My maintenance group commander told me I had ten seconds to explain why an old man in a red jacket was touching a grounded B-2 bomber.
Brigadier General Peterson did not look at me. He strode past with a single clipped “Colonel” that landed on my shoulders like a fifty-pound weight. His eyes were fixed on the old man. Charles Lindberg was still kneeling by the landing gear. His hand still resting on that small valve assembly. His faded red jacket…
