Chapter 18
The Blue Angel
Mac opened her eyes and automatically reached across the bed. This time her hand came to rest on Harm, who was sleeping quietly next to her. Mac slid closer and ran her hand over his well muscled arm; the same arm which had held her so tightly last night.
How long had it been since she'd been held like that? Not since Colonel John Farrow back on Okinawa.
Okinawa. What a mistake that was.
They had both risked serious damage to their careers, and having to hide their relationship made it seem tawdry. Worse still, it had made Mac feel as though she was the tramp that her father had long accused her of being.
Mac slipped her hand beneath Harm's undershirt and began running her fingers through the hair on his chest, stirring him from his slumber. "Hey, sleepyhead. Weren't you were supposed to go back to your own room?"
"I guess I didn't make it," Harm answered still half-asleep.
"What will mommy think when she sees your bed hasn't been slept in?"
"She'll probably cheer. Why are you awake this early?"
"I'm feeling better, so I want to go for my morning walk with Frank. Why don't you join us?"
"It's still dark outside," Harm groaned.
"I have it on good authority that the sun will rise."
"Which is when normal people get out of bed."
"Suit yourself." Mac grabbed a set of warmups and went in to use the head. When she returned, Harm was still in bed. "What time do we leave for Coronado?"
"1300. That should give you plenty of time to pack."
"Please, Harm, let's eat our meals at the hotel and not at exclusive downtown restaurants."
"I'm fine with that." La Fontanne was his parents favorite, not his own.
Mac bent down next to Harm, rubbed her cheek against his and then wrinkled her nose. "You need a shave. I'll be back home no later than 0930."
When Mac left the room, Harm reached for her pillow, which smelled just like her hair. Harm put the pillow against his face and promptly fell back to sleep.
When Mac walked into the kitchen, Frank had already brewed a pot of coffee. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"I'm fine. It was just an upset stomach. Right now I'd love a cup of hot coffee."
"Coming right up." Frank poured two cups of black coffee and sat down at the kitchen table.
Mac looked over the top of her cup. "I want to apologize for my being so rude last night."
Sarah MacKenzie could do no wrong in Frank Burnett's eyes. "Don't give it a second thought. You weren't feeling well, and Trish wants to mother every person who so much as sneezes."
"Even so, I behaved badly."
"That's not true. It is Trish and I who owe you an apology for our being overbearing. After all, you came here to offer your support to us during a difficult time."
"Before this visit, I've never experienced being part of a real family. There's a lot about it that I still don't understand. Even so, it means a lot that you've accepted me."
"Of course we've accepted you, Mac. I want your promise that if Trish or I step out of line again, you'll let us know."
"Frank, you and I and Trish all want the same thing. I only wish that I could snap my fingers and make everything turn out the way that the three of us want it to. Unfortunately, I don't have that power."
"Trish and I understand that. Do you feel up for a morning walk?"
"I'm looking forward to it."
"That's my girl."
The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Tom Boone pulled off the freeway and onto El Cajon Blvd.
"Hey, buddy, how about a stop for chow?" Boone asked Harmon Rabb Jr., who was resting against the passenger side door of Boone's new Chevrolet Chevelle.
"Sure. I'm hungry," the boy answered, and Boone pulled into the parking lot of the Alpine Café.
It was a Sunday morning and the café was crowded, so Boone and Harm took a seat and waited for an open booth. Boone's G-1 leather flight jacket, which sported a variety of squadron patches, attracted the attention of the older couple waiting next to them.
"Are you heading for the airshow in El Centro this morning?" the gentleman asked Boone.
"Yes, sir. I'm taking this little guy to see his father fly."
"My daddy's a Blue Angel," Little Harm said proudly.
"I thought that the Blue Angels were professional stunt pilots," the man's wife said.
"No, ma'am. They are highly skilled naval aviators. The Blues have completed their season and his dad is leaving the team to return to the fleet," said Boone.
"Are you a member of the team?" the man asked Boone.
"No, sir. I'm not in their league," Tom admitted.
