Chapter One - "It's Your Lucky Day"

"Beyond the Call of Duty"

Author: Nikkei_Simmer

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Rating: M

Classification:

Spoilers:

Summary: [Animal/Meg Timeline] When two naval aircrewmen are downed over enemy territory; will Animal go against orders and bring them home. When the XO decides to bring charges against Animal for disobeying a direct order, will it scuttle the battle group commander's recommendation for the nation's highest award for military heroism. Will Harm be able to save the career of the man who taught him how to fly and fight in the F-14 Tomcat? (Author's Note: Rewrite to bring story in line with timeline laid out]

DISCLAIMER: The characters Harm Rabb, Jr., Sarah "Mac" Mackenzie, Meg Austin, AJ Chegwidden, Bud Roberts, Harriet Sims-Roberts et al. belong (in concept if not name) to CBS/Bellisarius. Animal and all OC characters are the property of the author. No profit is being made from this story, nor is any infringement intended.

Author's Note: I have decided to redo the timeline as most of my standalone stories are all over the place in terms of my previous timeline. So I ended up trying to set up a definitive timeline that I am going to use now for all my stories. All the ones that are in the [Animal/Meg Timeline] will be prefaced by that designation. And I will be writing mostly all of the future stories in said timeline; except for certain stories that I'm currently still trying to finish off. The rest of the Animal/Meg stories will be edited to fit the new timeline and Wild Horses n' Aviators will be brought to a halt as it no longer fits the timeline as it stands now. I will edit each chapter and repost the newly edited (to fit the timeline) chapters of each story; so please feel free to go check out the stories for a second read…because they will probably run a bit different.

Chapter One – "It's Your Lucky Day"

Intelligence Center; USS Theodore Roosevelt, International waters off the coast of North Korea; August 28, 1994

1030hrs Local

"Well, looks like Kim Jong Il's throwing a temper-tantrum again." Lieutenant Commander Russell Wallace NAVINTEL said as the two men looked at the latest recon photos taken of the North Korean missile emplacements. "He's playing rustle the South Korean President's jimmies; if the little troll-haired twerp isn't careful he's going to get the whole Korean command antsy enough to pull the trigger on a nice little Korean peninsula brawl. He's moved them about a mile closer to the South Korean border." The two men looked carefully at a pile of 11x16 photos on the table…showing several missiles on each frame. Wallace was comparing the earlier dated photos to the most recent ones. It showed movement on several of the mobile launch units. Both Lieutenant Commanders were in khakis. The one who hadn't spoken yet wore naval aviator wings; a brown-shoe.

"So what's going on…in terms of what the South Koreans are saying about it?" The other officer, another lieutenant commander, asked dryly.

"Oh…they're oh-so-politely asking the North Koreans to please move their missiles back to where they originally were…" LCDR Wallace snorted, "That was prior to Friday's missile test – yep; that one Il lobbed off two days ago. Now the South Koreans are hollering like a bunch of caged chimpanzees."

"Why am I not surprised?" the other officer grumbled, "Figures…right when we're embroiled in two wars. We check the Adriatic, we got the Bosnians going after each other, now we got the Koreans; south and north vintage threatening to blow each other up. Isn' that just great…?"

Wallace smirked, "Well, it ain't making your kissing cousins very happy either…and you know just how the Koreans feel about your extended family…" the other officer shook his head. "COMFLTJAPAN is getting it from the Japanese Admiralty about the fact that the two Koreas are considering going at each other and why aren't we doing anything about it…" The naval aviator shook his head at the intelligence officer; as he gave him a wry grin. He'd always gotten ribbed; in a friendly way, about his ethnicity by Wallace, and today was no different.

At this point another officer opened the door: at the sound; the two others snapped to attention, "CAG!" Wallace acknowledged.

Captain Roger "Hoss" Cartwright grumbled, "As you were…" He looked dour. "I got COMBATGRP riding my ass about why we haven't sent up a TARPS bird, yet…VF-14's CO is looking over at his birds; both of his TARPs birds are down. Animal, you got anything?"

"Last I checked with maintenance, they said our TARPS birds were up, sir. I think someone in our squadron with power has been tap-dancing on maintenance's head."

