"Tom, I have to cut my speed to 300 knots." Harm needed to conserve fuel, but at speeds below 300 knots the F-4 was a brick. "Can you check me for damage?"
"Wilco, I'll look you over." Boone was positioned on the left side of Harm's ship but saw nothing to indicate any kind of trouble. "Nothing to port. Hold steady and I'll slip down to check the underside."
"See anything?" asked Harm
"You have some flak damage, but I don't see anything leaking down here. I'm going to give the starboard side a look."
"Okay, Tom." Harm knew that even with a serious fuel leak, if he could tank with the whale he could make it to the Ticonderoga.
Boone completed his once-over. "Harm, you have a dozen small caliber bullet holes low on the starboard side, and just ahead of the vertical stabilizer. Vapor is trailing from half of them." Boone was sure that the damage was the result of his friend purposefully drawing away enemy fire while he completed his bomb run.
"Any chance it could be hydraulic fluid?" Harm asked.
"Negative. Hydraulic fluid would be gone by now. My guess is that tank 6 or 7 has been hit." The F-4's fuel tanks were self sealing, but there were limits. "What's your fuel state?" asked Boone. Even at modest speeds, each of the two thirsty J79's burned fuel at nearly 150 pounds per minute.
"8,000 pounds. 3,000 pounds are in the center tank, and I can't transfer the fuel," said Harm. "
"Did you try the auxiliary pump?" Boone was sure that Harm had already tried it, but even the best aviators can overlook something simple.
"No joy. It looks like I'm losing about 100 pound per minute and I can't raise the tanker. I don't think it's on station."
"It's a hell of a way to run a war when a guy can't get five bucks worth of gas!" Boone's voice turned serious. "Harm, without the whale you won't make it to the boat. You'd better contact the Chicago and have them send out Clementine," which was one of the Kaman SH-2 Seasprite helicopters used for Search and Rescue (SAR) work. "I'll contact the Tico and let them know what's happening."
"Try to find out where that tanker is," asked Harm.
"For all we know it could be orbiting Hong Kong. Phillips only has one job, and he can't even do that one right," Phillips was Lt. Harold "Prince" Phillips, the KA-3B pilot. Phillips and Tom Boone were not on friendly terms.
Harm called the Chicago. "Red Crown...Red Crown. This is Navy Bad Man One."
"Go ahead, Bad Man," answered Chief Operations Specialist Nowell.
"I am 110 miles south east of center, heading 051 at angles 8. I'm suffering a fuel leak and I am unable to raise my tanker."
"Bad Man One, I have you on my scope." With the Chicago's array of powerful air search radar, Nowell could track dozens of aircraft simultaneously. "Bad Man, are you declaring an emergency?"
"That's A-firm."
"Bad Man, due to operational concerns, both of the Ticonderoga's tankers are currently out of service. I will try to vector a tanker to your location."
"Red Crown, I need to tank in eight minutes or I'm going swimming."
"Copy, Bad Man. I'll find you some fuel. To play it safe, I'm dispatching helicopter," said Chief Nowell, who handled PIRAZ- Positive Identification Radar Zones, in the western most portion of the Gulf of Tonkin.
Vietnam was divided into 6 Route Packages which ran from north to south, with Route Packs 5 and 6 being northern-most. The Navy and Marines were responsible for the packages along the coast of the Gulf of Tonkin, while the Air Force conducted its bombing campaign in the far north. During long periods between January and March, monsoon-driven fog and overcast precluded visual strikes in much of Vietnam. Because the November weather was favorable, the Air Force and the Navy were currently running a large number of strikes and demand for tankers was heavy.
Flying out of bases in Thailand and South Vietnam, the Air Force maintained several Boeing KC-135s in the air. The big Boeings were essentially 707 airliners configured for refueling, and supported fighter-bomber strikes as well as B-52 missions over Laos and eastern Cambodia; missions which could never be discussed. A single KC-135 could comfortably refuel a B-52, but the Air Force and Navy refueling systems were not compatible, so the Air Force could not assist.
Bad Man had less than ten minutes of fuel reaming before they had to eject. "Ditching" an aircraft was a thing of the past; aviators hit the silk and then were plucked out of the sea. Nowell estimated the chopper would arrive on scene in fifteen minutes, which put Bad Man in the water for five. A lot of unpleasant things could happen to a downed aviator during those five minutes. Nowell had to find some fuel, and find it fast.
