Kevin Miller - Raven One

CAG pulled some imagery from a folder and placed the photos on the table. Saint picked them up and studied them for several moments.

“Saint, your target is a missile final assembly facility in south central Iran called Yaz Kernoum. You can see it’s a hike from here, and it looks like some kind of cement plant or mine out in the middle of nowhere. According to DIA, though, it’s the one place in Iran that can fuel the rockets and install the guidance section and warheads. The GCC thinks their counties are targeted next because who knows who is controlling the IRGC these days. Frankly, they have a point. We know Iran has been working on nukes for a long time, and although the experts say they are years away, the experts have been wrong before.”

Wilson noticed a sudden look of disdain on DCAG’s face as he stared at Saint’s khaki uniform shirt. Wilson glanced at it himself and saw why. Saint had affixed a command-at-sea pin, which signified an officer in active command of a sea-going unit, over his right pocket.

Bastard couldn’t wait to put it there, Wilson thought.

CAG pointed out the targets on imagery. “You have eight aimpoints, and I’m going to give you two divisions of strikers — plus a dedicated Iron Hand package. We’ll be in this vicinity for the next 24 hours. Time on target is 0530 local, just after sunup. And this strike has to be covert from the get-go, with perfect comm discipline. We must show our hand only at the last moment. We’ll have made an announcement that the current operation is over, then hit ‘em with this a few hours later… part of the “fighting dirty” I mentioned a few days ago. You’ll have AWACS for target area control and the dedicated mission tankers you need from Air Wing Four. This is an add-on — after we finish the scheduled strikes tonight. I want a brief at 1600 with your plan. Then we go to the boss for his blessing.”

CAG paused for effect, then added, “This strike has to go. Losses are acceptable.”

Saint looked up at CAG, then back at the imagery. Wilson noticed Saint’s discomfort and the minute shift of his body. “What weapons do you want us to use, sir?”

“You tell me, but give me as much heads up as you can so the ship can break ‘em out and build ‘em up. Given our GPS hiccup or spoofing from last night, I want a solid backup plan.”

Wilson looked at the chart. One hundred miles northwest of the target was Shiraz. “CAG,” he asked, “any indications the MiG-35s flew last night?”

“Thought you would recognize this place. And the answer is no, not as far as we know. But Yaz Kernoum is just down the street from Shiraz. Plan for it.”

CAG signaled it was time to leave. “Lots of work to do, and my staff is here to support. See you back here in 10 hours.”

DCAG spoke up as Saint rose to leave. “I see you wasted no time pinning that ‘sheriff’s badge’ on your uniform.” He was not smiling.

Saint, eyes downcast, said nothing as he gathered up the folder. CAG noticed the pin and then looked away, embarrassed. The two Hornet pilots turned to leave.

“I spoke to Billie,” CAG said, just as they reached the door. They both turned back to face him, waiting for more.

“She’s holding up well, knows Steve is a fighter, and, even now, is a rock of strength to the other wives. She said the outpouring of support is overwhelming. I imagine all the squadron wives are with her right now.”

Wilson knew he was right, and noted the time… approaching midnight in Virginia Beach. It was going to be another very long day and night for all the Ravens .

After breakfast Wilson and Saint met in CVIC, in a small room set off from the main planning spaces to review the target folder CAG had given them. Wilson looked at the overland navigation chart first and plotted the distance: over 500 miles on a direct line and right over Hormuz, a place Wilson did not want to see again with its layered defenses. However, as with any layered defense, there were seams to exploit, and areas that would provide concealment from radar detection, allowing the strike package to expose itself at the last possible moment… if they stayed low on the ingress. At some point, though, they would have to climb to stay out of any local defenses and give themselves the best chance of acquiring their targets. The time on target was troubling, too, just after dawn, which degraded night vision goggle and infrared sensors. It also required a daylight egress, which increased the threat of scrambled interceptors from any number of fighter bases in the region, which to Wilson meant Shiraz — and Hariri.

While Saint stepped out for a moment, Blade joined Wilson in planning. Within 10 minutes, they both knew what they needed, and they had determined the “A” team to fly it. Wilson called down to his stateroom and summoned Weed to join them. The Raven division would be Saint, Blade, Flip and Weed, with Saint as the strike lead and Wilson backing him up.

Saint returned and spent a few moments looking at the chart while Wilson and Blade worked in silence. After a few moments, Saint took a straight edge and drew a line from the ship’s position to the target. “Hmm…” he said, “if the ship can launch us in order, we might be able to do this without tanking up front. Mister Cutter, give me a max-range profile to the target area, high all the way, and the fuel when we return feet wet. Maybe we won’t need to ask CAG for so many tankers.”

Blade, incredulous, looked at Wilson and back at Saint. “ Sir? ”

Commander Patrick looked up and coldly assessed the senior lieutenant. Pointing with his finger on the chart, he repeated himself. “Here to here , max range, with this bomb load, two tanks, standard self-escort load out. We brief our plan in eight hours. I need the answer in five minutes. Am I clear?”

Blade swallowed hard and said, “Sir, that takes us right over Bandar Abbas, with double-digit…”

“I see exactly where it takes us, Mister Cutter,” Saint shot back. “We’ll surprise them off the cat with our audacity and high speed. Thinking we are already done for the night, they won’t be able to react until we’ve passed over them.”

Blade chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. “Those guys are going to see us coming for miles, and their gunners will still be at their posts from our previous strikes!”

“I am leading this strike, not you!” Saint fired at Blade, now visibly upset.

Wilson spoke in a low tone. “Blade, leave us .”

“This is bullshit! You can’t…” Blade said through clenched teeth before Wilson interrupted him.

“ Lieutenant Cutter! I said, leave us! ” Wilson’s words thundered at Blade and shocked him into silence. Regaining his composure, Wilson added in a low voice, “Now. Go! ”

Blade abruptly pushed away from the table and stepped out. Wilson and Saint looked at each other. Saint spoke first.

“He’s off the strike. Why did you even select him?”

“Because he’s the TOPGUN trained squadron tactical expert — and a damn good pilot. He stays.”

Saint’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Wilson. “What did you just say?”

“He stays , sir, because I need him.” Gesturing at the chart, he added, “And we aren’t going to fly this profile, either.”

Incensed at Wilson’s insubordination, Saint fired back. “Let me warn you now that you can be replaced, Mister Wilson. I will forget I heard this mutinous talk coming from a senior department head and subordinate , obviously affected by the stress of combat, once we complete this strike as fragged.”