One Man Army 
by Michael J. Pfeffer 

Lawndale, California 
Martin & Associates Towers 
4:20 PM 
December 20, 1997 
It was the first day of Christmas vacation for Lawndale High students. School had let out
early on account of a snowstorm the previous day, giving them all some extra time of
freedom. 
It was not the same for the Morgandorfer family. 
"If I ever get through this," she thought to herself, "I'm going to blow up this building." She
had been shanghaied into her father's office Christmas party. Daria sighed. She had
managed to find haven in the computer room and was surfing the Internet to keep from
getting bored out of her skull. "It'll be fun," Helen and Jake had said at the breakfast table.
"All your father's office friends always want to meet you." 
"Fine, then. I'll send them a picture." 
"I mean in person, Daria," Helen had said with a sigh. "Otherwise, we could talk about you
joining one of those church youth groups. You know, the one where they get all the kids
together and go caroling." 
Daria glared. 
"You wouldn't." 
Jake had piped in around then. 
"That's a great idea! They're always looking for kids to help out. Hey, maybe we could fit
you in with your school groups, too." 
Daria sighed. 
"Alright, fine." 
She picked up a newspaper. 
"But I reserve the right to leave the party itself after I do all those compulsory meetings." 
She had done just that. 
Now, it was several hours later. At the party, she had expressed the apathy that took years
of practice, and was able to get out of meeting all her father's co-workers and escape to
the computers. Now, she was bored again, having seen all the sites worth seeing on the
Web. Sick Sad World was showing a holiday marathon and she was missing it. Was
nothing going her way, ever? 

Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada 
4:25 PM 
Training Range Foxtrot 
"Golf Zero One, this is Iris Base, come in, Golf Zero One." 
Michael Andrews flicked the radio switch in his MJP-911 fighter/personal transport aircraft.
"This is Golf One here, go ahead, Iris," he radioed back. Since he and Mara were Jewish,
Christmas held nothing to them, and the Navy needed a new aircraft to simulate the
Russian MiGs coming off factory lines. The 911's shipboard computer happened to know
about Russian aircraft and could simulate their characteristics. Michael had volunteered
and Mara, his girlfriend, asked to come along to help out. She was in the copilot's seat. 
"Golf, flight plan is Tac Zulu Tango. Radio silence from now on. Iris Base Out." The radio
fell silent. 
Michael took off the headphones. "Looks like the mission is a go," he told Mara. "We're
simulating air patrol over a strike zone. The Navy's sending in a few Intruders, maybe some
Hornets." 
Mara looked up from the radar scope. "I'd put my money on the F/A-18s," she said.
"They're not training new pilots in the A-6s, and the ones who know how to fly them are
probably from Vietnam." 
Michael shrugged. "Who's to know except the pilots? We're only playing aggressor." He
activated the ship's computer. "Hey, Eddie!" 
The shipboard computer, which controlled and permeated every molecule of the MJP-911,
which strangely liked to be called Eddie, switched on. "Hi, Mister Andrews, what's up?"
Michael tapped the Nutri-Matic food and drink system. "Get me some iced coffee with a
little Irish Creme flavoring, would you?" The panel slid open. "Here you go," Eddie piped
up. Michael took the glass and turned to Mara. "Can I get you anything?" 
She nodded. "Just a diet soda, I guess." Eddie slid open another panel near her and a can
of generic diet soda slid out. She took it, and the computer closed down. "Looks like
another boring run," she said. 

Lawndale, California 
Martin & Associates building 
They had spread out throughout the building, as according to the plan. They had
downloaded vital data, they had spread and divided. Some were maitre d' s, a few were
cooks, most were waiters. It was time. 
One of the waiters on Jake's floor was first to start. All the office workers and their guests
were in the reception hall, a room with marble trim, waterfalls, and Corinthian columns.
Most of these served for tactical cover as the waiter pulled a small automatic weapon from
a hidden jacket pocket and fired a few rounds into the air. 
"Nobody move!" he yelled, his voice thick with an Arabic accent. The guests of the party
screamed as one. With deft aim, he shot a lawyer in the knees. "Hands in the air! Right
now!" They all calmed down mostly, and raised their hands. "If you resist, we will kill you
and the person next to you! Now, follow Achmed! Speak to nobody! Move!" 
In the computer room, Daria froze upon hearing the shots. She dove away and hid inside a
closet, remembering what little spy training Michael had told her about. 
"It's always best to lay low," he had said once. "A true spy doesn't try to play hero.
Espionage is about evasion, the right tactics, and the ability to function autonomously. If
you're threatened, stay out of sight and call in help." 
Alright, she thought. I'll do just that. All of a sudden, someone kicked the door open and
pulled out an MP5 submachine gun. He looked left, right, under the tables, and made a fast
check around the computers, then left. Before leaving, he shot out the phone. Daria swore
after he left. 
"So much for calling in help," she said to herself, and made a quick check of the phone.
The bullet had only glanced the base, shorting out the inter-office circuits, but she didn't
need those. She picked up the receiver. A dialtone. Perfect. She pressed 9 for an outside
line, then 911. 