"Harm, both of the Tico's tankers are sitting on the deck. Prince's ship is down with mechanical problems and number 2 is being refueled. Estimate 10 minutes to launch," said Boone.
When Tom Boone was informed that both of the Ticonderoga's tankers were out of service, he exploded over the radio and bad mouthed everyone from the Chief of Naval Operations on down the line. Boone's ass was in a sling, and when he got back to the boat his first stop was the CAG's office. Boone had been there before.
"I've got six minutes and I'd like to hold off going for that swim," said Harm.
"Screw the tanker. Let's try Plan-B," said Boone.
"I'm all ears," said Harm. Tom Boone was a hothead and he had the reputation in the squadron of being a screw up, but Harm knew that Tom was a damned good pilot and that he could think fast under pressure. Best friend or not, that was why Tom Boone was his wingman.
"Harm, go to circuit panel 2. There are two sets of 15 amp breakers for the fuel booster pumps at positions echo, foxtrot and golf. You want the breaker for the left pump at position foxtrot. It's at the inside edge of the panel." Tom Boone had earned a degree in electrical engineering from Iowa State and he understood the electrical systems of every aircraft that he was qualified to fly.
Circuit panel 2 was located on the right side of the cockpit and low enough to be out of the pilot's view. It wasn't going to be easy flying the aircraft and studying the panel at the same time, but Harmon Rabb was an extraordinary aviator. Harm being selected for the Blue Angels Flight Demonstration Team was proof enough.
"I've got it, Tom."
"Reset the breaker for the left side pump. Once the breaker is reset we'll see if the pump is energized."
"Ill try it." Thanks to the designers at McDonnell Douglas, the individual breakers in the F-4 were easy to manipulate, even while wearing gloves. Harm carefully pushed-in the button on the breaker and reset it.
"Harm, the pump is running. I see an increase in fuel flow coming from out of the bullet holes. The leak is defiantly in the aft tank," said Boone."
"I can see 3300 pounds on the gauge, but I still can't transfer it. Right now I'm just pumping fuel into the leak." For the first time, Harm's voice showed frustration.
"Listen, Harm, it's time for Plan-C."
"How many plans have you got?" asked Harm.
"There are 26 letters in the alphabet, or there were the last I checked. Go back to panel 2. At position golf there are two 5 amp breakers for the fuel transfer pumps. Reset the breaker for tank number 4, and then try to bypass the aft tank. If that doesn't work, reset the transfer pump breakers for the number 4 tank at positions foxtrot and echo. Do it in that exact order. I'll observe."
Harm tried position golf. When Tom reported there was no noticeable change in fuel leakage, Harm reset the breaker at position foxtrot.
"Harm, I think that did it. Fuel leakage just dropped by over 50%," said Boone.
"That should postpone our swim, at least for a while. Thanks, Tom. I owe you."
Tom Boone wondered what he'd done right in his life to deserve a friend like Harmon Rabb? "Don't sweat it, buddy. I'm staying with you for the whole ride."
"Hoot, the center tank is back on line. What's our fuel status?" Harm asked.
"At present the rate of fuel loss, we just bought ourselves 10 minutes. We can stay in the air for 15," said Gibson. There was no hesitation in his answer. It was short and concise, and gave Harm the exact information he needed to know.
"Time to the boat?" Harm asked.
"25 minutes. We're 10 short." Gibson bit his lower lip and forced himself to say, "Harm. I'm not a good swimmer."
"Hoot, if it comes down to that, there'll be a chopper ready to pull us out of the water before we even get our flight suits wet." Harmon Rabb wondered if he was trying to convince Hoot, or himself?
In the midst of such a serious situation, Harm was trying to remain focused on following procedures. Harm knew that fear was a killer. Fear lead to panic, and panic made for poor decisions. One bad decision and he and Hoot were dead. Then the Navy chaplain would be knocking at the door to tell Trish that she was a widow, and Little Harm would grow up without a father...just like he had.
USS Ticonderoga
17°30'00.0"N 108°30'00.0"E
Yankee Station-International waters
"That was the final evolution, Skipper," said Captain Brian "Buzzard" Bryant, the Commander of the Ticonderoga's air wing. "Two birds are still out. Rabb and Boone in Bad Man flight."
"What's their problem?" asked Nielsen.
"They did some freelancing on the Thạch Hãn River. Rabb has fuel issues. He may have to punch out. Red Crown is setting up for possible recovery."
