Kevin Miller - Raven One

The current situation began, as it so often does, with young people, students unwilling to accept the lifetime of misery their parents had endured. They rejoiced at the fall of the brutal Pahlavi government, but their joy was short-lived when they found a brutal kleptocracy, cloaked in Islamic fundamentalism, had taken its place. They protested with nonviolent sit-ins, marched with placards, staged strikes in factories and questioned the legitimacy of the regime. The smuggled video of the vicious government crackdown was difficult to watch, but Iran’s youth stood firm as the protests spread to Shiraz and Bushier, and even to Bandar Abbas. The people there envied the bright free-market light that gleamed from the Emirates cites on the southern horizon each night. Claims by the government that the Americans and Israelis wanted to conquer Iran fell flat — the people knew who caused trouble for the region and for themselves in their daily lives. The Islamic Republic government found itself with a more pressing problem than the regional proximity of the American military or the existence of Israel. The loud demands of their own people were at the moment a serious threat to the regime.

Life changed little for the sailors aboard Happy Valley as they watched the news from Iran. Their job was to orbit a piece of water in the North Arabian Sea in order to provide an American presence that sent a message to the Iranians and reassured others in the region. Days drifted by, and when the news that Harry S. Truman had gotten underway from Norfolk to relieve them was announced over the 1MC, a cheer went up throughout the ship. With tensions in the region lowered to a simmer, Valley Forge could soon point her bow southwest and transit the coastline of the Arabian Peninsula on the first leg of her 8,000-mile journey home.

In CAG’s stateroom, however, a sensitive conversation was taking place, a conversation that had a great bearing on the future of the Ravens of VFA-64.

“So, I come out of the admiral’s office, and Bucket tells me Saint’s jet is down and he’s out of the airplane. What the hell for? His TACAN , for crying out loud! His people are launching on the biggest strike of the year, and he’s not leading it for what I would consider an “up” gripe. An irritant, yes, but for a strike of this magnitude, and considering he’s the lead with jets taxiing to the cat, you take it.”

DCAG Allen listened, nodding his head in understanding and approval. Swoboda continued.

“I’m like, what the fuck , and walk direct to Ready 7. I open the starboard-side door and see Saint up there ripping his people, just having a cow about the airplane with his MMCO. I thought he was having a nervous breakdown. The duty officer asks him for his extra ammo clip, and Saint’s still out of control, screaming. He reaches into his vest, rooting around in there and friggin’ heaves on the clip to free it, and sets off the day end of his flare! Smoke goes everywhere, but his people swing into action. And Saint… he’s just standing there… deer-in-the-headlights. They yell ‘Attention on deck.’ Then, he’s looking at me — with real fear. I mean, his lip was quivering. Darth, I think he’s lost it.”

“The Human Factors Board said it was the stress of combat.”

Swoboda grimaced and shook his head. “Not buying it. He had a strike against Chah Bahar, lots of standoff, low threat. No, he was in over his head going to Yaz Kernoum.”

“Maybe he knew it.”

“Maybe he did.”

“You think he effectively turned back under fire?”

Swoboda paused and looked ahead in thought. After a long silence he lifted his head. “Yeah, I do.”

Allen watched him, but said nothing. Swoboda exhaled deeply.

“You know, as a nugget I had this CO who flew Phantoms in Vietnam. He was a fire-breathing dragon and kicked our ass. He said turning back under fire was unforgivable. I think you have to temper that — especially as a CO. You don’t want to lead guys into a meat grinder and lose half the strike group. But on the other hand, you go. You take the jet and make a call on scene because you have the experience, or at least the seniority, to know what’s acceptable. Saint abdicated that to his subordinate because of fear — of either screwing up the lead or getting shot down. It doesn’t matter. He couldn’t handle it. I mean, he’s an administrative wizard, but he’s hard on his people. When the pressure was on, he went to pieces. I’m sorry, but he’s just not ready for command of that strike-fighter squadron. Maybe he slipped through the cracks to get here, but I’ve gotta make a call here and now.”

“ Devil’s advocate ,” DCAG said, raising a hand, “but I’ve got to touch on this. Cajun took his division into that meat grinder and paid for it with his life. Not excusing Saint, but couldn’t Cajun have pumped once to troubleshoot the friggin bombs or dropped them in a level delivery using his radar and FLIR? He and the jet would still be here.”

“Sure, on Monday morning that’s a reasonable call, but Cajun made the call then on the first strike of the operation, with one minute to go. And he got the job done — he was committed to it. He stepped into the arena.” Swoboda took a breath and his voice trailed off. “We need more Cajuns.”

“You flew into that shit as the on-scene commander — after they were stirred up down there.”

The CAG nodded. “Cajun would have done the same for any of us.”

The two men sat in silence and stared into space, each pondering the next move that they knew would lead to the “firing” of a senior officer. It was the same agonizing decision they had watched others make during their 20 plus years in the military. CAG broke the silence.

“I’m going to relieve him.”

The Deputy Wing Commander looked up and held his gaze for a moment. “You really sure you want to do that? The board says otherwise. It’s his first day as CO after Cajun’s shootdown. You can make a case that a TACAN is a downing gripe. He developed a plan, and the strike package executed it successfully. They are going to second-guess you in Norfolk. Besides, we’re leaving here and heading home soon.”

“ He didn’t develop that plan. Flip Wilson did, and Flip took the lead for him and did an outstanding job. After witnessing Saint’s display, I should be relieved for assigning him the strike lead.”

“You were out of strike leads; he was next in the rotation.”

“Yeah, but for the same reasons you stated, I should have thought it through better — should have assigned it to you.”

DCAG smiled.

Leaning forward with his elbows on the table, CAG made a pyramid with his fingers and brought them to his lips in contemplation. “Can we agree that Saint is a project?”

“No doubt.”

“You’ll be CAG next year. Do you want one of your squadron COs to be a project?”

DCAG looked at his shoes and exhaled, then lifted his eyes. “No,” he said quietly.

Swoboda nodded in agreement.

“Who will you get to take over?” Darth asked. “The Big Unit?”

“Jim Wilson.”

“ Flip? He’s too junior.”

“He’s the right choice. Who knows the squadron better? Who has proven himself under fire, time after time? Who has more credibility in the air wing? If anyone, it’s Flip. I’m adamant about that. He’ll take the Ravens home as acting CO, and the Commodore can get a short-term relief in another month or so. Flip will then go on shore duty, and he’ll screen for his own squadron in a few years.”

“I hear rumblings about him resigning.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s still the guy I want.”