Island Warriors c-18

by Keith Douglass

  “I’ve got a couple of techs who were air traffic controllers before their nerves gave out,” one officer said.

  “Yes, and I’ve got an operation specialist. Dumb as a rock — so they sent him to fix aircraft instead of talk to them.” The officer shook his head, disgusted. “But a good man, a hard worker — we get him some help and keep an eye on him, he can manage.”

  One by one, the other officers around the table volunteered the latent capabilities within their units, and Batman was surprised at the breadth of experience. Finally, he turned to the senior engineer present and said, “Effective immediately, in addition to your other duties, you will be my chief of staff. I want a full, fleshed-out roster of how we’re going to set flight quarters for both launch and recovery, as well as an analysis of the impact on damage control capabilities. I want names, specifics, not just ‘to be determined.’ ”

  Then Batman pointed at next most senior officer. Odds were that every maintenance officer onboard had started life as an aviator and flunked out of flight school. “Fallen angel, right?” Getting a nod of affirmation in response, he said, “Okay, you’re the air boss. Pick your mini boss and your tower crew. What you don’t have, train. Let me know your proposed training schedule and give me an estimate of how long it will be before you’re ready to conduct underway flight operations.

  “And the rest of you — I want this entire evolution supported. Your full support, you understand — I don’t want to see anyone just going through the motions. If you know something that somebody else doesn’t, you tell them. It’s going to take all of us working together to pull this off, but we can do it.”

  I hope we can do it, he added silently.

  “Admiral, with all due respect,” his new chief of staff said, “do you really expect anything to happen to the other carrier, sir? I mean, do you know something we don’t know?”

  Batman nodded. “Yes. I know that you fight the way you train. If we don’t train to do this, we won’t be able to pull it off. I don’t know how or when we’ll need these capabilities, but if we do, I want to be ready.”

  Greenwich Village

  2200 local (GMT –5)

  Wexler leaned back against the leather seats and went over the evening in her mind. Apart from his cryptic warning about the British ambassador, there had been nothing out of the ordinary in T’ing’s conversation or conduct. Not that she really expected to catch him in an unintended reaction. She just hoped she’d upheld her ambassadorial inscrutability as well as he did.

  The driver pulled up in front of the townhouse she occupied for most of the year. The man sitting next to the driver got out, took a quick look around, and said, “Okay, Madam Ambassador. It’s clear.”

  Sarah Wexler got out of the car. She still was not comfortable with the new security measures Brad had implemented, but under the circumstances, she had little room to complain. And she had to admit, she appreciated not having to fight the traffic herself. Riding in the quiet elegance of the back of the Lincoln town car, she read briefing papers, signed correspondence and dictated answers to letters. It was, she found, the most productive part of her day.

  A car pulled up behind the ambassador’s, and a gun immediately appeared in her escort’s hand. “Get in — take off,” he snapped at Wexler and the driver. “Head for—”

  “Wait,” Wexler ordered. “I recognize the car.”

  “Who is it?” The guard demanded, his gun still in his hand pointed at the front windshield.

  Wexler shook her head. “I’m not going to tell you. If they’re approaching me like this, then they don’t want anyone to know they’re here. Go on, leave. I’ll be fine. Either wait inside or get back in and drive off. Either way, I need you to clear the area now.”

  “But Madame Ambassador, I really don’t think—”

  She cut him off. “I don’t care what you think. Now move.” She put a bark into the last words.

  When she saw that they were inside her townhouse, she walked back to the car behind her. She approached the back seat, not even bothering with the front. As she came close, the window rolled down. She leaned forward and poked her head into the car. “Good evening, Mister Ambassador,” she said.

  “Good evening to you, madam. I apologize for approaching you in this manner.”

  She nodded. “These are difficult times for us all. I understand your caution. I would invite you in for a nightcap or a cup of tea, but under the circumstances, I suspect you might wish to decline.”

  The ambassador from Japan inclined his head ever so slightly. “As pleasant as that would be, I’m afraid you are right. However, there are things that we must discuss.”

  “And my office is…?” she prompted.

  He didn’t answer for moment, and said, “You have many new friends. What I have to say is for your ears alone.”

  A cold shiver ran through her. Did he know about the bug? Or was he just referring to the visits by Captain Hemingway?

  “Perhaps we could take a drive?” she suggested.

  The door lock clicked, the Japanese ambassador opened it. “Yes. That would be acceptable.”

  USS United States

  Friday, September 6

  1100 local (GMT +10)

  By the time the USS United States was in blue water operations and out of unrefueled flying range, Lab Rat had all of his staff and material onboard. In fact, as he gazed at the mass of boxes and steel security containers stacked ceiling-high in most of his spaces, he suspected he had a good deal more than his own gear. It was entirely possible that the U.S.’s shore detachment at North Island had taken the opportunity of a few more COD flights to pack in some extra ship’s company gear. Not that that bothered him, no. But untangling the ship’s practical and decidedly unclassified gear from his own top secret and higher material was going to take up more of his time. And time was the one thing that Lab Rat and his people didn’t have.

  “More classified material to be signed for, sir,” Chief Brady said as he passed a clipboard to Lab Rat. “I think that’s the last of it, though.”