"Who would we have to fly it?" He looked over at the naval aviator who was referred to as Animal. Animal had been the operations officer of his squadron, the VF-41 Black Aces since he'd come back on board a year ago. "Well, if we take a sniff around the area maybe that'll keep COMFLTJAPAN happy and keep the Japanese from sending their F-15s up in an aerial waste of gas trying to intimidate the North Koreans to keeping within their own territorial waters. They're not scaring anybody. Kim Jong Il has been trying for years to get nuclear weapons and he won't hesitate to use them on the Japanese if they even threaten to make a face at him. "

"We've been nurse-maiding the Japanese for forty-nine years, sir." Lieutenant Commander Toshio "Animal" Nakamura replied dourly to the wry grins of CAG Cartwright and Wallace. "I don't think they'll stop sucking their thumbs every time the Koreans belch over kim-chi indigestion. As far as a TARPS bird crew I think Harrison and Colesworth are up…on the rotation in the TARPS bird, Grip and Squawk had the other run. We've only got two crews who are trained on TARPS; sure could use another one to spell the first two off. All I need is a crew for the escort bird, sir."

"Well, Lieutenant Commander, looks like it's your lucky day." The CAG smirked as he looked over at the intel officer who grinned widely in amusement at Animal; the VF-41 squadron operations officer who had an come to Jesus moment 'Oh Shit' expression on his face, "The TARPS bird is being ordered to go up 0030hrs; take a sniff around and see what can be found. You and your RIO up to it?"

"Sir, you say jump; I just ask when and how high…" Animal gave him a grin though internally he was shuddering. TARPS escort was a no-fun hang out at any time of the day or night. The TARPS bird always sustained fire; hence the reason they were in maintenance all the time.

The CAG gave him a sarcastic look, "You know, Nakamura, you're a glutton for punishment…You know damned well, that TARPS babysitting is hanging your ass over the frying pan, waiting for the cook to light the fire."

"Well, sir, I just hope my ass doesn't get turned into sukiyaki…not really my favorite idea of a good time…I'll roust Scooter, Dollar and Spaz up. They're not going to like me…" Animal looked resigned to the fact that his ass was going to be airborne at oh-Christ Dark Thirty looking out at the moon and the stars and hoping that his ass wasn't being tagged by a Soviet-made radar attached to a SA-6 launcher.

"Embrace the suck, Animal." The other two said in unison.

"Aye aye, sir…" Animal gave the CAG a wry nod.

VF-41 Berthing Area, 1050hrs Local

Since the two crews were on opposite sides of the stateroom corridor; Animal was able to roust them pretty easily. "Shake a leg!" he hollered banging on the door opposite his own waking up Spaz and Scooter. Animal was roomed with Dollar. When Spaz opened the door; Animal greeted him with a "Spaz, we got an Oh Christ Dark Thirty, need you n'Dollar to man the TARPS. CAG wants us up and doing a recon run through the area to see what the KimChis are doing. Kick your driver up…Hey shake a leg; Scooter. If you don't, I end up having to wake up Pylon and then I'm going to have to keep his ass awake and mine at the same time while I'm feet dry. You know how loud he snores in the office." Not to mention that Rabbit; their no-load XO would have a feces-throwing cow; and Scooter might find himself on an Article 15. Scooter was already half-way into his bag and pulling his boots out from under the bed.

"Already getting dressed, Animal…" Lieutenant Jim "Scooter" Willis grinned at his driver. "Did CAG say what this LEAPEX was about?"

"Seems like our non-friendly kim-chi eating Happy Tree Friends are having a game of musical missile trucks…and our friendly kim-chis are having a screaming fit about it. Then our sushi-eating children are getting nervous and asking Uncle Sam's Navy why we ain't doing anything about the kim chis? I'd say this was a Chinese fire drill, but the Chinese ain't any where near it." Animal smirked at him as he tossed off this eloquent bit of sarcasm which caused grins all around from the two flight crews, "Let's get our asses to the ready room to brief before Rabbit goes nuclear and starts throwing pellets everywhere. I wanna be upstairs before Rabbit gets out of the rack." With that, the four air crew headed to the ready room. As squadron- operations officer, Animal knew the mission had already been laid out for them by the intelligence officers; since they knew exactly what information they were looking for; all the way points; ingress and egress; and all the potential threats in the area. All the TARPS bird had to do was snag it for them.

