The woman is a flight officer, not a pilot, and her quals are P-three Orions.”
“No, but we both know that if we did, Carol Smith could handle it. No, we need her to stay right where she is, managing (he logistics tail we need to continue our work here. What I intend to do is to take Dick Holman, the commanding officer of the USS Stennis, and shift him over to our staff to run the air campaign.” Devlin thought a minute, nodded, and chuckled a couple of times. “Dick would be a good one. If it had not been for him, we would still be waiting for minesweepers to clear the Strait of Gibraltar and the carrier battle group would still be boring holes in the sea outside of the Mediterranean. He’d be a good one. Do you know him?”
Cameron nodded. “Yeah, Dick and I were classmates at the Academy.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell Dick we’re taking him away from command and making a staff officer out of him. Whoa! On second thought, I do want to be here when you tell him. If anyone can find an argument as to why something shouldn’t be done, he’s the one.”
“Yeah, I don’t expect him to jump up, salute, and move his gear over to Sixth Fleet gracefully … much less quietly.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why hasn’t he made flag? Dick is more than competent.”
“Ten pounds.”
“Ten pounds?”
“Dick has always managed to be at the edge of the Navy’s weight standards, and with age and promotion to captain, he managed to exceed it a couple of times. And you know what that means.” Admiral Cameron turned to his chief of staff. “Clive, can I get a cup of coffee? Good coffee. That stuff on the COD, the passenger flight I flew in on, must have been left over from a World War II destroyer.”
Clive rose and got the admiral a cup of coffee. Weight standards played an important role in the promotion scheme of the Navy. You could lose an opportunity for promotion as much from being overweight as being caught DWI. He patted his stomach. Already a couple of inches since this crisis started. Less chance for working out, and he hadn’t jogged in over a week. He made a mental promise to get down to the gym tonight.
“Dick will assume the air campaign. Carol Smith will fleet up as the commander, Fleet Air Mediterranean, but Dick will become commander, Task Force Sixty-seven.”
Such a move divided the responsibilities of Pete Devlin between two Navy captains, giving the logistics and administration portion to his deputy in Naples, while the operation responsibilities of the naval air forces would shift to Dick Holman.
Clive handed the admiral his coffee.
The roar of the second F-14 Tomcat catapulting off the carrier vibrated through the compartment. The three men looked at the monitor and watched the aircraft dip slightly at the end of the flight deck and then gracefully rise as it continued ahead of the carrier. At three miles out, the air traffic controller of the carrier would direct the fighter off the departure path and toward its assigned mission or area.
“You’re going to get your wish, Pete I would like you two with me when I discuss this with Dick, The idea of giving up command to be on a stall will go against his grain, and your arguments as to why this is a win-win for everyone may mitigate the sting.”
“Let me see: commanding officer of a carrier, or managing flight plans and operations on a staff.” said Devlin, grinning as he moved his hands up and down like alternating trays on the ends of a scale. “I can’t imagine why he would have second thoughts.”
The three chuckled “I know it may take a direct order, but we need to use the assets we have available as we wind up Task Force African Force and move on to other more important operations.
The offensive on the Korean peninsula has stopped the advance of the North Koreans. More of our forces are arriving even day on that peninsula, creating an opportunity for a major offensive that will drive them back across the border. We are not going to get any more assets than what we have to accomplish our mission here. As soon as those hostages are out of Algiers and we finish the evacuation of other Americans and allied citizens from the oil rigs in the south, we are going to break off and head to the Sea of Japan. With eight carriers off the peninsula, the United States Navy can sustain round-the-clock two carrier operations indefinitely. Without us, there are three to four days when only one-carrier operations can be brought to bear.”
“What will our allies say if we do?’”
Cameron pursed his lips. “So sorry. One of the things the chairman passed on — and I do not want it breathed further — is that the French and Germans are pushing for Europe to use its own rapid-reaction force in lieu of NATO. If that occurs, NATO is dead as a military entity.
With NATO relegated to a political tool, our influence will wane even further. Something to consider, but the overriding objective of the administration is to put the North Koreans back in their box. We will continue to receive second attention until that happens, and the consensus of the Joint Chiefs of Staff is that without us, the major offensive required to do it will be harder and more costly.”
The bolts on the watertight door squealed in protest as the person entering stooped to step over the six-inch rise.
The short, chubby man held an unlit cigar in his right hand.
Captain Richard Holman. commanding officer of the USS Stennis, turned to his executive officer. “XO, get some HTs down here, and fix that damn door.”
