The Violent Sea

by Russell Moran

  Meg went with me to the bridge. It had been two hours since the word went out that liberty was cancelled, and most of the crew was aboard. Thanksgiving Day is usually a time of great food followed by after dinner drinks, followed by early bedtime. This Thanksgiving it wasn’t happening that way.

  “How about some GQ, hon,” I said to Meg as I cinched the strap under her helmet. She grabbed the microphone.

  “General quarters, general quarters. All hands man your battle stations. General quarters, general quarters. All hands man your battle stations. This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill,” Meg said in a loud, clear voice.

  “Oh my God,” Holly said to Boyd. “That’s Meg, that’s our Meggie.”

  Although we were still in port, I figured that general quarters was appropriate considering what we just heard about the Burton.

  At 1800 I decided that enough key personnel had reported back aboard, and I ordered the Ford and the other ships of CSG-14 to get underway. We kept radioing the Burton, hoping that some communication would be able to get through. We had just passed the breakwater of the harbor when an excited man yelled to us on the radio.

  “USS Ford, this is the Burton, read you loud and clear.” The poor bastard was so shook up he didn’t even bother to use code names for the ships.

  “This is Admiral Fenton. To whom am I speaking?”

  “This is Lieutenant Howard Franklin, sir. I’m the ship’s weapons officer. The captain and 12 other people were killed when the missile hit the bridge. We just got our radio wires reattached.”

  “Tell us everything you can about the vessel that attacked you, lieutenant,” I said.

  “It was a large gunboat, about the size of a destroyer escort. From the nature of the explosion, I think the weapon was an anti-ship missile. The ship carried no flag, so that’s about as far as I can tell you for identification. Oh wait, the hull was dark blue, unlike any hull color I’ve seen on a military vessel. For some reason she didn’t finish us off, which would have been easy. She turned tail and steered a course due west at 270.”

  Chapter 45

  “Air Ops, this is the bridge. Commander Holman, please pick up.” Commander Gary Holman was the commanding officer of air operations, the Air Boss of the Ford.

  “Yes, sir, Holman here.”

  “Gary, this attack will take some finesse. Prepare a flight of six Hornets to find the vessel that attacked the Burton. The ship you’re looking for was described by an officer on the Burton as a large gunboat, about the size of a destroyer escort. She carried no flag, but here’s the identifier for you—her hull is dark blue. She left the scene 45 minutes ago on a heading of 270. We just sent you the coordinates for the Burton, so it shouldn’t be hard to find the enemy ship. But I don’t want her destroyed, which would be easy enough for the Hornets to do. I want the ship disabled so that we’re able to board her and interrogate prisoners.”

  “Aye aye, sir. We’ll attack her stern with missiles to disable her steering.”

  I then called the SEAL quarters and spoke to Lieutenant Logan.

  “Ben, Admiral Fenton here. I’ve got an important and dangerous mission for you, one that you’ve trained for. We’re going to capture a ship about the size of a destroyer escort. Our Hornets will attack her stern and disable her steering. Be prepared to board and take prisoners. Confront any opposition with lethal force.”

  Commander Bill Thompson, the navigator, estimated that our search and disable mission would take about one hour to find the enemy ship, depending on how many course changes the ship made in its escape.

  So, I had my attack plan in the works, and I knew that whoever was running that rogue ship, it was no match for the Ford or our SEALs. But something was bothering the hell out of me. Something wasn’t adding up. I decided to huddle with Meg and XO Bill Morton.

  “I’m stumped about something,” I said to Meg and Bill Morton. “Any guess as to why I’m stumped?”

  “What the hell was that attack all about? Why did they do it?” Meg said.

  “I agree with Meg, sir,” Morton said. “Why attack an American ship and then turn tail without finishing her off?”

  “So, we’re all on the same page, or missing the same page. That attack doesn’t seem to make sense. They knew they were close to Pearl Harbor, and that we’d seek them out, just like we’re doing. I mean shit, if they wanted to commit suicide, why not just ram the Burton and blow themselves up along with the rest of it? This scenario is not making any sense at all.”

