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But suppose iTunes is simply confused. You have a couple of options. The first is to double-click on an exclaimed track. ITunes will prompt you to find it. It was a damned sewing needle, sticking halfway out of the mattress- and I’d been repeatedly stabbing myself with it. TLDR; Mistook a sewing needle in my mattress for a stinging insect. Repeatedly stabbed myself trying to swat it away with my hand.

The basic idea is something akin to a harem anime - a single guy living with a bunch of girls, (in our case infused with serious fetish material). I want it to be fun and wacky, but also crazy and over the top, for example, like Ranma 1/2 if you know that anime. The central premise is that our leading man is a in-house psychologist because in the near future, society has taken the declining mental health of the populace seriously. So he has to live and tend to psychological needs of the girls he's living with.

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Harm's Apartment, North of Union Station 0030hrs EST

Harm was packed and ready to go and he was just settling into a nice sleep with Catherine curled up by his side, her arm draped across his chest when that damned phone went off. 'He just had to mention zero-dark-thirty;didn't he…?' Harm muttered to himself crossly as he picked up the phone on the third ring: the first having invaded his slumbering brain-cells, the second making him orient himself as to what was going on. If it had gone any longer it would have driven Catherine out of her sleep and made her cross as hell at him and he wasn't about to bell the tiger in her den. He grabbed the cell-phone, 'Rabb!'

'Rabb! Got the call…Oceana, 0500 briefing O730 engine start. Get your fart-bag, bone-dome and your gear and make sure that you're bright eyed and bushy-tailed.' Animal's voice still sounded like he was wide-awake and that frankly was annoying, but Harm could hear the road noises from the other side of the conversation. Animal had to be on his way in from his home at Norfolk to Oceana to start planning the flight and making sure everything was all set up and though he didn't have that far to drive, he still had to get in early and the ambient noise from the cell call that he was receiving made Harm realize that Animal had pulled into a gas-station to call and that meant that Animal was already on the road headed up to Oceana. And he'd given his subordinate at least two hours more sleep than he was getting; for that, Harm was grateful. Animal was five years older than Harm and still had the energy of someone ten years Harm's younger, but he'd had the benefit of staying in the cockpit and knowing exactly what the thin edge of operational capability allowed for in terms of sleep. Harm, however, was not so lucky. He had to worry just exactly what potential problems could crop up in terms of flight operations out to the carrier and whether he could face those problems without planting himself in a six-foot deep by three by nine plot in Arlington, if the divers could even recover his body. But he kicked his ass into gear and was into full ready-five alert mode when the call ended. He looked over to see Catherine fully awake and kicked himself internally for waking her up. Was she already in that Navy spouse mode, even before they'd even made their status legal officially instead of just an ad hoc ceremony at Kresge Medical Center for the benefit of Catherine's mother?

'I heard…' she murmured softly as she looked over at him. 'You have to go, right?'

Harm nodded…and she got up off the bed and walked over to him as Harm's arms went around her. She leaned into him as she closed her eyes, feeling his enfolding embrace encircling her; her safe haven. And she finally realized just what this man meant to her. 'Fly safe…' she knew innately that the most dangerous part of his journey was flying to the carrier and back.

'I'm in Animal's rear-seat for the trip out to the bird-farm. So I'm relying on his expertise to get my six there safely and we as non-flying cargo on the return trip get to fly via Navy Airlines.' Harm's derogatory tone regarding navy transport indicated what he thought of flying back from the carrier on the COD. 'He'll get his regular RIO when he reaches the squadron, not that he's going to be flying much, but he still has to fly the replacement F-14 to the carrier. They've had some operational losses and the CAG's not going to be happy when Animal gets through grilling him. He doesn't like it when any of the air wings under his command lose aircraft. It wreaks havoc on the CNO's annual funding for the Navy Department to have to ask for replacement aircraft. It costs a ton to make bone-yard airframes airworthy again, if they aren't being used for spare parts, or new-builds and Grumman has shut down the Tomcat manufacturing line.' Harm informed her, though the last didn't do anything to lay her worries to rest.