"Fuel issues? Where are our two whales?" the Captain asked.
"Tuna One had to return due to engine trouble. Tuna Two is being refueled and will be ready to launch in under five minutes."
"What about the tankers from the Constellation?" asked Nielsen.
"The Connie's bird's were flying missions up in Hongay and Loc Choa. Her tankers are bone dry," explained the CAG.
"Tuna One. Isn't that Lt. Phillips?" asked Nielsen.
"That is correct, Skipper," said Bryant.
"I've heard his name more than once from Commander Rice." Taylor Rice headed the Aviation Intermediate Maintenance Department and he considered every aircraft on board the Ticonderoga to be his personal property. Rice did not speak highly of Lt. Phillips.
"Lt. Phillips has had a run of bad luck. I assure you that..."
"CAG, I don't have the luxury to differentiate between the incompetent and the unfortunate. We have two aviators who may run out of fuel, and that is unacceptable."
The tone in Nielsen's voice left no room for doubt. During the early days of WWII in the Pacific, Lt. Jack Nielsen was part of Fighter Squadron VF-8 and assigned to the USS Hornet. During the Battle of Midway, ten F4F Wildcats from VF-8 were forced to ditch due to lack of fuel, including Nielsen.
"I spent a night adrift in a one man raft, and it was only by the grace of God that a destroyer managed to find me. I won't have any man in my command suffer that fate, not while we have tankers. I want Tuna Two refueled and off the deck ASAP."
"That's Tuna Two taking off right now, Skipper." Nielsen looked out his window and saw the hefty jet tanker being launched from the Number Two cat. "Skipper, there is a second matter, this one concerning Lt. Boone."
"Yes?"
"When instructed that there were no tankers in the air, Lt. Boone began berating everyone and everything in the Navy."
"Considering his wingman may be forced to eject due to lack of tanker support, I can't say that I blame him," Nielsen admitted. "When Rabb and Boone return, wet or dry, I want to see them both on the bridge," ordered Nielsen.
Harm's radio crackled, "Navy Bad Man One, Navy Bad Man One, this is Red Crown, acknowledge."
"Red Crown, this is Bad Man One, go ahead."
"Bad Man, I found you some gas. Come right to 151 degrees and rendezvous with a Marine KC-130 heading for Đông Hà."
Heading 151 meant going back towards Vietnam and away from the Ticonderoga. If the KC-130 wasn't there, Harm knew they'd have no choice but to punch out. On the other hand, the whale would never reach them in time and he didn't stand a chance of making the Tico on what remained of his internal fuel.
Harm didn't need to think twice. "Red Crown, Bad Man One is changing course to 151. I have ten minutes fuel remaining."
"Roger Bad Man. Intercept time is six minutes. Contact Sumo Two on channel 129.5. I have a chopper inbound...just in case. Good luck."
Harm switched his radio to 129.5 and began calling for the tanker. "Sumo Two, Sumo Two, this is Navy Bad Man One. Acknowledge."
Sumo Two belonged to Marine squadron VMGR-152, which supported F-4s and A-4s used by Marine tactical squadrons. The KC-130's operated from Đông Hà, a base located just 10 km south of the DMZ.
"Bad Man One, this is Sumo Two. I understand you are looking for some gas," said Lt. Mike Conway, USMC.
"That's A-firm, Sumo. I've got the Ticonderoga's charge card."
"Bad Man, your credit's good with the Corps. I'm behind you and on your starboard. Let me know when you have a visual."
Harm swung his head and saw the tanker. "Tally Ho, Sumo. I have you off my right wing," said Harm.
"Bad Man, I'm going to pass you and set up for refueling."
"Roger, Sumo. How much have you got on tap?"
"The Corps has been busy today. I only have 15,000 pounds to give."
"Sumo, wait one," said Harm. "Tom, how much fuel do you need?"
"Take it all, Harm. I'm okay." Boone was lying. By the time he reached the Tico he was going to be on fumes."
"Tom, I need 12,000. You take 3,000," Harm insisted.
"Okay, Harm. You go ahead and tank."
"Sumo Two, I'll take 12,000. Make it premium."
"Sorry, Bad Man, but this is the Marine Corps. We can only afford regular, and no Green Stamps." Conway signaled his crew to begin unreeling the refueling hose. When the hose was deployed, Conway said, "Sumo Two is ready to commence refueling."
