and the need for - `certain comfort.'" He pause to let them giggle, but they are still in some paranormal transport shock, and if their event shock is fading, culture shock is setting in. Then he lead to the starboard side of the cargo deck; "here, on the comfort palette;" he open the door after he noticed the repair tag tied to the handle; "is usually a better lavatory than the aircraft's," he glance again at the tag; "too bad this is broke. But then I must not forget to show you the one that is part of the airplane."

The girls stand side by side, so they can see the facilities of the stool, the vanity, mirror, sink, and such. The stool is apparent, but they are used to a basin and a pitcher on a vanity for the sink function. They may see the little flush handle, or may not, because it is not obtrusive if now is the first time anyone see a modern privy. Turning a tap handle may be something else too, out of their experience.

He present the repair tag; "since this has a fault that can be repaired, but not easily, we are taking it back to its depot with us." He stop to learn if one of them will ask the logical question.

Depend upon Elizabeth; "then what is available, perchance the need?"

"In case of need, ladies. We have the;" he step back and open the door to the; "crew latrine." He step inside and reach to lift the lid, while leaving the seat down. "When the business is done, close the lid, flush with this little lever: And then release it." He look in their faces for comprehension. "The system will take care of - Everything and the ground crews will service the system. - Then after, you can wash in the sink; hot water;" he screw the tap just enough to let a little out, then; "cold water." Again, he demonstrate. "Then; paper towels." He point, then press the toe handle on the trash bin, in the corner, to reveal how it open and close.

Jane beg; "pray, Sir. How will we remember all this?"

"Please, ladies. Ask for help and a reminder when you need it." Darcy pat Jane's wrist as her sister look on. "You will be exposed to so much, that to remember all, will be a prodigious mental feat."

They giggle, which open the door to a little adaptation. "Thank you, Sir. We are gratified at your forbearance."

"You are so welcome. I know I would be at the mercy of the kindness of strangers, if I was to suddenly be two hundred years into my future: And I have the benefit of our science fiction - speculative fiction." He then remember; "the other - `comfort' I want to show you is more agreeable and on the other side." He gesture back toward where they came down the ladder.

"`Comfort?'" Elizabeth quiz, then turn toward the given direction.

"Certainly. We have some coffee and hot water, for tea and cocoa, and we may have some sweet rolls left." He look into the pastry box; "we're in luck. We have some." Then he draw back the plastic wrap to present the choices, which the Regency period ladies were most struck by the clear, tough, and flexible nature of cling film, and then he hand each a paper plate.

Jane select the last maple bar, and then Elizabeth pick up the last blueberry cupcake; erroneously called "muffins" although the British use "fairy cake;" probably because they are a small cake. "Day old." Jane reluctantly observe after taking a bite.

"Stand back and be amazed!" He try a bit of corn.

Belay that! His sample is a whole crop.

He continue after a pause; "allow me, ladies." Darcy harvest their selections and put them, and his, inside the; "microwave oven. `Mike' for short." Two taps on the [10 seconds] button, then on the [Start], and then the magnetron cooling fan confirm operation with its hum. "Coffee, tea, or me?" He offer with a cheeky grin, but then counter; "oops. I forgot."

"`Forgot' - what?" Elizabeth is naturally curious.

Darcy step back and aft, to one of the cargo bay interphone control boxes, and verify the hot-mic switch is off. He plug in his headset to the end of the long cable, and then attach the clip to a pocket flap on his flight suit. While near the port main gear inspection window, he look through to see the up lock link and the hydraulic reservoir is at mid-range. Then he cross over to the other side to make a similar inspection.

He press the little button on the interphone cable's receptacle to report; "hey, Bugsy. The mains' check is done, but the starboard reservoir is on the low side of normal." He amble back to his guests, now that the microwave is done.

``Okay, Sir. Thanks. Got it jotted.''

"Sure thing." He then fetch the girls' selections, and when they sample the change.

Jane could compare the before and after, so she affirm; "oh, Sir. This taste is so much better."

"That is why we don't worry about day-old pastries. We rejuvenate them." He grin.

The girls simper, and then Jane accept; "my sister and I would take up your offer for some tea."

"Certainly." Then he rummage through the cupboards to find; "some Earl Grey, and some;" he shift some more supplies aside on one upper shelf. "Green tea!"

"Some Earl Grey, pray." Jane ask.

"Pray. What is the `green tea?'"

"It is a green colored tea, that Asians hold to health benefits, as I understand. Personally, I like it over the Earl Grey."

"Pray, Sir. May I have some green tea?"

"Miss Elizabeth. You are after my own heart." Darcy coo as he set out what pass for a tea service; as much as come in a comfort kitchen.

"It may be your heart, Sir. I do not desire the approbation of a Mr. Darcy I know in the time my sister and I have lost."

"Ouch. - Maybe it's just as well." Then he present a plastic berry basket of condiments with sugar packets and then, because the expiration date was last week, he peel back the cover of a cream thimble to give it a nose test. "Cream? Sugar? Honey?"

Since the label "honey" is apparent on some of the condiment packets, the ladies can assume that he is not being insolent with a term of endearment. They accept cream and sugar as per their taste. Jane offer to do "mother" service, so Darcy pull the water percolator from its receptacle, and let it serve as a tea pot. All stand by the counter as the tea service is set.

"Where can we sit? Standing is so inconvenient." Elizabeth is right to ask.

Darcy set his cup and plate on the counter, then; "I know just the thing." He amble back to the near section of troop seats and let them down.

The seats set up quite convenient beside a cargo pallet, where boxes can serve as a table between the cargo net's lattice. Even though the three of this society must sit sideways to the flight direction and in-line, it will work. He gesture for the young ladies to lead back, because of the interphone cord clipped to his flight suit. Just before he sit beside Elizabeth, he reef the cargo net's front two binders a notch, then report to Bugsy his additional loadmaster task so it can be duly noted: And then to be filed in a circular receiver, somewhere, at the end of its days.

"What have I done? Tex." I bemoan.

He keep his eyes on his procedures. "Just what you've always done, Hiram. The right thing, even though some puffy little martinet may not see it that way."

"Thanks, Tex."

"Just so you know. The British Consul and a rep from the State Department will meet our plane, and I've got the security police to give the V.I.P. treatment when they arrive at the main gate."

"Good work. And I've let Ops know that we have - external needs that we have made proper arrangements."

Tex chuckle. "And slobbering on your mic to sound like a radio breaking up will just delay the questions."

"Yep. But maybe, just maybe, sense and reason will rule when otherwise a donnybrook'll break out."

"Maybe. But hope so, and bet on the contrary."

I swallow when I realize what he said. "You're probably too right." I double check our heading and notice the dark sky to the east. Perhaps I ought doze a bit before we tackle the LAX ATC at the end of our long final to SBD. ([Los Angeles Air Traffic Control.]_

Darcy sat quiet a few moments beside Elizabeth. `Dumb thing to have nothing to talk about. At least take a sip of tea and a bite of pastry so to momentarily excuse being mute.' He does so. Apparently the young ladies have a similar idea, but then, they may not know how to word their doubts and problems. One good thing about tea times; the pastime offer cause to pause and reflect on what to say next.

Elizabeth's wit come to the murder of a dreadful silence. "Pray, Sir. Tell me about that strange wall that slopes over there?" She point aft.

"That is the pressure door."

"A - `pressure door?'"

"Oh. It put a solid bulkhead in the way of the largest space that can be opened to air." By way of complete explanation, whether understood or not, is; "the petal doors, which form part of the aerodynamics, could not hold the internal air pressure alone."

"`Pressure?' `Air?' I can not comprehend such meanings, Sir."

She leave little time for him to sip or nibble. "At cruise altitude, the air is too thin for many life forms to breathe. So. Any aircraft that fly higher than 12,500 feet; I believe it is; must have pressurization systems, and so the pressure must be monitored. If it fail, then the aircraft has to descend, as fast as possible, to under 12,500 feet elevation-equivalent."

"Pray, Sir. Tell me why?"

"Hypoxia. Without the right mixture and quantity of air and oxygen, unconsciousness set in and death can follow." Should he continue?

"Oh! No! - Let us speak of pleasanter things!"

"I agree." He smile, desperately trying to think of a subject that has no morbid angle.

Jane crane forward to ask him; "pray, tell us, Sir, of your house?"

Darcy sigh. "I wish I could tell you that it is a cozy cottage with charming gardens and white picket fences, with my Mrs. and me, and baby makes three, or four, or- It doesn't seem meant to be. But no. I've got an apartment, suitable for a bachelor, rented now month -by- month for as long as I have this situation." He look at them. "I do worry about you girls-"

"Pray, Sir. `Girls' are children." Elizabeth mock a rebuke as she try to get an anchor of understanding.

"`Girls,' does not seem to be a respecter of age, other than the speaker should be older than the subjects. - And that, I am older than most women of my acquaintance. - And yes, I do worry about you: Where you will stay and live. Will you be here for a while, or will you be yanked back or pulled forward through time again. I'm sure you both do not have the marketable skills to get a job, like other young women who choose to avoid matrimony; - making the same mistake the first time."

"Oh, no." Elizabeth sigh, then Jane.

"Oh, yes. - I don't even have a clue where you will bed down tonight. None of us have a suitable house for unrelated female guests of your respectability." He snag the talking token back; "I lie. Perhaps my great aunt in Redlands-" He trail off in his muse.

"Oh! Sir." Jane said a lot when she let out some of her exasperation.

"I'm sure Hiram's working on something now. - But surely the first problem is that governments now, or most of them anyway, are quite fussy about who comes into their nation and who goes, and that require documents and passage on particular conveyances; and military aircraft are not usually used for civilian passengers, and even then on most particular exceptions."

Elizabeth look into his eyes to ask; "Sir. Pray, tell of such exceptions as you know?"

"Ah. Sometimes civilians are airlifted out of hostile or dangerous situations. In 1975, many Hmong were lifted out of Vietnam, - I think you may have known as `French Indo-China,' and this very airplane may have been one of that fleet. Civilians have been plucked from floodwaters by military helicopters, such as a few years ago when a hurricane, Katrina, as it was named, rearranged the deep south. - We've lost much of our antebellum history to hurricanes; Camille comes to mind, for one, sometime about 1970, I guess. - But I digress. Does this help you any?"

"Oh. I do not know. What is to become of us? I comprehend a time of wonders and terrors."

"I think, my dear lady, you have spelled it out. - Yes. `Wonders and terrors.'"

