By the Dawn's Early Light

by Sandra Miller

Author's Notes:Thanks to my beta readers, GenX, Rose, Charlene, and Chris. Also thanks to Charity, Syl, Kerrie, Smitty, Ed Van Cise, and Sarah for technical assistance. Additional disclaimer in footnotes.

This story (even though he'll never see it) is dedicated to my father: LCDR Elton E. Dorsey, USN (retired), who joined the Navy to fight in WWII when he was 17, and my mother, who was seven months pregnant with me while my father was aboard ship during the Cuban missile crisis.

Written from 3/28/01 to 9/20/01

Chapter 1

O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming?
-- Francis Scott Key, 1814

He'd been in the middle of a simple robbery bust when Oracle's tense voice had called to him.

"Nightwing! The JLA needs the Titans' help immediately! Contact me as soon as you've got your team together." She broke contact before he could reply, but the urgency of her message overrode any sarcastic thoughts he might have had.

Once they had gathered at the Tower, Oracle broke the bad news: Aliens had swept in to the solar system and launched attacks on Shanghai in China, Calcutta in India, and Mexico City. The JLA had detected the incoming bombs, and had managed to save Shanghai and Calcutta, but ...

"Mexico City's gone," Oracle's electronically-disguised voice said starkly. "It appears to have been a kinetic strike, so there's no danger of nuclear fallout, but the entire city is now a crater."

Nightwing was the first to recover from the shock. "And the aliens?"

"When we backtracked the bombs, we detected a large number of ships near Mars that are headed our way. The League is preparing to go out to meet them; that's why we called you -- we need you to join with us."

The Titans needed no discussion to make this decision. Dick looked around the room at his friends and saw the same look of determination on each face.

"Count us in."

It was not the first space battle in which the Titans had fought, but it was probably the largest. The combined forces of the JLA, the Titans, and other assorted heroes were sufficient to turn back the aliens' armada. Barely. Afterwards, at the insistence of both Batman and Nightwing, the exhausted men and women gathered at the Watchtower for an after-action debriefing.

"All right. Where do we go from here?" Superman asked. While not as physically exhausted as the others, he was spiritually worn-out. He had done everything he could to avoid killing any of the attackers, but he had soon discovered that the aliens preferred suicide to capture.

"We have to assume that they will be back," Batman stated flatly. When heated disagreements broke out among the League at his statement, surprisingly, it was Aquaman who added his voice to Batman's.

"That was no raiding force. Once they have reported back to their people, they'll be back. But this time, they'll be ready for us. We need to be ready for them."

"I agree. That's why we need to get the military involved in this. We can't carry the load alone." At Nightwing's statement, and the Titans' obvious agreement, the League members (including Batman) just stared at the younger team in shock. Taking advantage of the quiet, Nightwing continued his argument. "While we were out there, I had Oracle send everything we knew about these aliens to Princess Koriand'r of Tamaran. Oracle, could you play back the reply she sent, please?"

On the JLA's main screen, the former Titan appeared and said gravely, "Nightwing, I am sending you all that my people know about the race that attacked you. First off, they call themselves the Ch'ton." The screen split, showing the princess on one side and an image of an upright, vaguely-insectoid-looking alien on the other. "We've never had much contact with them, but what little we had was rather unpleasant. They have a very rigid social system and consider any non-Ch'ton to be fit only as slaves or ... food. If they've decided to colonize your planet, they will only be dissuaded by force. I'm sorry; I wish I had better news for you. Attached to this message is a data-dump with all of the technical information we have. If you need anything else, please let me know. Take care."

Nightwing spoke into the continued silence, "I haven't had a chance to look through everything Kory sent, but what I saw convinced me we can't win by fighting a purely defensive war. I also know from what happened out there today that we don't have the personnel to maintain an effective defense of Earth and go on the offensive against these Ch'ton. If we gave the U.S. military access to some of the technologies available to us, they could be of tremendous help." Nightwing paused for a moment, and then continued in a lower tone, "And in the end, I think we owe it to them -- it's their planet as well."

Before anyone else could speak, Oracle said, "I think you should see something." President Pete Ross appeared on the main screen. In the background, they could see the vice-president and the speaker of the House at what was obviously a hastily-called combined session of the House and Sentate. Oracle's voice continued, "This occurred about forty-five minutes ago."

President Ross began his speech. "Mr. President, Mr. Speaker, members of Congress, distinguished guests, and my fellow Americans. Mere hours ago, our world was suddenly and deliberately attacked by forces from beyond our solar system. While the Justice League of America was able to thwart the attacks over Shanghai, China and Calcutta, India, the aliens utterly destroyed Mexico City. We, along with people of every nation, offer our prayers and condolences to the people of Mexico. Moreover, we join with them in their desire for justice on those who performed this reprehensible and villainous attack. We also understand that all of us must stand together in this time of global peril.

"While we remain grateful and appreciative of the efforts of heroes from both this nation and around the world who are even now engaging the enemy in deep space, we owe it to those who died, and those yet to be born, to help shoulder the burden. As Commander-in-Chief, I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense. Always will we remember the character of the onslaught against us. No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated attack, the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory. I believe I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost but will make very certain that this form of treachery shall never endanger us again.

"Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory, and our interests are in grave danger. With confidence in our armed forces -- with the unbounded determination of our people -- we will gain the inevitable triumph -- so help us God.

"I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack on a valued and friendly ally of this country, that a state of war now exists between the United States and these unknown forces." ¹

Oracle's voice returned. "They voted for war. I also have reports that the U.N. General Assembly is meeting to vote on the same thing -- I expect it to be pretty much a formality. The Earth is now at war."

The arguments and discussion continued, but in the end, everyone accepted Nightwing's proposal. Arranging the transfer of potentially dangerous technology set off another round of discord until the Titans' Cyborg spoke up.

"Let S.T.A.R. Labs handle it," he said in exasperation. "They're already familiar with a lot of this stuff anyway; let them work up the basic specs in conjunction with the military, and they can farm it out for bids from there."

The group agreed on this plan and chose Superman, Batman, Nightwing, and Cyborg to see President Ross to brief him on their plans. Superman decided to end the meeting on this note of congenial agreement.

Six weeks later, the aliens came back. This time, the heroes were able to defeat the aliens without any further loss of civilian life. By the third attack, the United States had begun building warships in space. When the fourth attack happened, seven months after the initial surprise attack, the League and the Titans were no longer fighting alone.

The Navy had won the inter-service shouldering match over who would control the new ships. According to rumor, the Chief of Naval Operations asked the Air Force Chief of Staff what title the Air Force proposed for the person in charge on the new spacecraft. The General supposedly said, "The Cap..." and then became quiet. The Navy then successfully campaigned to have the ships designed around the aircraft carrier model, arguing that it was similar to what the heroes were already doing, and it was a strategy its personnel was already familiar with. When it came to the new fighter craft though, the Joint Chiefs decided to throw the floor open to all the services. Any pilot from any branch of service could try out for the new positions.

Nightwing had worked closely with Cyborg to develop a fighter jet for space. Much of their design was based on the existing fighters used by the JLA and the Titans, but both men felt some modifications were needed for fighting the Ch'ton. During this process, Dick also worked closely with the military's test pilots who were being asked for their input. It took the fighter jocks awhile to accept him into their "club," but that changed once they saw the tapes of his and Cyborg's work in the third space battle.

The aliens' tactics were to use their small fighters to engage the heroes while the large ships tried to attack Earth itself. In response, the heroes used their fighters against the large ships, forcing the aliens to break off their attacks or else shoot their own ships. Superman and Green Lantern were responsible for making sure no one broke through to attack Earth. In the third battle, not only were Dick and Victor able to take out a large number of alien fighters, but they managed to take out one of the large ships as well.

As the war pervaded more and more of society, Dick started to wonder if he was really doing the most good as a crimefighter on Earth or even as one of the defenders in space. The JLA/Titans team was still needed as a defense of Earth, but on a much smaller scale now that the military was in a position to take the fight out of the solar system and towards the aliens' home planet. Just after the anniversary of the bombing of Mexico City, a solely military force engaged the aliens before they entered the solar system. Dick was not egotistical enough to think that his joining the military could win the war, but he began to think that he could do more good there. When he saw that the Navy was recruiting pilots, especially those with jet experience, he applied. Then he had to tell Bruce...

Bruce didn't shout at him. Or rail at him. Or try to persuade him not to do it. Bruce simply stood there and looked at him. Said, "I see." And then turned away. Said, "Well, good luck, then. I'm sure you'll do well." And that was it.

Dick did do well in flight school. He knew he could say that without boasting. For the first time since his parents were killed, Dick threw himself into performing his best as Dick Grayson. Or rather Richard Grayson. When he had joined the Navy, he decided to go by Richard to lessen the possibility that someone would connect him with his wealthy former guardian and try to keep him out of combat.

And he had made it. He had the wings and the ensign's rank to prove it. He had just received orders to ship out for the carrier Texas in four days' time. He had just one thing to do before he left, and that was why he was sitting in a car gathering his courage.

Taking a deep breath, he got out of the car, walked into the building, and rode the elevator up to his destination. Before he rang the doorbell, he quickly ran a comb through his hair and checked to see that his wing insignia and ensign's bar were straight. When the door opened though, he suddenly forgot his planned speech, his reasoned arguments, and fell back on an old, old dream.

Going down on one knee in his dress whites, he took a small box out of his pocket and offered it to the startled woman in front of him.

"Barbara Gordon, will you marry me?"

Chapter 2

Love letters straight from your heart,
Keep us so near while we're apart,
I'm not alone in the night,
When I can have all the love you write.
-- Victor Young and Edward Heyman, 1945

The late-afternoon sun shone throught the windows of Gotham's clocktower. The old-fashioned service flag² in one of the windows cast a shadow on the room's sole occupant. Barbara Grayson looked at the envelope in her hand, a rueful smile on her face. Dick had insisted the letters, like the heavy gold ring on her left hand, were traditional. He sent her emails fairly often, but once a month or so, he would send a letter instead. She had teased him about writing real pen-and-ink letters to Oracle, the uber-hacker, but he only responded that letters had more personality. And they were traditional.

Her smile became a smirk as she thought back to Dick's proposal two years ago. She had known he was coming by that evening; he was shipping out soon and wanted to see her before he left. She just hadn't expected to see him outside her door wearing dress whites. When he actually proposed, she just sat there in shock. It must have completely unnerved Dick, because he began babbling something about wills and inheritances and powers of attorney, until she had finally hushed him by pulling him into her arms and kissing him.

As Dick later explained, he had proposed for three reasons. The practical reason was that he had written his will so that she would inherit almost everything if he should be killed, and the whole process would be so much simpler if she were married to him. The emotional reason was that he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. The third reason was the one that made her cry: Dick's maternal grandfather had proposed to his grandmother just before leaving to fight in World War II. Dick had very little knowledge of his mother's family; she had practically gone into exile by marrying his father and joining the circus. This was one story she had told her young son many times.

Of course, Alfred was able to pull together a truly amazing ceremony in the short time he was given. Wally was Dick's best man, Dinah was her maid of honor, and almost all the other Titans managed to gather at Wayne Manor to celebrate with them. Even Bruce managed to unbend enough to converse with Dick and the others.

Jim Gordon had said he was not pleased at the speed with which the wedding occurred. Barbara rather suspected that he was not pleased that the wedding was occurring period. She knew he liked Dick, and he even approved of the idea of their getting married ... eventually. He just wasn't ready to lose his "little girl," and he was genuinely worried about her marrying someone who was going off to war. She thought she heard a few sniffles from his direction as he escorted her down the short aisle Alfred had arranged in one of the smaller ballrooms, but she wasn't sure. He smiled at her as he placed her hand in Dick's, but his voice was huskier than usual as he answered the minister's traditional question of "Who gives this woman?"

