[A/N] My thanks to minimindbender for being gracious in allowing me the use of a plot device.
Chapter 21
Flyboy
Thursday, 15 October, 1998
0710 PDT
Hotel Del Coronado
San Diego, CA
From the time that Mac was a little girl her life was filled with noise, but right now the only sound in the hotel room was Harm's peaceful breathing.
Mac's curiosity about Harm had been satisfied, and pleasantly so. Harm had been forceful in the beginning; holding her tightly in his strong arms, which was what she had needed. Then he became gentle and careful; even tender, telling her over and over again that he loved her, which was what she wanted.
Mac needed to stretch, but hesitated because Harm was holding her. Mac didn't want to wake Harm, so she just laid there quietly and allowed her mind to wander.
Sarah MacKenzie was as close to sober as she'd been in a week. Marriage ceremonies at the Yuma County Courthouse began at 5:00 PM, so Sarah had a couple of drinks that afternoon; just enough to take the edge off.
Sitting next to Sarah was Chris Ragle, along with several other couples who had paid their marriage license fee and were waiting to begin married life.
The clerk of the court opened the doors to the courtroom's second floor lobby at precisely 5:00 PM and began collecting the $35 fee for the ceremony: cash only- exact change required.
Chris was in an expansive mood. He had brought along a stack of $5 bills and he gladly made change for those who were not so well prepared. Several of the grooms told him they were envious of his gorgeous wife to be.
Witnesses were provided by the court, and the entire ceremony took less time than it had taken to park their car. By 6:30 PM, Sarah and Chris were eating dinner in a downtown Mexican restaurant and then at a bar celebrating their marriage.
It was after midnight when Chris pulled his Ford Escort in to the parking lot of the Yuma Royal Motor Inn. Chris rang the bell for the night clerk and a fat old man in boxer shorts and a t-shirt appeared. The old man looked Sarah up and down and licked his lips. He took $20 from Chris, handed him a key, and Mr. and Mrs. Christopher Ragle staggered to their "honeymoon suite."
One hour later, Chris was sprawled face down on the bed with a bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor below him. Sarah was still in the bathroom and heaving into the toilet bowl, having lost her virginity and her dinner in short order.
In the morning, Chris was wide awake and ready to begin the drive to California.
"I've got a lot of big deals lined up in San Diego," Chris promised his new wife, who took a hand full of ibuprofen and washed them down with Jack and Coke.
After a shower, Sarah's hangover was fading and she was beginning to feel upbeat. Chris was a San Diego native and she had always wanted to live near the beach. Besides, if Chris was even half as well connected as he claimed to be they'd be living comfortably in no time.
Climbing into the Escort, Sarah was excited to start her new life away from Yuma, and her father.
When they reached the California Agricultural Inspection Station on I-8, Sarah saw that a California Highway Patrol car had pull in behind them. The plate number on the Ford Escort was for a pickup truck and not a passenger car. The CHP officer lit them up and then moved them into the secondary inspection area where he ran the Escort's VIN number.
The car had been stolen out of El Cajon. Chris had active warrants in Riverside County for auto theft and fraud and was handcuffed by an Imperial County Sheriff's Deputy who arrived on scene to transport him.
As Chris sat inside the deputy's patrol car he reassured Sarah, "Go back home, baby. When I make bail I'll come back for you."
"You are free to go," the CHP officer told Sarah.
Straight back to Yuma...and to my father.
The officer had seen the same forlorn look on the faces of other young women attempting to go from Yuma to the California coast. It was less than a three hour drive, but the distance proved insurmountable for many.
The tow truck driver arrived to haul the stolen Ford Escort to an impound yard in El Centro. Although it was against his company's policy, he gave Sarah a ride to the next exit, dropping her off near a Chevron station.
"Good luck, Miss," the driver said.
"I don't know what 'good luck' is. I've never had any."
Sarah walked away from the tow truck while still carrying her overnight bag and wondering what it was she'd done to deserve any of this? Had she committed some sin in a previous life? Sarah had never hurt anyone, except for herself.
