Battle Born

“They can generate, they can pull alert, and they can mobilize,” Dave Luger summarized. “The big questions now are…”

“Can they fight, and can they deploy and then fight?” Patrick finished for him. “Maybe it’s time to load ’em up a bit and see how much mayhem they can take.”

Nancy Cheshire gave an evil grin. “You gonna make it hurt, Muck?”

“This is not a training situation here,” Patrick replied. “I want to see what they got. It might hurt a little.” He nodded to all of his staff officers around him. “Thanks for all your hard work, guys. Unclassified summary reports in my e-mail box by sixteen hundred hours today; classified summaries by tomorrow morning. I’ll see you at Tonopah.”

Suppressing yawns, they all left the StepVan except for Dave Luger. “How are preparations for Lancelot progressing back at the home drome?” Patrick asked.

“General Samson has got the Lancelot modification kits ready to go for the first two planes — we just need the planes and we’re ready to go,” Luger replied. “He received authorization for two more kits. By the time we’re ready to fly one and two, we should be starting work on three and four. Leaving one for a ground training article, that should leave us with three operational birds in two to three months.” He paused for a moment, then added, “From what I’ve seen so far, we might be looking at our best candidates right here. The birds are in excellent shape; the maintenance guys are top-notch; they have good facilities and good support. What do you think?”

“I don’t know, Dave,” Patrick replied uneasily. “I agree, the machines are in good shape — it’s the aircrews I have a problem with. These guys have a real cocky attitude. Furness delights in telling everyone to go to hell, and it’s rubbed off on her troops. They were mouthing off at the adjutant general right to my face, all of them. Rinc Seaver is the worst of the bunch — the best, but the worst.” Patrick got up, stretched, then told their driver to head over to the squadron building.

“The force is different from when we were pulling a crew, Muck,” Dave said. “Since the Strategic Air Command’s bombers were absorbed by the Tactical Air Command, all the crewdogs are like fighter jocks — they’re cocky, tougher, more aggressive, more competitive, and lots smarter. The force is smaller and leaner, which means that only the best of the best get to fly. And the Air National Guard is all that and more. They’re like a pack of wild starving wolves fighting over who’s going to kill the caribou. I don’t think we need to straighten them out — I think it’s us that needs to realize what the modern-day force is like.”

“Maybe so,” Patrick said grumpily, suddenly feeling very old. “But some of them can still use a good dose of whup-ass.”

Luger watched his longtime friend stifle a jaw-breaking yawn. “You ready to fly, partner?” he asked with a smile. “It’s been — what, five years, six? — a long time since you’ve been in a B-1.”

“I’ll be fine, Dave,” Patrick said. “I know the Bone like the back of my hand—”

“I’m talking about you, partner,” Dave interrupted. “It’s been about a year since you ejected out of the Megafortress. Are you ready to start flying again?”

“I have been flying for the past year or so, Dave…”

“I don’t mean flying prototypes, simulators, test beds with a bunch of engineers, or the BERP suit — I mean flying a real sortie with a real crew, as part of the crew,” Luger interrupted again. “You don’t have to do this, you know. Nancy can give Seaver an evaluation, and I can certainly let you know if these guys are the real deal or just hot dogs. Besides,” he added with a serious expression, “you old guys need more sleep.”

Patrick scratched his nose with an uplifted middle finger, making sure Luger got the message, then clasped him on the shoulder. “I’ll be fine, partner,” he said. “This will give me an opportunity to get back into the real world. I’m looking forward to this.”

Dave nodded. “Then go get ’em, Muck,” he said. “I’ll be on the SATCOM if you need me.” Patrick nodded, successfully stifling another yawn. They were silent for a moment. Then: “You can always take command of the squadron,” Dave said.

