Colt's Crisis

by Tom Carroll

  President Kim wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or troubled with the news. Regardless, the presence of such weapons would undoubtedly derail his plans to reduce tensions with North Korea. Furthermore, when the Americans discovered the truth about their careless mistake, they would lose face with the world and subsequently blame him and South Korea.

  “Mr. President,” said Director Pang, “What are your instructions should we discover the weapons’ location? I am concerned we may not fully understand how broadly this conspiracy may have spread within our own military leadership, and how the leaders might respond if, after all these years, their own president forces them to give up their precious weapons.”

  President Kim pondered the same point as he paced back and forth in his ornate office. How ironic that an American mistake that occurred so many years earlier might now be the one obstacle preventing the reunification of the Korean peninsula. If only there was a way to make the terrible weapons simply disappear.

  Director Pang could see his president struggling with the problem, and for what was not the first time in his life, he thanked his ancestors that he was not the president of South Korea.

  President Kim suddenly stood still and turned to Pang. “I need you to keep this information to the absolute minimum number of your staff. Create a codeword level of security for the existence of these weapons and include only people that you would trust with your life because that’s exactly what you will be doing. Notify me personally the moment you find the warheads.”

  Director Pang digested what Kim had just instructed and left the president’s office. He headed to NIS headquarters in Naegok-dong, in southern Seoul, very much aware he would be spending the night on his office cot.

  Republic of Korea Joint Chiefs of Staff Headquarters, Seoul, South Korea

  Lieutenant General Cho Yeong-su sat patiently in the executive briefing room of the impressive JCS Building in Seoul. He had been attending the daily foreign counterintelligence briefings along with the other service chiefs, even though he was the only three-star officer in the room. The briefings typically lasted 90 minutes and covered a wide variety of counterintelligence issues. Today these were primarily some recent covert cross-border incursions by North Korean operatives. This morning’s briefing was led by a young intelligence major who walked the small group of senior military officers through a series of presentation slides.

  General Cho was only half-listening as the major described some minor issues until he heard the major say, “We have had a significant increase in North Korean activity on Jeju Island in the last few hours. At least five separate communications events have been intercepted referencing either Jeju or the military facilities located on the island. What makes these intercepts most interesting is their association with the Reconnaissance General Bureau, who have never previously shown any interest in Jeju Island.”

  The Reconnaissance General Bureau was North Korea’s premier foreign intelligence service, overseeing all intelligence collection and covert operations. Organized into several divisions, the RGB was considered the elite of the North Korean intelligence organizations. If they were interested in Jeju Island, it meant something of note was happening there.

  General Cho asked, “What is the RGB doing on Jeju Island?”

  The young major replied, “That is an interesting question, General Cho. Our military and naval installations are mundane, and the island’s industry is primarily focused on tourism. Our analysts are looking into this, and I expect to be able to update you tomorrow with our initial assessment.”

  The chief of the army staff, who had remained quiet until now, leaned across the conference table. “General Cho,” he asked, “are your marines doing something on Jeju Island you would like to share with us?”

  General Cho quickly answered, “Sir, I can absolutely state that my marines have no activities on Jeju Island whatsoever. I have never set foot on Jeju, and I am quite certain the only marines that may be there are all on military leave.”

  At first, Cho found it unsettling that the army chief of staff had asked him such a pointed question. On second thought, he decided the question was intended to underscore the army officer’s own high level of authority, nothing more. The briefing continued to describe other counterintelligence activities on the peninsula and then transitioned into a discussion of increased funding for new detection systems.

  After the briefing, Admiral Pak Jeong-hun grabbed General Cho’s arm and asked, “General, would you walk with me over to the commissary? I need to pick up some oranges before I return to my headquarters.”

  Cho was surprised at the admiral’s request. Although Cho commanded the marine corps, he did technically report to the four-star navy admiral. Not only did he dislike being subservient to another service, but the organizational structure meant he could never receive his fourth star.

  “Of course, I will accompany you, Admiral. My wife gave me a list this morning just in case I was able to stop by the commissary.”

  As the two service chiefs walked down the long corridor, soldiers, sailors, marines, and airmen ceased their conversations and moved aside to make way for the highly decorated officers.

  “Tell me, Cho, why do you suppose our cousins at the National Intelligence Service are sniffing around my commands, asking questions about biological weapons? The navy has never had access to these types of weapons. It has always been more of an army concern. Now it seems our president is concerned there may be some truth to the North’s claims that we may have gotten our hands on the Americans’ warheads as they were being removed from our country.”

  General Cho kept his face expressionless as he listened to the admiral’s comments. He silently realized he now had to conceal the warheads’ existence from the NIS agents as well as from the North Korean intelligence operatives.

  “Admiral,” he suggested, “I suspect the NIS is also looking at army and air force installations for the president’s “phantom weapons.” They have not sniffed around my marine bases yet, but it is probably only a matter of time.”

  Secretary of Defense Cabin, the Reagan

  Lieutenant Dan Garrett knocked on his father’s cabin door and then entered, removing his squadron ball cap and stepping forward to shake hands with Colt.

