Chapter 1: Plane Crash

The black smoke rising from the former jet fighter was the image in the background of the Cable News Channel. Superimposed over the video of the stricken aircraft were crawling information bars on a multitude of subjects ranging from stock prices, to the weather, the crash, fashion reports, celebrity divorces and dire warnings about which foods were thought to cause cancer this week. Terry Grissom was only interested in the plane. His plane. Although the plane belonged to the American taxpayers he had signed for it when it was in better condition than it now appeared on the small TV screen. Being an experienced aviator Terry had no need to look to operate the clumsy device which controlled the television and the hospital bed on which he laid, and could summon a nurse, although it had seemed to be far more effective on the bed and TV than the nurse. Adjusting the volume up to an audible level, Terry could hear the anchorwoman reading the bulleted factoids displayed on the screen.

"The plane was believed to be an F- A- Eighteen Hornet" she pronounced carefully with no certainty in her voice, "like the one pictured here"

The plane which appeared onscreen with the notation "File Video" was in fact an "A" model of the F/A-18 Terry noted seeing the details of the aircraft pictured by the news agency. "Close," he said, "but no cigar."

He wondered if this was in fact a hospital in which he had awakened. Although it had many of the visual clues one expects to see in a hospital, what it lacked seemed to be actual staff members. As he was about to push the button again, the door opened and admitted a delegation of lab-coated people wearing identification badges marked "Visitor" in large red letters. Following the group of four white coated men and one woman was Terry's squadron commander, Hal.

Hal wasted no time getting to the point "Terry I was asked to tell you that these people have whatever authority to ask you to do, whatever it is they came to ask you for, and this comes from on high."

Terry again Considered the group of people, at first he had thought they had been doctors but then he wondered if they might be crash investigators, although he didn't think they could have arrived so quickly, assuming it was still the same day. He looked again at the screen which gave the date as August 18th, 2004 the same day he had took off on a completely routine training mission. "Are you investigating the crash?" he asked no one in particular of the white clad persons.

"No," said the only woman "It's actually much more serious than that."

It hardly seemed likely that these people could be here for anything more serious than the still smoking fifty million dollar plane receiving wall-to-wall coverage on the country's #1 Infoprovider (now in HD). Perhaps he had made a mistake on his taxes? But representatives of the IRS did not wear lab-coats. Did anyone still wear lab-coats except on TV, he wondered.

"We were on our way to meet you anyway before you even took off," Said the Youngish looking woman. "The crash might actually be a helpful diversion if you decide to accept our offer."

"Glad I thought of it then," Terry said rubbing his still sore neck muscles.

The Woman looked at the slightly older looking man to her right and asked, "Can you look at that Herbie?"

The man did step forward and produced a device the size of a paperback book and what looked like a gourd shaped salt shaker from the pockets of his lab coat. "Can you wiggle your fingers and toes?" Herbie requested, as he placed the fat end of the "Salt shaker" on Terry's neck.

Terry complied with as much finger and toe wiggling as possible while continuing to inspect the visitors. The woman giving the orders was no older than He was, which was twenty-nine but the others were all at least in their late thirties or early forties. Then it struck him that there was a passing resemblance to the men of this group. They all had a seriousness to their look which Terry had at first merely attributed to being doctors but he then noticed they had similar features. Currently they all wore the same worried frown. These people were clearly not medical doctors, except "Herbie" perhaps as none of them had achieved the look of professional detachment that MD's pull off so well. They looked downright worried, especially the woman, as if they had as much at stake in the condition of his spine as he did. "Looks like something off of Star Trek." Terry joked. Then he felt a warmth followed by a light vibration. He Looked at Hal, his CO and Friend and saw he too was worried but not just about the possibility of injury. Hal watched the others in the room warily. Terry wondered about what Hal had meant by "on high"

Moving the Warm tingly "Salt shaker" around Terry's neck and shoulders until he was satisfied with the results Herbie pronounced, "No permanent damage but it's gonna smart for a while."

