“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.
CHAPTER 50
“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… ?”
Cajun caught himself before he went too far. For a moment he looked for something nearby to throw, but then he slumped in his chair and looked away, face red and muscles taut. During their years together, Wilson had had several opportunities to observe Cajun’s volcanic temper, and he now watched as Cajun struggled to keep it in check.
After a few moments Saint spoke. “Will that be all, sir?”
Cajun lifted his head and folded his hands in his lap, eyes again burning into Saint. “Yes,” he answered. Saint left without making eye contact, closing the door behind him.
The two pilots listened to Saint’s footsteps recede down the passageway. “Sorry you had to see that,” Cajun said, closing his eyes and rubbing his temple.
“It’s okay, sir.”
Cajun looked up at Wilson. “Tell Psycho — and Smoke — I need them to get their minds right and I need them to fly. We are in combat. I’ll contact Doc Laskopf and ask him to give us 48 hours. He’ll work with us. And if those two can’t get their minds right, then I need to know ASAP. No more secrets.”
“Yes, sir,” Wilson replied. He noticed a single gray hair in Cajun’s moustache.
“Tell her I’ll talk to her tonight, after the flag brief.”
“Yes, sir. How about you, Skipper?”
“I’m fine. Just give me 10 minutes, Flip. I’ll meet you in CVIC,” Cajun added.
“Take 20, sir. We’ve got well over an hour before we give CAG our game plan, and it’s pretty much set already.”
“Roger that. Thanks,” Cajun answered, his weary fingers again rubbing his temple.
CHAPTER 51
While the world nervously watched the Strait of Hormuz and wondered if the United States was going to send a nuclear missile into Tehran, Cajun looked at his watch. “Okay, time to go.”
He then stood to leave and gathered up all the pages and put them in his strike planning folder while Wilson rolled up the chart of Bandar Abbas. Wilson followed him out of CVIC, where the bright fluorescent lights illuminated the activity of dozens of aviators in various stages of strike planning for their assigned targets. Admiral Smith and his staff expected Cajun and CAG Swoboda to brief them in 10 minutes. The so-called “lap-brief” would consist of big-picture items — such as strike composition, other assets assigned, and enemy order of battle — interspersed with myriad details concerning timing, tanking, target area tactics, and of critical importance, the aimpoints for the strike aircraft. CAG had approved Cajun’s thumbnail sketch of the plan earlier, which had allowed Cajun and his team to refine the plan and add detail for this brief with the strike group commander.