Lawndale Police Headquarters 
The headset rang at Dispatcher Karen McCullough's desk. She picked it up and pressed
the receiver button. "Lawndale Police. What is your emergency?" 
The voice on the other end was a startled-sounding monotone. "Thank God! Listen, and
listen carefully. There's a hostage situation at the Martin & Associates building! There's
about ten or twenty psycho Arabian guys with guns!" 
Karen took a deep breath and glanced at the voice-stress analyzer. The meter had pegged
at the top limit. Damn, this was for real. She spoke to the girl. "Okay, miss, just try and stay
calm. What's your name?" 
The voice came back. "Daria. Daria Morgandorfer." 
Karen's eyes went wide. "You're the kid with that bimbo sister my kid's always talking
about!" 
Daria paused. "What?" 
"My daughter's wasting her life away in the Fashion Club. If I've told her once, I've told her a
thousand times, that's no place for a teenager. They're always putting intelligence below
popularity." Daria rolled her eyes. She didn't like the Fashion Club, but now was not the
time to talk about it! "Listen, just shut up and call in the cops! Call LAPD and get a SWAT
team in here! Get anyone you've got with weapons! Call the Air Force! Call the National
Guard!" 
Another pause from the police desk. "Okay, dear, I've dispatched all our local troops, but
they've only got sidearms. Los Angeles is sending us their SWAT team, but they'll take a
few hours to get here. If you'd care to..." Daria slammed down the phone abruptly. The
police wouldn't be much of a help. Fortunately, she had a best friend who was a one man
army. 

Nellis Air Force Base 
Training Range Foxtrot 
Eddie piped up in the middle of the attack run. "Mister Andrews, sir, Iris Base is recalling
the flight. It appears you're needed in Lawndale. There's a call for you on the private line,
sir. It's important." 
Michael punched the console. "Damn. We were just about to waste those Navy squids. Put
the call through, Eddie." 
The speaker system crackled to life. "Michael?" the voice said. He sat up immediately.
"Daria? What's the problem?" 
Mara punched a few buttons to triangulate the call. 
"There's terrorists everywhere! They've taken over the building my father works in! They've
got guns and the cops won't be here for hours and..." 
Mara cut in. "Terrorists? Hang on a second." She put the call on hold and activated the
radio. "Iris Base, this is Golf Zero One. Abort the mission, I repeat, abort the mission.
Condition Bravo Kilo, repeat Bravo Kilo." The Navy controllers acknowledged and Mara
turned the speaker back on. Condition Bravo Kilo meant that there was trouble and the
MJP-911 needed to respond immediately. "Okay, Daria, talk to us." 
Daria started again. "There's a bunch of them, they've got guns. The cops won't be worth
anything, all they have is pistols. You've got to help me!" Michael reefed the aircraft into a
hard turn out of the Nellis range and towards Lawndale. "Okay, Daria, we're on our way.
We'll be on the scene in a few minutes. Gonna have to punch up R17 again. In the
meantime, stay low and out of sight. Where are you?" 
"Twentieth floor, facing Main Street. I'm in the computer room." 
Michael punched up the details of the building she was in. "Roger that, I'm tracking your
signal. Out." He pressed the radio button. "Better strap in, Mara." 
After he had powered up the ion turbo-overdrive engines, the MJP-911 leapt through
speeds that would break up any other aircraft not in the vacuum of space. He powered up
the internal and external weapons systems, as well as the auxiliary systems- a searchlight,
infrared scanner, radio-isotope scanner, and TV cameras. They had just crossed the
California-Nevada border and would be over Lawndale in five seconds. Michael began to
power down the ion turbo-overdrives, switching over to hover-jet engines which would
enable him to take off and land like a helicopter as well as fly at jet speeds. He decelerated
past Mach 7, climbed out of 140,000 feet, and resumed normal civil aviation speeds. He
swooped over the outskirts of the city and engaged the reverse thrust systems. He had to
slow down to a hover for landing. 
In the office lobby, the partygoers were being rounded up and taken down to the basement
in the elevators- two guards with every group. Quinn, Helen & Jake were part of the group
in the first. "What is _with_ these people?" Quinn was saying. "These guns don't go with
their outfits at all! I mean, who knew that caterers were that heavily armed?" 
One of the terrorists jabbed her with an MP5 automatic. "Shut up! Not talk!" 
Quinn started up again. "And what's with that accent? Is it, like, Ara-Russian or
something?" 