Maybe that's why I'm being punished.
Arriving at the gas station, Sarah approached several cars with Arizona plates until she found a kindly retired couple who gave her a ride back to Yuma.
When Sarah opened the front door of the apartment her father was passed out on the couch with the TV blaring.
Her new life with Chris Ragle had lasted less than 24 hours.
Sarah went into her bedroom and locked the door behind her. Rummaging around she found a bottle of vodka. Sarah set out to get so blinding drunk that she wouldn't remember Chris's name.
Inside the hotel room, Mac rolled over so that she was facing Harm. His breathing changed slightly, but he remained asleep and with his arms over her. Harm appeared to be smiling. Mac wondered what he was dreaming about?
It didn't matter. Today was the first full day of their new relationship, and Mac was sure that it would be the best day of her life.
The voice of USS Eisenhower's Landing Signal Officer was loud and clear. "Spartan flight, this is Paddles. The deck is steady, wind is twenty knots and slightly axial. Your signal is Charlie. Commence Case One recovery."
Harm glanced around the pattern, checking the aircraft in front of him and those behind.
Like everyone else in the air today, Harm had already carrier qualified in "Tuby-Two"; a T-2 Buckeye trainer, but this was the real deal. A poor performance today would mean a career spent flying turboprop transports instead of piloting a Tomcat.
Jack Keeter was out in front of Harm, and as usual, Keeter was lagging. Did Keeter ever move fast? Luke Pendry was in trial and Luke, as usual, was pushing.
Harm clicked his intercom to "hot" so that he and his backseater could communicate without fumbling for the switch. "I've spotted the boat."
"Anything you need from back here, just let me know," said LCDR Gary "Frog" Reynolds, who was Harm's instructor.
Reynold's had served 6 years as a rating (enlisted) before gaining a commission, so his call sign stood for Fucking Really Old Guy.
Four miles astern of the Ike, Harm dipped his nose and began a gentle descending 180 degree turn until he was passing over the ship at 800 feet and 350 knots.
"Mace is on approach," said Frog.
LT Vincent Mace, who had been runner up to Harm for the Outstanding Pilot Graduate Award, was flying the lead ship in the formation. Not happy about finishing second, Mace claimed that Harm had receiving special consideration from the training squadron commander, Gary Grissom, who had flown with Harm's father on Yankee Station.
The pilots were suiting up in the locker room when Mace approached Harm. "You've been riding on your old man's coattails from day one. Well, today it's time for you to put up or shut up."
Comparisons had been drawn between Rabb father and son, but they only added more pressure on Harm, who was expected to perform at his father's legendary level of excellence.
Harm brushed aside the insult, but Jack Keeter got into it with Mace. "You'd better back off, Vinnie," Keeter insisted.
The two men didn't like each other, and Mace hated being called Vinnie.
"No one was talking to you, Keeter," said Mace, who closed-in on Jack.
"Get the fuck out of my face!" exclaimed Keeter.
A shoving match erupted between the pair, with Luke Pendry having to break it up.
Frog had seen this sort of thing happen before. After all, in a group of highly competitive young bucks the testosterone level was off the chart. This was one of the reasons that Frog didn't like the idea of women entering into the Strike Syllabus. Let women fly rotary wing (helicopters) or pilot the COD, but keep them out of fighters and strike aircraft.
Mace stormed out of the locker room, but not before declaring, "You'd better bring it, Harm, because today I'm catching nothing but three-wire."
Inside the F-14, Frog looked over his shoulder and down at the carrier's deck. "Mace caught the four-wire."
The four-wire was the final arresting cable on the carrier's deck. Catching that cable resulted in the lowest passing score.
Harm didn't have time to worry about his rival. He checked his HUD (Heads Up Display) for heading and speed, and was relieved to find that Keeter had finally sped up and was keeping his interval.
"Let's do this thing," Harm announced.
