Shattered Trident - Страница 35

As the staff filed out of the room, Walker moved up to the main table and gestured for the last man out to close the door. Pulling a chair away from the table, he quietly sat down, pen and notebook at the ready. By the time Walker had situated himself, Simonis’s face was crimson, his body shaking visibly.

“Rich, I have never, throughout my entire career, ever considered disobeying a lawful order from a superior, until now,” Simonis rasped through clenched teeth. Suddenly he lashed out with his right arm, striking a wooden chair next to him. A sharp snap and flying splinters testified to the force of the blow. Rising abruptly, he kicked the damaged chair out of his way. Stomping angrily around the table, he slammed the top with his fist and bellowed, “What is the president thinking!? Does he even have a clue as to what he’s telling me to do!?”

Walker shook his head ruefully. “The CNO and COMSUBPAC didn’t look thrilled at all. Neither did Dr. Patterson, for that matter.”

“Any sentient human being could see there is no way that four attack submarines, by themselves, can stop a war between five nations even if they expended every Mark 48 in their torpedo rooms!”

Simonis spun and paced, raising his arms in frustration. “And yet, we’ve been ordered to insert ourselves into a shooting war, under a ‘weapons hold’ provision, with the stated goal of interfering and frustrating the attacks by both sides! Is it just me? Or is this manifest insanity!?”

“Sir, Dr. Patterson didn’t say we had to ‘stop the war,’ just slow it down a bit to give the president a chance to force this Littoral Alliance to engage and resolve the crisis diplomatically,” Walker responded carefully.

The enraged commodore turned and thumped both of his hands on the table. “ELECTION YEAR BULLSHIT, COMMANDER!” howled Simonis. “To execute these orders, we not only have to give up our stealth advantage, but our boats will also have to get far closer to the hostile submarines if they are going to pull this off. Which means they will be far more vulnerable to hostile fire, and I’m not talking about shitty TEST-71 torpedoes either. The Indians have the UGST, Japan the Type 89, China has the Yu-6, and South Korea the White Shark—all top-of-the-line weapons.”

Simonis had placed both hands firmly on his head, holding it tightly between them, as if trying to contain an explosion from inside his skull. Suddenly, he stopped and threw his hands in the air. A resigned sigh escaped from his lips, followed by his head and shoulders drooping over. Looking toward Walker, he uttered tersely, “I tell you, Rich. If we don’t lose a boat over this fool’s errand, it will be a miracle.”

The operations officer remained silent; there was really no way to argue with his boss. From a military perspective, Simonis was absolutely correct. But a decision by a president was almost always based on political considerations; internal, external, or both. Sometimes, those political considerations required military forces to be deliberately placed in harm’s way, doing things they would normally not do. As a staff officer Walker could look at the situation dispassionately. He was thankful he wasn’t in the commodore’s shoes.

A knock on the door broke the uncomfortable silence. Captain Jacobs opened it and marched over to Simonis with a single sheet of paper. Taking it, the commodore leaned against the large table and read the draft message. A facial twitch showed he’d read something he didn’t like; he made some quick annotations to the draft. Thrusting it to Jacobs, Simonis ordered, “Send it, CSO. You have two minutes.”

Jacobs grabbed the message and literally ran from the room. Walker struggled to contain a smile as he watched his CSO sprint down the hallway. Even in this situation, conflicted as he was, Simonis would get a “Flash” precedence message out within the recommended ten minutes. The man was totally obsessed with following procedures to the letter.

“Well, that’s that,” exclaimed a depressed Simonis. “In a couple of hours we’ll discuss this change in orders with our four COs and then send them off to play referee.”

Walker chuckled lightly. “I don’t think that’s a very good analogy, sir. At least referees are protected by the rules of the game. Last time I checked, rules are a little hard to come by in war.”

“True. But that is exactly what the president has told us to become, referees in a fight where there are no rules,” countered Simonis sternly. “And for the near future, those four crews are going to feel very lonely.”

“But Commodore, Dr. Patterson mentioned that additional boats had been ordered to reinforce us,” said Walker, reading from his notes. “She said North Carolina was already en route.”