The two Regency ladies chat with Darcy a little longer, and they gain much intelligence of their new situation. How much they can retain is another matter, but no doubt that does not indicate a defect in ability. Shortly, all rise from the troop seats, and following Darcy's mode, rinse their cups, and toss the paper and other waste into the trash can.

"You have been under quite a strain, ladies. Would you like to rest a bit before we land?" Darcy invite.

Jane answer; "yes, Sir. We would, but how? You have no suitable bed chambers for ladies."

"True enough. However, you can be comfortable with all modesty intact up on the bunks, covered with blankets."

"I can accept your offer, Sir. Thank you." Elizabeth grant and then take a step toward the ladder to the flight deck.

He gesture for Jane to follow. "We can wake you so you can watch our landing."

The ladies express their mixture of curiosity and fatigue. When they get back up on the flight deck, Elizabeth commandeer the top bunk, so she can look over the flight deck activity, while Jane is as satisfied with the lower. Darcy coo his pleasantries as he cover each with blankets, and spread the safety nets over each lady.

The lights of Southern California almost make the RADAR picture, at thirty knots out, redundant. Darcy woke the ladies in time to show them the picture on the navigator station's scope. Meanwhile, Bugsy set up the flight examiner's station seat, that fix aft of the center console, before he do his pre-landing cargo bay inspection. We choose to let Jane and Elizabeth sort out who will be "flight examiner" and when. Surely they may find that watching the VASI (["Visual Approach Slope Indicator" from http://www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1O25-VASI.html on 26 Oct. 2010.]_ lights distracting on short-final, and just before landing flare.

I take flying through the Los Angles Air Traffic Control with mixed feelings. On one hand, they are the most courteous and competent ATC of our travels. ([See? This is fiction.]_ On the other hand, they are courteous and competent; drum roll; because they cope with so much air traffic. All of the flights going in and out of LAX and surrounding airports, and mixed with all the general aviation in the patterns, make the sky thick with airplanes, almost like a mosquito swarm. At least after sundown, the general aviation Visual Flight Rules pilots have got where they are going, and the other pilots are at least instrument qualified.

Yes. I prefer night flying, and the later the better, but we have come into the airspace now.

"Darcy. You on the scope?"

"Yep."

"All eyes out the windows!" I direct, even knowing that Elizabeth, sitting at my right and a bit behind me, is taking in everything with wonder.

LAX ATC routed us south of Manhattan Beach and due east toward the intersection of the Orange, Riverside, and Los Angeles counties' lines. There, I do a two-minute turn to line up on Norton Air Force Base's runway zero-six. LAX ATC pass us off to Norton RAPCon ([RAPCon :== RADAR Approach Control]_. I begin long-final approach, watching the elevation and distance profile to touchdown.

The girls had switched seats when Jane ask; "is London as large as all this we see?" She sweep her arm across the expanse from behind us to forward.

"Probably. It's big. I suspect London proper and L.A. proper are about the same size. I wouldn't doubt that both of them have about the same size extensions. But, I think I'll let others sort that out, those whom it's important, as to which is bigger."

"Oh."

About four minutes ago, I switched on our landing lights, and the girls were gobsmacked at what could be seen in their daylight - bright glow. "We're approaching short final, ladies. I would be - happier: Feel safer, if you were strapped in on the bunk, if you please."

"As you wish, Sir." Elizabeth grant with a bit of tart to her accent.

"It would save a boo-boo." I counter in a flat manner, enough so she follow Jane back.

With power set at descent, the cabin is quiet enough I hear both of the girls' seat belt buckles connect. Then I decide it is time to show them why they should be belted in, like the crew. Bugsy verify he is set in the cargo bay for landing, so I roll in the second notch of flaps, deploy the spoilers, and lower the gears. Elizabeth and Jane have heard the sound before, but it is still disquieting.

Time for the third notch of flaps. On course, and on glidepath, and now the 3,000 Hertz tone in my headset mark our pass over the inner marker. ([I think some of these old Instrument Landing Systems components were being phased out by many generations of modern, more sophisticated systems. -r.e.h.]_

"Flare time, boys and girls." We fly over the base's western fence, the road around to the base golf course, and then over the 2-4 overrun.

{SCRITCH!} Rear axle of the portside's dogbone; at crosswind direction. ([These are not references to a character in Ice Age. -r.e.h.]_

{Scritch.} Starboard dogbone's rear axle.

{Scritch-scritch.} Then the front axles touchdown.

{Scritch.} Nose gear touchdown. I have rudder pedal steering.

When I engage all four engines' thrust reversers, the roar come up to almost deafening, even or especially inside the cabin. We aircrew members have on headsets, but the din must overpower the sisters' sensitivities, even with their hands over their ears. I gently apply brakes and roll past the center turn-off. I could have stopped short enough, but no good reason to rough up these old birds more than they get. I shut off the landing light, because the taxi lights are enough. The runway is 10,000 feet long and 200 feet wide, so it may as well be used for comfort. I turn 67-0007 to port at the end taxiway and stop for Ground Control instructions.

At that quiet point, Bugsy mention that now would be a good time for the ladies to see what there is to be seen when the aft is open for air drop or cargo loading or unloading. The girls decide that one of them should see everything, and with Elizabeth being more inquisitive, she go aft for the tour, while Jane is content to watch whatever can be seen at the flight examiner seat as we taxi.

I call out for their information; "we will taxi about a mile and a half before we park. - In about six-to-seven minutes."

Elizabeth smile. She resist the temptation to jump down from the flight deck, like we do, and so she probably would if she wore trousers. Then we get our taxi clearance.

Bugsy fetched an extra headset and had it plugged into the other side's interphone cord when Elizabeth marched back toward him. They would not communicate much, but the headset does attenuate some of the high pitch noises. He help her set it on over her bonnet, but hold one cup open so she can hear him for this one piece of information.

"Right now, it ain't so bad. When we fire up the APU, that engine'll scream like a banshee, and then again when I start moving metal." He grin, and then let the cup close, and she is temporarily shocked to hear all of the cockpit and radio chatter going on.

She hear: ``Zero-seven, Ground. Be advised that you have company waiting for you. Ops and Maintenance expects you to park on - Charlie Three.''

``Roger, Ground. This's been a real good flight. Now proceeding as directed.'' Major West pass on to them that this airplane is in good condition, but withhold that any problem has been no fault of the airplane. In fact, if this crew could get assigned one aircraft, a bit like jet-jocks, we would put our "dibbies" on this one.

Bugsy point to the pressure door, calling Elizabeth's attention, then operate the controls for opening. They hear the four engines run up a bit to begin taxiing, and then idle back to sustain the momentum. She watch in awe as the massive door hinge by the top side and swing forward, until it is all tucked up under the ceiling of the cargo bay. He watch her scan the inside of the petal doors from their prospect, and then when she give him a "what next?" look, he operate that control, of which the sequencer open the medial locks first, and then the drive mechanism make the doors swing out and open, bilaterally, also hinging from their upper edges.

She gasp and inhale when she see nothing between her and the great outdoors. Although long after sundown, the desert air is oddly clean and the field lights, with the aircraft outside lights, make for great "see-ability." Unfortunately, at that end of the runway, not much exist to see. The orange orchards are too far away to see the trees. The Santa Ana River wash is lower and beyond the far trees. In the distance, they can see the lights of Redlands before the shades of black delineate the hills from the sky. The sky is the part that has the stars.

The last task to opening the cargo bay is to lower the aft section of flooring that get hinged up like a ramp, so the aircraft skin can close the slip-stream. A pump motor evacuate the pressure used by the ramp lift actuator. Bugsy step out onto the ramp, about three feet forward of the back edge, and gaze at the open prospect. Elizabeth follow, but stay a pace behind him. She does not have the years of standing open at taxi speed, and ten-to-fifteen miles an hour on the ground may be more than the peak of her travelling experience.

The plane turn onto the long taxiway, and run up to a high speed taxi, where it will travel the mile-and-a-quarter or so, before it make a right turn onto another taxiway toward the flight line. She watch as their panorama leave Redlands swinging to their right, and then Highland come into view from their left, with the San Bernardino mountains rising in the dark, with an occasional light showing some cultural edifice. The engines then idle down a little bit so that the airplane can coast at taxi speed that long stretch.

I slow and turn the plane to the right at the end of our long fast taxi. Jane is amused to read the lit: "Follow Me;" sign when we come behind a blue pickup truck serving as a pilot car. She can not see horses drawing a wagon, and can not yet comprehend self-powered wheeled vehicles have the ability to run lights and any other device of their purpose. By now, the ball park lights at the flight line perimeter, and other flood lights on top of hangars and other buildings, provide near-daylight.

"I see edifices, but what are those strange things? They appear to be made of metal and some may be half whitewashed!" She ask with a childlike wonder.

"The near one, off to our left, is another aircraft, very much like this one, but a newer design. At that spot, it is in cannibalization status." Before I force her to phrase a query, I add; "when supply can not provide a part, one is - `borrowed' from that one while any new parts are coming, and then when all the new parts come in, then it will be put back together for service."

"Oh." She secured the answer, but file it away for future calculation to comprehension, should such need ever arise.

I cut power to a more deliberate taxi speed as we get closer to the flight line activity and congestion. Then Tex call my attention; "look there, Highway." He point. "Betcha that buggy with the birdie's Colonel Adrian."

"That man - must have a very unhappy marriage." Perhaps I should reserve my charity for when a suckup is needed.

"Or else she's very happy he's rarely at home." Tex's supposition draw a guffaw from us, but Jane give us a courtesy giggle, because and fortunately, she does not fully comprehend; or she does and she choose to withhold her worldly wisdom that pass through the ages.

We taxi between the Base Operations and Fuel Cell ([A hangar dedicated to the protection of aircraft in maintenance with open fuel cells. Nobody but fuel cell mechanics and extra qualified technicians work inside this metal, lightning-hardened, extra-grounded building. Of course, smoking is more than a bozo no-no. -r.e.h.]_ buildings, and proceed straight past the yellow centerline turning to Charlie Four. From our left, between spots on the Alpha and Baker parking rows come a 463L 25K-loader; a special truck of 4X2 axle configuaration. We do not have that much on board, but that is the smallest of that type, though 40K (6X4), and 55K (8X4) cargo loader trucks are in the fleet. ([A most efficient way of handling air cargo loading and unloading. The trucks with their cargo beds look a little like aircraft carriers. The cargo floors and the truck beds have rails of rollers by which the pallets roll when being transfered from one to the other. As long as the load can be accomodated by one truck, complete loads can be shifted in about a minute. -r.e.h.]_

Our "Follow Me" truck turn on the line curving to Charlie Three, so I turn Zero-seven. That truck then drive straight through the parking spot and out between other vehicles parked nearby. The ground crew is out and about, doing their jobs, so I follow the Marshaller's signals. By her, with little doubt, I am confident the nose gear strut follow right over the yellow line.

