Top Gun (15 page)

Greene had never seen the colonel so angry.
Yes, we are fucked to the nth power unless I figure out something.
His mind worked furiously as he stared straight ahead at the clock on the wall, which was above the dirty towel bin, which
was alongside the door that led to the showers.
Dougan’s an ex-fighter jock,
Greene thought.
Early in the Vietnam War he’ d served a tour of duty flying close-air support missions in an F-100 Super Sabre. Combat pilots
appreciated bravado. Maybe a brazen, balls-out attitude would get him and Buzz out of this?

What the hell,
Greene pondered.
There was nothing much to lose….

“Or maybe you two guys think you’re Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis?”

Greene smiled tentatively, a wisecrack on the tip of his tongue.

Dougan was on him like a shot. “Wipe that smile off your face. Captain!”

Greene wiped the smile off his face.
So much for plan A.

Dougan roared, “I am very angry with you two! I am so angry that words fail me! Do you read me. Captain?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You
sure
you read me?” Dougan was standing about an inch away from Greene, shouting into his face as he prodded Greene’s chest with
a finger that felt like a steel bar. “You’re not having radio trouble
now,
are you. Captain?”

“No, sir.”

Dougan backed off a bit. Greene watched out of the corner of his eye as the colonel shook his nasty old cauliflowered bullet
of a head.

“You guys probably think what you did was funny,” Dougan continued, his voice calmer but still throbbing with anger. “Well,
it wasn’t funny. It was stupid, thoughtless….” Dougan ticked the points off on his fingers. “It needlessly jeopardized your
own lives, the countless lives of the people of Dayton, and about a hundred million dollars’ worth of airplanes. Tiger IIs
we’ve got, but that
GXF you
were flying, Captain Greene, happens to be an irreplaceable prototype.”

Shit, I never thought of that,
Greene realized, abashed.
If anything had happened to the Stiletto prototype, the bad publicity would have most likely served to put GAT out of the
lightweight-fighter competition.

“Yeah, what you did was totally moronic on every level and in every aspect,” Colonel Dougan continued. “But it sure as fuck
wasn’t
funny.”

“Sir, if I could just say one thing,” Buzz suddenly spoke up. “This was all my fault. I challenged the captain to a dogfight—”

“But I accepted the challenge,” Greene quickly said. “It’s really my fault, sir. I was the superior officer involved. The
lieutenant would never have done it if I hadn’t set a bad example.”

“Keep quiet, both of you,” Dougan ordered. “This time there’s no need for you two Katzenjammer Kids to butt heads over the
right to fall on the grenade.” The colonel’s smile was an evil, awful thing to behold. “This time there’s
plenty
of grenades to go around, gentlemen.”

“Sir,” Greene tried again. “It was just a little fooling around that got out of hand.”

“Is
that
all you think it was?” Dougan cut in, silencing Greene. “The telephones have been ringing off the hook! I’ve got newspaper
reporters and TV news crews from all over the country crawling up my asshole to get the lowdown on you two guys! I can see
tomorrow’s headlines now: ‘Mayor Expresses Outrage At Dogfight Over Dayton’ or some such shit! The Community Relations department
here on base is backhanding civilian complaints about noise pollution, traffic jams, and similar such bullshit all the time,
but this time the shit is
really
gonna hit the fan, and the worst of it is that this time the complaints
are justified.
You two cowboys really put on one helluva show!”

“It
was
some fancy flying, sir,” Greene suggested. “You have to give us that much?”

Dougan glared, but then his expression softened. “Yeah, Captain. It was fine flying. Nobody’s arguing that. But there’s a
time and a place for everything.” He paused, seeming to study Greene, and then glanced at Buzz. “Lieutenant, you’re dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” Buzz replied. “I’ll just change and—”

“You’re dismissed
now.
Lieutenant,” Colonel Dougan said sharply. “Go take a walk for about ten minutes,
then
you can come back and change.”

“Yes, sir.”

Well, at least one of us will live to fly another day,
Greene thought enviously as Buzz hurried out of the equipment room.

Dougan waited until Buzz was gone, and then said, “At ease, Captain.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Greene relaxed slightly, hopefully thinking that maybe the worst was over.

