The Hot Pilots (28 page)

“And that way the Aérosens directors can have their cake and eat it too.” Simon scowled. “They get the money, and if the French
Government should catch on, all the directors have to do is point the finger at Israel, claiming that the Mossad had infiltrated
their company without their knowledge. The only ones who’d end up screwed would be the Israelis …”

“And my father,” Steve amended politely.

“Yes, that’s right.” Simon nodded. “That’s why I meant it when I said your father is a brave man. He’s risking a lot for his
country, and for no personal gain. That makes him the finest kind of patriot.”

“He is a patriot, of course, sir, but he’s also having himself a great time.” Steve grinned. “He’s done all this research
on Israel, you see; especially the history of its struggle for independence. That’s where he got the idea for the entire roundabout
smuggling scheme. It seems that back in the forties, during the period leading up to Israel’s independence, American Jews
managed to smuggle munitions to Israel despite the United States Government’s restrictions by hiding the stuff in hollowed-out
farm equipment, and so on.” Steve paused. “I just hope the Israelis come through with their part of the deal.”

“You mean delivering on their promise to snare a MIG-21?”

“And letting us have our look at it, sir.”

“I have confidence they will,” the general said. “Don’t forget they need to know what they’re up against concerning the 21
for their own survival, not to do us any favors.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve said respectfully, although privately he had his doubts about the whole thing. If the Israelis ever did
manage to coax a MIG driver to defect, and then manage to expedite his successful flight from heavily guarded Arab airspace,
it would be a miracle on a par with Moses parting the Red Sea.

“I was hoping to be able to hang around here long enough to get a look at that MIG-21,” the general said longingly. “It would
have been edifying to know what my Soviet counterparts have been up to, but it wasn’t meant to be …”

“I was hoping you’d be sticking around longer, as well, sir,” Steve said.

“Well,” Simon said briskly. “The bottom line is that I’m not, which leads to another matter: your future in the Air Force
… Steve, I’m sure you realize that I have the clout to arrange for you to be sent to war college—”

“Excuse me, sir,” Steve interrupted.

“What?” Simon sharply demanded.

“Begging the general’s pardon, sir, but that’s not for me,” Steve said.

“What isn’t for you, son? Career advancement?” the general asked disdainfully.

Steve frowned. The Air Force’s war college was located at Maxwell A.F.B. in Alabama. It was there that the officers who the
Air Force was grooming for great things studied aviation warfare set against an overall general background of national policy
and strategy.

“… you know that your career has hit ceiling unless you’re willing to attend …” the general was saying.

“I’m only a high school graduate—”

“Doesn’t matter. I can finesse that part of it for you, as well,” Simon assured him. “Don’t forget that what we do here at
Wright-Patterson falls under the umbrella of Air University Command—”

Steve held up his hand. “Permission to speak frankly, sir?”

“Go ahead,” Simon muttered.

“Howard, it’s
school,
” Steve burst out, exasperated and embarrassed. “I don’t want any part of it!”

“May I ask why?”

Steve hesitated. “I don’t want to go because I know I can’t hack the program …”

“That’s a lot of bullshit—”

“It isn’t …” Steve paused, thinking:
Why do I have to go into this?
“You—you really don’t know me …”

“Don’t
know
you?” Simon echoed in disbelief. “Get serious, son. You’ve been on my staff for almost five years.”

“You don’t know how tough school was for me when I was a kid—”

“You don’t think you’re smart enough, is that it?” Simon demanded. “You don’t think you’ve got what it takes to be a full
colonel, or higher?”

“Maybe not.”

“Then try this on for size,” the general replied evenly. “During the past months I’ve had you here at Dayton you’ve been doing
a bird colonel’s level of work—if not higher—and doing it better than anyone I’ve ever had working for me, and that includes
a brigadier general whose name I won’t mention.”

“Really … ?” Steve was flabbergasted. “I don’t know what to say…”

“Say yes to this opportunity I’m holding out to you,” Simon urged.

Steve shook his head.

“You’re still not convinced?”

“Don’t get me wrong, sir. The fact that you’re pleased with my work means a lot, but …” Steve trailed off, shrugging.