She signal "come ahead slow," then about where I anticipate, by our position between the Fuel Cell hangar door at out right and the Air Transport Terminal Building at our left, she signal for "slower." A couple heartbeats later, she wave the "stop" signal. I tiptoe hard on the brakes, so by the time we have slowed gently, the plane only lurch in the least, to shed the last of its momentum.

Zero-seven has stopped. By now, the ground crew is stuffing chocks at the main gear tires; as if the plane is going to roll on the level fore and aft. Here in the Land of "Shake-n-Bake," anything can happen.

Tex look out his side window to verify the ground crew is plugging in a heavy cable from a yellow trailer mounted motor-generator, to our plane's covered ground power recepticle. I identify the usual vehicles; the ground crew's truck, the line chief's pickup, a couple usual security and specialist trucks, our aircrew van, and a yellow Dodge Diesel R-9 refueler truck coming from our far and slightly right. It is called because this area does not have jet fuel hydrants.

Scotty post; "we have ground power."

I direct; "begin power transfer and shut down procedures." So we turn to our respective checklists, and do so.

Bugsy step back to where Elizabeth stand at her comfort limit, and there he began to answer her questions with extensive explanations. They watched the panorama change and retreat for viewing out the back of a taxiing aircraft. The mile and a quarter run was not particularly remarkable because not much came close into view. They watched the slow zoom out and she called out for the vehicle headlights on the road at their left, beyond the inner fencing, between main base and "Area Two."

Just as the airplane turned onto the last taxiway toward the flight line, the "Fox" parking row peeked into and then out of their view. It was enough to show Elizabeth three C-17s parked in various states. One was all shut up and dark, the other was lit and crawling with ground crews and mechanics doing work, and the third was dark and wide open.

"Am I to comprened? Sir. That those are flying machines? Like the one we are in as we speak?"

"Like enough to be of the same purpose, but those are newer models. If you get a chance to make a closer look, those have many `improvements' from this basic engineering."

"Oh. I fancy I comprehend." She look at him and simper. At that moment, the swing of the turn show just this side of the runway; "what is that curious little building? It look like a fool's cap. It is pointed like a witch's!"

Bugsy's glance follow her point. "That is the local `VOR-TAC' station." Not waiting for a logical following question, he add; "That stand for Visual Omni Range and Tactical Air Navigation. Those are two separate systems that give pilots ways of knowing where they are and how to get - Here." He point a finger down for emphasis. "Any more is quite technical, and I knew that well enough - long ago."

She color and accuse; "are you suggesting? Sir. That I can not comprehend?"

"Oh, no. I hope you understand that I believe you have the - Ability, but its use is so dependent upon many prerequisites."

"`Prerequisites?' Pray. Would you explain?"

He shrug. "Well. The maintenance troops tell me that they get four months of solid, basic electronics, and then another four-to-five months of their specialty systems and components. Just knowing how to use it flying is several hours in a basic instrument flight course." Then he detect her down cast, so he add; "women usually do - Very well in these kinds of things."

"Oh! They do? Do they?"

"Yes. They do. Darcy's - check pilot was a woman."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

A few moments later, the turn of the aircraft reveal the Base Operations building to those viewing from the aft of the cargo bay. The plane stop turning, and a long time for a few feet later, they hear the squeal as the disk brake pucks clap tightest to the rotors, the clunks as the landing gear components shift back, and then they feel the slight jar of the brakes being applied hard.

He point out to her the old, World War Two Navy-built hangars that is used for scheduled maintenance. The doors of both on this side are open, a plane is in the north hangar and the south hangar is empty.

"I hope you get a chance to see how this cargo bay get emptied." He offer, but only get a quizzical look, so he ask; "how long do you think it will take?"

"Oh, Sir. I have no comprehension."

"Surely, Miss. You have seen wagons unloaded. - Perhaps you can extend those observations."

"Very well, Sir." While she ponder, he sidestep over to the sidewall and open the pallet locks. She notice the retraction sound. "Sir. Are you changing the rules of the game?"

"Not really. Certain unique preparations can be excluded. May it not? Take the tarps off the wagon load?"

"Very well. - What?"

He hold off answering for a few heartbeats. "The APU and engines have been shut down. We're here. - The power is coming from an external source, which - is making the most noise now."

"Oh, Sir. I am wild for peace and quiet!"

"And - home, no doubt."

"Of course."

Bugsy is puzzled that the cargo truck is stopped on the far side of the taxiway. With engines shut down, the air freight crews prefer to be quick about their chore, and leave a vacant cargo bay for maintenance.

I offer to those nearby, which principally for Miss Bennet: "This is the way to leave an airplane: At leisure. The ground crew will put the bird to bed." I am near last to unhook my harness, as if the Captain should be last off his vessel.

Elizabeth observe Bugsy as he is already up in the baggage rack, passing our luggage, mostly B-4 bags, to Scotty. Scotty then pass them out to a support troop on the tarmac. Tex pass me the aircraft forms as he pass by us, leaving the flight deck to assist the others. Now Jane enplane with mixed feelings: Apprehension of the unknown versus what has become familiar.

Now I am mostly in apprehension of administrative actions against my crew or myself, because technically, we have undocumented foreign nationals on board. Will the fact that they were NOT on board when we left Hickham be a good defense? Especially when that fact can be debated, disputed, and/or disregarded.

Jane follow me to the cargo floor, and then Elizabeth come around forward to reunite with her. Darcy and I are last out before the Miss Bennets, and they seem to understand that this sequence is best. Shortly, all of us mill about near the entry ladder, but standing on concrete. I converse with the line chief about routine matters, and he brief me with what he know of all the others who seem to have business here and now.

A security police team approach, leaving a detail behind them, and after due protocols, the Lieutenant advise; "Sir. We have been ordered to inspect this airplane. Would you tell us, Sir, where anyone could stow away?"

No doubt they have already drilled mechanics and other personnel, so veracity is due. "We don't have as many as the Q.E.2, but the lavatory in the comfort pallet, the crew latrine, the avionics bay. Yes, they could hold a stowaway, although getting out past the flight deck ladder - of the latter, could be a bit of a problem. And there's up the T-tail. Or between the pressure door and the petal doors, but that'd be a problem getting in, staying alive, and dropping out. And there's on top of the baggage rack. - No. The old SKE ([Station Keeping Equipment. Not all the fleet were so equipped.]_ rack would make that too tight. - There's no way to get under the cargo floor, not without dismantling the plane, and the rest of the overhead's taken up with mechanical accessories. Does that help? Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Sir. I believe it does. - We'll work the comfort pallet first, so the crews can take the freight off."

"Sounds good to me. Carry on." I do not know what they may find, but it should not be the size of a person or any more prejudicial to us.

He lead the sergeant toward the plane, but stop and turn back to me; "by the way, Sir. Were your - guests - confined?"

"Oh, no. We gave them the $20.00 tour."

"I thought it was $2.00."

"Inflation."

"Hmm." He muse as if he is resigned. Then he turn toward his duty.

Darcy extract his cell phone from a pocket of his flight suit, flip it open, see that he has more bars than Skid Row of signal strength, and then call a preset number. "Hello, Aunt Barbara." He answer to a familiar voice.

``Hello, Willy-boy. Been expecting you to call soon.''

He momentarily forget that Caller ID is a cell phone standard feature, then; "well. Is this soon enough? Here we are!"

``"We?" Are you and Hiram in some trouble again?''

"You know us too well, Aunt." He amble back closer to Jane and Elizabeth. "All we need is some jam, because I think we're gonna be toast."

``Uh oh. What'd you two do now?''

Then he brace the phone away, so Elizabeth, being nearest can overhear. "Well. It's a long story, and it's probably only began. You see? We're probably the best to be guardians for a couple very special young ladies." Here is a good time to let a shoe drop.

``"Young - ladies." I think we can save some minutes if you just tell your ol' Mrs. Santa Claus what you - Really need.''

"We need a better place to stay, than our apartments, for young ladies like these. You ready to see their picture?"

``Lay it on me.''

-Just what I need.- Darcy say with his mouth out of gear. -Old relatives that are as hip as kids.- "Here they are." He twist the phone camera toward Elizabeth, then slowly pan to Jane. "Ah. Well?"

``We're gonna have to talk. Bring them on over.''

"We will when we can, Aunt. I don't know when everything here will be - fixed to everyone's satisfaction. We should know something in about an hour." He continue to hold Elizabeth in his confidence, so at least she can know and share intelligence with her sister.

``Such as how much longer it'll be?''

"Probably."

``Well. It's Friday night, and Dan's got his heart set on watching Operation Petticoat or Down Periscope. So. We'll be up for a while.''

"He was Navy, wasn't he."

``Yep.'' Then they exchange some mundane information, and begin hanging-up protocols.

"Jane. Elizabeth." He held off until he got their response in unison. "I don't know if I'm really doing you ladies a favor, putting you up with them. My Aunt and Uncle, Barbara and Dan Carson, are mid-to-late 60s, and tend to be - very dynamic individuals." Before the talking token pass; "whoah! I'm quite mistaken: They're crazy, - but you'll love 'em too."

The Bennet sisters had nothing to say, so they smile sweetly and mind their business. However, their business by being here and now, is just about everybody else's business.

A quick conference occur in the back of one of the limousines parked nearby. Actually, another one occur in the back of the other, but it is of little consequence to the matter at Major West's hand. Mr. Montgomery address his trainee-assistant; "Miss Black. See that blue car, over by the gate we came in."

"Yes, Sir?"

"When a flag officer, is not buzzing about black limousines parked in their domain, smell a rat."

"Sir?" She is as confused as before.

"An officer will make a showing, to make an acquaintence or a challenge. How long they hang about, and what they talk about, will determine their suckup factor. I don't respect a suckup, and I don't trust any officer who will not present themself."

"I see. - I think. No. I don't understand!"

"Why don't you go out, mill about the crews. Get some contact information. We need some eyes and ears on the ground here. The official channels don't tell all of the truth and nothing but the truth."