"Have you deployed?"
"Yes, sir. Three combat deployments in the past four years."
"What aircraft do you fly?"
Boone pointed to a patch on his well-worn goatskin flight jacket. "I fly the F-8 Crusader. The last of the gunfighters."
"Alexander, party of two," the hostess announced.
The wife stood up, but her husband indicated for her to sit back down. "Go ahead and take our booth. We can wait a bit longer."
"That's very kind of you," said Boone. "Harm, thank the nice people for giving us their table."
"Thank you, sir. Thank you, ma'am."
The woman gave Harm an adoring smile. "What a polite little boy. How old are you?" she asked Harm.
"Almost five," Harm answered.
"He'll turn five on Wednesday," said Boone.
"He looks like he'll grow into a fine young man."
Boone nodded in agreement. "I can promise you that he's being raised right."
"Then maybe there's hope, even with all of the god damned hippies running around," the husband spat.
"Vernon, watch you language around the child," his wife cautioned.
"Sorry, I just get upset with the direction the country is heading. Thank heavens there's an election in November to shake things up."
Boone wasn't interested in politics; he had a steady job whether Nixon or Humphrey won the White House. "You folks have a nice day," and he and Harm took a booth by the window.
"Coffee?" asked their waitress. She was a pretty girl in her early twenties, slender, and with dark brown hair and soft brown eyes.
"Black, please. What do you want to drink?" Boone asked Harm.
"Hot chocolate...and I want a waffle."
Boone smiled and turned to the girl. "No need for menus. Ham and scrambled eggs with wheat toast for me, and a waffle for my young friend."
Boone had said the words "young friend" casually; just as any adult would, but Little Harm took it seriously.
Harmon Rabb Junior was excited and proud to imagine himself as being Tom Boone's friend.
"I thought he was your son," the waitress said.
"I'll make sure to mention that to his father this afternoon," Boone joked.
"So, you're not married?" the waitress asked.
This may be easier than I had thought. I should take Little Harm out more often.
"As a matter of fact I'm not."
The girl smiled at Boone. "I'm Peggy."
"It's nice to meet you, Peggy. I'm Tom."
"I'm Harm," Little Harm spoke up.
Harm didn't understand what was going on between Boone and the waitress, but he didn't like sharing Tom's attention with her.
"It's nice to meet you, Harm."
"My birthday is on Wednesday," Harm announced.
"In that case, I'll make sure that you get a special waffle." Peggy refilled Boone's coffee cup and then left the two alone.
"When does my daddy fly?" Harm asked.
Boone looked at his wrist watch, a Glycine Airman Special-Automatic. "Twelve hundred hours- high noon. Before your dad takes off, you and I can walk around and look at the airplanes on display. You'll even be able to sit in some of them. Would you like that?"
"Oh boy," Harm said in an excited voice.
"After the show is finished, the two of us will wait for your dad in the officers club. While we are inside the club, you'll have to be on your best behavior. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes, Tom," Harm promised.
Harm's hot chocolate and waffle arrived, with the waffle decorated with mounds of whipped cream and fresh strawberries.
While the boy dug into his waffle, Peggy served Boone's his ham and eggs and then slipped a piece of paper with her phone number into his hand.
"I live in La Mesa. I'm free in the evenings, and I get Wednesdays and Saturdays off."
"I'll give you a call this week." Boone had been concerned about the gradual loss of his hair, but it didn't seem to make any difference to the ladies who only saw the uniform...and his gold wings.
The ham and eggs proved tasty. After finishing his own breakfast, Boone looked across to Harm and saw that the boy's face was smeared with whipped cream.
"Did you managed to get any of that waffle into your mouth?"
"It was good. Thank you, Tom."
Boone dipped a napkin into his water glass and then wiped Harm's face clean. "My pleasure, buddy."
Tom Boone enjoyed spending time with Harm Junior. Boone had a nephew the same age as Little Harm, but because the boy lived in Iowa, Boone seldom saw him.
