And judging by his demeanor in the office of the CNO, Shark’s former CO had a very private agenda of his own, an agenda that would not easily be intruded upon.
“He’s a strange kind of a guy, don’t you think?” said Admiral Curran, quietly. “He has that confidence some people have. As if they could never be wrong. By the way, what did you make of that last stuff he was muttering? I couldn’t really hear it.”
“No. I couldn’t either,” replied Dick Greening. “But I seemed to catch the word retrograde. Tell the truth, I’m not really sure what the word means.”
“It means going backwards, doesn’t it?”
“Beats the hell outta me. But if it does mean that, he must have been referring to our conversation. That sure as hell was going backwards.”
Eight days later.
0900. Wednesday, July 4.
San Diego Naval Base.
America’s national summer holiday was still in beach-bound progress on this bright sunlit California morning. The temperature was a near-perfect 78 degrees, and a light southwester off the Pacific promised to keep the sun worshipers relatively cool before the fireworks in the evening.
In the shaded gloom of the big office he always used in San Diego, Admiral Dick Greening felt almost sick with worry. He had before him a memorandum, signed by Captain Stewart Goodwin, who was presiding over the Board of Inquiry.
It read: “After three days hearing evidence in the USS Shark case, it is clear there was indeed a mutiny on board the submarine while on patrol in the Bay of Bengal. The facts are not in dispute. There was great sympathy for Lt. Commander Headley, whose actions were courageous in the extreme. However, Commander Reid is demanding the court-martial of his Executive Officer for making a mutiny on the high seas. And Naval regulations permit a Commanding Officer to make such a demand.
“With reluctance I, and my fellow members of the board, believe there is a prima facie case for a court-martial, and we are sending our findings to the Trial Service Office. The Judge Advocate General will then decide whether Lt. Commander Headley should indeed stand trial.”
Admiral Greening stood up and walked across the office to a wide computer screen on the wall, and he punched up the numbers 16.00N 94.01E. And there before him was the exact stretch of ocean where this terrible drama had been played out. He could see the island of Haing Gyi, the swamp, the little creek running through it. He could see the Haing Gyi Shoal marked clearly, the shallow water across which the fleeing SEALs had raced in their fast but tiny outboards. He could see the low marshy headland of Mawdin Point, and in his mind he pictured the scene.
The Chinese helicopters mercilessly machine-gunning the Americans as they tried to get away. Catfish Jones dead, Bobby Allensworth dead, Buster Townsend badly wounded, Rick Hunter pouring blood, still firing, all of them helpless sitting targets in the open boats. He imagined the terror. Imagined the courage. And then he imagined the sudden appearance of the Shark, lambasting the choppers with their Stingers, saving the eight survivors of this awesome SEAL mission.
And now they want me to approve the court-martial of the man who commanded the submarine?
“Jesus Christ,” said the Pacific Fleet Commander. And it was as well there was no one in the room to see him so upset, as he stared at the screen, hearing again in his mind the staccato rattle of the murderous Chinese guns.
1500 (local). Same day.
Office of the National Security Adviser.
The White House. Washington, D.C.
Admiral Morgan was displeased in the extreme. “Alan,” he said, “there’s gotta be some way we can stop this. You want me to get the President to intervene?”
“I don’t know,” replied Admiral Dixon. “The trouble with the damned Navy is that certain things are just like presidential elections—ain’t nothing anyone can do to stop ’em. They just happen.”
“Tell me about it. How about a presidential pardon for Lieutenant Commander Headley? The man in the Oval Office, as Commander-in-Chief, has to be able to do at least that.”
“Well, I guess he could. Somehow. But that’s not really the issue, is it, Arnie, old buddy? The press will want to know if the Navy has gone off its trolley, court-martialing such a man as Dan Headley. As you pointed out, it’s the very act of court-martial that is going to bring this whole thing right out into the open, where we don’t want it to be.”
“Who’s the Judge Advocate General in this case?”
“Veteran surface-ship commander, former lawyer, Sam Scott from Oregon. About as rigid a man as you could find. He’ll play this case right by the book. He’ll look at the recommendations of the board, check his goddamned law books and then decide that Lieutenant Commander Headley should stand trial as charged.”
“Could we reason with him?”
“No chance. He’ll just ask, What happens if the CO resigns and goes public, in a book, which will inevitably detail what he thinks is a cover-up.”
“Well, I guess it would be.”
“Sure would.”
“Well, what can we do?”
“We can put in a massive effort to help Dan Headley beat the rap.”
“But that’ll mean we have to prove Reid is insane.”
“Correct. And then the media will jump all over us for putting in charge of submarines men who ought rightly to be in an institution for the seriously nerve-wracked.”
“Damned if we do. Damned if we don’t.”
“This case was always thus, Arnie. Either we talked Reid into a complete capitulation, which we couldn’t, or we were going to find ourselves in the deepest possible shit. Where we now are.”
“Yeah. But it’s not quite over.”
“Enlighten me, NSA.”