"How'll I do that?"

"Hmm. I guess I've never told you how to bat a football into the net."

"Sir? That's a mixture of metaphors if I ever heard one." She is more puzzled than confident of her game.

"That's the nature of our work. 99.99% Of the work is done in a routine manner, with the directives that you see in your nightmares, because you're bored out of your skull. Here and now, has all the makings of that one-one hundreth of a percent that need ingenuity and high level management attention.

"Now, as to your question. G.I.s are a gregarious bunch. They'll talk about their hobbies, their hometowns, their lives. And something else: The guys'll sing like birds if a pretty girl ask them something about them, and have something for them." He pause long enough for the talking token to wander.

"Such as? But isn't that sexist?"

"Of course it is. - What's the point?"

"Well?"

"Those who are trying to murder all of sexism really are a hateful bunch. Whether such people like it or not, we all tend to be born with an outie or an innie, and saying it ain't so is like killing off a big part of ourselves. Would you like a world where everybody looks like everybody else? Why. A child could not find their matron parent at the mall unless her number was known to the child. Can you hear it? `Will the bearing nurse of offspring 436554 please report to this speaker to resume your duties?' That scare the willies outta me."

"I guess I can agree to that." She idle.

"Oh. To your question of something. - We'll have a drawing, to be guest at a State function."

"We will?"

"Of course. Where do you think the interesting party guests come from?"

"Oh. But what about the female service members?"

-Oh, LORD! Do I have to tell her everything? If I blow in her ear, will she thank me for the refill?- He sigh. "They're probably just ascurious, but you may need to use your head more than your heart as you will for the guys."

"I think I see." She grab her steno pad and a pen, and then open the door. Miss Black hope that she get some ideas when her shoe leather dance on the tarmac, and before she is face-to-face with a lonely G.I.

Shortly, two suits come forward toward me and my crew. A security police honor guard is with them, so that is another variation from normal. They seem amiable as they listen to the line chief. One outstretch his hand.

"Major West?" He has been told, but he seek assurance.

"Yes, Sir."

"I'm Montgomery, Aloysius Montgomery, from the State Department." We exchange civilities, and I ask him if he has kin in the Air Force or its Reserves, which he negate, so he and Scotty have to go more generations farther back for a common ancestor. "And this is my good friend, George Trowbridge. He's the British Consul."

"Mr. Trowbridge. So good of you both to come."

"We understand you have a bit of sticky wicket that needs sorting out."

"Well, Sir. Yes we do. - You see, about three hours ago, the two Miss Bennets, over by the door with my navi-" I almost use -navi-guesser;- "my navigator, they boarded our airplane and by way of the flight deck."

"Hmm. I don't see the problem." Trowbridge try to get me to add something useful. Montgomery share his confusion.

"I should be more direct. We were above 30,000 feet and flying about 425 knots with the tailwind."

"I see." Montgomery muse, with the other's echo, then; "no, I really don't. Am I right? The young ladies appeared on your - flight deck, as if `poof;' by magic?"

"By some paranormal phenomena. - I can't believe I got that pair of words out."

They chuckle. "So." Montgomery lead. "They need proper processing in, and I'm sure my friend here'll agree, they need proper papers. - `Your papers, please.'" He mock by voice, but not by purpose. "And so that's why you need us."

"And that," I pause; "as they say, gentlemen. Is - It - in a nutshell."

Trowbridge offer; "I'm sure we can make each a passport. Monty, ol' man. If I get you the passports, do you think you can get visas and entry stamps?"

"Of course." Then he direct to the Security Police Captain, who had been listening attentively. He is Security more than pomp and circumstance. "...What all would you need to make an I.D. card?"

"Authority."

"Sir?" Montgomery express confusion that we share.

"I need some authorization to open the Pass and I.D. section. The only cards we could make for them are dependant I.D.s, because they are not active, civil service, or any other category."

"Captain." I address to begin. "If Captain Darcy and myself become joint guardians, will that suffice?"

"How? Sir. Are you going to do that?"

"So far, just about everything else is on our say-so. Why not cover all the bases? And besides, even though the ladies may be of - Legal age, to be independent, they are not of the - Technical age and its minimal competence. They're from the 18-teens: They're not stupid. They just need a little help adapting to this world."

"Well, Major. If the State and the Consul will concur and do any buy-off's for the application papers, I have no problem with opening the shop."

"Well. Captain." Montgomery praise. "Seem like we have a plan. We'll all meet at your Pass and I.D.! We'll follow you there." Then he direct to me; "do you know where this place is? So you can meet us there?"

"Certainly, Sir. My crew can take care of the debriefings. We'll just make a couple stops on the way, and be there about ten-to-fifteen minutes after you."

"Bang on, chaps." Encourage and endorse Trowbridge.

"I do not comprehend your women! Sir. - They wear mens clothing, and yet one is over there;" Jane point as discreet as possible while Elizabeth listen in; "does wear a dress, even though it is short."

Darcy spot the attractive young lady as she quit the back seat of a limousine. "I don't know how else to tell you, Miss Bennet, but she is dressed quite modest compared to some."

"Oh, my. Pray tell. Have we landed in Sodom or Gomorrah?"

"That is a frequent accusation. Some say so, more and more."

"And what say you? Sir?"

"A lot. - But not right now." Darcy does not want to burden the ladies with his dread. Sometimes, he believe that he was born decades too late, as he see many things slide into the sewer, which is no surprise to those who are acquainted with prophecy.

Eventually, the party has pooped. Everybody that has done what they came to do is ready to leave. The Security team and the ground teams still have some work to do. However, the two limousines drive away and out the main gate to the flight line.

The aircrew bus, sometimes called "the lizard" because of its long and low aspect, is now ready to take the seven souls off the air-plane that just arrived. The driver stand by to take us toward the Operations building for debriefing.

"Ladies. If you'll go on in the bus and make yourselves comfortable;" I invite; "we'll be on our way to get you some identification cards made."

"For what reason do we need these things? We never needed such things before." Elizabeth challenge.

"You were still in the town you were born in, I suspect." I test.

"Of course, Sir."

"Of course. When you are around a community, of those whom you have known all your life, the concept of proving who you are is alien. Isn't it?" I seek confirmation, and I am getting tired of thinking, but only keeping up with her queries.

"It is. When we are introduced to someone new, it is a special event."

"Jane. Elizabeth. Modern societies seem to demand such things, because few people are anywhere near where they were born, or grew up. Staying anywhere for ten years is considered quite settled. Most people used to buy houses, not so much for stability, but to build transferable equity for little more than rent."

Jane rescue me. "Oh, Sir. It seem we have so much to learn of this time!"

"Several decades ago, or was it about a century? Well, a legend of a Rip Van Winkle was that he slept for twenty years. When he woke, he had a horrible time adjusting to the changes made to the things he knew, they way things were done, the new things. And both of you got jumped forward two hundred years, where the last century went from just the introduction of many things, to the refinements of those things that have become indispensible. - So, my dear ladies. You owe no one an apology just because you have not grasped everything immediately."

The bus stop at the back end of the operations building, so we exit. We of the crew put our luggage into our cars, and I put Darcy's in my trunk, because he drove his "murdercycle." Jane and Elizabeth arbitrated who was going to sit in back and who will sit in the right front seat: Elizabeth yielded to seniority, but Jane prefered the back, as if she was in a coach. Tex, Scotty, and Bugsy will cover the debrifings, because they can address the routine matters well enough. Meanwhile Darcy and I will work on a major contingency.

The Colonel's car? It got driven to follow our aircrew bus.

"Darcy. Go on to Pass and I.D. for our meeting."

"What'll you do?"

"I think I'm gonna be roasted." I nod in the direction of the staff car.

"Not alone."

Suddenly I get an idea! "Darcy. Quick. Swap keys with me, and get the girls to Pass and I.D. I'll hold him off." I have my car keys in my hand as he dig out his.

We have been in mischief before, so he trust my schemes' chance of success. "Call me when I get in the car." We make the swap.

"Right." Then he bolt to my car, that I had parked backed into the space, start it, and about the time it need to get oil pressure, he drive it forward, right turn on the lane, and then go at maximum legal ramp speed toward the west gate of the flight line.

I extract my cell phone, dial his number, set the record on, ([Assume a cell phone has such a feature. I have not plunged into the cell phone fray. -r.e.h.]_ and then put it back into my pocket. Then I amble out and stand in the middle of the approach lane, where the bus brought us. The Colonel's car approach, and the driver pull it into neutral and goose the engine. I turn away to see my 1962 Studebaker Gran Turismo Hawk disappear at the west end of the large hangar complex so I stand ready and then salute the Colonel, with my spiffiest cadet-like salute.

He does not return my salute, so I hold mine, in accordance with Customs and Courtesy. However, he protrude his head out the window.

"West!"

"Major West, Sir. - How can I be of service?" As civil as I can. I hold my position, and he is talking close enough at my pants pocket to be clear at Darcy's phone.

"Your rank's only temporary now. You Reservist! I'll court martial you! You know I can do it, because you've had unauthorized civilians on your plane. Where'd you get 'em? You pirates Shanghai them girls from some - `playmates parlor' in Honolulu?"

"Sir?"

"You heard me!"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now, where'd you send them? Where? Where? Where?"

His nasal, big city twang really get up my nose when he get repetitive. "Away, Sir."

"Where's `away?' Wha'd'y' mean? `Away?'"

"`Away.' Sir. As in - not here."

"Damnit! West. I want those girls here! Now! NOW!"

"Sir?"

"What's so difficult for you to understand? I want those girls here now!"

"Sir. Those - girls are not mine to give to you or anyone else."

"Why? Why? Why?"

Maybe he has watched Captain Binghamton of McHale's Navy too many times as a child, or now again as an adult, and admired his dictatorship.

"Sir?"

"Why can't you answer a simple question? Are you Reservists stupid? Or what?"

"Sir? - I'm still holding my salute."

The Colonel is still roasting me from inside the left-back seat of his staff car. "So what. I'm gonna add Insubordination to your court martial charges!"

"`Insubordination?' Sir?"

"Yes, West."

"How was I insubordinate? Sir?"

"You didn't answer a simple question!"

"What was that question? Again, Sir? Maybe if you rephrase your question, - or return my salute, - I may be able to answer it." I think I need to squirt in another: "Sir."

"I told you! I want those girls! Now!"

"Sir."

"What? What? What?"