The Lane residence 
4:50 PM 
It was practice as usual for Mystic Spiral. 
Jesse had arrived a while ago and he & Trent had started up on a different style of "Ice-Box
Woman," when Jesse dropped his guitar on the TV remote. The TV had turned on to
Channel Four, with a special report from the camera crew on location at Martin &
Associates. 
"... live reports around the clock from Channel Four. To repeat, this is Kelly McFadden
reporting from the Martin & Associates legal building, where a terrorist situation is taking
place." Trent almost dropped his guitar. "Sources from the Lawndale Police Department
have told us that there is a terrorist force occupying the building that police officers are
ill-equipped to respond to. A call was placed to emergency services earlier... do we have it
on tape? Yes, we can now play the call that informed the police of the events transpiring." A
picture of a tape recorder came up in the background as the TV showed a transcript and
audio playback of the call. "Oh my God, that's Daria!" Trent exclaimed. 
Jesse shrugged. "Looks like she's in trouble, dude," he said. 
Trent piped up. "C'mon, we've got to go help her!" He threw his guitar onto the couch and
started to race out the door. 
"Hang on!" Jesse yelled to him. "I've just gotta close down here." 
Trent yelled back at him, "Forget it! Come on!" as he started up the Tank, their drummer's
van. Jesse lovingly placed his guitar down and rushed after Trent. He had the
passenger-side door open, and Jesse was only able to get in partially before Trent revved
the motor and drove off. Jesse pulled himself inside and closed the door as they drove to
the center of town. 
The flight in the MJP-911 at R17 and excess speeds was always frightening, but
frighteningly fast, too. They had reached Lawndale in just a few seconds and landed by the
congregation of police cars and astounded officers. The cops had taken out their
standard-issue Beretta 9mm pistols and formed a defensive perimeter around the parking
lot of the building. They would need help. Their heaviest weapon was a shotgun. Michael
opened a side hatch. "Don't panic, officers, the situation is going fine." 
Mara emerged from the fighter. "We're taking tactical control of the situation," she said. 
The obese officer in charge stormed up to them. "What the hell do you think you're doing!"
he shouted at them. "This is police business! The situation is under control!" 
A burst of gunfire erupted from the roof, and the police officers ducked behind the
perimeter. The fat police sergeant waddled behind a car and curled up into a ball. 
"You police, stay back! Stay back or we start killing hostages!" came a voice through a
megaphone. "We release demands soon! You stay back!" and the voice fell silent. Michael
and Mara had stood bravely throughout the fusillade of bullets fired into the air, and were
brushing off loose dust. 
"Under control?" Mara asked. "Looks to me that you need help. Anyone got a radio to
LAPD open?" The frightened sergeant held her a large UHF radio set. She dialed into a
frequency and spoke orders to the waiting communications officer. 
Ten minutes later, the plan came into being. The Los Angeles Police Department SWAT
team was en route, but not by the usual industrial-size police transport vehicle. Lawndale
was about fifty miles from LA and it would take an hour to arrive via rush-hour traffic.
Instead, they would contact the San Diego Naval Base, who dispatched a CH-53E Super
Stallion troop transport helicopter to the LAPD Headquarters roof to retrieve the team and
fly it to Lawndale. The SWATs would take up the interior perimeter and move in whenever
possible. Then, Mara had contacted the adjacent Naval Air Station a few miles inland. Two
Navy F-14D Tomcat fighters would form an air patrol over Lawndale, and four Marine
AV-8B Harrier jump-jet fighters would fly close air support, helped out by the MJP-911
fighter. Michael had already taken to the air in the 911 and was flying lazy racetrack ovals
around the building and parking lot. The Tomcats would be arriving on station soon. 

Over the streets of Lawndale 
5:12 PM 
"Striker Base, this is Striker One, how copy, over?" The Super Stallion, loaded down with
troops, was darting between buildings. The huge Sikorsky helicopter had been designed in
the 1960s for clearing mines in Haiphong Harbor, Vietnam, and had been converted to
special-ops, cargo transport, and infantry-carrier roles. It was now transporting ten LAPD
SWAT officers and six Navy SEAL commandos. They would be working together when
ordered, but all sixteen men agreed one thing- they resented being under the tactical
control of a civilian. "Roger, copy, Striker One. You're cleared to land at point Bravo.
Report to Alpha One upon arrival." The pilot gave two clicks of his microphone then
switched off the radio. The terrorists could be listening in. Point Bravo denoted right by the
police cars, and Alpha One was Michael. 

