"If the flyers didn't know what a particular AFO school was, how could they properly evaluate a candidate's file? I see many flyers' files, and I have to ask about a particular school or course all the time."
"Well, hopefully the panel members either already know what the school or course is, or had the sense to ask a knowledgeable person," Ingemanson offered. "I'll put out a memo reminding them."
"I don't suppose too many AFOs will rate very highly with this board," Norman said. "With the war such a success and the aircrews acquitting themselves so well, I imagine they'll get the lion's share of the attention here."
"Well, I've only seen MFC's printout on the general profile of the candidates," Ingemanson responded, "but I think they did a pretty good job spreading the opportunities out between all the specialties. Of course, there'll be a lot of flyers meeting any Air Force promotion board, but I think you'll find it's pretty evenly distributed between the rated and nonrated specialties."
"If you listen to the news, you'd think there was a pilot being awarded the Medal of Honor every day."
"Don't believe everything you hear in the press, Colonel-our side practices good propaganda techniques too, sometimes better than the Iraqis," Ingemanson said with a smile. "The brass didn't want to give
kill counts to the press, but the press eats that up. Helps keep morale up. The talking heads then start speculating on which fictional hero will get what medal. Stupid stuff. Not related to the real world at all." He noticed Weir's hooded, reserved expression, then added, "Remember, Colonel-there was Operation Desert Shield before there was Operation Desert Storm, and that's where the support troops shone, not just the aircrew members. None of the heroics being accomplished right now would be even remotely possible without the Herculean efforts of the support folks. Even the AFOs." Weir politely smiled at the gentle jab.
"I haven't seen any of the personnel jackets, but I expect to see plenty of glowing reports on extraordinary jobs done by combat support and nonrated specialties," Ingemanson went on. "I'm not telling you how I want you to mark your ballots, Colonel, but keep that in mind. Every man or woman, whether they're in the Sandbox or staying back in the States, needs to do their job to perfection, and then some, before we can completely claim victory."
"I understand, sir. Thank you for the reminder."
"Don't mention it. And call me 'Swede.' Everyone does. We're going to be working closely together for another week-let's ease up on some of the formalities." Norman again didn't say a word, only nodded uncomfortably. Ingemanson gave Weir a half-humorous, half-exasperated glare. "The reason I called you in here, Colonel," Ingemanson went on, "is I've received the printout on the scoring so far. I'm a little concerned."
"Why?"
"Because you seem to be rating the candidates lower than any other rater," the general said. "The board's average rating so far is 7.92. Your average line officer rating is 7.39-and your average rating of pilots, navigators, and missile-launch officers is 7.21, far below the board average."
Norman felt a brief flush of panic rise up to his temples, but indignation shoved it away. "Is there a problem, sir?"
"I don't know, Colonel. I asked you here to ask that very same question of you."
Norman shrugged. "I suppose someone has to be the lowest rater."
"Can't argue with that," Ingemanson said noncommittally. "But I just want to make sure that there are no… hidden agendas involved with your ratings decisions."
"Hidden agendas?"
"As in, you have something against rated personnel, and you want your scores to reflect your bias against them."
"That's nonsense, sir. I have nothing against flyers. I don't know many, and I have little interaction with them, so how can I have a bias against them?"
"My job as board president is to make sure there is no adverse bias or favoritism being exercised by the panel members," Ingemanson reminded him. "I look at the rater's individual average scores. Generally, everyone comes within ten or fifteen percent of the average. If it doesn't, I ask the rater to come in for a chat. I just wanted to make sure everything is okay."
"Everything is fine, sir. I assure you, I'm not biasing my scores in any way. I'm calling them like I see them."
"A flyer didn't run over your cat or run off with your wife… er, pardon me, Colonel. I forgot-you're divorced. My apologies."
"No offense taken, sir."
"I'm once divorced too, and I joke about it constantly-way too much, I'm afraid."
"I understand, sir," Norman said, without really understanding. "I'm just doing my job the way I see it needs to be done."
Ingemanson's eyes narrowed slightly at that last remark, but instead of pursuing it further, he smiled, rubbed his hands energetically, and said, "That's good enough for me, then. Thanks for your time."
"You aren't going to ask me to change any of my scores? You're not going to ask me how I score a candidate?"
"I'm not allowed to ask, and even if I was, I don't really care," the two-star general said, smiling. "Your responsibility as a member of this board is to apply the secretary's MOI to the best of your professional knowledge, beliefs, and abilities. I certify to the Secretary of the Air Force that all board members understand and are complying with the Memorandum of Instruction, and I have to certify this again when I turn in the board's results. My job when I find any possible discrepancies is to interview the board member. If I find any evidence of noncompliance with the MOI, I'll take some action to restore fairness and accuracy. If it's a blatant disregard of the MOI, I might ask you to rescore some of the candidates, but the system is supposed to accommodate wild swings in scoring.
"I'm satisfied that you understand your responsibilities and are carrying them out. I cannot change any ratings, try to instruct you in how to rate the candidates, or try to influence you in any way about how to carry out your responsibilities, as long as you're following the MOI. End of discussion. Have a nice day, Colonel."
Norman got to his feet, and he shook hands with General Ingemanson when he offered it. But before he left, Norman turned. "I have a question, sir."
"Fire away."
"Did you have this same discussion with anyone else… say, Colonel Ponce?"
General Ingemanson smiled knowingly. Well well, he thought, maybe he's not as stuck in the world between his ears as he thought. "As a matter of fact, Colonel, I did. We spoke last Saturday evening at the O Club over a few drinks."
"You spoke with Colonel Ponce about the board, at the Officers' Club?"
Ingemanson chuckled, but more out of exasperation than humor.
"Colonel, this is not a sequestered criminal jury," he said. "We're allowed to speak to one another outside the Selection Board Secretariat. We're even allowed to discuss promotion boards and the promotion process in general-just not any specifics on any one candidate or anything about specific scores, or attempt to influence any other board members. You probably haven't noticed, but Slammer spends just about every waking minute that he's not sitting the panel at the Club. That seemed to me the best place to corral him."
" 'Slammer'?"
"Colonel Ponce. That's his call sign. I thought you two knew each other?"
"We were assigned to the same wing, once."
"I see." Ingemanson filed that tidbit of information away, then said with a grin, "If I'd run into you at the Club, Norman, I would've spoken to you there too. You seem to spend most of your time in your VOQ or out jogging. Neither is conducive to a heart-to-heart chat."
"Yes, sir."
"Harry and I have crossed paths many times-I guess if you've been around as long as we have in the go-fast community, that's bound to happen. I've got seven years on the guy, but he'll probably pin on his first star soon. He might have been one of the Provisional Wing commanders out in Saudi Arabia or Turkey if he wasn't such a hot-shit test pilot. He designed two weapons that were developed in record time and used in the war. Pretty amazing work." Norman could tell Ingemanson was mentally reliving some of the times they'd had together, and it irritated Norman to think that he could just completely drift off like that-take a stroll down Memory Lane while talking to another officer standing right in front of him.