Kim Possible Porn Story: Summertime Blues – Chapter 5

Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:

As usual, I dont own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that Im writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as mine, but that doesnt mean that the legal eagles out there wont try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100 Grade A disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

– Chapter Five –

Its a strange thing when someone straps on and steps into battle. The potent mixture of adrenaline, anxiety and uncertain outcome forms an unstable cocktail that affects people in a multitude of different ways. For some, the base instinct of self-preservation proves irresistible, and they immediately flee. For others, the noble qualities of loyalty and service compel them forward, advancing into the sea of carnage before them. Still others freeze when confronted with the human meat grinder of battle, and cease all ability to function, or in many cases, even move. But whatever the case may be, one is always affected. No matter how many times one enters the maelstrom, the sensations of uncertainty and fear are always there, like a part of ones self, always close at hand.

Such was the case for Lieutenant Commander Ron Stoppable as he streaked through the upper troposphere at trans-sonic speed. The anxiety he felt was almost palpable, creating a bitter taste in his mouth, and the unfamiliar surroundings certainly werent helping matters any.

It had been slightly more than a week now since Kims mother had medically cleared him to return to duty, and as it turned out, this was just in time for him to have his wings clipped: His beloved Sky Rat being yanked right out from under him.

It had come as a tremendous surprise when Doctor Director herself had called to inform him that his plane was being taken off the line to receive a major overhaul. He had been disappointed to say the least, but his shaken morale had been buoyed somewhat when the eye patch-clad crime-fighting czar had informed him just what G.J. and the Eagles planed to do to the machine he affectionately referred to as his bird.

Starting at nose, Sky Rat was scheduled to receive a major radar upgrade, with an all-new electro-optical sensor suite housed in a cylindrical casing just below. This densely packed canister of electronics would provide long-range visual assistance, night vision, and with the addition of a multi-directional rotating head, a targeting laser for deploying precision-guided munitions. All in all, it replaced most functions of the older, bulkier LANTIRN pod, and did so in a much sleeker and aerodynamic package.

Behind these upgrades, the M-61 Vulcan cannon was to be removed and replaced with a pair of GAU-22, 25-millimeter Gattling guns mounted in either side of the fuselage. More powerful and more accurate that the 20-millimeter Vulcan, these would give Sky Rat considerably more bite at close range, and had the added coolness of causing the plane to spit braids of fire from both corners of its sharks mouth insignia when the trigger was pulled.

Inside the cockpit, older display panels were giving way to sophisticated touch screens, and the fly-by-wire control systems were being gutted in favor of lighter and more durable fly-by light technology. There would be the addition of a helmet-mounted display to supplement the older heads-up display, and throughout the airframe, older computer systems were being replaced by newer, faster, lighter components.

Farther back, aluminum body panels were being replaced by lightweight ceramic armor, backed with Kevlar to increase strength. At the tail end, vectored thrust was to be a new feature, along with an exhaust cooling system to reduce Sky Rats infrared signature.

By the time the G.J. engineers were done with his bird, Doctor Director had assured him, Sky Rat would stand alone as an entirely new model of aircraft: The worlds only F-14/E Super Tomcat!

All techno-wonderment aside, however, the end result was still that he was without wings for the foreseeable future, and would be forced to make do with loaner aircraft.

And this was how he came to the position he now found himself in: Strapped into the cockpit of a Block-40 F-16 Fighting Falcon, streaking through the sky, 30,000 feet above the mountains of southwestern Syria.

The Falcon was a sweet ride, he had to admit, being incredibly quick and devilishly maneuverable. It carried with it the ability to hit hard and get away fast, but for someone not used to the cockpit layout, it took some getting used to. The control stick arrangement provided the most trouble, he had discovered, with the familiar floor-mounted yoke of the F-14 being replaced by a joystick-style controller set to his right side. In this configuration, even the slightest twitch of your hand was interpreted as a control input by the onboard computers, and the resulting flight path was erratic at best.

