The Shaws and Waters had parted when Waters was assigned to a different wing in Florida, but they had run into each other from time to time and had never lost contact. Still, it had been over six years since he had last seen Beth…
An hour later Waters and Sara walked into the officers club bar. A group of young officers and their wives standing at the bar quieted when the newcomers entered. Waters was learning what it meant to be seen with Sara. The attention she drew hardly bothered him, and he liked being with her. Why not? She was young, bright, witty and a looker.
Now a long-remembered voice took Waters’ attention away from Sara. “You haven’t changed a bit, Muddy.”
Turning, Waters saw a plump, matronly woman smiling at him. Her short black hair was streaked with gray, although the large dark eyes and wide, full mouth were exactly as he remembered them. He quickly collected Beth Shaw into his arms. “Beth, it’s good to see you—”
“Easy, Muddy,” she said, not breaking the embrace, then drew back and studied his face. “It’s not fair.”
“What’s not?”
“Men get better looking; women get fatter with double chins.”
The two stood back, still holding onto each other. Memories of when they were all newly married came flooding back… images of floating down the Salt River on inner-tubes dragging six-packs of beer behind them, of sitting around the officers club drinking beer and singing lewd, crude drinking songs, of learning with John to fly the F-4…
Beth Shaw knew all about memories and was more of a realist than Waters in putting them into perspective. She knew what time did to memories, how it could turn them into the unexpected. She knew they had all changed, and with a sure instinct she sensed that Muddy Waters’ visit to Alexandria South could mean trouble for her husband, for his career, which had also become hers… “Muddy, I’m afraid at least one of us is getting old, like the F-4… Well, who else do we have here?”
Waters introduced her to Captain Sara Marshall. Beth had not really noticed Sara until now. She saw the absence of an engagement or wedding ring and felt her age even more. She had seen too many middle-aged colonels change their wives for a younger model and did not exactly look forward to any temptations coming her husband’s way. Still, she continued to play the perfect hostess as they sat down and ordered drinks. “Himself will be along in a few minutes. That damn telephone just won’t leave him alone. He was paged on the way over.”
The telephone page for Shaw was from Chief Mort Pullman. “Sir, we’ve got a real winner on our hands. According to some people who work for him, Blevins is a scumbag. Smart, but when it comes to common sense, he hasn’t the brains God gave a fence post. The word is he’d sell his daughter into white slavery to make general, and not a single NCO in the Watch Center would follow him to the latrine. He never makes a decision and always passes the buck. There is some good news, though. Captain Sara Marshall gets a grade-A endorsement from the NCO. Apparently she can’t stand Blevins but keeps quiet about it. Rumor at the Big P has it that Waters had a bad briefing with Sundown, stood up to him and walked out alive. Something else you ought to know — Waters was the guy who started the ball rolling on protecting Grain King.”
Shaw understood that the sergeant could not say any more over the phone, but it was enough. It never ceased to amaze him, the inside knowledge NCOs had about what went on in the Pentagon, even right into Sundown’s office. The chief had confirmed Shaw’s impression of Blevins. The guy could be dangerous… At least Waters still had his head screwed on straight, and Sara Marshall wasn’t a problem. You won some, you lost some…
He joined the three in the bar, offered his apologies and led them in to dinner, during which Beth’s early worries about Sara faded some when she observed an attraction between the young woman and Waters. Good… about time Muddy found someone to share his life with again. Good for all concerned…
The next morning the two colonels made the short walk to wing headquarters. Sara would join them an hour later; the captain understood the unspoken protocol dictating that the first and last meeting between a wing commander and a team should be private.
Blevins immediately criticized Waters for having dinner with the Shaws, implying it compromised the objectivity of their report.
“We’re here to write an after-action report, not ax anyone,” Waters told him, trying to keep the irritation he felt out of his voice. “John and I go back a long way; you want me to ignore him?”
Blevins shrugged, said nothing. Besides, the damn heat had given him an underarm rash. He’d better see a medic.
Shaw met them as they walked into his office, offering coffee.
Waters was ready to get down to work. “John, Sundown sent us here to take an in-depth look at the Grain King incident. He’s interested in everything that happened and sees it as a chance for us to learn some lessons about operating in this part of the world. He also wants to know why the alert birds were scrambled without missiles… ”
Shaw allowed a grin. “I’ve got a classified file an inch thick on that. You should see some of the messages we’ve gotten back from headquarters in reply to our requests for permission to upload missiles on the alert birds. I think you should read the file. The general is going to get his eyes watered.”
“Colonel Shaw,” Blevins said, “are you saying higher headquarters specifically ordered you not to upload missiles for the scramble on Grain King?”
“No, it doesn’t work that way. We—”
“Did you specifically request to upload missiles when you were placed on cockpit alert?”
“No, I don’t think it would have done any good—”
“But you didn’t even try to use your command net to get permission. Is that correct?”
Shaw nodded.
Blevins was on a roll now. While still a captain he had chosen the Pentagon’s bureaucracy as the path to promotion, seeing the nice, orderly flow of information, orders, supplies and personnel as the real strength of the Air Force. To his way of thinking, jet jockies were just freewheeling incompetents who disrupted the proper way of doing business. In a way he felt it was his job to protect the Air Force from people like Waters and Shaw.
“Colonel Shaw, I’d like to have the complete file immediately.”
Shaw stared at Blevins. Waters didn’t try to suppress his shock. The wing commander’s eyes narrowed as he dissected the man, grudgingly conceding that for all his flabbiness and rigid attitude he did at least present a neat and professional appearance: firm jaw, slightly gray hair, chiseled mouth — all fitted the image of the very model of a modern Air Force officer. The image earned the promotions, Shaw decided. He clamped a control on his anger at Blevins’ insinuation that the file might be purged before he saw it, casually picked up a phone and called his first sergeant.
“Mort, bring in every scrap of paper, message, memo for the record, notes, anything and everything we’ve got on arming the alert birds to my office. Sign them all over to Colonel Blevins.”
Sitting the phone down he continued to stare at the colonel, appreciating how accurate Mort Pullman’s report on Blevins had been. “I think you’ll have everything you want in a few moments. Satisfactory?”
A sharp knock at the door announced Chief Pullman, who quickly entered and handed over a thick file to Blevins. “Please sign here, sir,” he said.
Blevins scribbled his name on the sign-out record, not recognizing the chief as the driver from the night before.
Shaw wondered why Cunningham had teamed Blevins with his friend Waters. Well, he never could understand Sundown’s logic. Who the hell could?… He turned to Waters, “Any other reason Sundown sent you here?”