NAS Oceana, Virginia Beach, VA, 1030 hrs
Animal settled into the work schedule of the morning as the head of operations for the Black Aces. With an impending training schedule that included a 4 week TDY in the desert near Miramar trading broadsides with the Navy Fighter Weapons School jocks towards the end of the year. On top of that, the aircraft were to undergo maintenance and SLEP if necessary. The New Year would herald a deployment in the first quarter which really reduced the amount of time that was necessary to get everybody up to speed. There was a list of things that needed to be accomplished before the Aces could be considered deployment-ready and it was a long and laborious process. Animal was in charge of training the would-be new aviators that had just stepped into their first operational squadron – RAG (Reserve Air Group) didn't count as operational as they were feet-dry from the time they stepped in there to the time they stepped out to go to their new squadron. Eighteen months at a RAG didn't teach them a damned thing about operational flying that they were going to have to do day-in; day-out when they got out to the boat. The first operational squadron that the cones got into would be an eye-opener.
Animal knew he had a limited amount of time to get all of the squadron into fighting shape and ensure that they were combat-ready. That meant an intensive regimen of ACM intensive sorties to give them an idea of what they might encounter over the skies of Iraq and Operation Southern Watch. After being fresh coming off an Operation Southern Watch campaign with the Howlers, Animal could give the Black Aces some idea of what it was going to be like out there. House would be counting on him to do just that.
Miramar would be an eye-opener for most of these new aviators – for they had mostly fought ACM versus similar opponents. DACT (Dissimilar Air Combat Training) was another kettle of fish. When one went up against a smaller, more maneuverable opponent like the F-5E Tiger II or the A-4F Skyhawk that Animal had fought against in the FTI course, it was a whole new world. If one was caught off guard by the turning capability of the F-5E, they were dead – no two ways about it. Animal had been to Topgun (the way it's written in the military – not the two separated words like the movie) and it was an intensive nine-week course designed to train already experienced Navy and Marine Corps aircrews at the graduate level (although it is currently not a regionally or nationally accredited educational program) in all aspects of strike-fighter aircraft employment, which includes tactics, hardware, techniques and the current world threat for air-to-air and air-to-ground missions. The course included eighty hours of lectures and twenty-five flights that pit students against Topgun instructors. When a pilot or WSO completed the Topgun course he/she had the ability to return as a Training Officer carrying the latest tactical doctrine back to their operational squadron, or go directly to an FRS squadron to teach new aircrews. And Animal was considered by staff at NSAWC to potentially become a Topgun instructor himself. But right now he was a Fighter Tactics Instructor and would utilize his experience as a Topgun graduate and MiG Killer to teach these newly assigned naval aviators to the Black Aces how to fly and fight in the F-14A Tomcat. And then he would recommend those aviators who showed promise to House to set them up to be the next Topgun student to go study at the Naval Fighter Weapons School to replace him as the FTI for whatever squadron they went to.
Animal would be instituting a regimen of ACM training for the next six months until the Black Aces departed for Miramar to get a brush up pre-deployment DACT training course and then they would fly back to Oceana and start prepping in earnest for the deployment to come. The Miramar course would apply the polish to the finish product and then they would keep honing their edge until the squadron was razor sharp.
A low chuckle at the door caused Animal to look up to see Maegyn leaning against the door of his now-office. "Hey, thinking deep thoughts?" she asked, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, freshly showered with damp hair and dressed in working peanut butters, lieutenant's bars on her collars, no ribbons, but her naval aviator's insignia over her left breast pocket.
"Yes…" Animal replied…adopting a rather lugubrious expression. "So much work…to do…so little time." Then lifted his head up and waggled his eyebrows comically with a melodramatically evil expression. "Just contemplating how to make the cones wet their diapers."
Maegyn laughed, rolling her eyes. "Ah, the ever-favorite pastime of all department heads – how to make cones pee their pants." She gave him an eyebrow raised stare. "Heaven help us. Did House create a monster?"
At that Animal dissolved in laughter as he motioned Maegyn to come in and take a load off her feet which she did. "So…tell me more about this staffer-position you got with the Pentagon?"
"Actually…" Maegyn corrected him. "It's with the US Second Fleet out of Norfolk, on the admiral's staff. A pretty lofty post for a lieutenant like me, but I figure that it's worth it to be able to have that on the record to make a case for my O-4s."
Animal nodded, "Not bad at all, Irish." Animal replied as he gazed at Maegyn. "Admiral's staff is one of the best staff positions to make your mark at if you're aiming for higher rank."
Irish batted her eyelashes at Animal. "So…" she smirked. "You approve?"