To complicate matters even further, the simple aspect of how you sat in this bird was radically different as well. This version of the Falcon was equipped with a seat that reclined back at a 45-degree angle. The intent was to relieve some of the stress involved with pulling high-G turns, but for someone more used to a conventional cockpit arrangement, it was simply one more cause for aggravation.

But the biggest difference, however, was the most obvious one: He was alone. Kim, sadly, had been called in to work overtime with Monique at Club Banana that afternoon. Not that it really mattered, Ron told himself, because the F-16 was a single-seat fighter anyway. For this mission, he would be flying solo, and it was something that bothered him to no end.

Attempting to calm his frayed nerves, Ron tried to focus on the current mission du jour. According to the pre-flight briefing, a regional warlord was growing discontented with his sphere of influence. In recent months, he had taken to referring to himself as The Black Sheik, and had started making somewhat less-than-neighborly gestures toward nearby municipalities.

But now, as the most recent intel reports clearly stated, the Sheik had upped the ante. The aspiring dictator had gathered his private militia and dispatched them southward in a convoy of trucks and light armored vehicles. It was a clearly aggressive move against the neighboring villages, but that wasnt what Global Justice found to be the greatest cause for concern.

The columns apparent target was within virtual spitting distance of the Israeli-occupied Golan Heights, and any military action here could very well spill over the border, causing the whole situation to flare up into a major international incident. Clearly, this was something that could not be tolerated, and the decision had been made persuade this particular convoy that today was most definitely not a good day for a drive through the countryside.

The F-16s that Ron and his squadron were now flying had been loaned to the Eagles by the Israeli Air Force, who was understandably supportive of the plan. It the strike succeeded, then Israel would rid itself of a potential thorn in its side, and any political fallout from the incident would come back on G.J, rather than them. For the Israelis, it was a win-win scenario.

The plan itself was relatively simple. En route to its destination, the column would need to pass through a region of rough terrain. The road it took would cross a ravine on a high bridge, then ascend a mountain ridge that lay just beyond. Following this ascent, the convoy would then descend the far side of the ridge before crossing a similar ravine and continuing on its way. Unfortunately for them, however, the road approaching the summit was steep and crooked: Something that would force the group of vehicles to slow down considerably.

For the Eagles, this was their window of opportunity. As the group of vehicles slowed to a crawl, a flight of eight ships would intercept them, creating a sort of aerial ambush. While half of the force remained above to provide cover, two strike teams of two planes each would descend and hit the bridges with precision-guided munitions, effectively trapping the convoy on the ridge above. Once that was accomplished, a follow-up flight of Panavia Tornados would gently persuade these men to abandon their vehicles and take a leisurely walk home.

Rons job in all of this was to fly lead for one of the two strike teams. He would be tasked with striking the forward bridge, while his wingman watched his back. Both planes carried a pair of 2,000-pound laser-guided bombs for the purpose, so that if by chance Rons attack proved ineffective, his wingman could execute a follow-up attack and complete the job.

Glancing over his right shoulder, Ron spied his wingman just a few yards away, and flashed a series of hand signs to inquire if everything was in order. The young man responded with a classic thumbs up gesture, indicating that they were good to go. Ron smiled, thinking of the quirky co-worker who he had recently befriended.

Sam Nabunston was a bespectacled young man with brown hair and a British accent so thick you could serve it with a spatula. Their paths had crossed briefly during basic flight training, but in that short time they had discovered a common interest in all things sci-fi, and had kept in contact via email ever since. To now be flying into combat side-by-side was quite a coincidence, they both admitted, and a rather pleasant coincidence at that.

Inbound to target, twenty-one miles down range. Ron spoke casually into his helmets microphone. ETA is two minutes. You ready for this, fellas?

Affirmative!

We have a go!

Lets kick this pig! a chorus of replies came flooding back.

Alrighty then! Ron responded, putting on his patented serious face. Stick with me, Sammy. This ride could get a bit bumpy.

Ill be right behind you, ya crazy Yank. Sam replied with his distinctive accent in full effect. Cleaning up the bloody mess when youre done, no doubt.