"We feet-dry at this point on the coast…" Animal pointed to the map on the overhead projector aiming his laser pointer at the wall at the appropriate positions as he ran down the threats in the area, "Our target is this missile site north of Pusan and this missile site in the valley on the other end of the ridgeline about one hundred miles apart. Watch the terrain. NK Missile Defense is SA-6s which were sighted so I want your eyes and ears open; they get tone on you, you're gonna have a really bad day. When we go feet dry; I don't want any chatter on the com-line; the only thing I expect to hear is an emergency distress call, or a missile warning call; no idle chatter outside of inter-cockpit communicator. I don't want the kim-chis even knowing that we're in the area until we blow past them at Mach point nine two. Egress from the target site is at Zero Nine Five. Get down below the SA-6 radar coverage and get the hell out of Dodge. Buster (Bust your aircraft if you have to)… Watch for Two-Three Triple A fire… Spaz. You know your TARPS equipment; you figure out when you need to start rolling. I'll be hanging off your port wing; combat spread, eyes peeled for MiGs in the area. Dollar, you got combat load. Two off your port wing, two off your starboard. Nine-Limas and Sevens." Full load twenty mike mike. Not having you go in there cold. I'm going in with air defense load. Two Nine-Limas off the starboard; two off the port rails; four Sevens down the tunnel. Full load in the Vulcan. Scooter, you keep your eyes peeled every chance you get…behind our three-nine. If I'm about to get an Atoll up my ass, I wanna know it before it happens." Animal's MiG and Sukhoi kills with the Howlers during his Gulf War cruise was talked about quite often within the squadron grapevine. Animal, however, was a long time Black Aces member. His first cruise as a nugget was with the Aces.

"No one-twenty; boss? No Nine-X-rays" Spaz asked looking puzzled. His nugget cruise was with VF-32 who were flying D's and he was used to having access to the latest and greatest which the D's usually got. Of course the AIM-120 AMRAAM was still just getting out to the fleet and only certain aircraft got to carry them.

"No…we're not rated for'em yet. Only the Eighteen Charlies get to carry the one twenties at this time. Nine X-rays, I don't know when we're getting them if ever. Fourteens are looking to get rated on the one twenty though – at least the D's will…it's a DoD afterthought. By the time they get around to giving the Fourteens the one-twenty, they'll probably only have enough time to get the D's rated on them. We're flying Alphas. We're the red-headed step-children. They'll probably forget about us until such time as the Tomcat gets retired." Animal got the well that sucks look from Spaz, Dollar and Scooter.

Dollar piped up, "Shit, boss, guys in the Bugs get all the good stuff…"

"Dollar; it ain't the shininess of the toys you get; it's whether you know how to use those toys you have…" Spaz told him. This was his second cruise so he figured he knew it all. Animal's shore tour was with the East Coast RAG teaching other newly winged aviators how to fly and fight in the F-14. Spaz had hooked up with post-graduate school on his first shore tour and had completed his masters in aeronautical engineering. "If you cain't hit the broad side of a barn door with a bb gun, y'ain't gonna have much better luck with a 30.06."

Kevin "Spaz" Colesworth was a Lieutenant; his driver, Dollar (first name Bill) Harrison was a Lieutenant JG; a nugget on his first cruise. Scooter was also a Lieutenant so Animal was senior ranking officer in the aircrew as a Lieutenant Commander and normally would be flight lead, but the TARPS bird needed to go in first on any run and that was so that if the enemy was asleep, they wouldn't be waiting to light them up. The TARPS bird was generally known as a sitting target because when you had that big ol' ugly growth hanging off the centerline in the tunnel, you couldn't turn and burn worth sour owl shit. All you could do was pray to your God Almighty that you could get your nose on the bad guy while you were wallowing around in the air like a stuck pig and take him out before he turned you into a ball of grease and spare parts rapidly expanding in midair.

