Saint looked at Wilson and bulged his eyes to convey his impatience to start. Wilson turned to the group and said, “Okay guys, attention to APM. Take your seats.” Wilson took stock of the room as he returned to his own seat. Satisfied, he faced forward, but sensed the XO was looking at him.
Wilson met his eyes, and Saint asked, “Do you have anything to pass on the schedule?”
“No, sir.”
Saint exhaled in apparent disgust and took the floor. He stood directly on top of the Raven emblem embedded in the deck tile, an act that violated an unwritten squadron rule.
“All right… I’ve called you here because we had a mishap last night, preventable like most mishaps are. I realize the CO is off the ship, but we have to talk about this now, while it’s fresh in our minds. We may not get another opportunity before transiting Hormuz. People, we are America’s first team right now. Next week we will be in combat over Iraq, and, in my view, it is likely we’ll be involved in combat with Iran at some time during this deployment. Pakistan is also heating up, as is Afghanistan — which we will probably see at some point during the cruise. We have got to be prepared for any contingency, and we must know the procedures for any tasking in the CENTCOM Area of Responsibility.”
Combat with Iran? Wilson thought and dismissed the XO’s dramatics.
All eyes were on Saint as he continued. “Last night VFA-64 lost a significant portion of the combat power we took with us from Norfolk, provided and entrusted to us by the taxpayers. Four-oh-six is a class Alpha mishap that may never fly again, but it was not shot down and it delivered nothing against the enemies of freedom. Right now, it just clutters up Hangar Bay 3, and it will become a daily reminder to CAG that the Ravens weren’t ready when it counted.”
Wilson could feel the tension building. He stole quick glance at Weed, who sat with his hands folded, his eyes focused on something on the tile floor.
“We had a full workup with which to train and to be on the step when we enter a combat situation. We cannot and will not regress now. Basics, people… from launch to recovery, they have got to become second nature, and they must be executed without flaw.”
The front door of the ready room burst open, and Gunner Humphries emerged from Maintenance Control wearing a float-coat, his cranial perched atop his head. Gunner froze as he realized he was interrupting an APM. For a second, no one moved, and Saint glared at him from a few feet away. Embarrassed and caught off guard — but sensing the tension in the room, Gunner, the squadron joker, blurted out a salty verse learned from his younger days:
