So all of this last week or two, I've known something was up. We've had no internet, our daily flight plan was lacking the 'umph' it usually does, both my Skipper and XO both vanished for days at a time, and new and interesting bombs and missiles were being brought up to the flight deck. Then, after flight schedule yesterday ended, the ordinance divisions of all the squadrons on the ship went into hyperdrive, loading every single bomb pylon with a weapon, sometimes even loading extra pylons to cram extra ordinance onto the airframes.

When a bright white flash aft to the starboard side distracted me, I knew at that moment shit just got real. I see the acceleration stages for the cruise missiles flashing brightly, streaming and curving away from the Burk to the northwest and dimming to a faint orange glow of the cruise stage kicking in. Again, another flash, and another, and another. Every few minutes, another salvo of four to six missiles launching.
I'm sitting there on top of my bird thinking, "Holy fuck. we're a fucking metal storm, and my squadron will be bringing the rain."

A later, my Skipper bursts into the paraloft sweating up a storm and stressed, grabs his flight gear and says, "The Tomahawks are starting to hit in twenty minutes. Thanks guys." and runs off. I get a call to man up two of my Hawkeyes for the start of the airstrikes. 601 is the first bird of the CAG off the deck, followed be the Rhinoes and Hornets armed to the teeth, then the Prowlers after them, and even those old E/A-6Bs were loaded up with missiles! After they all launched, 600 followed suit, taking off into the sunrise to begin the start of a really long day for ISIS and other terror groups camping in Syria.

And for an hour or two I was excited, then I realized that nothings changed. I'm still on this steel bathtub with broken toilets, with a bed that rips my hair out at night. Whatever, at least we finally got to kill some rotten people.