Catherine leaned up and planted a kiss on Harm's cheek, 'I don't need to know the wherefores and the why's, Harm, All I want to know is that you'll come home safe to me…' She stepped back for a moment to let him regard the round of her belly and silently consider what that meant.

'I know…Cath, I know…' Harm said softly as he dropped a kiss on Catherine's forehead. 'I'll do my best…' Harm knew that even living aboard a carrier had its risks. And it wasn't just aviation accidents that could kill you. The whole boat was a walking minefield. A pressure leak in the pipe of a high-pressure steam line could cut wood in half in seconds let alone any unfortunate who was walking in the general vicinity when the pipe ruptured. On deck if an arresting wire snapped; it was like a scythe, lopping off limbs off the deck crew and snapping landing gear off any parked aircraft; a weed-whacker on steroids and Lord Help anyone who was on deck if the aircraft that had its landing gear snapped off had been prepped for a strike mission; ordnance that could go KABOOM. An incident with ordnance had happened on the USS Forrestal, when a Zuni rocket had fired off an A-4 Skyhawk, on its own accord, turning the entire deck into a conflagration. That was an ignominious entry in the annals of Naval Aviation; the fact that men had died on board that day made all the more frustrating because there was nobody to censure; no-one responsible other than an electrical short in the circuitry. On top of that; they were sitting on a magazine of explosive weapons that could turn the entire ship into Swiss cheese if they exploded and the topper to that was the special weapons magazine that was rarely ever spoken about. If that went up; there went the battle group.

But was he going to tell her that and make her worry? Hell no! That wasn't what a pregnant woman needed to worry about with all the things going on that could potentially adversely affect the baby; to have added stress placed on the foetus would not be a good thing. She didn't need to be worrying about Harm's safety on top of the stress that was already being placed on her body by the simple act of generating new life. There were too many things that could go wrong in a pregnancy situation to have stress on the mother's body augmented by stress coming from outside sources. And Harm was not about to do that to an expecting mother. He wanted an uneventful birth for Catherine; no adverse stresses. Animal's wife would be there, in his stead, if she went into labour and he considered himself lucky to have such a support system.

He wasn't sure after everything that had happened: the court case with Singer's death, the Paraguay fiasco and the fact that he'd been booted unceremoniously out of the Navy for a temporary time until AJ came to his senses; that he couldn't count on the people he used to consider as friends in the JAG office so it was lucky that his mentor and former RAG instructor had been there to pick up the slack and keep him steady on course. Certainly AJ had come offering an olive branch, but things were never the same afterwards and there was always some lack of trust – a two way feeling between the both of them that made them each keep their distance.

And it wasn't appropriate for a senior officer to rely on junior officers; a code of conduct strictly enforced by the NAVY Officer's Guide and codified by the Navy Uniform Code of Military Justice. There was a strict line of precedence in the ranks: a senior officer did not ask personal favours of a subordinate. And any favours asked of a junior officer would be met with raised eyebrows by their commanding officer and subject to reprimand.

Then there was Mac. The epic fall-out between them in Paraguay was a sight similar to the Trinity explosion in 1945. It was evident that damage had been severely done to their relationship. As much of a doormat as he was to Mac's fickle attentions, he wasn't about to keep having her wipe her feet on him. He'd already done too much of that. When he'd seen her take up with Dalton Lowne, he'd kept his silence; when she tried to play off Mic Brumby just to rile him up. When he'd asked for more time to decompress from having found out about his father's fate, while in Sydney, she'd gone right into Mic's bed to try to punish him for rejecting her at the time. As much as she was a dead-ringer for Diane; Mac was a whole different kettle of fish. In fact, she used people to get what she wanted. Sure she'd gone with him to Russia to help him, but that didn't give her license to treat him like a doormat and Harm was fed up. The only thing that he'd gotten out of the relationship was a few more gray hairs and the fact that he was seven years older than when he'd met her.

But there would be time for that reverie after they'd trapped on the boat. Right now he had a four hour drive to Oceana and a bite to eat before he mounted the Tomcat for their flight out to the boat. And Catherine had leaned back into his arms, looking up at him with eyes that were brimming with unshed tears. She sniffled, 'I cry at the drop of a hat. Damned hormones…' she whispered.

