Fallon or the White House? Top Gun or 1600? It was a question that had been going through Harm's mind all day, all weekend really. Could he really do it? Could he take command at a Naval Air Station? It would get him a lot of flight time in. It would get him the hell away from Washington. It would get him the hell away from JAG lawyers. It would get him the hell away from...from...from Mac. Mac. Why the fuck did it always come back to Mac. There had been Renee, there had been Jordan, there had been Annie and there had been all the miles in between. A year ago, two years ago, five years ago, if he'd been offered assignment to Fallon, he would have been packed by Saturday night. Now it was Sunday evening, and he sat alone in his apartment with a bottle of JD, staring down at his hands.

Could he really work at the White House? Could he sit in the Situation Room across the from the Secretary of State and see him as a work colleague as opposed to Mac's boyfriend? The President respected him, trusted him. He could be good, very good, it would help his career immeasurably. It would keep him in Washington. He'd be able to control his contact with the people at JAG, he could still see Sturgis and Bud and Harriet and little AJ. He wouldn't have to give up the apartment he'd put all this work into.

A knock came at the door and Harm went to the peephole to answer it. He saw an interim Secretary of State standing outside carrying a six pack of beer. "I know you're home, your Vette's outside." Nate called into the apartment. Harm opened the door to let him in. "Probably the last person you want to see right now, huh?"

"Well, there are war criminals below you on the list." Harm commented somewhat snidely.

"Good to know I can be redeemed." Nate laughed nervously. "Listen, it was not my intent to cause you any undue...stress, I suppose is the word."

"Mac's a big girl, she can live her own life." Harm stated dismissively as he took a seat on the couch.

"Come on, man, this is me you're talking to." Nate wouldn't let him squirm out of this one. "You and I have talked about this on a man-to-man level before. God damn it, Harm, you don't think I hate knowing that you're caught in the middle of this? I respect the hell out of you, I admire the hell out of you."

"If you cared so much, respected me so much, why did you do it?" Harm thought very little of betrayal and even less of sanctimony.

"Because I wanted her. I have from the first time I met her at your wetting down and your not a stupid man and you knew that. But I gave you every opportunity to say it out loud, to her, to me to anybody. Because once you said it out loud, it would be easier for you to say it to her. But you stubbornly wouldn't for God knows what reason. You've known her for more than six years." Nate took a breath. "She fell only short of begging you so many times and in so many ways to step up and be the man she always wanted you to be to her. And you couldn't do that."

"You son of a bitch!" Harm turned on him.

"You want to fight me, Harm?" Nate spat back. "Really? Am I really the person you're pissed at? You had all this time with her, everything she shared, she left a trail of bread crumbs for you right into her heart and I'm the person most deserving of your anger?"

"Why did you come here, Nate?" Harm was seething.

"I came here to tell you that I regret that it happened the way it did. I came here to tell you that the job offer at the White House is genuine, that I really do think you'd knock it out of the park and it would be a fast track to getting you flagged. You do what you want to do Harm, it's the only way you're ever gonna be happy from here on out." Nate tossed the six pack on the couch. "The beer's an apology for whatever I may or may not have done wrong. You're a hell of an officer and a top flight guy. I'm passed the point where I'm willing to walk away from Sarah MacKenzie, Harm. If you want her now, you're gonna have to do something real, you're gonna have to fight for her and not with your fists." Nate walked out the door.

Fallon or the White House? Choosing the White House would likely condemn him to being tethered to the Beltway for the remainder of his career. The closest he would ever get to the blue water Navy again would likely be christening ceremonies at the Norfolk pier for new ships. Yes, it would be a great opportunity for his career, yes it would get him in good with all the right people and he would probably get his flag as much as five years earlier if he took that road. But Washington had finally fatigued Harmon Rabb. He looked around his apartment and sighed. He was gonna have to call the movers and go out and find some boxes tomorrow, because he was headed for Fallon, Nevada.