  “Assuming that the ship is Iranian or North Korean, we have to make an assumption,” Meg said. “We know that they’re not entirely rational actors. So, they decided to take a big punch at the American nose and be done with it after making headlines.”

  “But Meg,” I said, “wouldn’t that make them totally insane, not just irrational? Let’s go to my office so we can brainstorm without distractions. You have the con, Mike,” I said to Lt. Michael Townsend, the OOD, giving him navigational control of the ship. “We’ll be in my office.”

  As we walked toward the escalator I said to Meg. “Call your dad, Meg. I think he and your mom are holed up in the library. I want someone who’s disconnected from this shit to look at it with a fresh perspective. Call Buster, too.”

  Meg’s father, with a seaman apprentice as his escort, walked into my office within minutes, followed by Buster and his escort.

  “Since nobody’s looking, can we take these goddam helmets off?” Meg said. I laughed and agreed.

  She removed her helmet, shook her messed-up hair around, cracked a wide smile, and snapped a selfie with her phone.

  After I introduced Buster to Meg’s father I said, “Dad, you’re a former Marine officer and one of the country’s brightest businessmen. We’re stumped about something. We’re trying to think outside the box, but I think we’re so deep inside the box that it’s not working. You’re entirely outside the box, so I’m asking you to turn your brain loose on this problem. That’s why I asked Buster to be here as well.”

  I filled in Boyd on our problem, including the question of why the enemy ship didn’t sink the Burton but just took off. I also gave him some deep background on Iran and North Korea. He didn’t have a security clearance, but fuck it, I need an answer, and maybe Boyd can come up with it. I thought Buster would pass out.

  He didn’t say anything, but just sat there with his hands folded on the conference table. He leaned back and closed his eyes. Then he jotted a couple of notes down. I could almost hear his brain clicking. Then he cleared his throat, looked at each of us and spoke.

  “They’re going to detonate a nuclear weapon as soon as your SEALs climb aboard. They know that you’re looking for intelligence, not just revenge for the Burton. They’re expecting the Ford to be steaming nearby, I’m sure, close enough to be destroyed by a nuclear explosion. I’m sure they’re expecting a boarding vessel. Their objective is to flex their muscle and step up to the threshold of war without crossing the line. That’s why they’ll explode the nuke here in the middle of the ocean. No, they’re not totally irrational. They want to get the United States to the negotiating table to remove sanctions. I may be outside the box, but that’s how I see it. They ran away, knowing that the Navy would send heavy firepower after them, firepower like your strike group, Harry. They’re playing a game called, ‘come and get me,’ which is exactly what you’re doing.”

  I looked at Meg, Buster, and Bill.

  “Oh, my God,” Meg said. “I think dad’s right. It’s the only way the ship’s action makes sense.”

  “I agree, admiral,” Bill Morton said. “They, whoever the hell they are, want to make a big point without starting a nuclear war.”

  “I think Boyd is correct too,” Buster said. “I wouldn’t be too concerned about the ship’s origin. We’re all thinking it’s Iran or North Korea. My (he almost said moles) sources will let me know soon after the detonation, if it occurs. Admiral Harry, I hate to say this, but I’m afraid the ball called
‘decision-making’ is in your court.”

  “Okay here’s the plan,” I said. “I’m damned if I’m going to sacrifice a bunch of fine young SEALs, so I’m going to send a launch controlled remotely from the Ford, to the position that the aircraft tell us, the position of the enemy ship. The SEALs think of everything. They even brought aboard a bunch of mannequins that we’ll place in the launch. If Meg’s dad is right, they’ll detonate the nuke as soon as the boat lines up next to the ship. We can monitor it exactly from a drone overhead. The horizon, accounting for the height of our mast, is 32 kilometers or 19.8 miles away. For safety, I’m going to add a few miles, and keep us and the rest of the Strike Group 25 miles from the horizon. All ships will have their combat covers over all portholes and will point our bows toward the target point to absorb the gigantic wave that will come our way. I’m not concerned about radioactive fallout because the wind is at our back and it’s strong. Buster, please compose an encrypted message to NavOps, the DOD, and the White House advising them of what we think may happen. I’m not asking them what to do, I’m just letting them know that the shit is about to hit the fan. We’ll send the message just as our launch pulls alongside the enemy ship. I don’t want anybody to tell me I can’t do this. Chances are that after this event I’ll either be a vice admiral or a seaman apprentice.”

