Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 01 by Flight of the Old Dog (v1.1)

           “And
you are on a fishing expedition, Adams ,”
Karamov said. He turned to Ian McCaan. “Mr. Secretary-General, the Soviet Union pleads innocent to the trumped-up charges
levied against us by the United States . We demand that the United States shows its evidence against us immediately.
If there is no evidence, as I suspect will be the case, or if the evidence is
not found to be accurate, reliable, or in clear support of the charges against
us, I demand all charges be dropped and a formal apology be delivered by both
Ambassador Adams and the President of the United States .”
                 “Ambassador
Adams,” Ian McCaan said, “are you prepared to present your evidence supporting
your charge?”
                 Adams glared at Karmarov, then studied the faces
of those around him. He saw only tiredness, confusion. “The United States will present its evidence to the Council by
the end of the week, in a regular session of—”
                 “Then
the delegation from the United States has wasted our time,” Karmarov declared.
“Ambassador Adams, I feel the need to remind you that an emergency meeting of
this Council is not the proper forum for a political diatribe against the Soviet Union . Further, be prepared to confront the
accused with evidence if you make such damaging charges. I will ask the
Steering Committee of the United Nations to investigate this rash and
irresponsible abuse of your privilege and see if charges of impropriety are not
warranted against you. Mr.
Secretary-General, I move for adjournment.”
                 “Seconded,”
Braunmueller said quickly.
                 Even
McCaan, a long-time supporter of the United States and a friend of Gregory Adams, looked
irritated. The rest of the Security Council members were already departing,
leaving trails of angry comments behind, when McCaan’s gavel tapped the stone.
     
    *   *   *
                 Lieutenant-General
Bradley Elliott, the honorary master of ceremonies, glanced at the typewritten
winner’s name at the bottom of the five-byseven card. His shock deepened. In
his three years as honorary awards officer for the annual Strategic Air Command
Bombing and Navigation Competition, he had never seen anything like it. One
organization—one crew, in fact—had blown the doors off the competition as no
other crew in history had. The oddsmakers and the crystal-ball gazers were not
just wrong about this one—they weren’t even in the ballpark.
                 General
Elliott waited until the two stagehands were ready and the audience escorts had
moved into position. He straightened his shoulders and smiled. These poor
crewdogs, he said to himself. They wait months for the results of the SAC
Bombing and Navigation competition, and whoever presents the awards teases them
with sly innuendos and hints as to who won. And then, to increase their agony,
the escorts walk through the aisles in the audience, stopping in front of a
unit’s row just long enough for the victory cries to begin, then move on.
                 A
few years ago, Elliott recalled with pride, he stood on stage accepting the
trophies for his unit, feeling the applause ripple through the massive hangar.
His old unit, the sleek, supersonic FB-llls at Pease Air Force Base in New Hampshire , had been top dog for years. It was
different now, though. It wasn’t that the modern, super-sophisticated new
bombers were taking all the trophies. Rather, crew quality had become the
crucial factor.
                 “The
Curtis E. LeMay Bombing Trophy,” General Elliott continued, immediately hushing
the crowd, “is awarded to the bomber crew— whether from B-52s, FB-llls, or
B-lBs—who compiles the most points competing in both high- and low-level
bombing. To give you a little background, this trophy was known simply as the
Bombing Trophy from 1948 until 1980, then renamed in honor of