“We owe it to this Lieutenant Commander Headley to help him prove his boss was both nuts and a fucking coward. And the press can go fuck ’emselves.”
“Yessir.”
0900. Wednesday, July 18.
Office of CINCPACFLT.
Pearl Harbor.
The Judge Advocate General’s decision took two more weeks to arrive. And now it lay smoldering on the sunlit desk of Admiral Dick Greening, just as it lay smoldering on the desk of Admiral Alan Dixon in faraway Washington, D.C.:
After careful consideration of the evidence and observations of the Naval Board of Inquiry which examined the events on board USS Shark in the Bay of Bengal, I have decided there is a prima facie case for the court-martial of the Executive Officer, Lt. Commander D. Headley. He will thus stand trial for Making a Mutiny on the High Seas on the morning of June 7, 2007, on which date he did relieve his commanding officer, Commander D. K. Reid, of his duties, under Section 1088 of Navy Regulations.
On the basis of the depositions before me, I have recommended that Commander Reid undergo psychological examination by three doctors, including but not limited to one civilian practitioner.
My findings have been referred to the Trial Service Office, for selection of trial counsel and defense counsel. I have recommended a senior judge advocate shall attend the proceedings, which will be heard in the trial Service Courtroom at the San Diego Navy Base on a date to be arranged. Signed: Captain Sam Scott, Judge Advocate General.
It was not unexpected, but the reality of the situation suddenly loomed before the Pacific Fleet Commander. This was it, the court-martial of a U.S. Navy hero, whose actions were witnessed not only by a crew of 107 completely supportive, very talkative seamen on board a fighting nuclear submarine, but also by eight highly regarded members of the U.S. Navy’s Special Forces, all of whom owed their lives to the actions of Lt. Commander Headley.
Their story was already well on its way around the SEAL bastions of neighboring Coronado and Little Creek in Virginia. Offhand it was difficult for Admiral Greening to think of any member of the service who would not know at least a vague version of this melodrama by nightfall.
As Commander of the Pacific Fleet, he was required to “sign off” on the court-martial, as indeed was the CNO in th
e Pentagon. And Dick Greening was going to hate doing that. But he had no choice.
Admiral Greening picked up the phone to Admiral Dixon, who was already on the line to Arnold Morgan. It was merely a matter of waiting for the press to get hold of the details, from any one of the hundreds of Navy men, and women, who now knew all about it. But the media would not be looking, and it might take them a while. Though they’d sure as hell make up for their lateness when they did find out.
Admiral Morgan’s wishes were very clear: Lt. Commander Headley and his lawyer were to be given every assistance in their case to prove that Commander Reid was in no fit state to run the SEAL escape and rescue from the Burmese island. It was the only way out of a scandal that would surely engulf not only the senior service, but also, possibly, the administration itself.
In fact it took five days, and even then only half of the story was published. On its front page, the San Diego Telegraph ran a double-column item, toward the top of columns four and five, under the two-deck headline MYSTERY OF NAVY SEAL RESCUE OFF BURMA.
To the connoisseur of such matters, it was plain the writer knew more than he dared print. But the newspaper printed enough:
The United States Navy last night refused to comment on a report that a U.S. Navy SEAL assault team, out of Coronado, came under direct attack from Chinese helicopters while escaping from a mission on a Burmese island.
It is believed that at least two of the SEALs were killed and that others may have been wounded. There were no details available as to the nature of the mission, and a Navy spokesman would only say, “All Special Forces operations are highly classified, and this one is no different.”
Five weeks ago reports from Rangoon stated that a new Chinese Navy base on the island of Haing Gyi in the delta of the Bassein River, western Burma, had been badly damaged by a massive explosion inside a geothermal electricity generation plant.
The Navy spokesman would neither confirm nor deny that the SEAL team had been involved in this destruction.
Further reports suggest there was an American nuclear submarine in the area of the Bassein Delta on or around June 7. There was no information available as to the identity of the ship, but an insider told the Telegraph last night that the Sturgeon-Class nuclear boat USS Shark, under the command of Commander Donald K. Reid, was operational in the Bay of Bengal at the time.
Last night Commander Reid could not be reached. His Executive Officer, Lt. Commander Dan Headley, would not comment on any part he may have played in the rescue of the surviving SEALs.
He would only say, “Throughout Shark’s recent Middle East patrol, I carried out my duties as a U.S. Naval officer to the best of my abilities.”
Accompanying the story was a single-column picture of Commander Reid, under which was the caption “Unreachable.” There was also a picture of Lt. Commander Dan Headley, beneath which was the caption, “I carried out my duties.”
The story was just signed Geoff Levy, staff writer. But he had plainly been briefed about the entire scenario, either by a member of the submarine’s crew or by a San Diego resident SEAL. However, young Geoff had been unable to obtain any official confirmation, and he wrote only what he thought was more or less safe, given the fact that he was trespassing in a top-secret military area.
The Navy’s high command, in Pearl Harbor, San Diego and Washington, glowered at the report as the e-mails were downloaded from computers all over the fleet and its executive offices. The media’s high command, almost shrieking with glee, set about pinning the story down. But they made little headway, because essentially reporters needed to be in San Diego where most of the crew and SEALs were stationed.