Dick had given her a simple diamond solitaire ring when he proposed, but when she asked about wedding bands, he had gotten that twinkle in his eye that said he was up to something. He wouldn't even let her see his ring, instead giving it to Dinah with strict instructions to keep it hidden. When it was time for them to exchange rings, he finally gave her the explanation.

"Sweetheart," he said, taking the ring from Wally, "this was my mother's wedding band. Before that, it was my father's mother's wedding band. Inside is engraved 'Sutho' which means 'Forever.'" He held it so she could see the engraving on the ring, before he slid the simple, heavy gold band on her finger. "It represents my past, and I give it to the woman who represents my future."

She still sighed when she thought of that moment. With one short sentence, he had humbled her, thrilled her, and made her fall in love with him all over again.

When Dinah handed her Dick's ring, she saw that his ring also had the same word engraved on the inside. She raised her eyebrows to him in question, and he nodded.

"My father's ring," he murmured before she began reciting her vows.

The crackling of paper brought her out of her reverie. She looked down at Dick's letter again. He was right -- she had come to cherish these simple pieces of paper and ink. Although Dick would usually go into more detail about his activities in his newsy emails, he used the letters for sharing his innermost thoughts and feelings. Before the war, she had never really faced how intertwined her life was with Dick's, and now that he was so far away, she felt as if a part of her were missing. The idea that she was touching paper that he had touched comforted her in a way she hadn't thought possible. She never admitted to him that she looked forward to his letters, but she always took the time to write him letters in reply.

She began reading Dick's letter, smiling at one of the pranks his wingman had pulled, and then crying as Dick wrote that one of the pilots had been killed the previous day. From the water marks on the paper, she could see that he had wept as well.

God, Babs, she was only 22 years old! We used to joke together because we were married on the same day -- we were going to try to get you and her husband to meet on our anniversary, so we could all celebrate together. And now she's gone. And the Skipper wants me to write the letter to her husband, because she was in my division. I don't know how I can do that, but I know I owe it to Jennie and to her husband.

Barbara knew he would do it and do it well. As anyone who knew him might have anticipated, Dick had become a leader among the pilots in his squadron. He had quickly jumped from ensign to lieutenant junior grade to full lieutenant. He was the leader of the first division on the Texas, and executive officer to the CAG³.

I'm so tired of this stalemate! I think I told you about the "space mines" we've been up against? That's what killed Bobcat (Jennie). We can't detect them, so we can't destroy them -- the only way we know they're there is when someone gets killed! I got an email from Roy last night though, and it got me thinking. Not the email itself (you know Roy J), but his note reminded me I have friends who might be able to figure this out.

Earth's forces had set up a defensive perimeter around the solar system that was gradually widening. They had already taken over several worlds that had previously been colonized by the Ch'ton. In each case, the Ch'ton remaining on the planet chose suicide rather than surrender. Using translation programs borrowed from the Tamaraneans, the Earth forces tried to explain that the Ch'ton would merely be taken prisoner, to no avail. The best explanation the scientists and behaviorists had come up with was that once the queen in command of that colony left, the rest of the colony had no reason to live.

As the Earth offensive got closer to the actual Ch'ton homeworld though, progress slowed to a crawl. Dick had written of a vast minefield that the Ch'ton ships were able to navigate, but the Earth ships could not. They had already lost an entire carrier, the Challenger, to the minefield, as well as dozens of fighters. Perhaps it was selfish of her, but Barbara remembered weeping in relief that it wasn't Dick or his ship which had died.

Could you contact Vic for me? Ask if he and Toni can come out here to study these things. I think, between the three of us, we could lick this!

Even though Dick and Barbara were fairly certain that their letters weren't being read by anyone else, they used caution when they referred to any aspect of their "other jobs." So, Vic was obviously Victor Stone, who was now working at S.T.A.R. Labs, but Toni? Babs had to think a minute before the connection hit her: Toni Monetti, or Argent, could manipulate plasma energy and perhaps create an effective shield for whatever Dick had in mind.

Oops! Jake just yelled that the supply ship is about to leave, so I need to hurry up and get this posted. Thanks for the goodies you and Alfred sent -- I'm always a very popular guy when your packages come. My favorite thing, though, was the new picture of you. Please thank Dinah for taking it. It's going straight to my cockpit to remind me why I'm out here fighting, and what I'm going home to. As promised, I'm enclosing a picture HD took of me so you won't forget what I look like.

Barbara looked in the envelope again, and sure enough, there was a small photograph she had overlooked in her haste to read Dick's letter. She quietly smiled as she looked at the handsome young man in the picture. Dick was in his flight suit, and it looked as if he was laughing at one of the other pilots. She knew he'd chosen such a cheerful picture on purpose, but it still comforted her to know that he could laugh in the midst of war. She put the picture aside to make copies for Alfred (i.e. Bruce) and Tim, and picked up the letter again.

Be careful, sweetheart. Don't let Bruce give you too hard a time. Tell everyone I said, "Hi!"

I love you.

Dick

Barbara gave a little sigh as she finished the letter. She put it back in its envelope and slipped it into the pocket of her jacket, where it would be handy for re-reading. Pulling up her phone directory, she selected an entry.

"S.T.A.R. Labs"

"This is Barbara Grayson. May I speak with Victor Stone, please?"

Chapter 3

Many are the hearts that are weary tonight,
Wishing for the war to cease;
Many are the hearts looking for the right
To see the dawn of peace.
-- Walter C. Kittredge, 1863

"I'm sorry folks, but it looks like there's going to be a delay," the tinny-sounding voice said through the loudspeaker. Victor Stone and Toni Monetti exchanged rueful glances. So far, their trip had been one delay after another. They were finally on the last leg -- the transport ship to the Texas -- so now what?

The tinny voice continued, "We've just received word that the Texas' carrier group is under attack. We're not in any danger currently, but the flight leader has asked us to hold our position until the sortie is over. We'll keep you posted."

Vic and Toni now looked at each other in alarm. Neither of them really liked the idea of being stuck on a mostly unarmed and unarmored transport while there was fighting nearby. Their instincts pushed them to help in the battle, while their minds realized there was nothing they could do. It was one thing to worry about Dick Grayson's being an active duty fighter pilot when they were back on Earth; it was another to realize he could be out there right now, fighting for his life perhaps, while they sat doing nothing.

After a tense hour's wait, the ship's captain announced over the loudspeaker that the attack was over, and the Texas fighters had beaten back the enemy fighters. They could now proceed with the remainder of their flight. Ninety minutes later, the transport docked with the Texas.

Vic looked around with interest as he stepped through the entrance hatch. He managed to catch himself just before he ran into the back of Petty Officer Truman, their guide from the supply ship.

The petty officer drew herself to attention and saluted the ensign waiting for them. "Permission to come aboard, sir?"

"Granted, petty officer," replied the ensign, returning her salute. He then turned to Vic and Toni with a welcoming smile. "Sir, ma'am, welcome aboard the Texas! I'm Ensign Metcalf, the Public Information Officer. The CAG has asked if you could meet him in his office, so if you'll follow me ..."

"What about our luggage?" Toni asked plaintively.

"And my equipment," added Vic.

"That's all being taken care of. Please, follow me," Metcalf said as he walked through another hatch and into a main corridor.

Several twists and turns and an elevator ride later, the two civilians were escorted into a small office where two men were waiting for them. Dick Grayson was a welcome sight, although it was rather disconcerting to see him in a flightsuit and ball cap. The other man who rose to greet them was older and dressed in khakis. He was a tall, lean man in his mid-to-late forties with sharp green eyes and dark brown hair that was going gray at the temples; he shook their hands as the PIO introduced them.

"Welcome aboard. I'm Captain Tremaine, the commander of the Texas' fighters. This is Lieutenant Grayson, my senior squadron leader. I've asked him to be your escort and liaison while you're on board. I want you to know that you have my complete support -- if you need anything at all, you just ask."

"Thank you, sir," Vic replied as they shook hands with Dick. Dick nodded in greeting, winking at Vic as he did so.

"No, thank you young man," the CAG responded. "These mines have been giving us fits, but Washington didn't seem to grasp the severity of our problem. I'm just glad someone's gotten off his six and decided to study the situation."

"You realize, sir, that we're not making any guarantees?" Toni interjected. "I mean, I can't say for sure that I can protect Vic's probe against whatever that mine is."

The CAG was quick to reassure them. "I understand, ma'am. At least you're out here though. That's a big step." He turned to Dick. "Grayson, I'll let you take over now. Except for the mission briefing at 0900 tomorrow, you are at their disposal."

Dick came to attention and then followed Vic and Toni out of the CAG's office. He obtained the locations of Vic's and Toni's quarters and dismissed the PIO. The three Titans acted quite normally until they were safely out of sight in the elevator, whereupon Toni flung herself at Dick in a bear hug while Vic grabbed Dick's raised hand in a much more enthusiastic handshake than the formal one they had exchanged earlier.

"Okay, you got us out here, and managed to get yourself put in charge of us, which I admit was a good trick. So now what?" Vic asked as the three sat in his quarters.

"Do you think my idea's doable?" Dick asked anxiously.

"It makes sense to me," Vic replied. "We know from the earlier fighting that Toni's shields can take anything the Bugs dish out. Once we can get some data on these things, we have a better shot at shuttin' them down."

"That was my thought, too. Why don't we grab my wingman and find out for sure?"

"You mean, right now?" Vic asked.

"No time like the present," Dick replied cheerfully.

"Uh ... okay. Didn't you just get back from flying a mission?"

"Yeah, but this should just be a milk run. You and Toni are going to be doing the real work."

Dick helped Vic gather his equipment. The probes that Vic had brought were surprisingly small for the job they were being asked to do. Each one was a small rocket, less than a yard long and only six inches or so in diameter.

"You're sure these are going to be powerful enough?"

"You just handle the driving, Dickie-boy; I'll take care of the hardware," Vic replied with a mock glare. "These babies are packed to the gills with every sensor device known to man or alien. They'll find your bogey."

"I hope so," Dick said grimly. "I've lost too many friends to those things."

Dick led them through the corridors to his quarters. As they walked, they became more aware of the changes that had occurred over the two years of separation. Vic was probably the least changed -- his face was becoming a little weathered-looking, with a couple of lines now showing on his forehead, but that was about it. Toni had matured into a truly beautiful young woman; she also seemed quieter and less frenetic than in the past.

Dick's changes were both more obvious and yet more subtle. Both Toni and Vic were still getting used to the sight of the wedding ring on his left hand. On a more serious note, he also looked thinner; his features, especially around his cheekbones and jaw appeared sharper. Although he had smiled and joked with them earlier, it seemed that his normal expression was much graver than they were used to. Vic had always been of the private opinion that anyone who grew up with Batman for a father and could still laugh had tremendous strength of character. Now, it looked as if the grinding responsibility of leading his squadron and seeing men and women he cared about die was wearing away even Dick's normally cheerful disposition. Knowing Dick, he probably also blamed himself for those deaths.

When they reached Dick's quarters, the tiny compartment made Toni and Vic realize how relatively spacious their quarters were -- especially because Dick shared it with his wingman who was currently reading in the top bunk. Dick whacked the wall with the flat of his hand, startling the other man so much he almost fell.

"Hey! What's the big idea, Rich? Who's gonna watch your six if you make me break my neck?!" Dick's wingman was tall and lanky with reddish-blond hair and blue eyes and a pronounced southern accent.

"We've got company, HD," Dick said, ignoring the complaint. "Victor Stone, Toni Monetti, meet Lieutenant JG Harrison Delacroix, also known as HD or Hound Dog, take your pick."

"'Hound Dog?'" Toni asked with a smile.

HD blushed under the pretty young woman's gaze and tried to stammer a reply. Dick took pity on him and came to his rescue.

"HD has a favorite saying that struck his fellow pilots as amusing." Dick pointed to HD and waited.

"Uh ... That dog won't hunt," HD said on cue, blushing even darker.

"They combined that, his being from Memphis, and his initials, and came up with 'Hound Dog' as his callsign." Dick shrugged.