Boone paid the check, and after leaving Peggy a sizable tip, he and Harm continued to El Centro.
It was a 90 minute drive through California's Low Desert with little to see or do, but Little Harm was well behaved inside Boone's brand new car.
Because of its unique location, NAF El Centro was known to every naval aviator and played a key role in their initial and refresher training. What made the NAF so special was its combination of unique climate, vast unobstructed desert terrain, limited non-military air traffic and its own dedicated gunnery and bomb ranges. El Centro was an ideal environment for aerial combat maneuvering, air-to-air gunnery and bombing practice, as well as being the winter home of the Blue Angels.
1968 had been a difficult year for the Blues. A team member had suffered a fatal crash during an airshow at the close of 1967, and two more fatalities followed in practice flights in early 1968. While some in the Congress questioned the need for a Navy Flight Demonstration team, the US Navy was adamant that flying with the Blues was safer than a stateside training flight.
Cooler heads prevailed and the 1968 season went on as scheduled.
The line of visitors entering the base through the main gate was half a mile long, but with his ID decal on the front bumper, Boone breezed through the back gate with little more than a salute from the Marine guard.
Before they got out of the car, Boone spoke seriously with Little Harm. "There will be a big crowd here, and I don't want the two of us to become separated. Today, you're my wingman."
"What's a wingman?" Little Harm asked.
"It's going to be your job to stick with me, just like I always stick with your dad. Can you do that?"
"I think so. What's it like to be my daddy's wingman?"
"It means that your dad trusts me to be there whenever he needs me. More important is that your dad knows that I will never leave him- ever."
"Then I want to be your wingman," Little Harm said in an excited voice.
"Okay, buddy. Lets go and see some airplanes," said Boone, who appeared every bit as excited as Little Harm.
It seemed that an example of every aircraft in Navy inventory was parked on the tarmac, along with qualified naval aviators who were standing by to answer questions.
The F-4 Phantom II; the Navy's hottest fighter, and destined to become one of the Cold War's iconic aircraft, was drawing a lot of attention from the crowd.
There was a long line of people waiting to sit inside the cockpit of the F-4, but Boone recognized the Phantom's pilot as a member of his class in flight school.
"This is Harmon Rabb's son," Boone explained.
"Hammer's boy? By God, he looks just like him," and Little Harm went to the head of the line.
Although big for a five year old, Boone had to grab Little Harm under the shoulders and lower him into the cockpit. Once seated, Little Harm's face broke into a big smile, the same smile as his father.
Harm looked up at Boone. "How old do I have to be to fly?"
Boone laughed. "You still have a few more birthdays ahead of you."
"I want to fly with you and my daddy," Little Harm declared.
"Give it some time," said Boone, who wondered if it was remotely possible that he might someday fly with Harm Jr.?
Looking at airplanes is tough duty, and a man can work up an appetite. Trish had warned Boone not to allow Little Harm to eat too much junk food. Even so, it was a hot day and a break for ice cream sandwiches and a soda didn't seem to out of line.
The pair had just finished their snack when PA system crackled to life. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the world famous Blue Angels will begin their performance in 20 minutes. Those with VIP passes may now go to the grandstands."
"That's us," said Boone, who held up the passes that Big Harm had mailed Trish weeks ago.
As they waited in the grandstands, Little Harm asked, "How long have you known my daddy?"
"Since before he married your mother. Your dad and I met each other in flight school, along with Bill Ross."
"I like Bill, but I like you best," Little Harm admitted.
"Thanks, buddy," said Boone, who had no way to express to a five year old boy how much that simple statement actually meant to him.
The show began with the members of the team walking side by side to their aircraft, the Grumman F-11 Tiger. It was easy to spot Harmon Rabb, who was the tallest member of the team.
As each man approached his aircraft he was introduced.
"Flying Blue Angel Number Five, the lead solo, from Beallsville Pennsylvania, Lieutenant Harmon Rabb Senior," the PA blared.
"That's my daddy!" Little Harm shouted to anyone who would listen.