1550 ZULU, MONDAY

JAG HEADQUARTERS

FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

The elevator brought Harmon Rabb into JAG ops for what very well might have been the last time. He crossed through the bullpen toward the Admiral's office. "Tiner, can I get in to see the Admiral?"

"Yes, sir. He was expecting you a little later, but I doubt that he'd be averse to handling your transfer now, sir." Tiner opened the intercom and told the Admiral that Harm was waiting for him. The Admiral waved Harm in and the Captain walked through the Admiral's door.

"Captain, have you made your decision?" The Admiral looked up from his desk.

"Yes, sir, I respectfully request that you put my transfer papers in to Admiral Ingles so that I can be ready to report to NAS Fallon next week." Harm remained at attention.

"Will do, Captain, thank you for informing me ahead of schedule." The Admiral gruffly stated. "Anything else, Captain?"

"Just wanted to say that it's been a pleasure serving under your command, sir. Even if I did force you to buy stock in Advil." Harm had a small smile on his face.

"You're a damn good officer, Captain, had a lot of men serve under me throughout my time in the Navy and not a one of them impressed me more than you did." AJ Chegwidden got out of his chair. "Thought of how you're going to get your Steerman out to Nevada?"

"Yes, sir, I figured I could fly it out and have everything else shipped by truck." Harm affirmed. "There's not a lot of stuff in my apartment anyway, shouldn't be that taxing a process."

"At least not physically, right Captain?" Admiral Chegwidden moved around to the front of his desk. "Captain this may be a good move for you career, but make sure you're doing it for the right reasons. You of all people should know that you can't run from ghosts, somehow, some way they always find a way to haunt you."

"Yes, sir." Harm cleared his throat. "But I came into the Navy to be an aviator, sir and I don't believe that it's simply some random coincidence that this opportunity has presented itself when it has."

"Well that's certainly one way of looking at it." The Admiral slowly nodded his head in acceptance. "Been a pleasure serving with you, Captain, I hope I'm there when you get your flag."

"Well, I'd like that, sir." Harm reached forward and shook the Admiral's hand. "Be sure to say your goodbyes on the way out, don't leave anything unfinished."

"Yes, sir." Harm gave an understanding nod.

"Dismissed, Captain." AJ returned to his chair.

"Aye, aye, sir." Harm turned on heel and left the Admiral's office. On his way back through the bullpen. The first person he ran into was Lieutenant Bud Roberts. "Bud!" Harm called.

"Sir?" Bud turned to face his friend and mentor. Harriet came over to join them.

"Bud, Harriet....I guess there's really no easy way to go about this but, I'm transferring out today." Harm stopped talking to collect his thoughts.

"Oh, we know, sir." Bud nodded. "But the Pentagon's not that far."

"No, Bud, I'm not headed back to Three Wise Men, the program has been discontinued. The Admiral has put some elbow grease into getting me a transfer out to a command post at NAS Fallon. I've accepted the post." Harm explained, attempting to do so quickly and painlessly.

"You're leaving us, sir?" Bud theorized.

"No, Bud, I'm not leaving. I'll keep in touch, be out here for little A.J's birthday, Sturgis' too and of course to visit the Wall at Christmas." Harm explained. "You'll see plenty of me."

"Just won't quite feel the same, sir." Harriet offered.

"Changes aren't always bad, Harriet, they're just changes." Harm looked over her shoulder. "I'm sure one of my pilots will do something stupid at some point and Bud will be sent out to investigate."

"Yes, sir." Bud laughed.

"Give little AJ a hug for me." Harm put a hand on Harriet's shoulder.

"Will do, sir." Harriet smiled and Harm moved passed them. He walked in the doorway of Sturgis Turner's office.

"Would figure that I'm shipping out just as you're settling in." Harm leaned against the doorway.

"Navy's funny that way." Sturgis pushed out a baritone chuckle. "So, which one did it turn out to be? Fallon or the White House?"

