Meanwhile, there were more VIPs today. They had not been scheduled. They just showed up—but they were accompanied by the Army Chief, which meant that they were not just some senator’s family.

But what a bunch of hicks. They looked presentable enough—their clothes fit and looked businesslike—but the moment they opened their mouths, Buck thought he might have stumbled into an old episode of Andy Griffith or Beverly Hillbillies. There were three of them, a married couple in their early forties, Alf and Gerd North—really, Gerd?—and a thirty-something nephew named, of all things, Thor.

Buck heard one of his staff try to joke with Thor about his name—could he see his hammer?—and Alf North cut off the conversation with, “Thor doesn’t work with carpentry.” Which suggested that these people never saw movies or read comic books.

“What can I do for you?” Buck asked the four-star when he ushered the hillbillies into his office.

“I want you to understand that the North family is very important to us and they are to have full access to everything.”

Buck waited a moment, but since the four-star didn’t clarify, he had to ask. “What level of security clearance are we talking about here, sir?”

“Full access to everything,” said the four-star.

The Norths were looking out the window, as if this conversation was boring them.

“Yes, sir,” said Buck. “But there’s a lot of everything. What is it that you want to see, Mister and Missus North?”

“We need to look at a tank,” said Alf. The way he said it, “tank” seemed to have three syllables.

So Buck started to delegate one of his men to set up a training tank. The four-star interrupted. “Not a trainer. Top of the line. They’ve studied the engineering specs for the M1A3, and that’s what we need to show them. In operation, fully fueled and with ammunition.”

“Yes, sir,” said Buck. “Live fire demonstration?”

“Whatever the Norths want to see.”

Buck looked at the Norths. Mrs. North was looking at him skeptically. Alf lazily turned toward him; Thor kept looking out the window. “We won’t know what we need to see,” said Alf, “until we’re in the presence of a working tank.”

“It might be safer at first not to have live ammunition,” said Mrs. North. Gerd.

“I was hoping to see them blow things up,” murmured Thor.

“Plenty of chance for that later,” said Alf. “Try not to act like a twelve-year-old.”

The rebuke sounded stern, but Thor turned to his uncle and grinned mischievously. “I’m up to twelve?”

“Barely,” said Gerd. Then, to the four-star: “Can we please get on with this? All this empty talking wears Alf out.”

Since most VIPs were all about empty talk, this surprised Buck. What in the world would these hillbillies do that wasn’t just talk?