  Meg, Bill Morton, and I, acting as each other’s escorts, returned to the bridge, our battle station.

  “Great, now I can put my goddam helmet back on,” Meg said. Meg really doesn’t like helmets.

  I ordered all aircraft to be moved to the hangar deck.

  “I’ve found the enemy ship,” pilot Jerry Norton said over the radio. “As ordered, I disabled her steering with a direct missile strike to her stern. She’s adrift.” He then read the coordinates. The navigator estimated that it would take just under an hour for the motor launch to reach the enemy ship. It was the longest hour of my life.

  We retrieved our Hornets and launched two Predator drones to keep feeding us data on the target’s position. We lowered the altitude of one of the drones to view the ship’s hull, keeping it a mile from the ship to avoid detection. As we were told by the excited young lieutenant on the Burton, the hull was deep blue, and no flag was evident.

  Finally, the drone’s camera picked up our launch as it approached the enemy ship. I had the OOD send a message to the other ships in the group to cover all portholes with battle hatches. I ordered the helmsman to steer a course that aimed directly toward the coordinates of the ship, although we couldn’t see it because it was tucked (safely I hoped) beyond the horizon. The OOD radioed the heading to the other ships. “My heart was in my mouth” is an overworked cliché for nervousness. That said, my heart was in my mouth.

  “It’s a good thing we’re wearing helmets,” Meg said.

  From the monitor we could see the launch pull up next to the enemy ship. The bridge on the Ford was totally dark except small electric lights.

  We heard a gigantic explosion, even though we were over 25 miles from the ship.

  “Stand by for a shock wave,” I shouted over the radio to all ships in our group. “Hold on, honey,” I said to Meg as I guided her hands to a grab bar. I wrapped my hands around the bar next to hers.

  The Ford rumbled as the shock wave hit us.

  “Covers off the ports,” I ordered. The initial blast and the shock wave were behind us, and I wanted to watch the approaching wave. Shit, I thought. It must be fifty feet high.

  “Prepare for heavy seas,” the OOD yelled on my order. “Stand by for loose objects.”

  The bow of the Ford lifted as if we were a plane taking off. The big ship pointed upward at a 45-degree angle. After a few agonizing moments, we surged downward and settled back to the ocean, crashing into the sea with a tooth-rattling jolt.

  Through the windows we could see the mushroom cloud as it billowed toward the sky. Although it was over 25 miles away, I felt like I could reach out and touch it. If it weren’t so frightening, it would be beautiful.

  “Get me damage reports, lieutenant” I said to the OOD. “I want reports from all ships in the group.”

  “Let’s call you dad in the library,” I said to Meg.

  “Dad, you called it right on target, as I’m sure you just felt. Is everything okay there?”

  “Well, we can’t see the deck because it’s covered with books. Other than that, and a few jangled nerves, we’re doing just fine. Hey, Harry, the next time you invite us on an ocean voyage, let’s make it on a cruise ship.”

  The damage reports started to come in. The damages were what you’d expect for a ship riding the seas in a hurricane. The Vicksburg, our guided missile cruiser, sustained damage to one of her missile launchers. The Burke had a catwalk torn off, and the Austin lost a couple of antennas. The Ford, big and tough as she is, had both the starboard and port catwalks next to the flight deck damaged. Injuries were all similar and all minor. A few broken noses, one ankle fracture, bruises and contusions from flying objects. I made a mental note to run a training program on heavy weather cruising.

  “We should run a training program on heavy weather cruising, honey,” Meg whispered to me.

  “Great idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  All in all, not bad for a nuclear blast. The navigator issued the bearing that would take CSG 14 back to Pearl Harbor. “Helmsman, steer course 110,” the OOD said.

  The bridge phone rang, and Meg picked it up.

  “It’s the president.”

