by Unknown
Fallon raised his hand. “Hang on. Remember, we declared war. Under those circumstances there’s a whole lot he could do. Look, we are in the early stages of this thing. One thing I have learned over the years is to be patient. The longer we wait, the more things will get back to operating as normal. O’Bannon is going to screw something up. When he does, it will mean we will be in a better position to take him down,” he said. “Until then, I suggest we get on the bandwagon and do a few things ourselves to support the war and get things going.”
Williamson looked like he might explode. He looked over at his Chief of Staff. “What do you say?”
Torry Yates had been standing in one corner listening to the conversation and his boss’s tirades. He knew he was in a tough spot. He had to keep the boss happy without letting him shoot himself in the foot. Too many times he had been forced to tell his boss to calm down. This was one of those times. “Frank’s right. This isn’t the right time. To change public opinion we have to be strategic in our efforts and right now there’s not so much to say against O’Bannon. Even if he is controlling the media some, most Americans would celebrate that fact. But if we wait and find that right event or moment, we can flip this. If we can get the public to start questioning his motives or his decision making, I have a feeling the whole house of cards will fall. Then we will be in position to provide our own view on things. Until then, we know there is going to have to be some rebuilding in our armed forces, so I will be trying to get a few contracts in our districts, make sure our television and radio people get back on line, everything that will make us look good and trustworthy. Then when we shake the tree we will look much better in the public eye,” he said.
“That’s exactly what needs to be done,” Fallon said. “Get out there and tell people we are getting their phones back and their cars running. Then tell them we are doing everything we can to find out who attacked us and what we will do. It’s going to have to be done at home instead of here, but that’s just the price we have to pay.”
Williamson calmed down. That was some basic politics. He could no longer sit in his office in Washington and send out press releases. This would mean spending some weekends and weeks on the road in his state. But that wasn’t so bad, was it? “I can’t fight all of you,” he said breaking into a smile. “Okay, we wait and look. Torry, lets see if we can scare up a train or something to go home on and do some stumping. But let’s also schedule a meeting each week or so to see what’s happened and what we can do about it. We can’t let the party take the blame for everything and just sit by and watch. I want to make sure we are there when O’Bannon screws up and ready to jump in when the time comes.”
The men in the room nodded, though they all knew it wasn’t really about the party, it was about Williamson. There was a little more discussion on other issues before the men finally got up and left.
South Korea
After a brief rest, Hufham picked up his rifle and headed toward the small barracks. Ricks took a deep sigh, and then followed the Master Sergeant. In the little bunkhouse they gathered the tags and weapons. Fortunately the small arms locker was open and they were able to get plenty of ammunition and a few grenades. They even found a couple of packs and sleeping bags. Next the men went to the mess hall to see what food they could find. The MREs were pretty new, much to the joy of Hufham. They also gathered up the canteens and filled them at the bowser along with a couple of five gallon Jeri cans. They brought all the gear over to a small shack behind one of the outbuildings.
Old Charlie hadn’t had a chance. He was spread-eagled on the floor – in pieces. The North Koreans had obviously begun to cut the man up before he died. Blood was everywhere. Hufham lowered his head and said a small prayer for the old man. Then he backed out of the door and closed it.
Rick’s eyes were wide and he seemed to be in a state of shock. Hufham started pulling him away from the carnage. “Who was he?” Ricks asked.
“Old Charlie. We let him run the concession over here for all the guys in the area. He would bring us Cokes and candy up at the Z every so often, or we would sneak away down here. He always seemed to have cold beer stashed somewhere,” Hufham grinned. “He was so much a part of the Army we gave him a uniform. He was a good man,” he said sadly. “He’s why we’re here. We’re gonna borrow his vehicle.” The two men walked around back to a wooden outbuilding attached to Charlie’s shack. Hufham pried the lock off the old timbers and pulled the door open. Sitting inside was something to make old soldiers feel homesick. It was a Jeep.