  “You did an inventory?” Lab Rat asked.

  “Of course, sir. That’s my signature on the bottom line.”

  Over the last eighteen hours, COD flights had been pouring in with more material for the newly-staffed CVIC. Senior Chief Brady had been running ragged trying to keep up with it all.

  “Sir? There’s a Captain Ganner asking for admission, sir. Is he cleared?” a petty officer asked.

  “Of course. He’s the chief of staff — have we got the people and clearances sorted out yet?” Lab Rat asked, turning to the senior chief.

  The senior chief maintained a determinedly neutral expression. “Without the pictures, yes, sir, but it’s going to take few days for all the watchstanders to learn all the faces.”

  “Yes, of course. Let him in. Unlimited access,” Lab Rat said.

  A few moments later, Captain Ganner sauntered in to the most sensitive area of the intelligence center. He took a look around, noted the open boxes, gear on every flat surface, and bustle of technicians. The area was in complete chaos.

  “How long before you people are going to be open for business?” Ganner asked. “Because I got to tell you, it looks like the war will be over before you can get all those boxes put away.”

  “We’re ready now, sir. It’s not as disorganized as it looks,” Lab Rat lied. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. I need five sailors to help on the flight deck. And since most of the boxes clobbering the deck are your gear, I figured you’d be eager to help out. Oh, and by the way — you’ll be standing watches in TFCC. Under instruction, of course. You have the midwatch tonight.” Ganner’s face was bland, but Lab Rat had the sense that he was watching carefully for a reaction.

  “Sir, could we speak privately?” Lab Rat asked.

  “No, that won’t be necessary,” Ganner said. “I believe you have your orders.”

  A hush fel
l across the intelligence center. Ganner jutted his jaw out and waited for a reaction.

  Lab Rat tried again. “Sir, if I could just have a few moments—”

  “See you on the midwatch, Mr. Busby.” Ganner turned and stalked out of CVIC.

  Senior Chief Brady waited until he’d left the intelligence center and said quietly, “Man, who did you piss off, sir?”

  “I don’t know exactly, Senior Chief. But I stepped on it somewhere. Listen, is there any way we can cut loose five people to help on the flight deck?”

  The Senior Chief sighed. “I can, but it’s going to slow us down in here, sir. And every minute that we’re not fully operational, well…”

  He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Every day that the intelligence center was not fully operational could spell disaster for the battle group. Sure, they were performing the basic functions now, but there was no time for the sort of in depth analysis and projections that Lab Rat preferred to be able to develop.

  “Five men,” Lab Rat said quietly. “We’ll go along with this for now. A midwatch more or less won’t hurt me, either. Won’t be the first time I’ve run short of sleep, and it certainly won’t be the last time, will it?”

  “I guess not, sir,” Brady said. “But, this is one of those things, sir — you give them an inch, the surface sailors take a mile.”

  “I’m not ready to draw lines in the sand yet,” Lab Rat said. “We’ll do what we can to be team players for now, but if it starts affecting operations, I’ll go to the admiral.”

  The petty officer guarding the entrance stuck his head back in the compartment. “Sir? That captain, just before he left — he told me to tell you that he’s going to do a zone inspection on our spaces tomorrow. And he told me to get a swab and get started on the deck. He said our spaces look like a disaster, and that they’d better look better by tomorrow.”

  Lab Rat heard Senior Chief Brady swear quietly beside him.

  Greenwich Village

  Thursday, September 5

  2210 local (GMT –5)

  “Such an interesting part of town,” the ambassador from Japan murmured as they drove through Greenwich Village. “We have nothing like it in Japan, of course.”

  She bit back a reply. She suspected there was indeed a Greenwich Village somewhere in Japan, if not quite as visible or as flagrant as Greenwich Village was here. Instead, she said, “I know the area quite well. Perhaps I can give you a tour someday.”

  “That would be very kind of you,” he said. She noticed a frown of disapproval on his aide’s face.

  “Then sir, I must ask you… the hour is somewhat late, and you have gone to a great deal of trouble to talk to me privately. May I ask what this is about?”

  “China.” The Japanese ambassador spat out the word as though it tasted bad. “And Taiwan. Our position — perhaps I will not give you exact answers. It is difficult… the interest in that region… our own position…” He spread his hands as though helpless.

  She knew what he was getting at, and couldn’t decide whether or not to force the issue. Japan was a relatively small nation in terms of land mass and military forces, and it would be very risky for her to offend China. Not only for military reasons, but because of the potential effects on economics and trade as well.

  Yet it was equally risky to offend the United States. Thus, he had not wanted to be seen talking to her, not quite so publicly. And yet he needed to convey his country’s difficulties to her so that the United States would not be offended by Japan’s apparent silence on the issue.

  “I appreciate your position,” she said quietly. “But you understand mine as well.”

  “Of course. And that is what I want to tell you — that, as you suspect, we do not wish to be drawn in to this conflict. Consequently, I believe that within the next several days my country will impose stringent overflight and transit landing restrictions on your military aircraft.” He held up one hand to forestall comment. “This is not an official notification — it is simply my best guess based on experience. Furthermore, should things become… more intense… I suspect my country will withdraw landing privileges altogether.”