Harm rolled the F-14 onto it's left wing, smoothly reduced engine power to idle, applied the speed brake, and brought the wing sweep to 20 degrees; just as he'd pantomimed dozens of times using a model F-14 in his mother's kitchen with Tom Boone.
The F-14A that Harm was flying did not have fly by wire controls. It took considerable muscle to get the aircraft to respond, but when handled correctly the big Tomcat could be tamed.
After completing the turn, Harm switched the command ejection lever to the MCO command position so that the backseater could initiate ejection of both seats.
Frog felt the aircraft settle into a familiar approach attitude. "Gear down, hook down, flaps down. On speed. Ready for landing checklist."
There was a lot to do, and precious little time to do it.
After completing the checklist, Harm passed along the Ike's port side while Frog watched Jack Keeter trap.
"Keeter just caught the three-wire." The three-wire was the goal, and Frog knew that Harm and Keeter were tight.
Harm was happy for Jack, but right now he had his hands full. Once abeam of the Ike, Harm began a steady 30 degree bank while slowly descended to 500 feet. The carrier looked impossibly close, but as the ship continued to move away from him, Harm's sight picture was constantly changing.
"Nice rollout on the groove. Three fifty (350 feet) crossing the wake."
Frog was not in the aircraft to be a cheerleader, but he knew that Harm had this aced. Harmon Rabb Junior had the full skill set, as well as outstanding situational awareness; which was vital for a fighter pilot's survival.
Frog had heard stories about Harm's father being a gifted aviator.
Like father, like son.
The Landing Signal Officer's voice came loud and clear though both headsets. "Tomcat, four five three, you have a ready deck. Call the ball!"
It was showtime.
Harm focused on the flight deck's markings and caught sight of the ship's meatball, the optical landing system which was gyro stabilized to give a constant glidepath. "Four five three. Tomcat ball. Six point five."
The last number was Harm's fuel state in thousands of pounds. The maximum landing weight (max-trap) for an F-14 was 54,000 pounds with around 10,000 pounds of fuel, which would allow for plenty of looks at the deck in the event of bolters, wave offs, or go-arounds.
"Roger ball. You're on glide slope. Keep it coming."
Three quarters of a mile from the ship, every nerve in Harm's body was now alive and crackling. He was no longer a little boy playing games with a model airplane in his mother's kitchen.
This was his destiny.
From that moment on, nothing else existed in Harm's world: not Diane, not his mother, not even his own father.
Harm's eyes were locked on the meatball, daring it to move. Both of Harm's hands were in constant motion; his right hand on the control stick making slight adjustments to the angle of attack, while his left hand smoothly manipulated the two throttles adjusting his glide slope: a hair on power and then a hair off.
The aircraft that Harm was flying had received no engine upgrades. The F-14A's Pratt and Whitney TF-30's were notorious for compressor stalls during landing approach, but the noise from the twin engines were synchronized perfectly with Harm's careful movements of the stick and throttles.
Harm sensed the deck beneath him. SMASH. The impact of the landing was violent to the point of being frightening.
Harm automatically shoved the throttles to their stops. A heartbeat later the hook caught the three-wire, snapping Harm's head forward and throwing him into his shoulder straps.
The momentum of the 25 ton aircraft traveling at over 125 knots was playing hell with the carrier's hydraulic arresting gear. The wire won the battle over inertia and the big Tomcat came to a dead stop in under two seconds.
Harm felt like he should still be flying, but the aircraft sat stationary on the deck...and with the throttles still wide open.
The voice of the ship's Air Boss broke through the haze. "Four five three. Get off the power!"
Harm instantly pulled the throttles back to idle and saw a yellow shirt frantically waving for him to raise the hook and retract the wings.
Harm had to clear the landing area. Luke was behind him, and if Harm forced Luke into a go-around he'd never hear the end of it.
Once his aircraft was configured to taxi, Harm gently added power and was directed away from the landing area and towards the island.
It hit Harm in a rush. His entire life had been focused on a single event: landing an F-14 onto the deck of an aircraft carrier at sea, and he'd just done it.