"Not my place. Advice I can give, but all decisions are your own." Animal replied swiftly. "You alone make the decisions that affect your career and fool be I if I were to dictate your career path. That, my young protégé…is your own doing." He grinned widely. "All I can say is whatever you choose to do, one hundred percent and damn the torpedoes."
Maegyn gave him a measured look as if to gauge his sincerity then opted to take the career advice to heart. She looked him over for a long moment – he had a nice smile; funny she hadn't noticed that before he'd transferred to the Howlers. But Lieutenant Maegyn "Irish" O'Bannon was focused on her career. And her goal was to aspire to a command position within the fleet, hopefully in a fighter squadron.
Grandma Sarah's Farm, Belleville, PA
Harm smiled as he took in the lines of the Navy Stearman trainer that he had spent the better part of his recovery working on. With some help from the mechanics at Pop's airfield from Blacksburg who gave him a hand with some of the stuff. They had dug out some plans that made restoring that old machine a lot easier than before when all he'd had were his father's old notes to go off of.
The Stearman had an all-metal body with the exception of the wings which were wood and Harm had to replace a number of parts on the old girl with a lot of care and attention to the details – tubes and fabric had to be specially ordered, as the Stearman's fuselage had to be completely rebuilt, owing as to the fact that the aircraft had been out in the elements before Harm's father had purchased it before his fated deployment. Running his hands along the skin, he grinned at the Stearman. "You and me, we're going to have some fun in the sky…" he said to the un-answering airplane.
NAS Oceana, Virginia Beach, VA, 1125hrs
"How you settling in?" House poked his head in the door.
Animal looked up from the paperwork and grinned. "Yeah…looks like I'm gonna be having a shit-load of fun. Considering how many reports I have to churn out, trees are going to be scared." He paused for a moment, scanned all the files on his desk and said. "Did the Navy realize that all these paper files if converted to digital could save a forest?"
"Beyond my pay-grade, Animal." His squadron commander shrugged his shoulders and chuckled. "That's the life of a department head, Animal, creating reports and pondering the imponderable."
"I'm going to talk with the Golden Warriors' CO and see if we can get some DACT in before Miramar. Waiting for Miramar to do any training isn't going to help our guys any." Animal opined as he casually looked over the training file.
House nodded. "I wish it was the old days. When we were flying F-4Bs, we used to buzz the local zoomie base and taunt them into coming up and bumping. Then we transitioned to Tomcats in 76." Animal wryly looked up at House.
"You old enough to have flown the Phantom?" Animal asked.
"I'm older than dirt, Animal." House replied casually. "This is my second CO tour, believe it or not. I don't think they're going to make me O-6. I transitioned into the squadron in 73 as a cone, flew the B for three years then we got the call to transition to the Turkey. Squadron command's a young man's game. They're promoting the young ones now into command positions, grooming them for O-6 and above." He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm an old warhorse ready for the glue factory."
Animal grunted. "I don't know what the Navy's thinkin', House, we still need the old hands to show the way to these young ones."
"Well, that's the way it goes. Old friend." House replied. "The old makes way for the new and it's up to you guys to lead the way. Gives you seasoning for when you guys become the old salts."
Grandma Sarah's Farm, Belleville, PA 1210hrs
"I thought I'd find you out here." Harm turned around to find Diane looking at him. Diane's figure and hair were backlit by the noon sunlight. Harm reached out a hand and Diane walked out of the sunlight into the barn. "So, how's your dad's Stearman coming along?" she casually asked.
"Well, it looks like it'll be flyable, once we get the engine mounted back on the frame and the panels covering that area back in place. You don't know just how hard it was to find a Lycoming engine around these parts."
"I bet…" Diane catered to Harm's aviation fascination, but couldn't understand it. All she knew was that it made Harm happy and a happy Harm made her happy.
"Found a Lycoming R-680-5 in Blacksburg and managed to coax the owner to sell it. Told him that it would be better on an aircraft than gathering rust and dust in a barn. Just have to rebuild the engine to operating status and it'll be ready to mount on the Stearman. And I think we'll have it done by end of summer, mounted and ready for its first flight." Harm grinned at Diane. "Just gotta get Pop to give me a hand." He extended an arm to curl it around Diane as she leaned into his embrace. In the blissful silence that followed, she could hear him whisper. "Thanks, Dad."
It had probably also helped that Pop had said to the guy Do it for Harm's boy. Everybody who was over 60 had known Harm's dad as he had grown up in Belleville and the surrounding area was his Dad's playground. And it just so happened that Old Man Jackson had known Harmon Rabb Sr. Old Man Jackson had swallowed a lump in his throat, stuck out his great paw to Harm and said. "Son, you got yourself an engine."
