“Huh! I’ll be honest, that’s sort of what I thought I’d be doing when I graduated. I figured I’d be in a lab somewhere. The ways of the Army are mighty and mysterious, I guess.”
“I think it was your jump training that landed you here instead,” he commented. “The timing probably worked out to be here instead of there.”
“I thought they did that sort of thing at Aberdeen,” I commented.
“They do, but not much. Most live fire testing goes on at either Sill or the Yuma Proving Grounds. It will involve some travel back and forth to both places, not much, but some. Figure once a month, maybe a bit more.” I nodded in understanding. He continued, “You know, the Army has been watching you for years now.”
“The Army has been watching me?” I asked, incredulous. Leaving aside the math doctorate, I was really just one more Airborne artillery lieutenant.
“Very much so. Remember that article in the Paraglide, back when you were still a green second john?” This confused me, but I nodded that I remembered it. “The PIO captain wanted to run a larger version in the Army Times. Did he ever tell you that?”
“Yes, sir, but it never ran. I figured it wasn’t newsworthy or something. I haven’t thought about that for years,” I told him.
Again, Colonel Buller snorted and rolled his eyes. Colonel Halliwell continued, “He submitted the article, but G-2 killed it. What you told him about, the use of computers in the Army of the future, and coming developments in weapons and training, that was so accurate that it was buried and classified. You were spot on with what the weapons and development labs are working on, and we want you to be part of it.”
“Wow! When would this happen?”
“This fall. I think you’ll be available to transfer in September or October.”
Colonel Buller said, “When you leave here you’ll be promoted to captain. This is a two year slot, after which you’ll be transferred out. The last guy who did it went to CGS. The current guy is going to do a tour as an instructor at West Point when he finishes up. I think you’ll do well at CGS when your tour is up.”
The Command and General Staff College was the Army’s grad school. It was a very prestigious one year course at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, and its graduates ended up in senior staff positions. Battalion or regimental commands went to officers who had been to CGS; it was a requirement. I could even earn another master’s degree in something national security related. “Can captains go to CGS, sir?” I asked.
He smiled as he answered. “Senior captains, certainly. Junior captains like you would be, that would be unusual. Even more unusual would be making major by the time you got out of CGS that way.”
I blinked and sat back and stared at the two men. A two year R&D tour and I make major at the age of 28! Even more, I would probably enjoy the hell out of both the R&D tour and CGS. If I was thinking of going career, this was a no-brainer! I could retire after twenty as a full bull colonel!
After a few seconds, I said, “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting this. Sir, I need to discuss this with my wife. If it was just up to me, I’d probably take you up on it, but it’s like I told you before. Marilyn knew she was getting in for four years, but I never talked to her about going career.”
“When can I have an answer?”
“This time tomorrow, sir.”
He handed me a card with a Washington prefix on the phone number. “Let the colonel know, and then call me either way.”
“Yes, sir.” I stood up. It was obvious I was being dismissed. “Sir, one thing. No matter what Marilyn says, thank you for considering me. It’s an honor. If I say yes, I won’t let you down.” I shook his hand and then came to attention and left.
I couldn’t concentrate that day. My mind was simply whirling with the possibilities. I had to get out of the office, and I went home early. The apartment was empty when I got home. It was about 1630, so I had about an hour before Marilyn got home. She had a late class today, and there had been a practicum in the morning, some sort of student teaching thing.
I changed into some old khakis and a Hawaiian shirt, and then went into the kitchen. Marilyn had left some pork chops thawing on the counter in their wrapper, so they were thawed out. If I left it up to her, we’d be doing something exotic like Shake-N-Bake and canned peas. I could do better.
I started scrounging up the ingredients, and smiled to myself remembering the first time Marilyn tried to make pork chops. It was about a month after the wedding, and Marilyn decided to cook dinner for me, and have it ready to serve when I got home. I drove into the apartment complex and found a fire engine and an Emergency Services truck parked in front of the apartment, lights flashing, with people outside milling around, and black smoke billowing from our apartment! Marilyn was standing outside looking very confused. I jumped out and ran over to her, to wrap an arm around her. “What happened?!” I asked.
Just then, one of the firemen came running out of the apartment, carrying a blackened pan, and he ran up to one of the EMTs. He loudly asked if they wanted to pronounce the victim dead on the scene, or if they needed to transport it to the hospital for an expert opinion. While the firemen laughed and the neighbors started heading home, I just buried my face in my hands and listened as my wife cried and tried to explain what had happened. She had put the chops into the oven and then fallen asleep, and was only woken up by the smoke detector.
Eventually I just gave the firemen and the EMTs my business card and told them to make sure I was on their mailing list the next time they were looking for donations. Then I took Marilyn back inside and we aired out the place and ordered a pizza.
That was even better than the time Marilyn set fire to the chemistry lab over at MVCC with a Bunsen burner. Marilyn has an awesome and unnatural ability in either a lab or a kitchen. For her, they are both places involving great danger and toxic substances.
There was the time she used hazelnut creamer to make scrambled eggs with (hey, it’s white, right?), the time she heated up the chili and served it over spaghetti (both are red, never mind those bean thingies), the pasta she decided didn’t really need to be stirred all that much and emerged from the hot water as a single giant lump, and so on. The list was endless! The only thing she ever really knew how to cook was Michigan Sauce, a sort of meat sauce popular in upstate New York on hot dogs and hamburgers, and very, very tasty. She could also bake pastries and breads just fine. Otherwise, you took your life in your hands with her cooking.
So today I split the pork chops in two by cutting a long and deep pocket in the sides. Then I diced up a little onion and celery and mixed it into some bread crumbs and made a stuffing, which I packed into the pockets. I took some gravy mix and doctored it up with some broth and diced mushrooms, and set that on the stove. I grabbed some broccoli and pulled out the eggs to make a Hollandaise sauce. Finally, I grabbed a tin of rolls and put them on a baking tray.
Marilyn came home as I was starting to prepare the broccoli. “You’re home early,” she commented, adding a hello kiss in the bargain.
“Worried I might find you getting into trouble?” I said with a smile.
“I’m not the one in this place likely to get in trouble! What’s for dinner?”
“Stuffed pork chops with mushroom gravy, broccoli with Hollandaise sauce, and hot biscuits and butter,” I announced proudly. “And if you’re especially nice to me, some chardonnay.”