That was a perfect imitation of "Captain Binghamton." Joe Flynn, the actor, is probably doing a dervish in his grave. "I think I understand, Sir."

"At last! Now, what? West. Do you - `understand?'"

"You need a woman! Sir. No wonder! Sir. Doesn't your wife treat you well? Sir? It is no wonder that you're so tense, Sir." What other prattle can I add? "Gee, Sir. Us stupid Reservist bachelors aren't much help when it comes to getting women for ourselves, let alone for fellow officers. - Jeepers, Sir. I wish I could help you, Sir. But - my arm's about ready to fall down, but - I just don't know how. - I don't know how I can catch them. They're probably blowin' soot for mexico, or Texas, or-"

"SHUT UP! West. You're a disgrace to the uniform, - and to the rank you wear. You wouldn't make one enlisted stripe if you were a Regular."

"Thank you, Sir."

"For what? What? What?"

"For explaining it to me, Sir." I still stand beside his car door, holding my salute. My thoughts are mixed about anyone observing this exchange from a distance, without the benefit of a sound track.

"And get this! West. You'd better show up at your court martial with your rank put on with velcro! I'm gonna bust you riff raff out of the Air Force Reserve!"

"Thank you, Sir."

"Why? Why? Why?"

-Arrrrgh!!!- "Maybe green - or grey - suit me. Think so? Sir?" All of a sudden, I wonder what his driver will support. What will be his testimony on the witness stand?

"SHUT UP! West."

"Is that all? Sir?"

"That's all your worth." Then he settle back inside the car, direct his driver to follow my car, and so they depart.

I stand, holding my salute, just long enough for the Colonel to get driven around the corner of the hangar. Then I snap my hand back down, but so hard, I nearly do myself a mischief. My throttle arm hurt, but I amble over to Darcy's Kawasaki, put on his leather jacket and helmet, and go easy to Pass and I.D.

Darcy step into my car, start the engine, verify the "record" function on, and then pass his cell phone to Elizabeth, before he buckle himself in. She does not understand the indications of what she see, but she comprehend that they hear the Colonel's abusing a subordinate officer. He launch the car forward, and reluctantly drive away.

He know that getting the girls to Pass and I.D. is most important, though he was not involved in making the arrangements. The base traffic is thin on California Avenue, ([I am minimally confident that was the name of that street. It was so long ago. -r.e.h.]_ the flight line service road, so he drive to the next intersection. Then he wend through the roads, until they see the Third Street gate, but turn left just before it, and park beside one of the limousines.

Darcy grab the keys, dash out around the car, and quickly help Elizabeth out. "Take my phone inside, and let them hear it." The Captain had the building door open, so she dash inside. He help Jane out, and they follow her sister.

The Security Police need only about one sentence from the Colonel to know what is going on. A hush fall on this gathering, while they listen to witness the abuse of an officer. They listen until they hear the staff car roar off.

"Anyone hear enough?" Darcy ask when the abuse seem to have stopped.

All agree that they have. The Captain noted the "record" light on, and offer to download a copy for future use. "All can play that courts martial game."

Trowbridge and Montgomery leave their contact cards as a courtesy. They know the importance of discipline and the disaster that await those so oppressed. Also, they expect Major West to arrive within a few minutes.

As planned, paperwork was created, typed up, and signatures gathered. Modern technology has made crafting an identity card easy and quite dignified in appearance. The blank lines on the old DD-2-AF* such-n-such cards get their information from links to the original application workup file. This way, the typed data is perfectly, as close as possible, fitted to the lines on the form. The subject's photograph can be migrated from the camera, to the record file, and as part of the card image.

Jane and Elizabeth "are quite pleased with the automatic likenesses taken of themselves." They want to know more about digital photography.

The Pass and I.D. staff performed another function, in addition to making the cards for Jane and Elizabeth. The provided raw data for the British Consul, so they can make the ladies' passports. A copy has went to State, so the visa application will go smooth.

"Well. Ladies. You have had a long, busy day." Darcy soothe when the four of us quit the Pass and I.D. office.

The girls smile, and Elizabeth supplant; "you have said it well. - Were you going to call your Aunt, and let her know?"

"You are quite right! Thank you for reminding me." Then he divert himself to do so. He let her know that all we have left is to simply drive to their ranchette.

Darcy and I exchange keys again, so we are back to our own vehicles. I pass him his leather and his gear. The girls decide to change places, so Jane sit in my car's right bucket seat as Elizabeth choose to ride in back. He has to make a short stop at his apartment for something he did not specify, so he encourage us to go on to our aunt and uncle's place. He should not be more than a half an hour behind us.

I drive out the near gate, east on Fifth, then past Alabama Street. It is quite dark when I drive south on Orange Street, especially when going over the Santa Ana River wash. Then I meander through Redlands to an address just off San Timoteo Canyon Road, where the places are five acre ranchettes with big houses.

Jane ask as I turn into their driveway; "Sir. What are yours and Mr. Darcy's relationships to these people?"

"Well. Aunt Barbara is our mothers' eldest sister-in-law and Uncle Dan Carson is our common uncle."

"Curious how you two found your relations." Elizabeth said when she lean forward.

"It probably isn't so much a matter of finding our relation. We were simply born into that relationship. It's probably more remarkable that we are in the same service together, the same profession, the same Unit, and even the same crew!"

"Oh."

I drive my Hawk up to the white rail fence, and stop beside a line through the front gate. The breeze has a chill when I get out, so I close the door before it bite Jane or Elizabeth. At first, I intended to come back outside to fetch Darcy's and my luggage, but I also open the trunk to fetch a couple blankets. Then I open the passenger door and wrap Jane as I help her out. I wrap Elizabeth too, when she step out. Fortunately, for a two-door coupe, these Hawks are easier to get in and out of the back seat than through the back doors of most modern four-door sedans. We walk quickly toward the front door.

"Come on in! Folks. It's cozy in here and real chilly out there!" Aunt Barbara coax as she stand by the open door. She had seen my car's lights on our approach.

I close the door behind us before I introduce; "may I present Miss Jane Bennet, and her sister Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Oh, you two girls are very pretty!"

"My dear ladies, this is Darcy's and my Aunt Barbara. Where's Uncle Dan?"

"You remember me sayin'? Oh, no. You probably couldn't. I was talking to Billy-boy when I told him that he had plans on watching one, maybe two movies, and-" She hold for suspense.

I'll bite; "`and?' What?"

"He fell asleep half-way through the first one." She laugh hearty as she deliver the punch line. "So, if I may ask: How're you kids matched up?"

"Aunt?"

"So. Hiram. Which one of these dear ladies has her cap set on you?" Strange use of terminology, but she has read Jane Austen in her youth.

I think; both and neither; but decide directness better for them. "William and I are their guardians. And, they're not very comfortable with 20th Century stuff."

"`Guardians?' I don't understand! Well. - I understand guardianship, but why?"

"Well. If we wake Uncle Dan, I tell you both on one ticket. Actually, I should wait until Darcy get here too."

"We can do both." Aunt assure. "Sayyy. Do you girls have any luggage?"

Elizabeth reply: "Oh, no. Ma'am." The way the English pronounce the word, it come out sounding like "mahm," but Aunt Barbara know because she too, watch British television. "We do not, and we do not comprehend what happened to us."

"Speaking of luggage;" I interject; "I'll leave you ladies so I can fetch ours out of the trunk."

"Okay, Hiram. It'll give me a chance to get to know these dear ladies a little better."

I sigh. One trip should do. If we couldn't put something into a B-4 bag, we can do without it for the three-to-five day missions. It is easier to carry a bilateral, heavy load, than one medium load. I close the door, but am careful to not let the door latch catch, so I can push it open on the way back in.

"So, my dears. What do you say to first? Let's get you some rooms so you can start getting settled."

"Actually, Ma'am. Perhaps if we may sleep in one bed chamber until-" Elizabeth's language failed, but her request seem to fit what Aunt Barbara can conclude.

"Okay, but please. Call me `Barbara,' or `Aunt Barbara,' since you're so important to my nephews."

Jane volunteer at her pause; "Barbara. It would not be proper for us to call you `Aunt' until one of us marry into your family."

"Oh, yes. You're quite right there, my dear. I just naturally assumed their Guardianship of you would be close enough."

"Oh! Pray forgive us." Elizabeth concur with Jane, but can see their hostess get downcast. Your nephews are gentlemanlike men, but we are so discomposed by our circumstance that we fear it folly to become so attached as may be now. Perhaps, - perhaps later?"

"I understand. No. Not really, - but we got a big guest room with twin beds and its own bath. Or - I could put you into the boys' room, the one with bunk beds that they used when they were boys. No. That won't do either. They've kinda grown out of that, but I'll have to show it to you any ways." She clutch the girls' arms to lead them back to the hallway. "Come, my dears. You must be worn out from all the stress."

"We are indeed. You are so good." Elizabeth smile.

A little while later, I have stowed Darcy's and my bags into our childhood bunk room, and go raid the refrigerator. "Raid" was not the right word, because nothing seemed "Munchie-ready:" That mean, "finger food." Everything is in jars, tubs, or covered with foil or plastic wrap, which help me decide I am not really that hungry.

I wander back down the hallway and hear Aunt Barbara giving the girls a briefing on modern, fixed, domestic facilities. She was quite surprised to hear confirmation that England had went backward during the Dark Ages, because, did not the Roman Empire bring hot and cold running water to its territories? Was not that one of the attractions of Bath, Somersetshire, England? I take a break.

She assure; "if it all don't come back to you when you're ready, I should help you. - Now, let's go pester my Dan."

"Uh, could we have a few minutes to - gather ourselves?"

"Oh! Sure. I just heard Hiram come back in, so we'll be out in the living room, most likely." Then she quit the room and draw the door closed so they may feel more comfortable.

The 19th century sisters marvel at the electric lights, at how responsive they come on and switch off. Then they use the comfort facility while the how-to is still fresh in their minds. Good thing the white throne fill the tank and then shut off. It is an annoying defect when the water run through the overflow pipe. They decide they can ask about other sleeping arrangements when the time come, and that they are most curious about the family's Friday night entertainment.

Aunt Barbara unburied some clothes and robes for our guests so they could have some comfort and run their gowns through the washing machine's "Knits and Delicates" cycle. Surely the hand stitching, as was done before Singer, White, Howe, and as many other names started various attempts at making treadle powered sewing machines, might not endure the other washing machine cycles.