Animal knew for a fact that he was going to need to keep his eyes on Dollar. There was another reason why Bill had gotten tagged with his call-sign Dollar. He was always a little behind the power curve; not enough to get him FNAEB'd but just enough that he needed to be reminded every so often to "Pay the fuck attention to your damned job!" Of course he was a nugget and nuggets were prone to helmet fires if the situation was too heated. You could say that Dollar was always a day late and a "dollar short". And he'd carry that tag throughout the rest of his naval career.

"Sir, you flew the D with the Howlers, right?"

"That's correct. One more thing. Dollar. Its call-signs only in the ready room." Animal grinned at him, "Unless there's silver oak leafs, eagles or stars in the room; keep the sirs out of it. I'm only a hinge. I sure hope they give me back my brain when I get to O-5." He finished laconically to the laughter of the rest of the guys in the ready room. "Maybe I would have had the sense to turn down this hop." He pointed to the locker-room where the flight gear was kept. "Let's get our gear on and get our asses up there…we're burning starlight…"

Since the other three were already in flight-suits, all they needed were their survival equipment vests, g-suits and torso harnesses; the latter two would hook them up to the onboard oxygen and their ejection seat respectively.

Animal always had a spare flight-suit in his locker…just for the very reason that he could potentially be on duty right up to the moment until he strapped on the jet, so then he wouldn't have to backtrack all the way to his rack to get his flight suit. And it was always replaced by him when he went up with a fresh bag. Having had three cruises already under his belt and this being his fourth (a lot for an O-4, but that's how circumstances went – you went where they ordered you); he knew to be prepared.

Putting on flight equipment was like the process of knights putting on armor for battle. Animal stripped down to his skivvies quickly and slipped into his bag, then quickly zipped up the suit. He, then, grabbed his g-suit and sucked in his gut…those g-suits were tight as hell; all the better to keep your blood up in your head so you wouldn't black out while pulling 7+ Gs. Slipping the g-suit on was a process; the exercise of pulling on the damned thing could be better described as grunt n' yank, which actually was what you did when you did pull Gs. The process next involved, while your nuts ended up being jammed against your lower torso, leaning down to zip the zippers along the inner leg so that the air bladders would be able to inflate squeezing your lower legs so that the pressure kept the blood in your head instead of pooling down to your legs and putting you out like a light. And being out like a light in a high performance jet fighter was not a good thing conducive to your survival; the end result being that you either dug a hole or went splash depending on whether the hard deck was ground or water. F-14s were not known for their ability to float or skip across the surface of the water like skipping stones.

Putting on his survival equipment vest; Animal put the clip of 9mm rounds in his M9 Beretta, safety on and jammed it into the holster on his vest that they strapped over the flight suit…and of course the vest contained a personal floatation device built into it like a nice puffy square collar which inflated to keep the naval aviator afloat if they went splash which he sure as hell hoped wouldn't happen besides outside of a catastrophic mechanical failure in the aircraft; there was no way in hell that he was going to punch out especially over Indian country; he would nurse that airplane home even if he had to get out and push the goddamned thing back to the CV.

Punching out was not an option in any case other than mechanical failure or enemy fire that incapacitated the aircraft's ability to fly. He was only 5'10" And if you lose one inch to one point five inches of height per ejection due to spine compression…let's just say he didn't have too many inches to lose before they started calling him a midget. Anybody less than 5'4" or over 6'5" was not allowed in a fighter cockpit. Anyone less than 5'4" was too short to see through the HUD; anyone taller than 6'5" had the risk of getting their legs severed when the bang-seat fired, because their knees wouldn't be able to clear the instrument display.

Dollar muttered to himself, "We just had to have an Oh Christ Dark Thirty start, didn't we."…just barely stifling a yawn.

"Suck it up, Dollar, this is what you signed up for." Animal told him. When they all had their gear; flight-helmets in hand, they all walked up to the deck. The lights leading to the deck hatch grew dimmer and dimmer then switched to red-light to allow their pupils to acclimate to night vision. Putting on their helmets; which muffled the screaming loud cacophony that was the flight deck of the aircraft carrier, they opened the hatch and stepped out onto the no-skid.

