Hembree broke off his inspection and began circling the squadron like a shark closing in on a wounded whale. Hembree was a big, square-jawed, powerful black man in his late forties, with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and dark, electric eyes. His voice all but rattled windows, especially when he was angry — which was right now: “I will not have any of you slacking off here. You will report to training week ready to deploy, ready to fly, and ready to fight, or I don’t want you here at all. We are not Reservists, dammit — we are the United States Air Force. Got that? We are the main combat force. Because we train only two weeks per month, we have to do it better than the active duty units. We have to look sharper, fly better, and move faster. I will not tolerate anyone in this unit who thinks he or she can get away with something here. I am going to pound this fact into you people and make you believe it.”
He completed his circle, letting everyone get a taste of the medicine, before resuming his inspection. Fortunately for Ben Jamieson, everyone else in A Flight passed inspection. Hembree assigned Jamieson two nights’ worth of duty officer shifts for allowing one of his pilots to report in without his required gear, then moved on to Furness’ flight.
She called the flight to attention, saluted, and said, “Bravo Flight, ready for inspection, sir.”
Hembree returned Furness’ salute, looked up and down the row, then said, “You think you’re ready, huh? Well, we’ll have to do some pictures first. Perhaps you can tell me about tech order warnings and cautions for the UPD-8 recon pod, Major Furness?”
“Yes, sir,” Furness replied immediately. Questions and answers during inspection was something new for Hembree, and this was no idle exercise. Hembree had something on his mind … but she had no more time to think about it. She knew the capabilities and functions of all of the eleven different reconnaissance pods that could be fitted to the RF-111 aircraft, and she could recite warnings and cautions in her sleep:
“There are two warnings, two cautions, and seven notes in the tech order about the UPD-8 radar reconnaissance pod,” she began. “The most important are: stay clear of the sensor domes until aircraft power and battery power is removed; and ensure all ground crewmen are clear of the aircraft for a distance of at least one hundred feet while running the ground BIT test because of stray emissions—”
Hembree suddenly stepped closer to Furness and interrupted her with, “Did you sleep in that flight suit, Major? It looks like hell.” Hembree had caught its postsex rumpled look. Furness fumed inside — not at Hembree, but at Ed Caldwell. Christ, how did she let that happen?
“I know these are only utility uniforms, Major,” Hembree snapped, “but if you don’t take care of them in peacetime, what assurances do we have that you’ll take care of them if we go to war? You have duty officer for two nights after Major Jamieson. Reach into your deployment bag and show me six pairs of wool socks.” She quickly did as she was told, then put them back, but Hembree was already moving down the line, so she had to hurry to catch up.
First Lieutenant Mark Fogelman seemed amused by the egg on her face, and Furness wished she could kick him in the balls for wearing that damned grin during open-ranks inspection. Hembree cast an angry look at Fogelman’s deployment bag and gave him and Furness a stern, warning look, then moved along. It was obvious that he knew Fogelman didn’t have all his gear, and he was silently telling both of them that he knew, but he chose not to put them in a brace about it. That would come later.
“Major Furness, at eleven-thirty A.M. you will brief me on the contents of Air Force reg 35–10 regarding personal grooming standards,” Hembree snarled after he finished inspecting Bravo Flight. “Most of your people don’t seem to know what those standards are, and since there seem to be so many violations of those standards in your flight, I assume it’s because you aren’t familiar with them. You will also personally ensure that your troops have complied with those regulations. If they have not complied by tomorrow’s inspection, you will lose a half day’s training for each violation. Is that clear?”
It was clear — and extremely severe. But Furness answered, “Yes, sir.”
He finished the inspections for Bravo and Charlie flights quickly, finding one WSO’s deployment bag missing a pair of long underwear and nearly throwing the bag out into the hallway in disgust. He went through the crew chief’s ranks with the same zeal, this time venting his displeasure at Master Sergeant Tate, his NCOIC, when he found a discrepancy.
“I want another inspection before this week is over, and this time if I find one discrepancy in a deployment bag, I’m sending the offender out in the street,” Hembree warned. “This unit will be fully combat ready by the end of this week or I’ll recommend that Fifth Air Battle Force stand this entire squadron down. Our job is deployment, people, and if you’re not ready to deploy when you have five days to get ready for it, how the fuck are you going to do it when the call comes in the middle of the goddamned night? Jesus Christ, I will not stand for it! I want performance, I want perfection, or I’ll shit-can everybody. Is that clear?” Wisely, no one replied. Hembree scowled silently at the entire squadron for a few more seconds, then snapped, “Major Jamieson, take over — if you can.” Major Jamieson called the squadron to attention, but Hembree was already out the door.
They spent a few minutes going over the results of the open-ranks inspection. Mark Fogelman and Paula Norton had been written up for 35–10 violations, and Norton had also been written up for not wearing cold-weather gear for the inspection — she wore a regular cotton T-shirt instead of turtleneck thermal underwear. Furness had Fogelman empty his deployment bag, then turned to Paula Norton. Long hair had to be off the collar while in uniform; she had left two thick strands hang down on each side of her head: “Paula, what gives? You forget how to pin your hair up?”
“Hey, what’s with the old man these days?” Norton asked by way of a reply. “He’s really got a bug up his ass.”
“Forget about the Colonel and fix your hair,” Furness said angrily, “unless you want to get kicked out of the program just because some hair is out of place. You know the regs. Why push it? And where’s your cold-weather gear?”
“Hell, the Colonel never checked us that close before,” Norton sneered. “Usually he checks out my chest and moves on. Did the guy swear off women or what?” Paula Norton was young, blonde, and beautiful, with bright blue eyes and a full, rounded figure. Men of all ages and ranks felt so self-conscious staring at her, especially during an open-ranks inspection while standing at attention, she usually received only cursory glances up close. Hembree was obviously not so distracted this time. “Besides, we just change out of thermals right after the inspection for PT.”
“So you thought you’d get ahead of the program by showing up for a winter inspection in a T-shirt?” Furness asked. “Real smart. You have thermals with you, don’t you?” Norton nodded. “Have them on for the next inspection. And when it’s time to get serious and play war, Paula, even boobs won’t distract a guy all the time.”