The engine start-up followed the introductions, then the four lead aircraft taxied out onto the runway for the famous Diamond Takeoff which was followed by a Half Cuban Eight.
Next came the two solo aircraft. When Harm's F-11 came into view, Boone and Little Harm began cheering.
As lead solo, it was Harm Senior's job to demonstrate the maximum performance characteristics of the aircraft. Harm rolled down the runway and at what seemed to be an impossibly slow speed, performed a Dirty Roll: a full 360 degree roll with the landing and arresting gear extended.
The minimum altitude for the maneuver should have been 200 feet above the deck, but Harm's aircraft was much lower than that.
"Beautiful, Harm. Beautiful," said Boone, who never ceased to be amazed by his friend's skill at the controls.
After completing the roll, Harm retracted the gear and transitioned into a Chandelle: a 180 degree turn combined with a high performance climb.
The Chandelle was a standard maneuver for every aviator- even for civilian pilots, but few could perform it was well as Harmon Rabb, and no one did it better.
Aircraft 1, 2, 3 and 4 now made their signature 18-inch wingtip-to-canopy diamond formation followed by the Diamond Roll with the entire diamond rolling as a single entity.
When Boone had asked Harm about flying in such a tight formation, Harm said matter of fact, "If our wings touch we're too close. If they don't touch we're too far apart."
When the two solo aircraft reappeared, both were flying in carrier landing configuration, but with Harm flying inverted and establishing a "mirror image" effect with his teammate.
"Daddy's upside down," observed Little Harm.
"He'll bring it around," said Boone, who knew that Harmon Rabb was the master of inverted flight.
An instant later, Harm came back to vertical and the two planes began a series of opposing scissors, passing so close to each other that it seemed impossible that they didn't collide.
The main group now performed a Diamond Dirty Loop with all four jets in carrier landing configuration followed by a Double Farvel—diamond formation flat pass with No.1 and No.4 aircraft inverted.
The two solo's came back on center stage and made a Knife Edge Pass at over 500 knots, which left the crowd gasping for breath. Harm finished the maneuver with a minimum radius turn followed by a horizontal loop pulling over 6Gs.
It was the highest G maneuver of the show. Boone knew that the Blue Angels didn't wear G-suits, but Harm made it look easy.
The second solo aircraft now joined in with the main diamond, which began a series of complex maneuvers finishing in the always popular Echelon Parade.
With the crowd's attention focused on the main group, Harm caught everyone by surprise when he made a "Sneak Pass."
Flying low over the crowd, Harm lit the F-11's afterburner and achieved the fastest speed of the show, traveling at just under Mach 1.
After performing a series of opposing Four Point Hesitation Rolls, Harm joined with the group for the Line-Abreast Loop—the most difficult formation maneuver where all 6 jets fly a loop in a straight line.
The show continued until the grand finale: a Loop Break Cross—Delta Break with the six aircraft separating in six different directions, performing half Cuban Eights, then crossing the center of the performance area.
The wild applause from the crowd showed how much they enjoyed the team's performance.
Little Harm tugged on Boone's sleeve. "My daddy flies good, doesn't he?"
"Your dad is the best," declared Boone.
Harmon Rabb Senior was recognized as being among the smoothest pilots in the US Navy. Every control action was calculated to be quick and precise, and always error free.
Harm was so smooth that it had been suggested his call sign be Silk, but there was no humor (or embarrassment) in that name.
In the meantime, Boone and rest of the squadron had already received preliminary training in the F-4 Phantom, which meant once Harm rejoined them he would have to play catch up.
Most pilots would be at a disadvantage, but Boone knew that Harmon Rabb would be at the top of the training class in no time.
After the crowd broke up, Boone and Little Harm headed to the officers club for lunch.
After finishing their cheese burgers and eating two bowls of ice cream each, Big Harm arrived at the club.
"Daddy, daddy!" Little Harm raced to his father who grabbed him and gave him a kiss.
"Hi, Champ. We're you a good boy for Tom today?" Harm asked.