"Figured Fallon was more my speed right now." Harm answered simply. "One of my pilots is bound to get into trouble, maybe I'll get the Admiral to send you and Bud out to investigate."

"Harm, with your luck, the Admiral will be sending Bud and I out to Fallon to investigate you." Sturgis laughed and leaned back in the chair.

"Sturgis, I'm wounded." Harm played up. "I'm older now, wiser."

"And the Navy bought that argument?" Sturgis got up out of his chair.

"I guess, they're giving me a whole air wing to play with." Harm crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"God help us all." Sturgis quipped. Sturgis extended his hand and pulled Harm in for a quick bear hug. "Might end up CNO after all, huh?"

"Yeah, maybe." Harm pulled out of the hug and moved toward the door. "See ya later, Sturgis."

"Yeah, see ya later, Harm." Sturgis nodded and Harm moved out into the bullpen. He looked over at Mac's office and saw her sitting back in her chair on the phone. A wide smile played upon her lips. He considered it for a second. Should he go over and say goodbye? He shook his head and walked through the big glass doors and out of JAG ops for what might have been the last time.

1613 ZULU, THURSDAY
JAG HEADQUARTERS

FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Mac had been in a great mood all week and it was a week that seemed like it had lasted a month. It had started with the concert last Friday night and it was followed up by her surprising him at his apartment on Saturday morning with a ten mile run followed by breakfast take-out. Monday night she'd brought a few movies over from Blockbuster, he ordered some delivery pizza and they'd had a movie night. Then last night, Mac had her first encounter with shutterbugs as a few reporters had staked out their dinner date at 1789 in Georgetown. The owner of the restaurant was courteous enough to keep them out of the restaurant and away from the windows and he'd also provided a back door exit for the two of them to utilize and evade the press.

She'd walked into JAG just on time this morning and spent the morning working researching a new medical procedure that was being tied to a murder case she was trying. She was in court against Bud this afternoon in that particular case. She was having fun with a romance that finally worked the way a romance was supposed to work. They dated, they exchanged lovesick glances after going a day or two without seeing each other, they touched... a lot. She liked that she could slip off for a few seconds while working in her office and let her thoughts get lost in him.

The Carlson murder case was the story of an aviator accused of staging an intentional ramp strike in order to kill his RIO. She could really use Harm right now. She knew that he was supposed to be starting his reassignment this week, even though she wasn't sure where he'd been assigned. Mac picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number of the apartment North of Union Station. The normal ring of the phone was replaced with an automated message telling her that the number had been disconnected. Mac set the phone down in confusion, she figured that they had to be doing some kind of work on the lines in Harm's neighbourhood or something. She set the phone down in confusion and walked out into the bullpen. "Bud?"

"Yes, ma'am." Bud looked up from his paperwork at the Colonel.

"I tried calling Captain Rabb at home but the line was disconnected. Do you know where his current billet station is?"Mac was disappointed in herself that she hadn't taken the time to ask before he'd left JAG.

"Yes ma'am, he was headed to NAS Fallon this morning. He was taking the Steerman across country to Nevada, I wasn't sure when he was leaving. You might be able to still catch him if you left now." Bud looked at the Colonel whose expression instantly changed. She wasn't in court against Bud until 1400, she could head out and claim she was doing a follow up on her case before taking a lunch and coming back to JAG.

"Lieutenant, if the Admiral asks, I've left the office to follow up on a lead in Carlson and I'll be back after lunch." Mac headed for the door.

"Ma'am as the defence, if this is material to the case then I should be made party to it, should I not?" Bud inquired, suddenly curious.

