Fred Stillitoe once more pulled the dirty mop along the worn linoleum floor of the dimly lit hallway. From behind a dirty cream-colored door the sound of snoring, from behind another marked with a no trespassing sign, the soft monotone of some one talking in his sleep. He emptied the pail of dirty water in to the sink in the minute water closet, placed the mop under the cold water tap, running the water just long enough to wet the mop, and with a flourish, threw the mop into a corner containing rags, a boiler suit and some broken tools. With a bang of the door he moved back in to the corridor, ran down the wooden stairs being careful to avoid the broken one and then exited through the arched gothic columns into the bright autumn sunshine on to Spadina Avenue.

A homeless person in his late twenties, early thirties asks politely whether he has any spare change, a hopeful expression on his smooth shaved, slightly pious, seminary student looking face .He gives a slight shake of the head. Some one asks if he needs any E's, again a shake of the head, this time in a wary fashion, as if to say, "thanks but not right now, I can't afford it."

Through the window of Hooters on the corner he observed waitresses 'scrubbed squeaky-clean the picture of innocence', smilingly making their way down lines of tables in their short stiff uniforms .He continued past the wrought iron outdoor patio, surprisingly enough when considering the cool weather, containing a sprinkling of customers At the Cineplex, glancing through the lobby doors at the posters in the foyer. Pushing through the throng on the sidewalk he enters the video arcade, the flashing lights and modulated hum of the computer driven sound tracks giving him a feeling of reality .A group of Vietnamese school children are gathered around a race car screen. Whipping track and crowds flash by .A boy sitting in the driver's seat who is enclosed by fiberglass valiantly steers the machine avoiding a crash by a hairsbreadth as his friend's watch.

Moving to wards the ticket dispenser Fred punches out an hour's worth of tokens, a jangling of metal on metal in the tray, the noise of the crowds reminiscent of Las Vegas.

"Fighter ace" the speakers inform him in a monotonous, mechanical tone.

Sitting down in the replica cockpit he brings up the image of an aircraft instruments and an all round view of the sky. He moves the controls.

Dots circle in the red and gold early morning sky. They are joined by more dots that slowly resolve themselves into twin finned FA 18 Hornet attack aircraft forming into a multi-layered formation, attack aircraft with their under wing loads on the bottom, fighters on top. A screech as the radar-warning detector comes on, the anti aircraft unit stationed on the coast painting the incoming FA 18,s with a radar tendril. He turns the volume down .His mouth begins to feel dry. He repressed the urge to take a drink from the flask in his leg pocket. 'Lots of time for a drink'

he mused, 'we haven't even passed Than Hoe yet.' Ahead the Vietnamese coastline appeared as a thin disc of blue, silver and green.

"Feet dry," squawked a disembodied a voice in the headphones. He switches the view to 'ground'.

In the jungle below on a dusty trail used for the movement of water buffalo to the paddy fields the armored personnel carrier crew and the onboard infantry gaze through view ports looking at the slit in the over head tree canopy.

"Ooooh Aaaaaah Ooooooh Ahhhh ah ah ah oooooh" cried the monkeys in the trees. Small silver specks fly slowly inland and form vapor trails in the pale blue morning sky, the specks disappearing as the aircraft move past the trees. Crew and infantry relax with a collective sigh. To the rear blue smoke appears as the engines of the armored personnel carriers are started. Steel doors open on either side of the passenger compartment in order to let in air .The thin track takes the platoon south. Fred switches back to 'aerial view'.

On either side of him in the cockpit canopy side view panels aircraft roll on to their backs and then dive toward the lush greenery below. Dark brown water on the paddy fields glint with a silvery light as it catches the sunlight. There is a squawk in the headphones, " Laser designator map ref. x 4 y 9."

He calibrates the air to ground armament fire control computer. A red glow as the HUD lights up the forward windscreen, the red pattern contrasting with the on rushing jungle .The display indicates an APC with the designation 7.62 machine gun.

"Good, nothing to worry about" he breaths as he pulls the aircraft into a steep climb releasing the under-wing ordnance as he does so. He switches to 'ground view'.