“All right, then. You had your opportunity to speak frankly. Now it’s my turn,” the general said fiercely. “You’re forty-one
years old. You’ve got almost twenty-two years in. If you’re not going to give yourself the opportunity to advance, then get
the hell out.”

“I’ve been thinking about doing just that.”

“You have?” Simon looked surprised.

“You see, when
you
go, my clearance to fly fighter/interceptors will go as well,” Steve replied. “And the opportunity to fly is about the only
thing that’s kept me in this long.”

“I see …”

“As a matter of fact,” Steve began, “I was hoping you could pull some strings to get me assigned back to Operational Command
…”

“A TAC squadron leader, huh?” the genera] asked thoughtfully.

“Well, yes …” Steve said. “Preferably with an outfit that’s seeing some action …”

“Hmmm, you’re talking about Vietnam?”

“Yes,” Steve replied hopefully.

“I don’t know about that … You’ve been out of Operational for a long time … Since Korea …” the general added meaningfully.

“Sir, I’ve kept my hand in flying.”

“The real problem is that you’ve cut yourself out of the loop. They’re handing out operational assignments to those officers
on upward career paths.”

“There is one way…”

“Well, go on,” Simon demanded. “Spit it out, son …”

“General, there’s a memo from Pacific Air Force headquarters in your in-box …”

“Now what the
hell
are you doing rummaging around in
my
in-box?” Simon challenged.

GAT, here I come
, Steve thought, guessing that he would soon be perfecting his civilian sales pitch unless he could sell the general right
now.

“Sir, I was in your office the other day to find some files I needed, and the memo in question was lying right on top of the
pile of stuff in your box. It had ‘Vietnam Air Combat Volunteer Request’ across the top in bold letters, so it caught my attention,
you see …”

“Go on, I’m listening,” Simon grumbled.

“The memo says PACAF is looking for someone to act as a troubleshooter on a tour of our bases in Thailand.”

“It sounds like things are going wrong over there if a troubleshooter is needed,” the general said, looking concerned.

“Things
are
going wrong.” Steve nodded. “I, um, took the liberty of making a few telephone calls using your name …”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Go on …”

So far, so good
, Steve thought, relieved. “Well, sir, it turns out that there’s a serious morale problem permeating our fighter wings. There’s
concern about it at the highest levels. We’ve been losing so many people going up against very heavily defended targets that
our squadrons have begun to back off, to stroke it. They’ve been dropping their bombs too high, killing palm trees, or whatever
it is they have over there, instead of the enemy.”

“It’s not like the Air Force to back off just because the job is a little tough,” the general said.

“Well, I don’t totally put the blame on our fighter jocks,” Steve continued. “I’ve been looking into the situation, sir.”

“You have?”

Now why the hell is the old bird smiling like that?
Steve wondered. “Anyway, sir, in my opinion, the fault lies not with our pilots, but with the politicians back home. What’s
needed is for our Air Force tigers to be unleashed. They need to know that they’ve got total backing to steamroll the enemy.
You ask a guy to go up against a stone wall with a rubber mallet when what’s needed to do the job properly is a sixteen-pound
sledge; he’s just bound to get tired and discouraged after a while.” Steve paused. “But I also realize that thanks to the
way Washington has been losing the propaganda war to the enemy, nothing like that is about to happen.”

“That sounds like a perceptive analysis of the situation, Steve.” The general nodded. “So, then, what does PACAF want this
so-called troubleshooter to do, exactly?”

“Visit for a while with each fighter wing, give a pep talk, and then fly a few missions in order to lead by example.”

“The fighter wings are flying Thunderchiefs, aren’t they?” Simon asked.

“The guys who are being given the tough armed reconnaissance missions are, yes, sir.” Steve nodded.

“And, of course, since you spend every spare moment in the air, you’ve been checked out on the Thud, haven’t you?” the general
asked dryly.

“I have, sir.” Steve couldn’t quite muffle his smile.

“I suppose you think that’s all that’s needed to make you the right man for this job?” Simon challenged.

“No, sir—” Steve said earnestly. “I’m the right man for the job because I know what I’m talking about, sir. I’ve
been
there. I did the job in the Second World War, and in Korea. I’m a fighter pilot by vocation, and I’ve been at my trade longer
than some of these pilots we’ve got in Vietnam have been
born.
”

“Speaking of young pilots,” Simon began. “I believe your nephew is currently in a Thud Wing over there … ?”

