Show of Force

by Charles D. Taylor

  “But if we used, say, a onetime code, at least someone at the embassy would be able to relay to Collier, wouldn't they?”

  “Oh, no problem with that, sir,” offered the communications officer. “We just have to be certain we don't use any that were aboard the ships sunk today.”

  “It sounds rather like our Civil War systems,” mused the Secretary. “We seem to be going back to conditions of more than a hundred years ago. It's kind of ironic, isn't it, that in an age of satellites and instant relay we might be reduced to reading coded messages over a telephone. But,” he decided grimly, “it's better than nothing at all.”

  “I also have no secure method of communicating with Admiral Charles, Mr. Secretary . . . Tom,” Carter faltered. “I have a task force on the other side of the world that's essentially fighting blind now. It's the fastest, best-equipped force the U.S. Navy has ever had. Its sophistication makes it purer and more effective than the Russian force, and its computers are tied directly into the War Games Center at Johns Hopkins. The tactical situation can constantly be fed back to the center, which can then evaluate every strategic possibility and relay possible decisions to Admiral Charles in seconds. And, if he decides to take the computer's advice, all that need be done is to push a couple of buttons. The system controls air, surface, and subsurface units and can unite the proper weapons in any of the three dimensions to stop the enemy . . . without ever seeing them,” he emphasized. “And that system is absolutely useless right now with the loss of the satellites that unite War Games and the flag ship. You're right for the time being, Tom. Maybe David Charles isn't quite back to a Civil War level, but he's making decisions on his own with no backup from the system that was developed for a crisis such as this.”

  The Secretary of State, who with his wavy, neat, silvery hair looked every inch a man who should have been in that position of authority, paced across the room a few times, his hands clasped behind his back. He finally stopped in front of the nervous young communications officer. The younger man was feeling the strain of being in the same room with two who were making decisions that would effect global strategy. Jasperson smiled at the officer, and said rather loudly, “I don't give a shit if you have to tie a long string between two tin cans,” and then he laughed heartily.

  From a former distinguished senator, a Vice-President, a onetime candidate for President, a former Ambassador to the Court of St. James, and now the Secretary of State, the pronouncement broke the ice. “Now, my friend,” he said to the younger officer, “how would you suggest that Admiral Carter and I get in touch with Admiral Charles?”

  “It's not going to be easy, sir. We already had another satellite on the pad for just this problem. My boss had planned for something like this months ago. But before we can send it off, we have to ensure that the Soviet offensive satellites are neutralized, or the same thing's going to happen again. And my Admiral says he sure as hell doesn't have any more satellites in his back pocket.”

  “Of course not,” Carter responded. “When will you be sure about the safety of this one?”

  “As soon as the people at Hopkins get back to us, Admiral. Their intelligence indicates that our initial laser firings got all of the offensive satellites, but they have to check what may have been launched by the Russians since then. They've got a hell of a lot of them in reserve.” He paused for a moment. “And we can't just push a button and put another satellite up, sir. We have to wait until we have enough information on the position of Admiral Charles's forces, so we have a direct relay.”

  “Fine, son. Why don't you find out the status of that satellite, and the onetime code system, and get back to us just as soon as you can. And if the people over at Hopkins hesitate, remind them that some very fine men and some very valuable ships need their help immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.” The communications officer saluted quickly, turned to the Secretary of State and half-saluted him, not knowing what might be expected, and left the room.

  Jasperson used the phone for a few moments to contact various aides. Finished, he turned to Carter, who was relaxing calmly in an easy chair, seemingly unconcerned. “My people don't seem to know(much about your Admiral Charles, just that he's not only one of our youngest admirals but that he's been promoted very fast for his age. And they say that's all quite surprising for an officer with a letter of reprimand in his official file.” The Secretary sat down also, his eyebrows raised, waiting for a response.

  Carter's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Jasperson noticed just a slight edge to his voice. “That letter of reprimand was a necessity as a result of a court of inquiry. David was responsible for saving an inestimable number of lives during that incident in Vietnam. He took command of a badly battered riverboat squadron, after his CO had been wounded, and fought a VC force back to a base camp that had been hidden, for weeks from intelligence. Not only did his men put up one hell of a fight, but they went ashore and found the enemy staging area prepared for a full-scale offensive. Most of that was destroyed when he called in aircraft and personally directed the strike from the ground.”

  “That's a very impressive action to merit a reprimand.”

  "The staging area was just over the border in, Cambodia, Mr.

  Secretary. We were .under political instructions not to cross it. David made a decision based on his duty and the lives of his men."

  Jasperson smiled, noting the returning formality, and nodded, “I remember it now. I was in a junior position at the U.N. then. I can remember the hell that raised for us. The President was so damn mad because he finally was forced to come out and admit it was an illegal act. But he told me later how proud he was of whoever that boy was. He just asked us to get him the hell out of there before he marched into Hanoi, but he wished he could have personally decorated him.”

  “As it was,” remarked Carter, “he also got a letter of commendation for his initiative. But I would have given him the goddamn Medal of Honor,” he added vehemently.

