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Date Posted: 09:09:01 02/26/06 Sun
Author: Sylvia Mohr Bartlett
Subject: For Which We Are Truly Thankful Chapter 3 all
In reply to: Sylvia Mohr Bartlett 's message, "For Which We Are Truly Thankful Chapter 3 all" on 08:51:29 02/26/06 Sun

FOR WHICH WE ARE TRULY THANKFUL
PART 3 - JUST A WALK IN THE PARK

I think this is the finest example of stretching the envelope, writing beyond my experience and putting a piece of work out there that was accurate - thanks to my consultants, exciting, action filled, etc. I tend to write emotively, all about feelings and getting into people's heads, why they do what they do and what kind of life experiences brought them to a certain moment in their lives, but this chapter is a genuine action jackson chapter and I have to admit, I think it is all right.

The highest praise was from the folks I knew on the Hornet who helped me with the techinical data and being accurate. Impressing those guys, well I knew I'd done all right for a person whose background is not piloting a war bird. And they were impressed. They gathered in one of our ready rooms, handed the sheets I had written around and gave me the highest praise possible when the highest ranked and most experienced war bird pilot of them all said to me. "Damn, Sylvia...all I can say is you must have been a pilot in a previous life because you have it all going on."

So I hope this little adventure meets with your approval as well. Comments are always much to be desired, but I know this is a re-read for almost all here, so I won't expect much. Just know that I think I captured a bit of lightning in the bottle with this chapter and I hope my readers will enjoy coming along for the ride! Have a good one.

Blessings all, Sylvia Mohr Bartlett 2-26-2006



by Sylvia Bartlett Mohr



Harm was just about to leave his office one Tuesday evening in early November when his phone rang insistently. He sighed, tossed his cover back on the desk and set his briefcase on the floor as he scooped up the receiver. “Rabb, here.”

“Commander Rabb, this is Captain De La Torres out at Pax River.”

“Hey, Cag! Are you canceling my flight duty this weekend?” Harm asked, shaking his head no to Bud who was silently gesturing was he ready to go.

“Actually Hammer…I need to move you up on the flight schedule.”

“Sir?” Harm was surprised. His duties had been agreed for weekend rotations, rather like most reservists would fly, as he had regular JAG duties during the week.

“Sorry, Commander, but we’ve had an outbreak of flu here and we are short handed, but we can NOT afford to cut back on the CAP's. I have spoken with Admiral Chegwidden and he has agreed to allow you to fly tonight, provided you aren’t too worn out from your day’s duties.”

“Tonight, sir? My RIO is on leave.” Harm replied. “You would have to find me another…”

“That is all ready done, Harm. Would you mind? Need you here for briefing within the hour. I’ll send a chopper to pick you up.”

“Very well, Captain. I have my helmet, bag <Navy talk for flight suit> and G-suit out in my SUV, so I’ll get them and be waiting.”

“I really appreciate this, Commander Rabb. Things have been a little crazy around here of late.”

“See you soon, Cag.”

“Thanks again, Hammer. I’ll have your ‘Cat loaded for bear and ready to rock and roll.”

“Yes, sir.” Harm hung up the phone, thoughtfully.

Bud looked at him with wide eyes. “Sir, you’re flying tonight?”

“Evidently I am. Let’s see if Mac can give you that ride home, Bud. I’m sorry,” With a lopsided smile, Harm added, “but, duty calls…” He walked past Bud, being careful not to bump his friend’s cane, and looked in to the Colonel’s office. She was still seated at her desk in only her uniform blouse going over a file. “Uh, Mac?" He knocked at the frame of the door.

“What can I help you with, fly boy?” The Marine looked up at him with a warm smile, half hoping to get a dinner invitation.

“Sarah, I am sorry to have to ask you this, but could you sub for me giving Bud a ride home? Harriet had to leave early, you know. Doctor’s appointment.”

Mac frowned. “Aren’t you done for the night?”