"So what's your callsign, D..Richard?" Vic asked, remembering Dick's name change at the last minute.

Picking up some papers which were lying scattered about, Dick tried to ignore the question, which also brought HD out of his trance.

"His callsign's 'Knight,'" HD replied helpfully.

"'Night?'" Toni asked wonderingly.

"'Knight.' With a 'K,'" Dick said in resignation.

"How did that happen?" Mindful of the wingman's presence, Vic managed to keep his tone fairly normal, but his eyebrows spoke volumes.

Now it was Dick's turn to blush. "When I was in flight school, I had a run-in with one of my instructors. He assigned me some scutwork as punishment. I wasn't a happy camper, so I was cussing the guy out, but I was doing it in Romany so no one would know."

"Romany?" Vic asked for the benefit of their audience.

"The language of the gypsies -- my dad was a gypsy."

"So what does that have to do with your callsign?"

"Well, some Air Force pilot geeks were walking by, and they asked me what language I was speaking."

"I didn't think you were supposed to talk about your fellow pilots that way," Vic said smilingly.

"Their geekiness is essential to the story. Where was I? Oh yeah, I told them it was the language of the gypsies. They asked if I was a gypsy, and I said, 'Yeah, I'm Rom.'" Dick then closed his eyes in pained remembrance. "One of the Air Force guys then giggled and said, 'Oh, you mean like Rom, Spaceknight⁴?'"

Toni started giggling. Vic struggled, but managed to restrain his laughter.

"At first, I didn't know what they were talking about, but then the geeks started telling me all about this comic book about some alien robot-guy who comes to Earth. The rest of my squadron picked up on the name, but eventually shortened it to 'Knight.' Anyway," he turned back to glare at HD, "we're ready to give this idea of Vic's a shot. Grab your gear, and let's go."

"What kind of ships are we going to be using?" Vic finally thought to ask as they entered the flight deck.

"I figured we'd use a couple of Tweedles," Dick replied absently as he looked for his plane captain. He had already made arrangements for the ships to be ready, but Sam wanted to look them over personally.

"Tweedles?" Vic questioned.

"Oh, sorry. You know, ... Deuces."

Vic's eyebrows lowered, and he said threateningly, "Do you mean to tell me that Deuces, ... my Deuces, ... have been nicknamed Tweedles?!?"

"Your Deuces, sir?" HD asked.

"I designed those birds, Lieutenant Delacroix! They're good machines -- they don't deserve to be labeled something as ... as disrespectful as 'Tweedle!'" By this time, Vic was almost shouting.

"It's not disrespectful, Vic," Dick answered soothingly. "I'm afraid it's just that you did your job a little too well." At Vic's look of confusion, he continued, "Look, the Navy asked you to design a two-man all-purpose craft, right? It's got good speed, good armor, good weapons, and even some cargo space. But you see, when the birds went into use, all the co-pilots complained of feeling superfluous -- the ship barely needed one pilot, let alone two. That's where the nickname came from -- one of the guys said he felt like they were Tweedledum and Tweedledee in the cockpit."

Vic stared at Dick measuringly. Finally, he nodded his head. "All right. I guess I can live with that. But could you at least try to call them Deuces while I'm here?" he asked almost plaintively.

Dick and HD exchanged glances. Dick answered, "I guess we can try."

Further discussion was prevented by the appearance of Petty Officer Klaus "Sam" Hauptmann, Dick's plane captain.

"Lieutenant, your Tweedles are all ready to go!"

Vic sighed.

Chapter 4

Praise the Lord, we're on a mighty mission.
All aboard, boys, we ain't a-goin' fishin'!
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition,
And we'll all stay free!
-- Frank Loesser, 1942

When the Navy asked the engineers to design a carrier-type of spaceship, one of their more perplexing problems was how to launch numerous small craft into space. In order to launch or land a ship, they had to figure out a way to transition from the pressurized atmosphere of the carrier into the airless vacuum of space and then back again. It had already been decided that the combined hanger/flight deck would run along the entire "bottom" length of the ship. One suggestion was to depressurize the entire flight deck before launch. That was still the backup plan in case of an emergency scramble, but the final solution was to build large airlocks on either end of the ship.

Toni and HD had been talking steadily since they left the ready room. While HD couldn't talk as fast as Toni (who could still rival any of the speedsters with her mouth), the things he did say made her laugh so much she stopped talking. The two of them continued to walk together toward HD's Deuce, but Dick called them back.

"Uh, Toni? I think you'd better ride with me. HD gets distracted easily enough as it is -- I don't need to add a pretty woman to the mix," he said, mostly in jest.

HD accepted the change without comment. When Toni looked at Dick in protest, he gave her a stern glance that reminded her HD wasn't the only one who needed to be free of distractions. She sighed and followed Dick to their Deuce which sat next to HD's on the flight deck. Once the pilots and passengers were in place, the flight crew maneuvered the ships into position in the airlock.

There were several sets of airlocks at each end of the ship. One set handled the launches from the bow of the ship; another set was put into the stern to handle landings. Fighters were usually launched in pairs -- they would be positioned on the launch pad (the old carrier hands still called it the 'catapult'); the hatch would close on the flight deck; the atmosphere would be removed from the airlock; and the outer hatch in the hull would open. Likewise, on landings, the outer hatch would be opened; the incoming ships would enter; the hatch would close; and atmosphere would be pumped into the airlock. When the lock's air pressure had been equalized with the flight deck's, the inner hatch would open.

Takeoffs and landings were staggered so one airlock could be launching or landing while another was cycling air in or out. The Texas could get a division of twelve fighters into space in under two minutes -- the entire squadron could mobilize in less than fifteen minutes.

While they were moving their birds into launch position and waiting for the outer hatch to open, Dick went over final instructions. "I want to maintain comm silence as much as possible. I don't think we're likely to run into an enemy patrol, but I don't want to take any chances. Keep an eye on your scope, Hound Dog -- we're heading back to where Jennie bought it, and I don't want the same thing happening to either of us."

"Roger that," HD replied rather fervently.

The outer hatch opened, revealing the sparkling black velvet of space outside. After receiving clearance, the two Deuces took off . With the smooth coordination of hundreds of hours flying together, the two pilots banked away from the carrier and took up their normal patrol positions -- Dick in the lead, HD slightly below and to Dick's right. When they reached their destination, several hundred feet away from point at which their fellow pilot's fighter had exploded, the two ships stopped.

Dick broke the comm silence. "All right, Vic -- here we are. Go ahead and launch one of your probes. Toni, be ready to get your shielding in place around it."

Toni thought it was typical that even on a mission supposedly being led by Victor, Dick still took charge. She saw the other ship's airlock open, and one of Vic's small probes emerge. Time to get to work. Using her powers in space was a little different from using them back on Earth: she had more raw material, i.e. plasma, to work with, but by the same token, control became more difficult as well. Very gently, she wrapped a thin shield around the missile-shaped object. She had to make the shield strong enough so that it could resist whatever the mine did, but thin enough for Vic to communicate with the probe and for it to do its job.

Now came the tricky part. When Dick had first proposed this idea, they all knew the biggest problem was going to be for Toni to maintain a shield on the object after it left her line of sight. She and Vic had experimented at the JLA satellite for several frustrating days until they hit upon a solution. While the probe was still in her sight, Toni transferred her focus to the graphical representation of the probe on the JLA's tactical monitor. It required intense concentration (she told Vic it was like trying to write while looking in a mirror), but she was able to maintain the shield no matter where the probe went.

Once Toni felt comfortable with her shield, Dick signaled Victor to send the probe to the exact position where Jennie's fighter had exploded. When it got there, Toni's head jerked in surprise.

"Hey!"

"What's wrong?" Dick asked.

"It felt like someone shoved me!"

"That must be what got your friend," Vic said. "Do you still have the shield, Toni?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It was just weird."

"I'm piggy-backing our sensors onto the probe's," Vic said, "and ... I think I've found our mine!"

"Really?" Dick asked.

"At least, I've found something artificial. Let's just go see what that is."

The two ships sat quietly in space for several more minutes. Vic was concentrating on piloting the distant probe, and Toni on maintaining her shield without squishing the probe. Toni suddenly felt something that made the earlier push seem like a love tap. She would have fallen from her seat had she not been strapped in.

"Whoa! That was no shove!"

Dick asked in concern, "You okay, Toni?"

"Felt like someone just kicked me in the chest!" she replied, rubbing her lower ribs. "I'm okay, though."

"Got it!" Vic called out. "That thing's our mine, all right! I'm not sure what it did, but I detected something when Toni felt that last blow."

"Great, Vic!" Dick replied. "How much longer do you need to study it?"

"I'm going to maneuver the probe as close as I can, just in case it has any more surprises. Not too much longer, though."

Vic was as good as his word. When he began to bring the probe back, though, Dick had a request.

"Toni, if you were to drop the shield on the probe, would you be able to put it back up again?"

"You mean, assuming it didn't explode?" she asked in amusement. Then her expression turned thoughtful. "I don't know. I think so. It's all kind of a mental exercise anyway."

"Okay. Vic? I've got a hunch that this mine's effects aren't continuous."

"You're thinking of those two shoves Toni felt?"

"Yeah. It would make sense. You wouldn't need a solid sphere of coverage, just layers. If an enemy somehow survived the first layer, you try it again with the second."

"And in between, everything's normal," Vic said, thoughtfully. "Yeah, that might just work. So we have Toni pull the shield off until the probe gets to the point at which she got 'kicked' earlier, and then put the shield back on. Okay, let's do it."

"All right. Toni, drop the shield."

She did so, and the team waited.

"I think it's gonna work!" Vic said exultantly. "I'm still gettin' readings from the probe!"

Vic steered the probe until he was almost at the point of the "inner layer," as he thought of it.

"Okay, Toni. I'll hold the probe stationary while you put the shield back on."

Toni frowned in concentration at the scope in front of her. They had never practiced this before, but she didn't want to let the others down. Finally, she felt a sort of mental "click" that told her it was in place.

"I've got it back up. Do you still have a probe?"

"Everything's green from here. I'm bringing it home."

Toni was "kicked" again as the probed passed through the layer, so Dick decided not to ask her to drop and resume the shield any more. Soon, the probe was back aboard the Deuce with Vic, and the two ships flew back to the Texas.

Once their ships had landed, Toni unbelted her shoulder and lap restraints. When she tried to climb out of the cockpit though, she discovered just how wobbly her legs were. It took the help of Vic on the outside and Dick on the inside before she was finally able to get out of the Deuce.

"We need to get you to the infirmary, Toni," Dick insisted, as he had done the entire time he was helping her out of the small craft.

"I'm okay, Richard!" she exclaimed. "I just overdid it a little out there. I'm sure I'll be perfectly fine once I get some rest."

"Oh, all right," Dick gave in. "Umm, HD? Do you think you could 'escort' Toni back to her quarters?"

HD grinned at Toni. "I'd be honored to. Ma'am, if you'd allow me ..." He stood in front of her as she leaned against the Deuce's landing gear and formally offered her his arm. Toni shot an amused glare in Dick's direction as she grabbed on to HD's arm and tried to stand up straight. When her legs started to buckle, HD swiftly caught her and lifted her up to carry in his arms.

"It's a shame you're not wearing dress whites," Toni said flirtatiously. HD blushed.

"Behave, you two!" Dick admonished. He watched his wingman carry his former teammate off the flight deck and shook his head. "Okay, Vic. Let's get to the machine shop and see what this bird of yours has to say."

Once they had changed out of their flight gear, Dick helped Vic set up his equipment on a spare worktable in the machine shop. Soon, they had the probe hooked up to a computer to disgorge its contents.

About an hour later, Dick was studying the initial sensor readings when a tech came over to them.

"Lieutenant Grayson?"

"Yes?"

"Call for you sir. You can take it over there," he said, pointing to the nearby phone.

"Thank you." Dick walked over and picked up the phone. "Grayson."

