The California had been missing for 18 minutes.
Chapter 30
Bradley called Chief Ray to his office. He was careful to keep their meetings to a minimum and to communicate in short conversations at prearranged locations throughout the ship. Bradley knew that they needed more people to make their defection plans work, but for now he kept it between himself and Chief Ray. At this point, the more people involved the greater the chance of a leak or slip up.
“What about the big weapons, Chief? The guided missiles, the five-inch guns, and even the ASROCS (anti submarine missile system) can do a hell of a lot of damage. We can’t get them off the ship. Any way to disable them?”
“I’ve been thinking about just that, Commander. The first way is easy. I just remove the printed circuit boards for all of the big weapons systems. Every one of them, including the five inch guns, have a printed circuit board. I just take ‘em out and toss ‘em overboard. But the timing is tricky. All these systems, except for the ASROCs, are manned by crews around the clock. The boards would have to be yanked before anybody notices a problem.”
“What about the five-inch guns?” asked Bradley. “Can’t they be operated manually?”
“Excellent question, Commander. Yes they can be operated manually without a circuit board. For the guns I suggest we use thermite grenades. Those little babies are designed to melt metal. They can burn at a temperature as high as 4,000 degrees. We have 100 of them aboard. Pop one of them down the barrel of a gun and it’s time to buy a new gun. The grenades that we don’t use we can put in the Zodiacs.”
“So,” said Bradley, “we can turn this cruiser into an unarmed cruise ship in a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir. A cruise ship without a swimming pool.”
Also, thought Bradley, a ship that can’t defend herself can be sunk, especially if you use her own weapons against her.
Chapter 31
SEAL Petty Officer First Class Peter Campo is a master in the martial arts. He began as a freshman in high school, and by his second year in junior college he had become a black belt in both karate and the Korean skill of Taekwondo. He’s also an expert in the Japanese “Gentle Way” or judo. He had taught martial arts at the Navy SEAL training school as well as the Naval Academy. When he reported aboard the California he asked Lieutenant Conroy if he could teach classes on the ship. Conroy ran the idea up the chain of command and Campo got the job.
Campo was about to start a beginner’s class, his favorite. People new to the martial arts have no preconceived notions, and the classes are easier to teach and more fun. This class would include Simon Planck, the sailor who Captain Patterson ordered him to pay close attention to. Easy job, thought Campo. Give me an order and I follow it. He also relished the idea of helping this scrawny kid. Planck was one of 10 people in the class of seven men and three women.
“My name is Peter Campo, but you will call me Pete. You come to this class maybe not knowing how to swat a fly. I make you one promise: When you finish this class, flies will fear you.” That cracked everybody up, as Pete intended. His style was not to lord his martial prowess over his students, but to respect them and show them how to get the respect of other people. Contrary to normal rules, he addressed each person beginning with their rank, such as Seaman or Petty Officer, not simply their last name. It took a bit longer, but it also showed respect.
Campo also knew the importance of early success for his students, and he intentionally placed himself in a position to be thrown around so a student could get the feel of executing a correct move.
The class began with judo, the “gentle way.” But first, he ordered each of the students to bow in respect for each of the other students. He explained the simple idea behind judo, to use the force of an opponent against him. He asked Planck to come forward.
“Seaman Planck, I have a question,” said Pete. “Have you ever tripped and fallen?”
“Yes, Pete,” said Planck, thinking the question was dumb.
“Now Seaman Planck, did you notice that after you tripped, that the falling part was easy? You just went forward and hit the ground. It was easy because gravity did it for you. Judo is a lot like that. Now Seaman Planck, I want you to punch me in the nose. Don’t worry, I’m not wearing a sidearm. Go ahead, punch me.”
Seaman Planck threw the punch. Pete stepped slightly backward and to the right and grabbed Planck’s fist as if it were a thrown ball, simultaneously putting his right arm around Planck’s waist and throwing him gently to the matt.