Even in the dead of night, there were still flight operations going on and they had to watch out for all the dangers that the flight deck could present to them. If you weren't careful about your way towards your destination you could get sucked into a jet intake and turned into hamburger if you walked too close to a live aircraft with engines running. If an arresting wire snapped you would be saying adios to your legs before you even could blink. If you weren't careful where you walked, you could end up getting roasted by the engine exhaust if you walked too close behind an aircraft that was taxiing or if something was on fire…and you got in the way of the fire-hose with which the firemen were trying to put it out before it caused a bigger problem on the flight deck, there was a long fall with a small splash at the very end. If that happened and the splash at the end didn't kill you, you'd probably get dragged into the wake and diced into little tiny pieces by the ships propeller that was spinning at very high rpm to propel this massive beast across the ocean and your little tiny remains would be chum for the sharks who would be very grateful for the unexpected meal.

Even worse, if something dropped off an aircraft that falls and goes boom or shoots off uncontrolled in a straight line and goes boom; because a restraining bolt failed, you'd be playing a harp in heaven; or getting poked in the ass by a pitchfork in hell before you could say what. Let's just say anything that went boom was something you didn't want to fall off an aircraft. Especially the big booms in the special weapons locker if they were armed for the mission that you didn't ever want to fly. That could give the entire battle-group a bad day as they were being reconstituted into their basic component atoms; and the Kremlin marshals, generals and admirals no end of amusement.

Ah…Yuri, I see the Americans had a little accident and blew up their battle group…ha ha ha…so…time for lunch…borscht or piroshkis?

If things that go boom falling off aircraft weren't bad enough, you could potentially get seriously injured or killed by any number of heavy parts that could fall off the aircraft or get a limb crushed or severed. In short anything that fell off an aircraft that you got in the way of…could make it a very bad day for you and award you with a possible trip to the hospital ship or a one way ticket to the ship's onboard cadaver freezer where you would lie, until repatriated to your next of kin, cooling to room temperature.

"114 is up! Sir!" an AM2 in his color coded shirt called out to Animal. "Your TARPS crew gets her. She's loaded with your specified load out, sir."

"Thanks. Mason!" Animal could see the man's face behind the goggle shield and the crew helmet. "I'll let Spaz and Dollar know."

"And you're flying your regular 104, sir! She's fully loaded! Air defense load out and she's ready to go!" Normally Tomcats were not assigned to anyone in particular even though every crew had their names and call-signs on the rails of every aircraft in the squadron; one crew per aircraft. But anyone could be flying anyone else's aircraft. It was just lucky that Animal had rolled the dice and got his own aircraft that was up on this particular night. Mason was his regular crew chief and he was always making sure that Fast Eagle 104 was in top flying condition. It was Mason's bird and Animal just rented her out when he took her up. And if he pranged her, he'd certainly hear about it from Mason. However the F-14 was a tool to be used when one needed to go to war…like a wielded sword and an emotional attachment to the bird that you flew would just hamper you. It would make you hesitate just that one little extra second before you pulled the loops and that one second could cost you your life. And that was why everyone flew everyone else's aircraft to prevent such attachment to your own bird. It cost the United States Government two million dollars per Naval Aviator to train. There was no reason to flush that money down the toilet. The man (or woman as the case may be) was more important than the jet.

"Thanks, Mason…" he gave him a thumbs up to indicate that he'd received all that information. The hand gestures were necessary. With the amount of ear-splitting noise on the deck, it was hard to hear anything. So if it came down to it; anything other than detailed information was communicated by hand gestures.

"Treat her well…sir…and she'll bring you home!" Mason said.

"Amen to that!" Animal replied; he wasn't particularly religious, but he believed in divine intervention when one was in a bind. All I ask for is a steady hand and a firm heart as I bring divine retribution to the enemy. And as many who go out to sea in ships and who fly in planes offered up a quick prayer for their safe return. He, internally, quoted Articles One, Two and Six of the US Military Code of Conduct to remind himself of the reason he was strapping on that jet that night.

I am an American Fighting Man; I serve in the forces that guard my country and our way of life, I am prepared to give my life in their defense.

I will never surrender of my own free will; if in command I will never surrender my men while they have the means to resist.

I will never forget that I am an American fighting man, responsible for my actions and dedicated to the principles that made my country free. I will trust in my God and in the United States of America.

With that he leveled a thumbs up to Mason and to his RIO Scooter; "Let's go fly…" He said.