“We gave him this thing,” Hufham said. “When the Army started getting rid of them, we got this one declared surplus. Then we put the engine, transmission, and all the parts back on it and gave it to Charlie. It’s what he delivered his goods in,” he said getting into the driver’s seat. The keys were in the ignition. When he turned it, the engine fired immediately. Hufham backed the Jeep out and around to the front where they loaded their gear. Then he and Ricks took it to the fuel station and filled it up along with six more five gallon cans and a case of oil. Hufham pulled the Jeep up to the back gate. Using some bolt cutters he found, he opened the gate and drove the Jeep down a narrow two rut trail in the trees. He walked back to Ricks at the gate.
“Okay, now we have to blow this place the hell up,” he said. Ricks nodded and followed. He had seen Hufham’s reaction to old Charlie and somehow he seemed to understand the man a little better. The two men walked around the compound opening every drum of fuel they could find and began pouring the contents on the ground. They left trails to each building and to the remaining vehicles. Then Hufham opened the main tanks to the underground gasoline storage.
Ricks looked at him questioningly. “If you think I’m going to light a match and drop it in, you’re nuts.”
“Not so dramatic. I’m going to turn on all the pumps and let it pour out some. Then we’ll use a grenade. I don’t particularly want to be around when it all goes up.”
Working quickly, Hufham saturated as much of the ground as he could while Ricks dragged the bodies of the North Korean soldiers around one of the pumps. The last thing they did was to raise the American flag once more over the compound. Ten minutes later Hufham and Ricks stood by the Jeep as Hufham pulled the pin on a grenade and lobbed it into the compound.
The explosion knocked both men off their feet as the whole facility seemed to ignite at once. Buildings, shops, and other facilities began burning fiercely. As planned, it even penetrated the main gasoline and diesel tanks. The resulting explosion blew parts of the fuel depot far into the sky and set fire to the surrounding woods. But by that time Hufham and Ricks were long gone. The trusty Jeep was sprinting through the dense woods around the far hill as it was designed to do. By nightfall, they were far away searching for the American lines.
Over Virginia
Vice Admiral Thomas Granger was the Commander of the Naval Sea Systems Command. He was a surface line officer who had been in the Navy for 29 years. During that time he had commanded a destroyer, a cruiser, a destroyer squadron, and a task group. It was a good career on paper, but there had been some problems along the way. His destroyer had nearly run aground at one time because he decided to take his ship outside a marked channel. Only the quick response of his executive officer saved his bacon. His cruiser had failed an operational propulsion plant examination, but he had just been relieved by the new CO prior to the event, so it did not occur on his watch. Finally, as a task group commander he had drilled his ships to the breaking point and when an exhausted sailor accidentally launched a missile at a civilian plane, he blamed the CO of that ship for poor leadership. Luckily the missile was self-destructed immediately after launch.
The only reason he continued to rise in rank was because he had made all the right friends and offered the right favors. Along the way he had several tours in Washington, DC, giving him the chance to become friends with a number of influential congressmen and senators. Since his last tour at sea, he spent almost the entire tim
e around Washington. On the outside he was a respected Naval Officer, but in the Navy Surface Line community he was more of a serious joke. He was better known for going with the flow than making a real decision.
His type of rise in the Navy wasn’t supposed to happen. The selection boards were supposed to be fair and impartial – simply looking at the merits of each officer. But insiders knew this was not the case. All it took was the right word from a briefer or a nudge from a senior member of the board and you were either out or in. This allowed the board to become more “selective.” In Granger’s case, he always seemed to have a friend on the board who got the word to the members that Granger should be advanced.
Now he was making decisions on all shipbuilding in the Navy – and that included all the systems on the ships as well. He was tasked by the CNO to go to Lockheed Grumman Newport News Shipbuilding to see about how more ships could be built as quickly as possible.