Dick didn't say much after that, but from the expression on his face, Vic could tell whatever he was hearing wasn't good news. Dick hung up the phone with the deliberate care of someone who really wanted to rip it out of the wall. He then turned to Vic, an apologetic expression on his face.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to abandon you for a bit. Some ... business has come up that I need to attend to."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Nah. Thanks, though. Seems two of my pilots were fighting each other over a girl, and now I have to go sort it out. Hopefully before the CAG gets official wind of it."

"Aack."

"Especially since the girl they're fighting over is also one of my pilots," Dick sighed. "Look, this is going to take an hour or two to straighten out. If you need anything, just collar one of the techs or have them page me."

Vic nodded, and Dick walked out of the machine shop muttering vile-sounding Romany imprecations under his breath. Vic smiled to himself and went back to work analyzing the probe's information.

Chapter 5

Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me
Anyone else but me, anyone else but me
No! No! No!
Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me
Till I come marchin' home
-- Lew Brown, Charles Tobias, and Sam H. Stept, 1942

When Dick walked up to the squadron's ready room, he found HD waiting for him as he had requested.

"I told 'em to wait for you in there," HD said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "They've been pretty quiet since we got 'em separated."

"Does the CAG know about this yet?"

"Nope. That's one reason I hustled them out of the gym. I don't think any of the other guys who were there will say anything."

"I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Dick sighed. "Okay, now I need you to fetch Lt. Young."

"Figgered you'd want to see her, too, so I had Murph track her down. She should be here shortly."

Dick clapped HD on the shoulder. "Thanks, man! When she gets here, knock, and don't let her in until I say so."

HD nodded. Dick opened the door to the ready room, walked through, and then closed it behind him. His expression was severe enough that the two waiting pilots snapped to attention even though Dick was barely senior to them and wasn't normally one to insist on the formalities. He stalked toward them, unconsciously using the tricks he had developed as Nightwing to seem even more threatening.

"Let me see if I understand things properly," he stated coldly. "Lt. Cardones, you discovered that your girlfriend, Lt. Young, has been screwing Lt. Webster."

Lieutenant JG Rafael Cardones, a 23-year-old rangy Hispanic, flinched at Dick's harsh tone.

"Lt. Webster, you discovered that Lt. Young never broke things off with Lt. Cardones and was still screwing him."

Lieutenant Samuel Houston Webster was 29 years old, of medium height, with brown hair and hazel eyes. He didn't quite flinch, but his eyes flickered briefly over to Cardones and then back to a point somewhere over Dick's left shoulder.

"Now for some unfathomable reason, the two of you got mad enough to start throwing punches at each other over this." He paused and looked at each man. Neither would meet his eyes. He continued, asking sardonically, "Does that about sum things up?"

"Yes, sir," said Cardones.

"Yessir," echoed Webster.

"I'm glad we're all in agreement. Now perhaps one of you can tell me why I had to be pulled away from an important assignment because two of my pilots were fighting each other over a girl who obviously doesn't care very much for either one of you."

Dick mentally snickered over the nearly identical expressions of protest that appeared on each pilot's face. Before he could continue his lecture, though, he heard a knock on the ready room door.

"All right, we'll continue this in a minute. I want you two to conceal yourselves behind those lockers." When they didn't move, he frowned at them. "I'm not in the mood to repeat myself, gentlemen. Move it!"

Once they were safely out of sight, he yelled, "Come in!"

Lt. JG Paula Young walked in and closed the door; for once, Dick didn't insist that she open it again. She sauntered up to Dick and stood at attention just a little closer to him than was proper.

"You wanted to see me, Richard?" she said in what she must have imagined was a sexy voice.

Lt. Young was an attractive woman -- tall and willowy with almost natural curves to go with her almost natural blonde hair. She was almost as attractive as she thought she was. She had also been trying to get into Lt. Grayson's bed from the first time she saw him. She didn't care that he was married; she didn't care that he didn't seem to be interested. Other people just weren't real to her, somehow. She was a darn good pilot, though, so Dick just made sure to avoid compromising situations, and he kept an eye on her relationships with the other pilots.

"Yes, I did, Lieutenant," he replied formally. He stepped away from her to lean a hip against one of the tables in the room. "In case you haven't heard yet, Zorro and Bowie just got into a fist fight."

"Really, sir? How ... impulsive of them."

"Yes. The witnesses said they were fighting over you."

"I can't imagine why they would do that, sir."

"Neither can I, Lieutenant." He knew it was petty, but he rather enjoyed seeing her face flush at his mocking tone. "Nevertheless, I think we both know why they were fighting."

Young said nothing.

"Perhaps I should refresh your memory, Lieutenant. Two weeks ago, you and I had an interesting conversation. Do you remember?"

"Yes, sir," she said reluctantly.

"And do you remember what I told you?"

She just stared straight ahead.

"Maybe this will sound familiar: I told you to resolve your relationships with Zorro and Bowie, one way or another; otherwise, if anything happened that might cause a problem within the division, you were history. Now do you remember?"

Young still said nothing.

"I didn't hear you, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," she said sullenly.

"Good, I'm glad we understand each other. I'll be sure to let you know later this evening what your new assignment will be."

"No way!" she said, angrily.

"I'm afraid I must not have heard you correctly, Lieutenant."

"I won't go!"

"You don't have a choice."

Young became enraged. Her anger made her reckless. "It would be a shame if you were accused of attempted rape, wouldn't it, Lieutenant," she snarled. She was disconcerted to see that her threat had no effect. Instead of giving in, or even gettng angry, her intended victim started laughing!

"You have got to be kidding me!"

"I'm not joking! It'll be just your word against mine! I belong in this division -- you have no right to make me leave!"

Dick stopped laughing and turned serious again. "There is no place in my division for a pilot who completely disregards the effect her actions have on the pilots around her. There is no place in my division for a pilot who deceives her fellow pilots, and there is certainly no place for a pilot who tries to use extortion to get what she wants."

His tone became mocking again. "I also don't want pilots who pay no attention to their surroundings. Didn't it occur to you to wonder why I didn't ask you to keep the hatch open as I usually do? You know it's supposed to be open if a man and a woman are in a room alone. Of course, alone is the operative word." He turned his head to call to the men in hiding, "Cardones, Webster -- front and center."

When the two pilots came out from behind the lockers, all of the color drained from Young's face, and she had a stricken, almost embarrassed expression as she faced her lovers. For their parts, Cardones had a stony, closed look on his face, while Webster was clearly angry.

Dick continued his talk, "Lieutenant Young, I think we can all agree that you don't want to be in my division anymore." He paused and his voice took on a grimmer cast, "I won't bring charges against you, but I can assure you that your future flight leader will be informed about your little extortion attempt here. And you can also be assured that I will be very interested in any future sexual harassment or rape charges you ever bring against anyone else." He let that sink in for a few moments. "As I said earlier, I will let you know later this evening what your new assignment will be. In fact, I think it would be best if you waited in your quarters."

When she still made no move to leave the room, he said pointedly, "Dismissed, Lieutenant."

She jerked to attention and walked rather dazedly out of the room. Once the door was closed again, Dick turned back to the other pilots.

"Now, gentlemen. Where were we? Oh yes, we were discussing why either of you felt it necessary to fight over someone like that."

"H..how did you know -- I mean about the both of us and that she'd actually try blackmail to stay?" Webster asked, still in shock over the revelations he had heard today.

"Bowie, she's been trying to ambush me since she joined the division, so I certainly didn't believe that she'd found 'true love' with either one of you. Under the circumstances, it wasn't hard to figure out that she had neglected the little niceties like informing Zorro that his ... services were no longer required. When I confronted her about it, she basically said that she was holding Zorro in reserve in case things didn't work out with you." Dick gave the unfortunate Cardones a small smile of sympathy. "I wanted the two of you here when I confronted her so that you would hear just what kind of person she is, and you would be my witnesses in case she tried anything."

"She didn't fool you for a minute, did she, Lieutenant?" asked the chagrinned Cardones.

"No, she didn't. And if either of you had been thinking with your brains instead of what's between your legs, she wouldn't have fooled you either!" Dick's expression became stern again. "Now back to the matter of the fight. While I'm not going to kick either of you out like I did Young, I also can't leave this situation unresolved. The two of you are wingmen, for Pete's sake! You have to be able to count on each other ... to trust each other."

Dick held their gazes with his own as he spoke, "I want the two of you to talk things over tonight. If you honestly think you can no longer fly together, I'll flip a coin and assign one of you somewhere else. I really don't want to do that, though -- you're good pilots, and I'd hate to lose either of you. I believe the two of you can work this out, especially now that you know what Young is really like."

Dick let them stare at each other for a few moments while he walked over to the handset on the wall. He then asked to be connected to Lt. Commander Theisman in Environmental Systems and smiled as he saw identical expressions of dread on the two men in front of him.

"Commander Theisman? This is Lt. Grayson, Division One. ... Yessir. ... The CAG showed me your recent memo about needing volunteers for scrubbing. Is that still the case? ... Yes sir, I have two volunteers who would be more than willing to help you out: Lt. JG Cardones and Lt. Webster. ... Well sir, I'm afraid they can only spare, say, two hours a day for the next four days. ... Yes sir, they'll be right down. ... No, thank you, sir."

"Filter scrubbing, Lieutenant?" Webster confirmed plaintively. Most routine maintenance work on the Texas was carried out by machines, but humans were still needed for some tasks. Cleaning out the tanks and filters used by the environmental system to recycle the water used aboard the ship was one of those things. A prevailing theory held that the Navy refused to mechanize these tasks in order to have them available to assign as punishment detail.

"It's gotta be done, Bowie, you know that," Dick replied cheerfully. "Just think of it as one of those bonding exercises -- you know, working together through adversity, etc. Although, if you'd prefer, I could turn this whole matter over to the CAG ..." He smiled again as identical expressions of fear swept over the two men. "I didn't think so. Now, I told Commander Theisman you'd be right down, so you better get going." As the two men started to leave, Dick remembered one more thing, "Oh, I would recommend that you take a change of clothes with you so you can shower down there. Believe me, you don't want to bring that smell into your quarters."

They turned to him with pitiful looks on their faces, but he just smiled and shooed them out the door.

By the time Dick took care of all of the details arising from the fist fight, it was practically time for dinner, so he told Vic to meet him at the officers' mess. Toni had recovered as well, so the three of them found a table in the back of the room where they could converse fairly privately. Dick sat down with a heavy sigh and stared at his food dispiritedly.

"Rough duty?" Vic asked sympathetically. He had filled Toni in on Dick's problems on their way to meet him.

Dick shrugged and began poking at his food with his fork. "I guess it wasn't all that bad. I mean, I'd been expecting trouble for a couple of weeks -- I'd already made arrangements with Jake Mallory over in Division Two to trade pilots. He has an ensign who's a good pilot but lazy; he felt by moving her to One, she'd be pushed into being a better pilot. I wasn't all that fond of the idea, but it made a good excuse for a trade without having to mention the fight."

"So why the long face?" asked Toni.

"I just ... feel I should've handled it better. Maybe there was some way I could have resolved it without the fight or the transfer. I think I finally convinced Young that I wasn't transferring her just because she was a woman." He snorted in bleak laughter. "I told her that I didn't really care that she was screwing two guys. If she had turned it into a ménage à trois, I would've raised my eyebrows a bit but figured it was none of my business. It became my business when she started playing them off against each other."

He shook his head in resignation and began to do more than poke at his food. "Well, enough about my personnel problems! Have you made any progress with the probe?"

A hint of a smile lurked about Vic's face as he said, "I guess you could call it that. I think I've developed the key that will let any ship get past that blockade." The smile became a full-fledged laugh at the identical dumbfounded expressions on Dick's and Toni's faces.