And smart it did. The ejection seat had violently removed Terry from the aircraft as if he had been talking in a theater, or some other inexcusable behavior. He did not remember anything after that but was surprised he had even survived the ejection from the pinwheeling aircraft which had suddenly exploded with no warning in mid flight.

The Visitors all relaxed visibly when the pronouncement was made, the woman in the middle even had apparently been holding her breath. "So to what then, do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Terry asked the now relieved looking group.

Again they deferred to the woman in the middle who stated, "We came to offer you a job." Pausing briefly for a reaction from Terry that was not yet forthcoming she continued,"If you decide to accept, we have the authority to ask the Colonel here to arrange for you to be honorably yet quietly discharged from your military service. This is how the crash may be useful as a cover." she added.

"It better be one heck of a job then" Terry said seriously.

"Oh it is Major, rest assured that it is the biggest job opening in the world." the woman said with no look of humor or irony on her face at all. "If you will excuse us a moment Colonel..." she asked of Hal who only spared a small supportive look at Terry before quickly exiting the room.

Terry considered carefully what they could be here to propose to him. His career had been stellar so far. He had graduated first in his class from the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland and accepted a commission in the Marine Corps, turning down an offer to play in the National Football League. He had been an outstanding athlete as well as a gifted scholar. He distinguished himself as an aviator in the six years since then, turning down another offer from officers he had served with in the Iraq War. Some had enough pull to be assured of a recommendation to the Navy's prestigious Blue Angels flight demonstration team. But he had turned down that offer to accept a job as an air combat instructor. He felt the need to work where he could directly help save the lives of his fellow jet-jocks. What could be more important than that, he didn't know, especially if it would involve leaving the service. These folks were clearly from some family run organization as they all had a kind of resemblance. Terry's blood ran cold as it occurred to him what kind of organization was privately run but did important work that needed flying skills.

In the 1920's something amazing had happened to the human race. People had developed super powers. Unfortunately the first recipients of those powers had used them for their own personal gain, usually at the expense of others. And what expense. The city of Madrid, Spain no longer existed, it had been annihilated by a super villain who called himself "El Diablo" or "The Devil." His power was to generate explosions. When the angry citizens of Madrid attacked him he used all of his power and caused the first known atomic explosion on Earth. Other villains held cities for ransom and destroyed anyone or anything that came between them and total domination of their communities. But then in the late days of the 20's heroes started to appear. first normal humans fed up with the super powered menace that plagued their particular town would fight for their neighbors, but the risk to themselves was great if they could not hide their identities. And so the American people demanded an Amendment to the U.S. Constitution that protected heroes who fought meta-human villains and their minions, robots, and monstrous creations. The Amendment forbid any government agency from attempting to uncover the identity of any person who fought against meta-human threats of all kinds. One of the earliest of these heroes was Rocket Man, who in 1932 began his career as the champion of the common man versus enemies ranging from super scientists to little green men from outer space. It was widely publicized that apart from his metal rocket powered armor, Rocket Man had no actual super powers. An organization known as the Rocket Man Foundation was formed to help finance the necessary expenses to maintain the equipment Rocket Man needed. And the public donated enthusiastically. The public approval polls showed that Rocket Man was about as popular as ice cream and among young boys much more so. One such young boy had been Terry Grissom, who had a prodigious collection of comic books, action figures, and collectibles that vexed his parents with the need for storage space that it consumed.

The most recent Rocket Man, the fourth to earn the title, had recently died. For fifteen years he had fought for the safety of the people of the whole planet. He had lost his life to the invincible seeming Dr. Doomsday, who was still at large. Terry knew what job opening these people were here to fill. "You're from the RMF" Terry stated plainly.

The woman was clearly surprised. "Your accomplishments indicate intelligence Major, but I'm Impressed nonetheless." She smiled broadly.