be kidding me! What kind name is that? Are you sure you’re a cadet candidate, Jakes? With a name like that you belong at Yale or Harvard, not the United States Air Force Academy.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I mean—”
“Shut up and sit down, all of you.” Justice waved a hand around the table, then motioned for the candidates at the tables on either side of him to sit as well.
A swarm of waiters converged on the table, depositing huge plates of steaming fried chicken, mashed potatoes, brown gravy, green beans, and coleslaw. They sloshed metal pitchers of milk and red juice on the table.
Justice said wearily, “Pass up the food. Officers are served first.”
Sitting at attention, Rod passed the platter of fried chicken to the front of the table. His stomach growled in hunger.
It seemed as if the brawny officer had eyes in the back of his head. During the meal, Captain Justice corrected each candidate for every infraction imaginable: starting to eat before everyone was served, sitting too close to the table, sitting too far from the table, allowing food to drop onto their lap, chewing with their mouth full, taking too big of a bite, not looking at their plate, not sitting with their back straight and their chin tucked in, not asking permission to take another helping … nothing slipped past Captain Justice’s eyes.
Rod didn’t get in more than three mouthfuls before they were called to attention and ordered to leave Mitchell Hall to continue their training. As they left, he tuned out the shouting, and focused on why he’d wanted to be here.…
O O O
Sitting on the hood of his adoptive father’s car outside of March Air Force Base, Rod held a hand to shield the glare from the sun. He squinted; two flashes of silver gleamed in the air. A distant whine grew louder, escalating to an ear-aching shriek.
“What’s that?” Rod said. He pointed to two small swept-wing jet fighters making a tight spiral in the air.
Hank had to shout over the growing noise. “F-100 Super Sabres.”
“I thought March was a bomber base!”
“They’re from TAC’s 479th Fighter Day Wing, America’s first supersonic fighters. But they’re just toys, lad. Toys. The real power of the Air Force is in heavy bombers.”
“Yeah, but look at them!” Rod breathed hard. He jumped off the car, his eyes wide as he followed the nimble jet fighters, turning as they spiraled down. “Aren’t they neat!”
The F-100 fighters screamed overhead as they completed their tight combat landing pattern. Wheels unfolded and locked into place beneath the sleek, silver jets. Rod and Hank put their fingers in their ears to muffle the sound from the jet engines.
Craning their heads around, they watched the fighters fly in tight formation less than a hundred feet above them. Sunlight glinted off their silver paint and the Air Force emblem.
One of the jets suddenly peeled off from the landing pattern, retracted its landing gear, and flipped upside down. Accelerating upwards, a long line of fire erupted from its engine. The blast rolled over the car in an explosion of noise.
Still flying upside down, the fighter zoomed toward the three-story glass control tower sitting at the edge of the runway. Rod saw the people inside suddenly dive for the floor as the fighter jet screamed by, just missing the building. The jet waggled its wings.
“All right!” Rod said. He pumped his arm in the air.
The upside-down jet pulled into a tight turn and flipped upright. Wheels extended from inside its fuselage as it eased onto the runway in a slick, perfect landing.
Rod staggered back, his eyes wide and short of breath. “I want to do that!”
“That dammed showoff could have killed someone,” Hank snapped. Long columns of shimmering, hot air trailed behind the fighters as they taxied across the tarmac. Their engines dopplered down. “They ought to ground him for gross poor judgment.”
“I’d give anything to fly a fighter!”
“ What? ”
Rod
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I mean—”
“Shut up and sit down, all of you.” Justice waved a hand around the table, then motioned for the candidates at the tables on either side of him to sit as well.
A swarm of waiters converged on the table, depositing huge plates of steaming fried chicken, mashed potatoes, brown gravy, green beans, and coleslaw. They sloshed metal pitchers of milk and red juice on the table.
Justice said wearily, “Pass up the food. Officers are served first.”
Sitting at attention, Rod passed the platter of fried chicken to the front of the table. His stomach growled in hunger.
It seemed as if the brawny officer had eyes in the back of his head. During the meal, Captain Justice corrected each candidate for every infraction imaginable: starting to eat before everyone was served, sitting too close to the table, sitting too far from the table, allowing food to drop onto their lap, chewing with their mouth full, taking too big of a bite, not looking at their plate, not sitting with their back straight and their chin tucked in, not asking permission to take another helping … nothing slipped past Captain Justice’s eyes.
Rod didn’t get in more than three mouthfuls before they were called to attention and ordered to leave Mitchell Hall to continue their training. As they left, he tuned out the shouting, and focused on why he’d wanted to be here.…
O O O
Sitting on the hood of his adoptive father’s car outside of March Air Force Base, Rod held a hand to shield the glare from the sun. He squinted; two flashes of silver gleamed in the air. A distant whine grew louder, escalating to an ear-aching shriek.
“What’s that?” Rod said. He pointed to two small swept-wing jet fighters making a tight spiral in the air.
Hank had to shout over the growing noise. “F-100 Super Sabres.”
“I thought March was a bomber base!”
“They’re from TAC’s 479th Fighter Day Wing, America’s first supersonic fighters. But they’re just toys, lad. Toys. The real power of the Air Force is in heavy bombers.”
“Yeah, but look at them!” Rod breathed hard. He jumped off the car, his eyes wide as he followed the nimble jet fighters, turning as they spiraled down. “Aren’t they neat!”
The F-100 fighters screamed overhead as they completed their tight combat landing pattern. Wheels unfolded and locked into place beneath the sleek, silver jets. Rod and Hank put their fingers in their ears to muffle the sound from the jet engines.
Craning their heads around, they watched the fighters fly in tight formation less than a hundred feet above them. Sunlight glinted off their silver paint and the Air Force emblem.
One of the jets suddenly peeled off from the landing pattern, retracted its landing gear, and flipped upside down. Accelerating upwards, a long line of fire erupted from its engine. The blast rolled over the car in an explosion of noise.
Still flying upside down, the fighter zoomed toward the three-story glass control tower sitting at the edge of the runway. Rod saw the people inside suddenly dive for the floor as the fighter jet screamed by, just missing the building. The jet waggled its wings.
“All right!” Rod said. He pumped his arm in the air.
The upside-down jet pulled into a tight turn and flipped upright. Wheels extended from inside its fuselage as it eased onto the runway in a slick, perfect landing.
Rod staggered back, his eyes wide and short of breath. “I want to do that!”
“That dammed showoff could have killed someone,” Hank snapped. Long columns of shimmering, hot air trailed behind the fighters as they taxied across the tarmac. Their engines dopplered down. “They ought to ground him for gross poor judgment.”
“I’d give anything to fly a fighter!”
“ What? ”
Rod
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