Next to come down the stairs was an Army officer, a full colonel in Battle Dress Uniform that also bore insignia identifying him as a member of the Adjutant General’s Corps.
Colonel Caruthers, at the sight of the apparition, momentarily lost control and blurted, “Who the fuck are you?”
The AGC colonel answered the question by marching up to General McNab, saluting crisply, and announcing, “Sir, Colonel R. James Scott, deputy chief, Office of Heraldry, Office of the Adjutant General, reporting VOPOTUS to the C in C Special Operations Command for indefinite temporary duty, sir!”
McNab returned the salute in a Pavlovian reaction and was about to ask several questions when three more men came down the stair door and forestalled this intention. Two of the men were festooned with an assortment of still and motion picture cameras. The third was Presidential Spokesperson Robin Hoboken.
“Quick,” Mr. Hoboken ordered the photographers, “before the President gets in the doorway of Air Force One, get a shot of General Whatshisname, the one in the fancy uniform, welcoming Colonel Whatsisname to Fort Bragg.”
The photographers rushed to comply. As they did so, they trotted past Sergeant Nellis. Somehow, one of Sergeant Nellis’s highly polished “jump boots”—the left one — became entangled with the ankle of the still photographer. Sergeant Nellis of course reached out to catch him as he stumbled. He not only failed to do so, but his right jump boot became simultaneously entangled with the ankle of the motion picture photographer, who then fell on top of the still photographer.
Sergeant Nellis rushed to help them to their feet, and Colonel Caruthers rushed to assist Sergeant Nellis.
By the time both photographers had been pulled to their feet and brushed off, Joshua Ezekiel Clendennen, President of the United States and Commander in Chief of its armed forces, was standing in the door of the Gulfstream.
But it was too late. The opportunity to record General McNab welcoming Colonel R. James Scott to Fort Bragg for posterity was lost forever.
The photographers rushed to record for posterity President Clendennen waving from the door and then as he descended the stair door.
General McNab was waiting for him there, and this time he got the protocol perfect.
He popped to rigid attention, saluted, and barked, “Sir, Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab reports to the Commander in Chief!”
President Clendennen returned the salute, which annoyed General McNab more than a little, since he believed a salute was something warriors exchanged, and he knew the President had never worn a uniform and that the closest he had come to combat was dodging Mason jars of white lightning thrown at him by the First Mother-in-Law.
But General McNab said nothing through the entire five minutes Robin Hoboken spent posing him and the President for more photographs.
But finally his opportunity came. He came to attention again.
“Sir, how may the general be of service to the President?”
President Clendennen considered the question a moment, and then replied, “General, ask not what you can do for your President, but what your President can do for you.”
“Yes, sir,” General McNab said.
“Make sure you get this,” Robin Hoboken said to the photographers. “It’s important.”
The photographers aimed their cameras.
“Okay, General,” Robin said. “Ask.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Ask the President what he can do for you. He’s waiting.”
“Mr. President, what can you do for me?” General McNab inquired.
“I am here, General, to help you plan the assault on Drug Cartel International Airfield,” President Clendennen said.
“Shit, that sounds bad,” Robin Hoboken said. “We’re going to have to do that again.”
Hoboken waited until the motion picture photographer signaled he was ready to proceed, then called, “Quiet on the set! Rolling! Action! Go ahead, General, ask.”
“Mr. President,” General McNab asked again, “what can you do for me?”
“I am here, General, to help you plan the assault by Clendennen’s Commandos on Drug Cartel International Airfield. I want to be on that Out of the Box Operation from the get-go.”
The President paused, then turned to Robin Hoboken.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much better, Mr. President,” Hoboken said. “I’m glad you remembered Clendennen’s Commandos.”
“Robin, how could I forget my boys?” the President asked chidingly. “They’re like family to me.”
“Excuse me, Mr. President, sir,” General McNab said. “Who are Clendennen’s Commandos?”
“You used to call them Delta Force and Black Coyote,” the President replied. “Robin, who’s really good at this sort of thing, suggested we needed something with more zing to it.”
“No offense, General,” Hoboken said, “but you military people really dropped the ball naming these people—”
“Actually, it’s Black Fox, not Black Coyote,” General McNab said.
“Fox, coyote, what’s the difference?” the President asked.
“Coyotes and foxes are both members of the Canis latrans order of Mammalia, Mr. President,” Robin Hoboken explained. “Coyotes are larger—”
“I meant,” the President said, “that ‘fox’ and ‘coyote’ are really lousy names — not as bad as what they call those sailor boys, of course. Calling them ‘Seals’ make it sound as if they go into battle making funny noises and with fishes in their mouths — but bad enough.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” Hoboken said. “That’s why you wisely decided to rename them.”
“Well, where are my boys, General?” the President asked. “Hard at work preparing things to seize Drug Cartel International as the first operation of Operation Out of the Box?”
“Sir, I only learned of your plans to seize Drug Cartel International yesterday. I don’t even know where it is.”
“It’s in Mexico,” the President said.
“Permit me to rephrase, sir. I don’t even know precisely where in Mexico it is. We can’t plan an operation until we have an exact location.”
“Ask Colonel Castillo. He must know where it is.”
“Sir, I don’t know where Colonel Castillo is, except in the most general terms.”
“What does that mean?”
“The last I heard, sir, he was in Europe, planning the infiltration of his intelligence people into Somalia.”
“Well, tell him to put those goddamn pirates on the back burner; that’ll have to wait.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m really disappointed in you, General,” the President said. “I came all the way down here to see Clendennen’s Commandos getting ready to seize Drug Cartel International, and here you are telling me you don’t even know where it is.”
“Sir, what we really came down here for was to record for history you and Clendennen’s Commandos preparing to seize Drug Cartel International.”
“That’s what I just said,” the President said unpleasantly.
“Mr. President, I’m sure General Naylor here—”
“This isn’t General Naylor, for God’s sake,” the President snapped. “Naylor’s the big general with four stars. General O’Nab is the little general with three stars. Maybe you’d better write that down.”
“My name is McNab, sir.”
“Whatever.”
“What I was going to suggest, Mr. President,” Hoboken said, “is that General McNab probably has some of his people preparing to seize something as we speak. That’s what they do, seize things. Either that, or blow them up. Anyway, you could have your picture taken with them. Nobody would know the difference.”