by James Philip
“Lieutenant-Commander, actually,” the younger man retorted with a vexed ill-grace that was wholly out of character. He relented. “Sorry. I’m not on top of my form at the moment.”
The civilian was in his fifties. He was sparsely built and there was a weary dignity in his dark eyes. The office around him might be cluttered, but there was order in the clutter.
“HMS Talavera distinguished herself in the action at Lampedusa by all accounts?”
Peter Christopher shrugged, self-conscious and uncomfortable with any kind of praise. It was not as if he had done anything terribly brave or noble at Lampedusa. Captain Penberthy was badly wounded, the ship was getting shot up, HMS Puma was dead in the water and things were fast going to Hell in a handbag. All he had done was stand in for the Captain and done exactly what David Penberthy would have done in the same situation. He had got the flotilla organised, seen what he could do to help the Puma. It just so happened the only way to help the crippled frigate was to draw the fire of the shore batteries while a tow was secured. Honestly and truly he did not know what all the fuss was about!
“The ship and her crew acquitted themselves well,” he agreed. “Which makes it even more galling that the bunch of pirates allegedly salvaging parts for Talavera’s refit from the wreck of the Agincourt have dumped a pile of scrap on the quayside and probably walked away with the few useful pieces of equipment that survived the bombing and the fire!”
The other man’s face fell.
“Actually,” Peter Christopher explained, feeling a little foolish now that he had had a little time to reflect on his initial reaction to discovering what had been going on, “before I came over here I ordered my people to search the salvage barge for contraband and to arrest the salvage master and anybody else who was hanging around on his boat.”
“Oh, I see.” The man behind the desk half-smiled, before forcing a severe expression to form that belied the amusement in his tired eyes. “That will no doubt lead to a deal of bad feeling.”
“Frankly, I don’t really care. My ship is a mess and I was counting on Agincourt’s spares to start getting her back to her rightful state, Mr,” he hesitated, “forgive me, I don’t believe I know your name, sir?”
The other man sat back in his chair.
It creaked unnaturally loudly in the quietness of the Sunday dockyard.
The older man fixed the younger man with his gaze.
“My name,” he said, sighing, “is Peter Calleja.”
The younger man stared at him, his mouth momentarily agape.
The other man’s smile broadened.
“I am Marija’s father.”
Chapter 35
Sunday 2nd February 1964
Camp David, Thurmont, Maryland
“My fellow Americans,” John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the thirty-fifth President of the United States said, instantly finding the voice he knew to be the nearest he would ever come to matching the delivery of his Democratic predecessor Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s legendary ‘fireside chats’. FDR had talked America through the travails of the Great Depression, the fears of the uneasy peace while Europe fell into war, and then through the tumultuous years after Pearl Harbour in a series of thirty of those radio ‘fireside chats’ between 1933 and 1944. Presidents since FDR had tried to emulate him, becoming increasingly seduced by television in the 1950s. People said that Jack Kennedy was the first President of the ‘television age’ but tonight he was going back to basics. America had very nearly lost its soul in the months before the Battle of Washington; its soul, its conscience and its sense of manifest destiny. Never had his mighty nation more needed somebody to remind it of what it really meant to call oneself ‘an American’. “As I travel our proud land people say one thing. One thing, my friends; they tell me that they want America to be one America again.”
Coming out to Camp David, hidden away in the Catoctin Mountains where he and Jackie and the kids could actually be safe – Secret Service paranoia about the security of the family compound at Hyannis Port had finally shut it down three days ago – had focused Jack Kennedy’s mind and convinced him that, despite his reservations, he had no choice but to circumvent the constitutional conventions which had since the time of George Washington, guided the nation.
Bill Fulbright, the man he ought to have appointed Secretary of State in 1961, the Vice-President, and his brother, Bobby, had steeled him to take decisive action when he was in Philadelphia. He had still honestly hoped that a direct appeal to Congress would unblock the political log jam; and had determined to make one last attempt to persuade the jeremiads.