'I love you, Catherine…' Harm said; his voice tentative…as he searched out her response. He'd been rejected too often by Mac to ever let down his guard too much. But the response that he received from his little admission was overwhelming. Catherine practically flung herself into his arms. Whether it was the cascading pregnancy hormones that were floating through her at the time, he didn't know, but he felt her shudder in his arms and he lifted her chin up with a finger to find that she was crying, a rivulet of tears flowing from the corner of her eyes.

'I love you too…couldn't admit it to myself before at Kresge…but…' she sniffled as she tilted her head to allow her lips to meet with Harm's descending head for a smouldering kiss. 'I'm going to miss you while you're gone…off to war.' And Harm felt like he had made the right decision in cutting Mac adrift because his head was coming to the realization that his heart had already found; he really did feel as though he was meant to be with Catherine. It added a new dimension of what he'd realized that he was going to miss when he was out on the boat planning air ops against Al Qaeda. And the fact that he was going to miss her more deeply than he thought he ever would have was a new revelation to him. 'You have a four hour drive ahead of you, so you'd best get ready and get on out of here. We wouldn't want to keep the admiral waiting.' She sighed as Harm eagerly hunted out another kiss from her. 'I love you, Harm.' She whispered as his lips brushed hers. 'You and the admiral fly safe out there…'

At that moment, Harm hated having to leave but he knew that he had to or he'd never want to leave and that would put him in contravention of orders.

NAS Oceana; Virginia Beach, VA 0400hrs EST

Harm pulled into the Naval Air Station's parking space with about an hour to go before the briefing. He was sure that he'd broken a few speed limits from his home to Oceana. Luckily the Virginia Highway Patrol hadn't caught him or he'd be definitely delayed. As a matter of fact, he was surprised that the mom-mobile had actually managed to put out that much power. He was sure before that the vehicle couldn't do a hundred mph without throwing a gasket and he was plenty astonished to realize that the SUV was capable of doing more than that. Not bad for a hunk of junk. He thought rather ungraciously, At least it got me from point A to point B in one piece.

He figured that Navy UOD at a Naval Air Station was service khakis (no ribbons, just a designator device) and he was pleased to note that he hadn't guessed wrong. Animal's Chief Yeoman was present and greeted him with a 'Good morning, sir. The Admiral is waiting. Right this way, sir.' Harm did a quick mental calculation of time and distance and hated to think of how many tickets the admiral had managed to incur while driving up to Oceana at break-neck speed.

'None…if you're wondering…' Harm looked up astonished to find the admiral looking over at him with a wry expression on his face. 'I'm sure they were sleeping on the job. Either that or VHP coverage is sparse after ten PM. Besides I only had to go about five miles from Norfolk to Oceana; just that there was a lot to plan for in terms of contingency hence the reason why I'm in early.' How the heck did Animal do that? Was it an ability that admirals managed to acquire when they went from eagles to stars? 'And no, we don't get that ability when we become admirals…' Harm's jaw managed to nearly dislocate itself from its moorings. 'I can pretty much read your astonishment in your face. It's simple deduction really. You're mentally figuring out how long it took me to drive here based on time-distance calculations. And yes, I was breaking the speed-limit down 19.' He slapped the back of his own hand…and smirked, 'Bad toad! OK…Harm, let's grab a bite to eat and we can get down to the brass tacks of flight planning.'

The officers' galley wasn't busy at that early time, but the cooks were already in; getting prepped for the influx of those on base to flood into the hall for breakfast and it was a quick matter of rustling up some sausages, bacon and eggs as well as a couple pieces of toast apiece for each of them; Harm's was minus the bacon and sausages with a couple extra eggs and slices of toast on the side. It was pretty pedestrian fare, but it still hit the spot and they made idle conversation while eating. As they were eating, the officers who were on-base trickled in. The incoming officers' eyes were on an O-6 and an O-9 sitting at a table together in service khakis, with their rank pins visible on the collars, along with a double-take at the incongruous sight. Admirals tended to sit with others of their kind or alone, so that was a rare occurrence and the other officers were uncomfortable until the two got up out of their seats and stashed their plates in the wash pile to keep from having the galley enlisted have to do the job of cleaning up their table. And then they headed out to the flight planning building to prep for their flight out to the carrier.

