Anyone who knew about individual citations, as Patrick did, would know that the unit designation had been purposely omitted from his award citation — even though this award was unclassified (he had received the Air Force Cross, the highest Air Force award except for the Medal of Honor, after the Old Dog mission, but was prohibited from wearing the ribbon), the citation still had to be doctored to keep secret the fact that Patrick worked at a secret flight-test facility.
“Lieutenant Colonel McLanahan flew in two combat sorties during the Philippine campaign: the first, while unarmed and carrying only reconnaissance equipment, Lieutenant Colonel McLanahan flew his B-2 bomber over heavily defended airspace close to enemy warships to gather intelligence data vital to the successful execution of the campaign. The second mission, flown only twenty-four hours later, Lieutenant Colonel McLanahan destroyed several enemy warships and a key air-defense radar site in enemy-held territory, was hit by enemy fire several times, yet helped his aircraft commander to bring their crippled aircraft back and landed safely. The distinctive accomplishments of Lieutenant Colonel McLanahan reflect great credit upon himself and the United States Air Force.”
General Stone pinned the medal onto Patrick’s uniform, stepped back, and saluted; Patrick returned the salute, then shook hands. “Thank you, sir,” Patrick said.
“I think it’s time for you to get out of Dreamland, Patrick,” Stone said. “There’s a job at SAC headquarters waiting for you. Just say the word.”
“I appreciate that,” Patrick replied, “but as long as General Elliott is at HAWC, that’s where I want to be.”
Stone smiled knowingly and gave a short laugh. “Yep, he does have that effect on people. Good luck, Patrick.”
A short reception was held in the West Wing afterward, and it was then that Patrick noticed that Jon Masters had disappeared. After inquiring with one of Paul Cesare’s secretaries, he was escorted by a Secret Service agent downstairs to the White House Situation Room, where he found Jon Masters and Brad Elliott watching a newly installed PACER SKY satellite terminal from the Situation Room conference table.
Patrick was not surprised to see that the screen was focused on the south Philippines near Zamboanga. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Something happening out there…?”
“No, it’s going along pretty smoothly,” Elliott replied. “Looks like PACAF air patrols are flying out of Zamboanga already. We’ve got the Wisconsin battle group in the Sulu Sea, too.”
“It was pretty hairy out there,” Patrick admitted. “I’m glad the thing defused so quickly. But why are you guys down here?”
“Jon wanted to take a look…”
“At your satellite terminal?”
“No,” Masters said. “At the Philippines; at the planes.” He paused for a few moments, then added: “You know something, Patrick: I’ll never look at this stuff the same way again.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I always used to see icons… pictures… nothing but computer-processed data on those screens,” Jon said. “I worried more about the quality of the image, how long it’s been since the data was updated, the readability — and the profits. You know, the usual…
“But now… I see the pilots, crew chiefs, sailors, husbands and fathers out there. I think of how far they are from home. I wonder if they’ve got enough water, or if they’ve been up for a long time, or if they’ve been able to call home or gotten a letter from home — and I worry. I don’t think I’ve worried about anything or anybody in ten years. I think about how dangerous it is to be flying at night — hell, I never used to know, or care, about what time of day it was out there. I never used to think about those icons, never realized that each symbol represented so many Americans fighting and dying in a strange land.”
He looked at the screen, then at McLanahan and Elliott with a faint smile and said, “It’s like what you said back at the Arc Light Memorial on Guam, General, looking at that old B-52: I only saw the machine out there, but you saw the men. I didn’t understand you then, but I think I understand now.”
“I think you do too, Jon,” Brad Elliott said. “And you know what? I don’t think you’ll ever be the same.” Masters nodded, knowing Elliott was right.
McLanahan knew it, too…