The pilot/aviator hesitated an instant than took the plunge. “I thought I was but the flight leader out at Pax just called me to request I fly CAP tonight. They have some guys out sick. The carrier is doing quals, so they can’t spare anybody right now and I guess my name was next up on the rotation.”

“On a ‘school’ night, Commander?” The Chief of Staff side of the woman was peaking out.

The admiral appeared behind Harm and interceded. “I’ve already given my okay, Colonel; so, stand down. Harm, the guard shed called. Seeing as he already had cleared his request through me, I guess the Captain was pretty confident you’d be up for the challenge. He already had the helo airborne when he spoke with you. It is on final approach now, so you better go get your gear. Hustle up.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Harm straightened, mouthing a sorry at Mac, turned and saluted his commanding officer. “I’ll leave my briefcase in my office, sir.”

“No, Harm.” Mac offered. “I can take it over to your place after I drop Bud off. That way you’ll have your files when you get back.”

“Commander, if you can’t make it in tomorrow, just let inform Tiner or the Colonel. Don’t try and come back in to work until you’ve gotten some rest. Hope you didn’t drink too much coffee this afternoon.” Chegwidden said encouragingly as his senior lawyer smiled in response, nodding farewell to his friends. Bud had gone into Harm’s office and handed him his cover.

“Have a good, safe flight, sir.” Bud wished him.

“No worries, Bud. Just a walk in the park.” Harm left.



Sarah MacKenzie disciplined the expression on her face as she stood, closed the folder she had open, jammed it into her briefcase and began to get on her outer wear.

Admiral Chegwidden stepped over and held her uniform jacket for her to slip into. “He’ll be fine.” He murmured softly.

“He didn’t sleep much last night, Admiral. And it was a stressful day in court.” She replied trying to control her concern. “These CAPS usually run 8 to 12 hours. Where is he supposed to get that kind of reserve energy?” Bud was back at her door, juggling both Harm’s briefcase and his own. “Here, Bud. I can get Harm’s case. Thanks for fetching it for me.”

“I could probably manage it, ma’am.” Bud said half-heartedly.

“No. You just get the doors for us on the way out. Okay?”

“Deal, Colonel.” Bud smiled.

“Colonel, Mac. Don’t you stay up all night worrying about HIM. He’ll be fine. He’s been flying plenty of these the past few weeks without incident.” The admiral was doing his best to be reassuring, though he really shared her concern. “These days we can all be called on at any time to do something extra. This is just his night for it.”

As Bud and the Colonel emerged from the JAG building, the helicopter bearing Harm away was lifting off. The two watched it fly into the dark, winter sky and both breathed a silent prayer for an uneventful night’s patrol for their friend.


The pre-flight briefing was almost complete before the CAG appeared in the door of the squadron briefing room with an extremely young looking RIO in tow. “Sorry it took so long to get this fellow in here, but he was given the mistaken idea that because his pilot was sick; he had the night off. Guards had to rustle him up from BOQ. I’ve given him the briefing while I hustled him over here.”

“Cag, this is my pilot? The guys say he’s a lawyer, sir!”

The Captain did not appreciate this young pup stepping on his intro. “Quiet, Crapper! Rabb is a DAMN fine pilot with two DFC’s and plenty of combat flight experience to his credit. You’d know that if he wasn’t already in his flight suit. He has a very respectable salad bar on his uniform and is an Academy grad and shellback to boot. Compared to him, you aren’t even changing your diapers yet.”

Rabb winced. “Can he have a call sign like ‘Crapper’ in today’s Navy, Captain?”

The blonde young man gave a half hearted shrug. “With a name like John Johns and a chronic intestinal bug the whole time I was at flight training, it was kind of inevitable, sir…” He admitted. “Captain, I did not mean any disrespect to the Commander. It’s just a lot of the guys have been complaining about the Beltway Bandits and…”

“Can it, Crapper.” The CAG barked. “If that’s your version of an apology, you might want to take speech lessons from the Commander here. He also happens to be a damn fine attorney which means he knows how to kiss ass with the best of them.” This was said with a wink of conspiracy at Harm.

