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We were in a HURRY. My squadron was VA-15 out of Cecil Field in Jax. It's 1980, a few days before Turkey day. My ship was the big bird farm, Indy, out of Norfolk. When we set sail, it was unusual, because for days, there were no sorties. We just steamed to the Cape of Good Hope and around the horn we went. I never seen seas so rough. We put 16 point tie-downs on the birds and busted our butts to get below. Back home, Reagan was getting ready to settle in at the White House. Our CO finally told us where we were going. Persian Gulf. There were 50 held hostage in Iran. We were going to be on station if there was any funny business. The scuttlebutt was that the hostages would be released the very minute Reagan took office. Up on deck, the Phantoms, Prowlers and Corsiar II's were getting ready. I was a lowley plane captain for an A-7 squadron. Thanksgiving and Christmas came and went. All my nights looked alike "on station". UGA became national champion and Hershel went down in the record books. I wore my UGA sweatshirt for 3 days. Other "brown shirts" hated me. All I could think about was "God's little acre", I called home. Home, Cochran, Georgia. I sure wanted to be there. Then we got word. THE word. The hostages were coming home.They had been transported to somewhere in Europe. Then it hit me. I was a tiny, tiny part in a very big picture. The next day, when my bird flew, it was the shiniest in the sky. I made sure of it.