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pilot who spoke up was called “Lips” and always reminded me of David Lee Roth.<br />
Same hooked nose and intense eyes. He was also a superb pilot and a totally<br />
irreverent, excellent man. Moving around beside me, he looked at this Shoe Clerk<br />
like he was a cockroach. “Ah’m a major, too. So I’ll say it fur us both. Fuuuck off.”<br />
To help him on his way and make sure there were no hurt feelings, my squadron<br />
buddies immediately started to sing the “Wild Weasel Song”—a gentle, rather<br />
touching hymn.<br />
“We are dirty bastards . . . scum of the earth . . .”<br />
The staff guy’s face suddenly lost its color as he realized that he was more or<br />
less surrounded by large, armed men who’d had too much to drink.<br />
“Filth of creation . . . motherfucking sons-a-bitches and fornicators . . .<br />
Known in every whorehouse . . . smoke, drink, and screw . . .”<br />
His buddy realized it, too, and I saw him tug the first guy’s arm. Carlson took a<br />
step back and jabbed a stubby finger in my direction. “I’ll be back.”<br />
“We are the Wild Weasels . . . so . . . FUCK . . . YOU!”<br />
Everyone laughed as he angrily waddled away.<br />
About thirty minutes later, I’d had enough and was trying to muster enough<br />
energy to leave when the doors swung open. A big, lean man about fifty years old<br />
strode in and stopped just inside the doors. He had iron-gray hair, cut very short on<br />
the sides, high cheekbones, and a faded flight suit. He was also wearing on his<br />
shoulders the eagles of a full colonel.<br />
I was wondering if he was one of the wing commanders, as they’re all full<br />
colonels, when Major Carlson’s puffy face peered around this guy’s shoulders.<br />
“Uh-oh.” Cujo and Lips saw him, too.<br />
The major was pantomiming something about what a first-class prick I was, and<br />
pointing in my direction. The colonel looked at me and nodded. You can always tell<br />
a truly tough man by his eyes, and this pilot had a hard, steady look. As he<br />
approached, I got to my feet, which is what you did when a colonel showed up. He<br />
looked me up and down slowly, then stared at my face.<br />
“And you are . . . ”<br />
I cleared my throat. “They call me Two Dogs.”<br />
“Sir.”<br />
“They call me Two Dogs, sir.”<br />
He had a dry chuckle with absolutely no humor whatsoever. Like he was<br />
clearing a hairball.<br />
“Rank.”<br />
“I’m a captain, sir.”
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