He had spoken to the ‘leaders’ of the House. He had appealed over their party and vested interests to their patriotism, to their sense of duty and to their idealism. He might as well have been talking to a pack of hungry wolves around the freshly killed carcass of a buffalo. The bastards had just wanted to know what was in it for them.
He had asked LBJ to keep J. Edgar Hoover on a tight leash a little while longer. In the meantime he would light another kind of fire under ‘the House’. Once he let the FBI go to war with the House there would be no rowing back, the well would be poisoned for a generation. Besides, Hoover would go after the Administration’s friends with twice the energy he went after its foes. Trying to have one’s political opponents locked up was always bad politics; basically, it was bad enough dealing with the enemies you knew about without having to worry about the ones who might replace them. The Vice-President had confronted the House with one kind of justice, now he would confront it with another.
The ‘fireside chat’ was being recorded for broadcast this evening in a room full of technicians, equipment and Administration flunkies. It was hardly a relaxed affair. Jackie had found herself in a corner with the kids. She tried to smile. She tried hard to broadcast the regal grace and elegance of that age before the Cuban Missiles War when she had been the queen of the new Camelot. Like them all she was tired, careful to hide her fears from her children. A log fire crackled in a desultory fashion in the background but the room was a little cool because with all the comings and goings most of the warmth of the fire was constantly being sucked out into the wintery morning.
“It is my dream that one day all Americans will live safe in a nation in which all Americans, regardless of their colour, their creed or their political affiliations exist together in harmony. I dream of a nation at peace with itself. I dream of a nation that embraces its allegiances to its natural allies and seeks an ongoing dialogue with those who would do us ill. I dream of World in which the pen not the sword is the defining instrument of this nation’s foreign policy. But most of all I dream of an America in which the words ‘United States’ are the bed-rock of our democracy, and in which the good-will of all right thinking people is the guarantor of the universal freedoms to which this great country has been dedicated since 1776.”
Jack Kennedy glanced across to his wife. His daughter, six year old Caroline perched on a stool by Jackie’s right hand, three year old John Fitzgerald Kennedy, junior, bored and restless squirmed in his mother’s arms. The President forced a tight-lipped smile for his small family.
“When the Founding Fathers designed the Constitution of the United States of America,” something in him rebelled at such a generic, non-historic usage of the term ‘Founding Fathers’ but politics was an imprecise business and sometimes, compromises were unavoidable, “they had in mind creating a system of government in which no man would ever be their over-lord again. They had had their fill of Kings and Queens, and like the Roman Senate of old, they wanted no Caesar ruling over them. Thus, the Founding Fathers created a governmental system in which there was a surfeit of checks and balances that broadly speaking; remains inalienable despite numerous amendments to the Constitution in the one hundred and eighty-seven years since the Founding Fathers completed their work.” Again, did one count from the Declaration of Independence in 1776, or the Constitutional Convention of 1777, or Independence itself, or the electio
n of the first President, George Washington in 1789, or even, go back to the First Continental Congress in 1774 as one’s starting date? 1776 would have to do. “However, the Founding Fathers, being men of good sense and at heart practical, pragmatic men never intended for Congress to ignore existing treaty obligations – as previously ratified by both Congress and the Senate – or to wage a vendetta against the lawfully constituted Administration in a time of the direst national emergency.”
Actually, Chief Justice Earl Warren had informed him that the Founding Fathers could not be deemed to have made any such assumption. Most of the Founding Fathers were, after all, slave-owning English Tories who simply did not like paying their fair share of the tax bill. The political and social standpoints of the majority of the men who had signed the Declaration of Independence would have been deeply offensive to most modern day Americans.
The past, as any historian will confirm, was a different place.
Jack Kennedy focused on the text before him.