  “Hi, Dan! Take a seat while I finish up with Mr. Wilson,” said his dad.

  Dan poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down on one of the chairs in the cabin’s office area.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant Garrett. Flying today?” Lenny asked as he collected all his papers together and prepared to give the father and son some privacy.

  “Yes, sir, I’m flying in Event Four. We’re going to do a little air combat maneuvering with some Hornets today and practice missile engagement.”

  “I hope you don’t shoot anybody down for real — those F-18s are very expensive!” joked Lenny.

  “I hear you, sir. I promise not to splash one!”

  Lenny left the cabin, and Colt sat down in a chair opposite his son.

  “Is there anything, in particular, you wanted to talk about? I’ve been pretty consumed with the new job almost since I’ve been here. I really had hoped to spend more time with you.”

  “No problem, Dad, I understand,” Dan assured his father. “I was wondering if you’ve spoken to Mom since your appointment as secretary. I’m guessing she’s not too pleased.”

  “We have talked a few times since the president’s announcement, and she’s actually been pretty supportive. She realizes it means even more of my time will be spent in D.C., but she’s seriously considering coming there to join me on a more permanent basis. We’re exploring buying a house in Virginia and renting out our Olympia home until my assignment ends.”

  “When do you think it will end?”

  “No idea, except that all political appointments eventually end, and the secretary job has a reputation for burning through incumbents. Not many have survived as long as Secretary O’Kane. And besides, I’m only the acting sec
retary until the president appoints a permanent replacement.”

  “I’m really happy to hear Mom’s thinking about moving east and that things are going better between you two,” Dan said, smiling. “I did want to speak with you about something else, too. I’ve been talking with my skipper about my future in the Navy, and I told him I’m thinking about leaving the service and flying for the airlines. I love the flying part of my job, but I’m not looking forward to leaving the cockpit and taking a desk job before my next operational tour. The skipper suggested I apply for Navy Test Pilot School, but he’s pretty certain I’d need a waiver because I lack the technical degree. He suggested there might be strings you could pull to give me a leg up.”

  Colt looked at his son. “Dan, you know that I think it’s inappropriate to use a position of power to influence decisions in a person’s favor. I don’t believe it’s right. I really don’t see how I can help you with this.”

  “I understand, Dad,” said the young pilot. “That’s exactly what I told the skipper you would say. I just figured I’d take a shot.”

  Colt felt badly that he couldn’t do something to help Dan achieve his dream. He realized he had disappointed his son once again.

  “How about joining me for a meal on the mess decks?” he offered. “I thought it might be interesting to directly hear what the Sailors are thinking about.”

  “Sounds fun!” Dan said with a slight smirk. “Let’s go hear what Joe Sailor has to say to the secretary of defense!”

  Mess Decks, the Reagan

  Special Agent DeSantis was not happy. Colt wanted to spend a few hours on the mess decks and be available should any Sailors or Marines want to speak with him. A personal protection agent’s worst nightmare.

  “But sir! I can’t protect you in that environment! The only thing I’ll be able to do is react if something happens.”

  “I understand, Agent DeSantis, and I appreciate your concern. Nevertheless, it’s off to breakfast we go.”

  And with that, the secretary, Lenny Wilson, Dan Garrett, and Special Agent Anna DeSantis headed to the 3rd Deck aft mess decks. The three men joined the long breakfast buffet line while DeSantis vigilantly looked on, watching Colt interact with Sailors and Marines in the chow line and started to fill up his tray. Scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage links, homemade baked goods, and a platter of tropical fruits made for an abundant meal, thanks to the carrier’s recent replenishment from a supply ship.

  Colt and his entourage selected a vacant table, took their seats, and started to dig in. For a while, it seemed as though they might have the table to themselves until a Sailor sat down opposite the secretary.

  “Morning, gentlemen,” he said, looking around the table. “I’m Petty Officer Nells Johnson.” He was dressed in the green camouflage Navy Working Uniform Type III that was the most recent in a series of attempts to develop a suitable and comfortable working uniform for Sailors at sea.

  Colt extended his hand and said, “I’m Colt Garrett. Glad to meet you. What do you do on the Reagan, Petty Officer Johnson?”

  “I’m an IT, an Information Systems Technician, 3rd class,” he replied, his mouth full of eggs and bacon. “I work in the comms spaces processing message traffic and making sure our brass can talk to other brass when they want or need to. Who are you guys, and what do y’all do?” The young Sailor wasn’t sure he had ever seen the man named Colt Garrett before, but his name seemed familiar.

  “Well, I’ve just become the secretary of defense, and I’m here to meet some of the crew and get an idea of how our Sailors and Marines are being treated. You know, when I was in the Navy myself years ago, we used to call you guys “radiomen.” Did the Navy change the rate name to make it sound more technical?”

  “Well, sir, it is pretty technical,” Petty Officer Johnson replied. “Back when you were in the Navy, the radiomen were probably still using a telegraph key and Morse code! The truth is, the Navy combined the Radioman and Data Processing Technician ratings into the new IT rating. Most of the tools we use now are computers anyway, although we usually specialize in either radio or computer stuff. I even hear they’re talking about splitting the rate back to how it was before.”