“I have no doubt that Blaisdale was telling the truth when he said he challenged you to the dogfight,” the colonel announced.
“But I also have no doubt that you were being honest when you said that you egged him on. I know Buzz. He’s a balls-out, aggressive
flier, but he’s not the type to rock the boat. Challenge authority, and all that….” Dougan balefully eyed Greene.
“You,
however, are the original rebel without a cause.”

Greene decided that didn’t really call for a reply.

“You know, Captain,” Dougan continued, “after I came Stateside from Vietnam, I was assigned to General Howard Simon’s staff
here at Wright-Patterson. I’d just been promoted to Major. I worked under a light colonel named Steve Gold. “ He paused. “That’s
your uncle, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Colonel, Steve Gold is my uncle. He’s left the service, sir. He’s gone into private industry.”

“Yeah, I heard that.” Dougan nodded. “But you know what I remember best about Steve Gold? That he was a boat rocker, a rebel,
just like you’ve been acting lately. It wouldn’t be that you somehow feel compelled to carry on in Steve’s tradition now that
he’s left the Air Force?”

I don’t want to be like Uncle Steve,
Greene thought.
I used to, but that was before he sold out, teaming up with my stepfather…

He said, “Begging the colonel’s pardon, but you’re reading too much into all this. I’m a fighter pilot, sir. That’s the beginning
and end of the explanation of why I did what I did. Put me in a fast mover and I do what comes naturally, just like if you
take a bird dog out into the field, that animal is going to point. Simple as that.”

Dougan, pondering Greene, nodded. He glanced at his wristwatch. “Look, Buzz is going to be back here any minute, and there’s
something I want to discuss with you in private.” He frowned. “I’ve got a busy afternoon ahead of me shoveling us out of the
shit pile you’ve dumped us in, so you meet me in my office tonight at nineteen hundred hours. Sharp.”

Goddamn,
Greene thought glumly,
I’ve got a date…

He’d have to cancel. Colonel Dougan may have cooled down, but he sure as fuck didn’t look like he was ready to take a raincheck.

“Yes, sir, I’ll be there. Nineteen hundred. Sharp.”

(Three)

That evening, Greene put on his best uniform, hoping that a spiffy appearance along with the sight of his ribbons grouped
above his coat’s left breast pocket beneath his silver wings might help to mitigate Colonel Dougan’s ire over the morning’s
airborne hi-jinks. He left his quarters a half hour early to make sure he wouldn’t be late for his appointment. He was already
in up to his neck in shit; no way was he getting in any deeper by keeping Dougan waiting.

There wasn’t much going on at the administration complex when Greene arrived there. Dougan’s office was on the first floor
of a long, low, cinder-block wing surrounded by a vast expanse of hot-topped parking area. Inside, the administration wing
reminded Greene of a fifties-era high school in a predominantly blue-collar suburban town. As he made his way through the
quiet, fluorescent-lit hallways, past the maple veneer hollow-core doors, he now and again heard the sound of a typewriter
clacking, or a voice murmuring into a telephone.

There was no one on duty at the clerk’s desk outside the colonel’s office, so Greene knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Dougan called.

Greene, unsure how to play this, stepped into the office, closed the door behind him, came smartly to attention, and said,
“Captain Greene reporting as ordered, sir.”

Dougan, who was wearing an open-collared duty uniform, looked amused as he leaned back in his swivel chair, eyeing Greene.
The colonel’s office was small, with turquoise painted cinder-block walls, gray metal office furniture, and a window overlooking
the parking lot. On a filing cabinet a small, sickly-looking yellow-green cactus plant shared space with a tiny plastic watering
can. The office’s walls were decorated with several posters showing jet fighters in flight; a movie poster for
Somebody Up There Likes Me.
starring Paul Newman; and a framed, yellowed, cardboard fight card. Down near the bottom of the card, a bout description
read “Dukes Dougan vs. Slammer McCoy.”

Colonel Dougan must have noticed Greene looking at the fight card. “I’ll never forget that guy McCoy,” he said. “He wasn’t
that big. Just a welterweight like me, but one minute into the first round and I knew I was in trouble. I gave that son of
a bitch my best punch, and it hurt him. I know it did, because he spat blood. But then he just smiled at me with his fucking
bloody teeth. He looked positively gleeful….” Dougan trailed off, shaking his head. “Scariest thing I ever saw. I’ll never
fucking forget it.”

