Cochrane didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the microphone to the alert system and thumbed the speaker button. “Severe weather anomaly approaching. Everybody take cover in the hangars and close the doors. Any A-10s hooked to tractors should be towed under cover, otherwise leave the aircraft. This is not a drill.”

‘“A-10s Sir? What about the B-2s?”

“Screw them, they’re out of service for weeks. Our boys fighting down in Hell need the Warthogs.” Concrane relaxed slightly, losing the aircraft would be bad but the skilled technicians who maintained them were irreplaceable. The Air Force was as desperately short of ground crews as it was of everything else. The hangars had been designed to take anything up to and including a very near miss from a large nuclear weapon, the vital technicians would be safe inside them.

The minutes ticked by as the storm line reformed and swept down on Whiteman. The meteorologist shook his head and sucked his teeth. “Storm lines just don’t do that Sir.”

“Well, watch one do it.” Cochrane almost added ‘You moron’ to the end but stopped himself. He would save that for a private meeting with the officer later. ‘Praise in public, punish in private’, the old mantra ran through his mind.

“Hangar doors closed Sir.” The young officer who had called him to the AOC made his report. “They got three extra A-10s inside.”

“Thank you, Estrada, you did well to call me in so quickly. Good call.” The young man straightened slightly and couldn’t stop himself glancing around to see the reaction to his General’s praise.

“Wind speed picking up fast.” The meteorologist was attempting to make up lost ground. “120 knots now and still increasing. The anemometer goes off the scale at 165, we’re going to pass that easy.”