Title: Pressed Into Service

Authors: Heather Aster and Dancer

Harm was in a grumpy mood. He had just finished depositions of all the crew involved in the incident on the flight deck, and still he had no concrete answers. How in the world did that happen?? A tomcat just doesn't launch itself! "I need a serious cup of coffee," Harm mumbled to himself as he made his way to the ward room. Just then he bumped into . . .

Commander, Air Group, Captain Jonathan Essler. Captain Essler seemed to have it in for Harm and his investigation from the start. So far, he’d been territorial, uncooperative and downright rude. As he met Harm in the hatchway, his first words were…

"Forget it Commander. I'm not going to change the squadron's mascot."

"Captain, with all due respect, it's not in the Navy's best interest to have a Tomcat Fighter Squadron with a pink elephant as it's mascot."

"Commander, the "Pink Pachys" is the top squadron in the Pacific! We love our mascot. It motivates my pilots to overcome all odds. If others see us as the underdog because if it, that's fine with me because we'll turn around and kick their butt!" The CAG's voice, which had risen to a crescendo with that last sentence, dropped considerably as he relayed his next comment. "Besides," he mumbled, "the "Purple Pandas" was already taken."

Harm rubbed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. His headache was getting stronger. "Look," Harm started, "the Pentagon would like you to consider changing the name to something a little more aggressive. Something higher up on the food chain - a predator of some sort. With all due respect, sir, if an al-Queda terrorist shot down and captured one of your men in Afghanistan, and saw the pink elephant patch on his flight suit, what do you think they would do to your pilot??”

“Commander, you do not understand the intricate psychology behind all this.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, apparently, I don’t. Maybe you can give me a better idea over a cup of coffee in the ward room?”

“Good idea, Commander! I’ll buy!”

On their way to the Ward Room, a young petty officer rushed up to them. There was a paper in his hand and an astonished expression on his face. . . . . .

“Sir,” he said breathlessly handing the folded paper to the CAG, “this just came in from CINCPAC. It was flashed as ‘urgent’.”

Capt. Essler took the message and dismissed the petty officer with one quick move. He even used the folded page to gesture Harm toward the coffee pot.

As the befuddled Commander made his move for some caffeine reinforcement, Essler began to scan the page before him. In a voice suddenly charged with excited energy, the CAG shouted into air with glee. “This is wonderful. You’ll never guess what’s happened.”

“What’s that, sir?” Harm asked against his better judgment.

“Letterman,” he answered. “David Letterman. He wants one of our ‘Pink Pachys’ patches!”

“Could you repeat that, Sir?” asked the astonished lawyer.

“’Pink Pachy patches’? No, I don’t think so,” Essler replied dryly.

“Well, Captain, pink patchy pachies. . .pink patchy packets. . .”

“Take it easy, son,” the senior man cautioned. “It takes a real man to wear a Pink Pachy. --- Or to say it, apparently.”

Harm was beside himself. The Pentagon would never understand this, and he could almost see his own career sinking slowly in the West borne on the wings of one of those pink elephants winking at him from the insignia placard on the wall in front of him. In desperation, he turned back to the CAG and pleaded. . .

"Sir, I must advise against allowing Letterman to gain access to a patch. Once he gets one, then every other talk show host from Jay Leno to Rikki Lake will want one. And if Rosie or Ellen gets a hold of one, then the mustard's gonna hit the fan at the Pentagon and your squad will certainly be seen as not being able to cut the shit."

The CAG darted his eyes left and right, then leaned in closer to Harm to whisper, "Don't talk about the food that way, Commander. Cookie's not the greatest, and sometimes his Salisbury steak should be called Neoprene steak, but he's a good sailor. He would be broken hearted to hear someone talking that way about the meals."

"Oh, sorry . . ." Harm mumbled, wondering how the conversation got turned around, and gulping more coffee in hopes that something would soon make sense.