Corporate Drive 
Lawndale Police Outpost Zulu 
5:15 PM 
The CH-53E flew in at low altitude and pitched upward, using the huge main rotor to slow
itself to a hover. The pilot landed right beside the police units and all the SWAT and SEAL
troops disembarked and moved out of the way as the chopper touched down. They moved
as one unit and marched up to Michael. Two officers walked forward. One of them was
obviously police, all his men were wearing bullet-resistant vests with the initials LAPD on
them. The other led five soldiers, all of them very heavily armed, dressed in black Mustang
commando uniforms, geared for infiltration. Both officers saluted. 
"LAPD SWAT division, Bravo Platoon, D troop, reporting, sir! Lieutenant Aaron Smith, in
command!" 
"SEAL team Seven, we're all present and accounted for, kid. I'm Major Samuel Wallace.
You're in command here?" 
Michael unfolded a floor plan of the building, ignoring the SEAL's comment. "I've done an
infrared scan of the interior with my ship," he gestured to the MJP-911 sitting dormant a
few feet away. "Most of the hostages are on the twentieth floor, and others are in the
basement. So far, they've had no demands, other than that we stay back." 
The SWAT leader spoke up. "What's your plan here, sir?" 
Michael held up a hand. "Forget the formalities. We're working together, I'm Michael, not
Mike. The plan is, you guys are our ace-in-the-hole. When you're ordered in, you'll ingress
through the sewers while the SEALs are inserted via the roof." 
Wallace put a grappling hook launcher onto the table. "See this, kid? It doesn't go up two
hundred feet. The helicopter makes too much damn noise, so what are we going to do?" 
Michael smiled. "My MJP-911 can take you guys. Plus, you'll need silencers on those
M-16s. One gunshot and the terrorists start shooting hostages. For now, relax. Eddie's
providing food and drinks. Just get on line," he pointed at a queue of people, police and
pilots alike, lined up at the door of the MJP-911, "and when you get to the hatch, just tell the
computer what you want. I'll talk to you guys when we finalize the tactics." 
The SWATs and SEALs stood fast. Their commanders looked at each other and shrugged
in unison. The soldiers all raced off to the line. None of them had eaten dinner and had had
a meager lunch. The elite SEAL troopers, the best commando unit in the world, were
fighting with each other over who got in line first. It took five police officers and a few
warning shots from one of Michael's laser rifles to get them in order. 

5:26 PM 
A medium-sized black van drove up to the police barriers surrounding the streets
approaching the Martin & Associates building, and Trent and Jesse leapt out. They were
restrained by two beefy police officers. "Hey, man, let us go!" Trent shouted at them.
"Stand fast, citizen. The situation is under control, and only police are allowed past this
point," one of the officers said. 
Trent narrowed his eyes at them. "Listen, I've got friends in that tower! You let me through
right now, or I sue your ass faster than you can say 'police brutality!'" 
The officer took out a radio. "Alpha, this is post zero-two. I've got two vagrants trying to get
in, your orders?" 
The radio crackled with Mara's familiar voice. "Post two, this is Bravo One. Alpha is busy
at the moment. Who're those two trying to get in?" 
The officer pressed the 'transmit' button. "Well, I..." 
Trent shouted into the mouthpiece. "Mara! It's me and Jesse! Come on, tell them to let us
through!" The other officer managed to put a hand over Trent's mouth and drag him back. 
The radio crackled. "Post Two, this is Alpha One. You will let them in immediately, I repeat,
Priority one status immediate. Do you copy?" 
The officer frowned. "Copy, One. They're coming through." The officer let go of Trent and
they pulled back the barriers to let them through. Trent frowned at them one last time,
started the engine on the Tank, and they drove up the road to the police outpost. 

One hundred miles northeast of Lawndale 
5:32 PM 
To the north of the city of Lawndale was mostly empty alkali flatlands, sparse of life, empty
of population. Nobody ever came around that way, which formed perfect cover for the fuel
trucks to stay in. Their charges would be arriving soon. 
Akbar Malakhi lit a cigarette and stared at the horizon, searching the skies. He was not
concerned with igniting the aviation fuel in the surplus Russian fuel trucks around him. He
was only concerned with getting out of this damned barren wasteland. He took a long pull
on the cigarette and stared out at the horizon again. He was looking in the wrong direction
when he heard the heavy baritone sound of rotors beating. He turned around slowly and
saw the four large helicopters rushing in at low level. They pitched up in a stopping
maneuver and landed in almost military precision. Their massive five-bladed rotors kicked
up clouds of dust as they descended, as the powerful attack helicopters landed. The four
deadly Mi-24 Hind-D helicopters, loaded to bear with rocket pods and anti-tank missiles,
and low on fuel, had touched down, noticed only by Malakhi. Four pilots and four gunners
disembarked and unraveled fuel hoses to each of their aircraft, filling them up with JP-4
fuel. About fifteen minutes later, with no words spoken, the pilots disconnected the hoses
and reeled them back in. They reboarded the helicopters, powered up the engines, and
took off. They assumed a slow southwesterly course at low altitude to conserve fuel and not
be detected by any air traffic control radars. 
Back at the fueling site, Malakhi lit another cigarette. He opened the door of his '73 Ford
Galaxy, a junk car that barely moved, and drove south, towards Mexico. 

