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JamesE82 — Connie's Wild Ride, Part Three
Published: 2013-12-10 23:04:10 +0000 UTC; Views: 4602; Favourites: 37; Downloads: 55
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“Connie's Wild Ride” pt 3
Presidential Authorization
The general was apoplectic. One arm waved wildly in the air and the other held the phone in a red-skinned, white-knuckled, blue-veined fist. A furiously burning cigar was clamped in his jaw.
“I want those jets scrambled now!” he yelled in exasperation. “Well, you'll just have to excuse my excitement, Admiral. The urgency of the matter and all... Of course the Marines have jets, you...” the general was grinding his cigar with his molars. “I already have some en route from Beaufort and Cherry Point... they'll be too late! Yours are closer... Oh for Christ's sake, every Air Force interceptor on the East Coast is circling New York or DC... I'm so glad you think that's a smart move... Admiral, if there ever was a need for sarcasm it's now... The flyover jets?” The general spit the lit cigar clear across the room. “What about 'ceremonial' don't you understand? They're unarmed! What do you want 'em to do? Throw their helmets at the jet as they fly by?” The general pulled the phone away from his ear as the admiral vociferously objected to the general's tone.
“Colonel!” yelled the general.
“Yes sir?”
“Get me another admiral on the phone, this one's defective!” he said as put the phone back to his ear. “What? Yes I called you defective... How dare I? How dare you sit on those jets while... Oh, you will launch them. Good to hear it. They just may get here before he reaches the more populated parts of the peninsula. What? Why not 'right now', what are you waiting for?” the general was not believing what he was hearing. “'Presidential authorization'? Are you shittin' me? You're not seriously gonna sit on that fat ass of yours waiting for the president to decide whether or not it's politically expedient to shoot down a jet that's about to drop a nuke on a major American city? You need to launch those jets... Hello? Hello? Damn!” he said as slammed down the phone.
“Colonel!” he yelled.
“Yes sir?”
“Patch me through to the flyover flight leader.”
“Line 3, General!” came the instant reply.
“Good man,” said the general as he punched the button. “Captain Reilly is it?”
“Yes, General.”
“Have you been apprised of the situation?”
“Yes, sir. Unfriendly in Navy jet flying northward from Lone Point, intent on dropping a nuclear device on Angel Falls.”
“Exactly. Now, you are Navy pilots and I am a Marine general. Do you have a problem with me ordering you to find this jet and destroy it?”
“No problem what so ever, General.”
“Good man. Command will contact you, they've been tracking the jet. Your designation is now
'Bulldog'. Any questions?”
“We are without munitions, General.”
“Well, Captain, historically, what did the Navy do when faced with the same situation when
engaged with an enemy ship?”
“Rammed 'em, sir!”
“Exactly, any problems with that?”
“It's an expensive plane, sir.”
“I'll tell them to send me the bill.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Good man.” The general breathed a sigh of relief as he hung up. “He should be the friggin' admiral. Maybe there's hope for the Navy after all. Colonel! Bring me a cigar and open a window...something's burning in here.”
Fight in the Sky
Connie climbed up the wildly whipping chain, snarling threats and curses at the pilot. Her ears were continuously plugging and popping as the jet gained altitude. She told herself to shut up and conserve oxygen, as it was getting scarce. She hurled one last promise to avenge Ryoz and redoubled her effort to reach the jet.
Captain Umarov found it impossible to maneuver the jet. Though he had shaken the lame attempt to stop him, his pursuers had managed to take out one engine and foul the control surfaces. His fuel was draining fast. His commando unit hadn't anticipated such stiff resistance from a bunch of mechanics and technicians. Consequently, they hadn't been able to fill up the tanks. It hadn't been important at that point because this was a one way mission anyway. But watching his fuel gauge drop at an alarming rate, he suspected that several rounds must have punctured the tank. An alarm told him that he had reached the altitude where it would be possible to shut off the safety systems and allow him to arm the bomb. He flipped the switch and got a green light. Umarov smiled; nothing could stop a detonation now.
He fought the controls to try and level off and achieved a shaky forward progress. He glanced down and saw the southern parts of Angel Falls come into view. He found that the damaged controls had him stuck in a long shallow roll to the east. In a few minutes he would be carried over the Urim Straight. It was a shame he couldn't drop it in the middle of Angel Falls on Putin's head, but Umarov knew that before he crossed the shoreline, he would reach upscale suburbs, resorts, and business districts. Even if he crashed or they shot him down, the death toll would be ten times that of Nine Eleven and the subsequent deaths from fire, fallout, and other resulting disasters could be ten times even that amount. Now all he had to do was watch the radar for jets. If he had to buy some time, Captain Umarov had a nasty surprise waiting for them.