Unlike Air Force tankers where a dedicated boom operator in the tail literally "flies" the a refueling boom into the receiving aircraft, the Navy and Marines used the probe-and-drogue refueling method. Probe and Drogue employed a flexible hose that trails from the tanker aircraft and uses a basket, which looks like a giant shuttlecock, as the means of fuel delivery.
In order to receive fuel, Harm had to fly his Phantom in-trail of the KC-130 until he had closed enough to slide the probe protruding from the right side of the fuselage into the basket. For two aircraft which were traveling at over 300 mph, this required a closure rate of no more than five miles per hour. It was a tricky maneuver, but the skies over the Gulf of Tonkin were clear and calm, and Harmon Rabb was rock-steady at the controls.
"Contact," Harm announced. He pushed the basket forward a few feet, which opened the tanker's fuel flow valve and allowed the JP-5 to flow.
It took six minutes to refuel Harm's F-4, and another two minutes to refuel Boone. Harm now had over 15,000 pounds of fuel. Even with the leak, that amount would be sufficient for him to reach the Tico.
"Sumo, Bad Man leader. Refueling complete," announced Harm.
"Roger, Bad Man. I'd follow you out to Yankee Station, but I'm on fumes myself," explained Conway.
"I appreciate the assist, Sumo," said Harm.
"One team, one fight, Bad Man. Good luck." Lt. Conway rocked his wings and then headed for home.
"Tom, form up right and keep an eye on that leak. Let me know if anything changes."
"Copy, Harm. Loss appears unchanged. You'll make the 120 miles to the boat with fuel to spare."
"Red Crown...Red Crown, this is Bad Man One."
"Go ahead, Bad Man," said Chief Nowell, who had been monitoring the entire refueling process.
"Red Crown, I've tanked and I'm RTB. I should have over 3000 pounds remaining when I reach Yankee Station."
"Roger, Bad Man. I have the chopper on station for possible recovery. I was told to inform you that Tuna Two is airborne and on it's way."
Before Harm could respond, Tom Boone cut in. "Well it's about god damned time somebody got off their lazy ass!"
A new voice came on the radio. "Aircraft transmitting. Identify yourself," said Lt. Commander Charles Dawson, the commander of the Chicago's flight controllers. Byplay over the radio was commonplace, and was tolerated- to a point. Dawson felt that this particular pilot had been pushing the envelope too hard and for too long.
"This is Navy Bad Man Two. Lt. Thomas D. Boone at the controls."
"Copy, Bad Man Two," was all that Dawson had to say.
"I think I'm off that guy's Christmas list," said Boone, who didn't give a damn who was listening.
Harm said, "Stow the chatter, Tom," and their radio communications during the twenty minute flight to the Ticonderoga were routine.
Aircraft carriers must maintain a steady course and speed into the wind while launching or recovering aircraft, so the Ticonderoga and her two destroyer escorts were moving at two-thirds speed. In the meantime, a frigate on "plane guard" duty, maintained a position 20° to port and kept a distance of one mile behind the Tico.
While land based aircraft used a box-shaped traffic pattern, the normal pattern for landing on a carrier was an oval "race track" with a constant, semi-circular left turn. The race track pattern allowed aircraft timing, spacing, and intervals to be more easily controlled.
Harm could see the Tico's smoke before he saw the ship. Only the USS Enterprise was nuclear powered, the rest of the Navy's carriers ran on the same fuel oil that was used in WWII.
The first radio contact from the Tico came from the ship's air marshal. "Aircraft entering the pattern. Identify."
"This is two-two-niner. An F-4 which is short on fuel." There were no clever call signs now. Aircraft had to be identified by number.
"Marshal to 2-2-9, confirm. No push. You are the only aircraft in the pattern. Expect final bearing at 3-3-1. I'm handing you over to approach."
"Harm, you trap first," said Boone.
"Tom, you've got to be on fumes," said Harm.
"Just get your butt down there," said Boone.
"Two, two, niner, you are cleared for approach. Final radar contact 2 miles. Fly bull's-eye azimuth until lock-on. Final bearing 3-3-1."
"Two, two, niner, roger. I have beacon lock-on," answered Harm, who began to make preparations to land.
With no other traffic in the pattern, Harm raced along the Tico's starboard side, crossed the bow and then made a "break" turn; a full deflection snap-roll to the left at a 70-degree angle of bank. The break was accompanied by a chop of the throttles to slow down, which made for a very crisp and almost head-snapping maneuver.