“Gravity,” said Pete, “just threw our friend Seaman Planck to the mat with only a minor assist from me. I used his forward momentum and just helped it to keep going forward.” He did this five more times with Seaman Planck, asking everybody to watch carefully. “Now,” said Pete, “I’m going to throw a punch at our friend Seaman Planck.” Planck stiffened.
“Okay, Seaman Planck, here it comes.” Pete threw an arcing punch, aiming it in such a way that if he did connect it would be with the fleshy part of his forearm. Just as he had learned from watching Campo, Planck “caught” Campo’s fist and pulled his opponent toward him, flipping him to the mat (aided by Campo himself).
“Outstanding, Seaman Planck. Let’s hear it for this guy.” Everyone applauded. Planck bowed, as Pete slapped him on the shoulder. “Way to go, guy. Excellent job.”
Planck couldn’t remember the last time he felt proud. He didn’t have many opportunities.
Chapter 32
The day after Lincoln met with Navy Secretary Wells, he held a scheduled meeting of his eight cabinet members. The meeting began promptly at 8:30 a.m. Lincoln’s spacious office also served as the cabinet meeting room, with its large conference table around which each of the cabinet members sat.
The day was overcast with heavy low clouds, which cut down on the natural light from the windows. A staff member lit the gas lamps hanging on the walls. Two staff waiters walked around the table pouring coffee and circulating plates of buns. At 45 degrees, it was cold for mid-April, and everyone welcomed the hot coffee. The staff left the room after they completed their chores just before the meeting began.
Lincoln, seated at the head of the conference table, placed his elbows on the table and touched his fingers together creating a cathedral-like arch, a familiar pose to the men present. It showed neither aggressiveness nor reticence. The pose didn’t say I’m your friend or your enemy. The pose simply announced that it was time to get down to business.
“Gentlemen,” said Lincoln, “you are about to experience the strangest meeting that you will ever attend.” Lincoln sipped slowly from a cup of coffee to let his words sink in. The cabinet members glanced around the room at each other to see if someone understood why Lincoln said this. They noticed that Gideon Wells smiled broadly behind his huge white beard.
“Yesterday I had a long meeting with Secretary Wells over here,” said Lincoln, nodding in Wells’ direction. “That, gentlemen, was the strangest meeting I ever attended, and now Secretary Wells and I are going to let you join in the fun.” That brought a nervous chuckle from everyone.
As arranged, Wells reached into a large briefcase and withdrew a stack of documents, copies of the report summary that Campbell had given him. He passed them around. “Amazingly clear typeface,” noted the Postmaster General.
“Please take a few moments to read this report, and I’ll then ask Gideon to summarize his recent experience.”
Wells gave his report, summarizing his day on the USS California with Admiral Farragut and Commander Roebling. He also passed around the Navy photographs of other amazing vessels. Wells then got to the most salient point, the point that he, Farragut, Roebling, and now President Lincoln had reached.
“Gentlemen,” said Wells, “the Gray Ship, the USS California, does exist. It’s real, and it came here from the year 2013.”
Looks of shock and skepticism took over the room, the same shock and skepticism that recently hit Wells and Lincoln.
Wells then summarize
d the “history” of the Civil War that Chaplain Sampson provided, a history that would unfold over the next four years and would result in 620,000 casualties.
No one spoke for at least three minutes, each man hoping that someone else would ask a question or make a point that would dash this nonsense and bring them all back to reality.
Secretary of State Seward spoke. “Can we know for certain that the California is the only such ship afloat?” Secretary of War Cameron chimed in. “Exactly,” said Cameron, “from a military point of view that is the most important question.”
“I’ll ask President Lincoln to answer that question,” said Wells.
Lincoln stood and spoke. “The truth is, gentlemen, we don’t know. Gideon tells me that the captain and officers on the California are unaware of any other vessels.”
Lincoln raised his voice a bit. “But to say that there are no other American ships like the California plying the seas would be a lie. It would be as much a lie if I told you that I was certain there isn’t a herd of buffalo behind that wall. There may be a herd, there may not be a herd, but the truth is I don’t know.”