The CAG gave the younger man a wry grin before gazing wistfully out the porthole. "When I was a young Lieutenant coming up in the ranks," he began, "we never worried about those kinds of things. We just flew our missions and faced our enemies, consequences be damned. Even the boys who had a thing for women's underwear were able to find their niches. Nowadays, you can't even polish your nails without the Pentagon sending some legal weenie out to check on you. Politics."

"Sir," Harm began, a coherent thought forming quickly, "All the Pentagon wants is to project a tough image to the world. The Pink Pachy's just isn't doing that. Is there anyway you can collect the squadron tonight and maybe come up with some new ideas, and then put it to a vote. Tell them to think "fierce" and "powerful"."

The CAG squinted at Harm, considering this option. "Okay, commander, I'll get the boys together. We'll see what comes up. In the meantime, you better figure out how my bird ended up in the drink! They're going to have to cut our supply of creme rinse and cuticle lotion to cover it, so there better be a damned good reason!"

"Aye, aye, sir." Harm turned on his heels and quickly left the Ward Room. The coffee hadn't helped his headache, and all he wanted to do was lie down. He headed for his small stateroom and lay down on the woefully short bunk with a flop. As he drifted off to sleep, a persistent knock on his door dragged him back to reality.

He looked up groggily and saw, leaning against the door frame, the most voluptuous Naval officer he had ever laid eyes on. She was wearing a flight suit, unzipped down to "there", and her long blonde hair was unpinned and falling around her shoulders like a golden halo.

Harm practically fell out of bed in order to show some measure of protocol by standing up in the presence of a woman. Even though she was of lower rank, every part of him was standing at attention. Then she spoke. “You’re not Ray.”

Staggered by the sight of the buxom blonde, Harm could only stammer, “Ray?”

“Yeah, Ray Johnson,” she snapped back. “He’s my debriefing officer. Who the heck are you?”

As the stunning curves of the unzipped Lieutenant nearly came rolling into view, the last thing on Harm’s mind was military protocol. In his current state of, ah, bemusement, “I’m Commander Rabb,” was all he could think to say.

“Commander, huh?” She looked him up and down hungrily like a wolf eyeing a well-hung steak. “Guess I should salute, but you seem to be doing enough of that for both of us.” Then she . . . . .

. . . shrugged and said lazily, "Ray, Rabb, whatever. I guess since you're here, you can debrief me."

Harm was beginning to think "Ray" might be one of the luckiest guys in the Navy. "So you're a pilot, Lieutenant . . . "

"Myrical, sir. Summer Myrical, rhymes with 'lyrical'. I'm a RIO. I usually cover the CAG's six up there, but he sent me up with Braxton this morning."

"And Johnson debriefs you? - Your missions, I mean?" Harm tried not to stammer.

Lt. Myrical took a step closer and gazed up at the tall commander. "It usually starts out that way," she said as her voice dropped a notch in volume. "But Ray doesn't stop till he gets the whole story out of me."

"Sounds as if he's very thorough," Harm hedged.

"Oh, very. I see you're a pilot too," she said, fingering his wings above his left chest pocket. "A very good one from the looks of it," she purred as she tapped his DFC medal. "I suppose you're very thorough, too. Why don't you take over for Ray today. I'd be glad to give you every scrap of information you want."

Mentally steeling himself for the task at hand, Harm put on his "take charge" manner and waved his hand to the small table and chair. "Please sit down, Lt. You can start by telling me the specs for this mission."

"We started out on a routine CAP over Manilla . . . "

As the Lt. began to describe her mission, Harm paced the floor, adding nods and "un-huh's" at appropriate places. His mind was whirling with the implications of the obvious come-on from Lt. Myrical.

When she paused, Harm said, "Sounds like you've had an eventful mission, Lieutenant."

At that, Lt. Myrical jumped from her chair and threw her arms around the stunned commander. "Oh, sir!" she gushed, her voice breaking, "I was so scared up there today! I just *knew* we weren't coming back! I just need someone to hold me and make me feel better! Will you hold me commander?"

