Despite my colleague’s best efforts, V’s section had more failed inspections than mine due to his sloppy predecessor who, interestingly enough, was an M favorite. Besides, my specialty and V’s were completely different. That didn’t seem to stop the commander from pitting us against each other.

“Sir, I am not V. You’ve got to either tell me how you want things done or you need to let me do my job as a flight commander.”

For a split second, I thought I detected a hint of approval from the Colonel, but he wasn’t about to let up. “You know, J,” he said rather pointedly, turning his head away for a moment and then glaring back at me. “ I have a mind right now to bust you down to CCX.”

Not administration and plans again. I’ve already done that.

“That’s right,” the commander continued, noticing my look of disappointment. “I have a mind to remove you from your section of 250 people, exchange you with R, you take her section of ten people and go right back to doing what you did before. You’re lucky I haven’t given you an Article 15. Now, that’s a real career killer.”

I was not happy about losing TR, my award-winning transportation section. The Colonel himself selected it for me to increase my chances of making Major. I still felt I did nothing wrong, but if TR had to go to someone else, then R was the right choice.

“Well…” I continued, somewhat wounded yet indignant. “You do what you have to do, Sir. I’ve already said my piece.” I was so fired.

The Colonel sat back in his chair, silently drew a long breath and touched his fingertips together a few times. After what seemed like an eternity, he announced in a somewhat lighter tone, “All right. Maybe I’ll give you another shot at TR to really test your leadership. But this is your last-and I mean your last-chance with me.”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied cautiously but overjoyed.

“Fine. You can go,” the Colonel waved me off dismissively.

I quickly got up and exited the room before the commander changed his mind. As I closed the door behind me, I was met by a slew of sympathetic eyes from the secretary to the poor hapless airman who was to see the commander next. I quickly walked past them, averting their gaze.

“Captain J. Captain J, wait!” called a woman’s voice from the hallway. It was the plump blonde First Sergeant running towards me as I was leaving the building. The First Sergeant, or “First Shirt” as we like to call them, acted as the squadron counselor, advisor or friend when needed. “Captain J, you okay?” she asked in a pleasant Southern accent.

“Yeah, I’m all right,” I smiled meekly. This was the first time I actually welcomed the sight of the Shirt instead of trying to avoid her incessant talking.

The Shirt waved her arms exasperatedly and shook her head, “You two were so loud, I could hear you through the door. At one point, I just had to get up and walk away.”

“I’m sorry, Shirt. I didn’t realize we were disturbing you.”

“Oh no, Captain,” she waved it off. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. We all know how the commander can get.” Then she lowered her voice, despite the fact no one was around us, “Good for you standing up for yourself. I’ve seen him do that to every captain that comes through this squadron. You’re the only one who stuck to her guns.”

“Really?” I asked, my spirits suddenly lifting. “Thank you, Shirt.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. Listen, if you ever feel like you need to talk, you know where to find me. Okay, Captain? See you later.” With that, she returned to her office.

I left the building smiling to myself over my little triumph. The commander may have gotten the upper hand, but in my mind, this was a major breakthrough. It might just turn out to be a good day after all.