Chapter 4 (Pt 1)
USS Seahawk
Captain's quarters
"Lieutenant Turrick reporting as ordered, Sir."
Captain Johnson looked up from his desk, squinting at the young dark-haired pilot who stood at attention before him. "Was Rabb right about this one?" He sighed inwardly, going over the JAG officer's crazy plan in his head one more time. "Whether or not Rabb was right, I risk losing two more men on this. Some odds..."
"At ease, Lieutenant," he said out loud, straining to keep his voice level. "I have an assignment for you. I need to know how much serious firepower -- if any -- the Taliban has along this stretch of the border." He pointed to a spot on the map. "Now, because of the recent incidents, we'll have a team flying in from Naples later this morning to investigate." He paused, watching the younger man's face intently, but the latter showed no sign of concern. "Everyone will need to interviewed. And since, as you're well aware, we are already short on crew, I'll barely be able to spare crewmembers for questioning. That means I can send no more than two men out on a mission at the moment, so you'll be flying without your RIOs. And I need my best pilots in case anything should go wrong." He kept his gaze fixed on the Lieutenant, who now watched him with a certain amount of apprehension. "I'll be sending Commander Rabb, one of our reserve pilots, as the lead. I want you to be his wingman."
Even as he said those words, the Captain cringed inwardly at the almost brazen audacity of Commander Rabb's plan. If Rabb was right, he'd end up confronting a murderer alone over hostile territory. The skipper hated the idea, but, unfortunately, so far it was the only viable way of exposing a spy without risking any more lives of his crew. And after the events of the past week, it was one risk that the Seahawk's captain was not willing to take. So it was only for that reason that the skipper grudgingly agreed to the JAG officer's suicidal plan.
"You want me to play second fiddle to a lawyer, Sir?" the Lieutenant's face was a mixture of confusion and hurt pride.
"He's one of the best damn pilots I know," the Captain snapped. "And you come pretty close."
"Yes, Sir."
Captain Johnson nodded in satisfaction. "The CAG will fill you in on the mission details. You'll be leaving in 40 minutes. Get ready. Dismissed."
"Aye-aye, Sir."
* * *
Same time
USS Seahawk
Commander Rabb's temporary quarters
Harm was jolted awake by persistent knocking on his door. Still somewhat disoriented, he rubbed his eyes trying to chase away the sleep and glanced at his watch. A look of annoyed disbelief flashed across his face. 'Almost 4 hours? Damn, it didn't feel like I closed my eyes for more than 5 minutes.' The knocking continued, and he sighed in exasperation, pulling himself up from his bunk. Briefly smoothing out the uniform, which he was too tired to take off before crashing onto his bunk for much needed sleep, he strode across the room and opened the cabin door to reveal a somewhat flustered ensign.
"Sorry to wake you, Sir," the latter smiled apologetically, "but Captain Johnson asked me to tell you that you are to report to the briefing room by 0930."
"Thank you, ensign. I'll be there."
"Aye, Sir."
"So, it's almost time," he thought distractedly, as the young man disappeared in the hallway. Tiredly, he ran his hand over his face, barely suppressing a yawn. For some reason at that moment his mind drifted back to his friends at JAG. "It must be evening there already," he thought absently. Glancing back at his watch to gauge the time he had left, Harm nodded to himself, having come to a decision, and walked out of his quarters, heading for the public phone.