Mace’s first stop was the nearly empty base operations building, located just below the control tower, where he changed into green camouflage fatigues over thermal underwear, thick wool socks under cold weather mukluks, a grey parka with a fake fur hood, and a gray fur “mailman’s” hat (real fur this time) with black subdued lieutenant colonel’s rank pinned on the front crown. He grabbed a cup of coffee and a microwaved egg sandwich while receiving a report from the weather shop.
Mace then drove over to Maintenance Group headquarters, located in a large aircraft hangar adjacent to the flight line. He was met inside the front door by Senior Master Sergeant Michael Zaparski, the Group NCOIC (Non-Commissioned Officer In Charge), a short, thick-waisted, barrel-chested, gray-haired man wearing a long-sleeved shirt and tie. “Colonel Mace?” he greeted his new superior officer, opening the door and shaking hands with him. “Glad to see you, sir. Afraid you might have gotten lost.”
“Nice to meet you, Sergeant Zaparski,” Mace said. “No, not lost, but I wanted to get a weather report first before briefing the staff.” He removed his hat, jacket, and gloves, stamped snow off his boots, straightened his fatigues, then turned on his heels and marched into his office, where the three squadron commanders and three division commanders snapped to attention.
The Maintenance Group consisted of three squadrons, whose commanders reported directly to Mace, and three division staffs of deputy commander status. The largest squadron in the group, and the largest single unit in the entire wing, was the 394th Aircraft Generation Squadron (AGS), with over a thousand men and women, who were responsible for day-to-day maintenance, launch, and recovery of the forty-four planes at Plattsburgh. The AGS was divided into two aircraft-maintenance units, or AMUs, one for the RF-111G Vampire reconnaissance/bombers and one for the KC-135E Stratotanker aerial-refueling tankers. Each AMU was composed of the aircraft crew chiefs and assistant crew chiefs who were colocated with their respective flying squadrons and worked side by side with the aircrew members, plus maintenance specialists that assisted and supported the crew chiefs. The 394th Component Repair Squadron repaired avionics, engines, aircraft systems, fabricated aircraft parts, and maintained the sophisticated electronic sensors used in the aircraft; and the 394th Equipment Maintenance Squadron repaired aircraft ground-support vehicles, performed phase and periodic aircraft inspections, maintained and stored the weapons, and maintained the aircraft weapons release and carriage systems. The group’s three division staffs — Operations, Quality Assurance, and Personnel — assisted the group commander in carrying out day-to-day operations.
“It’s very nice to meet you all, and thank you for coming in so early,” Daren Mace said tightly to his assembled staff. “I wish I could sit down, tell you about myself, and give you my philosophy of life, but this is the first day of Hell Week and the flight line looks like shit, so the honeymoon will never even start.” The polite smiles on the faces of the squadron and division commanders abruptly disappeared.
Mace’s assistant group commander, Major Anthony Razzano, was impatiently standing beside Mace’s desk, obviously perturbed at being awakened two hours early. He was wearing a long-sleeve Air Force blue shirt, a clip-on tie, and dark-blue trousers with Corfam shoes — how the hell he made it into the building without getting a shoeful of snow, Mace couldn’t figure. Beside the door Mace noticed a young black female lieutenant, Alena Porter, who was the maintenance group’s chief of administration — she was in utility uniform, camo fatigues and boots. Every one of the division staff officers except Porter was in blues.
“First off, nobody shows up in this office during Hell Week in anything but utility uniform,” Mace said, affixing his gaze briefly on Razzano to hammer down the point. “This is a combat unit getting ready to deploy, and you will wear utility uniforms. Next, I want—”
“Excuse me, sir,” Razzano interrupted, obviously interested in testing the boundaries of the new “old man’s” style right away, “but it’s too uncomfortable to work in this office with fatigues.”
“Major Razzano, I was not considering your comfort when I issued my instructions — I was thinking of the combat effectiveness of this unit,” Mace said. “However, speaking of comfort …” He turned to Major William LeFebre, commander of the Component Repair Squadron. “Major, perhaps you could explain to me why three CRS troops are on the ramp working on aircraft without a shelter.”
LeFebre shrugged his shoulders, looking for help from anyone else in the room, not finding any, then stammering, “I … I didn’t know about that, sir …”
“And why, Major Razzano, was Civil Engineering not advised to clear my ramp and taxiways so my maintenance troops can get out to their planes?” To the Aircraft Generation Squadron commander, Major Charles Philo, he said, “And why do my planes have six inches of snow on them? And why don’t I have six airplanes in the shelters ready to generate this morning? You know there’s going to be a Bravo exercise, Major.”
“Sir, we don’t usually start generating aircraft until we’re given the word from headquarters,” Philo said. “We’re supposed to act as if we’ve been given a mobility order … you know, go from a standing start …?”
“Don’t give me that crap, Major,” Mace retorted. “That sounds like a line of bullshit from some of the old, lazy MGs that used to be around, the MGs and their staffs who allow snow to pile up on combat aircraft and who allow their troops to stand in knee-deep snow in freezing weather. This is a combat unit, people. We don’t do exercises — exercises are for units that have a mission only if combat starts. We train for war. Does everybody understand this concept? We don’t need exercises, we need to be ready to go to war at any time. Is that clear to everyone?”
“But sir, we’re not at war,” the Equipment Maintenance Squadron commander, Major Emily Harden, interjected.
“You listen to the news this morning, Major?” Mace interrupted. “You know about Russia invading the Ukraine?” Judging by the expressions on some of the faces around him, it was obvious that many in the room, including Razzano, did not know about the events happening half a world away.
“Of course, sir,” Harden replied uneasily. “But I’m referring to this Reserve training week. Bravo exercises are not preparations for war — they’re just, well, exercises. “
“Sergeant Zaparski, give me a copy of the tasking order for this week’s ’exercise’ and give it to the Major,” Mace said. Zaparski did as he was told. “Read it, Major, and tell me if you find the words ’exercise,’ ‘simulated,’ or any such term in there.”
Harden read the message quickly, her eyes widening in surprise. After a few seconds, she said, “Well … no, but we’re deploying to Plattsburgh, for one thing. We’re loading training weapons …”
“Major, I can assure you, a real deployment order looks exactly the same as that order does,” Mace said. “The location may be different, and the weapons loadout would be different, but the order looks just like that one. Now, if you knew that a war was coming, would you wait for that piece of paper to arrive before you began to prepare?”
“But this is an exercise, sir,” Harden said resolutely. “It’s training, pure and simple. We have certain rules, certain ‘academic situation’ changes that differentiate this from an actual deployment. To give you an example, it says prepackaged mobility stockpiles in certain categories will not be available. Now I know they’re available, because I check them myself, so it means they’re simulated for this exercise.”