Hey! We dont always leave a mess! Ron shot back defensively at Sams playful barb. What about Europe after World War Two? That wasnt our mess, but we rolled up our sleeves and we cleaned that continent up!

Yeah, well ya shouldve scrubbed France a little harder.

Meh Fair nuff. You ready for this?

Tally ho!

Banking left and dropping his nose, Ron rolled into his target. A few deft movements of the hat switch on his control yoke, and the crosshairs of the targeting laser were placed squarely in the center of the bridge deck, mid way between two large support columns. According to the brief hed read, this was the weakest part of the structure, and consequently, the spot where an attack would do the greatest damage.

A quick flick of his thumb and the safety cover protecting the ordinance release switch was open, revealing the large, red button underneath. Bursts of flak began to billow around him as he counted down the seconds, waiting for just the right moment to release his lethal payload.

When the moment came, he didnt hesitate, pressing the fleshy part of his thumb firmly against the hardened plastic. Two distinct klunks resounded through the cockpit, and the Falcon lurched upward, confirming that he had just lost 4,000 pounds the easy way. He eased the stick back, slowly pulling up and away from the bridge, all the while keeping the crosshairs centered on the target.

When the video screen to his right was suddenly filled with a billowing cloud of smoke and flying debris, he knew that the bombs had found their mark, and that at least his portion of the mission had been a success. He smiled, thinking about how easy the whole thing had actually been, and keyed his radio.

Saber five to Saber one, we have a positive impact! Repeat Positive impact! he proudly reported to his flight leader high above. The response he received, however, was not at all what he was expecting.

Look alive, Saber five! Youve got a bogey on your six! the voice of an anonymous pilot called out, causing Ron to jerk his head around so fast that he nearly gave himself whiplash. Sure enough, he instantly recognized the form of an A-4 Skyhawk, silhouetted against the brightly lit desert sky. Its nose was painted a bright shade of solid yellow, indicating that the pilot was some sort of hotshot, and from his motions it didnt look like this guy was just popping in to say Hi,

Where the heck did he come from? Ron shouted. I thought you guys were running interference!

Sorry, Mad Dog. He mustve slipped in the back door on us.

Well would you mind closing that door, then? Its getting kind of drafty down here!

Ron quickly returned his attention to the situation at hand. The Skyhawk was small and highly agile, as he understood it, but it still lacked the raw power of his own F-16. He quickly pitched his nose down and opened the throttle, accelerating through the sound barrier. His hope was that this unexpected guest would chose to break off the chase, rather than give up the advantage of altitude.

These hopes were quickly dashed however, as a glance over his shoulder revealed the Skyhawk to still be in hot pursuit, falling behind as Rons more powerful engine opened the range, but not giving up the chase just yet. Ron dismayed slightly, as he soon found himself running out of altitude. He juked to the right and pulled up slightly, diving into the rocky confines of a nearby canyon. If he could use the rugged terrain as cover, he reasoned, he just might be able to frustrate this tailgater into giving up.

What quickly ensued was a 600 mile-per-hour game of cat and mouse, played out directly on, and sometimes below, the deck. The two craft roared down canyons and ravines, twisting left and right, pulling up sharp to clear peaks and ridges, then rolling inverted as they dove once again into the craggy confines of the rippled earth.

As Ron had hoped, the rugged contours of the landscape were indeed providing enough cover to keep his adversary from gaining a clear shot, but even at best this was only a delaying tactic. The tight turns and steep climbs favored the more maneuverable Skyhawk, and made controlling the F-16 a harrowing experience. He needed the open space of altitude, where the Falcons superior acceleration and climbing ability could be brought into play, but this presented a problem. While he could certainly out-climb the Skyhawk, pulling upward in this sitch would leave him vulnerable. For a brief period, probably no more than a few seconds, he would be exposed and within range of a missile shot

And given his adversarys obvious abilities, the guy didnt seem like one to let such a golden opportunity slip past him.

Ron was in a catch-22 and he knew it. He couldnt stay down low forever, and he couldnt risk taking the high road. He was at a total loss for what to do, when a familiar voice suddenly called out to him like a bolt from the blue.

