"Another crewmember?" Anderson asked. "A navigator?
The Old Dog doesn't need another navigator."
"Patrick has demonstrated otherwise, Colonel."
"What we need, General," Anderson said, "is the man who built the Striker and the decoy drones, the man who helped-" Colonel Anderson." Elliott had lost all trace of goodnaturedness in his voice, although his expression was still light and easy. "Joseph Mentzer is not available at this time. When he is, I'll inform you. Until then, Captain McLanahan is the radar navigator. All right, Colonel?"
The emphasis on Anderson's rank suppressed the last spark of resistance, and Anderson fell silent.
"Last but certainly not least," Elliott said, nodding to the last man and the woman beside him.
"Thank you, General," the man asked. "I am Doctor Lewis Campos, retired Air Force. This is my assistant, Doctor Angelina Pereira. We are weapons design consultants representing several industries-actually, a mix of several militaryindustrial complexes."
"And a duo with loads of imagination," Elliott added.
"Designers of the defensive armament aboard the Old Dogthe guns, missiles, rockets. Lew Campos will be the gunner in all of the tests we conduct.
"There you have it, ladies and gentlemen," Elliott said.
"From now on, you'll be working very closely with one another to gather the information we need. All of you, with the possible exception of Patrick, are intimately familiar with your own devices and equipment-and Captain McLanahan has demonstrated a knowledge of his own systems that would rival anyone here. But it'll be most important that you all learn to work with each other to insure the success of these tests.
Elliott was silent for a moment. Then: "Some of you are not military people. You've worked in military centers, designing military weaponry, working closely with other military members, but you never planned on actually flying or participating in operational tests yourselves. We simply don't have the time to train flight test engineers or military personnel to your level of expertise.
"I am heartened by the fact that all of you are volunteers, but that doesn't bind you to a seat aboard the Megafortress. If any of you, either now or later on, feel you cannot handle the rigors we'll place on you, see me in private and you'll be released. "There was a sort of relieved nod from everyone-everyone except Anderson.
"Colonel Anderson, the floor is yours."
Anderson nodded thanks to General Elliott, then swung on the rest of his newly assembled crew like a disgusted drill sergeant at an induction "The routine is simple, ladies and gentlemen. Our mission is to collect data on avionics, weaponry, hardware, and software aboard the B-52 India model for use in other specialized military aircraft.
Very simple.
"To do this, we study. Every waking minute, every free moment, you will spend studying the missions and the scenarios faced in each one.
You will not concentrate only on your own specialty. You will be intimately familiar with the duties and responsibilities of every member of this crew.
"When the plane is available to fly, we spend all afternoon, from thirteen hundred hours until eighteen hundred hours, in mission planning. The crew briefing will be three hours prior to takeoff. All of our flights will be night sorties to help insure security, and they will be four hours in duration. There will be three hours debriefing following the sortie, then eight hours crew rest before duty begins the next day.
"When the plane is not available, we will use the simulator.
Simulator sessions are five hours long, and there will be five hours for mission planning and briefing and three hours for post-briefing." Anderson started to pace in front of his assembled crew, staring each one down.
"This is not a scientific laboratory, an office, or a board he said.
"This is a classified tactical unit on an urgent room, assignment.
Because of the need for speed and accuracy, we will consider this field conditions from here on. Their will be no leave, no absence, no sick call, no vacation, no days off.
You will have no visitors, receive no calls from your other place of employment, or work on any other project save this one. Am I understood?"
No reply.
You are expected to be familiar with the entire contents of the I-model technical order by noon tomorrow. Then, we will meet here and talk about the plane and its characteristics.
Questions?"
Again, no reply, Anderson turned to Elliott. "General?" Elliott shook his head.
"You will be sorry," Anderson said menacingly, "if you come here tomorrow and you don't know your shit. Dismissed.
The Old Dog's crewmembers filed out, everyone afraid to speak or make any comment with Anderson anywhere within earshot. Elliott, McLanahan, and Briggs were the last to leave.
"That man," Briggs said, "is one intense sonofabitch."
"I can see working with him is going to be a real blast," McLanahan asked. "Thanks for the great assignment, General.
"Don't mention it," he replied, smiling. "I hope you've been studying.
You're starting out with two strikes against you already.
"I know," McLanahan asked. "I'm a nav-and I'm not Mentzer. Who is Mentzer, anyway?"
An aerospace engineer who has worked closely with Anderson for five years," Briggs replied.
"But he had a clearance problem?"
"Hal here unearthed some… discrepancies in Mentzer's background before he came to Dreamland," Elliott asked. "TOO many overlapping jobs. Our Hal here is the suspicious typebut I haven't gone wrong yet trusting his instincts.
"Why, thanks, General- "But there's always a first time," Elliott said, smiling.
"Wait until Anderson hears it was a lowly lieutenant keeping Mentzer out of the project. "Briggs groaned. "Anyway, I'm keeping him out of this phase of the project until we get it straightened out."
"Then can I get out of this loony bin?" McLanahan asked, only half jokingly.
"Mentzer only builds them," Elliott asked. "He can't drop them. You can. Better than anyone else in the country."
"Great. "McLanahan glanced at Briggs. "Hal, my friend, there had better be some beer around this dustbowl, or I'm gonna get real cranky studying tonight."
"You can count on me," Briggs replied.
On the way outside, McLanahan noticed Wendy Tork standing alone between her barracks and the briefing room. He excused himself and walked over.
"I didn't recognize you at first-with the glasses and all."
"How is the King of Bomb Comp," Wendy said, placing her hands on her hips.
"Can't complain," McLanahan said, smiling. "Well, actually I can…
This Colonel Anderson seems to be really bad news. I'd like to drop him out of the Old Dog's bomb bay instead of one of those Striker bombs."
"Maybe you'll get your chance," Wendy said, smiling.
"But they don't give trophies for that, do they?"
"Not the last I heard," McLanahan said. He shifted his feet uncomfortably, trying to think of what to say next. "So," he said finally, "why didn't you tell me when we met what a crackedack electronics warfare operator you were?I thought you were some sort of technician."
"You didn't ask," Wendy asked. "Besides, you seemed busy basking in your own limelight. I figured you weren't interested.
"But I was," McLanahan said, realizing as he said it that he was much too emphatic. "I mean… sure I was interested. "God, he was making a mess of this.
Wendy began walking toward the women's barracks and McLanahan fell into step with her. "Hey," he said, "you've got to explain your ECM gear to me. It was the most confusing part of that damn manual. I think I need some expert advice.
Tonight Wendy stopped a few yards short of the barracks and folded her arms over her chest. "Tonight?"
"if it wouldn't be much trouble," McLanahan said quickly.