"Yes, Daddy.
"He was great," agreed Boone. "I wish that Bill Ross and Gary Grissom were as well behaved."
"I was Tom's wingman," Little Harm said with considerable pride.
"Well, that's something special." Harm looked around the club and frowned. "I was hoping that Trish would be here."
"She wasn't feeling well this morning," said Boone, who suspected that the real reason that Trish didn't come along was because she didn't want to watch her husband fly.
Little Harm was given several pieces of Blue Angels gear, and after a round of backslapping and farewells from the other officers in the club, Harm grabbed his gear and they headed to the parking lot.
When Harm spotted Boone's brand new navy blue Chevelle with white cheat-lines, he gave an admiring whistle. "That's quite a ride."
"Take a look at the interior. It has the premium vinyl package with bucket seats."
"Nice. Speaking of new vehicles, I closed a deal on a Stearman 75 last week. It will be trucked to the farm on Thursday."
"How many pieces is it in?" asked Boone.
Harm laughed. "Three large pieces...and several boxes of parts. I'll keep it in the barn until I can find time to restore it."
"I wouldn't mind giving you a hand. Let me know when you're ready," said Boone, who held a degree in electrical engineering from Iowa State. "Besides, I haven't been out to the farm in a long time."
"Are we going to Grandma's house?" Little Harm asked anxiously from the backseat.
"Sorry, Champ. Not for a while," his father said.
"Scuttlebutt is that you turned down an instructor position at Pensacola," Boone said to Harm.
"I did. I've already missed two combat deployments. I can't sit out a third."
"What did Trish have to say about it?"
Harm gave Boone a sideways glance. "She wasn't happy."
Boone understood that Harm couldn't say more with his son in the car. "We can kick it around later."
"Don't forget that we're having Little Harm's birthday party on Saturday at 1300," Harm said.
"I wouldn't miss it. Do you think that Trish would mind if I brought someone along?"
"Tom loves Peggy. Tom loves Peggy," Little Harm began singing.
"Who is Peggy?" Big Harm asked.
"I'll clue you in later."
The drive back to San Diego was long and uninteresting, with Boone and Big Harm talking about their upcoming training in the F-4 Phantom which would take place in Yuma.
Little Harm tried to keep up with the conversation, but he finally stretched out in the backseat and quickly fell asleep.
"Looks like he's tired out," Big Harm observed.
"It's been a busy day, but he and I had a lot of fun."
"You're good with kids, Tom," said Harm.
"I suppose it's because I'm on their level."
When they arrived at the house in San Diego, Harm invited Boone to come in for a beer.
"No thanks. I want to get back to the base."
"You can call Peggy from our phone," Harm joked.
"I'll grab your gear while you take care of Little Harm," replied Boone.
Harm folded back the front passenger seat and looked down at his sleeping son. "Wake up, Champ."
Little Harm slowly opened his eyes and saw his father smiling down at him. "Are we home, Daddy?"
"We're home, son. Come on, mom's inside and she's waiting for us." Little Harm felt his father's powerful arms lift him out of the car and then carry him into the house.
Laying in bed in the guestroom, Harm reached for Mac's pillow again; only this time he used the pillowcase to dry his eyes.
[A/N] Five members of the Blue Angels Flight Demonstration team have been Killed In Action: Two in Korea, and three in Vietnam.
One of those killed in Vietnam was Commander Harley H. Hall, who is known to have survived an ejection from his F-4 Phantom which was struck by antiaircraft fire over Vietnam. In 1980, Commander Hall's status was changed from MIA to presumed dead and he was posthumously promoted to the rank of Captain. Unconfirmed reports had placed Captain Hall in the Soviet Union, but the current governments of Vietnam and Russia deny any knowledge of his whereabouts.
Captain Hall's Phantom: F-4J 155768 was the final combat loss of the type, and the last USN combat loss of war.
I feel that Captain Hall, whose name appears on Panel W1, Line 122 of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, served as the model for Harmon Rabb Sr's captivity in the Soviet Union.
