“That reminds me,” Ormack said. “General Elliott got a tasking for NIRTSat time for a Joint Chiefs surveillance operation. Something to do with what’s going on in the Philippines. You might get tapped to show your stuff for the J-staff.”
“Fine. I’ll water their eyes.”
“The guard said you’ve been up here for three hours working on this,” Ormack said. “You spent three hours just to save twenty seconds on one bomb run?”
“Twenty seconds — and maybe I take down a target without getting ‘shot’ at.” He motioned to the SMFD and issued a command, which caused the scene to go into motion. A B-2 symbol on the bottom of the screen began reading along an undulating ribbon over low hills and dry valleys. Dead ahead was a small pyramid symbol of a target complex — small “signposts” on the ribbon marked off seconds and miles to go to weapon release. Off to the right of the screen, a yellow dome suddenly appeared. “There’s the threat site at one o’clock, but this hillock blocks me out from the west — whoever surveyed the site for positioning this MUTES site obviously didn’t think crews would deviate this far west.”
The computerized mission “preview” continued as the yellow dome began to grow, eventually engulfing the B-2 bomber icon and turning red. McLanahan pointed to a countdown readout. “Bingo — I release weapons ten seconds after I come under lethal range of the MUTES site. If I carry antiradar missiles, I can pick him off right now, or I just turn westbound around the hillock to escape.”
Ormack nodded in fascination at the presentation, but he was more interested in studying McLanahan than watching the computer. “There’s quite a party at the O-Club, Patrick,” he said. “This is your last night of partying before the weekend, and a lot of your old cronies from Ford Air Force Base asked about you. Why don’t you knock off and join us?”
McLanahan shrugged and began reconfiguring the SMFD for another replay. “Crew rest starts in about an hour…”
“One beer won’t hurt. I’ll buy.”
McLanahan hesitated, then glanced at Ormack and shook his head. “I don’t think so, sir…
“Something wrong, Patrick? Something you’re not telling me?”
“No… nothing’s wrong.” Patrick hesitated, then issued voice commands to the computer to shut down the system. “I just… I don’t really feel part of them, you know?”
“No, I don’t.”
“These guys are the real crew dogs, the real aviators,” Patrick said. “They’re young, they’re talented, they’re so cocky they think they can take on the whole world.”
“Just like you were when I first met you,” Ormack said with a laugh. “We used to think you had an attitude, but that was before we knew how good you really were.” He looked at McLanahan with a hint of concern. “You were pretty excited about coming to the Strategic Warfare Center, about getting back to the ‘real world’…”
“But I’m not back,” Patrick said. “I’m farther from them than I ever thought I’d be. I feel like I’ve abandoned them. I feel like I should be out there pulling a crew or running a bomb-nav shop, but instead I’m…” He shrugged again, then concluded, “Like I’m playing around with gadgets that probably won’t have anything to do with the ‘real world’…”
“That’s not what you’re down about,” Ormack said. “I know you better than that. You’re down because you somehow don’t think you deserve what you’ve got. I see you around your buddies out there: they’re old captains or majors, and you’re a lieutenant colonel; they’re still on line crews, flying dawn patrols and red eyes and pulling alert, doing the same thing they did ten years ago, while you’re flying starships that most of those guys will never see in their careers, let alone
“Patrick, you’re where you are because you’re the best. You did more than be chosen for a job: you excelled, you never gave up, you survived, and you saved others. Then when we stuck you in Dreamland to keep you quiet, you didn’t just vegetate until completing your twenty years — you excelled again and made yourself invaluable to the organization.
“You deserve what you have. You earned it. You should go out and enjoy it. And you should also buy your boss a beer before he drags your ass out of this cockpit. Now move it, Colonel.”