Harm was flying backseat for this evolution and they would be chair-bound once they reached the carrier. Admirals weren't allowed to fly at all but Animal would end up stretching the regs under the guise that he needed to know what was going on and TARPS just wasn't good enough for him without him getting up to see what was going on with the good ol' Mark One eyeballs. Something about the connection of eyeballs to brain that he wasn't getting with recon photos which could be hours old by the time that it reached him to peruse. The Joint Chiefs would have monkey fits, but well, they could sit around the fumble fortress throwing shit at each other about who let Animal fly again. The JAG just opted to look the other direction.

And one didn't want to give the Blue Button Society more things to gripe about; it was bad enough that most of them were taken off active duty and told to go around like trained monkeys to exhibit themselves. That fact that Animal had managed to stay on active duty after throwing a major stink about doing the talk-show circuit rounds probably didn't sit too well. And most of them still wanted to be out there where Animal was; putting himself in harm's way, no pun intended. It was, after all; what they trained to do.

Harm and Animal spent the next hour going over procedures in the F-14 Tomcat. If one hadn't flown in a while, one would get severely rusty in one's organizational skills and with the F-14; you could end up with a helmet fire if you weren't on top of things. Things had a tendency to snowball if you weren't with it and things could rapidly get out of hand in an emergency situation, so it was best to make sure that they were able to stay on top of things. If thing went south, they had to be proficient in egress procedures, otherwise known as punching out and sending the plane back to the tax-payers.

Somewhere over the Atlantic, 0900hrs EST

'Approach, One Zero Six, 18 miles, 7.8'

'Eight miles, ACLS lock-on, call your needles' Marshal called.

'Needles centered.'

'Roger, One Zero Six, Needles Centered, Fly Mode 1…' Animal was focused on his approach to the deck and Harm kept quiet, watching the instrument panel in the rear seat. He was along for the ride as Animal showed the air wing squadrons that the vice-admiral still had what it took to get a fast jet onboard on the first pass. Maybe it would show the air wing that this vice-admiral was still top of the heap when it came to driving fighters.

'Approach, Dog One Zero Six, Three Miles astern, hook down, gear down.' Animal radioed. They were returning a VF-143 Pukin' Dogs F-14D to the squadron.

Approach replied on Animal's radio call, 'One-Zero-Six, we have you sighted, three quarters of a mile, call the ball.'

'Tomcat, Ball, Four point oh, Nakamura…'

CAG Bridge, USS Carl Vinson, 0902 EST

Rear Admiral (lower half) Ken Brady looked over at his CAG, Captain Hank 'Tex' Ritter, as he listened to the radio transmissions of the incoming Dogs' Tomcat 'Tex, I don't know what the JCS is thinking sending a three-star out to watch over this battle group, but evidently CNO thinks that we need some minding. Evidently this three-star has done things…' RDML Brady didn't elucidate on the things. That was beyond his pay-grade and not subject to his knowledge – all he had to go on was scuttlebutt. '…and this guy hasn't been in a cockpit in three years. God knows what they're thinking…'

Tex looked over at his battle-group commander. 'Well, sir, evidently he's still got what it takes…', Tex commented as the Tomcat made a three-wire green trap; 'He just greased her into the three-wire. You say he hasn't been in a cockpit in three years?'

'Well, ever since he took over as Second Fleet CO, I doubt he's had the chance to touch stick and throttle.' Brady responded.

'Well, sir. With all due respect, he just blew the top ten percent of my air wing out of the water and hit the top of the Air Wing greenie board with that trap, let alone putting the Pukin' Dogs' CO to shame.' Commander Jeff 'Guns' Winchester was the man to beat as far as traps were concerned in the Air Wing.

'Tell me that when he's managed to get one hundred traps as an admiral in on deployment; not that he'll get much of a chance to do so.'