“God, Cag. I just can’t call my Rio, Crapper all night.” Harm looked the kid up and down. “I know. When you ride with me, your call sign is going to be ‘Doogie’.”

The kid groaned, getting the allusion to the TV show with the 16 year old doctor right away. “I think I’d rather be called ‘Crapper’, sir.”

Captain ‘Hoot’ De La Torres roared his approval. “I love it, Rabb. Doogie - well, kid, you just might have to change the front of your helmet. Shit, he even looks like the kid who played him. Why didn’t anyone else think of it?!” He clapped Harm on the back. “Score one for the more mature element of this man’s Navy! Doogie…” He walked away, shaking his head in glee. Over his shoulder, he called. “Wheels up in 20, gentlemen.”

“Come on, kid.” Harm cracked, heading for the locker room to suit up. “It’s gonna be past this Washington weenie’s bed time before we throttle up if we don’t haul ass.”

Harm was tightening his G-suit, when he noticed the RIO staring at him thoughtfully. “Sir, when I was suiting up, Digger told me you were the guy who played tag with the dirty nuke not too long ago. Is that true?”

“Yep.”

“He also said you’ve punched out more than anybody he ever knew. So are you a good pilot with sometimes shitty luck or a lucky pilot who gets bad hardware?”

Harm advised softly. “Doesn’t matter much, does it? You are flying with me whichever is true. Take your pick of whatever makes your mind the easiest, but I wouldn’t dwell on it. I don’t know anything about you. You could be the worst RIO is the fleet and it wouldn’t matter. We are needed and we are going to do our absolute best out there tonight, aren’t we? We aren’t flying over Iraq’s no fly zone. This is our country we are flying Combat Air Patrol over. That never happened in US history before September 11th. This isn’t a joy ride or an exercise. This MATTERS.”

Doogie nodded. “Yes, sir, Commander. You are right of course. Everyone here really seems to respect you. Even the Cag… That’s good enough for me, sir. And I was top of my class in RIO training, sir. I won’t let you down.”

Harm smiled. “I NEVER thought you would, Howser. So relax. This isn’t an appendectomy. This is what we are both trained to do. Let’s do it right.”


As they went through the pre-flight checklist, the young RIO finally relaxed. It was obvious to him that the Commander was a professional who knew his stuff. The weather was cold, but clear over their patrol route and he had every reason to believe things would go according to Hoyle. He was beginning to think that, even if things went to hell, this lawyer had what it would take to pull their bacon out of the fire.

Rabb’s take off was smooth as a hot knife slicing butter and Doogie was all smiles once they reached patrol altitude. He loved flying rear seat on a night like this, especially when there was no night carrier trap to worry about. He’d be heading home to a bed, not a rack when their flight was done.


They had been up for almost 6 hours, plugging for refills of gas from the nearest airborne ‘Texaco’ tanker, and doing their patrol thing, which was mostly keeping a watchful eye on civilian flights that were clearly by the book and occasionally wagging wings at another Air Force or Navy CAP where patrols came closest to each other. Rabb spun over on one such contact to fly a little head to head and Doogie got a picture with his night vision enabled digital camera he carried in his flight suit arm pocket. That might not have been strictly according to regs, but the Air Farce pilot seemed to get a kick out of it and no damage was done. Johns was really beginning to like the older pilot he had drawn. Rabb clearly knew his job and had an impish sense of humor that would come out every now and then. Still the man seemed totally professional.

“Commander Rabb?”

Harm sighed. “It’s Hammer in here, Doogie. Don’t be all formal, okay? You are making me feel even older than I am.”

“Why did you go into JAG, sir? You obviously love flying.”

Rabb’s eyes were somber. “I had a ramp strike a long time ago. We ejected, but my RIO didn’t survive. It was my eyes. I had had an infection and they thought I had developed night blindness from the fever. Turns out it was a correctable condition misdiagnosed. Until we found that out, I was grounded. It was get into something else or get out of the Navy all together. Not much of a choice, huh?”

“No, sir. Was he your friend? The RIO, sir.”

