Shattered Trident - Страница 23

“Commodore, if they recorded the signal, with a calibrated system, and a competent ACINT analyst processed the data, they might be able to make a distinction. But Vietnam doesn’t have that capability, and China’s ACINT program is still in the early stages of development, their people only have a few years of experience. Their first inclination, if they find a difference, is that the Russians provided a modified version of the MG-24 to the Vietnamese with their more recent Kilo purchase.”

Thigpen bumped lightly into his captain as he finished up his argument, and subtly pointed to a scrap of paper on the control panel. Written on the paper was a single sentence. You may win the battle, but you’ll lose the war. Jerry gave his XO a slight nod, acknowledging the message.

Simonis’s nostrils visibly flared on the radio room display. His patience was all but gone. In a voice that was carefully metered and forceful, he said, “I am not interested in theoretical discussions, Commander Mitchell. And I am very well aware of your academic credentials. But this isn’t a laboratory; it’s the real world, and it’s not as forgiving or controllable. You’re in a war zone, Captain, and you need to begin acting accordingly. Now, are you going to start following your orders, or do I have to pull you off station and replace you with someone who will?”

It was an empty threat, or at least Jerry thought it was. There was no way Simonis would get permission to yank North Dakota off station, not now, not with a war starting. But, the message behind the words was quite clear. Jerry had lost the collar check and needed to toe the line. Simonis’s absolute hostility to Jerry’s actions had badly shaken his confidence. Jerry thought they had walked right up to the edge, but still turned away in time. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Simonis and his own XO believed differently, that he had exceeded the limits of his orders. Regardless, Simonis was the squadron commodore, his superior; there really was only one correct answer to his question.

“No, sir. That won’t be necessary. I will conform to my orders as instructed.”

“Good,” replied Simonis, satisfied. Then in a lighter tone he added, “I’ve found your reports to be most valuable, Captain. I’d hate to lose the insight you’re providing.”

“We’ll keep you apprised of the situation as it evolves, sir.”

“Very well. Squadron Fifteen out.”

As the screen went dark, Thigpen whistled softly. “Your reports are most valuable. Man, talk about faint praise!”

“So much for ‘I will listen carefully to any recommendations you make,’” whispered Jerry to himself.

“Come again, Skipper?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, XO.” Jerry looked up at Thigpen and smiled. “Looks like you were right. I got a little too cocky.”

“If I remember correctly, sir, I said I thought you were a little too smart for your own good. I never said anything about being cocky.”

“I believe the distinction was lost on our commodore. He certainly was… annoyed with me,” lamented Jerry.

“Annoyed!? Is that what you call it?” cried Thigpen, amazed. “Did you see the muscles in his neck? They were throbbing like that guy in the first Star Wars movie…”

Jerry raised his hand and cut his XO off. “Bernie, please.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry,” Thigpen said apologetically.

“Well, now that we’ve had our orders clarified for us, we’ll continue to observe and report—nothing more, nothing less. If you need me, I’ll be in my stateroom working on all that paperwork you keep giving me.” Jerry gave his XO a quick smile as he spoke, but it was forced, and it showed.

* * *

As Jerry headed out of the control room, Lieutenant Iwahashi and Ensign Jacqueline Kane walked over to Thigpen.

“We couldn’t help but overhear, XO. The commodore was sure pissed at the skipper,” commented Iwahashi quietly.

Thigpen frowned as he tried to find the right words. There was no way to whitewash the ass-chewing his boss had received, but at the same time he had to be supportive. “Yeah, well, that happens from time to time with COs that get creative. And one thing’s for certain, our captain is a very creative guy.”

The vague allusion to Jerry’s past prompted Kane to ask, “Sir, I’ve heard the rumors about the skipper, just like everyone else. Did he really fight his way out of Iran?”

Thigpen suppressed the desire to groan. How many times had he been asked that question? And why did everybody think he knew the answer? Sighing, he replied, “Jacques, I honestly don’t know for sure. The skipper has never said a word to me. But you can take this to the bank; you don’t get a Navy Cross and a Purple Heart from the president of the United States for just being a damn good executive officer—however wonderfully you performed your duties. No, our skipper did something very unusual and very important to merit those awards.”