He was seated in the helicopter beside RADM Mike Shranski, his Supply Officer, and Captain Hammond from the White House. Granger didn’t like either man. They said “no” too much to suit him, and he wanted people around him to say “yes” with a “sir” tacked on the end. But they were necessary. First he needed someone to talk contracts and Shranski was the best in the Navy at that. If anyone could make sure he didn’t make a contracting mistake it was Shranski. Hammond had been invited along to appease the President and show him the Navy was trying to make things happen. Hammond had a good reputation in the Surface Line and that was a plus. If he could convince Hammond of his ideas, Granger knew the President would not be far behind.
The Chief of Naval Operations had talked to Granger about what he thought was the proper way to get things moving and Granger was going to carry out those ideas. He sat back and shouted over the scream of the turbines. “We’ve got to get these big shipyards to start turning out new ships right away. Some of the ships we have can be overhauled and made ready locally, but this is the Navy’s chance to get a whole new line of equipment in a short amount of time. If we can get just a few frigates and destroyers online this year, it will set the stage for further shipbuilding at a lower cost per unit than what we are currently paying,” he said. “All we have to do is convince these civilians to get off their duffs and build ships,” he said with a smile.
“At what cost?” Hammond asked. He knew what Granger was saying was not quite true. Operations like Newport News were run by top engineers and former Navy men and women with a lot better reputations than he had. They knew shipbuilding from front to back and they did not like paper pushing admirals trying to tell them how to do their jobs. He also knew that getting geared up to build a ship was expensive and time consuming. What he didn’t know, and had come to find out, was what capabilities they still had. Hammond glanced over at RADM Shranski. He looked a little uneasy. Either he didn’t like flying or he didn’t like Granger – or both. At one point in their conversation he noticed Shranski roll his eyes. That was what really gave him the answer.
“Costs aren’t as important as getting the ships Hammond,” Granger continued. “We have us a war starting and the purse is open. Besides, we at the Pentagon know best what is needed to fight a war, don’t we?” he said with a grin. Shranski turned his head away and sat back in his seat. Hammond smiled and nodded. There was no use getting into an argument. Granger sat back and smiled at himself. He took Hammond’s nod as agreement with him.
The helicopter continued heading south and after a few minutes Shranski motioned for Hammond to come over to the bubble window. Looking down, he saw a sight people rarely saw these days. Sitting in the drydock at the far end of Newport News was a monster of a ship. Her nine 16-inch guns were pointed skyward as if ready for action. A few workmen were working along her sides apparently sandblasting off a layer of barnacles she had acquired sitting as a museum piece. “I wonder which one she is,” Hammond said.
Shranski shrugged. “Pretty though.”
It was then that Hammond noticed the surface warfare badge Shranski wore. He pointed to the pin. “I didn’t think Pork Chops got these things,” he said smiling.
Shranski’s grin broadened. “I was a SWO before I became a chop. I always have loved ships and being at sea. If I had my choice I’d still be there,” he said.
Hammond nodded in acknowledgement. He knew the feeling well. “Well, at least we can still get close,” he said over the din.
The helicopter began banking as it made its way to the pad by the Norfolk Naval Base. Sitting beside the pier were all kinds of ships and swarms of men. A purposeful bustle seemed to always go on at the base. The helicopter circled a set of buildings just beyond the base and settled in a grassy area beside some older brick buildings. Very quickly the engines were shut down and the rotors stopped. VADM Granger was met by a Rear Admiral that Shranski knew as the Deputy CINCLANTFLT. Granger greeted him warmly. “Tom how are you doing?”
“Pretty fair Admiral. Admiral Johnson asked if you would join him for lunch,” he said formally. Then he turned to Hammond and Shranski. “If you gentlemen would like to freshen up, I have a place in our main office. I have a vehicle running that will take you to your meeting at 1400 hours.
Rear Admiral Shranski waved him off. Don’t worry about us Tom, the Captain and I will go to the mess and then meet outside your office just before 1400.” Then he turned to Hammond, “Roger, let’s get a bite to eat and talk about ships,” he said with a grin. Both men made their way to the officer’s mess just a few doors down. Once inside, they ordered their meal and sat in one corner of the room away from the rest. Shranski looked around first, then leaned in to Hammond. “Roger, I need to know something. How do you really stand on this meeting?” he asked.