Pull up already, ya bloke! a familiar accent with a Warwickshire lilt crackled across the radio.

Uh, I dont think thats a good idea right now! was Rons uncertain reply.

Well to coin an American phrase, Just do it!

Reacting almost on instinct, Ron gunned his engine to the red line and pulled sharply back, sending the F-16 screaming skyward.

From his position above and behind the developing ruckus, Sam could see the Skyhawk follow Rons sudden ascent, lifting its own nose heavenward as it strained for a lock. As the two planes soared steadily upward, neither noticed that they were now perfectly silhouetted against a crystal clear sky, within perfect striking range for the F-16 behind them.

Falling into position behind the A-4, Sam cracked a wicked smile. To spite his obvious skill as a pilot, this bozo had committed the cardinal sin of the dogfight: He had lost his situational awareness. The wanker had gone directly after Ron, never even noticing the ever-watchful wingman lurking just a thousand feet above.

And now, with the electronic growl of a thermal lock blaring in his earpiece, he resolved that it was a mistake this hot-dogger would pay dearly for.

With a simple squeeze of the trigger, one of the two Python missiles that he carried on his wingtips streaked away, trailing a brilliant white plume of smoke in its wake. Three seconds later, it impacted the Skyhawks rear fuselage, shredding its tail and sending the hapless craft into a cartwheel.

Flipping end over end, it tumbled through a graceful arc, reaching an elegant precipice before starting its final descent to the earth below. Moments later, the familiar form of a parachute could be seen, just before both plane and pilot disappeared into a dust cloud that obscured the desert floor. Sams smile only broadened at the sight It was his first kill.

Booyah! Way to be, Sammy! Ron shouted enthusiastically as he leveled out and turned back toward his comrade in arms.

Man! I nailed that bloody tosser! Sam responded. Somebody tell that bloke to come back when he can hang with the big lads, alright?

And speaking of hanging with the big boys, Ron broke in, looks like our boys could use an assist up there. He pointed upward to emphasize the point.

Oh, right then. Sam agreed, squinting slightly through his glasses as he glanced skyward. Off we go.

The two pilots advanced their throttles and pushed their respective crafts skyward. From the looks of things, the A-4 they had encountered had been only one member of a much larger group, and the remainder of that group was now locked in mortal combat with the rest of their own squadron.

The ordinarily peaceful skies above southwestern Syria had now been transformed into a twisting, turning, gut-churning, afterburning, roiling furball. The pale blue sky was criss-crossed with a spiders web of con trails and missile streaks. Tracers and flak bursts punctuated the scene, and flaming pieces of aircraft debris plummeted downward from the spiraling chaos above. It was a scene worthy of any big-budget action movie, and both Ron and Sam now found themselves thundering headlong into the thick of it all.

Screaming into the fight, both ships leveled off and turned in unison, falling into position behind an A-4 that had become separated from its comrades. Spotting the trouble behind him, the Skyhawks pilot turned hard left, compelling Ron and his wingman to do the same. Using their superior thrust, the two of them quickly closed the range, but Ron soon found himself stymied. He was too far to the inside of the Skyhawks turn for a shooting solution, and bouncing outside would cost him his ability to hold the turn. Thinking fast, he quickly keyed his microphone once again.

You got a line on him, Sammy?

Thats affirmative!

Then take em out!

Half a moment later, the Vulcan cannon in Sams starboard wing-root roared to life, unloading 20-millimeter armor piercing shells to the tune of 6,000 rounds per minute. The burst chewed into the Skyhawks tail, ripping the rudder free from its hinges. A few seconds later, the pilot punched out, leaving his stricken craft to become one with the desert landscape below.

Thats two for you then, is it? Ron observed as the two planes reversed their turns back to the right and began to climb once again.

Quite right, that would be! Sam proudly replied. But dont be counting my chickens just yet. I think number three just entered the building.

Negative, my friend. Ron informed, eyeing the lone A-4 that was now crossing their path, just above them. This sucker is all mine!