"If it's material, Lieutenant, I'll apprise you of it immediately." Mac headed through the doors and rushed down the stairs to her Corvette. The whole drive to D.C, she never broke her laser-beam focus on getting to the apartment to talk to Harm, at least to wish him goodbye. She got there and the Lexus wasn't visible, which she took as a bad sign. She rode up in the elevator to the hallway outside the familiar and storied apartment. She saw the door swung open slightly and pushed her way through it. The apartment was cavernous, empty. She could hear her breath echo off the walls. Harmon Rabb Jr had slipped away without saying goodbye. Perhaps better for both of them that he had but that wasn't an argument she was willing to entertain at the moment. She shook her head and forced back tears. All the years and all the adventures that they had shared together and this was how it ended? He had just slipped away, briskly drifting away from DC like Chesapeake breeze.

She was angry. Angry at herself for having been so readily at his beck and call one last time. Angry at him for simply disappearing. Angry at the other man in her life, because she was sure he knew and sure he had kept it from her. She stormed down to her Corvette and thunderously shut the car door behind her, once again taking to the roads. Moments later she had pulled into the parking lot at Foggy Bottom and marched through the building to the outer office of the Secretary of State. "Is the Secretary in?" Mac inquired of Nate's secretary.

"Yes, he is." The later middle aged woman replied from behind her spectacles. "Whom may I ask is inquiring?"

"Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie." Mac sounded professional and angry. The secretary rang the intercom and Nate's voice could be heard through the other end.

"Yes, Betty." The familiar voice of Nate Ross rung through the room.

"A Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie is here to see you, sir." The secretary stated authoritatively.

"By all means let her in." Nate replied and the secretary got out of her chair and opened the door for Mac. "And Mrs. Clarkson? Sarah is henceforth to be extended walk-in privileges, understood?"

"Yes, sir." Mrs. Clarkson nodded curtly to the intercom. Mac was taken back by the seeming comfort with which he had used her given name. She moved into the office and was struck by it. Normally things like this wouldn't cause her to lose a step but this certainly did. She had referred to him as "Mr. Secretary" before, certainly Bud and Harriet had done the same in front of her and she had certainly accepted on a rational level that he was the Secretary of State but it had never really seemed tangible until this very moment. His office was considerably larger than the Admiral's and similar to the Admiral's office, the only windows into the room were behind his desk, creating the kind of image and presence that people in positions of power often wished to convey.

"Hey, Mac." Nate moved out from behind his desk. "Come to surprise me for lunch?"

"Come demanding an answer." Mac was firm, arms crossed in front of her chest.

"I'm gonna at least need to know the question, Alex." Nate laughed nervously.

"Why didn't you tell me about Harm's transfer out to NAS Fallon?" She pressed, causing him to back up against his desk.

"Well, I suppose because you never asked. But also because I'm a little pissed at him too." Nate's eyes narrowed. "I went to the plate for him with the National Security Advisor to get him that opening at the White House and he turned it down so that he could go teach stick-jockeys out in the desert? I'm a little annoyed."

"You made it possible for him to stay in Washington?" Mac's hard demeanour softened.

"Made it possible? I did everything but have the President give him a direct order." Nate's fingernails dug into the wood of his desk. "I didn't tell you because you never asked but also because I figured that he would have. The guy's your best friend, Mac, I figured it was one of those things that would come up in conversation, which isn't totally unreasonable."

"You're my boyfriend, you should have told me." Her tone softens as she moves toward his arms.

"Well, I'm learning still." He wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. Her stomach rumbled softly, interrupting the two of them. "Guess I have to feed you after all, huh?"

"Well, if you're going to offer..." Mac toyed.

0142 ZULU, FRIDAY

NAS FALLON

FALLON, NEVADA

"What are you looking out the window at, Commander?" Lieutenant Tyler "Dutch" Holland

"Nevada, Lieutenant." Commander Jack Keeter didn't even cast a glance over his shoulder at his subordinate. Their new skipper was supposed to be arriving today, his last billet was somewhere in D.C. Toast of the Georgetown cocktail circuit Keeter figured, one of those types. Coming in on a privately owned plane, who the hell did that? "When is this jokester supposed to be in, Dutch?"

"Before 1900, sir." Lieutenant Holland stared at the op-plan.

