U.S.A.F.

Privately, Jeff always thought he should have received some sort of commendation, a Service Star, maybe, for his contribution to tighter security. If not for that, then for having been fired upon. His hand had finally stopped shaking about two months after the experience. The only acknowledgment Jeff ever received for his sparkling accomplishment occurred about six weeks after his mad bomber spree. He was up to his elbows in soapy water, his cook's whites sopping wet from having washed dishes for twelve hundred hungry airmen, when Sergeant Mears tapped him on the shoulder. "Hunter," he began, "The CO wantsta see ya. He said right away."

"The Base Commander?" Jeff asked, thinking his time had come.

"Naw, stoopid, WO Clarence, da mess officer."

"Like this?" Jeff asked, gesturing to his sodden and refuse strewn uniform.

"He said right away. Dat's all I know. Da rest is up ta you."

"He in his office here in the mess hall, or over at admin'?"

"Naw, over here."

"Sarge, please can I grab a clean shirt, at least?" Jeff said.

"All right, Hunter, dis once."

"Thanks, Sarge, you are the best."

"Ya, ya, don't take it too far Hunter, you'll be suckin' me off next."

"Need a magnifying glass first, sarge. And tweezers."

As Jeff passed him he grabbed his elbow and steered him to an area behind the clipper machine where they cannot be overheard. "So," sarge says. " I heard sumbuddy caused a huge disturbance over at da AP headquarters and at da Missile base. I heard some folks even lost some rank, stripes fallin' like leaves in da rain."

"Is that right," I didn't hear nothing about that sarge."

"Funny ding, it was da same day you was over der on sum special duty er sumthin'."

"Like I said, I didn't hear nothing about it."

"Yeah, okay, Hunter," he said, smirking. "We'll jes' keep it dat way. But if I was you, I'd be careful. Dem guys carry guns ya know." Ending with a loud guffaw, he slapped Jeff on the back and ambled off, laughing and mumbling to himself.

Jeff grabbed a clean cook's jacket from the pile in the rear storage room, donned it and a clean hat while smoothing down his hair and wiping the toes of his boots on the backs of his pant legs. He knocked sharply on Warrant Officer Clarence's office door.

"Come in," a weary voice yelled from within.

"Airman Third Class Hunter reporting as ordered, Sir," Jeff snapped in fine military style, saluting sharply, standing at attention."

"Yeah, yeah, stand at ease," the mess officer said lazily, tossing off a lackadaisical answer to Jeff's salute.

"You wanted to see me, sir And sir, please excuse my app. . ."

"Yeah, okay Hunter, don't sweat it. Have a seat airman."

"Thank you sir," Jeff said, puzzled.

"I was shuffling through some papers on my desk the other day and I came a cross this," he said, tossing a sheaf of papers across the desk to Jeff who glanced down.

"It's an application to USAFI. You will notice that I have approved it. I penciled in 'highly recommended'."

"Oh my god, er, ah I mean, uh, thank you so much sir. This means a lot. . ." Jeff said.

"Easy Hunter, don't get carried away."

"Yes sir. I mean no sir, I mean. . ."

All of a sudden this old man, this officer begins speaking to Jeff as if he were a close friend. "Hunter," he says, I have been in the Air force longer than there has been an air force. I was a belly gunner on a B25 in WWII. Called it the Army Air Corps then. Twenty-one years I have been in. Never thought I'd be a damned officer. But then, what the hell, I have earned it. Now they are forcing me out. No more room any more for officers who come up through the ranks. Gotta have a degree, now. Forced retirement it's called. It's all I have ever done. Been in my whole adult life. Think I'm gonna be a highfalutin' chef when I get out? No chance of that. Not with experience in Air Force chow. Everyone knows it's crap."

He pauses to take a breath; Jeff ponders why he is telling him all this. "What the hell," he tells himself, "while I am sitting here listening to him jaw, I ain't washing dishes."

To Jeff's absolute amazement, The Warrant officer pulls a bottle of Scotch from his desk, swivels around to get two paper cups and pours them both a hefty shot. Now, Hunter, I want to drink a toast to your courage and ingenuity. Now I can't tell you why I am drinking to you. There was this rumor all over the officers club for a while, but Colonel Matheson and Colonel Strong have issued absolute orders that no one is to mention a certain incident that happened involving security a few weeks back. So I am not mentioning it. I can only say the fellow in this rumor is certainly bright enough and brave enough to go to college.

So, effective tomorrow, you are transferred to night shift, eight p.m. to four a.m. You will stay on that shift as long as you continue to take any college courses during the day. Upon my recommendation, your admission is automatic. Under USAFI, all courses you take will be absolutely free. You can take courses here on base or at Okaloosa/Walton Jr. College. The base courses are part of Florida State University in Tallahassee and conducted by professors from FSU. My hope is that you will get as many credits as possible while you are in, so you can concentrate on necessary stuff later. "

"To you," he says, tossing off the Scotch. Jeff follows suit, grimacing. "And to your success," he finishes.

Jeff rises, sensing the camaraderie has ended. Th, th, thank you very much, sir," he stammers. "And sir, I want you to know, er," Jeff is nearly in tears. "This is the first good thing the Air Force has ever done for me."

"You are dismissed Mr. Hunter. And, airman, you don't need to report back to the mess hall today. God knows what would happen if anyone smelled that you've been drinking. I'll clear it with the sergeant, but don't forget, tomorrow night at seven forty-five. Make me proud son. Don't let me down."

"Yes sir, I'll be there. And Thank you again, sir." This time Jeff means the salute, and WO Clarence returns it crisply.

.Jeff felt like singing as he meandered back to his barracks. The night shift! That meant he would be a real cook. He would have to wash dishes and clean up, but for only about fifty people. He could wash fifty dishes with one hand without getting wet.

"Fate works in strange and mysterious ways," Jeff thought. He would go to college, arriving there by the strangest, most truncated path he could have imagined. But College! Despite everything. And a good portion of it would be free. The rest, well he would get the G.I. Bill, but he would have to work. He could do that. He always had.