The trap had felt incredible. It was better than sex with Diane; it was better than anything he could have dreamed was possible.
"That was fucking awesome!" Harm shouted into the intercom.
Frog smiled and then looked back over his shoulder. "Pendry just caught the three-wire. It looks like you and your buds brought your A-game today."
Harm pumped his fist. "Yes!"
This was going to be the best day of Harmon Rabb's life.
Anxious to continue where they'd left off last night, Mac began running her fingers through the hair on Harm's chest while her hand slid along the inside of his thigh.
Harm opened his eyes and yawned. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong, sleepyhead. I was just thinking about you, that's all." Mac moved her hand further down Harm's body. "My goodness. Look at what I just found. I guess you were thinking about me too."
Harm stretched and then he kissed Mac hard on the lips, enjoying the way that she responded. "After last night, I thought you might want a break."
"Think again, Flyboy. My last FITREP said I achieve early and highly advanced qualifications," Mac replied in a husky voice. She climbed on top of Harm, pinning him to the mattress.
Harm began running his hands along Mac's body, marveling again at how well toned she was. "What else did your FITREP say?" asked Harm, who was enthralled with Mac's full breasts and big nipples.
"The Admiral stated that I was a leader in physical readiness, and that I develop innovative ways to accomplish the mission."
"I think that this morning's mission is clear. How about putting a few of those innovations into practice?"
Mac began squeezing Harm with her thighs, which were surprisingly powerful. It took considerable strength for Harm to roll Mac over and onto her back. Once Harm was that he was on top of her, Mac locked her legs around him.
Their mounting passion was interrupted by the harsh sound of Harm's phone ringing.
Mac didn't want Harm to answer the phone, but he recognized his mother's distinctive ring tone.
"Yes, mom...What?...Was he conscious? Okay...Yes, I know where the Cardiac Center is located. I'll head there directly. Don't apologize for calling. I love you, mom."
Mac sat up. "What is it? What's happened?"
"My mom found Frank lying on the kitchen floor. He was conscious, but unable to get to his feet. The paramedics took Frank directly to the emergency hospital. It looks like he had a minor heart attack. Now that he's is stable, Frank is being transported to the Cardiac Center for tests."
"Oh dear god."
Mac began climbing out of bed, but Harm held up his hand to stop her. "It doesn't sound serious. I'll drive over the Cardiac Center and see what's going on. In the meantime you can go for a run. I should be back by the time you've finished, and then we can have breakfast."
Mac punched Harm in the shoulder with a closed fist. It was a hard shot, and it caught Harm totally off guard. "Frank has just had a heart attack and you think that I'm going to break for chow? What the hell is the matter with you?"
"I'm sorry, but Frank has had these events before. I didn't want this to change our trip, that's all."
"Don't be selfish, Harm. Of course this changes our trip. This changes everything. You and I are going to go to the Cardiac Center and we will sit with Frank around the clock if it will lift his spirits."
"If that's what you want."
"It's not what I want, it is what we are obligated to do! Your cavalier attitude towards the man who took you into his home and then made you the focus of his life is outrageous. What kind of son are you?" Mac demanded.
Harm looked like a six year old boy who had just been scolded by his mother. "I'm a good son. I will admit that I sometimes behaved regrettably, but I've always been a good son," Harm struggled to explain.
Mac took Harm's hand. "Of course you're a good son. I had no cause to say otherwise. I'm just upset, that's all."
Harm understood that Mac and Frank had forged a strong bond. Mac longed for the father figure she'd lacked as a child, while Frank was searching for someone who would give him the attention and admiration that Harm had routinely denied.
"I know how you feel about Frank, and I know that feels the same about you," Harm told Mac.
"Then let's hurry. I don't want to arrive so late that Frank might think that we weren't concerned about him."
As they dressed, Mac feared that her own bad luck was spreading to the Rabb-Burnett family; a family which had already experienced more than its share of bad luck.