“What happened, sir?” Greene asked. “Did he win?”

The colonel nodded. “Third round, they stopped the fight. My fucking nose was bleeding too much.” He shrugged. “I didn’t give
a shit. I knew that was my last fight as soon as I saw that son of a bitch McCoy laughing off my punch.” He snapped his fingers.
“I just knew it like that. The thing was, I knew I couldn’t take this guy, and he was a nobody! A… a…”

“A palooka?” Greene offered.

Dougan laughed. “Yeah, a palooka.” He gestured to the fight card hanging on the wall. “After that fight, I knew I wasn’t gonna
get any closer to the top of the card than right there, and that wasn’t high enough for me. Next day, I hung up my gloves
and enlisted in the Air Force.”

“It turned out to be a good move for you, sir.”

“Yeah, it was.” Dougan nodded. “But I want to talk to you about
your
next move, Captain. Pull up a chair.”

As Greene sat down, he saw the colonel take a fifth of Jack Daniel’s and two glasses out of his desk drawer.
This is turning out all right, after all,
Greene thought, beginning to feel relieved.

Dougan poured a couple of shots. “Got no ice, but there’s some water in that watering can by the cactus… ?”

“I like it fine, straight up, sir.” Greene waited for Dougan to take a swallow of whiskey, and then sipped at his own.

“All right, let’s get old business done with,” Dougan began. “I called in some favors, and managed to get you and Blaisdale
out of the deep serious over that stunt you two pulled today.”

“Thanks, Colonel.”

“Fuck thanks,” Dougan scowled. “I didn’t do it only for you guys. It was my ass out on the line, as well. Don’t forget, it
was me that let you take that prototype up in the first place. “

“God, that’s right,” Greene remarked. “Gee, I really am sorry, sir,” he said sincerely. “I never meant for you to get in trouble.
I guess that in the heat of the moment I just didn’t think—”

“That’s it exactly,” Dougan cut him off sharply. “You didn’t! You’ve got the classic successful fighter jock’s inclination
to act instinctively. That’s an admirable trait to have in a dogfight. Captain, but it can really put you in the deep serious
when it comes to life.”

“Yes, sir,” Greene said, although he wasn’t really clear as to what the colonel was talking about.

“Fuck it, though,” Dougan said, mellowing. “What happened today is over now as far as I’m concerned.” He raised his whiskey
glass. “Let’s just forget about it.”

Fine with me,
Greene thought as he clinked glasses with the colonel.

“All right,” Dougan continued gruffly. “After today I think you’ve about worn out your welcome around here, and the lab coats
are ready to use a new pilot to shake the bugs out of their simulator’s computer programs. It’s time to talk about your next
assignment.”

“Sir, as you know, I was hoping to be assigned to a tactical fighter wing.”

“I know that,” Dougan said, pouring them both another drink. “And it’s a possibility, but I heard about something else you
might be interested in. It’s kind of an unusual assignment, but one that might lead to something for you.”

Greene shrugged. “I’m listening, Colonel.”

“You and I were both in Vietnam,” Dougan began. “My tour was over before there was much air-to-air action, but I understand
you saw some?”

“Yes, sir. Mostly the F-4s flew MiGCap, but now and again us Thud drivers got the chance to tangle with gomer.”

“You bag any?”

“I sparked one once, Colonel. It was a MiG-17. I managed to land some hits with my cannon before the damned gun jammed on
me.” Greene sighed. “Gomer got to suck down his fish sauce that day, sir.”

Dougan seemed to wave the matter aside. “You were flying bombing missions anyway, son. Not MiGCap. You were lucky to get the
taste you did.”

Greene nodded. “I guess, sir. A little while after that incident, I was offered the chance to transition into a Phantom fighter
squadron, but I declined. Those twin-seaters never appealed to me. I guess I’m kind of antisocial when it comes to flying.”
He smiled ruefully. “But every now and again, especially since I’ve been doing so much simulator ACM, I find myself thinking
about my Fishbed, the one that got away. I can still see that MiG-17 framed in my gunsight. I fire. The sparks rise off his
wings, but then the gun jams, and I can’t do anything but watch my kill fly away home.”

“That’s an experience a lot of fighter pilots who served in Vietnam have had,” Dougan remarked sadly, sipping at his whiskey.
“And their weapons functioned.”