  “What president?”

  “The President of the friggin United States.”

  I looked at Meg. “So, what do you think, vice admiral or seaman apprentice?”

  “Harry, I’ve just gotten off the phone with our friend, Buster,” the President said. “Your actions were daring and courageous, but not reckless. Well done, as usual. You can say goodbye to your rear admiral’s stripes. I’m promoting you to vice admiral. You’re the best we’ve got, my friend. When you return to Pearl I want you to fly to Washington for a meeting at the White House. The international world order has gotten interesting.”

  “Well?” Meg said.

  “Vice admiral.”

  Throwing proper appearances aside, as we’ve been doing a lot recently, Meg threw her arms around my neck and kissed me.

  “What are you looking at?” I said to the OOD.

  “I’m seeing something, but I’m saying nothing, sir.”

  Chapter 46

  We expected to arrive at Pearl Harbor in six days. After what we just went through, I felt at peace. But I knew that we were in for anything but peace. We were at war.

  A day after we set course for Pearl Harbor, Buster walked up to me on the bridge.

  “Well, Harry, one little mystery has been solved. The ship with the nuke was definitely Iranian.”

  I didn’t ask him how he was so sure because I knew he wouldn’t tell me the details. Buster takes good care of his moles.

  “It’s been less than 24 hours since that unflagged ship blew up, and you already know its identity. I can see why they call you Super Spook. President Blake wants you to come to the White House with Meg and me. This shit is now in the hands of the politicians.”

  “Don’t think that you can sit back and relax, Harry. I’m sure the folks in Washington have plans for you.”

  “Yes, I’m sure they do. Sometimes I feel like I’m a gun with a round chambered, a gun that somebody else is holding.”

  ***

  Carrier Strike Group 14 cleared the breakwater of Pearl Harbor at 1400, two o’clock in the afternoon. Because of the damage repairs that all the ships needed, the crews looked forward to a few weeks in port. I didn’t mind the idea myself. As the Ford cast its lines ashore, a Navy band on the pier struck up Battle Hymn of the Republic, a melody I’ve always loved.

  Whenever I return to port, there’s always a flurry of details that need attending to, not the least of which were our repairs. But, as usual, Meg had already filled out the p
aperwork and cleared the deck for me. We would meet our plane at the airfield on the base at 0700 in the morning for our trip to Washington and our White House meeting at 1500 hours Eastern Time.

  A CIA Gulfstream G650 awaited us on the air strip. I read somewhere that the plane costs over $65 million. I hope the taxpayers appreciate what we’re doing

  Meg had called ahead, and my tailor prepared a new uniform for me, with my vice admiral stripes sewn on. He also attached my three new ribbons that I was awarded—notified by email from the White House. When I put on the jacket that morning Meg said, “Hey, Harry. Any more ribbons and you’re going to need an extra chest.”

  We had a smooth flight from Hawaii to Washington. Thank God, because I needed some sleep. I wasn’t sure what to expect at our White House meeting. Actually, I had no idea what to expect. I’m the muscle end of foreign policy, and I’d soon find out where the president wanted me to flex.

  Chapter 47

  Meg, Buster, and I were escorted into the Oval Office by a Marine guard. On my past visits, it was always Jake Arnold, the president’s chief of staff, who would show us in. Just another reminder that the nation was on a war footing.

  President Matt Blake is one of my favorite people. He’s tough as a rock, and polite to a fault. In this insane time we find ourselves in, I can’t think of a better leader. If it weren’t strictly forbidden because of my position I would volunteer to work on his reelection committee.

  As usual, he hurried from behind his desk. He shook my hand and Buster’s, and took Meg’s hand, bent over and kissed it. A bit old school, but just right.

  “Harry, you look great with your vice admiral’s stripes. Well deserved, my friend. I understand from Buster that it was Meg’s dad who predicted what would happen. Brilliant call, what you’d expect from a relative of Meg. I know you guys are wondering what this meeting is all about, so I’ll get to the point. You’ve heard me say recently that our nation is at war, a hot war, but an undeclared war. That will change shortly, the undeclared part.