Kevin Miller - Raven One

Raven One paced a few steps and exhaled, gathering his thoughts. Wilson and the others remained riveted.

“Once again, our friends and enemies around the world are calling for us to restrain ourselves. Europe reminds me of the cowardly lion, and Canada, who we protect like our own country, is AWOL. The GCC sheikdoms are petrified that we’ll do something to ruin their holiday plans in Switzerland. Russia warns against American military adventurism, and China denounces our movement as reckless saber-rattling that only increases tensions in the strait. Japan, who gets almost all its oil from the Gulf, and much of that from Iran, is silent. Only Australia has spoken out against the Iranians and is expressing regret at the loss of American lives.

“That’s always the case, isn’t it? When the victims are American service personnel, at a Khobar Towers or aboard a USS Cole or even at the Pentagon, nobody in the international community, including many in our own country, much cares about it except for the fact they can get a few days coverage for their news media. But the world community, with the exception of the North Koreas and Venezuelas, secretly wishes that we do respond to the Iranians. They want us to swat them down, so they’ll stop causing problems. They also know that we will continue to guard against flare ups, and that will allow the world to go back to living what passes for normal.

“Therefore, it has become the responsibility of this strike group, and you and me in particular, to handle this for them, and to do the dirty work. Myself, if I can strike a blow that allows my family and your families and millions of families around the world to live in real peace and harmony, I welcome the opportunity. These Revolutionary Guard assholes are causing my wife to worry and my kids to cry — and have been for years. In my small way I want to prevent them from doing so any more. They are smart. We must be smarter. They fight dirty. Within the limits of the rules of engagement, we’ll fight dirtier and hit where and when they don’t expect. They shot down our shipmate experiencing an airborne emergency. For me, this is personal, this is payback, they overreached, and any action we take will be proportional and justified and professionally carried out. If Washington decides to throttle this back, then aye, aye, it’s their call. But for now, I plan to go up there tomorrow night, and you’re coming with me.”

Wilson and the others sat in their seats with backs straight, soaking in Cajun’s intensity and purpose, ready to burst out of the room and man the jets. The pilots shared his grim determination to prevent the Pasdaran from causing any further loss of life or any further disruption of international commerce. With the opportunity the Richard Best attack had afforded them, they would literally follow Cajun through fire to do it now, despite the fearsome Iranian defenses.

“Anything for me?” Cajun asked, as he met the eyes of each officer in the room. When no one spoke, he said, “Then let’s do it. Ready, break,” Cajun finished, as he clapped his hands together.

“QUOTH THE RAVEN!” boomed from Ready Seven, rattling the photos on the Spartan and Moonshadow ready room bulkheads.

Sponge hit play on the stereo and cranked up the volume to George Thorogood’s “ Bad to the Bone ” as the pilots broke up into smaller groups. Some headed back to CVIC and others moved to the front to study the Iranian coastline on the pullout chart.

In the midst of the activity Wilson approached Cajun, who was now head down searching for something in his seat storage drawer. “Skipper, can we talk for a moment, in private?”

Cajun looked up and into Wilson’s grim face. He noticed that Psycho hovered behind him in an apparent state of distress. Knowing Wilson’s request indicated some kind of problem, he stared for a moment at both of them. “Yeah, let’s go,” he said.

“Dismissed,” Cajun whispered. As she got up to leave, a shaken Psycho glanced at Wilson and stepped outside.

After she closed the door, Cajun gave Wilson a disappointed look. “When did you know this?”

“Four hours ago, sir. I wanted to wait until after the AOM.”

“Right before my brief to CAG?”

“It was a trade-off, sir. I made a call.”

“What’s your recommendation?” Cajun asked, still not convinced.

“Sir, she’s five weeks, and says she feels okay. This is combat, and we need her. We don’t have enough pilots as it is to cover all the strike packages, SUCAP, and alerts. Recommend a waiver.”

“And Doc Laskopf? You think he’s going to agree to remain quiet when he sees Psycho on the flight schedule? He works for CAG, too.”

“Recommend we ask him for two days, sir. Both of you can tell CAG that you kept it from him because he has more pressing issues now. Just like you asked the ground pounders to handle the routine stuff and leave you out of it during this operation.”

“This isn’t small stuff.”

“No, sir — but in the context of the next 48 hours, it actually is.”

They were interrupted by two raps at the door. “Come in,” Cajun answered.

XO Patrick entered, and appeared surprised to see Wilson.

“Yeah, what’cha got, Saint?” Cajun was irritable, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head.

“While in the passageway, I saw Lieutenant Hinton leaving here, so I thought I’d catch you and ask for a quick ruling on AD2 Moran’s request for MEDEVAC due to his rotator cuff. He says it hurts, but Doc Laskopf thinks he can handle light duty.”

Cajun looked at him for a few moments, and then looked away. He tried and failed to hide his disgust. “Light duty… Is there anyone in the squadron Doc Laskopf hasn’t seen today?”

“What do you mean?” Saint replied.

Wilson’s heart beat faster. Don’t do it, Skipper!

“Psycho was just in here. She’s med down. Pregnant.”

Damn! Wilson thought.

“Are you going to tell CAG? He’ll need to know,” Saint responded, incredulous.

“No, I’m not. We need her for the flight schedule. We’ve got 15 pilots, and after they are scheduled for strikes, spares, CAPs and everything else, we’re tapped out. She’s not bleeding, is in possession of her faculties, and wants to fly. So she’s flying. Flip, keep her off the overland stuff — just SUCAP, alerts, Iron Hand escort… relatively easy stuff and away from the threat to the max extent. It’s two days; then we can proceed.”

Saint protested. “You can’t do that. It’s cut and dried. We have to tell CAG, and…”

“No, we, don’t! ” Cajun shot back, glowering at Saint through clenched teeth. The two commanders locked eyes on each other, refusing to blink, both conscious of the fact their subordinate department head was observing them. Cajun was enraged at having his authority questioned in public. When Saint’s countenance remained defiant, Cajun detected what he was thinking and lowered his voice to an icy growl.

“XO, I swear, if you go to CAG, you will never command this or any squadron. Is that clear? ”

“ Yes, Skipper.” Saint’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Cajun, and both men breathed deep while Wilson held his breath. This display among seniors was shocking, and, for a moment, Wilson thought Cajun was going to choke the XO.

His hands balled into fists, Cajun continued to fume with rage. “I’ll go right to CAG and the Commodore and tell them how you’ve usurped my authority and suppressed morale in my ready room. I am the CO of VFA-64, not you. I make policy. I decide on waivers. And I ground my pilots or unground them. Do you… ?”