'Well, sir…he does have three stars…' Tex didn't elaborate. RDML Brady knew what he meant exactly. Three stars carried a lot of weight…and like an elephant, if this vice-admiral managed to make some noise, he'd also make waves and he'd get his stick-time, over the head of Brady. Unlike Brady who, prior to this command, was stationed in the Pacific Fleet; Tex was an Atlantic Fleet driver and had heard of the vice-admiral's accomplishments. This vice-admiral carried the ear of the Joint Chiefs of Staff as well as the CNO, not to mention a few other things that the Rear Admiral (lower half) didn't know about the three-star yet, but that would be an unpleasant surprise for Brady.

It wasn't long before the three-star made his appearance on the CAG Bridge accompanied by a tall dark-haired officer with eagles on his collars. They had taken the opportunity to change over from their flight gear and put on shipboard khakis. Tex snapped to attention as Rear Admiral Brady uncoiled himself from the chair and stood. 'How you doing? Tex?' the three-star said to the CAG informally.

'Doing great, sir. Long time no see.' Brady looked over at Tex who was grinning at the three-star. Just what had the CAG left out?

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'Been a long time since 41. Tex. See you got your air wing.'

'Yes, sir.' Brady noticed a tone of pride in his CAG's voice.

'Knew you had it in you.' The three-star grinned at the CAG, 'Admiral…' the three-star looked over at Brady with a questioning look. 'Sorry to drop in on you like this, but…' he nodded to the rear admiral lower half. Brady thought that the vice-admiral didn't seem the slightest bit sorry at all, '…JCS orders me somewhere, I jump…'

'Surprised that a three-star has been sent out to over-see a carrier battle group, sir; would have thought that they'd have more important things to do ashore.' The three-star didn't miss the fact that there was an undertone of resentment coming from Brady who probably felt like his command had been undercut.

'Admiral, I'll tell you this much. There's been rumblings in the Middle East regarding some very serious things.' The vice-admiral looked over at him. 'Seen a lot of it face-to-face and it's not something that the JCS felt that someone not close to the situation could handle.' It seemed as though the vice-admiral had injected a harsher tone to his response. 'And believe me…the situation that I saw was serious.' He indicated the room with a nod of his head and Brady knew that the three-star wasn't going to elaborate further considering the information that he carried unless they were in secure quarters.

'Sir, I'm assuming that we should retire to private quarters to discuss this matter?' Brady volunteered, indicating the flag bridge with a nod towards upstairs. Internally, Brady wondered if he would have to give up his quarters to the vice-admiral.

'Tex, you come too; this is going to involve your air wing.' The three-star indicated.

'Yes, sir.'

When they had negotiated the ladders and knee-knockers leading up to the flag-bridge, the three-star, after both captains and the rear admiral lower half entered Brady's bridge, shut the hatch and then looked over at Brady. 'You are aware of the Islamic Brotherhood?' the vice-admiral growled; his eyes narrowed and a frown on his face.

'Yes, sir. I'm familiar with that group.' Brady replied.

'Well, Rear Admiral, the group just tried to get a hold of an ICBM. If they'd had the opportunity to launch, DC would be glowing radioactive motes right this very moment and we'd be looking at nuclear war.' The revelation nearly made Brady's jaw dislocate. 'Captain Rabb…' the vice-admiral indicated the tall dark-haired officer beside him, '…and I were tasked by the CIA to locate and disable that ICBM. We eliminated that threat with RAF help. Two JDAMs down the centerline of the missile truck. NEST teams are currently onsite to clean up the hot zone. Don't know if that news has had the opportunity to trickle down the Navy grapevine and I'm assuming you're hearing about this first hand for the very first time. For note, however, Rear Admiral; none of this leaves this room. Understood?'

'Yes, sir…I hadn't heard of anything coming down the grapevine to that effect, sir. It's the first I've heard of it.' Internally, Brady was petrified of nuclear conflict. He knew that if it came down to a shooting war, that the battle-groups were the first target for enemy tactical nuclear weapons; that one megaton anti-ship nuclear missiles were targeting his battle group. The only thing that he'd see if it came down to it was an incredibly bright flash and then nothingness as he was vaporized into his component parts.

