“Andrews, come in,” the lieutenant announced from the open door of his office.
Seven had been sitting quite comfortably in one of the small wooden chairs that lined the walls of the waiting area just outside Jenkins’s office. He stood and adjusted his uniform and confidently entered the space.
“Sit down, son,” the lieutenant said, motioning to the hard wooden seat opposite his own with an aged wooden desk separating them. “I can tell you that I am very proud of the work you’ve done here; you’ve really proven yourself here, son, and It’s been noticed by officers higher than myself.”
“Well, sir, this has been a dream of mine for a long time; flying helicopters is kind of the family business where I’m from,” Seven replied with an uncontrollable smile.
“Ah, yes, Colonel Flowers has called me more than once checking up on his grandson; he’s kind of a legend in our world, and it looks like he’s prepared you well.”
Seven tried in vain to pull the corners of his mouth down to negate the smile that struggled to break through.
“Listen, son, I know you were looking forward to getting aboard a Huey, but in our business, we’re subject to the needs of the organization,” the lieutenant said with the look of a man about to dispense disappointment. Seven no longer had to fight his facial muscles to make the smile disappear. “I know it’s a tough thing to hear, son, but we really need you in the Super Stallion. We need the pilots and not everyone can fly the big girl; she’s a complicated craft and we need our best pilots holding the stick.” The lieutenant looked down into a file folder that seemed to be the holder of the bad news.
Seven wasn’t sure what happened next. Instincts and military demeanor took control of his body and spewed all the proper “thank yous” and “I understands” and he somehow got himself out of the lieutenant’s office without screaming or breaking down.