by Unknown
The NATO leaders had been meeting for three days and had already covered the easy subjects, but this final one was the real reason they had met. The Polish President spoke to the men in halting English, but everyone could tell he was afraid.
“You all know we are next,” he said. “We have seen this before in the 1930s. Hitler annexed Austria, the Sudetenland, and Czechoslovakia simply because he claimed the people there spoke German. Now the Russians are doing the same. First was the Crimea, then all of Ukraine. Next came the smaller states like Rumania, Estonia, Moldavia, and Latvia. Belarus is now nothing more than a puppet state. We know Russian troops move freely within its borders. We now hear of daily uprisings in Lithuania and Slovakia. It is the same procedure each time. There is rising unrest by people who say their heritage is Russian. People start to be killed and then Mother Russia rushes in to protect the people of Russian descent. It will not be long before my country will be surrounded on three sides by Russian troops. It will be just like the cold war, except that this one will be very hot indeed – especially for Poland. I need to know what NATO will do to help protect us,” he exclaimed. He had been standing at his chair and now glared at the other members of the chamber.
“Mister President,” said the French President, “we have all seen what has happened over the past few years. Yet, we also realize that each of these nations has been run by relatively weak governments and had poor economies. Although it saddens us that some of our former NATO allies have left us, they did this of their own accord. We can’t stop someone from leaving NATO simply because we don’t want them to.”
The Polish President glared at the man. “I believe there was much more than simply changing sides here. If you recall, Latvia and Estonia asked for help, but all we did was debate it till it was too late. Only the United States provided some assistance but even that was not enough. You are correct that we cannot dictate what our member nations will do, but when we know something is about to happen, do you not believe it would be prudent to take steps to support our allies?” he asked pleadingly.
“I feel you are overestimating the things going on in these countries. We have spoken with our Russian emissaries and they assure us that they have no intention of going into any country, but are simply compelled to help people of their Russian heritage,” said the French President. He sat smugly in his chair leaving the impression that he thought little Poland and her fears. This did nothing but anger the Polish President even more.
“And this doesn’t sound vaguely familiar?” he nearly screamed. “I feel the opposite. We should all be concerned. Within a few months, I expect the Russian Army at my back door. I am also here to tell you Poland will not simply give in. We had enough of Russian domination. We were the first to declare ourselves free and we do not intend to give up that freedom. So again, I ask, what will NATO do?”
It was the German Chancellor who stood slowly. His eyes focused on the Polish President. “Gentlemen, I agree with the President. Russia is making her early moves. My military tells me this every day. We all know history and what has happened in the past, and I can assure our neighbor to the east, Germany will be with you, side by side, whatever happens. We cannot let history repeat itself,” he said slowly. “My nation is already secretly building up its reserves so that we may respond to this threat. Perhaps a portion of our past may be forgotten as we work together.”
“As members of this organization, we are pledged to come to the aid of the others when called upon,” said the British Prime Minster Nicholson. “Britain will be there when called for, but we must consider that even with all our forces it may not be enough,” he said.
“Our forces won’t be enough to make much of a difference,” said the Italian President. He shrugged his shoulders, “But we will abide by the NATO Charter and send what we can,” he said. Some of the men in the room looked at each other. They knew “what we can” would be next to nothing. Slowly, they all began to turn to the United States Representative.
President Steven O’Bannon looked around at the men in the room. Once again, he knew they were all counting on the United States to bail them out of any situation. He was tired of it. More than that, he knew his people were tired of it. He let out a small breath and sat forward. “Gentlemen, ever since the end of World War Two, the United States has been called upon to be the policeman of the world. If you look back, we have provided the most people, the most equipment, the most sweat and the most toil of any nation. We have never shied away from standing up to tyranny. But the American people have become weary of these conflicts. Since I have come to office, we have fought one war and been a part of three other conflicts, not counting our rescue effort in South America. My people are starting to ask when the rest of the world will be ready to step up. So as far as the United States is concerned, we will respond, but not before every other nation in NATO steps forward with substantial resources and forces. Don’t count on the United States to shoulder the brunt of a conflict which Europe is unwilling to challenge. You must be ready to take on this one, on your own, if possible,” he said sadly.
“That is irresponsible,” the French president almost shouted. “You are the superpower of this world. It is up to you to protect other NATO nations!”
O’Bannon’s face turned to an angry scowl. “Irresponsible? Do not place that name upon us. Since the end of the world war, we have done everything we could to maintain our forces and be good allies while we watched each of you reduce your military to bare minimums. As a result, our economy took the hits while yours prospered. We were called upon to send forces all over this globe, while at home, many of you demanded we remove our bases, equipment, and troops. Well, now someone is practically knocking down your doors and here you come looking for us to send help. We have fewer than 50,000 troops in Europe now. Our tanks and planes are back home. Now you want us to bear the burden of sending it all back. You can’t have it both ways, gentlemen. This time, you must pick up the sword. You must make the plans and get ready. Yes, our forces will be there with you, but I will not send anything back over here till you have done your part. We will either do this together, or we don’t do it at all!” he demanded.