'I've been tasked by the Joint Chiefs of Staff to conduct air operations over Afghanistan and to pound Al Qaeda into the ground; to keep 'em guessing as to when and where the next attack is going to come from, so that they don't have a chance to have any relief. In other words; not give them a chance to regroup so that they can come up with another terror attack.'

'So we're talking a constant and concerted air campaign against the enemy; round the clock bombardment?' Brady asked. 'Will we be provisioned for such a task?'

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'We'll be replenished at regular intervals by replenishment vessels seconded to the fleet and not just by USN replenishment vessels, but by regular shipping as well, so be prepared for that eventuality. And I'm not talking regular by ordinary deployment standards, I'm talking combat operations replenishment schedule. Ordnance will be supplied by USN vessels, however food-stocks may be by civilian transport and those will be regular shipments. We can expect two ordnance replenishments a week.' The vice-admiral warned letting Brady know that there was going to be a consistent stream of replenishment of ordnance and supplies and tacitly implying that there was going to be relentless bombing of the enemy as per such ordnance replacement. 'I don't know how long this deployment is going to last, but we're talking at minimum a seven or eight month deployment.'

By this time, Brady's prior assessment of the vice-admiral had taken an abrupt one-eighty. This admiral wasn't your normal run-of-the mill flag officer that most line officers became after they'd been away from the fleet for some time. He'd evidently seen and done a few things that most flag officers had never done or had been too far away from for quite some time to remember doing; and he'd done them recently too and Brady now understood why Tex had been respectful of this vice-admiral's accomplishments. Brady recalled his Academy studies and now understood that the United States Navy was taking a war-time footing; Rear Admiral Halsey came to mind – he was known as the 'fighting admiral' and Brady looking at this vice-admiral knew that he was looking at an admiral of the same calibre as Halsey.

'Captain Rabb is my chief of staff. Any questions that you have can be directed at him, if I'm not available. I will keep him apprised of the situation at all times, so that he'll be able to answer any of your questions. Any questions?'

'Not currently, sir.' Brady said, snapping to attention.

'Well, I have a question for you.' the three-star grinned, 'Do you happen to have spare quarters for my chief of staff and myself? Don't want to inconvenience you by putting you out of your stateroom. Just so long as it's got a bunk and a desk, I'm fine.'

'Sir?' Brady was shocked. He'd thought he'd have to vacate his quarters.

'Ken…' Brady got even more shocked when the vice-admiral used his first name. Evidently he'd done his research, before-hand on the battle group. 'I've done too many deployments where my ass had to hot-bunk with other officers. I'm used to it. You're the de facto BATGRPCOM on this deployment. I just oversee the operation against the enemy. So far be it for me to roust you out of your quarters. You stay put.'

'Aye-aye, sir.' Ken Brady looked over at Tex; a look of shock at the news and stammered, 'Find the vice-admiral and his chief of staff some quarters. Make sure they're good ones.'

'And if you can do so, kindly please inform the carrier CO that I wish to meet with all the command staff in a meeting at 1430hrs. Service dress khakis…'

'Aye-aye, sir.'

Vice Admiral Toshio Nakamura's Quarters, USS Carl Vinson, 1045 hrs EST

'Well, looks like we made it aboard without my bending the Tomcat, Harm.' Animal grinned as he settled into a comfy chair or as comfy as the USN allowed. Harm thought that it didn't seem like much. It was more of a senior officer's quarters for O-5 and above, significantly less roomy than the battle group commander's quarters, slightly less roomy than the ship's captain's quarters or the CAG's quarters, but it was still a lot wider than what the junior officers had to deal with. But if Animal said that it would do, it would do and he wouldn't gripe and moan about it.

'Service dress khakis for the meeting?' Harm asked, eyeing Animal with a questioning look. Normally meetings were conducted in shipboard khakis, regular every day wear. But it seemed as though Vice-Admiral Nakamura had an ulterior motive and he was right in that assumption because Animal looked at him with one upraised eyebrow.