And once more Geoff Levy’s source delivered and on Wednesday night, July 25, the San Diego Telegraph went to bed with end-of-the-world-size type stacked in two decks, clear across the top of its front page: NAVY COURT-MARTIALS SUBMARINE EXECUTIVE OFFICER FOR MUTINY ON THE HIGH SEAS. Beneath the headline was the subhead “Heroic U.S. Officer Who Saved the SEALS Is Accused.”
Someone had not only blabbed. Someone had blabbed in spades; leaked the court-martial recommendation from Captain Sam Scott, and suddenly Geoff Levy was a media star. And Admiral Arnold Morgan held his head in his hands as the young San Diego journalist said on national television, “I’ve been on the Navy beat for my newspaper for three years now, and I have never known such outrage. There are a lot of very furious guys in the U.S. Navy right now. Most of ’em think Dan Headley should be given the Medal of Honor.”
“Holy shit,” groaned the CNO.
By midday on July 26, the fertilizer was clogging the bilge pumps. The Navy Department in Washington was under siege from the media. The San Diego base switchboard was jammed by phone calls from newspapers and television. All lines to the command office of the SEALs in both Coronado and Virginia were occupied by journalists, researchers and columnists.
And the questions were all the same…What really happened out there in the Bay of Bengal?…And why is the hero of the operation being court-martialed by his own Navy?…Where is Lt. Commander Headley?…Can we speak with him?…If not, why not?…Do the SEALs agree Lt. Commander Headley should be court-martialed?…What has he actually done to deserve this?
Photographers were camped in groups at the main gates to the base. They were massed outside the Pentagon, outside the base at Coronado and at Little Creek, Virginia. By late afternoon, infuriated by the lack of cooperation of the U.S. Navy, they swung their attention to the White House, demanding a statement either from the National Security Adviser, the Defense Secretary or the Commander-in-Chief himself, the President of the United States.
In the opinion of both Arnold Morgan and Admiral Alan Dixon, there was absolutely nothing to be gained by saying one word to any of them. “No comment” would send them into a frenzy. “We are unable to confirm anything at this time” would drive them mad. “All matters such as these are highly classified, and in the interests of national security we will say nothing.” That last one would have been a red cape to a fighting bull.
What national security? Are you saying the SEALs attacked that Burmese island? How many of them died? Why are members of the crew saying Lt. Commander Headley rescued the survivors? What’s he done wrong? If he mutinied, why did he mutiny? Did the CO blow it or something?
To hold a press conference, or even to issue a press statement, would be to open the floodgates. Better to let them get on with it, block all calls at the switchboard, or the automatic answering machines, and let the cards fall where they may.
Where they fell was all over the place. In the following three days, right up until the last editions of the Sunday tabloids were on the presses, it was as if no other story in the entire country mattered. The inaccessibility of the Navy bases and the personnel involved seemed only to fan the forest fire of leaked knowledge. There was even a posse of photographers outside the locked wrought-iron gates of Bart Hunter’s farm in Lexington, Kentucky, trying to catch a glimpse of the SEAL leader’s father. Local journalists even managed to interview Bobby Headley, Dan’s father, when he mistakenly answered the telephone late one evening.
But the Navy said nothing. And the media slowly pieced it all together in various forms. The general scenario put forth was that the SEALs had attacked the Chinese base in some kind of retribution for China’s capture of the island of Taiwan. They had been caught and attacked on the way out, and there had been an altercation between the Commanding Officer of USS Shark and his Executive Officer.
The CO had been overruled by the XO, supported by the majority of the officers on board, and Shark went in to save the SEALs. This mission was accomplished, and now the Navy was charging the Lieutenant Commander who masterminded the rescue with mutiny. It was obvious to everyone that almost every officer and enlisted man in the U.S. Navy was up in arms about this. And almost every commentator in the entire country, newspaper, radio or television, was of the opinion that the Navy, the government and presumably the President, the C-in-C of all the ar
med forces, had, collectively, gone mad.
The New York Times, with a searing inside “exclusive,” revealed that the entire high command of America’s most elite troops, the Navy SEALs, had threatened to resign en masse if the court-martial proceedings were not called off.
All this was achieved without one single identified source inside the U.S. military. It was as Admiral Morgan had forecast, the outrage. That’s what binds people together, a shared grievance, a communal anger. And there sure was profound anger at this ensuing court-martial of Lt. Commander Dan Headley.
Nonetheless, media or no media, the legal wheels turned relentlessly inside the Navy’s Trial Service Office. The trial Counselor was duly appointed, Lt. Commander David “Locker” Jones, a 46-year-old lawyer from Vermont, who had attended the Naval Academy but left the service for the law after three years in a surface ship. Ten years later he returned after a messy divorce involving a client’s wife. For the past four years he had been an extremely able Naval lawyer, much admired throughout the legal department both on the West Coast and in Washington.
The Shark Mutiny (2001) Page 47