Simonis smiled cynically. “Yes, she did. But do the math, Rich. There are thirty attack submarines in the Pacific Fleet. Assuming eighty percent availability, that means twenty-four can go to sea. Of those, about eight boats are currently at sea, based on one deployed submarine for every three available boats. Thus, this squadron already has about half of the deployed submarines in the entire fleet!

“North Carolina left Pearl yesterday. Even at flank speed she’ll need about six days to get to the South China Sea. It would take a deployed submarine in the CENTCOM AOR another day or two to get there. The boats in port will take even longer. And you did notice that no one said a word about a carrier strike group? No, for most of the coming week, we are on our own. This mission is ours to execute, whether we like it or not.”

3 September 2016

0600 Local Time

USS North Dakota

South China Sea

Jerry, Bernie Thigpen, and the IT senior chief were the only ones allowed in the radio room during the video conference with Squadron Fifteen. Simonis wanted to keep the audience to an absolute minimum, thus only the top leadership and one tech from each boat were permitted to participate. Jerry certainly could understand why. The new orders they had received an hour earlier initially had the caveat, “Commanding Officer’s Eyes Only.” It was only after Jerry had read them that he was allowed to clue Thigpen in.

“Hoollyy Shit!” the XO had said as he started reading the new orders in Jerry’s stateroom. “Are they frickin’ serious?”

“It would seem so,” Jerry answered nonchalantly.

Thigpen’s eyes peeked over the orders. “You know, this is your fault,” he stated frankly, an accusatory expression on his face.

“Yesss, it would seem so,” replied Jerry with a sheepish look.

The XO kept reading. As he worked his way down the message, his facial features underwent dramatic change. First, his left eyebrow cocked up, then his mouth fell open, finally his face transformed into a visage of utter disbelief. Thigpen’s eyes darted back and forth from the message to his CO. His face screamed, “This just can’t be right!” Shocked, he began reading the text aloud.

“‘You are authorized to use any means at your disposal, with the exception of launching weapons, to interfere, frustrate, or spoil attacks by Littoral Alliance or Chinese submarines. The previous requirement to maintain absolute stealth is rescinded. It is expected that overt actions will be required during the execution of these orders that will reveal your presence to the belligerent parties.’”

Thigpen slowly placed the message on the desk, his awestruck face staring into space. “This is just plain crazy!” exclaimed Thigpen. Then, focusing on Jerry, he added, “You’ve created a monster!”

Jerry raised his hands and shrugged, admitting his guilt. “It would seem so.”

“Can you please say something other than that?” wailed a frustrated Thigpen.

“Like what, Bernie!?” Jerry replied, discouraged. “I had no idea the president would take that one event, with circumstances hugely in our favor, and turn it into the linchpin of a campaign!”

“Yeah, one that’s going to get our ass shot off.”

“That’s a distinct possibility,” agreed Jerry quietly.

“I… I don’t get it,” mumbled a resigned Thigpen, sitting down. “How does a lowly commander, no disrespect intended, sir, have such a significant influence on the president of the United States?” He paused and leaned forward, confused and uncertain. “Why does what you think matter so much to him? It makes me wonder, Skipper, what kind of man am I working for?”

Jerry initially remained silent. His brain raced while he ran his fingers through his hair. The questions, though uncomfortable, were nonetheless valid. And his XO deserved answers. Hesitantly, he began, “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.”

“Of course, sir. Who on this boat hasn’t?” responded Thigpen. “But I’ve also seen the nickel-sized scar on your shoulder.”

“It’s not that large!” Jerry protested.

“Fine, dime-size then, but that was still a damn big bullet that hit you!”

Jerry sighed and rubbed his face; disobeying a direct order from the CNO not to discuss the Iran mission with anyone who wasn’t properly cleared wasn’t something Jerry wanted to do. And his XO most certainly wasn’t cleared. But if he was going to violate that order to restore his XO’s confidence, then it was a worthy cause.

“All right, then, but nothing I say leaves this stateroom, understood?” he warned sternly. “Or I’ll make you walk home!”

“Cross my heart,” said Thigpen eagerly, adding the gesture for good measure.