Air Battle Force

“Hold it a second. We do all that as a crew, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir, but I thought since the weather’s clear in a million, we’re not going terrain-following, and we’ve got the MOA and ranges to ourselves, we’d spend a bit more time talking about the plane, you know, getting acquainted….”

“You don’t freelance training missions, Lieutenant,” Long interjected hotly. “You’re going to fly a two- hundred-million-dollar supersonic bomber, not go on a fucking date with a Russian tennis babe.” He flipped through the briefing cards — they were complete, perfectly legible, and perfectly organized. Grey was right: The weather for everything west of the Rockies, and every alternate military field within a thousand miles, was clear as a bell with no restrictions. “But now that you’ve completely screwed up the sequence, you might as well proceed. Let’s go. You don’t have all day.”

“Yes, sir.” Grey handed Daren more checklist pages. “Here is a list of local frequencies, step procedures, taxi and departure procedures, phone numbers in case the duty officer is on the fritz—”

“Got ’em,” Daren said. “I got all that stuff from General Furness, too. I studied them last night, but be sure to watch my back in case I screw something up.”

Grey nodded, impressed. Daren noticed that even Long was nodding approvingly. That made Daren feel good — until Long added, “I hear you and Rebecca used to be a hot and heavy item, Colonel.”

The motherfucker, Daren thought, bringing something like that up in front of a junior officer. “Let me tell you about Rebecca, John,” he said with a conspiratorial smile. He motioned Long to lean toward him. When he did, Daren stuck his face in Long’s and said loud enough for Grey to hear, “None of your fucking business, Colonel.”

Long’s head snapped back as if Mace had head-butted him. He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth as if he were going to yell at Mace, then shut it, embarrassed, opened it again as if he’d reconsidered, then blinked in confusion. Daren didn’t wait for him to sort it out any further. “Let’s get on with the briefing, Zane,” he prompted, still glaring at Long.

“Yes, sir,” Grey said, hiding a very amused and pleased smile. About time someone told off the DO, he thought. “Open your ‘plastic brains’ to the air-work checklist, and let’s get started.”

As Grey began his briefing, Long made a big show of checking his watch, then slipped out of his seat and exited the lounge.

“Sorry about that, Zane,” Daren said after Long had left. “He had it coming.”

“I didn’t see a thing, sir,” Grey said with a smile.

“Who peed in his cornflakes this morning?”

“I hate to say it, sir,” Grey said, “but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Exactly.”

“So tell me, what was it like to play in the NCAA championships, Zane?” Daren asked excitedly. “Man, it was very cool to watch. You running halfway up the bleachers to save that last volley and then spiking the ball from the bleachers was awesome. First volleyball game I ever saw on TV.”

“It was like living a dream, sir,” Grey said. “I look at the trophies and pictures on the wall, and I still can’t believe we did it.”

“So the question the whole male world wants to know: Anna or Gabrielle? Or both together?”

“That has the highest classification level, sir,” Grey said. But his mischievous smile told Daren everything he wanted to know.

“And tell me, what’s it like working here?”

Grey’s smile grew even wider. “It’s another dream come true,” he said sincerely. “In a lot of ways it’s pretty austere — nothing as cushy as how we had it in pilot training. But the stuff we’re doing is two or three generations beyond anything else I’ve ever seen. You really feel like you’re riding the wave into the future.”

“Sounds good to me. And how about the brass?”

“They’re okay. Even Colonel Long is a good guy — and I’m not just saying that to cover my butt either,” Grey said with a sly smile. “You can’t help but work in the Lair or in the command center and not be aware of the awesome things we’re doing. I think that feeling extends to everyone, from General McLanahan on down. This place is special, and everyone knows it, but it’s so… you know, out there, unworldly—that no one cops an attitude around here. I think we all realize that this is so high-tech and futuristic that we can all be shelved in a heartbeat, so we’re all trying hard not to screw up.”

“I think I understand,” Daren said. “Makes me wonder why I’m here — but I guess I’m thankful to be anywhere.”

They bullshitted for a few more minutes. Grey asked the questions this time; Daren knew he was collecting “intel” to share with his squadron mates on the new boss.

Finally Grey said, “It’s just about step time, sir. We’d better get going.”

“Hold on, Zane,” Daren said. “You mean to tell me I’m really going to go through this flight-orientation program?”

“That’s my understanding, sir.”

“Call me ‘Daren’ when the bosses aren’t around, or ‘skipper,’ or ‘lead’—anything but ‘sir,’ okay, Zane?” Daren asked. “You’re making me feel pretty damned old.”

“Colonel Long mapped out your orientation program, skipper. What do you have in mind?”

“Well, I’ll tell you,” Daren said. “My dad was a cutter skipper in the Coast Guard, one of the big Bear-class boats, and what he said was the most important thing for the boss to do: use all your toys.”

“Sir?”

“If you got guns, shoot ’em; if you have a helicopter, fly in it; if the captain has a barge, take it out and cruise around in it. I’ve got a bunch of B-1 bombers here — I want to fly ’em. I’ve got weapons, I assume — I want to pop a few off. I don’t just want to bore holes in the sky — I want to drop some iron and make things blow up in a loud, messy fashion. Let’s go flying.”

“What about the colonel’s orientation program, sir?”

“Screw it. General McLanahan told me that my job is to stand up this unit, and that’s what I’ll do — but in my own way. You game?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Outstanding.” He touched the earpiece in his right ear and said, “Duty Officer, schedule a low-level route, an air-refueling anchor, and live air- and ground-attack-weapon range time. Stand by for training ordnance load.”

“Yes, Colonel Mace,” the computer responded. “Standing by.”

“Uh… sir, don’t you remember? We don’t go low-level anymore?”

“Well, shit, I think I’m dating myself every time I open my damn mouth around here,” Daren said. “But we’ll see how it goes. Who knows, maybe I have a couple tricks you youngsters might need to learn.”

“Roger that, sir,” Grey said eagerly.

“Colonel Mace, this is the duty officer,” Mace heard in his earpiece.

“Duty Officer, go ahead,” Mace responded. He was really getting the hang of this computerized duty-officer system — the creepiness of talking to a machine as if it were a human being was quickly wearing off the more he discovered how well the thing worked and how useful it could be.

“Colonel Mace, I have been advised that live-weapon air-to-ground range times are available this afternoon in the Tonopah complex. A Bobcat tanker crew is available this afternoon as well. Please advise.”

“Duty Officer, put the Bobcat tanker on my schedule,” Daren said. To Grey he said, “We got the Tonopah range for this afternoon.”

“Ask the duty officer if they can get us a surface-to-surface rocket launch, too,” Grey chimed in.

“Duty Officer, ask the Tonopah range director if they can get us a surface-to-surface target rocket launch for our range time,” Daren asked.

“Please stand by, Colonel Mace…. Colonel Mace, I have been advised that no surface-to-surface launch targets are available at the Tonopah complex. They can give you ground targets only.”

“No rockets — ground targets only,” Daren said to Grey.

“No problem. We can bring our own air targets — if Colonel Long doesn’t have a fit that we changed his training schedule,” Grey said excitedly. He was starting to adopt a Southern California “surfer dude” accent. He would lose his shirt, Daren knew, in any poker game. “We can upload a couple Wolverine missiles to use as fast-