This is the last bit of background before we get back to where DOALS Chapter III left off.

THURSDAY AFTERNOON

7 JUNE 2001

NAVAL STATION NORFOLK

Sturgis considered himself to be somewhat stoic, but even he couldn't suppress the shudder when he saw the pieces of Navy 241 laid out on the hangar floor. Although he had conducted an aircraft mishap investigation or two during his career, he could hardly consider himself an expert, but even he could tell that a large percentage of the aircraft was still missing.

Pulling his gaze away from the wreckage, Sturgis glanced around the hangar, catching site of an older man in khakis in the far corner, conferring over a piece of debris with another man dressed in coveralls. From his position, Sturgis thought he could make out a silver oak leaf on the right collar. It didn't look like Commander Fleming, the force judge advocate for COMNAVAIRLANT, whom he'd met a few years back while both were in Pearl, so it had to be Commander Barelski, assigned to the investigation as the lead engineer. Sturgis made his way over to the two men, catching the tail end of their conversation.

"It looks like that confirms our theory on the ejection seat," Barelski said. "Make sure you type up your findings on that and put it on my desk." He turned, having noticed Sturgis approaching out of the corner of his eye. He held out his hand. "Commander Turner? I'm Commander Patrick Barelski."

"Commander Sturgis Turner," Sturgis replied, accepting the handshake. "Do you have a few minutes to discuss what you've found so far?"

"Of course," he replied. He turned back to the other man, "Russell, get that report on my desk and make sure I'm informed immediately if any more of the oxygen system is found."

"Aye, Sir," Russell replied, coming to attention then turning on his heel and leaving. Barelski motioned Sturgis back towards the wreckage.

"What was that about the ejection seat?" Sturgis asked as they walked back towards the front of the hangar.

"From the radio transmissions from Navy 241 during the incident," Barelski explained, "and from the fact that Commander Rabb was found about twenty-five miles from where Lieutenant Hawkes was, we knew that he had a hard time ejecting. From what we could gather, the ejection mechanism seems to have jammed. The marks we found on the apparatus are deeper than we'd expect to find just from the ejection itself, which seems to confirm that the seat was stuck. It's just one of the things we've been looking at."

"As a symptom of a larger problem with the aircraft?" Sturgis asked.

"Probably," Barelski said. "Commander Lockness is on his way here from the Henry with all the maintenance reports on that bird for the last six months. We do know that a few weeks ago, Navy 241 experienced a hard landing on the carrier."

"So you think that something got knocked around on the aircraft?" Sturgis pressed.

"It's our operating theory at the moment," Barelski replied. "From the radio transmissions, we also know that 241 was having problems with her systems even before the lightning strike. Are you familiar with the story of Apollo 13, Commander?"

"Of course," Sturgis answered. "A damaged heat coil in the oxygen tank sparked during their cryo stir."

"According to the movie," Barelski said. "If you read the book Lost Moon, Captain Lovell went into greater detail on what caused the damaged heat coil. Almost two years before the flight, the tank in question was dropped a total of five centimeters when being removed from a service module. A five centimeter drop started a chain reaction that nearly cost three astronauts their lives, yet during inspection of the tank after the incident, no damage had been detected."

"So you're thinking some kind of chain reaction here," Sturgis said, putting the pieces together. "The hard landing knocked something loose in the oxygen system, damage that may not have been detected when the aircraft was checked out. Then Harm discovers the oxygen system isn't working, so they have to drop below 10,000 feet, where they can fly without wearing masks. That means they couldn't rise above the storm when it ended up in their flight path, leading to the lightning strikes which fried the rest of their systems. The hard landing may have also jammed Harm's ejection seat, explaining why he punched out so far away from Lieutenant Hawkes."

"That's our operational theory," Barelski confirmed.

"You told Russell to let you know when more of the oxygen system is recovered," Sturgis said. "Would it change your report in any way if you can't recover it?"

"I'm confident of my conclusions so far, Commander," Barelski replied. "Yes, it would help if we could back up the conclusions of our report with known facts, such as the exact condition of that oxygen system. However, there is enough empirical evidence to support our bottom line."

Sturgis looked around the hangar again. "How much of the aircraft have you recovered, exactly?" he asked.