Lawndale Police Outpost 
6:04 PM 
Michael was munching on a sandwich provided by Eddie and looking over diagrams and
charts of the building obtained from town files. "What I see here, Lieutenant," he said to the
SWAT team leader between bites of turkey and bread, "is that the sewer runs through a
maintenance tunnel under the building. That connects to the main storage area. You can
use that, but you're the SWAT. What do you think?" 
Smith put down the M-16 that he was inspecting. "Well, kid, I think that it's a pretty good
plan, to tell you the truth. How did you learn all this?" 
Michael smiled. "I read a lot." He handed the map to the SWAT team. "Here, guys, look
this over. You're going in through the crap tunnels." He took one last bite of the sandwich
and walked over to the 911. 
Mara was inside, powering up the systems and frantically trying to get Eddie on topic, and
off the question of her wanting a cold beverage. 
"Look, you worthless sack of silicon," she was shouting at it, "I need control of the tracking
systems, the missiles, and any other weapons under your junky command!" With that, she
hit it. 
Michael took her hand. "Relax, hon. Here, watch this." Michael pressed a red guarded
switch. 
"Combat mode, consent approved, switches cold," he said to the computer. 
Eddie's voice became terse and fast, unlike the friendly tone it was moments ago.
"Combat mode active. Consent engaged. Weapons safe." 
Mara sighed at him. "We've got company. The Tomcats are bugging out, and the Marines
are refueling. It'll take about twenty minutes for them to get off the ground, and their
weapons are showing faults. They're going to head back to base and re-arm. That'll take
an hour, but radar keeps picking up these." She punched up a display and pointed to four
flickering dots. "They're about twenty miles out, moving slow, probably rotary wing aircraft." 
Michael shook his head. "I hate to contradict you, but they're too slow. Look- 10 knots. A
chopper would be at a crawl going that speed." 
Little did they know that the objects they were tracking was in reality a cloud of birds
startled by the Hind-D choppers shortly behind, using the valleys for cover. 
Mara shrugged. "I guess so, but we're pretty unprotected on the ground. Michael smiled. 
"Not really- watch this." He pressed a few buttons and flipped a switch. A tiny claw shot out
towards the nearest power line. It attached itself and began to draw power. A shimmering
field surrounded the MJP-911. "Force shield. It surrounds the aircraft like a tight seal. We
can even go in and out, it just deactivates around the hatch." 
Mara shook her head. "I don't even want to know where you got the design for this." 

Martin & Associates Towers 
6:15 PM 
Daria was constantly pacing and trying to access the computers. The terrorists had
probably cut the power, but the computers were still working. She was vainly trying to hack
her father's account and password. She knew that it was JMORGAN, but the password
was still a mystery. She tried "Quinn," "Helen," and "Daria," but still to no avail. Next up.
She tried "Lawndale." Nothing. In a sudden flash of inspiration, she tried "Middleton;" her
father's alma mater. The login screen vanished to the desktop menu. She was in. There
wasn't too much to do, but it was close. She accessed a speakerphone system and dialed
Michael's number in the MJP-911. 

Lawndale Police Outpost 
That same time 
An additional fleet of police cars and officers had responded from other towns to the
terrorist call. There were about twenty police cruisers and thirty officers from scattered
towns near Lawndale. Two Marine AH-1 Cobra gunship helicopters were on patrol to
replace the Harriers. The defensive perimeter had begun to encompass the entire area
around the building and parking lot, and the officers were constantly keeping their shotguns
and rifles aimed at the top floor. A large police truck had just arrived, and its driver was
unloading... 
"A speaker system?" Michael exclaimed. The driver nodded. "You bet. I'm from the
Psy-Ops division of LAPD. We're going to hook up the stereo and blast loud tunes at
them." 
Michael began to snicker, then exploded into full-fledged laughter. "Let me get this
straight..." he said between laughs, "You're going play music at them and hope they give
up?" 
The police technician affixed him with a firm glare. "You remember Panama, kid?" he
asked. 
Michael shrugged. He probably hadn't been born then. 
"We blasted Noriega with Def Leppard and Led Zeppelin, and he came out and
surrendered without firing a shot." 
Michael shook his head. "Well, we've got plenty of space and time. Go ahead. Need some
music?" The technician nodded. "I've got some in my ship. Hang on a sec, I'll go get them."
He put down the details for the speakers and walked into the MJP-911. "Eddie, I need my
CDs, if you don't mind," he told the computer. Instead, it responded with "Sir, you have a
call." Michael went into the cockpit and brought in the incoming call. 
"Michael! What's going on out there?" Daria's voice shouted at him. Michael squelched out
the static from the background. "Daria, just hang on. The cops are here, we've got a SEAL
team and SWAT platoon out here. The terrorists have hostages, so they have the upper
hand right now. Do you need anything?" 
"Yeah. I'm not comfortable up here without something to defend myself with." 
"No problem. What do you need? Beretta? MP5? M-16? Rocket launcher?" 
There was a pause. "I need an infantry rifle, two Beretta pistols, and plenty of ammo for
each." 
"Okay, Rambo," Michael said in reply. "I'm sending them over. Hang on while I triangulate
your position." He took an AK-47 rifle, two Berettas, five clips of ammo for the rifle and ten
magazines of pistol bullets. He loaded them into a static object launcher and pressurized
the tube. By then, Eddie had located the room she was in. "Here you go, Daria. I'd
recommend stepping to your right." He lifted a guard and pressed a red button, and the
packet went flying. The package flew upwards on a ballistic arc, crashed through the
window to the computer room and landed safely. Daria opened up the foam-encrusted
package, revealing the requisite weapons. "Thanks," she said over the phone to Michael. 
"No problem at all. Just stay low. There's some food in there too, in case you get hungry." 

