28 September 2028 – Edwards Air Force Base, Kern County, California

“At least we didn’t have to move far. Only a few blocks.”

“We still had to pack everything, Tom.”

“Um, you’re in the *military.* Moving’s common.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to *like it!”*

“The view’s improved, at least.”

“You call that an *improvement?* Sabrina pointed out the window at the desert landscape outside the west fence.

“Well, at least it’s a landscape, not the buildings on the rest of the base …”

“There’s *nothing* out there for *miles!”*

“That’s how they build bases,” Tom said with a shrug. “We’re still around other places, at least! It’s not like they sent you to *Groom!”*

“Can you *please* stop bringing up *that* place?”

“When do you have to be at work tomorrow?”

“I should leave here about 0630 tomorrow to gauge the ride and get there a little before 0700.”

“Or sit in their parking lot until you’re ready to go inside.”

“Don’t wanna be late, that’s for sure! Not a good first impression!” Tommy snorted.

“Like you’ve ever been late for something in your *career* …”

- - -

Sabrina arrived early the next day. The drive to the building took only ten minutes, so she would adjust her departure times accordingly in the future.

Reporting in was routine now. It took little time, and soon she had a new squadron patch … and an extra one for Tommy.

Her new squadron’s commanding officer, Arjun Stone, was a curious mix of Indian and Caucasian, which reminded Sabrina of her Aunt Mish and Uncle Mickey’s kids.

“I’m Rocky.” He snorted. “Big surprise. There are other ‘Stones’ in the Air Force, so I’m not sure how I won out there. I see you’re an F-22 pilot, but you’ve had experience with the new F-51s while you were at TPS?”

“Yes, Sir. My group used the Mustang as our primary evaluation tool there.”

“Good enough, Captain. That means you’re the squadron expert when they arrive in about a month. *You* can teach the rest of *us*.” The colonel paused. “Now, explain this *Raikou* thing to me …”

Sabrina rolled her eyes.

“Basically, Sir, it translates to ‘Goddess of the Shitstorm,’ which ought to tell you what I bring to the table.”

Stone laughed.

“We could stand some excitement here. I think it’ll be fun having you around!”

“Talk to me in a few months, and let me know if you’ve changed your mind, Sir. Anyway, how many Mustangs are we getting?”

“We’ll get four and already have evals planned once the mechanics check them out.”

“What are we looking for, Sir?”

He shrugged.

“Anything that’ll kill pilots and crews down the line, essentially. Not much more to it than that, regardless of the airframe.” Stone shrugged again. “You’ll probably be doing the same tests on the Mustang when they arrive as you did at TPS. Might even be the *same* tests!”

“It’s still airtime, Sir. I won’t argue that. The ’Stang’s a good plane. I’m glad they chose it.”

“Both were. They’ve got another unit checking out the Hellcat.”

“They both could be the last human-piloted aircraft in the US arsenal too, Sir.”

“That’s what they said about the Raptor and Lightning, don’t forget,” Stone snorted.

Rocky showed Sabrina where she’d change since she couldn’t change with the guys. Next was the squadron’s dayroom. This is where she’d spend most of her time on the ground. A huge, painted plywood copy of the squadron patch hung off one wall, though the skull-and-crossbones in the dayroom looked more sinister. Otherwise, the room was no more different than other squadron rooms she’d been in over the years.

The flight line was the final item on today’s list. Rocky asked one of the captains from Sabrina’s flight to show her around. She’d work with the man until his turn to transfer out in two years. Then she met the mechanics who kept all their jets in working order.

You know, the people who keep things running.

- - -

The Warsaw Pact finally turned in on itself in the last quarter of 2028. It was the beginning of the end for the Eastern Bloc. In October, the Hungarians finally got fed up with their government. One hundred twenty thousand people turned out in Budapest and rallied against the communist regime. Not to be outdone, Czechoslovakians rallied two days later. One hundred fifty thousand protested in Prague.

