Kevin Miller - Raven One

“Roger that, Senior!”

Wilson donned his squadron ball cap and had taken only a few steps before Derrick broke loose from his mother and ran at him full speed. In one motion, he gathered his son up and squeezed him tight. “Oh, I missed you!” he said.

“Me, too, Daddy!” said Derrick, his voice muffled by the flotation collar of Wilson’s survival vest.

As other families squealed with joy around them, a beaming Mary walked up with little Brittany in her arms. Wilson deposited Derrick on the concrete and looked at Mary. “Hi, baby!” he said before he wrapped his arms around his wife. As he kissed her lips and held her tight, the bottled-up tension of the past six months ran right out of him. He then took his daughter from Mary and smiled at the three year old, who was still not quite sure what was happening.

Thank you, God.

The Buccaneers had returned for their homecoming before the Ravens and were gathered in the hangar space next door. A small party followed. With smiles all around, the Raven and Buc families put aside their competitive spirit in their adjacent hangar spaces to enjoy an abundance of food and drink with excited kids showing their fathers missing teeth or new toys and with the relieved women clinging to their men. Wilson shook hands with his pilots and hugged their wives or girlfriends. He spied Olive smiling with an attractive middle-aged woman dressed as if she were at Churchill Downs for the Kentucky Derby, a woman he learned later was Olive’s mother. The rest of the squadron personnel would come home the following day when Happy Valley shifted colors at Pier 12 in Norfolk.

But Jim Wilson had one more task to perform before this cruise was over.

That evening, Mary got a sitter for the kids and the Wilsons paid a visit to a suburban residence several miles south of the naval air station. Mary drove them into the familiar driveway of a brick colonial, grass neatly trimmed, porch light on.

“You ready for this?” she asked him.

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

They walked to the porch in nervous silence, and Mary pressed the doorbell. After a few seconds, Billie Lassiter opened the door.

“Jim,” she said with a warm smile and threw her arms around him. “Welcome home.”

Wilson didn’t know what to say as he hugged her back, but knew he needed to be there. Billie invited them inside and poured everyone a cup of coffee. Her oldest son, Drew, a strapping, dark-featured high school junior, came downstairs to join them. He sat close to his mother, both surrounded by the memorabilia from Cajun’s career on every wall of the family room. A middle-school daughter was out with friends, and their 10-year-old boy played video games in a nearby room.

After a few moments of awkward small talk, Wilson asked, “How are you?”

Billie sighed and looked at her son. “We’re doing okay. My parents just left, and Mary and the girls have been wonderful. The support from the whole Oceana community has been great. The President called… and we had a nice conversation. The governor of Louisiana called, too, as well as the Chief of Naval Operations. Everyone is supportive and has said to call if I need anything.”

“They mean it.”

“I know, but we have what we need now. My family has some money, and we’re okay. Jim, how was the ceremony on the ship?”

“Very nice. We did it topside on a beautiful day in the Indian Ocean in our white uniforms. The admiral said Skipper Lassiter was a gentle soul with an iron will. We then did a missing man flyby. As the missing man pulled up into the sky, the aircraft went into a cloud and ‘disappeared.’ That symbolism was moving to all of us who saw it. It was a solemn, very beautiful ceremony. The squadron took his loss hard. He was a popular CO.”

“Who flew the missing man plane?”

“Olive… Kristin Teel.”

“Ha! Missing woman! Steve would have found that funny!”

Mary giggled to release her nervous tension, and Wilson smiled. For the first time, though, Wilson noted Drew was not listening. He looked sullen and detached. Angry.

“I was shocked about Bill, so sad. The poor man. Why did he do it? Did he think Steve’s death was his fault?”

Wilson’s pained expression revealed he didn’t know how to answer. “I don’t know. We were shocked, too. He was… different.”

Billie then asked the question Wilson had known was coming. “Jim, what happened?”

Drew now looked at him, eyes cold, waiting for his answer. Wilson looked down and swallowed.

“After the Iranians made the initial attack on our frigate, we were tasked with a series of strikes along the Iranian coast to degrade their ability to close the Strait of Hormuz. The skipper was assigned to lead the first strike into their main naval base at Bandar Abbas. We launched and formed up, but, close to the target, we noted our weapon guidance system was degraded. Skipper immediately made the call to roll in, to deliver the weapons in a dive, which exposed us to greater threat. All of us got our bombs off, including the skipper, but, as he pulled up, his jet was hit by antiaircraft fire and exploded. He had no chance of survival.”

“Did you see it?” Billie asked him.

“I saw the wreckage as it fell to the surface.”

“You didn’t see it blow up?” Drew asked, with definite hostility in his voice. Billie looked at him.

“No, Olive — that is, Lieutenant Teel — did. She was right next to him.”

“He didn’t eject? Are you sure? The Iranians didn’t capture and murder him after you guys abandoned him?”

“ Drew! You will treat Commander Wilson with respect!” Billie scolded.

Wilson raised his hand. “It’s okay, Billie.” He looked at the teenager’s fierce, accusing eyes and knew he had to try and reach out to him with compassion and understanding. “I saw your father’s jet tumble out of the sky, burning and breaking up until it impacted the water. None of us saw a parachute, and a parachute would have been obvious on our night-vision goggles. There was no emergency beeper, no radio call, no flares, no raft in the water, no reflection from your father’s helmet. We would have seen that, too.

“We stayed until Captain Swoboda directed us to leave because we were low on fuel. After we left, he directed the pilot of his Super Hornet to make runs over the crash site. They took heavy fire the whole time and saw no sign of your father, no evidence he was alive. Over the next two days, we continued with the operation, but we also searched for your dad, until the Iranians identified him. We have some national assets that verify he was never alive on the surface. He probably died instantly and never knew what hit him.”

“That’s what you think,” Drew replied, looking at Wilson with contempt.

“That’s my professional opinion, as an eyewitness to your father’s final moments.”

“So Tony Swoboda’s dad sent my dad to his death.”

“ DREW! ” Billie was mortified.

Wilson remained calm and answered, “Your father was the finest strike leader on that ship, and CAG Swoboda knew it. The target your father was given was a tough one, and he devised a plan to get the job done at a minimum of danger to us. Captain Swoboda was devastated by the loss of his trusted friend and shipmate. He’ll be here to visit with you tomorrow because I asked him to let me come over tonight.”

“But the stupid weapons didn’t work!”

“The Iranians did something to upset their guidance. We still don’t know what they did or why the other aircraft weren’t affected like we were. But your dad knew we had to succeed right then to take advantage of the element of surprise we had, before the Iranians could disperse their assets or hide ‘em. He was a man of conviction and accountability — and courage. If he didn’t do his job at that moment, then someone else would need to do it the next night — and it would have been a lot tougher for them. He reacted immediately, exposing himself to danger so others wouldn’t have to.”