Kevin Miller - Declared Hostile

“Too provocative. Actually heard we might be operating in the vicinity of Panama. Maybe we’ll get to fly some close air support with the Army and some dissimilar hops against F-16s.

“Drug ops?”

“Nah, we’re too much of a national asset for that small stuff. Besides, they come through here, too. I think Panama, with the Chinese interest in building their own canal through Lake Nicaragua. Send ‘em a signal we’re watching them.”

Annie nodded. “Makes sense. Hey, thanks for the leave.”

“You and Mike have a good time?”

“Yeah, we went to St. John and Tortola. Beautiful. Boating, snorkeling… just beautiful. Met some fun Brit ex-pats living on a sailboat. What a life.”

“You could live like that, too, after you retire.”

“Yeah, but our little guy is thriving in Virginia Beach. Can’t do it,” Annie said.

Wilson smiled and shook his head. “You are such a mom. To both of your boys.”

“Yes, and Mike would agree with you.” Annie chuckled before she changed the subject. “How’s Mary?”

Mary. Wilson wondered himself. She was distant when they had talked on the phone and seemed further away than the actual 1,200 miles between them. He knew her seeming preoccupation was more than catching her at a bad time on a bad day. Derrick, now in sixth grade, was becoming moody with his video game obsessions. With that, and eight-year-old Brittany’s sexualized cultural desire to be thirteen, she had her hands full. But there was more. For the first time in their married life, he suspected her of having an affair.

Against his desire, Mary had taken a job in Suffolk, and the daily scramble — to get the kids off to school, fight the I-64 traffic, and deal with the guilt of after-school daycare — was taking its toll on her. And where was he? At sea or on a detachment for weeks or months at a time, preoccupied with the squadron and bringing the job home, not engaged with his family. And yesterday he was in “paradise,” partying it up — and talking to strippers.

Who is Mary talking to? Probably the guy in her office, Tom, divorced, outgoing, a single parent— like Mary . They had lots “in common,” lots to share. What else are they sharing?

“She’s doing great, kids are great. All good,” Wilson quickly responded.

Annie smiled and nodded her approval. “She’s such a doll. Mike says she’s doing a great job taking care of him and all the squadron girls in the spouses’ club.” Wilson didn’t want a reminder of more of Mary’s responsibilities. He needed to change the subject.

“I hear a bunch of fleet training guys came aboard. Have you seen any of them?”

“Yes,” Annie replied. “My red-haired brother Weed is in the group, and some other guys I don’t know. TOPGUN types.”

Wilson smiled. Mike “Weed” Hopper had been his roommate in the Ravens. Promoted to the rank of Commander and serving as a staff member on the Operational Test and Evaluation Force, Weed had hoped to get his own squadron command; however, his career timing had gone against it. This Caribbean at-sea period would be a fun opportunity to fly together again.

Just then the ready room door burst open. “ Kemosabe! ”

Beaming, Wilson rose to greet his friend and grasped his outstretched hand. “ All right, Weed! Welcome aboard!”

“Hey, Flip! Hey, Annie! Great to be haze gray again! Only been aboard thirty minutes and I’m tired, hungry, and — well — never mind!”

“Glad to see you in a flight suit,” Wilson said. “How hard was it to extricate yourself from your desk?”

“I managed. Part of my job description is to bag traps with fleet pilots like you so I don’t go insane. And down here, in our sunny warm-water playground, like the old days.”

“What are you guys doing aboard this time?” Wilson asked him.

“Well, we’re working a project with DARPA on some cool new sensors. We’re going to run some profiles with them, maybe drop a few precision weapons to get these boxes a full test. What’s coming down the road is incredible.”

Annie asked, “Whose jets are you going to fly?”

Weed turned to Flip and suppressed a smile. “Well, ah, yours , if you have one to spare. You’ll be happy to know, Flip, that I asked for the Firebirds by name.”

“Just for you?” Wilson deadpanned, suspecting the answer.

“Well, no… A TOPGUN guy they call Chainsaw is also flying with you. Doesn’t talk much and may have killed a man once. Got off on a technicality . But hey , that’s all behind us now!”

Wilson smiled. “How is he behind the ship?”

“Oh, just like me! Solid as a rock. Gets aboard two out of five tries and had only one blown tire last time out! You can sleep soundly!”

Wilson smiled again at Weed’s banter. Same old Weed. It will be fun to have him out here , he thought. And maybe they could find an excuse to fly together. Such opportunities were rare, but as the CO, he was in a position to make it happen.

“We better get going,” Annie said.

The three commanders left the ready room and headed forward to the Carrier Intel Center, or CVIC. The other strike group commanding officers were gathered there to hear from the admiral on the upcoming at-sea period.

Once they arrived at the restricted space, they showed their ID cards to the sailor in the window. Satisfied, the sailor hit a switch to unlock the door, which buzzed until Wilson opened it. When they stepped inside and went to the main planning room where the rest of the “heavies” were gathered in light conversation, Weed boomed an exaggerated Hey! at seeing former shipmates after many years apart. The trio found seats among the folding chairs and joined in the socializing. A few moments later, the murmur of conversation was broken by a sharply raised voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the admiral.”

The room snapped to attention, the silence broken by the footsteps of the admiral and his entourage as they walked up to the lectern. CAG Matson and Captain Sanders were right behind the admiral, and all were dressed in khaki, the admiral sporting his characteristic navy blue pullover sweater.

With the officers still at attention, the admiral pulled out a folder and placed it on the lectern. “Pleased be seated,” he said.

The group took their seats and waited.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I trust everyone had a nice time in St. Thomas. You are all to be commended on the conduct of the liberty party. Now that everyone’s batteries are recharged, we have a full four-week tailored training period ahead of us. While we are in these warm waters, we’ll be doing reactor drills in preparation for the upcoming Operational Readiness Inspection, as well as ongoing qualifications of new personnel, some of whom have just joined us. Damage control preparation and material readiness are also areas of concern, so we’ll be conducting general quarters drills and take a strain on material conditions and personnel qualifications.”

As the admiral talked, Wilson wondered why he had gathered all commanding officers here for this routine stuff. And why the dramatic entrance? Meyerkopf was different from other admirals Wilson had observed. He appeared to be uncomfortable around the aviators. Wilson also noticed the admiral did not discuss air wing training.

The admiral continued.

“While we can conduct this training anywhere, Fleet Forces has sent us here to show the flag in this part of the world. Carriers haven’t spent time much time in these waters in years as they’ve been wed to Central Command needs in the Middle East. SOUTHCOM has been asking for carrier presence for some time, and even this short cruise down here is welcome. We’ll be operating in the middle of the Caribbean basin, between Hispaniola and South America, with a swing by Panama and Nicaragua. You aviators will fly and do what you do during this time, but the focus will be on the upkeep of Coral Sea’s nuclear plant, which is critical to the tasking of this capital warship.”