“Yea. It really sucked losing him, especially feeling like I had killed him.”

“But, sir, it wasn’t your fault if your vision was malfunctioning.” Doogie said earnestly.

“It felt like my fault. For a long time I really hated myself. I felt like I washed out of the one thing in the world I was really good at and killed somebody else doing it. If I had been the one injured it wouldn’t have been so bad, but losing my RIO. Look. Could we pick another topic?”

“So you’re a ring knocker, Hammer? How’d that come about?”

“Family tradition. My grandfather and father went to the Academy, too.”

“You must have some great sea stories at family gatherings, sir.” Doogie hinted eagerly.

Harm swallowed hard. “My grandfather died flying off the Horn in World War II, Doogie. My dad was shot down over Viet Nam in December 1969. I grew up listening to my Dad’s letter tapes though and I’ve read some of Grampa’s letters to Grandma Sarah.” He was trying to guide the conversation into safer areas.

The young officer in the rear seat regarded him. “God, sir. I’m - I’m sorry. Did your dad come home from Viet Nam when the prisoners came back?”

“No. He’s on The Wall. I go there often. He was MIA. I found out what happened to him just a couple of years ago. He died; I found out I had a brother I didn’t know about though.”

“How could that be?” The kid was puzzled.

Rabb sighed, but smiled. “It’s a long, strange story. My brother is half Russian. He flew choppers over there and was a prisoner in Chechnya for a while. He’s out now and he lived in Washington for a time, but he went back to Russia a couple of months ago.” Harm noticed something off to the east of their patrol path and a signal on the systems alerting… “Did you just get a hit on your sensors that indicated we were lighting up someone’s radar?”

Doogie’s eyes were wide as he scanned his dials. “Sir, more than that. We’re being painted!”

“Home Plate…” Harm called Pax River. “This is Tomcat Flight 2492, we have indication of contact with hostile intent. I am jinking.” He began to fly his war bird evasively while trying to get a better fix on the source of the trouble.

“Hammer, there. It's that small craft, just bigger than a fishing trawler. Shit, sir. They are firing tracers at us. We are taking 50 cal fire.”

“Easy, Doogie. We’re out of range.”

“Not if he’s got a shoulder launching SAM like they’ve been using against Israel!”

Harm was pulling the Tomcat up sharply to avoid taking bullet hits when he saw ignition on what appeared to be just that. “SAM launch! 3 o clock low! Hang tight, kid. These guys are playing hard ball.” He pulled his bird into a move that flew him parallel to the missile, evading the SAM locking on if it was guiding and not ballistic. The missile continued straight up. It had been ballistic.

Doogie called home base. “Home Plate, can you launch ready aircraft to assist? We are taking fire. It’s getting a little interesting out here.”

Rabb smiled tightly at the understatement. The younger man was keeping it together. The explosive detonated well to their six o’clock position, but another was coming hot behind it, so he didn’t have time to savor the victory. He dropped ECM. The missile went stupid and fell away.

Pax River tower called out. “Negative on the ready aircraft. We’ve had malfunctions down here. We are sending Coast Guard and Navy intercept ships to the hostiles’ sea location, but that is going to take a while. Can you make sure our unfriendlies don’t get lost without jeopardizing yourselves?”

“Well, it wouldn’t make our whole day if we did jeopardize ourselves…” Harm muttered. Into his radio, he responded. “Sure, Home Plate. Piece of cake. We’ll need Texaco again soon though.”

“Roger that. An Air Force tanker will meet you at safe altitude for your refuel in 15. Is that affirmative for remaining on station, once you refuel?”

“That’s what we're here for.” Doogie assured them.

The two men were kept busy monitoring the progress of the ship. This was complicated by the fact they had to avoid the range of the weapons the hostiles had already used to engage them. They had to stay out of the shoulder launched SAM range, as well as 50 cal bullet range, but periodically they had to fly in close enough to get good visuals.