"About sixty-five percent," Barelski answered. "There are a few key components still missing that we'd like to get our hands on – most of the oxygen system is still missing, for instance – but we do have quite a few parts that show the damage from the lightning strikes. A Coast Guard salvage ship should have just docked with some more debris, but we're probably not going to be able to recover much more past that."

"Understood," Sturgis said. At least the engineer sounded pretty confident in his conclusions. This wouldn't be like the inquiry into Harm's first crash. Pulling out his wallet, he took out a business card and handed it to Barelski. "Here's my e-mail address. If you could e-mail me a copy of your report once it's completed, I'd appreciate it. I'd also like a hard copy once it's signed off on. My office address on the card is an old one, but if you could give me your e-mail address, I'll send you the address you can mail the signed report to."

Barelski pulled a card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Sturgis. "E-mail address is on there," he said. "Depending on what's coming to us on the salvage ship, it could be a couple of weeks before I have my final report."

"That's fine, Commander," Sturgis assured him. "The mishap board isn't scheduled to meet until after the July 4th holiday, so that'll give me time to go over the report and see if there are any other questions I need answered." He glanced at his watch. "If you'll excuse me, I have a meeting at COMNAVAIRLANT with Commander Fleming at 1400."

"Of course, Commander," Barelski replied. "I'm expecting the debris off that salvage ship to be delivered here any time now, so I need to get back to sorting through everything here."

"Thank you for your time," Sturgis said. "I'll give you a call after I have your report if I have any questions about it."

As Barelski walked off, Sturgis looked again at the debris laid out on the floor. It hit home for him in a way it hadn't before just how close Harm had come to losing his life. If his ejection seat hadn't finally fired…He looked up, silently thanking God that Harm had come through this.

1400 HOURS

OFFICE OF THE FORCE JUDGE ADVOCATE, COMNAVAIRLANT

NAVAL STATION NORFOLK

"Thank you for coming in to see me, Sturgis," Fleming said, motioning Sturgis to a seat. "I received your discovery motion, and I thought we needed to talk."

"You're welcome, Bob," Sturgis replied. "I am a bit puzzled why you wanted me to come down to Norfolk. From what Commander Barelski was telling me, it seems a relatively clear cut case of mechanical failure."

"Yes, the condition of the Tomcat was a contributing factor," Bob said carefully. "Sturgis, you know that there are people higher up than us who are very interested in the investigation because of Commander Rabb's, um, history."

"I know about that," Sturgis said, puzzlement clear in his voice. Regardless of Harm's previous crash history, if the aircraft was in less than optimum condition, what possible contributing factors could they be looking at? It didn't make any sense to him, and he said as much. "I'm not sure what you mean about the condition of the aircraft being a contributing factor, Bob. Harm was in good physical condition before the crash, at least according to his last physical, and his eyes have long since been fixed. What else could there be?"

Fleming sighed. "I'm not questioning Commander Rabb's physical fitness to fly, Sturgis," he said. "I've seen the same physical fitness report you have." He trailed off, searching through a stack of folders on his desk.

"So just what are you questioning, Bob?" Sturgis asked bluntly. He couldn't say that he knew Bob well enough to call the man a friend, but they had worked enough cases together while in Pearl that he could tell when the other man was trying to soften a coming blow.

Fleming pulled a folder from the stack he was going through and held it out to Sturgis. "I think you should take a look at this, Sturgis," he said.

Sturgis took the folder warily and opened it, glancing quickly at the cover sheet of the report inside. It told him who had been interviewed and when, but it did nothing to tell him how this report was related to the mishap investigation. "Since I don't have time to read through this now," he said, "why don't you quickly summarize it for me? Who is Mic Brumby, and what does he have to do with Harm's crash?"

"Mic Brumby is a reservist in the Royal Australian Navy," Fleming explained. "Almost three years ago, when Lieutenant Commander Brumby was on active duty, he was sent to JAG HQ as part of an exchange program between our Navy and theirs. About a year later, he was recalled to Australia, and then about five months after that, he returned to Washington after having reserved his commission."