Downtown Lawndale 
6:30 PM 
The terrorist crisis was almost two hours in the running. 
A group of citizens had gathered at the edge of the restricted area, and the guarding
officers were debating with each other whether or not they were in violation. They were
watching the building, and like the lone man at the fueling outpost, looked the wrong way
when they heard helicopter rotors. 
The Mi-24 Hinds raced over the streets of Lawndale en route to the terrorist-held building.
They had made contact with their co-conspirators inside the Martin & Associates towers
and were briefed. They would attack their targets in less than sixty seconds. 
Michael was running a check on Eddie's systems and weapons subsystems when his
ship's radars picked up four incoming bogies. He checked to make sure they were real,
then radioed one of the Marine gunships circling overhead. "Charlie one, this is Eagle
base. Are you picking up targets..." he checked his scope. "..bearing two-zero-zero, angels
point zero zero five, range zero-six miles?" 
The gunship pilot radioed back frantically. "Eagle, get off the ground and get those cops
under cover! Attack condition red! Repeat, Red Alert! Red Alert! Incoming attack
helicopters!" 
"Jesus!" Michael dashed out of the MJP-911. "Get under cover! Prepare for imminent
attack from the air! Take cover! Dammit, Stinger crews, stand by to engage! I..." 
He was interrupted by two explosions from overhead. The Hinds had engaged the Cobras
with their SA-14 air-to-air missiles and shot them down. 
Mara rushed up, taking cover from the raining debris. "My God, they're attacking! Get
airborne! Come on!" she yelled, rushing into the fighter. Michael followed her in, shutting
the hatch and engaging the systems. "Eddie, get us off the ground! Combat mode, consent
switch off, weapons free, batteries released!" 
The takeoff of Michael's personal ship was always spectacular, but an emergency order
made it like being in a fight and a car wreck simultaneously. As the police officers were
rushing behind a small grassy area, decorated with shrubs planted by landscapers, the
SEAL team was hoisting a FIM-92A Stinger shoulder-launched surface-to-air missile
launcher. When Michael sealed the hatch and activated the ship, Eddie rotated the
vector-thrust nozzles straight down and kicked the engines to full power. The end result was
the ship climbing fifty feet into the air and retracting the gear. Two SWAT troopers were
blown over by the windblast, but the SEALs were able to lock onto one of the rapidly
approaching Hind attack choppers. 
Michael reefed the MJP-911 into a hard right turn and engaged the radar autonomous
track systems, or RATS. The RATS system automatically tracked and attacked targets
designated hostile, leaving Michael and Mara free to fly the ship and track the choppers
with other weapons. The bay doors opened. "Four Mockingbirds ready for launch, and hot
damn, those Hinds are close! I'm not sure whether the missiles will track or miss, so stand
by on those turret lasers, Mara," he said over the intercom. 
The rotary launcher ejected one Mockingbird air-to-air missile, then rotated one-eighth of a
revolution, ejected another, and completed the cycle twice more. "Fox one! Four
Mockingbirds in the air!" Michael exclaimed. The missiles tracked the Mi-24D helicopters
with their on-board radars, but they had not acquired their targets as they rocketed past the
slow-moving choppers. The missiles shut themselves down in mid-air and self-destructed. 
"Damn! The Mockingbirds missed! Turret lasers have acquired... JESUS!" Mara yelled.
The Hinds, moving like prizefighters, had pivoted in mid-air and loosed a barrage of
rockets from underwing pods. Five of them hit the MJP-911, almost penetrating the shield
barrier. "We've taken a hit! Shields holding, but not for long. Tracking... tracking... laser
firing... got one!" she shouted as the lasers opened fire, exploding the Hind and damaging
another. 
"Nice shot, Mara! Okay, let's get the others. Hang on, I've got them." Michael raced past
the three surviving Hinds and pivoted in mid-air, using the unique vectored-thrust systems
of the 911. He was closing to Gatling gun range when they opened fire on the police
positions below. 
The Hinds each had four UV-32-57 rocket pods each, and unleashed a salvo of twenty
high-velocity rockets per chopper at the police defensive positions. The rockets were
designed for combat, to destroy armored personnel carriers on the battlefield, and they
worked a deadly rain across the police cars. A long string of explosions shook the ground
and destroyed most of the cars, but thankfully, the only casualties were some spilled coffee
and sprained limbs, thanks to Michael's decisive warning. 
The Hinds had overflown the defensive positions when the SEALs, trained in combat,
returned fire. Five of them had hoisted Stinger missile launchers into position and locked
on. Wallace was leading the counterattack. 
"Tracking target, at my twelve o'clock! IFF negative! Clear me to shoot!" one of his troops
shouted. 
Wallace narrowed his eyes and let the distance open up a bit, then yelled "Clear to fire!
Batteries released! Nail that rat bastard!" With that, three missiles took to the air.
Meanwhile, Michael had aligned the M61A2 Vulcan six-barreled Gatling gun and was firing
bursts at the helicopters. He was able to rake the tongue of fire across two of the choppers,
damaging them. 
The Hinds were caught by surprise by the two-pronged attack. Two of the Hinds fell to
ground-launched Stingers and one of them was able to evade. He was out of Stinger
range, but not from Mara's turret lasers. "Tracking... tracking... got him! Laser firing!" she
said. A lance of azure light shot out, tracing a line across the Hind's fuselage. The laser
burst found a fuel tank. 
The Hind shook the sky in a ball of fire. The shock wave rocked the MJP-911 and shook up
a few buildings. Some windows broke, some kids got scared, but that was all. 
Michael landed the MJP-911 near the blazing police cars and pulled a cassette tape out of
the ship's stereo. He helped Mara out, and handed the tape to the LAPD Psy-Op
technician. "This is a tape of rock and techno music I made," he told the tech. "It's loud
enough for you." 
The technician took the tape wordlessly, cranked the volume up to full, popped into the
stereo, and pressed the play button. The thudding techno sounds of Orbital's The Saint
resonated into the air. 
The battle was over... for now. 