Chapter 6

Lord, guard and guide the men who fly
Through the great spaces in the sky.
Be with them always in the air,
In darkening storms or sunlight fair;
Oh, hear us when we lift our prayer,
For those in peril in the air!
-- Mary C. D. Hamilton, 1915

One of Vic's projects at S.T.A.R. Labs was studying the one Ch'ton ship that had been captured intact. During the testing, the technicians had noticed that the ship had vibrated slightly whenever they would communicate using cell phones. That led to several tests in which they projected high-frequency tones at the ship. At one particular frequency, the bow of the ship began noticeably vibrating; what was even more odd was that the vibrations continued at the same rate for more than a minute after the test was over. They had never been able to figure out a reason for the vibration. Until now.

The data from the probe revealed to Vic that in addition to the destructive "layers" of the mine, there were also layers of super-high-frequency sound. The frequency tugged at his memory until he recalled the earlier S.T.A.R. Lab tests. He checked his notes, and the frequencies matched! He was then able to construct a transponder that mimicked the Ch'ton ship's behavior. They had put the transponder in the tip of one of Vic's largest probes, and the probe was able to penetrate all the way to the mine without any shielding by Toni.

Then, Dick made his proposal.

"You've got to be crazy, Dick!" Vic yelled.

"Why?" Dick had asked in surprise. "The test probe with your new transponder worked just fine. Why shouldn't the next step be to put it in an actual ship?"

"Dick, just because it worked on a small probe, doesn't necessarily mean it will work on a larger ship!"

"That was a pretty big probe, and my Barracuda's a pretty small ship," Dick answered calmly.

"We still don't know for sure how large of an area needs to be covered by the transponder!"

"Look, the Ch'ton ship only vibrated the bow, right?"

Vic nodded.

"That means that we don't have to make the whole ship vibrate to make this work. In fact, you set the transponder on the probe to vibrate the same percentage of the hull that the Ch'ton ship's did, right? So just do the same with my fighter."

"Dick, why can't you just wait while we build a bigger probe?"

"Because eventually, you're going to have to test this with someone on board. Now, I've seen the specs, and I trust your work. Let me ask you something: Would you be this opposed if I wasn't a friend of yours?"

Vic opened his mouth to deny Dick's suggestion and then stopped. Dick could see that he was forcing himself to consider the probe's data and the test results objectively. Reluctantly, Vic shook his head.

"Maybe you're right; it's hard to say. I would just feel better if we could try it with a Barracuda-sized probe first."

"But then what would we do about the carriers? We can't really build a carrier-sized probe," Dick replied, smiling. "At some point, we have to take a chance. I think this is that point."

"Do you think your Captain Tremaine would agree?" Vic asked teasingly.

"The CAG's a busy man, Vic. Let's not bother him with petty details like this," Dick responded in the same fashion. For a moment, it was as if they were no longer in the Texas' machine shop, but back in the Titans Tower on Earth. In their memories, Dick wasn't wearing a flight suit, but the vivid yellow, red, and green of his Robin costume, and Vic was again a half-man, half-machine Cyborg.

Dick said quietlly, "Vic, we've been friends a long time. In all that time, you have never let me down, and I know you won't now. I trust you."

Dick sat in his Barracuda in the launch airlock going over his final preflight checklist. Toni had looked inside the cockpit and pronounced it more crowded than her makeup bag; however, with more than two years' experience flying the Navy's premiere fighter, he accepted the confining space without a second thought. The small, lethal ship had become a part of him, and its complexities were as familiar to him as his Nightwing gear. The fittings were ruthlessly compact and utilitarian, with one small exception: a small photo mounted just below eye level on one of the canopy's support braces. He looked at the photo and smiled.

When he had asked Babs to send him a picture to keep in his cockpit, he expected her to send him a simple portrait shot, or maybe one from their wedding. What Barbara had done was to have Dinah take a picture of a beach (Aruba, if he wasn't mistaken), and then a picture of Barbara on a neutral background. After some photo manipulation, what he got was a glamorous shot of his wife on a beach in a tiny swimsuit, lying on her right side, her head resting on her right hand staring sexily into the camera.

With a shake of his head, he got back to work. The sooner he launched, the sooner he could test Vic's "key." Dick saw the outer airlock door open and looked over at the Deuce sitting next to him on the launch pad. He could see HD and Vic in the drivers' seats up front, and he knew Toni was in the back somewhere.

They had originally planned to leave her behind since Dick had refused to risk anyone else during this test, but after much discussion (i.e. whining and pleading by Toni) they agreed to take her if she could fit herself into the Deuce's small cargo compartment. She made a valid point that her powers would allow the Deuce to follow Dick's Barracuda, but Dick and Victor both knew her main reason was that she would go crazy waiting for word of what happened.

He gave a "thumbs-up" to HD, who returned it, as did Vic. This time no words were needed as the Barracuda and the Deuce took off from the Texas and again flew in tandem to the Ch'ton mine. When they arrived, Dick broke comm silence to give Vic and HD his final instructions.

"All right. Toni, go ahead and put up your shield around the Deuce. I'm going in. And Vic ..."

"Yeah, Dick?"

"Tell Babs I love her."

"Tell her yourself, man. I'm not goin' anywhere near that woman when she finds out what a stupid stunt you're pullin' here!"

"Vic ..."

Vic finally replied softly, "You got it, Dick. I'll tell her."

"Thanks, man. I'll see you in a bit."

Accompanied by the shielded Deuce, Dick's Barracuda approached the mine field.

Barbara Grayson was so deep in thought as she traced a convoluted path through the Penguin's latest money-laundering scheme that she actually jumped when the phone rang. Wondering who could be calling on her "civilian" line at 2:30 in the morning, she activated her headset and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Grayson?" asked an impersonal-sounding female voice.

"Yes?"

"You have a call from the Heinlein space station. Please stand by."

The voice cut off abruptly, and Barbara was left to sit and wonder who could be calling her from the Navy's main orbital station. The only possibilities she could think of were not good ones, so she was shocked to hear a cheerful voice replace the tinny Muzak.

"Heya, gorgeous!"

"Dick!?!?"

"Yep, it's me!"

"Oh my God! How... what..." she sputtered, unable to complete a question.

"I've been asked to report to the Pentagon on Monday at 0900. Which means, if I've got my time zones figured right, we can have almost a whole weekend together."

"Umm, yeah, it's 2:30 Saturday morning," Babs replied absently, still trying to accept that her husband whom she had thought was light-years away was now practically next door. "But you're okay, right? There's nothing wrong?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart. Apparently they just have some questions about Vic's and my report and wanted to ask them in person."

Oh. That report. She understood that Dick wouldn't discuss military secrets over an open channel. "Are you in trouble?" Dick had written her that the CAG had not been happy that his Division 1 flight leader had decided to play test pilot.

"The CAG didn't seem to think so. He did warn me to bring all my gear with me, but that's as much precaution as anything else."

Barbara concentrated on Dick's voice and realized that he honestly didn't sound worried. Maybe everything would be all right. "So when can I see you?" she asked eagerly.

"Well, I should be arriving at Norfolk on the shuttle around 1100 local time, if you want to meet me there. Otherwise, I can grab a flight into Gotham."

"Oh, I think I can meet you at Norfolk," she grinned. "Just me, or is it okay if I bring the rest of the 'family' along?"

"Well, ... sure -- as long as I can get you to myself at least some time this weekend," he replied, and she could almost see the leer directed her way.

"Count on it, sailor!"

After getting the details of his shuttle flight, she finally had to hang up when the operator broke in to warn them that their time was up. Barbara sat back in her chair with a sigh, a contented little smile on her face. In a little less than nine hours, she would get to see her husband ... get to kiss her husband ... get to ... Okay, don't go there, she chastised herself briefly. She didn't have time to daydream; she had to get moving!

Knowing he would still be up, Barbara placed a call to the Batcave. "Alfred?"

The old gentleman's image came up on her screen. "Yes, Miss Barbara?"

"I've got some great news! Dick's going to be landing at Norfolk at 11:00 this morning!"

"That's wonderful! I shall tell Master Bruce immediately!"

"I'm planning on going out there to meet him. You want to tag along?"

"I would love to, Miss Barbara, but wouldn't you prefer to be ... alone with him?" he asked delicately.

"Oh, we'll definitely have some time alone! I just thought you ... and Bruce ... would like to see him before I carry him off to have my way with him," she replied with a chuckle.

"Oh, certainly, Miss Barbara!" Alfred chuckled in return. "I shall inform the master right away. Would you like me to make the arrangements?"

"If you'll arrange for the flight down to Washington, I'll arrange the rental car to Norfolk."

Alfred looked surprised. "Madam?"

"I want to keep things as low-key as possible, Alfred. It won't arouse too much notice for Bruce Wayne to fly to DC, and a rental car under my name should lessen the chances of anyone ... bothering us when we meet Dick."

"I see. Yes, that makes sense, Miss Barbara. I will call you back when I have all the details."

"Thanks, Alfred."

Seven-and-a-half hours later, Barbara, Bruce, and Alfred were entering Naval Station Norfolk. She made Bruce and Alfred wait in the van while she filled out the paperwork that would let her on base with a temporary pass. The (very) young petty officer seemed rather flustered -- by her or her wheelchair, she wasn't sure which -- but he checked her ID thoroughly and then handed her the permit with a smile.

"Welcome to Norfolk, Mrs. Grayson. I hope you enjoy your stay here."

"I will as soon as I see my husband, Petty Officer! Thanks for your help."

Once the permit was in place, they were on their way again, and soon they were in the shuttle terminal. After a seemingly interminable wait, Barbara caught a glimpse of a familiar figure walking down the ramp wearing khakis and carrying a seabag slung over his shoulder. She maneuvered her chair so that Dick could see her; when he did, his face lit up, and he started jogging toward her. As soon as he reached her, he dropped the seabag to the ground and picked her up out of her wheelchair. She vaguely noticed that he was holding her so tightly she couldn't breathe, but all she cared about was that her husband was holding her and kissing her.

He was home.

Chapter 7

He's home for a little while,
He's mine once again,
No need to tell but it feels simply swell
With him close to me,
Where he's supposed to be.
-- Dinah Shore, 1945

Bruce Wayne was accustomed to being the center of attention, even when he didn't want to be. He was used to seeing people pointing at him and whispering to their companions. He was not used to being ignored, yet that was the circumstance in which he found himself as he walked with Dick, Alfred, and Barbara. It wasn't too noticeable when they were walking through the small shuttle terminal, but on the numerous sidewalks back to the visitors' parking lot where Alfred had parked the van, it became obvious that Dick, or rather Lt. Grayson, was the focus. Bruce soon stopped counting number of salutes Dick had returned, but by the time they got to the van, Bruce was becoming a bit exasperated.

"I wasn't sure we were going to make it back here before your right arm fell off," he said dryly.

Dick stared at Bruce in surprise. "Huh?"

"All that saluting," Bruce replied. "It just seemed rather ... excessive to me."

"I don't make the rules, Bruce," Dick replied defensively. "They saluted me; I returned salute. That's the way it works." At Barbara's light touch on his arm, he explained in a calmer tone, "Regs require that junior officers and enlisted personnel salute senior officers when they see them. Even though I'm only a lieutenant, I'm still senior to most of the people we met since most of the personnel in Norfolk are either enlisted men and women handling logistics and supply work or new recruits and trainees." He grinned at Bruce and said teasingly, "You mean there's a subject you haven't studied to death? Heaven forbid!"

An answering half-smile appeared on Bruce's face. "I'm afraid I never had any need to study military protocol. Brat."

"That's Lt. Brat, Bruce!"

Once they had stowed Dick's bag and settled themselves in the van, Barbara asked, "Okay, folks -- what's our plan? Where do we go from here? Dick?"

"Since I have to report in at the Pentagon at 0900 on Monday, I think I'd rather just stay in Washington instead of going all the way back to Gotham and then have to trek back. Will that work for you, Babs?"

"I already told J'onn that Oracle was going to be offline this weekend unless it was an absolute emergency," she replied with a smile.