Harm moved past the Tico's destroyer escort and turned left again. After establishing himself on the final leg, he began his landing checklist. There was a lot to do, and precious little time to do it.
By the time the checklist was completed, Harm had closed with the big ship's stern. Now he could spot the "meatball", an optical carrier landing aid using a Fresnel lens mounted on the left side of the platform. The ball was stabilized for the roll, pitch, and yaw of the warship and to maintain proper approach, Harm would need to keep an amber center light, called the "Meatball", lined up with the datum lights. If the Ball turned green he was too high. Red indicated a too low approach.
The Landing Signal Officer could give a "wave-off" by triggering a button on a hand-grip which was called the "pickle". Squeezing the pickle made the meatball array flash with an angry vengeance to signal an abort (called a bolter) and force the pilot to make a climb back up to the traffic pattern for another try.
"Phantom, approach. I have you in the box. Couple up," called the controller.
"Rabb. Phantom, two- two- niner, 3.1." The last number was Harm's fuel state.
The voice of "Paddles", the LSO, came through loud and clear. "Phantom, Paddles. You have a ready deck."
"Two, two, niner, roger," said Harm
"Phantom, you are lined up left...come right," the LSO instructed. Harm automatically did so. "Phantom, you are on center-line. CALL THE BALL!"
"Roger ball," and Harm began his final approach.
Paradoxically, although the F-4 was highly maneuverable and agile, the Phantom was rock-solid on approach to an aircraft carrier. Her twin turbojet engines gave almost instantaneous response to throttle movements and once trimmed, very little flight control input was needed. The Phantom's issue was that she landed fast at around 145 knots, and many novice pilots were caught off guard.
Not Harmon Rabb. Harm's F-4 descended gradually, almost as if it was walking down a flight of stairs.
As soon as he touched the deck, Harm pushed the throttles wide open. If his hook missed the wires and he boltered, he'd be at full power to lift off and go around for another landing attempt.
Harm caught the three-wire, and the big F-4 slammed to a stop.
With Tom Boone landing right behind him, Harm had no time to waste. The F-4 gently rolled backwards and an after a rating had secured the arresting cable, yellow shirted plane directors motioned Harm to a parking spot ahead of the island.
Harm clicked the button on his control stick to enable nose wheel steering and moved forward. This was the part of the recovery which Harm dreaded the most. An aircraft carrier's deck was a tight place to taxi. It was not unheard of for a pilot to make a textbook trap and then screw up while taxiing.
Fender benders in multi million dollar jets were not cheap.
"How'd you like that ride, Hoot?" Harm asked Gibson.
"I'll go up with you anytime, Harm," answered Gibson. Archie "Jughead" Bond, Tom Boone's RIO, complained that Boone had a quick temper and was hard to please. Harmon Rabb was the opposite.
As Hoot gained experience he'd be able to anticipate what Harm was going to do before he did it. This would lesson chances of his head being slammed into the radar scope or the side of the canopy. The backseat of an F-4 could be a harsh teacher, but Harmon Rabb was smoothing out the rough spots.
First to greet Harm was his plane captain, Aviation Boatswains Mate Third Class Andrew Thomas. Thomas was responsible for making sure that Harm's plane is fit to fly. He performing daily checks on the aircraft, and made additional checks before and after each flight. Plane captains often spend as much as 14 hours per day keeping "their" plane ready. Andrew Thomas was no exception.
Petty Officer Thomas felt that Harmon Rabb was one of the best officers in the squadron, and also one of the best pilots. Rabb was a true professional, and he appreciated all of the personnel that made the F-4 fly.
Thomas assisted Harm in getting out of the aircraft and then helped him with his gear. "You had me worried, Mister Rabb," he admitted.
"Sarah brought us home, but I'm afraid that I put few holes in her," Harm explained.
"Don't worry, sir. Once we get 'Sweet Sarah' patched up and painted, she'll look as good as new."
No sooner had Tom Boone and Archie Bond exited their F-4 then the ship's PA screamed, "Lieutenants Rabb and Boone are wanted on the bridge immediately."
"Looks like we've been called to the principal's office," said Boone.
"Tom, just shut the hell up," said Harm.
Seeing his friend angry caught Boone by surprise. In a rare demonstration of good sense, he decided on the spot to follow Harm's advice.