The East Germans tried to show up, only eighty thousand in East Berlin, but East German *Volksarmee* and *Volkspolizei* opened fire on the crowd. The armed forces killed an estimated two thousand citizens, though the DDR reported only four hundred. A day later, two hundred thousand showed up to rally in East Berlin and protest the killing of their fellow citizens. Two hundred fifty thousand protested the next day in Potsdam. The East German government went wild trying to control their population.

When the Poles looked on with amusement and gathered half a million in Gdansk, the world took actual notice. The Polish workers had lived under Solidarity since the 1980s and used it to hold off the communist higher-ups. It was almost like the workers and the government lived in two separate realities. The workers and their families lived and worked the way that worked for them, while the communist elite lived the way they wanted to.

When seven hundred fifty thousand Poles showed up one day in November 2028, their leaders in Warsaw grew nervous. They’d lived under a growing cloud for five years since the Schönbrunner Wald incident. Solidarity gained even more strength and momentum. The union, centered around the docks of Gdansk for the last fifty years, finally spread across Poland, right up to the borders of the neighboring Warsaw Pact countries.

The people of Poland, tired of living in other people’s shadows as they had for over a century, turned their backs on the communists. They flocked to the Catholic churches which had never died – as they had in other communist countries –  and the few remaining synagogues. Neighbors who had been friendly to the surviving Jewish communities – out of the shame from the Nazi occupation – now circled the towns and temples, daring the regime to try to fight them.

By December, thousands of people had streamed across the Austro-Hungarian border. The Hungarian border troops fought to keep up with the emigration and prevent it, while the Austrian border troops struggled to write down everyone’s names and guide them to their appropriate places.

In January 2029, the Inner German border, the line between East and West Germany, failed. East Germans circled the border with its guard towers, machine guns, and landmines, hoping to find the cousins, parents, and grandparents who had once been spoken of. West Germany’s population swelled overnight as East Germany hemorrhaged.

In contrast to what those watching NATO expected, western military forces went to DEFCON 2, only below that of a war footing, as they watched the Eastern Bloc tear itself apart. Sabrina watched from the southwest US, remembering her station on the front lines (for the Air Force, at least) at Spangdahlem.

“Didn’t expect *THAT*, that’s for sure!” she said to Tommy while watching the news together one night.

“You had to have some knowledge *something* was coming as an Air Force officer!”

“It’s not like I’m part of a *line unit*, Tom! The 31st plays with new planes all day to see if they’ll hurt someone. That’s it!”

“What is this gonna do to NATO and Western Europe?”

“It’s gonna change, or finally end, the Western Powers, that’s for sure. How quickly? That depends on how fast the Germans move on this.”

The Germans didn’t wait. February 2nd, 2029, East German Interior Minister Reiner Steinhäuser announced that restrictions around East Germans’ passports would be reduced. By that night, and into February 3rd, the population of both countries, particularly East and West Berliners, flooded the checkpoints. By 0200 on the 3rd, citizens of both countries chipped away at the ‘anti-fascist wall’ that had surrounded West Berlin since 1961. By sunrise on the 3rd, cranes lifted pieces of the Wall away, and people streamed through the openings.

The Stasi, the East German secret police who had long spied on their own citizens, had no time to react. Crowds flooded their East Berlin office, grabbing tons of paper and digital documents. Any officers or bureaucrats who tried to stop the mobs in Berlin or other East German cities were never seen again.

Most officers and other bureaucrats stood aside. A brave few asked if they could help the mobs find anything. Those documents made their way west to the Bundeskriminalamt, or BKA, the West German version of the FBI. The BKA eventually released everything it learned to the press.

By early May, little remained of the Inner-German border. What was left of the East German Volksarmee, Grenztruppen, along with the West German *Bundesgrenzschutz* (Frontier Police) and Bundeswehr’s *Heer* (Army), plowed that strip to get rid of any lingering mine or barriers. They left it alone for nature and those living in those areas to regenerate as they saw fit.