He neglected to mention the circular scar he’d seen on Jerry’s left shoulder after he had showered. In such close quarters, where even the two seniormost officers shared a common head, it was nearly impossible to hide something so obvious, and yet so personal.

“He looked really depressed,” empathized Kane. “Will he be all right?”

“He’ll be fine,” insisted Thigpen confidently. “A little flame-spraying every now and then is good for the soul, builds character. He’s a big boy. He’ll get over it.” Left unspoken were the words, “I hope.”

Squadron Fifteen Headquarters

Guam

Commander Walker stood by the information systems technician as he logged out of the VTC system and turned off the video camera and large flat-panel display. The young man then quickly departed, leaving Walker alone with the commodore. The chief staff officer and the rest of the staff had also vacated the conference room within moments of the VTC ending. Walker completely understood why the others wanted to clear datum; Simonis was still fuming. Wonderful. His commodore was going to be very cranky for the rest of the day.

“You don’t approve,” Simonis spurted without warning.

Walker wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question, but either way it was a loaded comment. One that he had to tread carefully around. “Excuse me, sir,” he said.

“My handling of Mitchell. I can read body language fairly well, Commander. I take it most of my staff thought I was being too harsh on our new captain.”

“Commodore, it isn’t my place to say one way or the other. This is your command…”

“Damn it, Rich! Stop dancing and tell me what you think!” roared Simonis.

Trapped, Walker gestured toward a chair. Simonis nodded, and the operations officer tossed his notebook onto the table as he sat down.

“Well?” Simonis demanded impatiently.

“In a nutshell, yes, sir. I think you were a bit hard.”

“Why?”

Walker took a deep breath; he had to carefully phrase his words. Simonis wasn’t a bad commodore; on the contrary, he was quite successful. He ran a tight squadron at the end of a long logistics train and kept things moving on track, on schedule. No, a better description of Simonis would be that he was tough and demanding. He wanted everything done at the right time, the right way, for the right reason. Deviating from the approved plan was not advisable or tolerated. His rigid, almost legalistic interpretation of rules and regulations always brought him into conflict with those individuals who regarded official edicts as being somewhat elastic, having a little give, depending on the situation.

“Commodore, while he may have not followed the exact letter of the law in regard to his orders, he did follow its spirit. What Mitchell did was well thought out and perfectly executed. And I agree it’s likely neither the Vietnamese nor the Chinese will conclude that a U.S. submarine broke up the attack.”

“But he revealed himself when he dropped that NAE!” Simonis insisted angrily.

“Sir, you’re implicitly assuming that revelation automatically becomes useful, incriminating knowledge. In this case, I think that’s a bit of a stretch.”

Simonis stood up abruptly and started pacing. Everything about Jerry Mitchell seemed to annoy him, grated his sensibilities. “I still believe he overstepped his bounds,” he grumbled.

“Yes, sir, he did. But he had his orders in mind when he dropped an antiquated NAE instead of a more modern countermeasure. If I may, Commodore, it appears to me that you’re more upset that Mitchell decided to interfere with the attack in the first place, not necessarily with how he went about doing it,” observed Walker.

The commodore paused, considering Walker’s last statement. His operations officer was right. He was irritated that Mitchell had become actively involved when their orders had directed them to be passive observers. And while the orders hadn’t explicitly restricted them to that role solely, there was a strong inference to that effect. Simonis inwardly cursed the sloppiness with which the whole operation had been thrown together. Rushed, ill-conceived, a typical Washington solution to a dangerous situation. It was a response that allowed the powers that be to say during an election year campaign that something had been done, while at the same time limiting the United States’ involvement. A response that made little sense from a military perspective, and put his entire squadron potentially in harm’s way.

“Point taken, Rich,” Simonis granted. “Well, I hope the additional instructions I provided Commander Mitchell will preclude any further shenanigans.”