Kevin Miller - Raven One

Once CAG finished, the air wing Intel officer provided an order-of-battle briefing, and the aviators listened in tight-lipped silence. Iran possessed the latest in high-tech military equipment, purchased from Russia, China, North Korea and even Europe. And the United States had sold Imperial Iran the F-14 Tomcat , which the Islamist regime had used to great success in skirmishes with the Iraqi Air Force during the 1980s. Even the venerable F-4 Phantom II , also provided to the Shah by the United States, was a serious airborne threat.

The SAMs were numerous and also modern, led by the Russian-built S-300, and had a range of over 100 miles. The Iranians had lots of tactical SAMs and modern MANPADS, some developed indigenously. While all of Valley Forge’s fighter aircrew were combat experienced, very few had experience dodging a radar-guided SAM, or even seen one fired in their careers. It was common knowledge that CAG Swoboda and Admiral Smith had seen several of them during Desert Storm, and Wilson knew of Cajun’s close encounter with a SA-6 over Kosovo, but that was it. With his talk, the CAG had done his job. Although they already knew the facts, everyone in a flight suit had been reminded that Iran possessed a major league defense. CAG had also reassured them, just by his demeanor, their leadership was not asking them to face anything they had not.

When the meeting broke up, groups of aircrew gathered around the chart and discussed the defenses and targets. Rows of long tables allowed planning teams to pore over the charts and weapons manuals in order to devise the best plan for success. Banks of computer terminals along the bulkheads were manned by JOs inserting target coordinates for closer review. Cajun’s eyes met Wilson’s, and Wilson walked over to join him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s you and I look over this folder. It’s the first strike — Bandar Abbas. Have the ready room pass the word for our strike planning team to join us here at 0900. Also, Raven AOM in the ready room at 1300. No, make it 1230.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“This is a big one,” Cajun added as he leafed through the contents of the folder. He then gave Wilson an intense, direct look to ensure his meaning.

“Yes, sir,” Wilson responded, expecting nothing less from the man CAG tasked to lead the first strike.

Wilson and his CO reviewed the tasking for Strike 1A: fourteen designated mean points of impact, or DMPIs. The two pilots studied the target imagery, all in and around the harbor area of Bandar Abbas. A nest of boghammars along the wharf. A SAM site. A storage and repair facility. The fuel farm. Located at the top of the Strait of Hormuz, Bandar Abbas was essentially surrounded on three sides by land, with the restricted waters of the strait to the south. To the east, on the other side of the city, was an Iranian tactical air base with MiG-29s and F-4s. Assigned time on target was the next night at 2315 local. Coincident with this strike were two smaller strikes down the coast at Jask and Chah Bahar.

Once the strike planning team, consisting of an aircrew from each air wing squadron, got together, Cajun briefed them on the overall plan and assigned various tasks: the launch sequence plan, the electronic warfare plan, the combat search and rescue plan, and the weapons delivery plan. He assigned the last to Wilson. All around them in CVIC were dozens of other aircrew in flight suits, working on their assigned targets, the room an orderly hum of activity.

After about 45 minutes, while the team worked quietly, several of them studying charts, others building the aircraft load out on the computer, Smoke leaned over to Wilson. “Sir, can we talk for a minute outside, please?” Smoke spun to leave before his department head could answer, and Wilson, puzzled, watched him for a few seconds before he got up to follow him, grateful for a break. Cajun and the others continued, lost in their concentration.

Smoke entered the passageway and went forward, and Wilson followed, thinking, What’s this about? Over his shoulder, Smoke gave him a clue. “We have to go see Psycho,” he said, continuing forward toward the stateroom Psycho shared with Olive on the O-2 level.

“What about her?” Wilson asked. “Why doesn’t she contact me herself?” Smoke stopped and turned. “She asked me to bring you to her room. You can hear it directly from her, sir.”

“Hear what?” Wilson asked, and wondered why Smoke was sir- ing him so much. As Smoke left Wilson’s question hanging in the air and continued forward, a feeling of dread came over the VFA-64 Operations Officer. Oh shit , Wilson thought.

When they arrived at her stateroom, Smoke knocked twice. “Come in,” Psycho responded.

Lieutenant Melanie Hinton sat on her bunk in her flight suit, dabbing at her puffy eyes. She came to her feet as Wilson stepped inside. Smoke closed the door behind them.

“Please, be seated,” Wilson said to Psycho. “What’s goin’ on?”

Psycho drew in a breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Wilson looked at her and let it sink in. Turning his head to Smoke, he lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes… sir,” Smoke nodded.

Wilson took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose.

“I didn’t know until today! This morning. I had my flight physical yesterday, and Doc Laskopf called me back in this morning to tell me.”

“Who else knows?” Wilson asked.

“Just us,” Psycho answered, taking a seat on her bunk.

Wilson needed more. “Who exactly ?”

“Us and Doc Laskopf,” Psycho answered. “I just found out an hour ago!” she added, exasperated and looking away.

Wilson continued to pull the string. “Doc, or the corpsman who did the test? They haven’t told anyone?”

“Sir, I pleaded with Doc not to tell, to let me handle it inside the squadron first. He said he would. I know we are planning to hit Iran tomorrow night, and I want to be a part of it. And you’ll need me as a pilot for the flight schedule.”

“Why didn’t you keep quiet then?”

“Because Zach… Smoke… said I needed to tell you to schedule me in the best manner. But I feel fine! I’m ready to go tomorrow night.”

“Morning sickness?”

“No, not counting when I threw up after Doc told me.”

Wilson smiled, and then thought for a moment. Pregnancy was a grounding condition. Psycho could not fly anything while pregnant, and the news was a serious blow to his ability to schedule pilots for the upcoming operation. “Smoke is right. You did need to tell me, and you need to tell the Skipper.”

“No!” Psycho exploded. Looking at Smoke with fire in her eyes, she added, “See, I told you this would happen! I could have flown these hops…!”

Wilson cut her off. “Psycho, it’s his squadron. He makes the call. That’s why he’s paid the big bucks.”

“He’s gonna shit when he finds out, and he’s going to shit on me… and Zach.” Psycho was shaking her head. She began to tremble.

“Psycho…”

Seething with rage, Psycho lashed out. “ You don’t know what it’s like! ” she cried. “I’m a Hornet pilot with combat experience, but to the rest of this ship I’m just a piece of ass! Half the guys in the air wing have tried to get in my pants: JOs, chiefs , even officers senior to you . I’m doing my job and doing it well, but I have to deal with this crap all the time . Zach protects me from you guys, and if we’ve fallen in love and gone too far, then guilty . We can handle it!”

Smoke, horrified, watched as his department head absorbed the outburst from the petulant junior officer. Wilson glared at Psycho, his blood boiling. The look on her face indicated that she knew she had crossed the line.