On May 31, 2029, at 2359, the East German Flag – the flag of the Deutsche Demokratische Rep1ublik – came down for the final time. At midnight on June 1, 2029, the German flag rose over the eastern section of the newly reunified country. Most former Eastern Bloc countries welcomed the East Germans to the ‘free’ world. As in those countries, some of the old East Germans raised flags with holes where the communist symbols used to be.

Czechoslovakia broke into two countries, the Czech Republic and Slovenia. It was an amicable separation mostly, though the Czechs adopted the old Czechoslovakian flag. The Slovenians weren’t happy the Czechs adopted the old flag instead of the new one they had.

There were problems with the new freedoms. Yugoslavia, once a solid communist country, broke apart into six, eventually seven, new countries in less than one year, with religious violence rampant. Tens of thousands died as old hatreds flared up and the central government dissolved. One half seemed to fight with the other, and both changed sides frequently. The death toll was horrific.

Serbia seemed to be the chief instigator. Kosovo, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Montenegro were caught in the middle of the wars pushed by Serbia. Croatia and Macedonia ignored the rest (though Greece loudly protested the ‘Macedonia’ name, and ‘Macedonia’ eventually became ‘North Macedonia’ some two decades later). NATO soon found itself drawn to the fight while trying to keep the combatants separate.

“I’m glad I’m here and not there,” Sabrina told Tommy one night in April as they watched the news.

“That’s the point of your *whole job*, though …”

“We fight enemies of the United States, but this is not enemy action! It’s an internal conflict. An uprising!”

“Potaytoe, potahtoe. You’ve dealt with uprisings before. How long before some of them join NATO?”

“Not long enough,” Sabrina said as she shivered. “I’d still like to blow some of them out of the sky.”

“Remind me when you start holding a grudge.” Sabrina looked at her husband crossly. “Well, so I can know what it looks like.”

“Oh, now you think you’re funny …”

“I *AM* funny …” Tommy corrected.

“Looks don’t count.”

“And how long have you been with me?”

“Yeah, don’t remind me …”

“*Anyway*, is the new Mustang holding up to the original?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It only beats the old one by one-point-five Mach … maybe two …”

- - -

Sabrina pushed her Mustang into another flaring, sliding turn. The trailing F-16 struggled to keep up and keep a camera on the F-51. Sabrina took it easy on her fellow pilot and landed her F-51 soon after that turn.

“You did that on *purpose,* didn’t you?” Captain Liam Price asked Sabrina as they walked off the flight line.

“Hey, Liam, I can’t properly evaluate this aircraft if I don’t push the envelope occasionally!”

“‘Pull the other one!’” Liam said, quoting his favorite movie, *Monty Python and the Holy Grail.*

“‘I am! And this is my trusty servant, Patsy!’”

Sabrina was no stranger to Monty Python, which was also one of her father’s favorites. Liam just laughed out loud.

“Okay, I deserved that one! My name is still ‘Liam,’ though, not ‘Patsy ...’”

Sabrina gave Liam a light body check, as she would have given her brothers years ago. The other pilots of the 31st rapidly became her brothers, like the other pilots she’d served with over the years. They understood she was off-limits, though.

“How’d it go, Sabrina?” Colonel Stone asked when the two pilots returned to the 31st’s HQ.

“No issues on the edge, Sir,” Sabrina answered. “Liam found it hard to keep up, though.”

“Says the woman *NOT* flying a fifty-year-old aircraft!”

“It’s not like you were flying a BUFF, Liam!” referring to the B-52 bomber. “And the F-16’s only been in service for *forty-eight* years …”

“Seriously, Raikou, any issues?”

“None that I saw, Sir. She flies like a *dream!”*

“How much more time will we need, do you figure?”

“Unless we run into major issues, Sir, not long. Just the tests we already have planned.”

“Sounds good. You two know Colonel Richardson is taking over next week, right?”

“We’ll be sorry to see you go, Sir,” said Liam, answering for Sabrina.

“Think of me when my wife has me doing the ‘honey-do’ list since I’ll be the one who’s ‘retired …’”

“Riiiiight, Sir,” Sabrina chimed in. “Like you won’t find a way to make that list last *all day!”*

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting, Captain!”

