Read A Man Named Dave for Free Online Page B

his head and feverishly pounded on the computer keyboard. “Well,” he began, “if you really feel the need for speed, I can have you on a plane and in basic training by … tonight. Or, if that doesn’t suit you, you can enlist next week. So, what will it be?”
    I immediately knew what I had to do, but a wave of shame washed over me. For months I had lied to my foster parents, telling them that I was taking specialized tests and interviewing for a job, which in a way I felt I was. The Turnboughs had no idea what I was really up to. I felt a sudden urge to run off and enlist and then simply phone them from boot camp. Besides my foster parents and a handful of close friends, I had no one in my life. No girlfriends, no work buddies, no friends who picked me up to go cruising or see movies, no relatives to speak of – no one. I felt that if I fell off the face of the earth, less than half a dozen people would even notice. But deep in my heart I knew that I owed my real family — my foster parents and whatever friends I had – more than a long-distance phone call. Above all, it was a matter of honor. I let out a deep sigh before answering the sergeant. “Next week.”
    “All right, next week. You sure about this?” he politely asked.
    Without blinking an eye, I nodded my head. “Yes, sir!”
    The sergeant pressed a button, and the computer began printing a stream of papers. “Sign here, here, here, here and … here,” he informed me without a trace of emotion. I stared at the blocks with the bright red Xs. This is it! I told myself. I snatched the government pen and scribbled my name so hard that I nearly tore through the sheets of papers. As the sergeant took the paperwork and typed in more commands to his computer, I killed time by looking at the framed glossy photographs of the high-tech air force fighter jets. My mouth began to water at the sleek, crisp lines of the airplanes against the endless blue sky.
    “Sir, is that the F-15 jet fighter?” I asked, pointing at a photograph above his desk.
    Without looking up from the computer, the sergeant replied, “Nope … F-16.”
    I nodded my head to the sergeant’s answer, then stated before thinking, “Excuse me, sir, but if I’m not mistaken, that’s the McDonnell Douglas F-15 Eagle: first strike, air superior fighter, capable of speeds in excess of Mach 2.5, produced by a pair of G.E. F-100 after-burning engines….”
    The sergeant turned toward me with his mouth hung open.
    “Did I say something wrong, sir?” I thought for a moment of what I had just said, and even I was surprised how easy the basic technical aspects of the airplane came from my mouth. All these facts I had learned from the recruitment brochures and stream of books I had digested over the last few months.
    He simply nodded for me to continue.
    Immediately I thought this was part of some strange test. I closed my eyes to recall as much as I could. “Uhm, I know it has a comple … dent – I mean, complement of AIM-7 Sparrow and AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles. And … I think … it was two, maybe three years ago that a modified F-15 Streak Eagle beat the time-to-climb altitude record held by a Russian MeG.” I paused to catch my breath and waited for his reaction. Craving acceptance, I didn’t want the sergeant to think I was trying to show off. By the smile in his eyes I realized he was not only impressed, but interested in planes as well.
    “That’s ‘MiG’ Pelz-ter, not ‘MeG’,” he countered. “Okay, smart guy: What base did they launch the Streak Eagle from?”
    “Grand Forks, North Dakota!” I stated with confidence.
    “All right, not bad. Now,” he said, “the big one: Why Grand Forks?”
    I smiled back, enjoying the game. “Molecule compression. The colder air allows the plane to reach speeds and altitudes quicker while at the same time consuming less fuel. I mean … I think that’s the idea.”
    The sergeant responded with a wide grin and slapped me on the shoulder. “Where in the hell did you … ?”
    By instinct, I