'Need to know who's ticket-punching and who are hard-chargers. The hard-chargers get the job done.' Animal replied as he looked over at what was available in the quarters. Asides from a private rack, a private shower and a small desk with a lockbox above it to store one's confidential information as well as to store his M9 sidearm; there wasn't much and Rabb had quarters similar to his across the passageway.

Harm understood immediately. Animal was going to stamp his mark on the battle group regardless of who was in command. He would assign the choice jobs for this assignment to the hard-chargers who were on the air wing. And in doing so it would give them the chance to prove themselves worthy of promotion; their efforts being noted in their personnel jackets. Like most organizations, the Navy did have its share of nepotism; the officers who could kiss-ass the most were the ones that usually got promoted, especially in the staff corps. However, Animal was about to turn that on its ear. Results were what Animal expected and the ones who could deliver were the ones who got ahead in Second Fleet – those who couldn't hack the program were cashiered out and he gave the kiss-asses just enough rope to hang themselves; invariably, they'd screw up and get removed. Harm had yet to see a competent kiss-ass. If they were competent in the first place, they'd have no need to be a kiss-ass.

'Think we should head down to the galley and get ourselves something to eat before the meeting?' Animal queried his chief of staff. They had changed into their service dress khakis replete with ribbons. Harm grinned. Animal was going to scare the shit out of the staff, especially when they took a second look at his rack.

'Yeah, I think we should grab a bite or our stomachs will make themselves known about half-way through the meeting and probably at the most inopportune time.' They both snickered at the thought. They unseated themselves and headed down the passageway managing to negotiate the knee-knockers relatively unscathed. Harm did note several shocked glances at Animal by the enlisted personnel onboard as they made their way to the officer's galley. 'I think you're scaring the crew already, Admiral.' Animal's response was a wicked grin and a slightly evil chuckle.

Officer's Wardroom; USS Carl Vinson, 1430hrs

Animal stood by the whiteboard as the command officers trickled in. 'Afternoon, gentlemen.' He acknowledged their presence. Looking at him, the officers' eyes widened: three stars, gold naval aviator wings…and as their eyes moved lower down to his been there; done that rack, their curiosity turned to astonishment and awe. They may not have seen a holder of that ribbon before until now, but they all knew what it was and implicitly what it took to receive it and Animal's whole point in wearing the dress khakis, was to make a point that the men and women of the command crew who didn't know him still understood that he was a commander who walked the walk; that his command was merit-based. Subtle as a sledge-hammer, but if it did the job; then good.

In the meantime, Animal was doing his own evaluation of their ribbon racks. He could see from a few of the racks that there were some commendation medals and medals for heroism and at least one Navy Cross in the bunch. He noted that individual with a nod and received a nod back in return acknowledging each of their accomplishments. RDML Brady was the last to enter and his eyes widened as he noted Vice-Admiral Nakamura's rack…his eyes not straying from the pale sky blue ribbon with the white stars. Animal restrained a smirk as he noted Brady's shock. When the officers had all settled into their chairs, Animal spoke. 'Thanks for coming'; not that they had a choice in the matter. When a three-star requested their presence, their asses were supposed to be there whether they wanted to or not; no explanation needed. 'Gentlemen…over the course of this campaign, we've had to bomb targets in Afghanistan on a round the clock basis.' He paused for a long moment as the officers nodded; and then dropped a bomb of his own. 'But unfortunately, there is no break in that schedule. In fact, the bombing campaign is going to be stepped up a notch. A week ago, I was in Cairo with Captain Rabb.' Animal indicated the tall dark-haired captain wearing eagles on his collars standing in the corner of the room. 'The Islamic Brotherhood had somehow managed to acquire a SS-23…and its mobile launcher and planned to fire it from the Moroccan desert…' …another pregnant pause to let that bit of news sink in. '…at Washington DC.' Gasps went around the wardroom. 'Captain Rabb and I with our two WSOs in two F Super Hornets along with RAF assistance managed to locate and destroy the SS-23 and its launcher before it was able to launch. In doing so we also eliminated the de facto head of the Islamic Brotherhood, but there are still roach cells in the area that need to be squashed.' All eyes turned towards the dark haired captain and they noted that he also wore naval aviator wings. Astonishment turned to admiration as they looked back at the vice-admiral. This admiral wasn't about to do things halfway and he wouldn't hesitate to get his own hands dirty. 'I know that you've been hampered by ROE during the course of this campaign; that the rules of engagement do not benefit us in the slightest as far as taking the war to the enemy. With the hand that the Islamic Brotherhood has shown, the gloves are off…now.' Animal said this sharply. 'As of now the bombing campaign will be stepped up significantly. The Abraham Lincoln battle group will be joining us on station next week to supplement our strike capability. Note that these missions will be dangerous. TARPs aircraft will be making over flights of target areas to feed us so-called real-time information.' Animal added a derisive snort in there to indicate just how real-time he thought TARPS data really was, 'Be aware that the enemy's eyes will be open and that there are SAMs in the area, mostly handheld and you know how dangerous those SAMs, especially the Gremlin, are in terms of rear-quarter tracking of our aircraft. The Islamic Brotherhood has managed to get their hands on a shipment of Stingers and although the vast bulk of them have been destroyed through the efforts of Captain Rabb here, we do not know how many slipped through and are effectively in the field. Because information several hours old is of no use to me, I will be commandeering flight hours and using them to go up and see the situation for myself. I intend to conduct strikes in real time and I will not get that information if I have to wait three hours for TARPS data to be parsed and collated for my perusal. You can save that TARPS data for the REMFs back in the five-sided monkey cage and they can figure out what the fuck that means in between sipping their banana mocha frappucinos; picking their noses; beating off and throwing shit at the walls.' That bit of coarse derogatory analogy regarding Pentagon intelligence staff caused smiles to break out amongst the Vinson command crew.