Harm looked down into her doe eyes, moist and full of trepidation. How could he turn her down? "Is that what Ray does for you?"

"Sometimes," she sniffed. "But he's not here and you are. Please, Commander - Just hold me!"

Then she broke down in sobs. Her hands . . . .

. . .spread across his chest like a safecracker’s looking for the tumblers on a lock. As she dialed in each new combination, Harm couldn’t help wondering what Johnson would do. (Well, he knew what one particular “Johnson” would do, but he wasn’t sure he should go with “his” recommendation.)

“Oh, Commander,” Summer sizzled, “I don’t know if I can take the strain!” And neither could the zipper on her flight suit, apparently. As Lt. Myrical spread her arms around the Commander, the two halves of the zipper spread out another two inches leaving Harm looking down on more than just her dewy eyes.

Flustered and yet strangely inspired by this turn of events, Harm softly folded his arms around the Lieutenant’s waist in an effort to comfort her. “There, there, Myrical. We all need a little support now and then.” And from what Harm could see, Summer’s usual support was probably about a 36C.

“Oh, sir,” she whimpered. “You’re so big and strong. Just hold me. Hold me close.”

“Any closer, Lieutenant, and you’ll be wearing my Meritorious Unit Citation.”

Her own “meritorious units” were pressed close against him when she looked up into his eyes and said.

"Really? You'll let me wear your medals???" The look on her face was one of hopeful anticipation.

Startled by her enthusiasm, Harm could only mumble "Uh . . .well, I, uh, er, um . . . What do you mean, Lt.?"

"I've always dreamed of being in command, Commander. Will you let me? Please?"

Her earnest pleading and obvious intentions wore away what little resolve Harm had left. He nodded his assent, and with a husky voice added, "If that's what you need Lieutenant."

"Oh, it is, Sir, thank you!" She gushed as her nimble fingers found and released every button on his shirt. "Senior officers so rarely consider the needs of us junior officers. I promise you won't regret it, sir."

"At this point, Lieutenant," said Harm as he fumbled with his belt buckle in order to release his uniform blouse from the restraints of his trousers, "I think you'd better call me Harm."

"Oh, I'd like that Harm," she said, tugging the blouse up and out of the trousers and sliding it over his shoulders. "If you'll call me Summer - or Sum for short."

Harm could hardly believe it. Sum Myrical, indeed. His hormones and impulses finally took over and their lips met. Harm's now-steady hands were making their way up the back of her flight suit. He knew the material was strong, but it was obviously stronger than he thought considering all that it was holding in.

The tired zipper had worked it's way down to Summer's waist and her shoulders had emerged. The rest of her was clad in what had to be the smallest tank top Harm had ever seen stretched over her lovely chest. He had no idea how she could be comfortable flying in this get-up, but he wasn't going to ask her about that now.

Just as he was thinking about it, Summer made the tank top disappear to the floor. She looked up at him with shining eyes and said . .

. . . “Can I have it now?”

Stunned by the vision of springing Summer that now met his eyes, Harm could only stammer nervously. The throbbing in his temples was now being duplicated in other areas of his body, and the sensation left him feeling a little light-headed.

“Are you all right, sir?” the Lieutenant asked purposefully resting her hands on the Commander’s hips.

“Yeah. Fine,” he croaked hoarsely. Harm could feel his trousers begin to slide down as they became increasingly unable to contain his growing enthusiasm for this debriefing, but when he saw the greedy, lustful gleam in Summer’s eye, he whispered, “Just give me a minute.”

His blonde companion just smiled coyly and cooed, “That’s ok, Harm. I’ll do it myself.”

“What?!” When she darted forward suddenly, Harm reflexively dropped his hands to the front of him as Summer made a grab for his. . .

. . .  khaki service blouse on the floor beside him.

“Oooh,” she giggled happily as she retrieved the garment, “I always wanted a chest full of medals.”

