“Good morning,” he said in a loud voice. “This is a new day and there should be no doubt you are in the Air Force. You are the proud aircrews and keepers of five of the finest aircraft ever built. I have told the UN Relief Mission that we are ready to support them to the max and prepared to move cargo. Our mission is to keep as many people as we can from starving, and that is exactly what we are going to do. Seven days ago, I asked that you volunteer to go on a relief mission and see what I saw. Since then, eighty-seven of you took me up on the offer. Would all of you step forward and form up in four ranks.” He turned to his staff standing behind him. “You’ve all been on a relief mission,” he reminded them. They marched out to join the others.
Allston looked over the four ranks of men and women, a mix of aircrews, maintenance, logistics, support, and security cops. “By flying on a mission, each of you has earned the right to trade in your UN beret and wear the hat of a small group dedicated to bringing hope and peace to this devastated land. It is your choice to wear the hat, but if you do, wear it with pride.” He motioned for G.G. and Williams to come forward. Both were wearing an Australian bush hat with the right brim folded up and snapped to the crown, and each pushed a cart filled with the same hats. Libby selected a hat from his cart and walked over to Allston and handed him the hat.
The pudgy navigator snapped a salute. “Welcome to the Irregulars, sir.”
The name surprised Allston as he returned the salute. He handed over his blue beret and donned the hat. “Carry on,” he said. G.G. and Williams passed down the ranks and the UN berets were quickly exchanged for bush hats. Only Malaby hesitated. Finally, she shook her head, keeping her blue beret.
Allston faced the seventy-four men and women standing in the rear and still wearing a blue beret. “You’re more than welcome to join the Irregulars. Fly a mission and see for yourself why we are here. Then trade in your beret with Captain Libby or Sergeant Williams.”
Williams came to attention. “Ih-reg-u-LARS! Let’s hear it. Ooh-Rah!”
On cue, the Irregulars bellowed “OOH-RAH!” It echoed over the ramp and the compound.
“Okay,” Allston said. “Let’s go to work. Dismissed.” The hangar rapidly emptied but Malaby stood there, shaking her head.
“Rather juvenile and stupid,” she told Allston.
“Hey, if it’s stupid but works, it ain’t stupid.” He couldn’t remember where he had heard it, but he hoped it was true.
E-Ring
Major Jill Sharp stood at the front of the conference room nervously fingering the remote control. Briefing General John Fitzgerald every morning was not an easy task, and most mornings she felt like a fish trapped in a barrel as he blasted her with questions. A few of his staff filtered into the room and talked easily as they waited. Brigadier Yvonne Richards swept in majestically and silenced all conversation. Jill gave a silent sigh of regret. Richards was absolutely gorgeous in the new uniform, which looked like it had been specifically designed for her. Jill knew she could never look half as good. At exactly 0700 hours, Fitzgerald entered and sat down. “Please be seated,” he said. He gave Jill his friendly look, which meant it was testing time. She bit the bullet and went to work.
“Good morning, General.”
“Good morning, Major. Tomorrow morning, I’d like to hear about oil and South Sudan. Okay?”
“Sir, that’s my area of expertise, and I have a briefing that I updated two days ago.”
Fitzgerald nodded. That was exactly the response he wanted from his staff. “Let’s hear it.”
Jill’s fingers danced on the keyboard at the podium and a map of southern Sudan flashed on the screen. “By 2007, the ethnic cleansing of Darfur was mostly complete. The government of Sudan has now turned its attention eastward.” An overlay of rectangles and squares appeared on the screen and
Allston looked over the four ranks of men and women, a mix of aircrews, maintenance, logistics, support, and security cops. “By flying on a mission, each of you has earned the right to trade in your UN beret and wear the hat of a small group dedicated to bringing hope and peace to this devastated land. It is your choice to wear the hat, but if you do, wear it with pride.” He motioned for G.G. and Williams to come forward. Both were wearing an Australian bush hat with the right brim folded up and snapped to the crown, and each pushed a cart filled with the same hats. Libby selected a hat from his cart and walked over to Allston and handed him the hat.
The pudgy navigator snapped a salute. “Welcome to the Irregulars, sir.”
The name surprised Allston as he returned the salute. He handed over his blue beret and donned the hat. “Carry on,” he said. G.G. and Williams passed down the ranks and the UN berets were quickly exchanged for bush hats. Only Malaby hesitated. Finally, she shook her head, keeping her blue beret.
Allston faced the seventy-four men and women standing in the rear and still wearing a blue beret. “You’re more than welcome to join the Irregulars. Fly a mission and see for yourself why we are here. Then trade in your beret with Captain Libby or Sergeant Williams.”
Williams came to attention. “Ih-reg-u-LARS! Let’s hear it. Ooh-Rah!”
On cue, the Irregulars bellowed “OOH-RAH!” It echoed over the ramp and the compound.
“Okay,” Allston said. “Let’s go to work. Dismissed.” The hangar rapidly emptied but Malaby stood there, shaking her head.
“Rather juvenile and stupid,” she told Allston.
“Hey, if it’s stupid but works, it ain’t stupid.” He couldn’t remember where he had heard it, but he hoped it was true.
E-Ring
Major Jill Sharp stood at the front of the conference room nervously fingering the remote control. Briefing General John Fitzgerald every morning was not an easy task, and most mornings she felt like a fish trapped in a barrel as he blasted her with questions. A few of his staff filtered into the room and talked easily as they waited. Brigadier Yvonne Richards swept in majestically and silenced all conversation. Jill gave a silent sigh of regret. Richards was absolutely gorgeous in the new uniform, which looked like it had been specifically designed for her. Jill knew she could never look half as good. At exactly 0700 hours, Fitzgerald entered and sat down. “Please be seated,” he said. He gave Jill his friendly look, which meant it was testing time. She bit the bullet and went to work.
“Good morning, General.”
“Good morning, Major. Tomorrow morning, I’d like to hear about oil and South Sudan. Okay?”
“Sir, that’s my area of expertise, and I have a briefing that I updated two days ago.”
Fitzgerald nodded. That was exactly the response he wanted from his staff. “Let’s hear it.”
Jill’s fingers danced on the keyboard at the podium and a map of southern Sudan flashed on the screen. “By 2007, the ethnic cleansing of Darfur was mostly complete. The government of Sudan has now turned its attention eastward.” An overlay of rectangles and squares appeared on the screen and
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