Gideon Wells concealed a smile with his hand. This was the Abe Lincoln, the skilled lawyer, that he heard yesterday.
Lincoln continued, “And, gentlemen, we don’t want to lie and say that there are no more Californias, because we don’t have actual knowledge that there are not. And we certainly don’t want to lie to Jefferson Davis and his rebel government do we?”
Everyone laughed, because everyone just got it. Cameron, the Secretary of War, said, “If I were in the Southern command, I would be frightened by the California. If I thought there may be dozens or hundreds more like her, I would be looking for a white flag to wave.”
Lincoln was about to bring the meeting to a close. “Gentlemen, we have in the USS California a potent weapon, the most significant military advantage we could ever imagine. But the very thought that there may be more is the most potent weapon of all. The word will spread forth, in ways to be determined, that we don’t know how many Gray Ships are out there. We just need to keep speaking the truth.”
***
Two days later, on April 19, 1861, President Lincoln would formally announce the beginning of the Anaconda Plan. Devised by Union General Winfield Scott, the Anaconda Plan called for the blockade of Southern ports, to prevent the import of supplies and weaponry as well as to block the export of goods, especially cotton, to Europe. The name Anaconda came from the idea of a snake wrapping its coils around its prey to suffocate it.
Chapter 33
Navy policy requires at least one officer to eat in the crew’s mess every day. The idea behind the rule is to ensure that enlisted personnel receive good treatment. The officers on the California loved this duty because the food in the mess hall is far superior to wardroom fare.
Chaplain Sampson had another reason to eat in the crew’s mess: he wanted to keep his finger on the elusive pulse called morale. He asked and received permission to eat in the crew’s mess five times a week.
On his first breakfast visit, he walked down the chow line when he spotted a large sign hung over the buffet. “For Your Dining Pleasure, Today’s Special – Chipped Beef on Toast Points (S.O.S.) Bon Appétit!” As every sailor knows, “S.O.S.” refers to “Shit on a Shingle.” Although it was an old Navy joke, the simple dish is very tasty. Father Rick enjoyed Valente’s sense of humor. Dominic Valente, the ship’s supply officer, personally wrote the special menu copy every day.
His tray full, Father Rick walked over to a table and said, “You guys mind if I join you?” Nobody minded. Everybody loved having Father Rick around. “Anyone wish to join me in grace?” The chaplain made the sign of the cross and intoned, “Heavenly Father guide us through these troubled seas, and save us from peril. In Your Holy Name, Amen.”
“You guys look pretty good for being 152 years younger.” Everyone cracked up. The Daylight Event had developed its own genre of humor. The chaplain then asked of no one in particular, “How’s everybody putting up with this crazy time?”
Petty Officer Bill Martin replied. “At first, Padre, it was kind of exciting. I mean the idea of finding ourselves in 1861 was almost fun. But it’s getting to be a drag, a real drag.”
“How so Bill?” asked Father Rick. He always made it a point to refer to enlisted sailors by their first name, contrary to Navy rules and tradition. Because the only identifier on a sailor’s uniform was a surname, people were amazed how the chaplain could remember so many first names. Father Rick would often tell his religious colleagues, “If a shepherd doesn’t know his flock, he’ll lose a lot of lambs.”
Martin replied. “A few days ago we knew we were headed to the Persian Gulf. We knew we’d be there for six months, and then home. Now we just don’t know the future, or when we’ll see our families again. If you pardon the language, Padre, it sucks.”
Father Rick looked into Martin’s eyes and said, “If I recall Bill, your wife just had a baby girl a few days before we shipped out. I bet you miss them both.”
“It’s not just a case of missing them, Father. It’s not knowing when, or if, I’ll ever see them again.” His eyes teared up.
“I bet it’s not easy, Bill,” said Father Rick. Martin just looked at his tray.