Following guideline procedures for doing this burned through fuel, so they had to leave to rendevous with Texaco in less than the originally estimated 15 minutes. They went to fuel up; a quick and accurate plug and they were back monitoring the progress of the unfriendly ship. They had been flying over 8 hours now, but their adrenaline had long ago cleared away any cobwebs.

When the tanker was out of the area, Doogie suddenly called out, with urgency in his voice. “Sir, according to my recon, those are mines on their deck and their current heading and direction will take them within range of Baltimore harbor, if we don’t stop them.”

“We aren’t going to let that happen, are we?” Hammer said grimly. “The weapons we have are intended to keep planes from being flown into buildings, not interdict an effort to mine our harbors, but looks like we have a new mission to fly...”

“Hammer, this is the CAG. Did you guys just say they are carrying mines???”

“Sir, this is Doogie. Those are Russian built mines. Ship killers! I am transmitting recon now. We have to find a way to stop these sob’s!”

“Easy, kiddo. You heard him, skipper. What’s our move?”

“Can you come in on the deck and stop that ship, Rabb?”

“If you’ll authorize it, we’ll do what it takes. Keep the friendly ships out of the area until they are needed for mop up.”

“Hammer, we’re picking up a plane coming in above us. Indications are it is a domestic air liner scheduled for transit and it is at proper altitude and heading.” Howser reported with professional calm. “Recommend we continue to take out hostile on the deck.”

“Affirmative. Plate, we’re about to get real busy here. Hope you’re getting this for America’s Most Wanted or something.”

“Sir, your guns are hot.”

“I’m rolling in, ready to come in shit hot and pull out fast after we hit hard.” Rabb did as advertised. The water bucked up as the rounds from their M-61 nose cannon cut a path right for the ship’s fuel tanks. The bullets in the nose cannon were armor piercing and incendiary and the night sky light up with a massive explosion when they hit their target. Unfortunately an RPG was launched straight for the Tomcat right as she entered her strafing run. Harm yanked the plane hard over as soon as he could, but the explosion was close. His plane shuddered and he cried in pain as shrapnel bit into his left arm just below the shoulder.

Doogie called into the radio. “We’re hit. We’re hit.”

“Hang in there, Howser." The voice of his pilot crackling a bit with strain, but still strong and reassuring was heard. "I’ve got this under control. We just took some glancing flak is all. The guys on the deck have all gone to meet their maker.” Harm glanced over his flight indicators, as he pulled up for more altitude. “Left engine sucked up some of that shrapnel. We’re losing fuel. Damn. We’ve got an engine fire. Engine off. Fire Extinguisher.”

“You got it, sir. Fire’s out. Fire’s out.” Doogie whooped. “We’re okay.”

“It’s kind of breezy up front here.” Rabb said, calmly. “I think the canopy has a hole in it." His Rio moved in his seat, until he had somewhat of a view towards the forward compartment.

“Aw, hell…Hammer, you’re hit. That’s a lot of blood, sir.”

“It’s a flesh wound, Doogie. We’re all right. Can we head for 3rd, Home Plate?”

“Tomcat, if you make a nice gentle banking turn to 160 degrees, you’ll be right on our flight path.” The Seahawk had been holding flight quals not that far from the furthest edge of their patrol and it was their flight boss cutting in. “We have a ready deck and would be glad to buy you both a beer, gentlemen. Bring it home, Hammer.”

“Home Plate here, Hammer, I think that’s best. You’ve had enough fun for one night, don’t you think? An Air Force patrol plane will assume the rest of your watch. You’ve earned your keep.”

“Great.” Doogie muttered to his pilot. “So our reward is to have to do a night trap on one engine and sleep in a rack instead of a bed.”

“Trust me, kid…it’s better than a cold swim in the Atlantic any night or day.” Harm’s tone held the firm sound of experience. “Thanks for the invite, Seahawk. Will see you in a few. Get us on the glide slope, Doogie… and check fuel state when I am ready to call the ball. We need to do this clean. My arm’s starting to hurt some and I don’t want to have to bolter.”

“You got it, Hammer.”

Down below, the Cag of Seahawk made sure his LSO knew they would be having company for dinner, advising them to have the flight surgeon ready in the island when the Tomcat arrived.