Connie clambered aboard the fuselage of the jet, panting with oxygen deprivation. As the jet heaved and bucked its way through the air, Connie, wrapped the chain around one leg and one arm and unslung her weapon. Squinting into the roaring wind, she took aim at the canopy and fired.
“Bulldog 2, do you read me?” Captain Reilly spoke into his mike.
“Roger, Cap,” replied Captain Nichols.
“I have him on radar. Our ten o'clock. See him?”
“Affirmative. Our ten o'clock.”
“Ok, here's the plan. We play chicken for one pass. You peel off port, I'll take starboard. If that doesn't make him mess himself and run or crash... we ram him. I'll set a collision course and eject at the last second. Nick, you hang back and see what happens. If I miss or something else goes wrong, you have to take him. Understood?”
“Roger, Cap. I'm in position.”
“Ok, Nick, let's go!”
Captain Umarov jumped out of his skin when bullets smashed into the cockpit. No jets on the radar. He looked around the skies and saw no jets there. Then he caught a glimpse of something in his mirror. It couldn't be real, was his first thought. A redheaded woman with an eye patch and a rifle was lying against the body of the jet shooting at him! Another salvo slammed into the cockpit and the armor plate behind his head, one round grazing his shoulder. He tried to jostle the plane but she held on. He really couldn't make the flight bumpier than it already was. Umarov was still trying to wrap his head around the idea of a woman on the jet shooting at him, when an alarm sounded. The radar screen showed two jets closing fast from dead ahead.
“Well, Umarov, your time is up,” he said reaching for the bomb release button. “Allahu Akbar!”
The Crimson Conservative grimly held on as the pilot tried to shake her from the jet. She again trained her sites on the cockpit. The pilot leaned forward, reaching for the instrument panel. His head was exposed and right in Connie's crosshairs.
“This is for Razzie, you murderin' c********r!” she said and pulled the trigger. Empty. “Shit!” she exclaimed. She yanked herself free of the chain. Holding on to one end, she stood up and started to move toward the cockpit. “I'll just have to rip open that canopy and club ya' to death.”
There was a loud, metallic chunk and the plane took a little hop. Connie's stomach lurched. But it wasn't the motion, it was dread. She looked back over her shoulder and saw the cylinder falling through the clouds.
“No,” she whispered breathlessly. Connie couldn't believe it. Failure... Thousands dead...my fault. Her knees threatened to buckle. Thousands... and thousands... Her hand began to let the chain slip. My... fault… Stunned and the wind shrieking in her ears, she almost didn't hear the shout.
“Connie! Hold on! I am coming!”
More out of reflex than interest, Connie dully looked toward the sound and saw the Soviet Superwoman hurtling towards her. Something about Olga snapped Connie out of her fugue. She furiously pumped her arm pointing down and behind the jet and yelled, “BOMB!
Confused, Olga slowed and followed the point. Her quizzical expression turned to one of horror as she saw the cylinder falling. She instantly became a blur and disappeared in a vapor cloud as she hit supersonic speed. The shock wave rocked the jet and Connie lost her footing and dropped her weapon. She managed to hold on to the chain and with more determination than ever, began to fight the wind and make her way to the cockpit. The plane bucked again and two Phoenix missiles burst from beneath the jet's wings.
“What the f--” the Amazon said as two more launched immediately after. At first Connie thought that the pilot was shooting at the Soviet Superwoman but the missiles headed the opposite direction.
The Soviet Superwoman willed herself to fly ever faster even as she ignited the atmosphere around her, giving her the appearance of a flaming meteor. Still she knew the bomb had had too large a head start and would strike the earth before she could reach it. She flew on anyway, bracing for the inevitable nuclear explosion.
“Command, this is Bulldog flight. We are commencing our attack,” Captain Reilly calmly said into his microphone.
“Roger, Bulldog, we'll be-”
“Cap! I've got a missile lock!” Nichols shouted.
“Me, too,” Reilly said.
“Confirmed, Bulldog,” the voice from command stated. “We show four missiles inbound. Recommend deterrents.”