  “You know Admiral Charles pretty well, don't you, Sam?”

  “Yes,” sighed the Admiral, “I guess I know him like a son. His first assignment out of the Academy was to my ship. He wasn't a student, no MacArthur or Nimitz or Ernie King. As a matter of fact, they had to kind of push him through. But what a leader! He could use his head, and he handled his men beautifully.” Admiral Carter smiled to himself. “Even as an ensign he had that initiative. And he wasn't scared to stand up for himself. I had a couple of battles with him even then, but he always learned from them, even if it was the hard way sometimes.”

  “I didn't mean to cut him down a few minutes ago, Sam, if that's what you thought.”

  “No, no. That's okay.” Carter waved his hand in acknowledgment. “He is like a son, and he's a good friend, too. As a matter of fact, Tom, I gave away the bride when he got married after Vietnam. Maria was the widow of a Navy pilot shot down over there, and I remember convincing her the night before the wedding that I'd make sure he stayed out of trouble.”

  “And now, he's right back in the middle of it.” The Secretary paused for a moment. “Well, we'll see what we can do to help him from here, Sam. I don't think the President's going to do us any good. One of my aides said he's thinking about going to the U.N. to see if they'll mediate for us.”

  “And let everything go down the drain?”

  “I'm afraid it's possible, Sam. He's never really wanted to worry about anything other than medicare, and grain, and social security. That's how he got elected. I was just informed by my assistant secretary that we have another twenty-four hours to work this out our way, or he'll call the Secretary General at the U.K.”

  “And is my boss with him?”

  “Yes, but perhaps that's the best place. He seems to have had the President's ear long enough to convince him that you may know what you're doing, so I'm going to need you and your young Admiral pretty badly in the next few hours.”

  Sam Carter was very proud of his assignment as Vice Chief of Naval Ope
rations. He had come a long way for an officer who had never seen the grounds of Annapolis until he received his first orders to Washington. He had been one of the thousands of officers churned through the V - I2 programs during the latter days of World War II. He had been a twenty-year-old ensign when he proudly sailed into Tokyo Bay on his first ship, and he decided at that point he would make the Navy a career.

  Promotion was slow in those days, and would have been even worse because of his non-Annapolis background if he had not married Ann. She was the daughter of an Admiral who had graduated from the Academy at the turn of the century, when classes were small and those who were good enough to survive looked after each other. The old man made sure Sam got the right orders, and Sam made sure he carried them out superbly. He was always in the right place. He was in the amphibs, commanding an old, LST during MacArthur's landing at Inchon. He was executive officer of a DE in the Mediterranean when the Marines landed in Lebanon. He commanded the Bagley when that first submarine was surfaced during the Cuban quarantine.

  Between his tours at sea, he managed to obtain his masters degree at Monterey, and there was little problem getting to Washington twice, where you had to go if you were going to shake the right hands. He was never a politician, but he had that advantage of being in the right place at the right time. And Sam Carter gained a reputation as a comer. He could drive a tin can through a knothole in a hurricane; he was a fine leader of men; he gained a reputation for brilliance so that he made it to the War College; and he was probably called by his first name by more senior officers than any other man as he attained each rank. But, because he never went to Annapolis, he knew he would never become CNO. And now, according to the Secretary of State, he was functioning in exactly that position.

  The phone on Admiral Carter's desk interrupted his thoughts. He snatched it off the cradle. “Yes.”

  He listened for a moment, nodding his head occasionally. “I see. Can't you launch in less than thirty-six hours? . . . What can you do if we can't wait that long? . . .”He listened for a moment and then remarked, “Why don't you just come out and say tough shit? No need to avoid it if the answer's going to be no. We'll simply have to take a different approach. What about the onetime codes?. . . . Good, stay close. I'll need you when Secretary Jasperson comes back . . . and would you please also see about someone getting some food up here?” He added, “For you, too!” The one bit of good news was that they could get through to the embassy in Moscow with a onetime code that was secure, if they could get to Collier before he decided to move on his own. Carter silently thanked God that it was Bob Collier in Moscow, a man with an intellect respected both by the military and civilian people at the upper levels.

  Collier wasn't a sailor on the same terms as Carter or David Charles. To keep his wife and family, he had acceded to mostly shore duty, even though he had deeply loved the sea since his days on the Bagley. After leaving that ship, he had asked for the Russian language school in Monterey, mostly to keep his wife happy and still remain in the Navy. He quickly became the top Russian scholar in the school, and his next assignment was in Washington on the CNO's staff. This solidified his career, for he was in the proper place for senior officers to recognize his abilities. After that, it was a matter of the right staff positions as he was educated at a variety of schools, culminating in early orders to the Naval War College. There he distinguished himself among some of the foremost military scholars in the nation. He was the perfect man to be at the embassy in Moscow.

  Carter looked up from his desk as Secretary Jasperson quietly let himself into the office, unannounced. He stood up in greeting but was immediately motioned back into his chair. “Relax, Sam. Like I said before, we're going to be together for a while, so we might as well get used to it.” He looked briefly around the large office, “You have a better communications system here, and I know you want to be here when you reestablish contact with Admiral Charles, so I'm having my phone hookup to Moscow transferred here.” He sprawled in an easy chair, pointed at the floor, and smiled at Carter, “and I'm going to make myself at home.”