There is a dull thud somewhere to the right, to be followed by an eerie silence. Someone yells in the microphone "dismount, dismount, under those fallen trees". The view switches to close up. A man is dashing towards the SAM team who are standing in a small semi circle, open-mouthed and in shock. The running man now slams someone in the face with a closed fist so hard as to nearly knock him over.

"Fire you fool, fire at the Americans" echoes about the room causing the group around the racecar to look in his direction. The man, who struck picks up a tube like weapon, another places an object down the tube end, another aims at the sky through the slit in the over head coconut trees.

There is a buzz indicating target acquisition and then a swoosh as the missile is released followed by the shrill barking of monkeys causing patrons to look in his direction yet again. He switches back to 'air view'.

A bank to the left in order to get in another shot at the APC, He is sure that he has accounted for at least one of the vehicles. A screeching in the cockpit as the missile warning light comes on. He quickly climbs, dispenses chaff, and then executes a jiggling motion. The noise ceases. He switches to 'strategic play'.

A communiqué from the Pentagon. The rescue mission to the Thai army unit is going badly. A regular Cambodian division surrounds it. The Vietnamese army has deployed troops to the southerly Thai border. The American task force in the Gulf of Tokin has stepped in to lend assistance .At the UN the P.R.C. permanent member of the Security Council condemns the action.

He fasts forwards .The escalation is stopped as easily as it began. The Blue Butterfly para military have a working relationship with the Green Dragon para military, their areas of control in the distribution of the product of the iron triangle not infringing with one another, a war in the area deemed to be of no advantage to any of the participants. All troops cease hostilities.

The cockpit view pops up, he sets the terrain following radar at 800 meters and egresses the target area. Jungle and the tree lined horizon rush towards him. Above, through the overhead view panel, he views the circling TAR CAP aircraft slowly disappear streaming white contour trails as they return to the carrier. Ahead and slightly above him the gray belly of the lead aircraft rising and falling in the tumultuous tropical air, between the tail of the aircraft and his matte black anti glare nose panel the silver beach looms into view to be followed by a the cry of, "feet wet", in the headphones.

He reaches into the leg pocket of his green military style pants extracting the Mickey of Rye. The golden liquid swirls across his tongue and down his throat creating a surge in the chest .He is now relaxed, the mission receding into the unconscious. With a slow stretching motion he eased his long frame out of the cockpit exiting out on to Spadina Avenue looking up and down the street as he does so.

"Never know when you have been made," he mumbles to himself eying the parked cars. A man across the street dressed in a trench coat seems to be looking at him .He shrugs off the paranoia.

"They would have told me at the mission briefing whether there were any agents onto me." A car honks as it passes a group of girls. Somewhere in the distance the faint cry of rioting youth. From a car radio: "When the war on drugs ends, which according to UN figures should be within the next ten years, countries in the rogue state category will be free to pursue their own agendas. At present this designation encompasses Iran, Iraq, maybe Libya, North Korea, and Algeria. These will resort to guerilla warfare and to terrorism." On King Street a streetcar rattles by.

"The countering of terrorists through conventional means is difficult as the democracies are drawn into using the terrorist rulebook."

Someone passing by yells "hooo boy."

" This in turn leaves them open to propaganda that can be enhanced by agents in place, the experiences of the 1960-80 period still fresh in the minds of the democratic governments. At first glance fighting these units via conventional means seems to be a losing proposition.

"Whats love gotta do gotta do" blares from a car stereo "There have been a few successful operations. The defeat of the HUKS in the Philippines and the Communist Terrorists in Malaysian comes to mind as does the earlier fight in the old Ottoman Empire where the Greek resistance fighters over a period of years with assistance from the west in the form of military and psychological aid", a siren is audible in the distance "-- Shelley, Keats and Byron, precipitated the break up of the Ottoman empire at the battle of Navarino the combined French, British and Russian fleet bottling up and then sinking the Turkish fleet."

