"Now, Mr. Hamir, why do you suppose anybody would want to do what we just did?"
"Well, sir, to land as short as possible."
"Right again. But your training has told you never to fly low and slow near the ground. It's dangerous, and accounts for a lot of landing accidents."
"Yes, sir." They turned off at the first taxiway and headed for the ramp.
"So what do you make of this demonstration? Am I teaching you bad habits?"
Rajid was quiet for a moment. "Sir, I believe this is an exercise to build proficiency."
Bennett liked what he was hearing. Good lad. "And all the students will learn to do this. It's unlikely they'll have to land that short on any runway, but knowing you can do it makes you more comfortable in the airplane. Just don't do it on your own yet-you'll get to it in a few more flights."
Bennett walked away from the F-20 and the quiet young Arab, feeling about as good as a flight instructor can feel.
The door opened and Bennett caught his breath. Claudia wore a knee-length yellow silk dress, her legs outlined against the thin fabric. Her long hair fell free, unrestrained by the ribbon she normally wore. It was the first time Bennett had seen her in anything but a conservative business dress.
She greeted him with a quick hug, then led him to her small dining alcove for coffee. Bennett decided the apartment was much like its occupant: organized, direct, stylish. He had only seen as much of it as was visible from the doorway twice previously, most recently several months ago when they had dined together before he had left for the States.
They sat down and Claudia poured some coffee. Handing him his cup, she looked him squarely in the face. "You flew in with a fighter plane again?" He noticed a peculiar expression on her face, a jesting tone in her voice.
"Yes, I delivered our maintenance supervisor for a meeting. Why?"
Claudia suppressed a girlish giggle. "I was just thinking about the first time I saw you. The marks on your face from the oxygen mask. They're not as noticeable this time."
He leaned far across the table, his face within six inches of hers. "Maybe you're just getting used to being around fighter pilots." He could smell her perfume again. Their noses touched.
Claudia leaned back. "I guess you're flying more often now." Bennett said he was and she caught the gleam in his eyes. This was obviously a man committed to his work. He told her about his flight with Rajid and about some of the other students. The first class was now into its formation-flying stage, and the second had just started dual instruction. The pace was accelerating.
After a time Claudia suggested they move to the large sofa in the living room. The afternoon shadows were lengthening outside. They sat close to one another and Claudia leaned casually against the padded couch. "John, we've known each other for, what? About eight or ten months?"
He thought for a moment. "Yes, about ten."
"I was just thinking. Even though we haven't seen each other very often, I can talk to you. And I hope you don't mind a personal question about your work."
"Not at all."
"I know, or at least I've met, a lot of military people. I go out with some of them on occasion but I don't date anyone regularly. But in your case, I just wonder why you'd want to go back to doing the same thing you did for twenty years. I mean, coming all the way to Arabia and starting an air force when your family is back in the States."
Bennett thought a moment. "This is actually a lot more than just a job, Claudia. I've thought a lot about what kind of person I am to run off halfway around the globe when my son was getting married and I was becoming a grandfather.
"I'll put it this way. Being a fighter pilot, a professional warrior, isn't just something I do. It has more to do with who I am. It's not even a life-style-it's, well, an identity."
"I hope you didn't think I was being critical," Claudia said.
"No, no. I'm plenty critical of myself. But maybe it's programmed in my genes. Maybe I had no choice-I had to be a warrior.”
Claudia looked perplexed. "You mean Robert Ardrey's Territorial Imperative and all that?"
"Well, not exactly. But some of my relatives might agree. You see, my family is from Florida, and we've always had military men in the clan. My uncle was a Navy ace in World War II-that made a big impression on me. But my great-grandfather was the real influence. Great-Granddaddy Bennett was a wealthy plantation owner who also taught mathematics at the college level. He wasn't obliged to go to war-"
"You mean the Civil War?"
Bennett put on a stern face and spoke with an exaggerated Colonel Culpepper accent. "No, ma'am. Ah mean Th' Wah of South'n Independence."
Claudia laughed.
"Anyway," he continued, "the old gentleman went into debt to form and equip his own artillery unit. He had no military training but he was damn good at it, and by war's end he was a colonel in command of a regiment. When I was a kid I read some of his letters that my grandfather had kept. It didn't fall into place until years later, but some of Great-Granddaddy's comments came back to me.
"In I864, after almost three years of war, the old boy wrote his wife that he was actually enjoying himself. I wish I could remember the exact phrase, but he said that leading men in battle was the grandest feeling he ever experienced." Bennett turned somber. "When the South surrendered, it broke his heart. He died a couple years later."
Claudia leaned closer. "And you feel that way about leading men into battle?"
"It may seem peculiar, but I've always distinguished between combat and war. There's a difference. I don't know of anybody who likes war, or the causes of war-greed, envy, ambition, or just plain stupidity. But I wish I could feel the way Great-Granddaddy did about his war. Vietnam was mine-four combat deployments in seven years. For most of us, victory was simply surviving. Down deep, I suppose I regret that my war wasn't as… satisfying as some others." He had almost said as fun.
Claudia gave him a tight-lipped look. But her eyes revealed a willingness to understand him. "So, you're vicariously living your misspent youth all over again, here in the pay of the king of Arabia. "
''There may be something to your analysis, professor." He touched her hand. She did not move it away. "But mainly, this offer lets me continue to do what I think I do best. And some of the friends of my youth are here. It's not exactly the same as when we were in our thirties, of course, but I know this: Any professional fighter pilot would trade his front-row seat in hell to be with us."
Claudia's professional instincts took over. "What effect do you think your air force will have in the region?"
"It's hard to say; I just don't know." Bennett concentrated hard on his thoughts. "Maybe the F-20 force, if it's allowed to grow to maturity, can help stabilize things. If I make some contribution to the Saudis, maybe they'll be able to help moderate the harsher Arab states. They've done it in the past. I hope the king will be able to use his money and influence on some of the radical governments in the area. Especially those that want to throw the Israelis out of Jordan. I know things have been pretty quiet there, but it can't last indefinitely. "
Bennett was voicing thoughts he had seldom expressed. "I really hope, though, that Tiger Force-that's what we're calling it now-can prevent the involvement of U. S. forces in this region. We've seen it for so long, Claudia. The '67 war, Beirut, Stark, and Vincennes. On and on. Americans get killed over here because of ill-defined goals or just bad luck. I saw that sort of micromanagement up close in Vietnam and I want to help prevent it from happening again.”