Sturgis listened, outwardly impassive, but inwardly he was impatient for Fleming to get to the point. So far, he hadn't heard anything that seemed to have anything to do with Harm's crash. He was about to say something, but Fleming held up his hand to stall him.

"I know, Sturgis," Fleming said. "So far, what I've told you seems to be immaterial to this investigation. The reason for Mr. Brumby's return to Washington, however, does appear to be pertinent to this case." He picked up something that appeared to be a card and handed it across the desk to Sturgis. Sturgis opened it and read the words printed inside. He read over the words a second and then a third time before he recognized the second name printed inside.

"I'm sure you've noticed the date on the wedding invitation," Fleming said.

"Yes," Sturgis replied, "but that doesn't mean the relationship didn't break off sometime before. This proves…what exactly?"

"According to Mr. Brumby," Fleming replied, "the wedding was still going forward. Mic Brumby and Sarah MacKenzie had their wedding rehearsal at St. Matthew the Apostle Cathedral in Washington on Friday night. The next time he saw her was on Sunday at Portsmouth, where she suddenly announced that she was Mrs. Harmon Rabb. It appears Commander Rabb was determined to stop that wedding, and that's why he flew through a storm to get back home that night."

"Is that all you have, Bob?" Sturgis asked tensely. "I hardly think the word of a jilted fiancé is going to be very credible."

"That's all I have so far, Sturgis," Fleming countered calmly. "Mr. Brumby also provided a list of everyone who was at the rehearsal dinner; it's there in his statement. I've already contacted Admiral Chegwidden and made arrangements to be in Washington on Monday to interview everyone on that list, with the exception of Colonel Rabb, of course."

Sturgis flipped through the pages in the folder until he found the list, recognizing the names of many of the people he'd met in the last few days at JAG, including his new commanding officer. He sighed inwardly, realizing that what had seemed like a relatively simple mishap investigation was quickly becoming increasingly complex. There had to be a way to refute this. The Harmon Rabb he'd known for twenty years had never let *anything* get in the way of his flying. It didn't make any sense that he would suddenly go against all those years of training and discipline. There had to be more to the story, he realized, making a mental note to talk to Mac when she returned to work on Monday.

"I want to be in on those depositions," Sturgis said firmly.

"Fine," Fleming replied. "I've got an appointment here first thing Monday morning, and I'll leave for Washington immediately afterward. Admiral Chegwidden said he would have someone set up a schedule for interviews beginning at 1300."

He paused, studying Sturgis intently. Sturgis returned the scrutiny, letting nothing of his thoughts show on his face. "Sturgis," Fleming continued, "I'm sorry. I don't want to believe it either. It seems to go against everything I've ever heard about the man, but I have no choice but to investigate this. There are too many people watching this investigation. If what Mr. Brumby claims is true, then I may have no choice but to recommend to the mishap board that they refer the case to an Article 32 for charges under Articles 108, 133, and 134."

"Destruction of military property, conduct unbecoming, and I assume the Article 134 charge would be dereliction of duty," Sturgis said. He'd been warned by Admiral Chegwidden that this case was going to be watched closely, but he'd never anticipated a situation where the Navy might want to throw the book at Harm. He wasn't looking forward to asking one of his closest friends whether he'd let competition with another man over a woman blind him to good sense and his duty. "Has COMNAVAIRLANT been briefed yet?"

"Not yet," Fleming said. "I'm waiting until I speak to the people at JAG. Sturgis, I don't want to railroad your client, but I do have to make sure everything in this investigation is done according to the letter of the law. If there's nothing to this, if Mic Brumby is simply a jilted lover out for revenge, then that will be it. However, if Commander Rabb took off from the Henry that night for his own personal reasons despite the danger the weather posed, losing a forty-million dollar aircraft and nearly killing himself and his RIO in the process, then I will make sure he's nailed for it."

"Understood," Sturgis said tightly. A part of him wished that he was less his father's son so he could let loose with a few colorful phrases that might make even the crustiest sailor blush. Ten years ago, during the aftermath of Harm's ramp strike, Sturgis had been worried that his friend might lose his career, but other than support Harm, there was nothing he could do. This time, Harm's career was in his hands.

God, he prayed silently, please let me be up to the task.