than three hundred active duty military and civilian personnel in her squadron, Jess figured she’d be lucky if putting a decorated war veteran out of the service was the worst personnel problem she’d face in the next few years.
The sun was spreading its humid glow as she exited the bridge and drove through the sleepy towns of Niceville and Valpariso. Traffic slowed for the approach to Eglin. The security force specialist squinted at her decal and whipped up a smart salute. Jess returned it and passed through the buff-and-brown painted gate.
When she drove onto the base proper, her pulse hitched. Those massive fuel storage tanks off to the left were hers. So was the huge supply complex just beyond the tank farm. Although she’s spent her entire career in the supply business, she still found it hard to believe she now commanded the largest operation in the air force. Her people managed some sixty-two thousand individual line items valued at $885 million, processing over a hundred thousand transactions a month for everything from pencils to laser-guided missiles. In addition to the supply items, they maintained eight hundred equipment accounts valued at another $540 million, and dispensed some forty million gallons of aviation fuel annually.
It was an awesome responsibility, one Jess had trained for, had worked for, yet she couldn’t suppress a thrill of sheer excitement at the scope of the operation. Her mind was clicking on the latest reverse post and MICAP – Mission Incapable – rates when she pulled into her reserved parking place in front of Building 500. The monstrous Harley Davidson hogging the slot next to hers indicated her deputy was already at work.
Sniffing appreciatively at the scent of floor wax and coffee that greeted her inside the double glass doors, she nodded to the clerk on the reception desk, then hung a left. The lights in the command suite confirmed her deputy’s presence. Going on forty years of civil service and Al Monroe was still the first one at work.
Tugging off her hat, she breezed through another glass door. She didn’t recognize the young woman seated in one of the leather armchairs. The petite redhead clutched her hands in her lap and gave Jess a nervous smile. Jess returned it, then aimed a questioning look at the tall, scarecrow-thin civilian standing in the door to his office.
“’Morning, Al.”
“Good morning, colonel.” With a tip of his head, the deputy chief of supply indicated their early visitor. “This is Eileen Babcock, Sergeant Ed Babcock’s wife.”
“Ex-wife,” the redhead corrected in a voice as thin and brittle as new ice. “Our divorce was final two days ago.”
“Ex-wife,” Al amended. “She’d like to talk to you.”
Oh-oh. A newly divorced wife. An ex-husband about to be kicked out of the service, with accompanying loss of pay and entitlements. He’d have no job, no way to pay alimony or child support.
“I told Eileen you have to get ready for stand-up in twenty minutes,” Al said, offering Jess an easy out. “With your schedule so crowded after that, I suggested she call Mrs. Burns and make an appointment.”
The woman surged to her feet. Desperation darkened her brown eyes. “Please, colonel, I just need a few minutes.”
“Of course. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’ll just grab a cup, then,” Jess said, depositing her briefcase on the conference table in her office. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Want me to call in the First Shirt?” the deputy asked quietly while Jess filled her mug. “He can handle this.”
“I’ve got it.”
Thank God the first pot of coffee Al brewed each morning before the secretary arrived was thick as sludge, with a kick like a bee-stung mule. Jess would have valued him for that alone, never mind his unfailing courtesy, steel-trap memory, and forty years of experience in the supply business!
Coffee in hand, she closed the door and took a seat at the conference table
The sun was spreading its humid glow as she exited the bridge and drove through the sleepy towns of Niceville and Valpariso. Traffic slowed for the approach to Eglin. The security force specialist squinted at her decal and whipped up a smart salute. Jess returned it and passed through the buff-and-brown painted gate.
When she drove onto the base proper, her pulse hitched. Those massive fuel storage tanks off to the left were hers. So was the huge supply complex just beyond the tank farm. Although she’s spent her entire career in the supply business, she still found it hard to believe she now commanded the largest operation in the air force. Her people managed some sixty-two thousand individual line items valued at $885 million, processing over a hundred thousand transactions a month for everything from pencils to laser-guided missiles. In addition to the supply items, they maintained eight hundred equipment accounts valued at another $540 million, and dispensed some forty million gallons of aviation fuel annually.
It was an awesome responsibility, one Jess had trained for, had worked for, yet she couldn’t suppress a thrill of sheer excitement at the scope of the operation. Her mind was clicking on the latest reverse post and MICAP – Mission Incapable – rates when she pulled into her reserved parking place in front of Building 500. The monstrous Harley Davidson hogging the slot next to hers indicated her deputy was already at work.
Sniffing appreciatively at the scent of floor wax and coffee that greeted her inside the double glass doors, she nodded to the clerk on the reception desk, then hung a left. The lights in the command suite confirmed her deputy’s presence. Going on forty years of civil service and Al Monroe was still the first one at work.
Tugging off her hat, she breezed through another glass door. She didn’t recognize the young woman seated in one of the leather armchairs. The petite redhead clutched her hands in her lap and gave Jess a nervous smile. Jess returned it, then aimed a questioning look at the tall, scarecrow-thin civilian standing in the door to his office.
“’Morning, Al.”
“Good morning, colonel.” With a tip of his head, the deputy chief of supply indicated their early visitor. “This is Eileen Babcock, Sergeant Ed Babcock’s wife.”
“Ex-wife,” the redhead corrected in a voice as thin and brittle as new ice. “Our divorce was final two days ago.”
“Ex-wife,” Al amended. “She’d like to talk to you.”
Oh-oh. A newly divorced wife. An ex-husband about to be kicked out of the service, with accompanying loss of pay and entitlements. He’d have no job, no way to pay alimony or child support.
“I told Eileen you have to get ready for stand-up in twenty minutes,” Al said, offering Jess an easy out. “With your schedule so crowded after that, I suggested she call Mrs. Burns and make an appointment.”
The woman surged to her feet. Desperation darkened her brown eyes. “Please, colonel, I just need a few minutes.”
“Of course. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’ll just grab a cup, then,” Jess said, depositing her briefcase on the conference table in her office. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Want me to call in the First Shirt?” the deputy asked quietly while Jess filled her mug. “He can handle this.”
“I’ve got it.”
Thank God the first pot of coffee Al brewed each morning before the secretary arrived was thick as sludge, with a kick like a bee-stung mule. Jess would have valued him for that alone, never mind his unfailing courtesy, steel-trap memory, and forty years of experience in the supply business!
Coffee in hand, she closed the door and took a seat at the conference table
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