“The United States of America faces grave perils, my friends. I have no personal taste for playing the role of a latter day American Caesar. We are not Romans and we do not seek to rule any other nation or people. But when Congress denies the Executive arm of the Government of the Unites States of America the means and the money to enable it to defend its borders and its citizens, something is very wrong. Something is sick within the body politic and like a cancer it must quarantined and cut out before it consumes the body itself.”
They will never, ever forgive me for what I am about to do!
“In consultation with senior members of my Administration, senior members of the Senate, and with the High Command of our armed forces,” he said solemnly, regret leeching from his voice like blood from an open wound, “I have this day written to the Majority and Minority Leaders of Congress and the Senate informing them that if, within twenty-eight days, they are unable to assure me that both Houses are ready to support me in the measures necessary to guarantee the safety and security of our nation, and to respect this nation’s foreign undertakings to other nations, as previously sanctioned by the House of representatives,” the thirty-fifth President of the United States of America took a deep breath, “I will suspend indefinitely both Houses. At that time I will form an Administration of National Unity which will initially include all State Governors.”
Jack Kennedy counted silently: one, two three, four...
He was the man who had ordered a massive, all out strike against the Soviet Union and its allies. Now he was giving Congress twenty-eight days notice that they were next on his list.
“In the interim, I will act as the Commander-in-Chief of the Unites States of America, and take whatever actions I deem fit as circumstances develop to defend our country.” He let this sink in for a moment. “It is of paramount importance to our foreign friends and allies that they know they can rely on treaties and agreements made with your Government. Without trust there can be no such thing as a real friendship, or a real partnership. For that reason I will now read to you what your Government and your Congress signed up to on 4th April 1949 in Washington DC.”
FDR had never read to the American people from a dusty old treaty. But he had ‘chatted’, explaining and contextualising dilemmas and issues which many other politicians had not had the courage to confront. Jack Kennedy had always believed that a leader’s job was not just to lead, but to explain. Nothing, absolutely nothing was as crucial to the exercise of power in a democracy as the informed consent of the people. Perhaps, if he had remembered that a little earlier in his Presidency the World might not be in such a mess now.
“Article Five of the North Atlantic Treaty stipulates that: The Parties agree that an armed attack against one or more of them in Europe or North America shall be considered an attack against them all and consequently they agree that, if such an armed attack occurs, each of them, in exercise of the right of individual or collective self-defence recognised by Article 51 of the Charter of the United Nations, will assist the Party or Parties so attacked by taking forthwith, individually and in concert with the other Parties, such action as it deems necessary, including the use of armed force, to restore and maintain the security of the North Atlantic area.” Yes, it was heavy stuff and if you did not listen very carefully you were not going to ‘get it’. Well, it was about time somebody gave the American people credit for their innate horse sense, decency and patriotism. He was confident that a large number of Americans would listen to every word and that they would ‘get it’. “Any such armed attack and all measures taken as a result thereof shall immediately be reported to the Security Council. Such measures shall be terminated when the Security Council has taken the measures necessary to restore and maintain international peace and security.”
Jack Kennedy looked to his wife for reassurance.
Jackie smiled.
They had been apart too much this last year and that had been a mistake.
“Article Six of the North Atlantic Treaty says: For the purpose of Article 5, an armed attack on one or more of the Parties is deemed to include an armed attack on the territory of any of the Parties in Europe or North America, on the Algerian Departments of France, on the territory of or on the Islands under the jurisdiction of any of the Parties in the North Atlantic area north of the Tropic of Cancer; and on the forces, vessels, or aircraft of any of the Parties, when in or over these territories or any other area in Europe in which occupation forces of any of the Parties were stationed on the date when the Treaty entered into force or the Mediterranean Sea or the North Atlantic area north of the Tropic of Cancer.”
The President’s expression had become grim.
“My Administration takes these Articles to mean that an attack on the United Kingdom, or any of its bases in the Mediterranean, is a direct act of war against the United States of America.”