This kid was all right, Harm thought with tired relief. He’d come through when things got hot. They both had. It was almost Miller time. He was beginning to think he was too old for this shit.

God, his arm hurt and he was bone-numbingly tired.



Morning dawned at JAG HQ. The Admiral walked into the bullpen to find all his people staring transfixed at ZNN as video footage began to play beside the headline, DEADLY ENCOUNTER BETWEEN NAVY CAP TOMCAT AND SHIP OFF BALTIMORE. The reporter addressed the camera. “This video footage obtained exclusively by ZNN from a passenger aboard the Transcontinental Air Flight shows the Tomcat rolling in hot while taking fire from a shoulder launched weapon and 50 caliber machine guns. Clearly this was an attack, but the Navy prevented a greater catastrophe.” The boat, somewhat larger than a fishing trawler, suddenly exploded with tremendous brilliance that overwhelmed the amateur camera’s ability to adapt. The picture went black and the camera zoomed in on the reporter. “At this point, the tourist filming the encounter was unable to continue filming as his plane banked away to safer air space. We don’t know who that brave crew was, but that ship appeared to be heading for Baltimore. We understand the fighter jet sustained some damage and had to land on a carrier in the area conducting flight qualifications. We will bring you updates as they become available.”

Chegwidden barked at his people. “We all have work to do…let’s get to it. Colonel MacKenzie, Commander Turner…my office. Now.”

As he entered Tiner’s area just outside his office, Tiner said. “Sir, Pax River is on line one.” The admiral nodded grimly and strode into his office leaving the door open.

“Chegwidden,” He snapped into the phone. “Was that…? I was afraid you were going to tell me that. Is he all right? I see. How bad is it? Okay. I’ll call them. Thank you, Captain.” He hung up the phone and looked up to see Turner and MacKenzie coming to attention before him.

“It was Commander Rabb.” He said, tersely. “That ship was trying to mine Baltimore Harbor. If Rabb’s flight hadn’t shown they were being radar tracked and then drawn fire…our first warning might have been a ship blowing up. Damn. Rabb didn’t have the equipment to take on a surface contact. He had to strafe ‘em to stop them.”

“Is the commander all right, sir? Did he make it home?” The colonel tried to keep her fear in check and sound only professionally concerned, but it was not strictly successful as her voice broke.

“He’s in sick bay on the Seahawk, Colonel.” The phone rang through and AJ picked it up. “Admiral Boone? I thought you were retiring, Tom. I see. How bad is…? He's still in surgery? You’ll let us know as soon as you know. I’ll be sending two of my people out. We have to verify the circumstances. There are liable to be some accusations that we overreacted. No, I agree the way that ship blew it was up to no good, but we will have to investigate. Right. So, the RIO got footage from the Tomcat’s view…they had already transmitted footage that confirmed the presence of mines? Well, that’s good. Will Commander Rabb…? Very well, sir. Thanks. Yea. I’m glad you are there, too.” He looked up and met worried gazes. “The commander was hit in the arm. He’s in surgery. Seems he was bleeding pretty severely. I’ll arrange for you two to head out to the ship. We’ll need the data processed and statements taken as soon as possible. He’ll be all right, you know.”

“Sure,” Mac said, “once he can prove that he was justified shooting up a boat that tried to kill him! He’s wounded, sir. What more do we need to know?”

“Colonel, if you can’t do the job…I’ll send someone else who can.” Admiral Chegwidden said sternly. “We have to handle this right.”

“We will, sir.” Commander Turner promised.

“Yes, Admiral. I’m sorry if my behavior suggested otherwise.” Mac said.

“You are understandably concerned for your friend, Mac. Now, both of you get out to the Seahawk and get to it. Tiner will make travel arrangements ASAP.” Chegwidden frowned as the two left his office, the admiral turned to his window, glancing out at the day while muttering to himself. “Just a walk in the park, Harm? Yeah, a walk in Central Park - New York City; and, you were mugged.”

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