"Fallon tower, this is Steerman November Romeo 1-4-2." A voice came in over the squawk box.

"Steerman November Romeo 1-4-2, this is Fallon tower. Wind out of the west at eight knots, you're bearing 1-0-4 and cleared on runway 1, click twice for runway lights." Lieutenant Holland grumbled into the squawk box.

"Light it up just so I know which one's runway 1." The voice in the box chimed back in. Keeter reached down and lit up the runway. Keeter stepped outside the door to the tower and watched the yellow bi-plane come gliding in toward runway one. Yellow bi-plane? A yellow Steerman bi-plane? No, it couldn't be. Keeter watched the plane touch down at one of runway one and taxi down the runway to a gradual stop at home plate.

"Dutch, get a couple of plane captains out there to bring the bird into the garage." Keeter directed and Lieutenant Holland radioed into the hangar to get a couple plane captains out on to the runway to bring the bird in. "Not bad, sir." Keeter walked up to the yellow bi-plane.

"Thanks, Keeter." Harm pulled off his goggles and cap. Keeter's smile was a mile wide.

"Attention!" Keeter called and all the personnel within earshot came to attention. "This is Captain Harmon Rabb Jr. His call sign is "Hammer". I know him as the best damn squid I ever flew with. The rest of you will know him as your CO."

"Aye, aye, sir." The men replied.

"Lieutenant Holland!" Keeter shouted for the officer who had been acting as his staff assistant as the unit awaited its new commanding officer. The young officer came rushing over to his former CO. "Show the new CAG to his office, then inform the officers that I will be hosting a welcome party for Captain at my quarters this evening. As the CO of this base, you're also the CAG of VFC-13, the "Saints". I heard the SECNAV figured that since you're one of the few pilots to have ever flown a MiG, made sense to put you behind the stick of an F-5 bogey."

"Sounds unusually reasonable for the SECNAV." Harm laughed as the two men headed toward the base offices. "Nice to be part of a squadron again."

"Didn't you say that once before?" Keeter joshed as he opened the door. "Weather's something weird ass freaky out here, Harm. We get 115 degree days and then something like 40 degree nights. Snakes and Yotes are the only damn things that can survive here in the desert."

"Well, them and Navy pilots, right Keeter?" Harm pushed open the door to his new office. "Not bad digs."

"Not at all, sir." Keeter grinned. "You might find a bottle of Dewar's in your bottom drawer, Hammer."

"Sucking up to the new CAG before you even knew who he was, Keeter?" Harm laughed as he pulled the bottle out of his desk.

"Just trying to keep this duty station, Hammer." Keeter gave a nod to his new commander. "Thought you weren't supposed to officially check in until next Monday."

"Wasn't but I had the time, figured I'd skip out of Washington early and get here early. My stuff is being shipped in from D.C, should be here on Sunday morning." Harm leaned back in his chair. "Only thing that would make this duty any better is if Luke were here to keep pace with us."

"Amen to that, Hammer." Keeter took a seat opposite Harm.

"Alright, Keeter, give me a rundown of my pilots." Harm coughed lightly as he glanced out the window.

"Well, you met Dutch already." Keeter cleared his throat. "That's Lieutenant Tyler Holland. I had him as my staff officer while waited for our new CO. Good pilot, not great. Top flight staff officer, pencil pusher extraordinaire. Kind of officer some of the Navy higher ups are really in for. You'll meet the rest of the crew tonight."

"When's the next Top Gun class due in?" Harm played with a pen on his desk.

"Week Monday." Keeter grunted. "Avionics are starting to fly these damn planes for some of these kids. I'd like to see them ride with the last generation of gear, the stick and their wits. We've gotta start moving the kids up to the Hornets, next year is the last year for the Tomcats.

"I know." Harm shook his head. "End of a Navy era."

