Chapter 13: Bolt from the Blue

Cynthia Arsenault stood by the massive doors of #1 Hangar, arms crossed, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. The last of the massive Lancaster bombers pulled up to its parking spot and shut its engines down. The weary crews deplaned gratefully, looking forward to a quick debriefing, a hot supper in the Officers' Mess and warm, clean beds.

Harry walked over to his sister, accompanied by his wingmen Razor Sharpe and Digger Doyle. "Look out, gentlemen," he advised the two pilots. "I know that look. She either knows something, or is up to something."

Digger looked at his friend skeptically. "She shouldn't have been able to get up to too much. She and Joni are being babysat by Captain Whitefeather."

"That's not something that fills me with confidence," Harry fretted. "It's sort of like Air Cadet Sergeant Artful Dodger being babysat by Captain Fagin."

"I don't remember a Captain Fagin," Dozer remarked, puzzled.

Both the other two pilots rolled their eyes at Dozer. "Does the name 'Charles Dickens' mean anything to you?" Digger demanded.

"Wasn't he that funny-looking narrator on that puppet version of A Christmas Carol? The guy the rat was always following around?"

"Right," Digger confirmed as the trio finally reached Cynthia.

The young woman waggled her eyebrows. "I know a secret," she singsonged.

"And what might this secret be?" asked Digger. "That you got laid last night?"

"That's my little sister you're talking about!" protested Harry indignantly.

"Have you seen how she fills out a flight suit?" Digger rejoined. "There's nothing 'little' about her. Big brothers should be aware of these things."

"This big brother is quite aware of 'these things', thank you very much."

Cynthia pouted. "Aren't you interested in my secret?"

"Absolutely fascinated," Razor confirmed, delighted to change the subject to something less explosive than his friend's younger sister's sex life. "Do elucidate."

"Lots of changes happening." Cynthia was enjoying being mysterious.

"You passed your exams, and are now a high school graduate," Harry speculated. He then corrected himself, "No, they wouldn't have finished marking the tests yet."

"They have, and I did pass. So did Joni. We're both off to Royal Military College, after a quick stop back at Cold Lake to pack our bags. We got our orders, in writing. But that's not the secret."

Harry hugged her. "Congratulations! That's excellent news! We'll have to have a party tonight!" He then bored his eyes into her. "The secret?"

"The hangar queens are coming here." The Lightning II had a ripe reputation with Canadian fighter pilots for needing an incredible quantity of service for every hour airborne.

By this time, all twelve pilots in the squadron had gathered around the girl, and were hanging on to every word. There was a collective groan at the mention of the imminent arrival of the Lightning II's.

"Apparently, they've developed that Arrowhead engine to the point where it's man-rated. They're going to replace every single engine on every single jet aircraft in the RCAF inventory with a version of this, size dependent upon the size of the airframe and the load it has to carry. And they're all being built here."

"So what does our squadron get?" someone demanded. "I've come to like the Lanc."

"Oh, as far as I know we're keeping the Lancasters – they're also going to replace the Aurora anti-sub planes, as the Swarm apparently don't use subs. The big single bomb bay of the Lancaster is better for cruise missiles than the dinky little bomb bays of the Aurora, and it's more manoeuvrable besides. However, that's not all the news. The RCAF is getting a brand-new aircraft. It's equipping six brand-spanking-new squadrons. This aircraft."

The hangar doors slid open on that cue. Curious and not a little afraid, the pilots stared inside. Joni came out, driving an aircraft marshaling tractor. Behind the tractor was a smallish single-seat plane with twin jet engines mounted externally at the rear and straight wings. It was painted camouflage grey like the Lancasters, with Canadian markings in contrasting grey.

"Sirs, let me introduce you to the CA-210 Thunderbolt II-S. Similar to the old American A-10A Thunderbolt II, but with a stronger airframe, advanced avionics, better radar, and a fusion reactor powering two new Confederacy-technology scoop-jet engines, it needs literally no jet fuel and only needs to land to permit the pilot to re-enlist." She patted the hard points under the wings. "She can carry about the same level of bombs as her pre-Swarm predecessor, and is faster. And she still has the Gatling gun."

Everyone whistled at the hot new strike aircraft. A few hands reached out tentatively to touch the birds, as if unsure that what they were looking at was actually real.