Uncle Dan, snoozing in his easy chair, gave me the notion to do likewise in one of the other recliners in the living room. I stop the player, dismount and put the disk back in the box, so I let the player system go into hibernation. As a result, I lay back and expected to be awakened upon anything important.

Therefore, I missed the arrival of my niece, Vivien Gale Hartline, daughter of my sister and her husband, who come to visit. She did not have the heart to wake me, so she come across her great Aunt Barbara and the two guests who came a long way quickly through a long time, and formed their society. Vivien's great interest in fashion and history get a chance for a living lesson and experience of great value.

I also missed Darcy's return. He come in, see myself and our uncle napping, and deem that notion a good idea, so he commandeer another overstuff chair with ottoman.

Of course, when the laundry is done, Vivien, Elizabeth, Jane, and Aunt Barbara come upstairs to have more conversation. Jane and Elizabeth confirm the similarity, even though the movement is reversed, of the men joining the women after the port.

We can fake it no longer. Actually, the hubbub wake us. The question is now; how to entertain our guests? Jane and Elizabeth are surprised that a house of the Carson's standard does not have a pianoforte. Never mind that the "forte" suffix got dropped a long time ago. They can accept that the living room is as a parlor for society and entertainment, the furniture seem to have the same apparent purpose, but the large black panel at the otherwise bare wall arouse their curiosity.

"As you ladies were, you used musical performance and readings as social entertainment." I speculate when I seem to have the floor.

"Yes, Major West." Elizabeth notice that I changed into some leisure wear during the meanwhile, but she is accustomed to military men retaining their rank while wearing civilian clothing. ([As shown by Col. Brandon in [S&S] and Col. Fitzwilliam in [P&P] adaptions, but I cannot recall another of Jane Austen's military members so practiced. -r.e.h.]_

"Please, feel free to call me - `Hiram.' It is my name." Then we go around announcing our first names, so that the Bennet sisters can feel freer to be at home.

After the go-arounds, Uncle Dan ask us; "well, boys. What should we show the girls- ehr: Young ladies?"

Darcy was still pondering, so I am quick to suggest; "we could show them something between the time they're from and of the present. Yes. I think Calamity Jane would do. It show coaches and horses, and - it is a nice musical."

My suggestion was canvassed and adopted. The western coach is coarse when compared to the fine English coachwork, but horses have not changed much. Perhaps the English stock is finer where the American teams may show more feral lines from the Mustangs.

I go to the rack, extract the DVD case, push the [Eject] button on the remote control, so the player and the screen activate. The sudden light, activity, and image stun the Bennet sisters, but not for long. After seeing so much that work without their understanding, they now sit and wait with the rest of the party to see what is to come next.

Then the disk tray come forward, like a servant presenting the contents of a salver, so I place the DVD on it, but they miss seeing me press the [Eject] button again, which retract the disk and begin mounting. Then the menu program load. The first parts are minimum to DVDs of old movies and well behaved productions of series. When the Main Menu come up, the sisters marvel at the music, so I ignore the "Language" options and delay a few moments before I press on the [Play Movie] option. The music will start from the beginning, as the movie begin.

The theme music seem a modified or orchestrated "The Deadwood Stage." The video show a stage coach going from left to right of the view. It is drawn by the usual Western team made of three pairs of horses. More horsepower as was needed to stay ahead of unfriendlies, of which post coaches in England were usually spared that harassment.

Elizabeth is forced to remark; "a coach and six! - Oh! Pray, forgive me."

"You're forgiven, dear." Aunt Barbara soothe; "no problem. If you want to see something again, we can go back."

"Oh, then let us continue."

And from then on, the Bennet sisters get to listen to some lively music, watch transportation in a familiar manner, then later in the story, see something new to them. Then they see a train as one take Calamity to "Chicagy," and then see the latter 19th century in old northwest American glory. The ladies "strut their stuff" with their bustles on the Chicago sidewalks, and it strike the Bennet sisters as most entertaining and amusing. However, I do not know if that was evoked or augmented by "Calamity Jane" also being gobsmacked by their ensembles and skirt action.

After 101 minutes of musical movie, the story has its happy ending with two married couples as if they were made for each other. It could not have been long for Calamity, because the historical Wild Bill Hickok was back-shot by McCall on or about 2 August 1876, at a poker table. That was when Hickok held the famous two black aces and the two black eights, that became widely known as the "dead man's hand." Of course, no need to bring up that bit of depressing real history.

In spite of the early evening hour and all the potential marvels, the sisters begin to fatigue. Elizabeth still have some wanderlust for what may be seen by these books that show moving pictures. I suggest that if we do not have a story on disk, one might be checked out of the library. Between Darcy, Aunt and Uncle Carson, and myself, we have an extensive movie library covering time periods from The Ten Commandments, where Cecil B. de Mille photographed that movie where a lot of the story happened, to speculation centuries in the future we do not know.

"I am wild to see something else! Oh! Before I retire for the night."

Jane endorse; "and so am I."

"Then I suggest something fairly short. Movies tend to start at an hour and a half long and get longer, while episodes of many shows run between a half hour to a short-hour long."

"Ah, I fancy I am able to witness about a half an hour." Elizabeth coo, and get a nodding endorsement from Jane.

Uncle Dan suggest; "then why don't you do like we do?" He get her attention, so he add; "when we don't know what we want to watch, just scan through the boxes, the narration may suggest something for you."

"Ah. I comprehend." Then Elizabeth rise, go over to the rack, and start leafing through the DVD cases. She extract a few to read the back cover notes, and finally choose; "a widow - beautiful daughters-" then she address Jane; "here, Jane. Mother is always so vexed about being widowed with daughters, and here is a story along that line;" she present a Petticoat Junction DVD case for her sister.

"Yes, Lizzy, that may be instructive." Jane muse.

Elizabeth bring me the case and observe as I mount the disk. She pay particular attention to the procedure, as if she plan to select, play, and put away programs of her choosing at her leisure. I intend to start playing the pilot episode, "Spur Line to Shady Rest, but letting Linda Kaye Henning's introduction lead from closer to our here-and-now, may be most opportune. We mosey back to our seating.

Between Linda's narration and the opening credit beginning, with the theme song over the arriving little train, I submit; "you came about fifty years too far forward." I fail to suppress a sniffle of severe nostalgia about a better time and place.

Jane remark about the difference between the color of Calamity Jane versus the black and white of the old television series's production. Then a few seconds later, appear the water tower, which is adorned by three matching dresses draped over a handrail and three petticoats hanging from the top edge of the tank's staves.

"Oh! My! Are they-?" Elizabeth know I can complete her interrogation.

I fail to suppress that grin, but I assure; "no. But that is what may be believed. - Watch." A few later episodes show the Bradley girls wearing swimming suits in the tower, but to ladies from the Regency era, that may be as shocking as skinny-dipping, as if Vivien's cheerleading uniform failed to shock their sense of decorum and decency.

Of course, when the three Bradley sisters project their heads above the rim, simper, and then snag their petticoats back down with them, my credibility just went down the water tank's spigot. I do not know if I was spared by the next scene, where "Kate" come out of the hotel, snap "Uncle Joe's" galus strap, and then descend to the front walk, but it diverted attention from that possible fault. Fortunately or not, the "produced by" frames show the girls descending the embankment, fully dressed, and no other garments on the water tower.

Then the three girls come single file on the front walk toward the hotel. Kate Bradley, the girls' widowed mother wear the dark, long-sleeved dress with a white lace collar, as from the opening credits. She stand in front of the porch's left pillar and the late morning's sun cast her shadow upon it. Now the blonde is in the lead, which indicate that she chose to overtake her two sisters, including the youngest and the fastest runner.

"Mom. Train's coming!" The eldest and voluptuous blonde Willimena Josephine "Billie Jo" Bradley announce, as if leading the run is a rare occurrence, and slow to a stop.

Kate endorse: "Yeah. I heard it." The two younger girls close, so she continue from her observation of wet hair strands; "swimming in the water tower again, weren't you?" She touch Betty Jo's cheek.

Elizabeth Josephine "Betty Jo" is on the spot. "Yes." She admit. She is the youngest of the three, and is pretty by average anthropometrics and pleasant features, but not with any remarkable attribute.

Kate turn her brunette daughter, the one in the middle by age and position, part-way around to help her with a final zip of her sundress. She continue to warn: "Someday, that train's going to sneak in, - drain out all the water before you can get out," she move to Billie Jo and flip her hair; "and leave you high, - dry, - and BARE!"

Roberta Josephine "Bobbie Jo" complain, flashing her stunning dark eyes, which highlight her alabaster skin with a healthy blush from the swim; "gee, Mom. It's hot!"

Their original idea of retiring for the night after the one episode a half hour long, go by the wayside, because their giggling invigorate them. Linda Henning has another episode introduction that hook their interest again.

The series' creator's daughter start the fifth episode with an introduction that is clearly not an extension of the pilot. I press the [Stop] button on the remote control to begin our party's retirement for the night. Vivien offer to assist Jane and Elizabeth's bedtime ritual with the practically unfamiliar amenities, in spite of previous briefings.

I may not be the last to switch off lights in Darcy's and my bunk room. However, I intend to turn out relatively early in the morning. Darcy and I considered going to our apartments, but he was right about better meeting our custodial responsibilities by bunking into our childhood bedroom. So we did. Sometimes, it is best to deal with tomorrow after sunrise.

After breakfast, I went back to my apartment on Saturday to check my e-mail and "snail mail," but I did not go alone. Vivien sold the Bennet sisters on coming with me so they could see something else during daylight and maybe before the smog settle in. I chose to let them sort out who sit where, so I will play chauffeur enough to open the doors.

When the sisters comprehend that I live in an apartment, they wonder about the propriety of being within the quarters of a man who is not related to them. Vivien soothe; "it's alright. I'm his niece and there's enough of us to clobber him if he gets too frisky. - Although I've told him he needs a wife." She simper.

"Oh?" Elizabeth idle with a wink.

"She has." I affirm as I pet the spider that eat my snail-mail except for the bills. The box contain nothing, so next I extract my key and then open the door.

Vivien is ready to lead Jane and Elizabeth in, after I stand back to gesture an invitation. She coo; "thanks, Uncle;" then the sisters follow her into the living room. They look about my apartment with some chagrin about being within a man's domain, but take some comfort in its similar amenities as they are starting to be accustomed in the Carson home, and absorbing some of Vivien's familiarity. She test; "say, Uncle Hiram. Can we borrow your bow and arrows? Aunt Barbara says we can use Uncle Dan's range."

