After receiving recall notices, all RDF personnel report to their respective units on base. The men and women of the 309th are loosely assembled in a horseshoe-shaped mob in one of the hangars, when LTC Pete “Hack” Osman strides towards the center. Behind him stands the XO and senior NCOs. He clears his throat and speaks with a mellow, yet authoritative voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, it has come to our attention that local news journalists have hidden camera footage of conversations with one or more RDF personnel regarding the training incident last weekend. COL Ingram did advise the members of this Operations Group to avoid speaking to the press, so I can only assume we have all obeyed the orders of our appointed superior officers. I will advise you again, do not speak to anyone regarding this incident, unless they are actively involved in the RDF investigation. Based on the breach of protocol, COL Ingram has issued an order restricting all student personnel to the base, effective immediately. Weekend liberty is canceled. Top…?”
He walks out of the circle, and 1SG Emil Foley waits for the CO and his retinue of officers to exit the hangar. Once the door clang echoes throughout the hangar, 1SG Foley unleashes a fury that many haven’t seen since the RDF Academy. Even with a hint of an Irish accent, his gravelly voice barks out loud and clear.
“Please, somebody fucking tell me, WHO THE HELL ARE YOU, to think you can disobey a DIRECT FUCKING order from our CO? Do you think this is some fucking GAME? You disobey a fucking order when you are getting shot at, YOU WILL FUCKING DIE! YOU WILL CAUSE ME TO DIE! If you die, AND you cause me to die, I WILL HAUNT YOUR FUCKING GHOST…every…FUCKING…DAY! This is way fucking beyond fifteen bloody fucking minutes of fame. On your fucking faces!”
The mob drops to the ground in front leaning rest. “IN CADENCE…EXERCISE!” As the 309th starts banging out four-count pushups, 1SG Foley continues, “Do…NOT…FUCK…with me today, you gaggle FUCKS. I had a very fucking late night – my girlfriend was bitching about how there was no room in the closet!” The confusion on some of the 309th’s faces is evident. 1SG Foley squats quickly in front of one of the heaving pilots, and explains, “…if I let the bitch out, my wife would have seen her!” Snickers and laughter erupts, and Foley barks the order to recover.
“You maggots pissed me off…squat thrusts…FOREVER!”
He waits a few minutes, as the exertion takes its toll on some of the personnel. He stands near one who is clearly grimacing in pain, and yells, “Son, you got a face like a WHOLE lotta WHAT…THE…FUCK?”
The smoke session continues for over an hour…