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Typical Day

As is the case with virtually everyone in the military, First Lieutenant Val "Mother Goose" Milker starts his strictly-regimented day at the insanely early time of 4:30AM. As an experienced and disciplined officer in the U.S. Air Force, Lt. Milker has been doing basically this same thing every day since boot camp. 

Oh, you want to hit the snooze button, do you? (Source)

As a stable wingman the other pilots (a.k.a. his "Little Goslings") look up to, he knows it's his job to set the example, including hopping out of his bunk the minute the wake-up call hits.

Also, he's not the most senior airman, and he really doesn't like disciplinary push-ups.

Lt. Milker begins with a six-mile jog around base, thankful he's not cooped up on an aircraft carrier (which can be up to six cramped and lonely months a year). After his "light" workout, followed by a shower in the barracks and a meal at the mess hall, he heads to the briefing room at 6:30AM to check in on his unit's current tactical situation.

He wonders if today will be the day that some new threat has emerged and he'll be tasked with escorting a clandestine bombing mission while enemy fighters rain bullets upon them from the clouds, requiring him to put all of his years of flying experience to the ultimate test.


Instead, Lt. Milker is informed that he and his squadron will be performing a flyover of a televised football game between two teams that aren't even the one he roots for. Ah well, what better way to use an advanced fighter jet than to entertain crowds of taxpaying football fans?

After performing marvelously at precisely 11:07AM (the easiest seven minutes of the day), Lt. Milker exits the cockpit and heads to check in with his commanding officer. Today's big job: teaching. A new batch of pilot trainees has just arrived, and the veteran airman has been tasked with showing the new blood how it's done—not in the skies, but in the comfort of a classroom. These guys are a little too new for the serious stuff.

A serious mustache would also have helped. (Source)

At precisely 12:00PM, Mother Goose eats and goes over today's lesson plan, the closest he'll ever get to a "business lunch." The trainees were hoping to get up in the air as soon as possible, and Lt. Milker can't blame them...but he doesn't want to spend his afternoon scraping some Tom Cruise-wannabe out of a $60-million-dollar piece of government machinery. 

Some things need to be worked out on the ground first. By 1:00PM, lesson plan in his head, he puts on his best commanding officer strut and confidently strides into class.

Once he's scared the trainees into thinking that they're constantly going to be one second from death while they're flying (because they are), Lt. Milker is himself released for the day at 4:00PM (or sixteen-hundred, for those keeping military time at home). He meets up with a few of his fellow pilots, and they make a plan to head off base and grab some chow, maybe talk about the football game they all flew over.

As soon as the pilots get to the restaurant, though, Mother Goose hears the air raid siren at 5:10PM. He and his gaggle of Goslings (or his squadron, but that's a whole lot more fun to say) rush back to base to scramble their jets.

China has finally invaded the United States.

Or rather, that's the worst-case scenario in the Lieutenant's mind. Turns out a commercial airliner has mistakenly veered into a no-fly zone, and Lt. Milker is tasked with taking a jet to escort the plane out of the area. It's most likely a navigational error, but the Air Force doesn't like to assume things—just in case. Everything's probably fine, but he needs to be there to give a "friendly reminder" to get back to its flight plan

Once back on the ground, First Lt. Val Milker finally gets back to dinner at 7:00PM. He enjoys a great meal, and since he's got the whole next day of routine to deal with once he goes to bed, he stays an extra hour to sing karaoke.

For some reason, fighter pilots really enjoy singing in bars.