"You know where they are." I answer and make way for my den to use that computer to check my e-mail. If it were not for SPAM, then I would wonder if the POP and SMTP servers are working, but am assured when I send some of the waste to: spam@uce.gov ([I do not know what good come for sending it, but it does relieve my spleen. -r.e.h.]_

Vivien lead Jane and Elizabeth into my bedroom and they stifle their gasp at her brazen entry into my bed chamber, and then she slide the closet door open. They cannot avoid seeing my suit, other uniforms, and other clothing hanging on the rail. Then she parse some hangars away from the end so she can get to the bow and the quiver of arrows, with the shooting tab and wrist guard connected to the shoulder strap. They are familiar with the English longbow and accessories readily available during their time, but the rigging of the compound bow take them aback. However, only for a short time. They are becoming too familiar with the concept of seeing wonders and exploring them at their leisure.

The kitchenette is my next stop. My freezer compartment has been an overflow for Darcy's hunting prowess, so our guests make a good excuse to take something to help make for a meal. It will have to be on Sunday, because that part of a quarter is froze solid, even though it has been "pre-sliced." I select a few other foodstuffs that may be useful.

Vivien has Jane and Elizabeth packing my bow and its quiver full of arrows out about the time I get my contribution to our dinner set and ready to go out to the trunk of my Hawk. I send her leading out with a sack full as I grab the large piece and then follow them out, and still secure my door before we go.

My niece is right to suggest going back by a different way so our visitors can see a different prospect. One view that she may not have planned is the stop at a gas station. Not much to see, but they marvel at the other vehicles coming to a stop at a hydrant, the drivers wrestling with hoses and nozzles as they do self-serve. Hard to avoid what some women wear, or do not wear, and now the Bennet sisters begin to appreciate Vivien's relative modesty.

A few minutes later, I drive us north on Waterman Canyon road to Crestline, and then east on the old, narrow road to Blue Jay. Our guests marvel at the mixture of nature and edifice along the way, and then Lake Arrowhead at our left. It is not shaped like an arrow head, but it needed a name. I turn south at the fork and go to the Rim of the World Drive, where going east again leave us high enough to look southwest over San Bernardino and Riverside. We could get a clear view if the smog had not rolled in. It has the reputation such that the local approach bring us down hard through the smog, and there is our runway: 200 Feet long and 10,000 feet wide.

Coming down the winding canyon road toward Highland still give enough of a view to appreciate terra firma below the tires instead of relying on aerodynamic lift. The tour lose its novelty when we go south on Orange Street.

"Did not we travel this road last night?" Elizabeth test.

"We did. - How'd you guess?"

"I do not know. Perhaps it is familiar, in spite of the vast apparent difference between night and day." A thought cross my mind, so I grin. "Pray. Tell me, Sir. What amuse you so vast?"

"I think you have mastered what we call; - `flying by the seat of our pants.' You probably do not want to know more." To be honest if push come to shove, I could not disclose, because I do not know much more myself.

We get sorted out upon our return to the Carson place, and soon Aunt Barbara has out her 35 pound Turkish recurve bow and has joined the girls on the shooting range. Aunt Barbara has to go back another ten yards to minimize splitting her arrow shafts when it come her turn. Vivien and Jane do tolerably well with my compound bow, but it is Elizabeth, with Aunt Barbara's instruction, who may become as formidably accurate as she.

It is a good thing Vivien has not been impeded with much of my instruction. My archery set was stowed into the closet because I cannot hit a teat with a tin cup. I certainly do not desire my dear and only niece's shooting skills, to be corrupted by my bad shooting practice.

Once again, we had a light supper. However, instead of us all hitting the DVD theater, Vivien hooked Elizabeth's curiosity, went to her room, to "surf the internet." The verb "surf" was alien enough, and the word "internet" teased her most mischievously. After a primer in Graphical User Interface computing by following the mouse icon, moving it with the mouse, and typing certain needed answers to search engine queries, Elizabeth is ready to do her own sojourns. The vast amount of knowledge available must be more than in the largest Regency house library. She and Vivien almost squabble over whose turn on the computer it is for the next search or line of inquiry. I am not given to keep track of who lead whom.

Meanwhile, Jane is quite comfortable with Aunt Barbara as she work on a sewing project. She show Jane her grandmother's old New Home treadle powered sewing machine, but then they make way back to her new Singer that has more computing power than within Apollo 11.

Meanwhile and elsewhere, Darcy, our Uncle Dan, and I are working on projects. Darcy is tying a fly, hoping that this one that is more lifelike will get the big one that feed on bait. Uncle Dan and I are trying to make a late-model Marlin lever action to work like John Wayne's 1894 Winchester with the loop handle, the one that was not too anachronistic for the movies he played many signature parts.

Before we retire for the night, we give each other a "show and tell." Jane is amazed at how fast and easy the modern sewing machine can assemble clothing and embroider it at the same time. Elizabeth may not have grasped the full meaning of Vivien's location of a Jane Austen Society chapter nearby, and their open house meeting for new members to be on Tuesday night. Vivien was most assertive of going, and having the Bennet sisters with her, as the most supreme authorities on the events, ways, &c. of that time. Of course, she want her uncles to provide transportation, and how could Darcy or I refuse?

Sunday is the day of the week when western civilized people, for centuries, go to church. Sometimes it is deemed not so essential by those who do not believe the Holy Scripture, or those who can read a faithful copy and get the message by themselves. My family and myself are of the latter, but we consider the opinion, comfort, and well-being of our guests.

Which church should we attend? Barbara suggested a church that some of her friends have extended an invitation, and today is a good day to accept. We gather ourselves in our Sunday-best, or good enough, and then go.

We park near a "community" church that does not include a denomination identifier. That can be good or not. A lot of the good parts of a community church is how much the members read independently from their own copy of Scripture in a faithful translation. The seven of us parade into the back of the chapel, Aunt Barbara join her friends, Uncle Dan follow, and then Vivien, Jane, and Darcy sit behind them, and I gesture Elizabeth into the pew next to the others.

The service was good enough, but not remarkable. The society met my expectations, brought some comfort to Elizabeth and Jane, and fulfilled Aunt Barbara's assurance to her associates. Uncle Dan and Darcy avoided dozing, or the loud snoring, and I noted a couple defects in the preacher's application of Scripture. I consider it permissible to invoke correction if asked a leading question, but as a visitor, I choose to let it go. I do not intend to encourage Biblical pablum, as I expect from a base chaplain. Hopefully, I will not be provoked, for the sake of my family and friends.

On one point I am certain: If I am to get married, I hope my bride is acquainted with a preacher with "grit" or a Rabbi. Starting a family may be better within a home-like church.

Now, I occupy space and have weight as we leave our seats. The air of boredom show all I care, we bye our leave, and am glad when we finally enter the Carson's Suburban. Now I can be civil with my family and friends as we resume today's activities in a near familiar manner.

Monday, when Darcy and I come back from our reporting to the squadron for our next duty, Jane and Elizabeth suggest that we should learn some Regency era dancing if we are going to that society meeting tomorrow night. They are right. Vivien went home after school, so searching the 'net for music is left to the blind leading the blind.

Well. Not quite that bad.

We stumbled about, as can be done on the internet, and found a few sites that have such music and information, as Elizabeth confirmed. An ask.com search string; "Regency Era dance music;" returned enough useful hits to begin winkling out some music and other material. We only needed the music, because we have the most authoritative instructors in Jane and Elizabeth.

After a couple hours of their tender instruction, the Bennet sisters can tolerate Darcy and my dancing ability for simple dances. He and I have no delusion of being adequate if we were to find ourselves back in time and at an assembly ball, but maybe tomorrow night, we will not be such an embarrassment to our special and precious friends.

Come Tuesday, the morning and afternoon pass as now bring stable pleasure. We have an early supper, and the girls dress in their Regency wear. Jane and Elizabeth wear again their homemade cotton day dresses, the ones they wore 200 years ago and then a few days ago when they were brought forth into our time. Darcy and I merely wear jacket a shirt and slacks. We do not want to diminish the girls' presence, even if we could.

Vivien look great in her long gown, but the real authorities chide her for displaying so much bare ankle. I defend her for her fine ankles.

Uncle Dan suggest we use their Chevrolet Suburban. We are not going far enough to use much gasoline for the trip, and its more coach-like structure will be easier for the ladies to haul their skirts up to sit in the seat and then back to the ground when we arrive. Aunt Barbara endorse his suggestion, so we swap key sets.

No fair to leave them without transportation, just in case they should get wild about going someplace. "Myyyy Birrrrd" need some soot blown out of it, and Uncle Dan is the one best fit to do so, but I do not know where the Smokeys will not have a field day about that.

A short distance does not always make a short trip in Southern California, but this stay far enough east to keep us out of the long, narrow parking strips called Los Angeles freeways at rush hour. When we enter the meeting place, Trowbridge, also a member of this chapter, greet us.

And thus begin our society among a group who almost make the Bennet sisters believe that they can have some familiar elements of their lives. Many of the lady members and attendees are wild to examine the differences between their modern fabric and machine sewn gowns, from the Miss Bennets' original hand stitching. Both current time line and the Bennet sisters appreciate the value of this mutual experience.

However, all good things seem to come to an end at the most inconvenient moment. Now you see the ladies who represent England's Regency Era:

"EEEEK!" Scream the dear Bennet sisters in the flash of brilliant light.

Now they cannot be seen where they stood. They are gone in a blink as quick as when they came. Well, similar, anyway. The event was not a loss of light, and with massive systems' failures. The building's electrical systems do not seem affected. The inside lights are still on. The furnace system blow warm air from the registers. Other than two souls missing and massive confusion, everything else seem fine.

Darcy has his wits back so he observe; "I'm afraid that it had to happen, sooner or later."

"Did it have to be so soon? Willy boy." I sag, for becoming quite enraptured with Elizabeth's keen wit and subtle beauty. "I think I know a bit of what it will be like to be - `left behind.'" ([Left Behind was an interesting series about the world after the Real Christians get evacuated. [Daniel 9:24, 12:13; end of days (Dan.11:40), 1Cor.15:51-54]]_

"Yeah. I know. - That and the idea of loving a woman who has not been someone else's - before- Well. Never mind. This will make me least agreeable of a `suitable substitute.'"

"Yep."