Tex looked over at Brady at this statement and noticed with no small sense of amusement that Brady looked resigned to the fact that he'd been over-ruled. Animal was going up and he'd find the mounts to do so; three stars beat one-star.

'Make note again that I emphasize that these missions are dangerous, but I don't like sitting in the command bridge with my thumbs up my ass collectively and thus I will not pencil your men into a mission that I wouldn't fly myself. That is how I conducted my air wing when I was a CAG, my battle-group when I was in command of BATGRP2 and my fleet when I became Commander, Second Fleet; and I intend to stick to that course of action while serving on board the Carl Vinson. Captain McKinley, I'm going to need to make sure that you are well aware of flight ops…as launch and recovery operations are key factors in these missions.'

Damned For All Time

Captain Stuart McKinley was the captain of the Carl Vinson and he nodded; after all, flight operations usually happened when the aircraft carrier was headed into the wind. That was to make sure that aircraft were able to launch with the assistance of lift provided to the airfoils due to the airflow being in the direction opposite the direction of take-off when the aircraft were cat-shot off the deck. Carrier operations were dangerous at the best of times and any bit of help in getting an aircraft airborne improved the success rate. All carrier captains had to be designated aviators as they understood best what they needed to do in order to effectively launch their aircraft off the pointy end of the boat. 'Yes, sir.' He acknowledged the indication that he would have to be aware of what needed to be done in terms of the operations. With the increased bombing missions launching off his deck, he'd be directing his men to sail into the wind quite a bit during this cruise.

'Good man.' the vice-admiral grinned at him. 'CAG, I want you to set up a flight rotation that allows the men to spell each other off for down-time. Equal flight-hours for each crew and equal downtime; that way we don't exhaust the crews into making mistakes that can cost airframes…and lives. We'll lose enough from enemy fire and I don't like losing men from operational accidents that could have been prevented. One more thing, I want the arresting wires replaced…all of them and we will be replacing them on a regular basis. The Pentagon bean-counters can throw hissy-fits for all I care; because I don't give a damn. I do not need an arresting wire snapping and having a thirty-six million dollar airframe going into the drink or landing gears being snapped off parked aircraft.'

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A few more salient points and Animal concluded the meeting. He took questions from the command crew and gave answers to the key points that they brought up.

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As Tex and Brady headed off into the corridor, Brady looked over at Tex with a look of confusion, 'Tex, you never told me that the vice-admiral was a recipient.'

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'You never asked, sir.'