Breaking into a right-hand ascending turn, Ron felt the force of five Gs wash over him. He winced and strained against the load, watching his target intently as he climbed above the hapless Skyhawk, rolled over, and dove down onto his prey in a manner that was not unlike the predatory bird for which his plane was named.

Time to reach out and touch someone. He smiled menacingly to himself.

Screaming in from above and behind, Ron fired a burst that clipped the tip of the Skyhawks left wing. Startled by the sudden attack, the A-4 broke hard right and dove, with Ron in hot pursuit. He rolled his Falcon into a spiraling dive as both craft violently corkscrewed downward, the rugged desert mountains looming ever larger in their windscreens. As his altimeter passed 5,000 feet, he saw the Skyhawk pull up sharply: An action that he quickly mimicked.

For Ron, it was now a familiar sitch. He was back on the deck, maneuvering through the terrain, just as he had been less than a minute before. But now, the tables had turned: He was the hunter, and his will would not be denied.

Moving down the canyon, dodging flak and anti-aircraft fire from the now-marooned convoy below, he closed in on the Skyhawk, priming himself for the kill. Gradually, he throttled back, holding a safe distance away from his target, almost instinctively expecting what would come next.

The Skyhawks pilot didnt disappoint in this regard, banking left as he passed over one of the many ravines that scarred the landscape. It was a feint, and Ron knew it, having been well-instructed in the tactics of the dogfight. In the blink of an eye, the Skyhawk turned back hard right and dove for the cover of the ravine, presenting Ron with the perfect opening.

Making a slight adjustment to his heading, he squeezed off a burst, aiming for the area where he knew his target would momentarily be. Half a second later, the Skyhawk roared into view, and promptly burst into flames, its right wing shredded by the well-placed shot.

Mortally wounded, the Skyhawks wing tore away, and the flaming wreck spiraled downward, plowing into a nearby ridge and erupting into a rolling fireball that leapt skyward before flowing down the far side of the ridge as a landslide of fire.

Booyah squared! Ron jubilantly shouted. Scratch one for the Ronster!

Alright, but dont let it go to your bloomin head now. Sam retorted. Weve still got to get our sorry arses home.

By this point, the battle above them had dissipated, the surviving Skyhawks abandoning the fight and bugging out in all directions. A quick survey as the group reformed revealed that they could claim six kills that day while losing none of their own. What was more, both bridges had been knocked out, and the anti-aircraft guns of the convoy had been neutralized. The Tornados were now free to engage the remaining targets unmolested, and eliminate them at their leisure. All things considered, the day had been a complete success.

Rejoining the formation and ascending back to 30,000 feet, Rons mind had just started drifting to thoughts of home when a distinctive two-tone beep brought him back into focus. There was a video message for him, coming in over the planes integrated com-link.

Almost without thinking, he reached down and pressed the acknowledge button, bringing the small screen to life. When it did, he was quite surprised to see a brilliant pair of emerald green eyes staring back at him.

Hey sweetie. Kim cooed, her image looking playfully into the reflective surface of his visor.

Hey yourself. Ron replied, raising his visor to reveal an equally playful expression. Whats up?

Just wanted to check in and see how my badical BF was doing.

No worries here, KP. Your main man has everything under control.

Glad to hear it. Kim replied, appearing slightly relieved at the news. Also, I thought you should know, Wade thinks hes figured out the next clue.

Hey! That is good news!

Yeah, so get yourself home A.S.A.P., mister! Weve got a mystery to solve, and Ive got an eight-thirty appointment for a refill on Ronshine.

Only if I get a top-off on Kimshine.

I think that can be arranged. Kim winked seductively, causing Rons flight path to suddenly lurch erratically.

Roger that, KP. Were R.T.B. and homeward bound!

Just make sure you get here in one piece, okay.

Roger Wilco on that.

Oh, and Ron

Yeah?

I love you.

With that parting remark, the screen went blank, leaving Ron with mental images of an amorous Kim Possible, eagerly awaiting his return to Middleton.

It was all he could do to avoid fire-walling the throttle and leaving the rest of the squadron to eat his con trail.