Vivien look at us in a bit of shock, that we would also actually avoid using the too-truthful but ungentlemanly-like term, even in her presence, one which reflect almost adequately upon our total contempt for the sexual slavery of the 1960s. Her father, my brother-in-law, taught her well in spite of the "schools," and because thereof. True, the useful idiots at the time called it "free love," "sexual liberation," and many other terms that would make a pornographer giddy with satisfaction. In spite of the women at legal age of consent, they were too stupid to consent at the standard as would relieve the statutory rapists of their crimes.

Darcy, Vivien, and myself hover around with the others, hoping against hoplessness that they will come back. However, we must know that maybe they went back to their home, during their time, with little uproar. Even Trowbridge must alter some official paperwork now that he know that the facts have strangely been altered. We hover around the meeting until we feel we are about to overstay our welcome, and now that Jane and Elizabeth are no longer in our society, and less likely to be back, we go.

The trip home pass almost in a stupor. Only Darcy's well-trained situational awareness as he drive assure our safe return. We need say nothing to our Aunt and Uncle Carson, because our forlorn look and lack of the charming Bennet sisters, say more than a mouth that can hold a dozen pork chops.

Next day, William and I confer with Aunt Barbara and Uncle Dan Carson to spend a little time this afternoon with our most precious niece before her parents call her home. Meanwhile, the mailman deliver a large registered letter that come here marked in-care-of for William Darcy and myself. It came from Lloyd's of London with English postage. ([Although Lloyds' 325 year history is in the insurance business [Wikipedia], it could have "ensured the delivery of a letter to a place and at a time of the client's choosing" [fantasy].]_

I signed for the package, so I make myself first to read the letter:

"March 18th, 1855, Pemberley, Derbyshire, England,

"Our dearest friends William, Hiram, Vivien,

and Mrs. & Mrs. Carson,

"We decided it would be too cruel to have left you so suddenly and ungoverned, and leave you to wonder our fates. Since Jane and I returned to the very nick of time from before we were pulled forward into your time, into your world, we had our lifetimes before we need compose you a message. We agreed that we need to assure that our message can get to you, soon after our departure.

"Jane married the man whom she come to love at the Meryton Assembly ball, the night before we come to your world. After great difficulty and sorrow, she come to happiness when she and Charles Bingley finally wed.

"It is a curious thing that I married the man, whom at that same ball, vexed me so much. As I come to know him better, from our common and some may say, thin connections, I learned his true nature and what was his cause to be so rude and disagreeable that night. Yes, my dear friends, I am long now Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

"And as we learned that night when we were, by time, so rudely snatched away from you, we purposed to connect with Miss Jane Austen, who owned up to being the authoress of the favored Sense and Sensibility novel. (Good thing I remembered `Chawton' from my time with your dear niece, Vivien.) We were able to get Miss Austen to put to pen, Jane's and my stories for the year or so up to and following our return to Longbourn. Her well crafted novel tell of how Jane and I got settled into our own most excellent domestic situations.

"And dear William, I am now confident to assure you that your family come from our grandson! He has been wild to go into your country ever since he got a copy of Lewis and Clark's report on America's Louisiana Purchase. It seem he has been enchanted from some mountains in the Dakotas, then a strange mountain of basalt, the great flatlands, and then the great snow-capped mountains to the west. As I understand, they dwarf our mountains in the Peaks District. I confess, I would like to witness those wonders of your American continent in a direct manner.

"It is a strange thing, dear friends, that after the years since we come back, we have not been able to write a longer letter! Perhaps Miss Austen's Pride and Prejudice, originally titled First Impressions, will serve to tell you much and as well, and perhaps the world, of us as did her other stories for and about someone else.

"Now, Jane wants to write something, so I pass this letter to her:

"Dear Hiram and William,

"My Charles Bingley consider himself fortunate that he need not compete with you for my affection. I have shamefully sang my praises about you, your bravery, your humor, and how faithfully you were guardian to Lizzy and myself. I believe he would thank you personally, if we could be together. Will it happen? We have been fixed, back for decades, so we may see you in Heaven.

"With all the love from our two families and may you be blessed,

"Jane Bingley and family,

"and Elizabeth Darcy and family."

My eyes are wet with pleasure for their security and joy, so I pass the letter to William with; "read this, Willy boy. Jane and Lizzy found or made their happiness."

"Thanks." He accept the letter, begin reading, and a little later, his eyes wet. Then he muse; "oy! I danced with my great, great, great, great, great, great grandmother. - I think I got enough `great's for the generations."

"Or at least you intended to."

"Yeah."

Vivien come into the room and see us. She is young and pretty and not stupid, so she ask; "what's up? Uncles."

"Read this, Vivien." William coax and pass the letter to her.

She read their letter. Her eyes get wet, then she weep and sniffle. She ask; "is- are they our ancestors?"

I glance at William, he nod, so I assure our niece; "evidently so."

"Oh! Uncle Hiram." Vivien sob, and then clutch to me for comfort. It must be a regenerative feedback mechanism, because I am getting more comfort from her as I hold her close.

We pass the letter to Aunt Barbara who read it, and experience the same reaction. She pass it to Uncle Dan, and at the end of his reading, he understand why our eyes are wet. To learn that our relations are direct descendents of those who come to our time, need and justify a good bit of time to ponder.

Eventually, we will return to what pass for our normal lives, but I doubt if we can ever be the same. Early Monday morning, Darcy and I will gather the rest of our crew to depart on another mission over and into the South Pacific. How many missions must we fly before we can assume that no one from the past will be pulled into our cockpit?

Will our lives return to what it was last week? Or do we even want that familiar boredom? Me? This last week has been a real adventure that will, with each recollection, entertain me until my time has run its course.

As Jane Austen had some "rest of the story" for some of her novels, it is only right that I tie up some loose ends. For example, Jane Austen had Catherine "Kitty" Bennet becoming quite civil after she was shed of Lydia's horrible influence. Sadly and in like manner, Jane Fairfax of Emma survived her elevation only by nine years. (IIRC)

Captain Darcy and myself, as Pilot-in-Command (PiC), are beginning to get back the notion that we have to flirt with the girls of the present before any is due a measurement for to be a wife. However, we no longer have a delusion that we can be choosey and successful. As of now, we have a mission, so we are reunited with the rest of the crew; Lt. `Tex' Martin our co-pilot, MSgt. Scott `Scotty' Montgomery our flight engineer, and TSgt. Harrison `Bugsy' Marlowe stuck as the loadmaster.

We are taking Starlifter number 66-7946 into a classified destination with a classified cargo. Our job is so secret, we do not know the cargo, and we will get our destination by opening our sealed orders only after we are at a particular coordinate. Not much better than having a job so secret we do not know what we are doing.

When we approach that fix, I tear open the seal on the envelope. I wish I was as nonchalant as Slim Pickens appeared as "Major `King' Kong" in Dr. Strangeglove ... when he, as PiC, opened the orders after that B-52 went beyond their certain point. I pass the orders to Darcy, because he will have to load the Flight Director computer and Bugsy will have to prepare the air cargo drop.

We have been uncomfortable on this heading ever since we air-to-air refueled over the Eastern Mediterranean Sea. Now only the stupid do not do risk calculations and feel bowel disturbances. We make preparations for the air drop, and check and recheck every step. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder can be a good thing.

Finally, we are at point commitment. I fly on course to the flight profile for the setup. Making the successful drop is in Darcy's and Bugsy's care. All I need do is keep the bird on the required course and profile.

Easier said than done. We are flying into flak and some of it mess up our airplane. Bugsy open the pressure door, and then the petal doors.

"Three - two - one." Darcy give us the countdoun as Bugsy release the pallet locks and then a traction chute draw out the entire load. As the pallets string out, the drogue chutes slow the drop. We hope the eggs will not scramble.

"Load is clear!" Bugsy close the petal doors as quick as possible because now it is more important to have aerodynamic slip stream.

At his leisure, relatively, Bugsy close the pressure door. I pitch 66-7946 at best climb-out and throttle up to maximum. This airplane departed Saigon in May of 1975 and got away to fly again many times.

During the last forty years, surface-to-air missiles have got much more potent. We will not know for long.

{Bang!}

The port side flap get hit. The missiles' blast hurl shrapnel through the port side window, which fatally injure Bugsy. Force of the explosion cause the plane to pitch down, roll to starboard, and yaw to port.

"What the-" I sense from the contrary thrust at the yoke, but I have not yet calculated the needed adverse event control vectors.

"We're hit!" Darcy report from the Navigator's station, being closer to the damage.

{Whang!}

That first missile's explosion destroyed the Number Two engine. Titanium alloy turbine blades rotating about 10,000 RpM blast through whatever has not been damaged by the missile. Hot shrapnel rampage through the cargo bay and add more injury to Bugsy, but he is not dead yet. Enough scatter come through the cockpit door to shatter Scotty's right side for being at the Flight Engineer's station.

{Whaaahng!}

The Mumber Two engine's explosion fragments rip through and destroy the Number One engine. The Inverse-Distance-Squared law to the outboard port engine reduce the amount of hot turbine blade shrapnel, but as the third blast, it meet less hull resistance. So far, the overhead mechanical accessories keep the hot shrapnel out of the starboard wing fuel cells, but Bugsy's pain is over.

Darcy rise to render aid and then see from the doorway, that he cannot help Bugsy. He grapple along the upper bunk rail to wend over to the other side of the cockpit for Scotty.

{BANG!}

This explosion come from below the cockpit deck. This enemy missile hit the plane in the nose gear door. That door is weaker than the hull, so the missile penetrated more than usual, so it's explosion is more devastating. The blast force pitch up the airplane, because the last thing I know is the sudden yank backward before the burning pain and then darkness.

No doubt my crewmates who survived until now, succumbed to similar trauma. We are dead and our bird is going forward on some residual starboard engine thrust and momentum, sinking rapidly due to gravity, port wing flapping, and out of control.

What go up, must come down. The parts to 66-7946 rain down on the enemy's parade, and 35,000 pounds of jet fuel, JP-4, create quite a conflagration when ignited by the crash. In a way, we are like the Alamo defenders on the morning of 6 March 1836: We too, sold our lives dearly and were cremated for it.

The beneficiaries of the cargo drop? They saw us go down, the delapidation of the enemy, and vowed to fight on. And they did. Who know the rest of the story? Is it told? Or is that a work still in progress?

Do you have any delusion of our characters having happiness eternal? That is another tale yet to tell. However, it is quite certain that the dead will know nothing for a time yet to come.