By Jeff Huber
Within the depraved satirical culture of Joseph Heller and Kurt Vonnegut, the adventures of 2 naval males keep on with the United States s upward thrust to worldwide dominance as its army burns off extra testosterone, connives to justify its bloated finances, and prepares for the last word problem the struggle on Evil. pals Jack Hogan and Buzz Rucci joined the U.S. military to guard their kingdom, yet they quickly locate themselves serving in a time "play" battle. Jack's upward thrust within the army is firstly speedy as he dazzles the whole army together with his terrific approach within the nice tremendous Backfire Raid opposed to the Russians, and single-handedly saves the fleet within the nearly nice sizeable teach spoil. yet his brilliance and competence foster resentment, and his naval occupation is quickly within the doldrums. Buzz isn't any fit for Jack s mind, yet he performs the sport and is aware the folly of embarrassing his superiors. necessarily Jack alienates one too the various bath admirals, his occupation takes a dive, and his moment marriage is going right into a skid. bored to death he's taking early retirement on the rank of commander, and in a last irony, watches newly put in Admiral Rucci sail into the sundown in charge of his personal fleet. An insider's eye for element and authenticity provides a scathingly humorous indictment of incompetence on the maximum ranks of the militia.
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We all expected him to. It was a setup. Everybody knew what was going to happen except Jackie, the clueless dip shit. ” “Droll,” Gary said. ” They all get home to Fightertown months later and everybody is talking about how some E-2 NFO homo kicked the Backfires’ butts, and the fighter guys just tagged along like a flock of wet poodles. How this E-2 fag might get command of the fighter wing someday— the horror—because he might be the next E-2 guy to make admiral, which is a big deal, because E-2 admirals are rare.
To make you miserable enough to get out and sign up for the management training program at Burger King,” Gary told them. As far as Gary was concerned, the only ship’s company NFO who had a real job was Jack, the assistant navigator, who’d had to learn to become a black shoe. Most of the ship’s company NFOs worked in combat, liked Buzz did. The Connie had so many NFOs working in combat that Buzz only had to stand—sit—one watch a day. Sometimes zero watches a day. This worried Gary. Poor idle Buzz.
That’s the end of the story,” Navigation Man says. ” “You’re safe,” Gary the SWO Boy says. ” They never find out about the deal with Navigation Man’s exnon-wife, or about when he was a roadie for the Grateful Dead one summer in college. Before Jack and Buzz and Gary can steer him back in that direction, somebody brings up Bull Palsy, the Connie’s old XO from WESTPAC, and everybody has some shit to pitch at that son of a bitch. ) But before everybody but Gary turns into their racks, they take one last look at the mountains as the sun climbs up to light their universe, and think about how much fun they’ve had, on the bridge, telling sea stories; and they feel for just a moment, that maybe, just maybe, life doesn’t suck a thousand dicks after all.