fic tidbit
Jul. 29th, 2010 10:30 amBecause we all know that when I say I'm not writing, it always works out that way. *eyeroll*
This is from the universe
why_me_why_not and I have been kicking around. I planned on sending this to her last night after work, but I found a copy of Dereliction of Duty on googlebooks so I could think of different things Brad would've written in the margins, and then I got sucked into reading it.
*facepalm*
ANYWAY.
~*~*~*
Nate's grinning over a neatly written, "that explains a lot" next to Robert McNamara was serving on the business faculty at Harvard University, teaching the application of statistical analysis to management problems. Initially disqualified from military service because of his inability to pass an eye examination, he became a consultant to the War Department to develop statistical controls within the Army Air Corps supply systems when Brad comes in from the garage.
" 'Putting an Ivy League POG in charge of a war is a sure way to fail', Brad?"
"It certainly didn't help matters." Brad must've wiped his hands off before coming in, but there's still a streak of motor oil on the back of one hand. He retreats to the kitchen to scrub it off. Nate follows, bringing his beer and the book, a finger marking his place.
"So, McMaster?"
"Not bad for an Army puke. He makes a valid point."
"It's on the Corps' recommended reading list for colonels and higher ranks."
"Your point?"
"No point. Just... curious."
Nate is forcibly reminded once again, as if the entire exercise of Operation Iraqi Freedom hadn't been an object lesson in the matter, that intelligence is not the sole purview of the college educated or officer class.
"Feel any better knowing that McMaster's advising CentCom and Abizaid in Iraq?"
"Honestly? Not really. I'm still not clear that what we did isn't just going to fuck them and us up for the foreseeable future." Brad shrugs. "But I'm a grunt, and I followed orders. Mission accomplished." The last is spoken in a tone dry as dust, and he washes it down with a sip of Nate's beer.
This is from the universe
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*facepalm*
ANYWAY.
~*~*~*
Nate's grinning over a neatly written, "that explains a lot" next to Robert McNamara was serving on the business faculty at Harvard University, teaching the application of statistical analysis to management problems. Initially disqualified from military service because of his inability to pass an eye examination, he became a consultant to the War Department to develop statistical controls within the Army Air Corps supply systems when Brad comes in from the garage.
" 'Putting an Ivy League POG in charge of a war is a sure way to fail', Brad?"
"It certainly didn't help matters." Brad must've wiped his hands off before coming in, but there's still a streak of motor oil on the back of one hand. He retreats to the kitchen to scrub it off. Nate follows, bringing his beer and the book, a finger marking his place.
"So, McMaster?"
"Not bad for an Army puke. He makes a valid point."
"It's on the Corps' recommended reading list for colonels and higher ranks."
"Your point?"
"No point. Just... curious."
Nate is forcibly reminded once again, as if the entire exercise of Operation Iraqi Freedom hadn't been an object lesson in the matter, that intelligence is not the sole purview of the college educated or officer class.
"Feel any better knowing that McMaster's advising CentCom and Abizaid in Iraq?"
"Honestly? Not really. I'm still not clear that what we did isn't just going to fuck them and us up for the foreseeable future." Brad shrugs. "But I'm a grunt, and I followed orders. Mission accomplished." The last is spoken in a tone dry as dust, and he washes it down with a sip of Nate's beer.