Martin & Associates building 
7:00 PM 
A gunshot shattered the window on the top floor, and the police officers trained their guns
at the broken window. No more shots followed. Then, it started to rain. 
Photocopied flyers. 
They slowly floated and wafted in the breeze until one of them landed in Trent Lane's
hands. He read it. "Hmmm... 'To those Americans who hold our brothers hostage- we now
reply in kind. Release all Arabians from your jails and return them the land that is theirs! We
will hold your hostages, all thirty-nine of them, until you comply.'" He walked over to Michael
and the SEAL commander, who were watching the flyers float slowly to the ground. "Hey,
guys, check this out!" 
Jane, who had just arrived, took the flyer from her brother as Michael and Major Wallace
grabbed their own from the sky. They all read it slowly. "Wow," said Jane. "And to think,
that all this time their legacy of battle didn't manifest itself. Well, well, well." 
Michael had a resolute look on his face. "Lieutenant Smith! Get your men over here!
Wallace, better assemble your SEALs." The officer saluted and walked off to retrieve his
men. Smith and his SWAT team marched up. 
"Sir! SWAT division..." 
"Yeah, yeah, Smith, save it. You guys are out of here, got it? I have a plan. You and the
SEAL Team are heading back to the city. It's been fun, yada, yada, yada. See ya. The
Super Stallion will take you back." 
With a dark look in his eye, Smith ordered his men back on the bulky transport chopper.
The SEALs followed. Mara saw the soldiers depart, and turned to Michael with a question
in her eyes. 
"What's going on?" she asked. 
Michael sighed. "Those troops are too damn obvious. It's like they say, if you want
something done, do it yourself." He was walking into Eddie's weapons locker. "Eddie,
open up." Mara followed him inside, where Michael was putting on his combat harness. "I
need two Berettas, an M-29 grenade launcher, two bandoliers of grenades, ten clips each
for the Berettas and an M-16, a few first-aid kits, and the usual." Eddie extended a few
drawers with the requisite ammo, and the guns themselves extended from racks. 
Mara was amazed at the array of ammo. "Don't even tell me you're going in yourself! Why
is it always Mister Hero? The SEALs could have done this in a snap! They're trained in this
sort of thing!" 
Michael was draping the bandoliers of grenade ammo over his shoulders. "Those terrorists
hold the upper hand right now. If they see a massive armored force even coming near that
building, they start shooting innocent people." 
Mara crossed her arms over her chest. "Okay, fine. But how are you going to get through?" 
Michael smiled. "You weren't around when Daria and me bugged Quinn's date." He took
one of his invisibility belts off a rack and put it on. Pressing the button, he and his massive
armament load vanished into thin air. "I just need one of these..." he said, taking a
grappling hook launcher, "and I'll be off. I'll be back in oh, say, a half hour. Hold down the
fort, okay?" 
Mara rolled her eyes. "So you're just going to go in and kill them off? How will you live with
yourself?" 
"Easy," Michael said from invisibility. "The bullets are designed so that they only deliver a
mild electric stun charge. They'll be out for about two hours." The grappling hook launcher
floated away. "See you later." 
Mara shook her head. "Eddie, I need something really, really strong." 
Michael, unseen and unheard to all around, walked out to the parking lot. He elevated the
grappling hook launcher to the top floor, where his computer had last located Daria. He
pulled the trigger, and with a _phoont,_ the hook flew up and smashed itself into the
window near where the packet of ammo had insinuated itself earlier. Daria had seen the
hook fly up and hid herself under a table, fearing a terrorist attack. She noticed the launcher
base fly up on its own, and an "oomph" from where it landed. Suddenly, Michael
shimmered into being. He brushed some errant glass off his arm. "Did I miss anything?" he
asked with a smile. He handed her an M-16, a bandolier of grenades, and Beretta pistol.
"You've got to get out of here. It's gonna get really hairy." 
She took the pistol, put in a clip of ammo, and chambered a round. "And miss the fun?
Forget it." 
Suddenly, the door was kicked open, and one of the terrorists leapt into the room,
brandishing an MP5. "Hands up!" he shouted. "Don't move!" The gun clicked as he
disengaged the safety. 
Michael tilted his head. "You know, I've heard that threatening a secret agent can be
hazardous to your health." With a flash, reached under his arms, pulled out two pulse
