The Home Front by Margaret Vandenburg Read Free Book Online Page B

the fact that he’d lost his leg. But transforming misfortunes into comedy routines did wonders for his morale. He had an amazing prosthetic device and an even more amazing physical therapy regimen. He walked like any other guy on the base, only straighter, with more determination.
    Colonel Trumble always seemed glad to see Todd. He waived off his salute and motioned to a chair. Todd was wary of the informality. Underneath all his horsing around, the colonel was a shrewd officer.
    “Coffee?”
    “No thanks.”
    “Bourbon?”
    Todd mustered up a snicker, even though it felt inappropriate under the circumstances. Everyone laughed at the colonel’s jokes. He was the highest ranking officer on the base.
    “How are things out at the trailer park?”
    “They’ve been better.”
    “So I heard. How’s Brown?”
    “A little shaky. But he’ll be fine.”
    “Let him fly surveillance for a week or two. Till he gets his mojo back.”
    “Sounds like a good plan.”
    “He should be commended for following orders.”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    In all good conscience, Todd knew he’d have to delegate this particular assignment. It was one thing to let Brown off the hook, quite another to exonerate him. Captain Frick, his immediate subordinate, would have to do the honors. Since the decision to launch drone strikes was always collaborative, nobody could be held accountable. Untold numbers of combatants and consultants had weighed in on the decision to mount the strike—the CIA, Central Command, Special Ops, a team of data processing contractors, and the lieutenant in charge of boots on the ground. Colonel Trumble was only interested in the chain of command culminating in the strike. As long as the chain was intact, the glitch was a glitch, not a systems failure. He was perfectly satisfied with the official report. It coincided with official policy.
    Todd was a military man to the core of his being. As Rose put it, not without a hint of pride, he had been born under the star of order and discipline. But following orders issued on a computer screen felt an awful lot like obeying a machine. He knew what the colonel would say.
    “This is the new air force, Major Barron. Get used to it.”
    That was precisely what he was afraid of. Getting used to it.
    He started searching for ways to bring the reality of war closer to home. To be a good fighter pilot, you had to be afraid. You had to risk your life so you wouldn’t underestimate the gravity of death. Otherwise war degenerated into cold-blooded killing. Danger was the only real way to recover the visceral threat of combat. First he tried skydiving. The pull of gravity was about as real as you could get. He postponed pulling the cord, prolonging the sensation of falling to maximize the fear factor. But skydiving in Nevada was a far cry from parachuting in Afghanistan. The absence of enemy combatants made it feel like just another day at the office.
    News of a fatal accident at Red Rock Canyon convinced him to take up hang gliding instead. The aerial design of gliders was far more temperamental than parachutes. The prone flight position fostered the illusion that there was nothing between you and the unforgiving earth hundreds, even thousands of feet below. Variable wind patterns created black holes that swallowed up even experienced hang gliders. Unfortunately, Todd was beyond experienced. Wind tunnels posed as much of a threat to air force pilots as five o’clock traffic to race car drivers.
    Automatic activation devices. Dive recovery mechanisms. Helmets required by law. Civilian sports were too prophylactic. There was far too much vinyl and canvas involved, protecting you from plunging headlong into danger. Flirting with death wasn’t enough. He needed to have a full-blown affair. This was easier said than done. The matrix of simulation and safety was ubiquitous, shielding him from the real deal. He finally resorted to rock climbing without ropes.
    * * *
    It was like autism boot camp