“Can you believe he said that with a straight face?” Liam asked Sabrina.

“He must have practiced that face already …” she rejoined.

“You comedians get out of here!”

Liam and Sabrina saluted their CO and got out of the colonel’s office.

- - -

Liam, Sabrina, Tommy, and another pilot from the 31st, Luis Juarez, relaxed in the Officer’s Club at Edwards later that week. The O Club staff was used to seeing Tommy accompanying his wife and usually didn’t give him any grief.

“Were you able to keep up with Greased Lighting yesterday, Luis?” Liam asked before taking a sip of his beer.
 
“In a *Raptor?* Luis came back. “It was easier than in a *Falcon,* that’s for sure, but it wasn’t easy! How you can make those Mach nine turns is beyond me!”

“Don’t worry, Luis,” Tommy shot back. “That’s about her limit.”

Luis and Liam almost shot their drinks out of their noses.

“We don’t need to know what you two do at night, Tommy!” Liam cried. “We’re the single guys here!”

“Like you two go without!” Sabrina answered. “I’ve heard *those* recordings!”

Sabrina and Tommy connected with Liam Price and Luis Juarez more quickly than the other pilots on the 31st. Many other pilots had wives and young families to care for.

“Uh, *what* recordings?” Liam asked.

“Like you don’t know!” Sabrina retorted. “Are you really gonna make me repeat what those women said *out loud?”*

“*NO!* That’s okay. Thanks anyway, Sabrina!” Luis said.

- - -

Sabrina walked into her colonel’s office and saluted.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” she asked the man.

“Hi, Sabrina. Yes. Come in and have a seat.” Sabrina did so while Colonel Richardson smoothed something on his desk. “I thought you’d want to see this as soon as possible.”

He handed her an envelope bearing the Air Force HQ return address. Sabrina’s heart sank, but she opened it anyway. She sighed when she read the contents.

“That bad?” the colonel asked.

“I guess it depends on who you’re talking to ...”

“Who am I losing you to?” Sabrina looked up sharply at the question. “Oh, come on, Sabrina! You’ve been here for close to four years! I knew this was coming soon! And so did you!”

“Langley in Virginia,” she replied, holding up the orders.

“IP school? How soon?”

“They want me there no later than March 1st.”

The colonel’s eyebrows went up.

“Less than six months from now? Do you think Tom and you can make that work?”

“It won’t be fun, but I think so.” She returned the orders to his desk and pointed at them. “I’m getting promoted, too.”

“Somebody’s going to see the tailor!”

“The old cap’s getting worn out, anyway.”

“Those lightning bolts will look good on you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

- - -

“Honey, we’re going to have to move in a few months …” Sabrina said as she re-entered the house.

“Figured it was getting close to that time,” Tommy snorted. “I think I’ve got half of the house packed.”

Sabrina kissed him.

“I definitely don’t deserve you!”

“We’ll debate that later. Maybe after we go to bed?” Sabrina swatted Tommy.

“Pervert!”

“I’m only a pervert once or twice per day …”

“A broken watch is right twice a day, too …”

“Quiet, you!”

“Or *what?*” Sabrina asked while straddling her husband.

“I can’t remember now. You distracted me!”

“I seem to remember that you *like* when I distract you!”

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “You’ve only been distracting me since we met! So, are we doing the on-base housing thing, or are we living off-base again?”

“Why don’t we live on base this time? You know? To keep things more secure while I’m in IP School? And it may be time to pack again when I get my IP. The IP class only lasts about a year.”

“As long as none of those disreputable pilots live near us …”

“You *do* remember that *your wife* is a ‘disreputable pilot?’”

“And a third-dan black belt in karate …”

“Well, at least you’ve been paying attention …”

“You *do* have to pass the instructor’s course at Langley first.”

Sabrina just stared at Tommy.

“And the last time an F-22 wasn’t an extension of my body was …?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Tommy answered while grabbing his wife again.