“Negative, Command,” Reilly said, “Fresh out. Didn't install any. Ceremonial flight. Evasive maneuvers, Nick!”
“But how'd he get 'em?” Nichols said.
“Something to figure out later, Nick.” Reilly said. “Let's slalom and split up. Maybe it'll confuse 'em.”
“Roger... am in position,” Nichols said nervously.
“On my mark... now!”
Captain Umarov chuckled as he watched on the radar screen. The two jets had broken off their attack and were running from his missiles. Then he frowned as he saw in the mirror, the woman fighting her way toward him. Seeing her now upright, he was astonished at her size. Then he realized that she was the Crimson Conservative. He had thought reports of her were a gross exaggeration. After all, if one is beaten by a woman, she had better be nine-feet-tall and super-powered. So she was every bit the myth they said she was. The very icon of Imperialist America, the Super Patriot, the living embodiment of American arrogance, militancy, and ethnocentrism. And Allah had delivered her into Captain Umarov's hands. America is a great dumb beast. Even if one destroys one of its cities, one merely angers it. But destroy its symbol, one destroys the heart. But how to kill her? His AK47 was emptied and abandoned in the fight for the jet. Then it dawned on him. How poetic. He would kill her and possibly save his life at the same time, though that part was immaterial. Ejection at the proper moment would have the canopy strike the great infidel. It may not kill her, but it would surely knock her off the jet and the fall would likely do the trick. An elegant solution, no doubt given to him by Allah. He prepared himself and waited for the Crimson Conservative.
Connie was two steps away from the cockpit when she heard the scream of jets and looked up.
Two Navy jets burst from the clouds but before she could cheer, she saw that each was hotly pursued by two missiles. The jets swooped apart and then closed on each other. Connie braced for a collision but they missed each other by a whisker. They did the perilous maneuver once more and split for good.
At first the missiles did seem confused by the action but quickly picked up the trail and resumed the chase. She lost track of one of the planes but the other one shot off to the west and disappeared in the clouds. The missiles closing on it vanished also. Suddenly, the cloud lit up as though it hid a thunderstorm and Connie heard an explosion.
“Damn you!” she yelled as she turned toward the cockpit.
Captain Reilly was too busy to see what happened to Nichol's jet. He threw his own into a turn tight enough to stress the structural integrity of the craft. The g-forces drove the blood from his head but he tensed all his muscles and his flight suit clamped down on his extremities forcing the blood back home. Still, his head ached, he couldn't breath, and spots appeared in his vision before he straightened out. The missiles were too close to cut the corner and he gained a few precious seconds.
“It was right neighborly of you to bring gifts to the party,” he said through clenched teeth, “but since you weren't invited and ain't at all welcome, I feel obliged to give 'em back!” His turn had brought him to Captain Umarov's seven o'clock position and Reilly charged on the jet at full speed.
Captain Umarov caught a glimpse of the anger in Connie's face as she bent to tear at the canopy. He said a silent prayer and pulled the ejection handle. His chair was launched but Connie's bullets and the chain had prevented the canopy from being blown free. Captain Umarov was ejected through a lattice of broken glass and steel. The cockpit erupted in a geyser of shrapnel and shredded flesh. Connie recoiled more from surprise than fear of injury. The long over-taxed chain failed and Connie tumbled backward along the wing and off the jet barely missing the tail section. At that instant Captain Reilly's jet and the two pursuing missiles smashed into Umarov's jet engulfing them and Connie in a huge ball of fire and jagged metal fragments.
Going down?
Trailing smoke and burning bits of clothing, Connie dropped out of the fireball. Her eye was closed and her fists were clenched. She missed the big pieces of wreckage but her body, naked except for still burning belt and boots, was covered in scorch marks. She felt like a complete failure. She hadn't stopped the jet, she hadn't prevented the terrorist from dropping the bomb, Razzie and God knows how many others were dead, and then she was robbed of her shot at vengeance, missing the chance to personally kill the pilot. Her overwhelming sense of rage and frustration was released in a long, loud scream. So intense was her fury that it took a full second or so to realize that she was no longer falling.
Opening her eye, Connie found herself gently descending in the arms of a grimacing Soviet Superwoman.
“I ain't that heavy,” Connie said in a hoarse voice.
“Nyet,” the Soviet replied. “But you make loud noise when you fall.”
“Oh, that,” Connie croaked, “That was just a natural reflex.”