  Now that was going too far, wasn’t it? She expected some resistance, perhaps some limitations on how many military aircraft could be on the ground at any one of the bases at a given time, but certainly not this. “The spaces are subject to long-term lease agreements,” she said. “Are you suggesting you will break those agreements?”

  “I am suggesting nothing. This is purely preliminary. But what I have to say is this — if that happens, if there are serious restrictions imposed on overflight and landing, my government wishes to assure you that we will do nothing that would place American forces at risk. Furthermore, in the case of imminent danger to your people, such as a rescue at sea, we will cooperate most fully.”

  “So we’re out on the front lines and we shouldn’t expect any help at all. You’ll abide by international law, and that’s all?” she asked, rather more sharply than she intended. But dammit, what was the point? Allies were supposed to stick up for one another.

  “I’m also authorized to tell you,” he said, as though she had not spoken, “that Japan very much wishes to enter into the conflict on the side of the United States. But not, however, until there are sufficient forces in the theater that you can protect us if this should be necessary. We risk much if we support you against China — I think you must not expect any support for months to come after your aircraft carriers are in the area.”

  “What about the rest of the Pacific Rim?” she asked. “Where do they stand?”

  “To a great extent, their positions mirror ours. They wish to support the United States, wish that most fervently. But the danger is not insignificant, you understand. Especially for the smaller nations.”

  Economic powerhouses the Pacific Rim nations might be, but there was no way they could stand up against the military might of China. No, it only made sense for them to try to sit on the sidelines for now. But she had thought that America could at least count on Japan’s support once an American aircraft carrier was near their coast.

  “And what is it that you expect in exchange?” she asked.

  “Continued friendship, and support for our historic territorial integrity.” His significant glance said everything his words did not.

  Ah, so that was it. Japan wanted to ride the fence as long as she could and end up with the U.S. supporting her claims to the Kuriles and Spratley Island chains. The Kuriles, the jagged line of islands extending up to Japan’s north, were currently under the control of Russia. The Spratleys, with their oil-rich seabeds, were to the south, and were a point of controversy between China, Japan, the Philippines, Malaysia, and anyone else who could muster up a boat big enough to get out to them.

  “That won’t do,” she said sharply. “You know it won’t — and you know I can’t agree to it.”

  “Ah. But we had hoped we could count on America’s friendship in the future?”

  “It has been adequately demonstrated to you time and time again, my friend. And now, if you don’t mind, I really must get back home. The hour grows late.”

  The ambassador spoke to his driver, and the car turned and headed back toward her townhouse.

  “Later than any of us think,” he murmured. They rode in silence for the rest of the way.

  ELEVEN

  United Nations

  Friday, September 6

  0800 local (GMT –5)

  Brad intercepted Wexler in the passageway outside her office. She took one look at his face, then followed him down the hallway, waiting until he judged they were in a secure position. Then he turned back to her. “Hemingway’s back.”

  “More bugs?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Naval operations. JIC is in an uproar. It’s like a feeding frenzy. There’s still no hard evidence, but all the area experts are saying it’s about to come down to a confrontation.”

  “When will the carrier be in the
area?” she asked.

  “Another two weeks. According to Hemingway, they’re setting a new speed record for transiting the Pacific.”

  “Not soon enough, I suppose?”

  “No. Hemingway needs to talk to you… but under the circumstances…” He stopped, knowing she understood what he meant.

  “I suppose it’s time,” she said heavily. She felt obligations and bindings descending on her at the thought of what she was about to do. But really, there was no other choice, was there? Her own spaces were demonstrably not completely secure. Hemingway had insisted that there were no further listening devices, but Wexler could not shake the uneasy feeling that she was never completely alone in her office.

  She pulled her shoulders back and raised her chin. “Okay. I’ll do it. When?”

  Brad seem slightly surprised and uneasy over the situation. “Hemingway can take you right over, if you want. I’d like to go along.”

  “What for?”

  “I might as well hear about it at the same time, right?”

  She stared at him, trying to understand what he was thinking. Did he think she wouldn’t tell him everything she heard at JCS? Or did he have other reasons of his own?

  Suddenly, an insight. “Is there a turf war between the CIA and naval intelligence on this?” she asked, suddenly certain she was right. “The CIA doesn’t have a source there, do they? They want you to take a look at things, figure out what’s being withheld and get everyone singing off the same page.”

  She could see him consider denying it, and then he sighed. “I don’t know exactly. Ever since the big summit that you and the president and the CIA had, I feel like I’m out of the loop. And this agreement — well, they don’t trust me as much as they used to. Divided loyalties, you know.”

  Now that was ironic, coming from him. It was T’ing who had warned her about Brad and told her of her aide’s CIA connection himself.

  She pointed a stern finger at him. “I will be leaving the office, accompanying Captain Hemingway, in precisely twenty minutes. Within that time, I expect to have a telephone call from the CIA requesting that you be allowed to accompany me and explaining their reasons for the request. Without that, not only do you not go, I will not tell you what happened when I get back.”