  Colt liked how the Sailor wasn’t afraid to speak directly to him. Perhaps his idea of mingling with the troops might bear fruit after all. After a few minutes, Petty Officer Johnson was joined at the table by a few other Sailors and two Marines. Lenny and Dan, who had finished their meals at the same time, got up from the table to make more room. At a nearby table, Carissa Curtis and her film crew had positioned themselves to film the secretary’s interaction with the crew, unbeknownst to him.

  “Who has something they’d like to share about their experience with the Navy or Marines? I can’t promise to make things better, but I promise to listen.”

  “I have something, sir,” Petty Officer Johnson said. “The newest Sailors, the E-3s, are getting screwed. When we end our deployment and pull into our home port, if the barracks are full, the undesignated seamen have to live on the ship. This means they have to live where they work. They get a hanging locker and the storage under their rack, and that’s it. There’s no point in buying anything because they don’t have a place to put it. What kind of life is that?”

  Colt looked at the Sailor and knew he was justified in his concerns for the junior, unrated Sailors.

  “So, if we increased capacity in the barracks, would the junior Sailors feel they were being treated better?”

  “Yes, sir. I think so. And one other thing: The Navy makes a big deal about giving us 30 days of leave each year, but the chain of command complains and resists when we ask to take leave. I mean, we earned it, and we have it coming to us, right?”

  Slowly, curious men and women began encircling Colt’s table, nodding in agreement as Petty Officer Johnson spoke. Carissa whispered to her camera operator, “You are getting this, right?” The operator silently nodded his head without moving the handheld video camera.

  Meanwhile, Colt was taking notes on a pad he had brought for this purpose. His breakfast was getting cold, but he remained focused on what the young service people were saying. “Who else?” he asked.

  A Marine sergeant aggressively pushed her way forward, causing Agent DeSantis to tense up and take a step closer to the secretary.

  “I have a gripe, sir,” voiced the Marine, a woman about 22 years old. As Colt turned around clockwise in his seat so he could face the young woman, the growing crowd of onlookers leaned in as well so they could hear her more easily. “When we’re not embarked on a ship, we’re entitled to a certain housing allowance determined by the cost of apartment rentals where we’re based. It can take several months before the extra money shows up in our bank accounts, and during those months, we have to pay the rental fees out of our own pockets. We do eventually get a big reimbursement check, but most of us don’t have that kind of money that will cover big expenses like rent, which means we have to apply for short-term loans. And we don’t get reimbursed for that bank interest, either. It’s a definite hardship and it isn’t fair.”

  The large crowd of Sailors and Marines was now enthusiastically echoing their support for the two enlisted people who had voiced their concerns with Garrett. “Anyone else?”

  “Yes, sir, I have a problem with Medical.”

  Colt switched around to his left and saw the young man in a purple flight deck jersey step forward. Garrett remembered that the Sailors who fueled the aircraft wore purple jerseys and float coats.

  “Yes, Petty Officer?”

  “Sir, someday, I hope to be a pilot. Right now, I’m finishing up my degree and am planning to apply for officer candidate school.” The mess decks erupted momentarily with hoots and jeers, which, just as quickly, subsided. The young man continued, “but I don’t dare go to sick call or make an appointment for even a headache because that becomes part of my medical record and could ruin my chances for a commission and flight school. What I’m saying is that people like me aren’t
getting medical attention because we don’t want to jeopardize our careers. Heck, I know the pilots in my squadron go to civilian doctors because they know the flight surgeons will remove them from flight status for even the most minor medical problem.”

  Colt glanced over to see Dan silently nod his head. The mess decks were suddenly quiet, as everyone present waited for Colt to respond. He knew he had to come up with something to say or else risk losing the small amount of trust he sensed he might have gained. He handed his notes to Lenny and stepped up onto a chair so that he could be seen from any spot in the large room.

  “I want to thank all of you for your candor in letting me know what you are experiencing in the service. I’m now going to go back and review my notes and do some thinking, after which I’ll have a conversation with the chief of naval operations and the commandant of the Marine Corps to see what can be done to address these issues and make things better for you. You won’t see a difference overnight, and I think you already know that. But I’ll leave you with this: You patriotic men and women are serving in the most powerful force on the face of the earth. But even the best ships, planes, and tanks aren’t worth a damn without the skilled and dedicated people who operate them. I’m here to tell you that the well-being and safety of our Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines will become, and will remain, my highest priority as long as I’m secretary of defense. So now, let me close by personally thanking each and every one of you for your dedication and service to our nation!”

  As Colt stepped down from the chair, he was both gratified and humbled by the thunderous cheers and applause coming from every corner of the room. Soon he was surrounded by young men and women seeking to shake his hand and take a selfie with the secretary. Fifteen minutes later, Colt, Lenny, and Dan were escorted by Special Agent DeSantis up the ladder back to the 03 level. As the mess decks emptied out, Carissa turned to her cameraman. “I have a feeling,” she said, “that we may be seeing this on tomorrow’s news.”