“Anybody else feel like Bill does?” asked the chaplain. Heads nodded in unison.
Petty Officer Jim Dayton, sitting a few seats down the table, said, “I know exactly how Martin feels. I was engaged to be married after we got back from the Gulf.” He took out a photo of his
pretty fiancée and passed it around. “Now I don’t know when I’ll see her again. I can’t even talk to her or email her. It’s a bad feeling, Father, real bad.”
Petty Officer Andrea Dunne told the story about how she was texting her mother, who has severe liver cancer. “Mom’s reply got cut off in the middle of a sentence. She was about to tell me something that her doctor said.” Dunne put her face in her hands, wiped her eyes and said, her voice breaking up, “She may be dead for all I know.”
Father Rick looked at her. “That must be very painful Andrea.”
“It is, Padre, it’s real painful. The worst part is not knowing, and not knowing when I’ll know anything.”
“Not having the Internet is the worst part,” Seaman Gail Robinson said. All heads nodded vigorously. “We’ve gotten so used to instant communication that it feels like, I don’t know, like I’m in the middle of a forest somewhere. What really hurts is that I know my folks, my brother and sister, not to mention my boyfriend, are all emailing, texting me and posting me on Facebook. They must think I’m dead.”
“That’s absolutely right,” said Martin. “Not being able to send a message is bad enough, but the empty inbox is the worst.”
“My father was a submarine sailor on a nuke,” Said Petty Officer Juan Portillo. “When they went on patrol they’d be submerged for 90 days at a time. The sub could communicate by raising a buoy, and they could receive messages called ‘family grams.’ But the messages were censored, and if there was any bad news, it wouldn’t get to a sailor until they returned to port. At least they knew that they’d be able to talk to their family eventually. We don’t even know that.”
A religious leader, whether a pastor, a priest, a rabbi, or a military chaplain, is part psychologist. He’s expected to not only listen to problems, but to offer guidance. Father Rick knew that the first part of healing is recognizing that you have pain. This conversation, Sampson knew, was only the first part, acknowledging the pain. He also knew that this was just one small group of sailors and that there was a lot more pain on this ship.
“In the years I’ve been on earth,” said the chaplain, “I’ve experienced a lot of pain, and listening to you folks reminds me of it. I remember when my mom had terminal cancer.” He looked at Andrea Dunne, who bit her lip as he spoke. “As mom was dying, I came down with a terrible case of pneumonia. I felt like I was going to die, too. It’s the closest I ever got
to feeling real despair.” He let his words linger, looking for a response.
“What did you do, Father?” asked Andrea Dunne.
“I decided to let it go, Andrea. I decided to put the problems in God’s hands. I prayed. He saved me.”
The chaplain looked around the table and looked into everyone’s eyes. “You can’t email or text me, but you all know where my office is. Come by at any time.”
Chapter 34
Father Rick rang Ashley’s office. “A word with you Captain?”
“Sure, Father, come on up.”
“My dining with the crew is turning out to be a good idea, Captain. The idea is good, but the experience is difficult. To be blunt, the crew is feeling the effects of living day-to-day not knowing if they have a future. I heard some pretty heart-wrenching stories from a lot of sailors, and I’m sure we’ll hear them in the wardroom as well. People need to know there’s something to look forward to, that there's a future you can plan for. Most of the stories are about families. They know their families, friends, and lovers are trying to contact them, and they can’t reply. Frankly, Captain, I don’t feel too great about the situation either.”
“Nor do I, Rick. Nor do I.”
“As a naval officer, Father, how much do you think these issues will affect our mission, whatever that may be?”
“All I can say, my friend, is that the mission can’t be too long.” He then asked, “When you meet with Lincoln, can you tell him about this growing problem?”
“I will. I have to.”
Chapter 35
Ashley buzzed Jack’s number. She worried about the crew’s growing morale problem and wanted an update on Jack’s plans for locating the worm hole for the trip back to 2013. It would also be nice just to see Jack.
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