If Patrick had been a bit drowsy a moment ago, he now looked as if he had been blasted awake by heaven’s trumpets. He stared at his partner in utter surprise and asked, “What did you say, Dave?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it already,” Luger said, grinning. “If Furness can’t control her troops, she deserves to get taken down a peg or two. She’s treating this squadron like her own personal plaything, true, but the operative word is ‘her.’ Take it away from her, even for a short time, and then see what kind of commander she is. If she straightens out, good. If she doesn’t, you’ve saved the state of Nevada the task of removing her, and you’ve still created a better unit. Plus, you get your first command.”

“Dave, my job is to give this evaluation and report back to Samson, not pirate an Air National Guard command,” Patrick said. “Besides, I’ve got a job. I’ve got a dozen projects that need my attention. I can’t just leave—”

“Ah, the first sign of mental illness — thinking that you’re indispensable,” Dave said. Patrick scowled at him, then shook his head, laughing it off. “Muck, I know you. You’re not a desk jockey. You’re a crewdog. You’ve always been one and you’ll always be one, no matter how many stars you wear. But you’re also a one-star general in the United States Air Force, and that means you command. This Lancelot unit is going to be your creation — why not take command of it?”

“Dave, the idea is nutzo,” Patrick said, shaking his head. The StepVan pulled up in front of a squat concrete building. Patrick grabbed his flight gear and manuals and headed for the door. “I’m not here to replace Furness or kick her ass or teach her how to fly the Bone — I’m here to observe and report. That’s all I’m going to do, and then I want to go home to my wife and son and my work that’s piling up back at Dreamland.”

“Yes, sir,” Luger said, obviously not believing a word of it. “Have a good flight… commander.”

* * *

A security guard posted inside the front door of the squadron building called the squadron to attention as Patrick walked in. “As you were,” Patrick responded as he showed his ID armband to the guard. Even with a major exercise going on, someone still thought about calling the unit to attention when a senior officer entered the building. Just as his staff said in their preliminary exercise report — impressive.

Patrick found Lieutenant Colonel Rebecca Furness in one of the squadron mission planning rooms a few minutes later, writing a schedule on the whiteboard with felt-tip markers of various colors. “Morning, Colonel,” he said.

“General,” Furness responded. “Briefing in fifteen minutes. Coffee’s in the Casino. I’ll get one of the guys to help you find things.”

“I’ll find it,” Patrick said. He walked back to the “Casino,” the squadron’s lounge, found a guest coffee mug, and poured himself a cup. Cripes, Patrick thought, even each squadron member’s coffee cup was clean — he never remembered seeing such a spotless coffee bar back at his old B-52 base. There was beer on tap — with a pair of fuzzy dice tied around the beer tap handles, signifying that the bar was closed. There were a few slot machines, some pinball and video games — all unplugged — and a big popcorn maker, with all the fixings for jalapeno popcorn, where they mixed chopped jalapenos in with the cooking oil. There was a “crud” table, which looked like a regular billiard table except there were no pool cues around, meaning that the balls had to be propelled by hand as the players raced around the table in a sometimes physical free-for-all. Over the bar, the squadron’s “Friday” name tags were on display, with each flier’s call sign on the patch instead of his first and last names.

Like all of the TV sets Patrick saw all over the base, the lounge’s TV was on and tuned to CNN. As it had been for the past several weeks, the international news was about North Korea. One of the planet’s last Communist states had barely come through last winter intact. Hundreds of thousands of citizens had died of starvation, sickness, and exposure because of a lack of heating oil, food, and medicines. There had been yet another unsuccessful attempt on President Kim Jong-il’s life; the perpetrators had been arrested, publicly tried, and publicly executed by firing squad, all of this shown around the world on CNN. President Kim then executed several military officers on charges of conspiracy, treason, and sedition. Food riots were commonplace; all were harshly, even brutally, repressed by government forces.

But at the same time, North Korea continued a massive military buildup that surpassed all other Asian countries’. They had tested another rail-garrisoned Daepedong-1 intercontinental nuclear ballistic missile, firing it over sixty-five hundred miles across the Pacific, and were promising to make it operational within the year. An