Harm watched her rather ample endowments bobbing up and down when she tried to settle the shirt over her shoulders and muttered, “Well, you’ve got a chest full now.”

Hearing the slightly injured tone in his voice, Summer leaned in closer to . . .

. . . inspect the troops. Or one particular "trooper", that is. The one now wearing his "DEFCON 1" helmet and standing at attention for this all hands call. The safecracker's nimble fingers made significant head-way as she cooed, "Oh, Commander, this is one debriefing I'm NEVER going to forget!"

Feeling less and less the commanding, Harm was becoming woozy from Summer's breezy touch, and from watching the way the light glinted off his wings as they floated on her "milky way". He had to take control, now.

"Lieutenant," he panted into the gossamer silk of her hair, "prepare for a close order drill."

"Oooo!!!!!!" she squealed again, "Aye, AYE, SIR!"

Shoving the table aside and whisking her over to the small berth, Harm finished the task of prying back the olive drab gates that guarded her garden. Soon the full flowers of Summer were in bloom and yearning toward the sunlight in his eyes. Harm let his fingers do the walking through this lovely garden. But all too soon it was time for a deep-root fertilization.

As Harm started to position himself, Summer reached for the floor and fumbled with a pocket of her discarded flight suit.

"What are you doing?" Harm asked, distracted.

Summer produced a small, square, foil package and waved it under his nose. "I may be horny, Commander," she said in a calm, sexy voice, "but I'm not stupid."

Harm chuckled sheepishly and grabbed the package. He glanced at her and said . . . .

. . .“I guess I got a little a-head of myself.”

“I’ll say!” she purred. Her eyes glowed hungrily as she gazed down upon the object of her desire. “Commander, I must say, you certainly know how to rise to the occasion.”

As Harm fumbled with the foil packet, he mused, “When I was in flight school, Lieutenant, they taught us that an officer should always come to a debriefing thoroughly prepared.”

She cooed her approval and repeated, “Yes, Sir, an officer should always come. . .” - her voice trailing off near the end. She heard the packet open, but watched Harm’s brow furrow when he discovered the contents were in a dark, forest green, camouflage pattern. “You were expecting maybe glow-in-the-dark orange?” she asked brightly.

“No, just something a little more…” he flashed her a coy, little smile, “summer-y.”

With a smoldering stare, the keeper of Summer's garden assured him, “These were made specially for night maneuvers.”

Harm’s smile broadened as he “maneuvered” his way back toward her. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t want something like this to give away your position.”

“Speaking of position...” Summer reached out for one last inspection of the newly uniformed, green recruit and heard the Commander stifle a low moan in the back of his throat. With a wicked grin on her lips, Summer placed a hand on Harm’s shoulder attempting to push him back down on the bed and said slyly, “Permission to come aboard, Sir?”

Harm looked up with his own wicked grin and said. . .

. . . "Lieutenant, I'll have to write you a punitive letter of reprimand if you don't."

"Well, then," she cooed, "all aboard!"

"Anchors -" Harm began as Summer anchored herself to him. "- aweigh," he gasped from the back of his throat when the connection was complete.

As the initial haze of surprise and stimulation dissipated into a gentle aura of pleasure, the two sailors set off on that journey that was as old as the sea and as rhythmic as the tides. Just as he was settling into the situation, something made his eyes pop open and his head jerk up.

"What was that?" He rasped.

"What was what, sir?" Summer replied with equal breathlessness.

"That sound - music - like an orchestra. Where's it coming from?" Harm was struggling now to maintain control and focus on the task at hand.

"Oh, that," Summer said noncommittally, "That's just the background music. It's supposed to add an air of romance. Just ignore it and keep moving."

"Huh? Oh, okay." Harm was confused, but Summer was doing a good job of helping him focus. But some part of his brain was going crazy trying to place the tune.

"What is that song!?!?" he gasped in exasperation.