Authors Notes:

Well, the last two chapters were mainly drama and fluff, so I thought it was time for a little action. Besides, Rons been bugging me for some more stick time in the cockpit, so who am I to say no.

And before I go any further, I want to send a big thumbs-up and a resounding thank you to member Rei Ronin. Rei has been serving as a technical advisor of sorts on this chapter, making sure that I keep all of my techno-ducks in a row. Look for him to possibly make an appearance in a later chapter as well. Thanks again, dude!

Upgrades: I know the list of upgrades I ran through concerning Sky Rat was somewhat of a handful, so Ill try to simplify things here. The radar upgrade will probably involve swapping out the older AN/APG-71 radar and AN/ALR-67 warning receiver for the newer and more efficient AN/APG-77-AN/ALR-94 package. The touch-screen systems would probably be similar to those found in the YF-35 Lightning, and the helmet-mounted display system is currently under development by the United States Air Force. Everybody understand things now? Me neither.

LANTIRN: Low Altitude Navigation and Targeting Infra-Red for Night, (LANTIRN), is a state-of-the-art electronics package that is carried in a detachable pod beneath the wing or fuselage of many military aircraft. Essentially a sophisticated night-vision system, it gives the pilot full visual awareness, even in total darkness.

Block-40 F-16 Fighting Falcon: A variation on the classic Lockheed F-16/C, the Block-40 has been modified with heavier struts and gear for absorbing rough landings, and possesses updated display panels and electronics, including the ability to carry the LANTIRN pod.

Panavia Tornado: A high-speed, low-altitude attack bomber developed jointly by Britain, Germany and Italy during the early 1970s. Featuring such design elements as variable wing geometry and twin turbofan engines that combine for nearly 34,500 pounds of thrust, the Tornado is one of the most capable attack bombers in the air today. Its ability to hit hard and outrun almost any pursuer makes it a force to be reckoned with in any theater of combat.

Sam Nabunston: An original character I came up with for the purpose of this chapter. As Rons stand-in partner, this character is actually inspired by one of the more active members over at . Big-time kudos to the astute individual that picks out who.

Douglas A-4 Skyhawk: A ground attack aircraft designed and built for the United States Navy, the Skyhawk is a study in the virtues of simplicity. Small and cleanly-built, the A-4 features such design elements as a cruciform tail and delta wings so compact that they did not require folding in the cramped confines of a carriers hangar deck.

Designed by Douglass Chief Engineer Ed Heinemann and first flown on June 22, 1954, the Skyhawk quickly developed a reputation for speed and agility. With these characteristics combined with its overall diminutive size, the plane acquired nicknames such as Scooter, Tinker Toy Bomber, and Heinemanns Hot Rod. To spite such disparaging monikers, however, there was no denying the planes superior handling characteristics, nor the fact that such performance was eerily reminiscent of the fearsome MiG series fighters of the Soviet Union.

For this reason, when the navy created its Fighter Weapons School at Miramar Naval Air Station in 1969, A-4 Skyhawks were tapped to play stand-in for the role of Soviet fighters. By allowing pilot trainees to fly against aircraft with similar characteristics to the Russian-built MiGs, it was hoped their skills could become sufficiently honed.

If youve ever watched the movie Top Gun, then youve seen A-4s in action.

Python Missile: This is an advanced version of the American AIM-9 Sidewinder missile, developed and deployed by the Israeli Air Force, or Hel HaAvir. Originally developed under the project code name of Shafrir, the Python 5 is currently considered to be the most capable air-to-air missile in the world. With advanced features such as all-aspect, all-direction (including backward) attack capability, lock-on after launch (LOAL), and beyond visual-range targeting (BVR), the Python sets the gold standard by which all short-range heat-seeking air-to-air missiles are judged.

Well, I guess that just about wraps things up for another chapter. Where will the hunt be taking our heroes when we return? Who knows But the sky certainly seems to be the limit!

And to fulfill our shameless-plug quota for the day, be sure to visit Zaratans forums and cast your votes for the Third Annual Fannie Awards! Trust me Youll be glad you did!

Peace out, dudes!

Nutzkie