Sarah’s deployment schedule and Margaret’s pride keeping them from reconnecting after a silly argument about Margaret’s insistence on living alone. She watched as the distinctive silhouette of the A-10 appeared on the horizon, its twin engines whining their unique song. Even from this distance, she could tell Sarah was flying with exceptional skill.
Every maneuver precise and purposeful. The young mechanic beside her was filming with her phone. God, I love that sound.
You know what’s crazy? They say the maintenance procedures for these birds were so well designed that even after 50 years, we barely changed anything. Some genius back in the 70s figured out how to keep these things flying with minimal tools and the geniuses was a woman named Margaret Sullivan. A man’s voice interrupted.
An older gentleman in a Desert Storm veteran cap had overheard their conversation. She revolutionized combat maintenance, saved my aircraft more than once with her field repair procedures. Margaret turned, not recognizing the weathered face, but seeing the genuine respect in his eyes.
You knew about the Sullivan procedures? Knew about them? The veteran laughed. Lady? Every A-10 maintainer for the past 40 years has trained on the Sullivan manual. Margaret Sullivan figured out how to patch 30 millimeter holes with speed tape and aluminum sheets in ways that would hold until you got home.
She designed the modular repair system that let us fix hydraulics with basic tools. That woman saved more aircraft than any pilot ever did. The young mechanic’s jaw dropped.
Wet. Sullivan procedures? The Sullivan procedures? Those are legendary. We still use them.
My instructor said whoever Sullivan was deserved a monument. Margaret smiled softly. She was just doing her job.
The veteran studied her more closely. His eyes widening as recognition dawned. Holy.
You’re her. You’re Margaret Sullivan. Before Margaret could respond, Bradley Chen’s voice crackled over a nearby speaker as he coordinated with the maintenance crews.
All right, people. Let’s make this look good for the crowds. Remember, we’re showing them 21st century maintenance excellence, not the Stone Age procedures from back when women thought they could turn wrenches.
Several people in the crowd shifted uncomfortably at the comment. The young mechanic beside Margaret bristled. What a jerk.
Some of the best mechanics I know are women. On the field, the A-10 was approaching for its first pass. Margaret watched her granddaughter’s precise flying with pride.
But her attention was drawn to the maintenance demonstration being set up below. They were preparing to show a battle damage repair scenario. Using procedures Margaret knew intimately because she’d created them.
Ma’am, the veteran said urgently. Does Colonel Morrison know you’re here? Margaret shook her head. We haven’t spoken in months.
I didn’t even know she was flying today. The veteran pulled out his phone. My son works air traffic control here.
Let me make a call. No, please. Margaret protested.
I don’t want to cause any disruption. But the veteran was already dialing, speaking rapidly into his phone. Around them, more veterans had overheard the conversation and were gathering, words spreading like wildfire through the crowd.
Margaret Sullivan? The Margaret Sullivan is here? The woman who wrote the book on A-10 maintenance? My crew chief in Afghanistan swore by her procedures, said she saved more lives than body armor. Within minutes, Margaret found herself surrounded by veterans and active duty personnel, all expressing gratitude and sharing stories. The young mechanic was recording everything.