Bruce suggested that they stay at Wayne Enterprises' Alexandria, Virginia townhouse instead of a Washington, DC hotel, and Dick and Barbara agreed. During the three-plus hour drive from Norfolk to Alexandria, Bruce noticed that Dick managed to maneuver the other three into doing most of the talking. He wasn't exactly quiet, but he managed to direct the conversation away from himself. It was so unusual for Dick to be talking less than Alfred that it began to worry Bruce. As they pulled into the garage of the townhouse, he resolved to get to the bottom of the situation as soon as he could.

Because Wayne Enterprises was a major contractor in the huge military buildup, Bruce had been spending more and more time in Washington. Alfred and Lucius Fox had decided that if Bruce was going to be spending so much time in Washington, it made sense to have a residence there. After much discussion ("But Alfred, I like having a ready-made reason why I can't throw parties!"), Wayne Enterprises leased an elegant townhouse in nearby Alexandria. It came fully furnished, and the only "special" modification Bruce made was an improved security system. He noticed that after Dick and Barbara were married, Alfred had a chair lift system installed on the stairs so that a person in a wheelchair could access the bedrooms on the second and third floors, but Bruce declined to comment on the matter.

One of Bruce's favorite features of the townhouse was the backyard. It was small, especially when compared to the huge grounds of Wayne Manor, but the original landscaper had taken great care that the area not feel small or confined. After changing into clothes more in keeping with the warm May weather, Bruce walked out onto the covered deck. He could see that Alfred had already been at work -- the small fountain had been turned on and the deck furniture had been dusted off and made ready for use.

Bruce sat in his favorite chair with a sigh. When he had gone upstairs to change, he couldn't help listening to the laughter coming from Dick and Barbara's room. He also couldn't help hearing as the voices grew quieter and then stopped completely. He was happy for them, truly he was, it was just ... He heard the door behind him open, and he turned around to see Dick, now in shorts and a t-shirt, walking toward him carrying a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses.

"I didn't expect to see you for a while," Bruce said as he pulled one of the small tables over for the pitcher.

Blushing slightly, Dick replied, "We were ... changing clothes when Kyle called with a hostage situation. Then I remembered I needed to press my dress whites for dinner tonight, so I went to Alfred to scrounge an iron. He insisted on pressing them himself and sent me out here with the iced tea to get me out of his way."

The two men sat in silence for a while, drinking their tea and enjoying the late afternoon sun and the quiet sounds of the small rock fountain. Bruce glanced over from time to time, pleased to see some of the tenseness leave Dick's expression and posture. Finally, Bruce felt comfortable enough to say what he had wanted to say since Dick had left over two years ago.

"I'm sorry, Dick."

Dick jerked a bit in surprise and looked over at Bruce. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry I wasn't more ... supportive when you joined up. And that I didn't stay in touch while you were gone." Bruce looked at Dick, expecting to see resentment, anger, anything but what he did see -- Dick started laughing. Not a mocking laugh, but the delighted laugh that Bruce remembered from the first time Dick had swung across Gotham on a jumpline (or the first time Bruce tried the quadruple somersault); the laugh Dick used when something truly amused or delighted him.

"Oh, man!" Dick said, calming down finally. "I didn't mean to laugh at you, but I was just sitting here thinking, 'Any minute now, Bruce is going to apologize for not staying in touch,' and you did."

"I didn't know I was so predictable," Bruce replied, not sure if he should be offended.

"I was going into space -- strike one; I was joining the military, which I'm sure ranked right up there with joining the police force -- strike two; and I was doing all of this as 'Dick Grayson' -- strike three. Of course I expected you to react the way you did!" Dick's voice became quieter, but no less sincere as he continued, "I never thought it meant you didn't care." His tone turned impish again. "Bruce, on some things, you are incredibly predictable!"

Bruce grumbled under his breath.

"Would it make you feel better if I said I 'anticipated your reaction' instead?" Dick asked in amusement. "That's how that whole 'well-oiled machine' stuff works you know -- I wouldn't have been any good to you as a partner if I couldn't anticipate your movements."

Bruce's expression turned thoughtful. "I guess I never thought of it that way."

"I could've predicted that's what you'd say."

"Brat."

"I knew you'd say that, too."

The two men sat in companionable silence for several minutes. Then Dick proved he really could predict Bruce's behavior when he answered the question he knew Bruce wanted to ask.

"I'm tired, Bruce; that's all. Just tired."

Bruce gave Dick a searching stare, trying to see if that was really all that was bothering Dick. He finally realized that Dick, as usual, was telling him the truth, but the simple statement almost raised more questions than it answered. Before he could probe any further, he heard the door open again.

"There you two are!" exclaimed Barbara as she wheeled onto the deck. Dick's face immediately brightened to see her, and she rolled over next to him.

"Everything okay?" Dick asked.

"Yep. All's well." She reached over and swiped Dick's glass of tea and took a large swallow. "Alfred brought your dress whites up a few minutes ago. He wanted me to remind both of you that if we're going to make that 7:00 reservation, we need to start getting ready."

Bruce and Dick nodded and followed Barbara back inside the house.

Barbara was startled awake by Dick's arm tightening around her waist as she lay against him. From the small amount of light in the room, she could tell it wasn't long after dawn. Her lips curved in a satisfied smile as she remembered the previous evening. She had had fun at dinner with Dick and Bruce; Dick was his usual charming and funny self, and even Bruce allowed himself to have a good time.

Bruce and Alfred left for Gotham City after dinner, and she and Dick had definitely enjoyed the rest of the evening's activities. Her reminiscences were cut short as Dick's arm jerked against her body, squeezing her uncomfortably. Then, the pressure was gone, and she could tell he was awake. She rolled over to face him.

"Hey. Bad dream?"

"Yeah," he replied, hoarsely.

"Wanna tell me about it?"

His arm tightened about her slightly, and she could see the indecision on his face. She moved closer and wrapped her arms around Dick's neck, drawing him into a passionate kiss. Afterwards, Dick sighed and rested his forehead against Barbara's.

"I'm afraid your interrogation techniques are too much for me, Mrs. Grayson." He sighed again and continued more seriously, "My subconscious likes to show replays of the pilots in my division who've been killed. Except it replaces each pilot with people like Roy, Wally, Donna, and Tim. The grand finale is when I watch the ship carrying you explode. Then this snotty voice (which sounds a lot like Roy, now that I think about it) asks me why I wasn't just as upset when my pilots died. Then I wake up."

"How often have you had this dream?"

"Oh, it usually occurs about once every couple of weeks. Sometimes the voice tells me I would've tried harder to save my pilots if they'd been the Titans. I know it's all crap, but the dreams keep coming." He pulled her more closely against him and smiled. "You think you could give me something else to think about?"

She ran her hands down his back. "I think that could be arranged," she replied huskily as their lips met.

At 8:45 on Monday morning, dressed in his summer white uniform, Dick stepped off the elevator and looked around the corridor. His orders had said he was to report to Captain Benjamin Mayhew of Weapons Research, and his office should be right over ... there. Dick walked over to the office's reception area, but before he could give his name to the petty officer, he was startled to see a familiar figure already waiting there.

"Vic! Did they want to see you too?"

"Hey man! Yeah, I'm in on this, too. Listen, there's something I need to tell you before we go in," Vic said, pulling Dick out of the office as he spoke.

"What's up?" Dick asked, becoming uneasy.

"I told them it was your idea for Toni and me to go out there."

"You what!?!"

"The Navy brass and the S.T.A.R. brass were making such a big deal over everything, and I just didn't feel right taking all the credit -- it was your idea, after all! Plus, it was your idea to outfit the other fighters with mine detectors!"

"But Vic ..." Dick took a deep breath. "Okay, how did you explain it?"

"Kory."

"Oh. Okay ... so you and I still keep in touch after Kory and I broke up?"

"Sure! At least enough for you to have kept up with who's on the team, and since your wife also does some work for S.T.A.R. Labs ..."

"All right," Dick sighed. "I guess that'll work. Thanks for the heads-up. Now we'd better get back." He smiled. "You may not care, but I certainly don't want to keep a captain waiting!"

The two men walked back into the office and gave their names to the patient petty officer. After only a few more minutes' wait, they were summoned inside.

Captain Mayhew was a black, barrel-chested giant of a man. As Dick stood at attention in front of his desk, he was surprised to see that in addition to the expected scientists and engineers, there was also a tall, thin, gray-haired vice admiral.

"At ease, Grayson. Mr. Stone, we want to thank you for coming as well. Lieutenant, as you may have realized, this is Admiral Harkness of CINCSOL⁵. Before we get started with your report, the admiral has some business he needs to attend to." The captain pressed the intercom, "Tiner, you may bring in our visitor now."

The office's other door opened, and Dick was astonished to see Barbara follow the petty officer into the office. She was dressed much more formally than when he had left her in Alexandria earlier that morning. She smiled at him -- her "I've got a secret!" smile.

"Attention to orders!" Admiral Harkness barked out.

The naval personnel in the room, including Dick, stood at attention. The admiral opened up a folder and began to read. Almost in a daze, Dick heard the admiral describe his initial idea and later test flight into the mine field.

"... Lt. Grayson's gallantry was in the finest tradition of the Naval Services and reflects great credit upon himself, naval aviation, and the United States Navy. He is hereby awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross." The admiral closed the folder, handed it to the captain, and pinned the medal on Dick.

Dick relaxed minutely thinking they were done, when the admiral picked up another folder from the captain's desk.

With just a hint of a twinkle in his eyes, the admiral said, "I'm afraid we're not quite done yet, Mr. Grayson. Captain, if you'll do the honors please." With a smile, Captain Mayhew took a pair of shoulder boards with two-and-a-half stripes on them over to Dick. While Dick stood at attention, the captain removed Dick's old shoulder boards and replaced them with the new ones. Admiral Harkness nodded and continued, "Please raise your right hand and repeat after me."

In shock once again, Dick complied and recited the oath of office. "I, Richard John Grayson, having been appointed a Lieutenant Commander in the United States Navy, do accept such appointment and do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Consititution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter, so help me God."⁶

"Congratulations, Commander Grayson," Admiral Harkness said, shaking Dick's hand firmly and handing him the two folders and the medal box. "Mrs. Grayson, would you care to do the honors?" He motioned Barbara to come over to Dick, who figuring out what was going on, leaned down so Barbara could kiss him.

"Congratulations, Commander Grayson," she whispered, tears of pride in her eyes.

Chapter 8

But should I ne'er return again
Still with thy love I'll bind me
Dishonor's breath shall never stain
The name I leave behind me
-- U.S. 7th Cavalry, c. 1870s

Tuesday morning, Dick leaned against the wall outside Bruce's office at Wayne Enterprises, trying to see how long he could spin his brimmed cap on his finger like a basketball. He was handicapped by the cap's less-than-perfect aerodynamics, but that just made the whole thing more challenging. Bruce had asked him to wear his uniform today, but he hadn't said why. The sound of approaching footsteps put a stop to his game, and he looked up to see an old familiar face.

"Hi, Lucius!"

"Dick! It's good to see you -- you certainly look sharp! Bruce mentioned you would be by today." Lucius Fox smiled at Dick, but there was a shadow in his eyes that hadn't been there when Dick left.

"Lucius, I'm ... sorry about Sarah. I wish I could've been here for the service."

Sarah Fox, Lucius's daughter, had been a fire control officer aboard the Manilla Bay when it was attacked by the Ch'ton. The ship had sustained heavy damage but had still managed to take out the attacker's ship. Sarah was injured at the beginning of the attack, but she felt she was still able to do her job, so she stayed at her post. The captain's after-action report made it clear that the survival of the Manilla Bay was due in no small part to Lt. Fox's steadfastness. Unfortunately, by the time the attack was over, Sarah had lost too much blood.

"Thank you, Dick. Nancy and I really appreciated the letter you sent." He closed his eyes in pain for a moment; then he opened them and continued on a purposefully lighter note. "Bruce told me about your medal and your promotion. Congratulations!"

"Thanks."

