“The general wonders if you’d like to join him up front.”
The major had an air of authority that was equal parts impressive and intimidating.
She’d made the short walk to the back of the plane where two of my fellow Naval Academy midshipmen and I were seated.
While she’d presented the general’s offer as a suggestion, it was anything but.
Put another way, the major’s message was, Get Your Asses To The Front Of The Plane, Pronto.
Aye, aye, ma’am.
And why exactly did an Air Force lieutenant general want to see three lowly midshipmen?
“I dunno,” my buddy whispered. “Probably something you did.”
Thanks, jackass.
Not inclined to argue with a commissioned officer, particularly one whose boss wore three stars, we obediently followed her to the front.
The general came in view after a few steps. He was seated in the front-most seat, facing aft, thumbing through a briefing binder.
He wore reading glasses on the end of his nose and an Ike jacket with his name and three silver stars embroidered on the left breast.
It was the same type of jacket you saw the President wear on Air Force One.
Frickin’ Air Force, I thought. They have the nicest swag.
I was first in line behind the major as we made our way up the aisle.
Upon closing within five steps of the general’s seat, he looked up from his binder.
Shit! His general-ness hit me full force the moment his gaze rested upon me.
The major nodded at me, a clear directive to present myself to her boss.
“Midshipman Fourth Class Bozung, sir. I understand you want to see us, general?”
A come-around with an Air Force three star was exactly the last thing any of us wanted.
My buddies and I had really hoped to leave all this yes-sir-no-sir stuff behind for a while.
It was spring break after all, a respite from the Dark Ages of our Academy Plebe year.
We’d left Annapolis that afternoon with a destination, but no real plan.
Puerto Rico. That’s all we knew.
How we’d get there, where we’d stay, or how we’d get back, well . . . those details would have to sort themselves out.
We considered it a low-risk operation. We weren’t storming the beaches of Normandy, after all.
And we had the resources of the U.S. government at our disposal.
Space Available travel, or Space A, is a wonderful benefit for active-duty members and retirees alike.
On any given day, the military has planes flying all over the world.
And unless the plane is on a bombing run, any open seat can be made available to Space A travelers.
And it’s free!
Well, mostly free. Maybe you pay for a box lunch, but that’s about it.
The tricky thing is, flight schedules can be fluid, and anyone in a higher priority category can take your seat.
Say I’m a retiree heading to Naval Air Station Key West to go fishing and stock up on tax-free liquor. Any active-duty member traveling on orders to participate in an exercise can take my seat.
So, you need some flexibility in your schedule.
But, if you have that, only the G.I. Bill eclipses Space A travel as the ultimate military benefit.
Of course, the tax-free liquor is up there, too.
But anyway.
My buddies and I had caught a ride to Andrews Air Force Base outside Washington, D.C.
From there, we planned to leapfrog our way to the Caribbean, hopefully landing at U.S. Naval Station Roosevelt Roads, Puerto Rico, before the end of the weekend.
Upon checking in at the Space A counter at Andrews, we learned there were no direct flights available to Puerto Rico.
No worries, we thought. We’ll just catch anything going south.
“This is interesting,” the airman managing the counter told us. “I have three seats available on an executive jet going to Maxwell.”
It was an Air Force Gulfstream, taking some general to Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery, Alabama.
“You don’t see those seats available for Space A very often,” the airman said.
Whatever. If it was going south, we’d take it.
An hour later, my buddies and I walked out to the far side of the tarmac to the glistening Gulfstream.
The crew was walking around the exterior of the aircraft doing a pre-flight inspection.
We were ushered up the steps into the cabin by another airman and directed to seats in the back.
The Gulfstream had a very un-military look to it.
We felt more like bankers than midshipmen.
A few minutes later, a black Suburban trailing a police car with flashing lights pulled right up to the steps of the aircraft.
Black Suburbans were ubiquitous in D.C. They were meant to be low-profile, but instead screamed, “VIP!”
The driver, an Air Force guy in a beret, stepped out from the front seat and opened the back door.
Out strode a silver-haired, athletic-looking guy with a regal bearing, followed by an entourage of aides.
The general.
He bound up the steps and said a quick hello to the guys in the cockpit.
Unsure of the proper military protocol surrounding a general officer’s boarding of a Gulfstream, my buddies and I half-stood from our seats and came to an awkward form of attention.
The general, noticing us, gave us a quick wave as he sat down.
He was then surrounded by his aides and went back to work on whatever he’d been doing back at his desk at the Pentagon.
The pilots spun up the engines, and we were airborne in minutes.
About the time the plane reached cruising altitude, the major had come back to summon my buddies and me to the front.
Upon presenting myself, the general’s countenance completely changed.
He beamed.
“Hey, guys!” he said. “How’s it going? Come on, have a seat.”
O . . . kay.
“So,” he continued, “what’s going on at the Academy?”
Didn’t see that coming.
We soon learned the general was an Air Force Academy graduate from the late-Sixties and had a son there a year ahead of us.
He told us about all the crazy shit they had done at the Academy in his day.
We, in turn, told him what level of punishment such stunts would likely merit at today’s Academy.
“I’m pretty sure you’d kicked out for that stuff today, general,” my buddy offered.
The general loved that.
We then talked aviation.
The general had significant combat experience in some of the greatest tactical aircraft of all time, including the venerable F-4 Phantom.
Each of us midshipman was an aspiring Aviator, so we ate it up.
The conversation continued uninterrupted for the remainder of the flight.
The general, it turned out, was positively delightful.
We laughed. A lot. All of us.
We hardly noticed when the plane landed and taxied to stop at Maxwell.
“Well, this is where I get off,” the general said.
He seemed almost disappointed.
“One more thing, guys,” the general offered. “I know it sounds strange, but try to enjoy your time at the Academy. It goes fast.”
It was a nostalgic moment for him.
Perhaps it did people like the general some good to set aside the crushing weight of responsibility under which they operated to re-live their cadet days every once in a while.
A member of the flight crew had already lowered the stairs of the aircraft down to the tarmac.
Not wanting to over-stay our welcome, we bid the general farewell and headed for the exit.
Once again, I was in the lead.
As I stepped out of the cabin, I noticed a crowd of blue uniforms arranged in perfect rows beside the aircraft.
There was a long, red carpet extending from the bottom of the steps out to the formation, with saluting airmen standing on either side.
What the hell is all this? I wondered.
And then a band struck up the opening chords of the Air Force anthem.
Off we go
Into the wild blue yon-der
Climbing high
Into the sun!
I took two steps down the stairs and stopped, my buddies colliding behind me as I did.
It hit me: This must be the general’s welcoming party.
They sure as shit don’t roll out the band for three pissant midshipmen.
What should we do? Should we go back into the plane? I wondered.
As I stood there, equivocating, the guy leading the band shot a quizzical look at the colonel standing at the end of the red carpet.
I assumed it was the base commander.
The colonel, in turn, shot me a look that said, “Get. Out. Of. Here. Now!”
About that time, my buddy shoved me in the back.
We hightailed it off the stairs to the rear of the plane and then sprinted the rest of the way off the tarmac.
Sorry if we spoiled your welcome party, general.
But what a great conversation!
And what a privilege to have shared that flight with such a great man.
As for the rest of spring break:
We made it to Puerto Rico.
And had an epic, Bacardi-soaked week.
And got kicked out of officers’ quarters.
And slept on the floor of a future three star’s apartment.
And almost got lost in a rainforest.
But, alas,
That will have to be
A story
For another day.