"I believe it's 'Love is a Many Splendored Thing' " Summer said.

"Thank you!" Harm said between panting breaths. "Now I can concentrate."

And concentrate he did. Soon all his energy and pent up frustrations from the day bottlenecked, like a loaded gun, and Summer had her finger on the trigger.

She arched her back, moaned and sighed. He lunged for her with all his energy. Suddenly, Summer was in full bloom, and Harm joined her in geyser-like fashion.

A few minutes later, as their sweat was chased away like August humidity after a storm, Harm looked down at the tired little soldier who had just completed a strenuous "undercover" mission.

Peeling off the miniature latex cammo, he said, "Summer, this gives new meaning to the word, 'fatigues'."

Summer gazed at him from beneath pleasure-heavy eyelids and said . . . ..

“…I’d run the course with you anytime, sir.”

Harm let out a slow grin as he lay down next to the buxom blonde. “Not bad for a rookie, huh?”

“Oh, no, sir,” she cooed appreciatively. “You handled yourself like a real veteran.” Propping herself up on one elbow, she then addressed the other member of this “bod squad” directly. “As for you, little guy,” the Lieutenant smiled down at the Summer’s soldier who’d brought such sunshine to these patriots and sighed, “I’m sure we can get you perked up in no time.”

The intent of her words combined with stream of her hot breath flowing over him caused the li’l trooper to stir ever so slightly. Seeing the resulting delighted gleam in his companion’s eyes, Harm gently cautioned, “I think he might need some rest, Sum.”

Sum, looking somewhat pouty, replied with a sad sounding, “Yes, sir,” then leaned back as if she were sunning herself on the beach. As Harm gazed appreciatively at the new view of the Summer porch, she sighed and said, “But, I don’t think we have that much time left.”

“Why?” he asked incredulously. “How long do these debriefings usually take?”

Summer batted her eyelashes innocently and answered, “Usually just until the tape runs out.”

Suddenly sitting bolt upright in the berth, Harm gasped for breath and said . . .

. . ."TAPE?!? What tape????" Harm whirled around grabbing pillows and blankets looking for the offending electronic device that would kill his career.

"Commander, sir, slow down!" Summer was startled by his anxious reaction.

Harm was standing now, glancing nervously around the room. Then it dawned on him that it could possibly VIDEO tape, not just audio. He scanned the room again looking for possible camera sites. He threw open locker and cabinet doors, tossed aside desk items, and was just about to stand on a chair to examine the light fixture.

Summer couldn't suppress a giggle watching Commander Rabb tear apart the room wearing nothing but a frown and 5-O'clock shadow.

Harm wheeled around to face her, his agitation evident in the tautness of his muscles and the way his "closest companion" bounced lightly to and fro as he addressed her.

"Lieutenant, give me that tape! That's an order!"

"Yes, sir," she said, reaching under the rack she was sitting on. She pulled out a small audio tape player, popped open the lid, and pulled out a cassette.

Harm grabbed it from her and was just about to pull the actual tape out of the cassette to destroy it when he noticed the handwritten label. "Summer Favorites," it read.

He stopped for a moment, catching his breath. "Is this the music I heard earlier?" he asked, brows furrowed.

"Yes, sir. "Love is a Many Splendored Thing" and a few others. I just like them in the background, sir."

"You weren't recording?"

"Oh, no sir! Look, I even punched out the little tabs so I wouldn't record by accident if I hit the wrong button in the heat of the moment."

"I see. But I'm still going to have to "borrow" this for a while just to be sure." Harm palmed the tape and made a move as if to put it in his pocket. When his hand hit his bare leg, he realized he was still undressed.

Summer handed him his pants from the floor with one hand and held her other hand over her mouth to keep from giggling too much. She couldn't help it. He looked so flustered when he realized he was naked.