The men around the table looked shattered. They had nearly all relied on the United States to take care of their business for the last 80 years. The thought that the United States might not be there chilled them to their core. Prime Minister Nicholson stood at his seat.
“My friends, I do not doubt that our ally, the United States will be with us if this goes as we expect. However, President O’Bannon is correct in what he says. Our combined armies would have a very difficult time, at best, dealing with Russian invasion of Europe. We have all reduced our forces to appalling levels simply because it was expedient. Great Britain came to this conclusion late last year when this all began. Since that time, we too have quietly been increasing our forces and building back up. We know this will take time, but hope that there will be enough time to become much more prepared. I recommend each nation begin this process, so that if and when the day does come, we will be able to stand together and take up our responsibilities to each other, whatever happens.” He sat back down and nodded to O’Bannon, who smiled back.
“It would ruin us,” said the Belgian Prime Minister. “The cost would be staggering.”
“Think how much it would cost if you became a part of Russia,” demanded the Polish President.
“It will be difficult,” said the Spanish Prime Minister, “but I believe it must be done. If we all share the burden, it will be much easier in the long run.”
“France has enough men and equipment. Any more would have a detrimental effect, especially since we do not believe the situation is that serious,” the French President said. He shrugged his shoulders. “However, if it does happen, France will take its place at the front.”
“What is the next step?” asked the President of Denmark.
“Our military leaders are probably already debating these steps. As lo
ng as everyone in this room is ready to do their part, we need to listen to what they come up with and then see what each of us needs to do,” said President O’Bannon. “Until then, we go back to our countries and prepare for something we can only pray never happens.”
Washington, DC
Admiral Richard Stiles stepped out of his quarters in the Washington Navy Yard and began his daily run. As Vice Chief of Naval Operations, his duties seemed to be endless. Not only did he have responsibilities in Washington, but he was also the Commander, Naval Forces Europe, Commander, Naval Forces Africa, and Commander, Allied Joint Forces Command in Naples. In the last year, he had made trips to Europe almost weekly. As a result, his body clock seemed to always be in a mess. The only time he could take his mind off his work was when he ran.
Stiles had always been a heath nut. He had instilled fitness of mind and body in each command, often leading his people through a daily regimen. He was what they called ‘lean and mean,’ and loved it. Unfortunately, this lifestyle had taken its toll on his family. His wife had left him years ago and his two children almost never visited, simply because he was never available to visit. But the larger holidays would bring at least a few days when his family could be together. If he could arrange the time, he was planning a two week vacation where maybe they could get together for a bit.
Things in his office were a mess. The Middle East still presented headaches; the pirates were coming back along the East African Coast, Russia had been up to no good in Europe and Typhoons in the Pacific had been particularly bad this year. Luckily, the Pacific and the Middle East were not something he had to spend much time on. His latest challenge was to figure out what Russia might do and how we could counter their efforts. Stiles had a reputation of being able to get to the bottom of a problem and come up with a pretty good plan on getting it fixed. He had established a planning group just yesterday and would spend a good month or more working things out.
Usually his runs allowed him to take his mind off his problems, but for the last few days that hadn’t been the case. The headaches were more frequent and his diet of black coffee throughout the day wasn’t helping. He had noticed that he was becoming testier with his subordinates, but if he was under stress, so should they be.
He rounded the corner and began his trek along the waterfront. He noticed some new items added to the Navy History Center Museum. The most interesting was the top of a smokestack that had once been a part of USS Iowa. Struck by a cruise missile, it had sent the stack flying off the ship, only to land on the flight deck of the aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan. The President had personally ordered it returned home and placed on the Navy Yard grounds. Stiles couldn’t imagine a ship being hit with such force and still surviving.
The old warehouses in the Yard had all been converted into offices. Dim lights could be seen through the tinted windows as people worked late into the evening. He felt a slight pain in his right temple and placed his hand up to rub the spot. Suddenly his legs seemed to lose control and he fell with a thud on the pavement. His last thought, before losing consciousness, was that the headache had seemed to go away.
Sgt. Fred Jackson of the Navy Yard police spotted something lying on the sidewalk and pulled his car over and stopped. He flipped on the lights to warn others and slowly got out of the car. Immediately recognizing Admiral Stiles, he reached down and felt for a pulse. It was rapid and weak, but there. He immediately called in the emergency. The fire department showed up first. The paramedics saw the abrasions on his face and arms and feared he had been assaulted. They began providing emergency care and called the situation in to the hospital. When they checked his reactions, there were none. His eyes were dilated and non-responsive. An ambulance arrived five minutes later, but by then it was too late. Admiral Stiles had died from a massive stroke.