"They're moving us into bugs, that's the bitch of it. I almost wish they'd let me keep a Tomcat for myself when they retire the old gals." Keeter shook his head. "You may have some fun getting used to the F-5s, we should try and get up this weekend. I'll take you on a few runs through Dixie Valley, get you used to the terrain. It ain't like the runs that they used to have us do at Fightertown."

"Probably better that they moved us out to the desert, we fight sand wars now." Harm got up out of the chair. "So, should I have them move me into the BOQ, or you got a spare room at your place where I can crash until I find a decent place to live?"

"Yeah, I got a room." Keeter stepped toward the door. "Now, if I may be allowed to secure, sir, I've got to set us up for a welcome home party tonight."

"Welcome home, Commander Keeter?" Harm inquired curiously.

"Well yeah, Harm, back to the real Navy, your home." Keeter laughed again. "Permission to secure, sir?"

"Granted, Keeter." Harm laughed and waved Keeter out of the office.

SAME TIME, FRIDAY

MAC'S APARTMENT

GEORGETOWN

A pizza and a rented movie would normally be a wasted Friday night. It was less of one when you were making the pizza and some Pillsbury cookies with your boyfriend definitely improved the night considerably. Mac was standing over the counter with Nate's arms around her middle, as they delicately dressed the pizza with pepperoni, Italian sausage, mushrooms and green peppers. "Hey, did I tell you I made an interesting purchase at lunch today?" He kissed her neck.

"Oh yeah?" She had a definite lilt in her voice. He reached down into his pocket and produced a Polaroid. "What is that rust bucket?"

"Be kind, Mac." Nate retracted the picture. "It's a '32 Ford deuce coup...or at least the frame of one. I've got to restore it, of course, but it'll be a good hobby for me. I haven't put anything with an engine together since high school, but I can probably still lock in on how to do it."

"Okay, it's way too early in our relationship for me to talk to you about responsibly spending money. But in six weeks, you and I are going to have a serious conversation about spending money." She laughed boisterously.

"Come on, Mac. I still know where all the parts go and what they all do." He winked at her suggestively.

"I'll just bet you do, Major." She moved over to the counter and began rolling balls of dough.

"I've just got to find a classic 221 Ford flathead V-8 engine to put in it." Nate opened the oven and slid the pizza into it.

"Hun, under the right circumstances, you getting all gear-head with me is sexy, this is not that circumstance." Mac looked over her shoulder at her boyfriend who was leaning back against the cabinets.

"Understood, Colonel." Nate laughed lightly. "How's JAG?"

"Carlson case is killing me. I'm not sure how I can establish motive for how someone who decides to use a ramp strike as a method for murder. Martin Baker literally saved this RIO's life." Mac moved toward the living room.

"Well, it's either attempted murder to criminal negligence, isn't it?" Nate called from the kitchen.

"Problem with criminal negligence is that it could also implicate the CAG of the carrier if I argue that he should have known Lieutenant Carlson was too poor a pilot to be tasked with trapping at night." Mac called back. "Intent is what's killing me."

"Hey, that lawyers can ever establish requisite intent is one of the things I find fascinating about your profession. I deal with politicians all day, we're capable of ruining people using simple innuendo and aspersions." Nate chuckled heartily as he moved into the living room.

"Yeah, proof is an amusing thing." Mac laughed as she shuffled over next to him on the couch. "Aside from thinking up jokes and looking for hot rods to restore, you do actually do things as the Secretary of State, right? Because I'd hate to think my tax dollars are paying for that."

"Did you really want to hear about my conference call with the NSA and JCS Chairman or did you really want to hear about my face-to-face with the Israeli Foreign Minister?" Nate peaked an eyebrow. "I also took a few calls from bitchy ambassadors who were upset with their postings and wanting to be reassigned to some place with a little more sun, a little more beach-front boardwalk and a lot less bullets."

"No pass-blocking with the UN?" Mac questioned.

"Never, ever, ever on a Friday." Nate shook his head. "No one in New York works on a Friday, it takes them until noon just to get in to work. The latest the Secretary-General will ever call me is 9pm on a Thursday night."