She *did* however notice that the whole time he was freaking out about the tape he didn't even notice that he was out of uniform. It was as if he was so comfortable with his own manhood that he didn't need to be clothed to prove anything about who he was. Even completely in the buff, he exuded confidence, control and authority, and Summer found that extremely sexy and attractive. She was extremely glad she had "discovered" him today.

"Button up, Lieutenant, you're dismissed. I've got work to do." Harm took his uniform blouse from her reluctant hand and inspected it for wrinkles and the placement of his boards and ribbons. Everything was in order. When he looked up at her, she had such a smugly satisfied expression on her face.

Harm was still feeling a little unbalanced by the fact that she had seduced him so easily, and now her almost cocky attitude didn't help. He didn't mean to bark at her, but he couldn't help it when he said, "Go, quickly, Lieutenant. Before I have to report you."

"For what, sir?"

"I'm a lawyer. Don't worry, I'll come up with something."

"But aren't you pleased with the turn of events this afternoon, sir?"

Harm finished buckling his belt and sighed. It had been a good time, after all. He grinned at her and said . . . .

“Summer, I can truly say this is one of the most…” He searched for the word. “… satisfying debriefings I’ve ever been to.”

“Me, too," she purred with a saucy shake of her, ah, shoulders, "And if I may say so, sir, you’ve got a real talent for it."

“Well, thank you, Lieutenant," he said with an easy smile. "Glad to be of service to a junior officer just coming along."

Summer coyly bit her lip and eyed the senior officer carefully. “And you forgive me – for scaring you -- about the tape, I mean?”

As the buxom blonde stepped toward him, Harm's reply was cautious. "Sure. I’d fly with you anytime.”

“Really, sir?" she asked brightly. "You mean you want to win one of our Pink Pachy Patches?”

“If I get pink patches, Lieutenant, I’m going to blame it on that camouflage latex thing you had me –."

“Oh, sir, quick!” Without further warning, the suddenly frantic Myrical launched herself at the unsuspecting Commander who found himself flattened against the bulkhead by the onrushing RIO. “I hear footsteps!" she stammered nervously. " I hope it’s not Ray."

"Ray?"

"Ray Johnson," she replied in an irritated stage whisper. "I told you, remember?" As the two officers, er, huddled on the far side of the hatchway, they heard the sound of footsteps approaching the opening. Summer's eyes grew wide with fear as she cried, "Quick, sir, hide," and attempted to bury Harm's head in her chest for safety. Unfortunately, the dynamic tension in that tiny little tank top she had stretched over her ample bosom was too strong, and Harm's face bounced off as if he'd hit a trampoline.

The resulting shockwave launched him back against the bulkhead with a thump, but the Lieutenant moved quickly to restore her hold on Harm's attention. She grabbed him by the belt loops. Momentarily stunned, he struggled to keep the two of her in focus as she moved in closer and listened for the sound. "I take it Ray is the jealous type," he offered dizzily.

"Not jealous," she whispered. "Mostly insecure." As the footsteps in the hallway began to recede, Summer relaxed a little returning her full attentions to the Commander. "Ray's ok. He's just got kinda of a short fuse." Seeing Harm's apprehension as he eyed the door, Myrical just sighed. "Oh, I don't mean that way. I just meant that Ray gets a little . . . rushed sometimes." As he stood pinned to the wall by the heaving weight of the lieutenant's generous concerns, Harm wondered to himself just what it was that a woman like this might consider "rushed." " I told him not to worry about it. It happens to a lot of guys. But, it doesn't help. He just gets a little, um, ahead of himself," she answered almost sadly. "That’s one reason we made the tape. It kinda calms him down when he’s – you know.”

Harm did know. As Summer continued to press her case against him, Harm was beginning to have more and more sympathy for the hapless Johnson and all the pressure he must've been under.

"It's not his fault,” Summer explained unconvincingly. “There’s lot of stress in his job. He’s a weapons officer."

Harm swallowed hard and tried not to look alarmed. "Oh, really?"

