CHAPTER ONE / ALLIED FOR LIFE / PAGE 2

Kids in the crowd do. Something about automatics and an improvised air show, they freeze in place. Gives the paratroopers the opportunity to squeeze through, reestablish a line -- hup hup, might is right, plight makes for such a sight, it's flee, flip or fight when the scene suddenly goes silent.

Everybody's watching.

Only sound is the tread of Cissy's heavy boots, and theWHUP WHUP of the helicopter settling in closer.

Is there an ugly incident in the making?

What the kids inside the terminal can't see they don't know, so most join the trek out toward Wembley, site of Chipper's next earthy appearance where close to 200,000 of them have jammed inside the stadium, while outside and spilling into adjacent neighborhoods, ten times their number have assembled, along with a full division of regular Army infantry.

WHUPWHUPWHUPWHUPWHUPWHUPWHUP -- back at Heathrow the helicopter descends -- but that doesn't deter Cissy. With a hoist of her ribbed midfinger, she signals her squad into action. Confusion's the game as the girls start in scrimmaging. Looks like a snatch pass, pat on the ass, a long sweep to a wild receiver, a flame headed wonder running backwards open mouthed and hooting, "Who's here got the balls?"

Not the QuotLink Inc Security Corps, they doffed theirs for generous severance packages eons ago, which might explain why they misjudge the play, like entirely. They close into a shell while two of Cissy's tiny tight ends sneak along the wings. A dive, a tackle, and the girls take down the heavy artillery. Call it foul but two-fisted batons are useless when your enemy's on your back kicking and scratching. Seems these QuotLink lifers weren't trained for resistible wenches with finger spikes and spindly spurs that tickle. So when Cissy who's been saving her loveliest linebackers does a final rush forward, that is, hits full force head and shoulders and piles on rugby style, game's over, security detachment falls without firing a shot.

Paratroopers do a double take. Hesitate.

And if an armed bodyguard is no match for these babes, what chance does a lone rockstar or his pet Lab who's part Dobie have of surviving?

Plenty. Dog's gone a few rounds in her life and Chipper's still scrappy.

"Remembah the pahkin lot ovah at Hack's Bah that rainy Satuhday night Betsy?"

Remember? How could she forget, lug wrenches and a dozen Kanooks in mud up to their ankles, after Chipper has to go and say something disparaging about his quarter French ancestry.

"Fihst to draw blood in a brawl's suhe to win." Some comfort that is as the two go back-to-back, face off the force encircling hem. "Go fah a throat and I'll try and knock some sense into one of theih pretty little heads."

Betsy bares her incisors, scopes for one her size or smaller.

(WHUPWHUPWHUPWHUP -- rescue craft is whipping up dust as Cissy's gang closes in tighter and tighter.

"Tough lookin bunch of bruisahs."

Betsy and he twist around, looking for a break in the ranks, which is at least two deep with more of the sisters moving in from the midfield.

"Spot a hole gihl, scuhry through it. I can take cahe of myself."

-rr-right! Betsy slinks low to the ground.

Chipper starts bouncing up and down, short hops, warming himself up -- boy is Maine State Champion jumpy, can leap five, ten, fifteen feet at the slightest female provocation.

"Stook'em!" Cissy commands and the girls advance -- CLANKCLANKCLANK CLANKCLANK.

"Looks like this is it Betsy baby!"

Chipper must have springs on his heels as he leaps -- h'yigh hoop -- straight up in a high fly vault over the front line offensive. Perfect form. Arms. legs stretched, head ducked and ready to roll when he lands other side -- whoof -- but what's this? Something soft? Yes, a punker heavyweight on her back and unzipped. Chipper lands full flop on top a cushion of belly and breasts, but -ee y'ouch! -- something sticks, a pair of nipple pins in the palms of his hands. It's Cissy Coombs leering lustily up at him.

"Help yoorself flybooy!"

Though Chipper's, "Nope, and I thank you kindly fah the offah ma'am," as he scrambles off her, "theah's this somethin else I've just got to be doin -- BETSY?"

Betsy's spotted a hole in the line and gone squirreling through it -- Cissy's girls tumbling all over themselves trying to block her.

"Whoa, theah you ah. Figuhred I'd lost you fah suhe this round."

Fat chance of that chum. So what's our game plan?

True. One play, no matter how spectacular, isn't going to finish this quarter, not as Cissy calls for a time out to regroup. But with the clock still ticking she's got to act quickly, so she fans her force across the field and comes running on the offensive.

Chipper starts in bouncing again. Betsy hunkers low. "Ahright, stay cool, they say theah's ahways a way out of anythin, long as you don't panic."

(WHUPWHUPWHUPWHUP WHUPWHUP)

"H'yep, ahways is! Lock on my hip pocket gihl, let's grab the elevatah."

-rr grab the what?

(WHUP -UP -UP)

Cissy's team comes charging, so... so... so Chipper goes for another soaring leap, vertical, the goal this heat being the skids of the small rescue craft fluttering some forty feet above him --WHUPWHUPWHUPWHUP -- which might be slightly out of reach for someone not in training, but go for the gold Chipper -- right about now!

Though just as Betsy readies to hitch a ride on his back pockets, someone stomps down hard on her tail -- cur-ripes!

"Uut oof me way, yoo stuupid muutt!"

It's Cissy Coombs, offside, she nabs at Chipper's heels as he goes launching upward, arm over arm paddling, feet thrashing, up, up -- WHUPWHUP -- reaching -- WHUPWHUP -- until one hand... overlaps metal flange! Maine boy's made it! A new varsity record for broad jumping! Yes! His fingers grasp for the portal...

"Say mate, could you use a hand aboot new?" Pilot reaches over the spare seat.

Chipper's got his elbows in... his gig bag secure on his shoulder... "Crowbah'd be bettah!" While the rest of him's left dangling dangerously, and the helicopter's listing way to starboard... not to mention the pooch marooned below...

"Ball-peen hammer do?"

Because this fist full of knuckles is clutched on one foot and yanking, with all her weight. "Whatevah, othahwise I'm a gonah fah suhe!"

Instead his boot bops off, and he's mercifully free of Cissy as he does a final pull-up into the cockpit.

(CHIPPER! CHIPPER!)

Except Cissy's still clinging to the skids and a chain of her sisters has the chopper anchored to the ground.

(TIP- TIP- TIPPER!)

It's a mighty tug-o-war between woman and machine, with a black dog in between -- Betsy's busily chewing the ankle of a crucial ground link -- pilot's above trying manfully to lift when -- FWOOSH! -- an airbus locked on a glide path zooms in low.

"Mayday! Mayday! -- Heathrow Tower, this is Skyhook XS90, South Bay 11, requestin emergency clearance fir take off, copy?"