- - -

In the months before Sabrina and Tommy moved back to Las Vegas, the Air Force decided to shut down the Strategic Air Command, Tactical Air Command, Military Airlift Command, and several other long-term Air Force commands. The 71st Tactical Fighter Squadron at Langley Air Force Base in Virginia was renamed the 71st Fighter Squadron and became a new F-22 training location. That would be Sabrina’s next assignment, based at Langley if she passed the IP instructor course.

The new combined command became Air Combat Command, taking over most of the old TAC, SAC, and MAC bases. It is considered the direct successor of the Tactical Air Command. Soon, most fighters, bombers, and missile sites became part of the ACC. The tankers assigned outside of CONUS became the property of those commands.

The US Congress announced the formation of the Base Realignment and Closure Committee, or ‘BRAC’ in common parlance. Its job was to determine which Cold War bases were no longer needed and could be closed or which should be combined into ‘joint bases.’ Needless to say, most communities where bases existed weren’t happy with the committee’s formation. They also soon learned that if BRAC named a base to close, it was a near-certain death knell for that particular community.

For example, Aroostook County, Maine, home of Loring Air Force Base, learned that Loring was to close in a few years. The county relied heavily on the base and would lose eighty percent of its residents. Outcries and protests against base closures did little to prevent such occurrences.

- - - 

“‘Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.’”

“Well, not quite,” Tom said. “We lived off base when you were at Nellis. That place over on Laguna Garden. On-base at Edwards, on-base at Tyndall … There’s Spangdahlem, too …”

“Those were nice places,” Sabrina commented while looking around at their Langley field-grade officer housing. “This place doesn’t seem too bad.”

“Well, they  *do* want to keep you interested now that you’re a major, Major.”

“The new oak leaves on my shoulders, and the lightning bolts on my hat *do* feel heavier, now that you mention it.”

“You still look good in the service uniform, and I definitely like the long, slit skirts of the female dress uniforms …” Tom said with a leer. “So, they’re gonna have you run the *whole* 71st Fighter Squadron?”

“No, just one of the F-22 training flights. Lieutenant colonels usually command full squadrons. That’s a minimum of sixteen years of Time in Service and a minimum of three years of Time in Grade. So, the earliest would be 2036 for me.” Sabrina stared back at Tom. “And stop checking me out! My husband might get jealous!”

“Oh, he’s gonna get much more than that!”

Not much unpacking was done for a few hours.

- - -

The following morning, Sabrina reported to the F-22 Formal Training Unit at Langley, the 71st Fighter Squadron. There, she ran into an old colleague.

“Is that the Goddess of the Shitstorm I hear out there?” echoed from an office.

Sabrina’s head whipped up, and she saw Kian ‘Grease’ Wells step into the outer office wearing a big grin. And dark blue oak leaves on the shoulders of his flight suit, indicating he was a lieutenant colonel now. Sabrina snapped him a deserved salute before he gathered her in a welcoming hug.

“How ya doin’, Sir?”

Kian led her back into his office so their conversation would be (relatively) private.

“I’m doing great, Sabrina! I can’t *wait* to see what kind of pain you cause among the instructors and students!”

“Come on, Sir …”

“Really, Sabrina, is there *anything* they’re going to teach you that you don’t already know?”

“Yeah! How to teach *new* pilots to fly the F-22, while flying a completely different aircraft!”

Grease laughed at Sabrina.

“I hear you’re still the best around with the Raptor wrapped around you.”

“Grease, you *know* I don’t like saying that!” Sabrina protested. “You *know* there’s always someone better out there!”

“Someone better than *you?* That’s rich!” Kian Wells laughed. “Is Tom still hanging around you?”

Sabrina flashed her rings at the light bird.

“Still keeping me sane!”

“I bet *that’s* a tall order! Well, you’ll have to meet Marie before she and I will have you two over for dinner once you’re settled here.”

“Any kids?”

“Two,” Kian answered with a smile while turning a photo frame around. “My daughter and her younger brother.”

