Wilson sat down in his chair in the front row, next to the Skipper’s. He checked for something in the large drawer under his chair. He then sat back with his legs outstretched, took a breath, and waited. His wait lasted only a few seconds.
“Mister Wilson, I see you’ve not initialed the message board today,” Saint said from across the aisle. He did not bother to look up.
“No, sir.”
“An oversight?”
“No, sir. Haven’t read them yet,” Wilson said. He stood up and took a few steps, eyes locked on his XO.
Still looking down, Saint continued. “Do you know Strike-Fight Wing took all of our 2,000-pound practice bombs for noncombat expenditure and gave them to Air Wing Eight?”
“No, sir.”
“It’s right here,” Saint replied, lifting the message board a few inches toward Wilson. Wilson noticed that a gaggle of JOs had arrived. Oh, great! Wilson thought. The XO continued with his quiz.
“Why did you not know? Actually, the more important question is, why did they take them?”
“The Wing did not contact me, sir. I’ll e-mail them and find out.” The JOs had stopped next to Wilson. Aware that he was in a serious exchange with his XO, they didn’t dare interrupt. Saint noticed them, too… and liked having an audience.
“You’re the OPSO of this squadron — for the next several months — and you’re supposed to know these things before they happen. Had you reviewed this message board first thing this morning instead of rolling in here at 1030, you would have known about this before I did. You would have also had the chance to call the Wing and leave a message to find out what the fuck. And you could have had them e-mail you back to give the CO a full report. There could have been an answer in your mailbox right now.” For the first time, he raised his eyes to stare at Wilson. He couldn’t have planned the moment for greater effect.
The JOs kept their eyes downcast, embarrassed to be part of the public dressing down of a senior officer and too discomfited to leave. From her perch on the SDO desk, Olive feigned inattention, but she was listening. Wilson’s countenance remained rock steady.
“No excuse, sir. I’ll find out.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wilson. That will be all.” Saint returned his attention to the message board, oblivious to the fact that the East Coast would not arrive at work to respond to Wilson’s query for several hours.
“Yes, sir.” Wilson responded. He managed to maintain control and repress his rage as he took his seat.