“Of course it was,” Olga said grinning.
“Hmph!” Connie said, then looking closely at Olga, “You came back... for me?”
“Was in neighborhood,” Olga said, and shrugged. When she did, it upset their aerodynamic balance and Olga had to swoop a bit to regain it. Connie grabbed Olga's shoulder in one hand and Olga's hand supporting Connie's torso with the other. “Second time today you are happy to see me, da?”
“Nyet,” Connie replied. “Not even the first—hey! The bomb! What happened with the bomb?”
Olga shrugged her shoulders, “It broke,” she said with a baffled expression.
“'Broke?'” Connie said frowning. “What's that, Russian for 'explode' or something?”
“Nyet,” Olga said. “Bomb hit parking lot of Walmart. Caused a crater and broke into hundred pieces.” She saw Connie wasn't following so she added, “No boom.”
“'No boom,'” Connie mumbled disbelieving, “Well, I'll be damned.”
“Is probability,” Olga said, but Connie missed it. “This is cause to be happy, nyet?”
“What's so happy about it?” Connie.
“No boom,” Olga repeated as though she shouldn't have had to.
“It just means that that li'l gal Razzie, those two pilots, and all those guys at the base died for some twisted joke,” Connie said bitterly.
Olga saw the pain in Connie's face. “Connie,” she said “those must be pilots I saw on my way back. They are alive. They had parachutes. And men at base, they are soldiers, like us, nyet? They go in harm's way to protect what they love. Like we do.”
Connie just glared at the clouds.
“I did not know this 'Razzie' person.” Olga said softly. “But if she was your friend, she must have been good person. I am sorry for your loss.”
Before she could stop herself, Connie squeezed Olga's shoulder and hand.
They flew in silence for a moment. Olga was trying to think of something to say to comfort her friend. Nothing came to her. She began to feel a cramp in her back. She could easily handle Connie's weight, but she had caught the larger woman in an awkward position so she shifted her hold on Connie.
“Hey,” Connie said startling Olga, “Watch those hands, lezbova!”
“Da, I know, I know,” Olga said laughing, “Is rescue, not date.”
“Rescue, hell!” Connie said, “I coulda survived that fall. Though the landing wouldn't a' been too comfortable. Yer just givin' me a ride.”
“Of course,” Olga laughed glad to see the old Connie. “Is just ride.”
“Damn straight,” Connie confirmed.
“Da, is great pity,” Olga said, making a big show of ogling Connie's naked body.
“Keep your eye on the sky, you carpet-munchin' commie!” Connie said.
“I can see how you might miss detail,” said Olga, “but I have two.”
“Two?”
“Eyes, eyes, two,” Olga said trying to keep a straight face. “You should have said, ‘Keep your eyes, eyes, on sky.’”
“Oh, whatever,” Connie said, knowing exactly what Olga was ribbing her about. “Just watch where you're goin'.”
“And,” Olga said in mock indignation, “I am not 'carpet-muncher'.”
“Oh, please,” Connie scoffed.
“Nyet,” Olga said raising her eyebrows. “Maia shaves.”
“Ach! Oh!” Connie grimaced and recoiled but didn't let loose of Olga's hand and shoulder. “That's... ugh! You... oh! That tears it! Just you wait till we get down from here! You and me are gonna have this out once and for all!”
“Why wait?” Olga said with an impish grin and wicked gleam in her eye.
“Yeah! Why wait—wait, what?” Connie said confused until she saw Olga's expression. “You wouldn't da-!”
Olga pitched forward into a power dive. Sub-sonic this time, but soon regretted it. For this time, Connie's natural reflex was an artfully crafted, eloquently pronounced, and seemingly endless stream of insults, expletives, and invective delivered at such a high volume and pitch that it made even the ears of the Soviet Superwoman ring.
--To be continued--
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Part One: fav.me/d6x55q7
Part Three: (You’re lookin’ at it. 
Huge thanks to *Paudraic for writing this piece a long, long time ago, and shame on me for only recently editing it (very slightly) so it could finally get posted. 
The legendary did the picture as a gift to and me, and I think I can safely say we were both stunned at the skill and imagination he displayed in creating it. 
The Crimson Conservative is my own creation, © 2009, while the Soviet Superwoman is the property of *Soviet-Superwoman , with Maia/Walkiria belonging to . All other characters in this tale, which took place in (and above) the metropolis of , were created by *Paudraic .