Two young children, under ten, smiled back at Sabrina while flanked by their parents. Marie, a pretty blonde, must be younger than Kian.

“Where’s Marie originally from?”

“Outside Pittsburgh.”

“Oh, boy! A Steelers fan, no doubt!”

“The Pirates, actually, more than the Steelers, but she watches both. And the Penguins.”

“Well, the Pirates are in the National League, so unless they meet the Sox in the World Series, I don’t mind. It’s not like they’re the damn Yankees!”

“Go finish checking in,” Kian said with a dismissive wave. “I’m sure you can cause more trouble out there!”

- - -

A few days later, Sabrina received a summons to Air Combat Command HQ to meet the commanding officer. She and Tom were curious but didn’t think questioning a major commander would benefit her. Sabrina checked her uniform carefully before crossing the street from the visitor’s parking area, to the ACC building.

“Major Knox-Jones to see the General, Staff Sergeant,” Sabrina said to the man in the outer office when she arrived.

“Yes, Ma’am, Major. The General is expecting you.” The man rose from his desk. “Please, if you would follow me, Ma’am?”

Sabrina wasn’t focused on much, but she locked on the man sitting behind the desk while he wore a smirk.

“It’s been a long time, Cadet,” he grinned.

Sabrina froze, then fired off a parade ground salute. The man was a four-star general now.

“At ease, Major,” Pete Cunningham said after returning the salute. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you, General.”

“That better be the last time you say that in this office. ‘Sir’ will work just fine while you’re here.”

“*Why* am I here, Sir?”

“Because, as much as you hate to admit it, you’re the best of the best when you’re flying an F-22. You were the best Soaring commander I had while running the flight program at the academy. You’re a *test pilot* as well. You know how to teach, and that’s gonna be *invaluable*, especially since the F-22 is a single-seat fighter.”

“I have to pass Colonel Wells’s class first, Sir.”

General Cunningham laughed and said, “Like that’ll be a problem …?”

- - -

The IP class started well, albeit in the classroom, not in the cockpit. Sabrina got used to being soaked with the fire hose of knowledge again. There was less stand-up in the FTU class than there had been at ENJJPT and the F-22 B-course. She had to learn how to *evaluate* people doing the stand-up.

The IP class’s strictly classroom portion ended about six weeks in. Then, Sabrina learned how to teach, evaluate, and correct a new pilot learning to fly a single-seat fighter while doing all three from a separate aircraft.

“Do you think we’ll have to move again after your IP class finishes?” Tommy asked Sabrina one day, about three months in.

“Well, since Tyndall got hit by that hurricane a few years ago, they’ve been looking for a new, permanent home for the F-22B course. I think Langley’s gonna be it.”

The Air Force announced the next month that JBLE (Joint Base Langley-Eustis) would indeed host the F-22B course. The 71st Fighter Squadron had been assigned as the new training squadron, too, adding to their FTU duties. Sabrina and Tom might not have to move out of their on-base housing assignment after all.

Tom found some work at the base’s tax prep center, but that was only open from after the W-2s came out at the end of January until just after tax day in mid-April. The chain tax prep center that everyone hears about was open year-round, so Tom got work there after the base’s center closed, with the understanding that he would work both places part-time during prep season.

After being stationed at Nellis and then Edwards twice, Sabrina and Tom had to adapt to the hot, humid weather near the ocean of Southeastern Virginia rather than the desert weather they'd become used to.

Anna and Alex moved to Southern Texas, near South Padre Island, when Alex found work with a company building a spaceport in rural Kenedy County. Alex was pretty excited since the company wanted to use his relatively new and untested ion engine ideas as the basis for some new spacecraft.

Not only would that mean plenty of work for the young father, but it could bring in *serious* revenue if his ideas panned out. Anna was happy for him because, even though he had been a great stay-at-home dad to Matthew and Serafina (Sera), she wanted to see him flourish now that she was finished with her physics degree. More likely, it was that she’d finally get to be a stay-at-home mom.