Dominic gazed through the upper tinted portion of the windscreen as the Camero eased on to Martin Grove road. Overhead in the pale gray autumn sky an aircraft glinted momentarily as it added a touch of gold to a drab sky.

His greenish trench coat emitted an odor of dampness mingled with that of a synthetic material.

Kurt, sitting in the drivers seat, grunted in a cursory manner as he pulled on to Eglinton West gazing into the review mirror and then across his passenger at highway 401 suspended against the green and gray sky.

"No flashing lights" spoke Kurt softly through thin sensual lips. Dominic chuckled softly.

They drove in silence both at ease with the other's lack of conversation, tires swishing softly upon the macadam surface, a yellow school bus stopping upon a paved shoulder directly in front. Kurt expertly eased the car to a smooth halt in front of the flashing yellow lights.

Children milled about in a screeching throng some staring expressionlessly through the windows. Minute drops of rain appeared on the glass diffusing the yellow light coming from the bus. He switched on the wipers, they moved with a loud clunking sound and then, as they caught a few raindrops, eased in to a hum.

" See they had a bit of trouble near Meddelin."

Dominic looked through the rear window.

"Well I guess these things happen," he answered as he faced forward, his raincoat making of swishing sound upon the soft leather upholstery.

Fred is again in front of the terminal viewing the world through a small Perspex window set in the screen .The Fox armored car bumps across the flat sloping rock then drops into a small depression. The seat upon which he sits jumps up and down in unison with the movement of the vehicle A crack of rifle fire comes from somewhere to the left. There is a ping and then a whine as the round is deflected off the gray hull of the vehicle. A split screen shows a plan and a side view of the APC .The thirty-millimeter machine gun moves up and down, the turret turns to the left and to the right. The armored car scrambles out of the depression throwing up gavel and shale into the cold still air. The machine stops and a man emerges, a pipe like object slung across his back. He places the Pancerovca rocket launcher upon its mount inserting a round into the breach as he does so. There is a 'whoosh' as the round leaves the tube to snake a course towards the target.

The soviet era BRDM light scout vehicle is penetrated on the front side armour just below the sloping. An orange and black fire ball rushes through the interior of the vehicle immediately killing the driver .The commander manages to exit the side door and turns to the rear rushing towards the distant hills.

The jaunty Fox scout car ejects two brown clothed riflemen who head for the cluster of hillocks to the west .A shot cracks out above the lead soldier who immediately goes to ground. There is cloud of black smoke as the Fox engages full power, a whine of acceleration and a hum as the machine streaks southeast in a wide circle as it tears through a patch of light brush. Coming to a clear patch of flat rock it moves down a rocky grade turning west in order to avoid a hill and coming to rest in a bush facing the BRDM from the south now trailing twin columns of smoke into the blue over -head Sirius streaked dome. To the left of a fence that in previous days enclosed an apricot field, a series of hillocks fifty metros or so high. At one hundred and fifty meters a figure dressed in the traditional Afghan kemel, the white now a dirty brown making him nearly invisible against the rock and scrub. Another crack and then a flash not completely hidden by the flanged flash suppressor at the end of the blue steel barrel. A Fred awakens from a bad dream .His awaken state is just another dream sequence .A man in a trench coat has been chasing him in to a small dark alleyway. There is a flash and then a darkness, his body becoming a thing without substance and unaffected by gravity .He floats down wards and as he opens his eyes, the smooth thin face of the man, his long face and pointed chin a waxy white, the skin seeming to reflect a yellow light .He can hear the chirping of insects and the screeching of birds .He is not sure where he is but he feels that he has been here before .The mans hazel eyes look mournfully into his .He levels a dark blue automatic pistol at his head .

"To bad you couldn't mind our own business kid."A flash of light and blackness, much like the one before. Again the floating feeling, and again the return of light. He feels cold .He is laying upon a hard surface .In the distance two plumes of smoke arc into the beautiful blue sky. High over head he spots the long wisps of the Sirius clouds as they reach for the distant mountains .The earth gives way beneath him as though turned to water .As he sinks underground he can see two figures standing above, both carrying short rifles across their chests, a look of consternation upon their faces.