"That's what we talk about mostly – Sparrows and Tomahawks and Sidewinders." Even as she spoke, Harm was making an urgent mental note to stay clear of any and all missile lockers on this boat. "Yeah," she cooed wistfully. "Ray's in charge of all the big boomers on the racks around here." Misunderstanding the way Harm was staring at her, Sum quickly added, "Of course, you’ve got some pretty nice 'hanging ordinance' yourself, sir, and, ah…" Her voice dropped to a seductive purr, "you certainly know what to do on a rack.”

The lustful gleam in her eye and the way she ground her hips into him again only served to strengthen Harm's resolve and heighten his desire not to follow in the unfortunate Ray's, ah, footsteps. As she ran her hands along the planes of his rounded six, Harm struggled to maintain his focus on the job ahead of him. "It's been great really, Sum," he but I have got to finish my report on that Tomcat mishap."

"Oh, are you here for that?"

"Did you hear what happened?" Harm quizzed, recognizing a lead when he heard one.

"You could say that. There was some Congressman on board last week, and he had the cabin, so we had to go up to the O-2 level."

"The "O-2" level?"

"The auxiliary boiler room. That's where we go sometimes. It's kinda noisy, but it's real private. Hardly anyone goes there. Ray says the noise helps him concentrate."

"I bet."

"So anyway, last week when we got there, the whole place was so steamy. It was a like some kind of Turkish bath or something. So Ray said he'd take care of it and we'd meet back there later."

“And did you?”

”Sure. He had the room all cleared out, and a nice blanket. It was still pretty hot, but so were we. You see, Ray’s got this little thing he does –“

“Lieutenant. . .” Harm warned.

Summer noticed Harm’s furrowed brow. “Sorry, sir. So anyway, this pipe by the catwalk where we hang our clothes starts making all these funny noises like banging and tapping and creaking like an old set of stairs or something. Then all of a sudden, it starts to shake and this little puff of steam comes out. Then, there was a big boom over our heads and everything went nuts.”

“Boom?”

“Yeah, like a plane launch, only it just didn’t sound right.”

A short time later, Harm was on the bridge delivering his report to Capt. Essler.

“. . .and a routine maintenance check two days after the incident found that vent pipe valve was closed.”

“And what the he** would a second level steam value have to do with my Tomcat, Commander?” the CAG growled

“Well, you see, sir, that’s the valve that helps to regulate the over-all pressure in the steam generator for the number two catapult.”

“So there was insufficient pressure in the catapult?” the captain queried.

"Not exactly. The closed valve upset the delicate balance between pressure and control. The built-up steam had to find an outlet.”

The CAG paced the deck impatiently and growled, "So, the catapult misfired?"

"Not misfired," Harm cautioned. "Fired too soon. It was doing exactly what it was supposed to do, just not at the right time."

“Are you telling me my pilot…”

"Was expecting the boom, sir. It just came early."

The older man regarded Harm with a jaded eye. "Well, I won’t ask what inspired this, er, “theory” of yours, Commander, but I'm afraid I don't buy it. Peter Jakov is one of my best pilots -- a tower of strength, a real upright individual. You won’t find a better stick handler in the fleet!" the CAG declared pointedly. "He’s always had a commanding grasp of the most delicate situations, and I’d gladly put myself in his hands any time. I can't believe he'd go off half-cocked that way."

"But, sir," Harm gamely protested, "Given the catapult's premature, uh, release, Cmdr. Jakov was no longer in command. Without enough thrust, the outcome was really out of his hands.” Hearing that news, the CAG shook his head solemnly and muttered, "Poor dumb Jakov. Never saw it comin’."

Seeking to lessen his superior's obvious disappointment, Harm tried to put it in the best light. "He made lift-off and kept it going as long as he could, sir, but he just couldn't keep it up. He didn’t have enough speed on - or his Speed-o on either, as it turns out," Harm added with a barely suppressed smile. "When they stripped him down in sick bay, all he was wearing under his flight suit was. . .