pistols, and fired five blasts towards the terrorist. He collapsed in a heap from the stun
energy. Michael put the pistols back in their "ace-in-the-hole" holsters under each of his
arms. He handed the grappling hook to Daria. "You'd better get out of here. It could get
very hairy, very fast." 
Daria sighed, then tied the grappling hook around her waist. She checked to make sure
the rope was secure, then walked to the window. She nodded to Michael. "Thanks for the
help, Michael. I owe you." 
Michael nodded and smiled. "Tell Mara I love her." 
Daria rappelled down the side of the building. 
Michael took out a pistol, armed it and chambered a round. He would save the M-16 for
desperate situations, because he thought it was best to fight it out at close range. He
pulled out his grenade launcher, pulled out the barrel, took a grenade projectile from his
bandolier, and loaded it into the launcher. The readout from Eddie had shown that there
was about ten terrorists in a room across from him. He flipped the barrel of the M-29 up,
and it locked into place with a _klunk._ He lined up the sights of the launcher on the
adjacent wall, ducked behind a table to avoid the shock wave, and fired the launcher. The
grenade flew out and blew the wall inwards, flattening two terrorists. Michael took out his
other pistol and fired both Berettas two-handed. He took down three more before they
returned fire. He managed to duck out of the way and return their shots, and soon, he was
the sole survivor from the cloud of smoke. He tightened the red bandanna around his
forehead and headed towards the elevator. 
A few minutes later, he had cleared the other floors. The remainder of the terrorists were
bound and gagged and up on the roof, ready to be retrieved by the police. There was still
one matter- getting the hostages out. They were under heavy guard- the terrorists had set
up armored pillboxes in front of the hostages. They were really heavily defended, so
something would need to be done. 
Michael was sneaking through the ventilation shafts, and had been doing so until he could
get to the basement. He was just about to the first pillbox... 
The terrorist in charge of the right pillbox was starting to get sleepy. Nothing had happened.
Granted, some shots were exchanged, but were shortly silenced. The intruder was
probably dead. He glanced at the hostages, sitting on the floor, talking between
themselves. It was pretty boring... 
There was a tap on the floor, and the terrorist turned around to face the barrel of an M1911
Beretta pistol. Swearing to himself, he held out his hands as Michael cuffed him and tied a
gag in his mouth. 
Michael took control of the pillbox's miniature cannon. He targeted it on the left pillbox, but
the other terrorists must have heard the commotion. Shouting to each other in Arabic, they
opened fire on the captured pillbox as one. The hostages shouted and ran for cover.
Michael ducked inside the armored pillbox. He saw one of the terrorists arming a grenade
launcher, and he closed his eyes and prepared for the end... 
Only to hear screams and curses in Arabic as a machine gun took them down. 
Mara was standing in the sub-basement entrance, holding an M60 heavy machine gun,
ammo belt draped over her shoulder, and a grin on her face. 
Michael leapt out of the pillbox and smiled at her. "Better be careful," he said. "You're
turning into me." 
Mara dropped the machine gun and ammo with a clatter to the floor. "Well," she said, "I
guess there's two of us in the world now." 
Michael put his arms around Mara's waist, pulled her close, and kissed her. They held each
other until they remembered that the hostages were applauding them. 

Lawndale Police Outpost 
7:30 PM 
The last of the terrorists were being driven away in LAPD paddy wagons, and Daria was
sitting in a police medical unit, a blanket draped over her shoulders, Trent close to her, and
a cup of hot cocoa in her hand. She was still recovering from her near-death ordeal. 
The hostages were being taken to the station to issue statements, but were released early
after Mr. and Mrs. Jake Morgandorfer complained about illegal search and seizure. 
Michael and Mara were last reported to be heading towards the Caribbean for a
Christmas vacation. They came back married (unofficially, the ceremony was performed by
a local rabbi- they didn't want to wait forever until they could be together). 
By any other name, it was only a little more ordinary than usual that Christmas. 
A light snow began to fall. It built up and accumulated up until New Year's Day.