"We were interrupted before he could tell me much, but I thought he said something about your being transferred to Houston?"

"Actually, I'm on leave this week, then next Monday, I'm to report at Johnson Space Center in Houston for a temporary job as a flight instructor." Dick took a deep breath, as he still couldn't believe his next assignment. "Then, I'm headed to a brand-new ship, the Roger Chaffee⁷. When she commissions, I'll be in charge of the air wing."

"Wow. Definitely congratulations, Dick!"

"I still can't believe they're making me the CAG," he said in wonder.

Dick had actually protested a bit when Admiral Harkness told him of his assignment. Harkness had responded that the Chaffee was a small carrier, a new design that would be used primarily for reconnaissance and support work. In an ideal world, this carrier class would have at least a commander in charge of its fighters, but the Navy was definitely feeling a personnel crunch. Matters weren't so bad with technical personnel, support personnel, and even pilots. The crunch came in command personnel -- the new technologies had forced a steep learning curve on everyone involved, and the older commissioned and non-commissioned officers were having some troubles adjusting. The Navy also didn't want to strip its "wet navy" ships of all top-quality personnel. A war going on in outer space did not mean everything ground to a halt on Earth.

So, the Roger Chaffee would be skippered by a commander instead of a captain, and a brand new lieutenant commander would be in charge of the air wing.

Dick was telling Lucius a story about his wingman when Bruce walked through his office door to join them.

"Dick! I'm sorry, have you been waiting long?"

"Nah. Traffic's a lot lighter than I was expecting."

After exchanging further pleasantries with Lucius, Bruce led Dick away from his office to the elevator.

"So, what's up, Bruce?" Dick asked.

"I thought you might be interested in seeing some new ... toys R&D has come up with for the fighters," Bruce replied tentatively. Seeing Dick's immediate interest, he relaxed and explained further. "The main thing we've been working on is a new shielding system."

"Cool!"

Before Bruce could elaborate further, the elevator had reached the ground floor. Both men exited, and Bruce looked around until he saw a slightly-built man with thinning gray hair in the uniform of a rear admiral. Bruce raised his hand in greeting and walked over to him. Dick, mystified, followed and stood at attention at Bruce's right.

"Admiral! Good to see you!" Bruce exclaimed. "I assumed it would be easier to meet down here instead of having you traipse up to my office and then have to come back down again."

The admiral nodded to Bruce and to Dick. "Good to see you also, Bruce. At ease, son. You are ...?"

"Oh, my apologies, Admiral! This is my foster-son, Richard Grayson. Dick, this is Admiral Warner Caslet of Weapons Research."

Caslet held out his hand, and Dick shook it politely.

"All right, gentlemen," Bruce said, motioning for them to follow him through the connecting corridors to Wayne Enterprises' R&D Division. "Let's get started on our tour."

Admiral Caslet halted in surprise. "Your son is coming with us? Does he have sufficient security clearance for this?"

Bruce drew himself up to his full height and let a little bit of Batman's growl creep into his tone as he replied, "His security clearance is irrelevant."

Dick tried to head off the train wreck he saw approaching. "Look, Bruce, you go on with Admiral Caslet -- I can come back tomorrow."

Bruce waved his hand, dismissing Dick's offer. "Admiral, perhaps you don't realize that in addition to being my foster-son, Dick is also the heir to Wayne Enterprises and a major stockholder. He has as much right to be here as I do!" Taking a deep breath, he brought himself back into "character." "You might even say he has more right -- he actually knows what these machines do!" He laughed, and to anyone who didn't know him well, the laugh almost sounded genuine.

Caslet glared at Bruce, then at Dick, and then motioned for Bruce to continue leading them. After a few moments walking in silence, the admiral unbent enough to ask, "So, Commander -- I assume you are here on leave?"

"Yes sir, for about a week. I've been deployed on the Texas for the last two years."

Realizing Dick had actually served on the "front lines" and noticing Dick's Distinguished Flying Cross ribbon, the admiral unbent a little further. "Are you going back to the Texas?" his voice now warmer in tone.

"No sir, I'll be TDY⁸ at Johnson until the Roger Chaffee commissions."

"Flight instructor?"

"Yessir. Then, I'll be the Chaffee's new CAG."

"Good, good."

Bruce interjected, "Dick, I don't think I ever got a chance to ask you why they were making you a flight instructor?"

Dick replied, "The Navy found out pretty quickly that the tried-and-true methods of training fighter pilots still worked out in space, but only up to a point. Remember, we're dealing with new ships, new weapons, and a new enemy that doesn't always respond the way we would expect them to. So the brass," he nodded his head to Caslet with a smile, "decided we needed to spread what new combat experience we accumulated as quickly as possible."

Caslet acknowledged the nod, and continued Dick's explanation. "BuPers, that is, the Bureau of Personnel, decided to rotate particularly gifted pilots home when they could be spared, so that they could teach the new pilots and share their techniques and innovations with our more experienced instructors."

"I see. That's quite a compliment, Dick," Bruce said with pride.

"All right, gentlemen," Bruce said as they approached a large concrete bunker on one side of the huge warehouse-like testing facility. "This is where we are putting our new shielding system through its paces."

One of the engineers, a slender, middle-aged woman with dark brown hair, looked up as the visitors approached. When she saw who it was, she beamed and walked quickly over to greet them.

"Hello, Mr. Wayne. Dick! I hadn't heard you were home!" She gave Dick a quick hug, which he returned smiling broadly.

"Hi, Dr. Andy! Yeah, I just got into Gotham last night."

Bruce then made the introductions, "Admiral, this is Dr. Andrea Venizelos. Andy, this is Admiral Caslet."

Andy shook the admiral's hand and led them inside the bunker. At one end of the space was an odd contraption about the size of large watermelon; at the other end was a cannon-like device which Dick recognized as being similar to the guns on his fighter.

"Admiral Caslet, Dick -- what you're looking at is a shielding device that can take whatever the enemy can dish out for a short period of time. We're still working on the endurance factor, but right now, it can take a concentrated energy bolt for more that two minutes before it burns out."

Both Dick and the Admiral were impressed. Dick asked, "What about cumulative fire -- say, over the course of a five- or ten-minute firefight?"

"The shield spreads the impact, so no one particular spot is vulnerable; unfortunately, it also means if you receive more than two minutes of fire, it's gonna go. Like I said, we're still working on endurance."

"Still," commented the admiral, "that is a great improvement over what we currently have available."

Dick nodded. "What kind of power will it take to run that thing, though?"

"No free lunch, I'm afraid. Right now, we're looking at a six percent power drop on the Deuces and five percent on the Barracudas."

The admiral said, "That will still put us ahead of the Ch'ton, though. Right?"

"Right," replied Andy. "Although it will cut the Barracuda's margin to only 22 percent."

"Huh?!? What are you guys talking about?" exclaimed Dick. "There's no way, I can afford to give up five percent of my power, and my Barracuda's nowhere near 22 percent more powerful than the Ch'ton fighters!"

Bruce, Andy, and Caslet stared at Dick as if he had just grown two heads. All three then started talking at once until Bruce raised his hands for quiet.

"Dick, according to our figures, your Barracuda should be around 30 percent faster than the Ch'ton with 26 percent more firepower. Are you saying this isn't the case?"

"Darn right, that's what I'm saying!"

"Why haven't we been told that the Ch'ton ships have gotten more powerful?" asked the admiral.

"They haven't, sir," replied Dick. "The Bugs aren't exactly known for innovations. We're fighting the same type of ships we've always fought using the same type of ships we've always used."

The admiral and Bruce exchanged puzzled looks. Bruce asked, "You're not using any of the upgraded Barracudas?"

Now it was Dick's turn to look puzzled. "What upgraded Barracudas? While I was Capt. Tremaine's XO, we got ten new Barracudas straight from the factory, and they were exactly the same as the ones we already had."

Caslet said, "That's crazy! The new design has been in effect for over a year now. Surely you must have seen them?"

"No sir! I know what I've been flying for the last two years!"

"Luthor!" muttered Bruce. When everyone stared at him, he elaborated. "LexCorp was the primary contractor for the first Barracudas. LexCorp was also the low bidder on the more expensive upgrade specification. At the time, we just assumed he was able to do that because he already had the systems in place. But what if ..."

"He just kept building the original designs and pocketed the difference in costs," Dick finished.

"But how? Even assuming a former president of the United States would do something like that, how could he carry something like that out?" asked the admiral in disbelief.

Dick and Bruce exchanged knowing looks. Dick replied, "It really wouldn't be that difficult. All he has to do is 'persuade' the Navy's representative at LexCorp to look the other way, and build a few birds to specifications to show the brass. We never heard anything about an upgrade on the Texas, but even if we had, I can still think of several ways Luthor could have finessed it. It would take quite a while before a CAG got suspicious enough to check with fleet headquarters or Washington."

Admiral Caslet sighed and then said in a resigned voice, "I guess I'm going to have to take this to the Inspector General's office then. I hope we're wrong, but we need to find out if President Luthor or his company really is doing something this reprehensible."

The three men said goodbye to Dr. Venizelos and walked back to the main lobby. The admiral turned to Bruce and holding out his hand, he said "I need to get back to Washington immediately. Thank you for the tour." He then shook Dick's hand. "Good luck, son. I may contact you down in Houston if the IG has any questions."

"Aye, sir. Thank you sir."

Once the admiral had left, Dick turned to Bruce. "Now what, kemosabe?"

With a half-smile, which Dick recognized as belonging more to Batman than Bruce Wayne, Bruce replied, "I wonder if Superman's eaten lunch yet?"

Chapter 9

Well, come on Wall Street, don't move slow,
Why man, this is war au-go-go.
There's plenty good money to be made
By supplying the Army with the tools of the trade.
-- Country Joe McDonald, 1965

Dick persuaded Bruce to change lunch with Superman to dinner at Wayne Manor with Clark Kent and Lois Lane. He wanted to have Barbara look into LexCorp's aerospace division before they met with Superman, and he had also already made plans to meet Tim after school. So, Bruce finished giving Dick a tour of Wayne Enterprises' newest gadgets, and then the two men had lunch in the cafeteria.

After lunch, Dick stopped back by the clocktower to tell Barbara about the fighter discrepancy and Bruce's belief that Lex Luthor was behind it. She immediately began attacking the problem, muttering under her breath about nasty people trying to get her husband killed. Dick told her about dinner that night, and she nodded her head absently. Amused, he scooped her out of her chair, held her in his arms, and kissed her until they were both breathless.

"What was that about?" Babs asked, smiling.

"Just wanted to get your attention. Remember, we are having dinner at the Manor tonight with Clark and Lois."

"Maybe you need to 'get' my attention again," she murmured, linking her arms around his neck.

Dick obliged his lady by kissing her again, but finally he drew back, planting one more kiss on the tip of her nose. "I'm sorry, but I've got to go if I'm going to meet Tim when school lets out." He gently put her back in her wheelchair and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I'm not sure how long I'll be, but I'll be back before it's time to leave for the Manor."

As Dick pulled up in front of Gotham Heights High School, he recalled Tim's excited email after Jack Drake had finally agreed that Tim could go back to Gotham Heights for his senior year. Subsequent emails had revealed that it had taken Tim a little while to fit back in with his old friends, but he had adjusted. Now, Tim had just a few weeks to go before graduation.

The school bell and the mass exodus of students from the building cut off Dick's musings. He stood by his car, figuring it would be easier for Tim to find him since he was still wearing his uniform. Suddenly, he heard a loud whoop nearby. He located the source of the sound and smiled as Tim Drake came rushing toward him.

"Dick! Hey, man, it's great to see you!"

"Babs tells me you're thinking of joining the Navy after graduation," Dick said, as the two young men sat at a booth in O'Shaunghnessy's slurping milk shakes.

"Is that what this whole meeting is about?" Tim asked suspiciously. He was still adjusting to the fact that he was now slightly taller than Dick. It just didn't seem ... proper, somehow. It had been amusing when he realized he was taller than his stepmother, Dana. It had been a little weird, but still fun, when he discovered he didn't have to tilt his head so much to look up at Alfred and Bruce. But somehow, he had just assumed that Dick would always be taller than he.