Diane knew that the Stearman was Harm's connection to his dad, but Harm realized that not only that it was a connection to an entire community who tried to help whenever they could with Harm's restoration of that Stearman. It signified the hopes and dreams of an entire community who saw one of their own go to war and not come home, that all that was left of that young boy that they remembered was an engraved name on a wall somewhere in Washington DC; the young boy…that Harm now called Dad – the one whom he had looked up to so much and missed so much growing up.
Not wanting disturb the moment, but Diane heard Harm's stomach rumble. "Harm…Grandma Sarah told me to come get you for lunch." She indicated.
Harm grinned at her, nodded and said. "OK…let's go in…" Shutting the barn door and locking it, he turned to Diane, reaching out a hand to take hers and they slowly walked towards the farmhouse, enjoying the warmth of the summer heat.
NAS Oceana, Virginia Beach, VA, 1435hrs
"Alright!" Animal growled as he looked over the new squadron members. "You got the welcome, now you get the asshole treatment." He grinned evilly at the new squadron members who chuckled going right along with the gag. "House told me that we need to get you guys whipped into shape. Right now, I don't think you could fly your way out of a wet paper bag." A chorus of oooooooh… catcalls followed that assertation. He glowered at the cone-heads. "Everyone strip your Black Aces patches off. You haven't earned the right to call yourself Black Aces yet." The squadron cone-heads looked at each other in shock. "NOW!" Animal snapped out, his voice like a whiplash. "Deposit them on the table." The cones reluctantly did so; there was an air of resentment in the room as they returned to their seats.
"We have six months…before we deploy to the Med. In that time we need you to become experienced warfighters capable of downing any kind of aircraft you come into contact with. The Med is no cakewalk." Flipping on a projector, he growled. "This is the Mikoyan Guerivich MiG 29 Fulcrum, Developed by the Mikoyan design bureau, this is a twin-engined aircraft whose primary mission is to be an air superiority fighter. I fought one over Iraq." The blunt statement shut several guys up that were still making catcalls.
Animal looked over the room and after a long silence he continued. "The Iraqi Air Force is now missing ONE MiG 29." He stated ingenuously as he gave them a smug grin. That statement silenced the rest who now listened attentively. Flipping to the next photo on the over-head he growled again. "Six months later…the Iraqi Air Force got the bright idea to send up their top fighter at the time. The Sukhoi-designed Su-27 Flanker. The Su-27 most often flies air supremacy missions, but its most modern variants are able to perform almost all aerial warfare operations. It's direct comparable is the USAF F-15 Eagle. The Iraqi Air Force is also missing one of their Su-27s after meeting with my F-14A Tomcat." There was complete dead silence as the new cone-heads were looking at each other with no witty retort for that statement.
He paused for a long moment. "The lesson is that it is not the technology that makes the warfighter so dangerous, it is the training that you undergo. In order for you to become deadly as a warfighter it means you need to train and train hard. To that end, I've talked with the Golden Warriors squadron CO. You will be going up 1v1, 2v1, 2v2 and 3v2 as well as 1vunkowns and other scenarios with the Golden Warriors. Dissimilar Air Combat Training or DACT as we call it will teach you about fighting a dissimilar aircraft – an aircraft with a cornering capability not similar to your own. It will also teach you about fighting a smaller aircraft than your own. These missions start today. Lieutenant JG Wallace?"
"Aye sir!"
"You and Lieutenant JG Petrie will be on tap for a 2vunknowns at 1635hrs. I'll read your post-hop assessment afterwards and see if you two are ready to become Black Aces. The rest of you: I'll have your hop assignments tomorrow. Start reading your ACM procedures." Animal shut the projector off. "By the time this DACT introductory training is over, we'll see if you have the right stuff to become Black Aces. You all will have the chance to earn your right to wear the squadron patch. Until then, you wear nothing on your flight suit." There was absolute dead silence. As the new cone-heads filed out of the room; a rousing round of applause from the old-hands filled the room.
It hadn't been voiced, but there had been an air of resentment from the old hands at the new cone-heads walking in like they owned the place, their Black Aces patches gaudily displayed on their flight suits as if they were already one of the guys. It was a knock at the old hands, and the proud history of the VF-41 Black Aces to have the new guys walk in like they owned the squadron without having had to earn their right to wear the squadron patch and the simple fact that Animal had turned their entitlement on its head and stripped them of their patches which he placed into a box...made the old hands pleased as hell.