"Lieutenants Rabb and Boone, reporting as ordered," Harm said to Captain Nielsen. The two aviators were still in their flight kit, complete with survival vests and G-suits.
Nielsen's ass chewing lasted less than a minute. All of it was directed at Tom Boone, who wisely stood in silence.
"I just got off the horn with Captain DeLargy, skipper of the Chicago. It seems that one of my aviators was running his mouth on the radio. Oddly enough, I didn't need to ask who it was. I took it for granted that it was you, Mister Boone."
"No excuse, sir."
"Give me just one reason why I shouldn't put you on the deck," Nielsen demanded of Boone.
Harm spoke up. "Begging your pardon, Captain, but Lt. Boone saved my six."
"How so?"
"I lacked familiarity with my aircraft's electrical systems and could not reset the fuel or transfer pumps. Lt. Boone provided step by step instructions, which allowed me to restart both pumps. This gave me enough fuel to rendezvous with the Marine Corps tanker. Without Lt Boone's assistance, I would have been forced to eject, resulting in the loss of a $2.5 million aircraft. Sir, if Lt. Boone were to be removed from flight status his absence would be sorely missed. In fact, sir, our entire squadron would be at risk."
Nielsen coughed loudly. "Noted, Lt. Rabb." Nielsen shifted his glance back to Boone. "Mister Boone, you have popped up on my radar. That is not a good place to be. From this point forward, you will keep whatever opinions you may have about naval operations to yourself. Am I clear?"
"Perfectly clear, sir," answered Boone.
"Mister Boone, you are dismissed. Lt. Rabb, you will remain," and Nielsen watched as Boone fled the bridge.
Seeing that Harm was still at attention, Nielsen said, "Stand at ease, Son."
Nielsen looked Harmon Rabb up and down. Harm was a bit taller than his father, and thinner. Warren Rabb had a heavier build, or at least that was how Nielsen remembered him from the Hornet. One thing Nielsen was certain of was that the father and the son shared the same infectious smile. Warren Rabb's smile could light up a room. That was how he attracted Miss Sarah Harmon, the young woman who would become his wife.
"How is your mother?" Nielsen asked.
"She's fine, sir. Thank you for asking."
"Is she still on the farm in Pennsylvania?" asked Nielsen.
"Yes, sir. She lives in Beallsville and is quite comfortable there."
"Did she ever remarry?" asked Nielsen, knowing that it had been 26 years since the Navy Department had declared Warren Rabb dead.
"No, sir, and I doubt that she ever will."
Nielsen now asked, "You have a son, is that correct?"
"Yes, sir. Harmon Rabb Jr. He turned six years old last month."
There were a hundred more questions that Nielsen wanted to ask Rabb about his family, but good order and discipline precluded them. "The next time you speak to your mother, give her my regards."
"I'll do that. Thank you, sir."
"That will be all, Lieutenant," said Nielsen.
"Aye aye, sir," and Harmon Rabb left the bridge.
Jack Nielsen sat down in his chair, lit a Camel, and allowed his mind to drift back to the battle of Midway. His squadron flew for hours over open ocean while searching for the Jap fleet. They never saw so much as a ripple in the water. While returning to the Hornet, ten F4F's ran out of fuel and were forced to ditch. Two pilots were lost at sea, and Lt. Warren Rabb was one of them.
Lt. Rabb might have become a war hero, had he been given the chance, but at the Battle of Midway he never fired a shot. No one in VF-8 fired a shot at the enemy during what became a historic naval engagement. Rabb's death in early 1942 had seemed a tragedy, but seven other men from Squadron VF-8 would not survive to see VJ Day. Warren Rabb was simply the first among his squadron mates to die in the war.
Nielsen wondered how much Harmon Rabb really knew about his father? Jack Nielsen remembered Warren Rabb as being a fine aviator, but Nielsen's gut feeling told him that Warren's son Harmon would prove even better.
When Harm returned to their cabin, Boone was waiting for him. "Thanks, Harm. You pulled my ass out of the fire."
"Don't sweat it, Tom. I've got your six covered."
"Chow has been pushed back to 1900, so we've got time to clean up," said Boone.
"Glad to hear it," and Harm reached for his tape recorder.
Hi, Trish. It's Thanksgiving Day on the Tico and everything is quiet. Tom and I flew an easy mission this afternoon, and now we're going to wash up and head to the wardroom for a turkey dinner with all of the trimmings...