June 2, 1940 – Baker Field, New Jersey
"Colonel, Lieutenant Hogan is reporting in as ordered," the aide told Hogan briskly.
"Send him in," Hogan directed, turning to face the door. He was fighting to conceal his anger and put on the mask of a commanding officer.
"You sent for me, sir," Matthew Hogan said, coming to stand at attention in front of his older brother.
"Lieutenant," Hogan started, "your conduct over the past few weeks has been deplorable. No other soldier in this camp has shown such utter disregard for military procedure or such disrepect for authority." His voice remained calm, but Matthew could read the anger in his brother's eyes.
Still, Matthew remained at attention, his face set. Hogan continued his speech, "Two of the past three barracks inspections have found your uniforms and kit in less than pristine condition. Unless this improves significantly in the immediate future, I will be forced to take severe disciplinary measures."
Hogan paused, letting the implications of that sink into his brother's mind. It was also a moment for him to recollect his thoughts and continue on as commanding officer. "While your instructors continue to file reports that you are among the best pilots in your class, they also tell me that you are the most reckless pilot they have ever seen. From this point on, you will obey their orders to the letter. There will be no more attempts at high-speed maneouvers or acrobatics unless they are a part of the course and you have been explicitly ordered to do so."
Hogan demanded, "Well, what do you have to say for yourself, lieutenant?"
"I'm sorry, sir," Matthew replied formally.
"Pilots far more experienced than you are have died because they got careless or because they were trying to show off," Hogan replied, his voice rising as his anger bubbled closer to the surface. "Sorry doesn't bring you back from something like that."
Hogan settled into a stony silence. He had seen training accidents kill and cripple far too many bright young pilots. As the base's commanding officer, he had watched the planes go up, and he had watched the young pilots test their limits, both of the planes and of themselves.
He remembered back to when he had first joined up as a pilot, transferring into the air corps almost immediately after graduating from West Point. The planes back then hadn't been nearly as fast, but they had been just as dangerous. Hogan himself had come close to accidents on more than one occasion, but his luck had held. That was the only reason that he was still alive, blind luck.
Still, under the surface, Hogan knew that, given the chance, he too would be testing the limits of the new fighters, pushing them as far and as fast as they could go. But he hadn't been behind the controls of a plane in over three months. Bogged down in administrative details, he longed for the wide open freedom of the air.
Matthew knew how much Hogan itched to be flying and how much his older brother hated being a desk jockey. But more than anything else, Matthew knew that Hogan identified with his pilots. Unlike the other, older commanders, there were fewer than ten years in age difference between him and the men he commanded. Because the two knew each other, and knew themselves, the lecture was going nowhere. Both knew it.
Matthew wasn't intimidated by Hogan's rank and Hogan had been in the same place as Matthew not all that long ago. Still, Hogan felt obligated to keep trying, both as Matthew's commanding officer and as his older brother and self-appointed guardian.
"Lieutenant," Hogan began, "whether you believe it or not, these leaves mean something." He held his collar out slightly, the insignia glittering in the light. "And it took hard work to get them. Sure, I'm a pilot, but I'm also a soldier. That means I have to do my duty. You have to learn that for yourself, Matthew. I just hope that you learn it before it's too late."
Once again, he settled into silence. Matthew watched, looking at a rarely shown side of his brother. It was always slightly unsettling to realise that beneath the persona that Hogan always showed, there was something different. It was almost as though there were two different people residing within the same body.
"Am I dismissed, colonel?" Matthew asked stiffly.
"Yes, lieutenant, you're dismissed," Hogan answered.
Matthew crisply saluted, waiting for Hogan's nod before lowering his hand and pivoting to leave. Hogan turned to face the window, staring out at the night sky. The base was quiet and a full moon shone softly from the black velvet sky. It was almost possible to forget that an ocean away, nations were locked in a deathly struggle.
"Lieutenant," Hogan called, "if you happen to see my brother on your way back to the barracks, send him in here. We haven't had a good chat in a while."
Matthew paused at the door, turning to respond, "Yes, sir, colonel. Would you like me to tell him to check his bar at the door?"
"Yes, lieutenant," Hogan answered with a smile, turning to again face his brother. "I think I'd better get my leaves in some water; they're starting to look a little wrinkled."
Matthew returned to the desk, only this time, he took a seat and tossed his hat on the filing cabinet. "So," he drawled, "you got anything to eat in this joint? The mess food is worse than Aunt Karen's cooking."