  “Fine, Tom. I just ordered us something to eat. I'm afraid it may take as long as thirty-six hours to contact David, maybe less if the experts can try something they've only been experimenting with up to now. But I'm told we can try out a onetime code if you can raise the.embassy yourself.”

  “We'll give it the old college try.” He smiled at Carter for a moment, then straightened up from his slouch in the chair, his face turning serious. “Sam, I've had a chance to talk to the President for a few moments, and things aren't very good over at the White House. He just doesn't understand what's going on, or he doesn't want to.” He sat even higher in his chair, staring directly into Carter's eyes. “He seems to think we're installing offensive weapons . . . getting ready for an attack. He says he'll be damned if he'll order one.” He paused for a moment, rubbing his left eye. "Just what is there about this new weapon on Islas Piedras? Does he know something I don't?"

  “It's simply an advanced missile system. You may remember that it was determined during the last administration that the Indian Ocean had become the most strategic of international waters. It covers an umbrella from the tip of Africa through the oil states, India, Southeast Asia, and all the way down to Australia. Since the Russians have been trying to use Africa as a jumping-off point to the South Atlantic, and the Arabs have become increasingly frightened about who they want to jump into bed with, we felt we had to do something.”

  “I remember quite well, Sam.” Jasperson had been Vice-President at the time, but had lost in his bid to run for President.

  “We've been trying to set up Islas Piedras as a major base since the Russians moved into the Maldives. At the same time the laser system was being developed to neutralize Russian offensive satellites, we were also able to create a missile that was sort of a combination between an ICBM and a Cruise missile, long range and low level. We didn't need the range of the ICBM, and the SALT agreements made it difficult to justify, but this one just seemed to be the right one to protect our African interests and keep us on top of the oil states at the same time. I think you can feel comfortable in emphasizing to the President, if necessary, that this weapon is still purely strategic, and has not been established on Islas Piedras as an offensive weapon to start another war.”

  “I know, Sam,” mused the Secretary, “they never are. But what would you think if you were a Russian?”

  “Jesus, would I ever be pissed off. It's literally the same thing as their missiles in Cuba over twenty years ago. We don't plan to use them against Russia. We just want to grab their sphere of influence by the balls.”

  “Exactly. Remember, this was supposed to be a fait accompli. The missile system was going to be completed by the time the landing exercises were over. The President had authorized the use of the lasers for exactly the opposite reason you think— expecting they would never have to be used, and assuming no lives would ever be involved.”

  “But, damn it, Tom, they always are.”

  “I know, Sam. But I've been in this political business a long time, and I can tell you that Presidents don't expect things to go wrong or get delayed—because they don't want them to. And he wanted this only as his own fait accompli, to make him look good, not to get caught with his pants down. Your people used the lasers because that was the next step if the Russians got word of this, and now you've scared him. Now, if you'll pardon the expression, he sees the Navy making him a prime asshole in the eyes of the world and the Russians forcing him to give up what he had been told is our most strategic base—not to mention control of the seas.”

  “So what next?”

  “How long will it take to finish off the Islas Piedras installation?”

  Admiral Carter thought for a moment, folding his hands in his lap, placing the index fingers together, and finally resting their tips on the bridge of his nose. “A week, maybe two if we have trouble getting the warheads there. One thing to remember, we
didn't want to have warheads on the island, especially nuclear ones, until we were damn sure it was secure. Can you imagine how foolish we'd look if the U.N. were to supervise us in removing nuclear-tipped weapons from an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean?”

  “How long can Admiral Charles hold off the Russian force?”

  “Tom, it's not a matter of holding them off. Remember, this started off as a show of force. They've already shown they're willing to fight. In a while, news of the first big sea battle in forty years is going to be spread all over the world. The Russians can figure on a battle of attrition with our forces, and if they keep them busy, their submarines can get to our supply ships. By that time the President will have either gone screaming to the U.N., or even worse, he might have picked up the hot line and surrendered a war that never started.”

  “How well do you know the Russians, Sam?”

  “Do you mean the party Chairman, or Gorenko, or Alex Kupinsky?”

  “I have met the people in the Kremlin, Sam. Who is this Kupinsky, the one you call Alex?”

  Admiral Carter drew a deep breath, again resting the tips of his index fingers on the bridge of his nose. He exhaled slowly, “Alex Kupinsky is in command of the Russian Indian Ocean fleet. He is also Gorenko's adopted son. And not only is he a brilliant naval strategist who we know influenced the expansion of their support forces, but he was the brains behind their blue-water carrier task forces.”

  Secretary Jasperson whistled quietly. “That's a lot of horsepower.”

  “If your aides found that letter of reprimand in David's service record from more than fifteen years ago, I'm surprised they didn't also tell you that he was reassigned from the embassy in London because he developed a friendship with his alter ego in the Russian embassy.” He stared directly at Jasperson.