“. . . . Saran Wrap.”

The CAG looked at Harm with eyes as cold as steel. “You’re kidding me, aren’t you, son?”

“After I took you under my wing to teach you the nuances of the Pink Pachys’ psyche? Now you’re telling me this?”

“Well, sir, Lt. Jakov did have his reasons.”

“Did he now. Please, go on. This I’ve got to know.”

“Well, Jakov said it was for health reasons.”

“Health reasons.”

“Yessir. He said that since the squadron had recently run out of his favorite aloe-vera lotion, which he said helped keep his eczema in check, the only way he could keep his skin hydrated while in the cockpit was to swathe himself in Saran Wrap.”

“Hmmm . . . .” the CAG mused, rubbing his chin. “Well I guess that boy isn’t as much of an idiot as I thought! What brilliant resourcefulness! I think I’m going to let him lead the next mission!”

Harm shook his head. The throbbing behind his eyes had returned in force. Just at that moment, he saw a blonde vision appear in the hatchway. The last thing he needed now was Summer to bubble over to the CAG about their “debriefing” session. And he certainly didn’t want the CAG to know that he’d figured out the catapult problem from Summer describing her missed opportunity with Ray. All three of them would be in big trouble for “conduct unbecoming”.

She walked in anyway, noticing the worried shake of Harm’s head, but barely gave him more than just a curious glance. She stood at attention until the CAG noticed her and waved her over.

“Here are those mission profiles you requested, sir.” She was all business at the moment, and Harm was impressed with her military bearing.

“Great, thank you, Lieutenant.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“Commander,” the CAG said broadly, “I’d like you to meet Lt. Summer Myrical. Lieutenant, this is Commander Rabb. He’s with JAG in Washington.”

Summer extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.” There was only the faintest glint of recognition in her eyes, but her smile told him not to worry.

“Likewise, Lieutenant,” Harm managed.

“Summer is not only a Lieutenant in the world’s finest Navy and one of the best RIOs in the Pink Pachy squadron,” the CAG continued, “she’s also my daughter.”

Harm stood stunned for a moment. His brain rattled back and forth between “improper chain of command” and utter horror at this new revelation of Summer’s identity. Eventually, from the back of his mind, where his weirdest dreams originate, a message filtered to the surface that nothing should surprise him anymore about the Pink Pachys. He decided it was just easier to go with the flow.

Harm smiled as pleasantly as possible. “How nice. You must be very proud, sir.”

“Damn straight, Commander. It’s not everyone who gets to do what they love with the people they love!” The CAG put an arm around Summer. “Right, sweetheart?”

“Of course, Daddy,” Summer said, with a trace of impatience, as if she’d heard it a hundred times before.

“Now, run along over to sick bay Lieutenant, and tell that Jakov the Commander and I’ll be over to see him shortly.” “Yessir.” Summer said, and turned on her heel with the bearest hint of a wink in Harm’s direction.

“She’s quite a gal,” the CAG said proudly.

“She certainly is,” Harm had to agree.

“Well, Commander, I think we’re winding down this investigation. Too bad we can’t recover that Tomcat from the bottom of the ocean, but at least we didn’t lose a pilot. Let’s go talk to Jakov and then I’ll sign off on your report.”

“Sounds like a plan, sir.”

The CAG threw his arm over Harm’s shoulder and said conspiratorily, “And later, if you like, I’ll let you fly one of my birds. We’ve got a milk run and photo shoot over the Straight of Hormuz tonight. In fact, I’ll assign Lt. Myrical as your RIO. What do you think?”

“Only on one condition, sir.”

“And what might that be?”

“That you make me an honorary Pink Pachy.”

“Well now! I thought you’d never ask!”

“Then I’ll be able to go home with a Pink Pachy patch?”

“You betcha,” said the CAG. Then he turned to face Harm and began to wax philosophical. “You know, son, THIS could be the start of a bee-u-tiful friendship.”

++fini++