User Guide

1615 Hours
At last, someone gives me the time of
day.
“1615,” says Miguel Schraeder, as he
walks away.
Encouraged by even this faint
acknowledgement, I follow him to the
hangar, where he proceeds to direct a
crew of mechanics in the maintenance of
the F-16 fleet. I am surprised to find that
“Zorro” Schraeder, a veteran of the
Central American Bloc Conflict, is the
Wildcat’s senior mechanic. Generally,
crack pilots consider the mechanics of
craft maintenance and repair beneath
them. I mention this to Schraeder and he
frowns.
“That is an elitist attitude. A mechanic
serves as important a function as a
flyboy. One is more glamorous, perhaps,
but if you fly for glamour’s sake, you’re in
the wrong business.” He points to his
ground crew. “If not for them, we’d never
leave the ground.”
Schraeder, initially distant and
preoccupied, grows more animated as he
warms to his favorite subject. “I liken it
philosophically to the problems in Latin
America. Every country seeks to be
elevated from the Third World (an
obsolete term by the way, considering the
collapse of the U.S. economy), but these
Latin American governments still aspire
to that lost U.S. ideal. They want the
glory, but are unwilling to lay the
groundwork, a solid foundation of oppor-
tunity for the impoverished, hope for the
common man. No, the generalissimos
prefer to gain their wealth through con-
flict with their neighbors, who are in the
same boat. This creates a constant state
of flux throughout the region. You gain,
you lose, and no political/economic
structure endures.”
My knowledge of Latin American politics
is too limited. I try to change the subject.
“Tell me a little bit about James Stern.
When will I get a chance to see him?”
“When Stern appears,” Schraeder says
sullenly. Clearly, I’ve lost his interest.
The man called Zorro dismisses me
bluntly, turning his back on me and
directing his attention once again to the
repair of his precious aircraft.
1722 Hours
I spy Billy “Prime Time” Parker and
Gwen “Phoenix” Forrester approaching
me from across the Lair’s central airstrip.
Since I missed them earlier at the hangar,
I am especially eager to interview them,
and hurry toward them. As I approach,
Billy holds out his hands expectantly,
looking annoyed. I hesitate, then shake
his right hand. He sighs.
“Yeah, yeah. Come on, dude, I haven’t
got all day.”
“What?”
“Hurry up, man.”
“Uh — listen, my name’s Duhm, I’m
from SUDDEN DEATH magazine —”
“Oh. I thought you wanted an auto-
graph.” Forrester bursts into laughter.
Parker frowns. “Well, that’s what they
usually want,” he grumbles. He goes on to
explain that he is a local celebrity, and
frequently gets such requests from fans of
his occasional appearances in air shows,
which most other mercs avoid. The last
thing your average merc wants is
notoriety. Billy is different.
“Hey, if you’ve got it —” He winks at
Gwen, who shakes her head and walks
away, scowling. Prime Time watches her a
moment, frowns and then hurries away,
promising to speak to me later in Selim’s.
Yeah, I find myself thinking as I eat his
dust, and the check is in the mail.
14
July 2011 • SUDDEN DEATH
Miguel Schraeder and one of his charges.