Comments welcome, but only speculate about whether Connie liked having a lesbian Marxist’s hands on her while she was naked if you want to have your own hands broken…
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Comments: 40
Natasha: man this just tell us all the adventures where gonna have when were in are 30's
Leona: it'll be a trip
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I like hearing things like that, thanks!
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Can't get over the epicness of that gun. 
Though I can't help but notice Umarov's body wasn't found...
Awesome story as always!
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The Soviet Superwoman imprisoned by a former head of the KGB…
*Yurihausen ’s work is indeed awesome partially due to his props, like that gun he put into my girl’s hand. He always knows how to go the extra step to make an already fantastic picture even better.
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Somehow I wouldn't put anything past Putin at this point...
And yeah - Yuri does do great work with technological stuffs.
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Once you’re over the age of eleven, you should not say pow.
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i know.......is it a gun or a cannon. must weigh 200 lbs!
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Aw, that wasn’t anything special; I once picked up an Abrams tank and turned it around so the gunner inside could get a bead on the enemy in time. What you see in my hand in that picture may as well be a starter pistol.
Thanks for the comment!
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Wow, surfing with a fighter jet......love it!
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So do I-- never fails to amaze.
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Huh, that does indeed seem like Captain Reilly should have the admiral's job... even if I suspect ramming a craft with a nuke on board risks detonating it anyway, but I suppose better to do that further away from the major population center than right on top of it.... and with the bomb being away by the time they even had a chance to try that ramming manoeuvre, I guess it ended up a moot point anyway.
A fitting end to Umarov at least, made into mincemeat and blown up by a missile for good measure, fairly certain that killed him.
Huh, the bomb was a dud, wasn't expecting that... does paint the whole thing with another layer of tragic farcical stupidity.
Lastly, always fun to see a little Connie and Olga banter, the two messing with each other and all.
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From what I understand, it takes more than a standard explosion to get a nuclear warhead to detonate for the same reasons it‘s actually very hard to get a nuclear power plant to reach critical mass and turn into a mushroom cloud, but releasing all that material into the sky would not have been a good thing. Still, desperate measures and all that.
Yeah, *Paudraic did a great job with his death, and I like how competent he made the military. 
Where’s the earth-shattering kaboom?
And I agree, Sovie/Connie banter is always good stuff (when Connie’s mouth doesn’t get downright gargantuan, anyway).
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Touche... I should have remembered that.
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I appreciate the “touché,” but save it for someone who knows how to get a point across without writing an embarrassingly long run-on sentence.
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Well if I went by that rule I'd never let anyone else say it to me.
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Epic picture of my two favorite super-ladies, and an equally awesome story of them in action to boot (especially them having at it with each other at the end).
Which gets me to thinking what might happen if Connie ever met a dragon. 
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I had a through or two about how the Crimson Conservative ended up jet-wrangling, but *Paudraic took it upon himself to actually put something down, and everybody seems quite happy with the results.
Actually, in her home dimension, she speaks to a dragon rather frequently… never wrote about him, though, as he’s not copyrighted yet. And I like the image of Connie with a giant, ferocious dragon’s head mounted on her wall, like Burt Gummer’s graboid in Tremors 2.
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*Paudraic and *Yurihausen get all the praise for this mini-epic.
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Me, too; I had to add very little to Paudraic’s writing, since he has my surly Amazon down to well.
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Has Connie realized that this picture is proof that these two worked together and pictures stay on the internet foreeeeeeeeeveeeeeeer?
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In the Crimson Conservative’s mind, it proves that some busy-body showed up to steal her glory (and show off her nipples through her tight outfit!) while Connie did all the work. Also, she hasn’t fully grasped the concept of the Internet yet--she still kinda thinks it’s like TV; when the show’s over, it’s over, or something like that.
Don’t tell her I said this, but I get a kick out of when you needle my nine-foot behemoth like this!
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Needling is something my character and I have in commen.
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Good memory; *Soviet-Superwoman posted it a couple of years ago, back when it was just a gift from the great *Yurihausen without a story to go along with it.
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I also briefly posted it a few hours ago...
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Don't blame Olga, totally my fault.
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Nice pic and very cool story. I love Connie's gun. ^.~
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*Paudraic did a great job, and *Yurihausen is a master… who works on commission, by the way.
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That they did/are. ^W^ And yes, that gun is def. Connie.
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