Chapter 36
Sunday 2nd February 1964
HMS Dreadnought, 78 miles SSW of Rhodes
There was a knock at the open door to Captain Simon Collingwood’s cramped cabin. Lieutenant-Commander Max Forton stuck his bearded face around the bulkhead.
“Come in, Number One,” invited the commanding officer of the Royal Navy’s only nuclear-powered attack submarine. He handed the two message sheets to the newcomer, waving him to sit on the adjacent bunk.
Max Forton grinned.
“Congratulations, Commander,” his captain chuckled. The top sheet was a list of promotions and recommendations for decorations for gallantry and good service. The second sheet was about the business of war.
“Thank you, sir.” The younger man pulled a face. “You don’t think they’ll haul me off to somewhere I’d rather not be the first time we touch land, do you?”
“You and me both, I should imagine,” Simon Collingwood guffawed. The next time Dreadnought docked she would not be going to sea again until her ever-growing, already very long defect list had been addressed. “The Blake has been ordered to stay in Limassol another forty-eight hours.”
He handed both sheets to his Executive Officer.
Max Forton perused the second sheet.
“Hermes making for Malta at best speed,” he read out aloud as he skimmed the page. “Second Submarine Squadron boats to adopt forward positions in a picket line across the Libyan Sea. Victorious task force temporarily withdrawing towards Alexandria. That’s a turn up, the Egyptians offering re-fuelling facilities... Tiger and Lion are rebalancing their main magazines with eighty percent AP shells. Good god,” he concluded, “they’ve patched up the Sheffield and they’re planning to send her out to join the Victorious!”
Simon Collingwood nodded.
Every ship in the Mediterranean Fleet which could raise steam was being sent to the Eastern Mediterranean. While HQ in Malta scrambled to position units west and south of Crete, HMS Blake and her cargo of three dozen nuclear warheads recently removed from the old combined NATO-CENTO store at RAF Akrotiri had no choice but to remain in port. The Bla
ke might be a match for a Sverdlov or Chapayev class cruiser in normal circumstances, but with such precious and dangerous treasure in her magazines, a gunnery duel with one or more of the former Soviet cruisers was to be avoided at all costs.
The ‘Cyprus problem’ had come home to roost with a vengeance. Cyprus had been a NATO enclave on the western periphery of the Central Treaty Organisation area of operations. The nuclear weapon store had been under joint US-UK control at the time of the October War and with the pullback of US forces in the Mediterranean the British garrison had effectively usurped the smaller combine US Air Force and Marine Corps presence, and taken custody of the stockpile. While the ruling Greek Junta was neutral and showed no signs of ambitions towards Cyprus, the position was tenuous. When Crete ceased to be Greek-controlled, Cyprus should have either been massively reinforced, or abandoned. Vice-Admiral Sir Julian Christopher’s predecessor as Commander-in-Chief Mediterranean had neither had the resources nor the will to reinforce Cyprus, and had made preparations – unfortunately very visible preparations – to evacuate the British presence from the island. This had sparked widespread civil unrest not to mention high anxiety; without achieving a single worthwhile tactical or strategic gain for the occupiers at the very moment that the sudden threat of Red Dawn had prompted the worst crisis in the region since the October War. That this was a crisis, not a ‘panic’, was solely down to the calm, sure guiding hand of the current Commander-in-Chief in Malta.
“Um,” Max Forton grunted, “I hope they keep all those A class boats out of our way!”
His captain heartily concurred with this thought.
The 2nd Submarine Squadron’s six A, or Amphion class, diesel-electric submarines based at Malta were relics of the immediate post-Second War era; able to stay submerged only for as long as their batteries lasted, relatively slow under water and obliged to transit from base to any potential war station mostly on the surface. The advent of the nuclear age of submarines had made them horribly obsolete overnight. They would also be very difficult to tell apart from any former Soviet or Turkish diesel-electric boat that Dreadnought encountered.