"I certainly wasn't going to come all this way and not see you, bro!" Dick replied, smiling. "So tell me, are you joining up?"

"Um ... yeah, I was planning on it."

"Why?"

"Huh? Why what?" Tim asked in confusion.

"Why are you planning on joining up? What do you want to do?" Dick asked matter-of-factly.

"I want to be a fighter pilot. Like you." Tim studied Dick's face, trying to read what he was thinking. He saw a flash of some sort of pain in Dick's eyes, but mostly the older man's face was unreadable.

"A fighter pilot, huh? Are you sure that's the best job for you?"

"Are you saying I couldn't hack it?" he asked, hurt by Dick's lack of confidence.

Dick smiled reassuringly. "No, of course that's not what I'm saying! I know you, Tim. If you decided you wanted to be a fighter pilot, then I'm sure you would make a very good one. That's not my point. Do you honestly think being a fighter pilot is the best use of your abilities? I mean, you don't even have a pilot's license!"

"Well, I figured my dad would freak."

"Tim, your dad has freaked before and that hasn't stopped you. Look, you yourself once told me that you weren't a pilot; why this sudden desire to be one now?"

Tim tried to keep his tone even instead of petulant as he replied, "I thought it was important for each of us to do his best to help win this war."

"Yes it is. That's why I'm asking. In my opinion, you're too good at computer and other tech stuff just to be a fighter jock like me."

"So you think I should be doing geek work," Tim said in disgust.

"Hey! Some of my best friends are 'geeks'!" Dick responded, not entirely in jest.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. It's just ..."

"... You want to do something more active than sit at a computer terminal. I know, man. Look, we each have to decide where and how our skills would be best utilized." Dick paused and smiled. "In my case, I realized that I could be more useful as a fighter pilot than stopping muggers in Bludhaven, and it was a pretty simple decision. In your case, you've got some different options to choose between."

"You mean college," Tim said disgustedly. He and his father had argued themselves hoarse about his desire to join the Navy, and his father's desire for him to attend some big prestigious university and major in business.

"It's not a dirty word," Dick replied with a smile. "One thing you might want to think about -- I checked with Vic, and S.T.A.R. Labs has an internship program for college students. For that matter, I think Wayne Enterprises does too. You could go to school and still be helping the war effort."

"S.T.A.R. Labs?" Tim asked incredulously, startled out of his funk. To work with some of the people and equipment they had would be incredibly cool!

"Yeah. In my opinion, people like Vic are worth at least fifty fighter jocks like me -- they're the ones who make it possible for us to fight this war at all."

"You think I could get into their program?"

"With your smarts, it should be a piece of cake! If you want, I'll talk to Vic and arrange for you to meet with him. He'll have to know who you are, though."

"That's okay," Tim said absently, thinking of the scenario Dick had raised. Finally, he realized Dick was watching him, an amused smile on his face. "Sorry. Zoned out for a minute there."

"I noticed."

"Okay, enough about me! So you're flying down to Houston next week?"

"Actually, I'm trying to get Babs to agree to a little mini-vacation on Padre Island this weekend. Then we could drive up to Houston, and she could fly back from there."

"Hey, that sounds fun! What's the holdup?"

"I think she wants to, it's just she's not sure she should take the time off. I'm about ready to indulge in a little kidnapping," Dick said in exasperation.

"I'll help! She needs the break. When were you planning on leaving?"

"Well, we've got dinner at the Manor tonight, then tomorrow's shindig with the Titans; so right now, I'm thinking of leaving on Thursday."

"How about if I volunteer to pinch-hit for her while she's gone?"

"That'd be a big help! I'll mention it to her." Dick looked at his watch. "And speaking of Babs, I need to get home to get ready for dinner, tonight."

On the drive back to the high school so that Tim could pick up his car, they discussed Dick's assignment as a flight instructor. Once in the parking lot, each was reluctant to have the time together end.

"Listen," offered Dick, "I can't make any promises yet, but I should think you'd be able to come down and visit me this summer. I'll let you know, okay?"

"Okay," Tim replied huskily. He clasped Dick's hand briefly, and then got out of the car. He walked over to his car, but before getting in, he turned around to wave at Dick. "See you later!" he said, attempting to sound cheerful. Dick waved in return and drove off.

Tim sighed. Sarah Fox's death had brought home to him that this war was real. That people he knew could be killed. He couldn't help but wonder if he would see Dick again.

"It's Luthor, all right," Barbara said confidently as they sat around the table at Wayne Manor.

"Are you sure, Barbara?" asked Clark. "I know Luthor's done some pretty despicable things, but surely even he doesn't want us to lose this war!"

"I know it seems a little odd, but everything points to him. There's definitely some 'creative' accounting going on there. The good news is that I don't think the government will have any problems holding LexCorp responsible for the fraud; the bad news is that I don't think there's any way they can tie it directly to Luthor." She grimaced slightly in exasperation. "He's covered his tracks really well, and while I've found some links, there's no way they'd be admissible in court."

"So you don't think it's possible someone else in LexCorp is setting Luthor up?" asked Lois.

"If someone else was trying to set him up, I'd think they'd do a better job of it," Barbara replied, smiling. "There're definite discrepancies between the manufacturing cost of the new Barracudas as reported to the Navy, and the manufacturing cost in LexCorp's internal files, but I'm still trying to find where the extra money ends up." She frowned in thought. "I'll keep looking. There're some coded files I'm still trying to figure out; I'm hoping there's something useful in them -- there's certainly enough security around them."

"So, in any event," summarized Bruce, "you expect the government has a good case to bring some sort of charges against LexCorp. Good."

"I'm sure they'll also be hit up with civil suits from the families of pilots who died after the new model was supposed to be introduced," mused Lois.

"That, of course, assumes the Navy will make any of this public," Dick commented dryly. When everyone else looked at him in shock, he continued, "Well, think about it -- we're in the middle of a war, and now the public finds out that the Navy didn't realize it was being defrauded of millions of dollars. Doesn't exactly build public confidence."

Lois asked indignantly, "How can they hide something as major as this?"

"Simple," Dick replied cynically. They don't charge LexCorp with anything, but instead claim LexCorp has broken a contract clause and must now pay a penalty. Or they use the 'broken clause' as an excuse to throw the project open for bids again. The words 'defraud' or 'embezzlement' are never mentioned."

"Are you saying Luthor and LexCorp could walk on this?" Barbara asked.

"I'm saying that it's possible. And, to be quite honest, I don't really care." Again, everyone looked shocked. The anger that Dick had felt that morning slipped into his voice as he continued. "What I'm most concerned about, and what I think the Navy will be most concerned about, is that in all likelihood, the Navy's representative at LexCorp was going along with this. That's the person I want to nail."

Clark and Bruce exchanged glances. Clark then said, almost tentatively, "But Dick, Luthor's the big fish, here. It's possible they could finally make a case against him, if the officer agreed to cooperate in exchange ..."

"No!" Dick sliced his hand sideways through the air in negation. "There is no way in hell they'll let him or her walk on this!"

"Dick, we have to think of the big picture," tried Bruce.

"No, Bruce! You need to think of the big picture!" Dick took a deep breath and tried to speak calmly. "I don't think you understand -- so Luthor stole some money, big deal; whoever this officer is, if he is guilty, he's betrayed his oath, and he's betrayed his fellow pilots. I wouldn't be surprised if they tried to work a treason charge in there somewhere."

He looked at the people at the table around him. He almost smiled in amusement at the identical dumbfounded looks on everyone's faces, although he was pleased to see a thoughtful expression begin to appear on Barbara's face as she considered what he said.

"Look, folks," he continued, "in my current line of work, we call your behavior, 'target fixated.' Even if you could get the officer's testimony, you'd be asking a jury to choose between a former United States president and a suborned naval officer. Who would you believe? Not to mention, even if Luthor were found guilty, I doubt he'd ever serve any prison time." Dick sighed. "I expect Luthor to act like the slime that he is. That's why the Navy has representatives at its contractors. What I don't expect is for officers charged with protecting the Navy's and their fellow pilots' interests to betray them. It comes down to the difference between a contract and an oath."

Chapter 10

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice
Then kiss me once again
It's been a long, long time
-- Sammy Cahn, 1945

Dick's internal clock was still skewed from having been on a different schedule in space, so for once, he was the early riser on Thursday morning. After getting dressed and starting breakfast, he allowed himself one brief moment of satisfaction -- or more correctly, revenge -- when he opened the blinds wide, pulled the covers off Barbara, and told her she had ninety minutes to get packed before their flight left.

"I told you, Dick! I can't possibly take off for a whole weekend again!" she grumbled, trying to grab the sheet back.

"Look, you'll have your laptop if anything really bad develops, and Tim volunteered to cover the regular stuff." Dick sighed in exasperation and decided if reasonable wasn't going to work, he would have to bring out the big guns. "Don't you want to spend a weekend with me before I go off to Houston?" he asked plaintively, trying to look as pitiful as he could. He must not have been too successful because Babs just started giggling. He was about to try stomping out of the room when she took advantage of his inattention to pull on the sheet he was still holding. The jolt knocked him off balance, and he fell on top of her.

For the next few moments, Barbara managed to make him forget all about plane flights and vacations. Finally though, he pulled away to look down into her green eyes.

"Y'know, sweetheart, unless you want Tim to see what you don't wear to bed, you really need to get moving."

"I thought you said we had ninety minutes," she replied huskily.

"That's until our flight leaves. Tim's going to be here in around," Dick brought his arm from underneath her back to look at his watch, "thirteen minutes. We figured you'd want some time to bring him up to speed on your current projects."

Barbara let out a small "eep" of dismay and then pushed Dick aside while she maneuvered into her chair. She raced to the bathroom muttering things under her breath that he figured he was better off not hearing. While she was taking her shower, he found her suitcase and began rummaging around in her dresser looking for appropriate clothing, whistling contentedly to himself.

Barbara was blowdrying her hair when Tim got there, but at least she had clothes on. It took about twenty minutes to bring Tim up to speed on the two missions that were about to go active and the five others that were pending. While they were talking, Dick brought in eggs, toast, and coffee, in between trips back and forth to load their luggage in the car. When he took away her coffee cup, Barbara knew it was time to leave. The traffic signal gods must have been smiling on them, because they made their flight to Corpus Christi, Texas with whole minutes to spare.

"Aren't we going the wrong way?" Babs asked in confusion as Dick drove north from the airport in their rental car, while all the signs for Padre Island pointed in the opposite direction.

"Actually, we're going to Port Aransas on Mustang Island. I went there once with some guys when I was at flight school in Houston. The guy who suggested it said it was a lot nicer than Padre Island and not as built up."

"So where are we staying?"

"At a hotel right on the beach. I called them up on Tuesday, and they were able to fit us in this weekend since the summer crowd hasn't really started yet."

"Dick ..." Barbara said hesitantly.

He glanced over at her. She had a tense, uncomfortable expression on her face. "Yes, Babs?"

"I'm ... just not sure about this whole beach thing. I mean ... I'm not going to be able to get around and ..."

Dick interrupted her. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart. I think I've got everything figured out. Trust me?" He glanced over at her again long enough to catch her gaze. Her face relaxed a bit, and she flashed him a brief smile. He looked back at the highway and decided to risk teasing her. "Besides, it's all your fault we're here, anyway! I mean, if you hadn't sent me that picture of you on a beach in such a skimpy swimsuit ..." He stopped when she whapped him on the arm.

He turned to try to make puppy-dog eyes at her, but his attempt quickly became a concerned frown as he saw the sunlight streaming in the window upon her arms. "Babs, if you'll reach into your carryon bag, that's where I packed the suntan lotion. I think you should put some on."

Startled, Barbara looked down at her exposed skin and then back up at Dick. "We're not even o