"C'mon, Patrick," Wilder asked. "Gary must've mentioned this to you.
Look at yourself. Most guys who go to see the commander polish their shoes, get a haircut, and wear a clean uniform. "McLanahan said nothing, but crossed his arms impatiently on his chest.
"Your record outshines everyone else's, Pat… but the Air Force wants officers nowadays, not just… technicians.
They want guys who want to be professionals. You've got to look and act like a professional. Real all-around full-time officers, not part-time performers."
Wilder opened a folder-McLanahan's squadron records.
"You finished your master's degree, and you're halfway through a second master's degree, but you have hardly any military education. It took you six years to finish a correspondence course that should only take twelve months. No additional duties. Your attitude toward- "There's nothing wrong with my attitude, Colonel," MeLanahan interrupted. "I wanted to be the best. I worked hard to prove that I am. "He paused, then said, "I've been busy at the tavern. I- "I don't doubt that, Patrick," Wilder asked. "I know your situation at home. But you need to make a commitment."
Wilder stood and walked over to the aircraft status board covering a wall in the Command Post Battle Staff Situation Room. "It's a different Air Force nowadays. You know that.
The way things are, Patrick, even just meeting standards won't get you anywhere. You've got to excel at everything…
and then some. And not just in your field of expertise.
"The so-called 'whole person concept,"' McLanahan said "It may sound like b. s. to you, and to a lot of folks," Wilder said, "but it's still true. They want total immersernent nowadays. Being good…
hell, even being above average is the norm. I know you have the raw material to make that commitment, Patrick. You just need to make the decision. Yes or no."
Wilder closed the folder. "Well, that's enough of the party line," he asked. "Get back to me as soon as you've made your decision about the assignment. I'll work on keeping it open, but there are no guarantees."
After a long moment, McLanahan got to his feet and s aid, "Well, I hope that's all, sir, because I've got some thinking to do.
"I've got one more thing," Wilder said, returning to his seat.
McLanahan did the same.
"It's the reason why we're meeting here, in the Command Post," Wilder explained, "and another reason why I need your answer to this assignment offer. I received an unusual request for a senior, highly experienced B-52 radar navigator to participate in an exercise. The message was highly classified!didn't think there was a classification higher than TOP SECRET, but there is. I had to receive the message from the communications center personally-in fact, they kicked everyone else out of the place but me. Anyway, naturally I thought of you." "Sure, why not?I'll do it," McLanahan asked. "What is it?
What kind of exercise?"
Wilder opened the red-covered file folder in front of him.
"I… I don't have any idea, Patrick," he asked. "I have very simple instructions. Can you be ready to leave in two days?"
"Two days," McLanahan said. He thought for a moment.
"Well, it's not much time, but… sure I can leave. Leave for where?"
"I don't have that information."
"What… I don't understand," McLanahan said.
"Patrick, this is a highly classified exercise. They want you to go to Executive Airport, to the information booth, the day after tomorrow at eight A.M. You show your ID card and this letter. "He handed the letter to McLanahan. "You bring othing else but a change of civilian clothes and toilet articles in one piece of carry-on luggage. They'll give you further instructions when your identity and the letter have been verified. "Wilder studied the young radar-navigator for a moment.
"Got all that?"
"Yes, sir," McLanahan replied, shaking off the cloud of confusion. "I understand everything. It just sounds a bit… weird, that's all."
"You'll find out, when you've been in as long as I have, Patrick," Wilder said, standing, "that all this hush-hush stuff becomes old hat.
Second nature. It may seem like a real exercise in frustration. But they've got to play their games, you know.
McLanahan rose. "Oh, I understand that, Colonel," he said.
"Remember, now," Wilder asked. "Nobody needs to know about this duty.
Keep this letter out of sight. Don't tell anyone else about what you'll be doing or where you're headed, even after you find out at the airport.
"Yes, sir, " McLanahan asked. "That won't be difficult to do, since I don't know anything about what I'm doing.
"Well, don't tell anyone that, either, Pat," Wilder said, smiling.
"Yes, sir. "McLanahan turned to leave. Just before he stepped out, he turned to Wilder and said, "Sir, when I get back I need to talk to you about assignments-and the Air Force.
Wilder nodded and folded his hands before him on the desk.
"I understand, Pat," Wilder replied. "I'm glad, at least, that you're going to talk before doing anything else. Believe me, I know what you're feeling. We'll talk when you get back, but don't let it spoil this exercise."
"I won't, sir," McLanahan said. He turned and left.
Wilder stood, paced the floor for a few moments, then reached into a desk drawer and lit up a cigarette, the first in several years.
""You'll find out, my boy, when you've been in as long as I have,"' Wilder said sarcastically, mimicking himself, "'that this hush-hush stuff becomes old hat."' What horseshit, Wilder thought. Real horseshit. And he saw right through it all.
Wilder sat there for a long time smoking the cigarette.
SUNRISE CALIFORNIA
"I don't understand any of this," she said finally McLanahan had just stuffed the last pair of socks in his bulging gym bag when his mother came into the bedroom to watch him pack. She stood, arms crossed impatiently on her slim chest, staring in dismay He slowly pulled the zipper closed.
"Mom," he said, picking up the bag, "there's nothing to understand.
"Is this some kind of secret mission?" Maureen McLanahan asked, half-jokingly. "Are you a spy?Come on, Patrick. Can't you give me a hint?"
"You've been reading too much John LeCarre, Mom," McLanahan said.
"I've got orders, just as if I was going to Bomb Comp or off-station training. You know, TDYs, Mom.
They come up suddenly."
"But your orders don't say where, or for how long, or for what.
"Mom, c'mon. I don't have written orders. I went in to see Colonel Wilder. He gave me all the information."
"Which is?"
"Which I'm not allowed to say. "He turned and put his hands on his hips. "C'mon, now. You know better than to pump me for information I can't give."
Maureen McLanahan watched her son for a while. Then: "Catherine said something about the Colonel giving you a new assignment. Patrick nodded. "I received the assignment I wanted-an excellent position at SAC Headquarters. I had to call them and beg and plead with them to keep the slot open until I get back from this TDY Any other guy in the Air Force would have packed his bags and been on his way in three days.
I may lose that assignment. I may already have lost that assignment."
Maureen tried to be soothing.
"It sounds like… a wonderful opportunity…"
"It is," Patrick asked. "But Catherine may not follow me to Nebraska-she thinks that the military is manipulating me.
And you well, I know what your reaction would be if I moved out.
Patrick slung the bag over his shoulder and hurried past his mother.
"Is that all you're taking?" his mother asked as she watched him enter the living room.
"This is all they wanted me to take," he replied. "I imagine they'll supply me with whatever else I need."
"Oh, Patrick," his mother said, wringing her hands. "I want to help you make the right decision, but I can't help it.