Air Force One, Over the Atlantic
Admiral Perry Johnson was roused from his sleep by one of the communications team. The man handed him the message and turned on the light above his head. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Johnson read the message and let out a sigh. “Is the President awake?” he asked sadly.
“He just closed his door. I doubt he has gotten to bed yet,” the young woman said.
“Thanks,” said Johnson as he got up and headed for the front of the plane.
President O’Bannon had just removed his tie and shoes when there was a knock at the door. The Secret Service agent stuck his head in. “The CNO asked to see you, sir.”
O’Bannon nodded and motioned for him to let the CNO in. Johnson stepped into the small cabin.
“What’s up Perry?” the President asked.
Johnson handed over the message. “I just got it. Richard had just gotten things started on our assessment when this happened,” he said sadly.
The President let out a sigh. “I was counting on him to not only see where we are, but start coordinating the NATO efforts. Who have we got that can step into his shoes really fast?” He motioned for the CNO to sit down. The president took a seat on one of the beds.
“I really don’t have any four stars who could do the job Richard could. With the cutbacks, we have been doubling up on a lot of duties,” the CNO said.
O’Bannon nodded, “I know. We’re letting a lot of things be worked out at lower levels. But I need someone who thinks outside the box. This person needs to think through these kinds of problems and then have the respect in NATO that will get the job done without it looking like we’re stepping on toes. Most of the admirals in Washington really aren’t up to that level,” he said. “I just had to lay it on the line with our NATO leaders. If I get someone too pushy, they will turn away, but if I get someone too soft, the others won’t do their part.”
The lines on the edges of the CNO’s eyes began to lift. “Of course, if you wanted someone with a reputation to get things done, I know one guy. As a matter of fact, he’s been known to figure a few things out on his own,” he said with a grin.
At first, the President’s face had a questioning look. Suddenly, it changed to understanding and his grin began to match the one on Admiral Johnson’s face. “He’s been out of our sight way too long. What‘s he doing now?”
“Finishing his job at SURFPAC. I was going to send him to be Sixth Fleet, but I think he could handle this,” Johnson said. “You’ll need to give him his fourth star.”
“After what he did in Venezuela, he deserves it. Call him up and tell him he needs to come back home.”
The CNO stood. The smile on his face told the President he had made the right decision. He had rarely seen a smile that big on the Chief of Naval Operations.
San Pedro, CA
The long trip away from home had worn “Little Steve” out. The two year old had drifted off just an hour into the flight home and had remained asleep while his father put him in his bed. Steven James Hammond had been born just three months after his mother had been rescued from being kidnapped by the President of Venezuela – the same man they had just seen sentenced to death in a Texas court. He was more than healthy. By one, he was pulling himself up and taking his first steps. He began talking at eighteen months. Both Patricia and Roger Hammond had their hands full keeping his inquisitive mind and fingers out of things. Baby proofing was more than a chore. Steven had already figured out how to get around most child locks. While Patricia found herself getting grey hair, Roger had come to admire how his little boy was thinking. Reading had been a nightly thing since the boy was one, but now Little Steve was reading along with his parents and had stepped up to higher level books. Roger was determined that his son would have only the best in his education.
After kissing his son good night, he closed the door and walked to his bedroom. Patricia had already donned her nightgown and had crawled into bed. “Never mind unpacking,” she said. “Tomorrow is Saturday. We can do it then, if we don’t sleep till Sunday,” she said tiredly.
Roger kicked off his shoes and got undressed. A quick brush of his teeth and he crawled into bed
beside his wife. He leaned over to give her a good night kiss, but she was already dead asleep. He turned off the light and lay back on his pillow. Yesterday had seen the closing of another chapter of his life. Parente would now face the ultimate price for kidnapping his wife. He still was unsure what long term psychological effects might come through with Patricia. The first day after her rescue she had been in a daze. She rarely spoke and seemed to cling to Roger as if her life depended on it. From what Dale Ricks had told him, she was lucky he had arrived when he did. He had told Roger that Parente was about to plunge a knife through her chest when that sharpshooter had fired. Even he had thought he would be too late to save her. But then something happened. When the crew of Iowa had appeared at that club, she had slowly come out of her haze. They had reached out to her, and slowly, she had reached out to them. In a one hour period, she had returned from the dead. Doc Dickerson said he had never seen anything like it before.
They had returned home aboard the Iowa. With each passing day she had grown stronger. Pretty soon, she could be found in different areas of the ship, laughing with “her guys” and listening to all the things each man had been doing, both aboard ship and in their personal lives. She even found out several men had gotten jobs and moved to San Pedro, not only to be near their ship, but close to her and their captain. Such news tickled her to no end.