Hammond looked a little ill at ease with the question, but Shranski smiled at him. “I could tell you weren’t really buying all that hogwash about building ships. Quite frankly, I don’t either. But I kind of want to know if I’m out on the limb by myself,” he said looking around again.
Hammond became more relaxed. “Not only do I not believe it, but I have the feeling Granger is going to be handed his head on a plate for just suggesting it. But that won’t be my call. Look,” he said making his point, “first of all we don’t even know who the enemy is yet, so we can’t say what we will need. Second, we already have a bunch of ships that may need only minor work to get them back in some sort of shape, and third, despite what he thinks, the purse strings are not open. The President has made that abundantly clear to me and a lot of others. The only problem he seems to have is a bunch of senior officers who are looking for political points and more toys,” he said in somewhat disgust. Then he caught himself. “Present company excluded, I hope.”
Shranski almost laughed at that one. “Present company excluded. The way I see it, we do need some assets. We just don’t have enough to meet all the commitments. It’s like you said, we don’t know who yet, and if it’s far away or in more than one place, there will be hell to pay getting enough in place for any invasion.”
Hammond nodded. “I’ve been talking to General Black. His Marines are going to have to hit a beach somewhere and right now we don’t have much to get him there or to soften that beach up. We also don’t know if more nukes can be thrown at us. That means we have to be ready for strong weapons or more EMP. I know we’ll have some building to do to get these assets, but we don’t know what or how much. We can’t afford to throw money away on things we don’t need,” Hammond said.
“I totally agree. I’m supposed to be going down here to be ready to execute some contracts, but nobody has thought of what they will look like or what for. This trip is a thrown together mess,” Shranski said in disgust.
“Oh I don’t know. Admiral, I was told you are the contract czar. What could we do on short notice if we found some answers?”
Shranski smiled. He liked Hammond and the way he thought. “Call me Mike. Look Roger, we find an answer or two, I can generate a contract like nobody has ever seen and have t
hese shipbuilders running around like there was heaven on earth. But before we wheel and deal, we both need some answers. I suggest we keep our ears open and see what happens,” he said.
The food came and both men settled into some general banter about ships and the sea. During coffee Shranski looked over at Hammond. “Roger do you know anybody we will be seeing today?”
“Not really.”
“Well, Tim Reardon is the head of Newport News. We’ve worked some before. He’s a straight up kind of guy that knows ships and contracts. You won’t be able to pull any wool over his eyes. He is shipbuilding and nothing but, and his loyalties are to the company, not the Navy. However, he is also a patriot,” he said emphasizing the word. “I don’t mean fair weather either. If he knows something will be good for this country, he will back it and put the company on the line. He may seem to be a little pompous, but his heart is in the right place. I would suggest being open with him if we find something. He’ll lay it on straight,” Shranski said.
“Good to know. And that tells me our esteemed Admiral may come home with some bruises if not a few good cuts,” he grinned.
Shranski raised his coffee cup. “To cuts and bruises,” he said with a smile. The two men tapped their cups together and shared the moment. Shranski was a good man, Hammond thought. Nice to know there are more on our side.
Thirty minutes later the car took the three men out the gate and toward the highway leading to Newport News.
“So we need you to begin building frigates, cruisers, and destroyers as soon as possible. We would like the first ones available by January of next year,” VADM Granger said to the men seated around the table. He sat back in his chair.
Tim Reardon had listened patiently. He knew it was all bullshit from almost the second sentence. It was blatantly obvious this man didn’t have the faintest idea how ships were built or the situation they were currently in. More than that, this jerk was trying to tell him to build his ships for practically nothing because of the current emergency. That really pissed him off. He looked over at Mike Shranski and the other captain sitting with him. Both were playing their cards close to the vest, but he knew Mike and could tell in his eyes that he thought the same things. That made his job a little easier.