"Really?" Mac got up from the couch.

"Well, unless something blows up...but then the call usually goes down the street to the White House switchboard operators." Nate swung his head back and forth in an attempt to relieve stress.

"That a job you want?"Mac's eyes peered into the living room.

"President of the United States?" Nate got up off the couch and moved into the kitchen. "I spoke to an old fraternity buddy of mine who's doing legal work up in New York for Gage, Whitney, Pace. He used to work for a Congressman a few years back and he's without question, the best writer I have ever seen in person. He thinks I should run, even offered to help quarterback my exploratory committee. Hell of an interesting guy, was the recording secretary for the Princeton Gilbert and Sullivan society."

"You're considering it?" She led him with a smile.

"I consider everything." He smiled back.

0344 ZULU, FRIDAY

NAS FALLON

FALLON, NEVADA

Keeter had the music playing, some hanging lights on the patio and beach chairs set up under the desert sunset. He brought out a couple of coolers stocked with Corona with a bottle of Cuervo tucked under his arm. "Cervesa!"

"Si! Senor!" Harm cheered as he took a cooler from Keeter. "Think the junior officers are a little reluctant to meet their new CO?"

"You're a pretty easy going, guy. They'll warm up to you." Keeter chuckled and settled into a chair.

"Lieutenant Tyler Holland reporting, sir." Lieutenant Holland squared up at the steps to Keeter's porch.

"Dutch, I swear to God, if you can't pull the stick out of your six..." Keeter started in.

"At ease, Lieutenant, take a seat." Harm called Keeter off. Lieutenant Holland climbed the stairs and Harm tossed him a beer. "Where ya from, Dutch?"

"Trenton, New Jersey, sir." The tepid young Lieutenant answered.

"And why'd you become an aviator?" Harm took a swig of his Corona.

"Was a thrill-seeker and knew girls liked the uniform, sir." Dutch replied with a smile. Two more officers snapped to attention at the foot of the steps.

"Permission to come aboard, sir?" The Hispanic officer inquired.

"Permission granted, Lieutenant Commander." Harm nodded and the two new men jumped up the stairs and grabbed a beer a piece.

"Captain, may I present Lieutenant Commander Miguel Rosales, we call him 'Rattler'." Keeter indicated the Hispanic officer. "Also, may I present Lieutenant Mario Fanelli, we call him 'Priest'." Keeter indicated to the other officer. "I'm sure the rest of the squadron will be around shortly, Hammer."

"I do hope your right, Commander Keeter, lessons we learn in the course our Navy career includes never turning down a drink with your CO." Harm laughed along with his new junior officers. "So, why Rattler, Commander Rosales?"

"I grew up in So Cal, in the Mojave desert specifically. When I was younger, my father used to take me and my brothers out in the desert riding horses. I learned that I could shoot the eyes out of a Western Diamondback Rattlesnake from thirty paces at a full gallop. Not bad training for here at the ranch, sir, but it don't do you a damn bit of good trying a night trap."

"And you, Lieutenant Fanelli, what's with the Priest moniker?" Harm looked to the obviously newly minted O-3.

"That one's our doing, Hammer." Keeter jumped in. "Ya never did see a more Catholic son of a bitch try to get one off the ground, I swear he even gives the last rights to dummy targets."

"Y'ever see combat, Priest?" Harm saw a bit of himself in the young Lieutenant.

"Yes sir, I was assigned here after I ran with the Black Knights off Johnny-Reb during the opening days of Operation Enduring Freedom. Managed a one-eyed return to the carrier after some flak cracked my canopy and sent some glass into my eyelid.

"They give you your DFC for that one?" Harm pressed.

"No sir, my CAG put me in for my DFC because I took the flak on the way in, hit every one of my targets on the ground, including the site that hit me, before turning and beating tail back home." The Lieutenant answered stoically.

"Good man, Lieutenant, damn good man." Harm nodded to his junior officer and raised his beer to him.