“Yes, sir, he is,” Steve said and then smiled. “I have to admit, General, the possibility of getting to fly in combat with
my nephew only adds to the assignment’s allure.”

“Hmmm …”

“Speaking man to man, General, it’s what I want. Do you think you could swing it for me?”

Simon looked thoughtful. “Maybe there
is
a way…”

“Sir?” Steve perked up.

“Seeing as how you’re adamant about not taking my suggestion concerning war college …”

“With all due respect, sir, I
am
adamant about that.”

“Well, then …” The general nodded. “I’m owed a few favors. Might as well call one of them in while I’m still wearing the uniform
…”

“Thank you,” Steve said.

“You realize the assignment is only temporary,” Simon warned.

“Yes, I know.” Steve nodded. “I’m prepared for that, but I figure the opportunity to fly a fighter in a third war is just
too good to pass up. If it comes down to it, I’m prepared to accept this assignment as a fitting coda to my Air Force career.”
He paused, suddenly puzzled. “But how would
you
know that, General?”

“Know what?”

“That it’s a temporary assignment,” Steve replied. “I mean, if you haven’t read the memo, or heard about any of this before
now, sir?”

Simon shrugged. “I just assumed as much. By it’s very nature a troubleshooting assignment is temporary.”

“I see,” Steve said slowly. “I suppose so, sir…”

“Now, get out of here,” the general gruffly commanded. “Let me start making those telephone calls on your behalf…”

“Yes, sir!” Steve got to his feet and came to attention. “Thanks again.” He saluted smartly and then left the office, thinking
about how great it was going to be to see combat one more time.

You can lead a horse
… Major General Howard Simon thought.

He waited until Steve left the office, then pulled open the bottom left-hand drawer of his desk and took out a fifth of Jack
Daniels and a glass. He poured himself a generous shot of sour mash, then knocked it back.

The whiskey burned pleasurably going down. Simon knew that later on there’d be hell to pay for indulging when his ulcers began
kicking up, but he figured his bad heart was going to get him long before his gut had the opportunity to do him in.

He reached back into the drawer, this time for a cigar. He had a box of Macanudos stashed there. They weren’t as good as the
Cubans he used to smoke, but everybody had to make sacrifices in the war against communism, and anyway, the good old days
were long gone.

The doctors had firmly told him to stay away from the booze and cigars, and he had just as firmly told them to go to hell.
He didn’t want to live forever. His wife had passed away several years ago. His only child, his daughter, was married to an
investment banker Simon didn’t get along with, and living in New York City, a place Simon despised. He had grandchildren,
but they hardly knew him. The few times he’d been around them they’d called him “sir,” and tended to hide behind their mother’s
skirts.

The hell with it
, he thought, nipping the tip off the stogie and firing it up. He’d been terrible with his own daughter when she was a child,
so what the hell kind of chance was he going to have with children a generation removed? He was too old to change, and anyway
his airplanes were his children—

But the powers that be had decreed that he was too old for his profession. Just what in hell was he supposed to do with himself?

The doctors couldn’t answer
that
question, of course. They didn’t even understand why he would ask it. They didn’t understand how frightfully hollow his life
in Texas was to be; about the loss of his wife, and how that terrible emptiness was only underscored by this forced retirement
from the Air Force. The goddamned doctors were maintenance people, preoccupied with keeping the machine running, without the
slightest clue to what purpose. Simon had seen their kind before: well-meaning but narrow-minded men too involved in their
areas of authority and expertise to see the big picture—

But Steve wasn’t like that, Simon ruminated, puffing steely blue smoke rings into the air. Steve could see the big picture,
all right. Take his insightful analysis concerning the morale problem among fighter wings operating in Vietnam. Steve was
able to gather the input necessary to come to the correct conclusion: that the pilots were dispirited because they believed
they did not have the full backing of the politicians. Even more important, Steve was then able to use his experience to deduce
that because there was nothing to be done about the underlying cause of the problem, what was needed was another way to get
the pilots motivated: to appeal to their esprit de corps …