"Colonel, sir—"
Gascoigne swung around in the seat, and the sergeant—Gascoigne could almost remember the man's name—threw him a snappy Air Force salute.
"Well?"
"Bomb one is primed, sir. Your orders?"
"My orders?" Gascoigne said wonderingly. But the man was already gone. Gascoigne couldn't actually see the sergeant leave the control cabin, but he was no longer in it.
While he tried to remember, another voice rang in the cabin, as flat and razzy as all voices sound on an intercom.
"Radar room. On target."