The Wilsons took that as a cue to leave. Billie wiped her tears and fanned her face before Mary surrounded her with a hug.
“Thanks for coming. I’m so sorry you had to experience this on your homecoming night,” Billie said with a nervous laugh. “Drew didn’t mean it.”
Wilson hugged her. “We know, Billie, and we are here for you now and always. Whatever you need, you call us.”
She pulled away and held him at arm’s length. “He loved you, you know.”
“And I him. He was the greatest CO I’ll ever have.”
CHAPTER 74
A brisk November wind churned the fallen leaves into a small cyclone outside the Pentagon Metro Entrance. Mary Wilson led her two children toward the metal detectors, her parents and Wilson’s parents behind her. Mindful of the growing line of businessmen waiting to get through the security checkpoint, she tore the jackets off the children, and then realized she needed to go through first. As she removed her overcoat, it caught on her brooch. Her mother helped her free it while she became increasingly frazzled. Finally free of her coat, she walked through the detector and set it off — the brooch! She removed it before trying again and avoided eye contact with the impatient businessmen who looked at their watches and with the disapproving security personnel who monitored the checkpoint.
Once inside the building, they were met by Wilson in his service dress blue uniform, a loop of gold braid high on his left arm, and Weed in his khakis. Both men were there to escort them to the E-ring for the ceremony. Once up the escalator and into the open hallways, the children broke free and dashed ahead, dodging the endless stream of adults in business suits and harried action officers of every rank and service carrying folders of paper. An amused general watched Mary scurry after the children in her heels as they weaved through the crowd, first in one direction and then another. Mary looked over her shoulder at her husband, and Wilson got the message. “Excuse me, Mom, Dad. I think I need to lend a hand here.”
After navigating corridors and escalators for several minutes, they found themselves in Navy Country, a command-suite corridor on the fourth deck with a décor characterized by wood paneling, paintings of former Navy Secretaries, and glass-encased ship models that showed the evolution of U.S. naval vessels through the years. The reduction in foot traffic allowed them to see people nearly a football field away as they walked down the corridor. The group peeked in at the furniture and paintings of some well-appointed offices and passed by others that had certain signs above the doors: “Secretary of the Navy” and “Chief of Naval Operations.”
Wilson led them into a wood-paneled conference room. Empty of furniture, a ceiling-to-floor navy blue curtain at one end of the room served as a backdrop to the “Stars and Stripes” and the Navy flag. Through the windows they could see people working in the offices of D-ring.
Many guests were already assembled, including several Ravens: Dutch, Blade, Psycho and Smoke had driven up from Oceana, and Olive had taken the afternoon off from Test Pilot School at NAS Patuxent River. The former squadronmates caught up with each other in the back of the room, and Wilson found a moment alone with Olive.
“How you doing?” he asked.
“Good. Okay. Studying hard.”
“Great. Flying a lot?”
“Yeah,” she said and smiled. “Flew a Seahawk the other day. Pretty cool. I mean, you are right in the weeds, and you have to fly that thing.”
“I’ll bet. Thanks for coming.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“It was an honor to be in the same squadron with you. You are a hell of a naval officer.”
Touched, Olive nodded her thanks. “Thank you. If I stay, it will be to serve with you again.”
As Wilson smiled, another lieutenant commander wearing a gold braid loop walked up to him and whispered, “The boss is on the way.”
Wilson excused himself from his squadronmates to greet his boss. The Chief of Naval Operations was a surface warfare officer in his late fifties, tall, with thinning dark hair accented by a touch of gray around his temples. His engaging smile, a smile especially suited for ceremonies like this, lit up the room as he walked in. Wilson introduced him to his family, and the CNO shook each person’s hand warmly and gave special attention to the children, both of whom were taken by this gregarious stranger. The sleeves on his blue uniform were weighted down by bands of braid that signified his four-star rank. The junior officers, who had never met a four-star, much less a CNO, were dazzled. After he worked the room, the CNO stepped with Wilson to the front and welcomed the crowd, recognizing everyone he had just met by name.
“Those of us in the Navy know it is a family, and we especially see that today. Retired Chief Warrant Officer Raymond Wilson, with whom I served over 20 years ago, stands here as the proud father of Jim. You may not remember, Warrant Officer Wilson, but I was the XO of Sampson, and your SURFLANT inspection team found a few discrepancies with our damage control equipment, discrepancies that you laid out to me in no uncertain terms — with a few ‘sirs’ thrown in there to keep everything professional.”
The audience chuckled, and Wilson’s father beamed. “Sampson was a good ship, CNO.”
“Well, yes, she was, and she was made better by the great job you did inspecting us and pulling no punches, and I mean no punches, in your debrief to me. So thanks, Warrant — I think — and welcome!”
After laughter and polite applause, the CNO turned serious.
“Again, everyone, thanks for coming today. It’s an honor for me to preside over this ceremony, the first presentation of this prestigious combat award to a naval aviator since the Vietnam War. When I met Jim Wilson, and interviewed him to be my aide, I was immediately impressed by his professional demeanor, his attention to detail, and, of course, his quick, friendly smile.
“While I was aware of his combat record during his recent deployment aboard Valley Forge, it wasn’t until I read the justification statement for this award that I realized just how eye-watering, to use an aviation term, his aerial performance was over the skies of Iran. A close-in dogfight, twice, the first time completely unarmed, with one of Iran’s most experienced pilots, who flew a secret fifth-generation fighter.
“Jim also planned and led a key strike on a vital facility that we needed to neutralize. With minimum time to plan and a small number of aircraft to accomplish the mission, this was an awe-inspiring performance. Jim Wilson’s feats are already legend throughout the aviation community.
“Jim, I think you will agree that, to a great extent, the awards we receive are a reflection of the outstanding job done by our subordinates. This award, however, is truly a reflection of your superb flying ability and preflight preparation. You took the aircraft and training our country provided you, and with your own aggressive spirit and a resolute commitment to excellence, you contributed to a big win for our nation. This award Jim, is yours, and your Navy and your country thank you.”
The CNO picked up the Navy Cross and motioned to his flag writer. “Linda, go ahead…”
As the military members in the room came to attention and the award citation was read, the CNO placed the Navy Cross, second to the Medal of Honor in precedence, on Wilson’s chest, speaking in a low tone only Wilson could hear.