Cameron stood as the man made his way to him. “Admiral Cameron, once again, welcome aboard the USS Stennis.” Holman had greeted the admiral initially when the two-engine propeller passenger aircraft that sailors called a COD had landed on board the aircraft carrier. “I trust your accommodations are satisfactory. If there is anything I can do, sir. let me or any of my wardroom know, and we’ll make it happen.”
Cameron shook Dick’s hand. “Dick, T haven’t had the chance to tell you how impressed I am with how you got the Stennis over here so fast and then to actually sail it through a minefield to enter the Med.”
“Thanks. Gor— Sorry, Admiral.”
Holman dropped his right hand, realized he still held the cigar in his left hand, and quickly stuffed it into an unbuttoned shirt pocket. “Thank you. Admiral, but I really didn’t sail it into the Med. Once we realized the Strait of Gibraltar was mined, the traffic still sailing in the Strait gave us the answer. They were smart mines, keyed for specific magnetic and acoustic readings. So I just had one of the destroyers tow us through.”
“That was smart thinking. Dick.” Then, in a more somber tone, Admiral Cameron added, “I don’t have to tell you how the sacrifice of the John Rodgers affected all of us.”
“Dick, what if you had been wrong about the mines?”
Pete Devlin asked.
“Then you wouldn’t have the USS Stennis and its battle group here, Admiral.”
“Good job, Dick.” Cameron added. “Anything Sixth Fleet can help you with?”
“No, sir. I really came down to ensure that everything was going okay. This is my executive officer,” Holman said, indicating the taller commander to his left. “Commander Tucson Conroy.” Cameron shook his hand and nodded “II you need anything, just let us know.” He motioned toward the watertight door. “I will have someone from engineering up here ASAP to fix that door, Admiral.”
“Thank you, Dick, and feel free to consult with me on anything we do that may adversely impact your running of the carrier. We want a smooth interface. You know that General Lewis, the new commander of the Joint Task Force, is arriving this afternoon?”
“Yes. sir. We have put him in adjoining flag quarters beside yours. Both the XO and 1 will meet his COD when it arrives. When is it arriving, XO?”
“Captain, it is scheduled to depart Naples at fourteen hundred hours and should land during the sixteen fifteen cycle,” (he XO replied. The cycle was everything to a carrier, e very one hour fifteen minutes was a cycle. In a cycle, aircraft took off. then the deck rearranged quickly by shifting the parked aircraft forward, so others could land. Then the cycle st
arted over again.
“Good. Captain, I would like to meet the general, also.
Would you come by and get me and we’ll go together?”
Admiral Cameron said.
“Yes. sir. Will do.” Holman replied. “Come on, XO. we got work to do to keep this bird farm operating.”
“Dick, will you sit down with us for a moment? I have something to discuss with you.” Cameron said, pointing to the vacant chair at the end of the table.
Molman nodded at the XO. who headed toward the hatch to carry out his orders. Commander Conroy shook his head as he glanced back before stepping through the hatch. He had been in the Navy long enough to know private conversations usually meant more work for him.
“Yes. sir. Admiral,” Dick said after the screeching of the watertight door stopped.
“Dick, you’re doing an outstanding job as CO of the Stennis. but I need you on my staff, There is no easy way to say that and—” Cameron held up his hand to stop Holman from responding. “I know you will hate the idea of leaving command.”
“Admiral, you have some of the finest officers in the Navy on your staff. The Steimin depends on me. and it is my ship,” Dick responded. A cold chill ran down his back as he wiggled uncomfortably in the chair. Even before he argued, he knew he was going to lose against Gordon.
“Yes, they do, Dick. But things are changing, and they will change significantly when I turn over African Force to Genera) Lewis this afternoon.” He pointed casually at Pete Devlin. “Admiral Devlin is going to fleet up to be my deputy. A lot of reasons as to why I am doing that, and he isn’t happy doing it, either.”
Pete Devlin started to object, but Admiral Cameron continued, “And I won’t share them with any of you at this time. I am going to give his logistics and administrative responsibilities to his deputy, Carol Smith, in Naples.
I want you to assume his operations responsibilities for the ongoing air campaign. You are a pilot like him and Clive, you have the experience. And, most importantly, you have my confidence.”
“But what about my ship?”
“You have confidence in your XO?”
“Sure, I do, but he is a Surface Warfare officer, a black shoe—”
“Then he should be able to drive the carrier without running it aground.”
“Yes, sir. He can run the Stennis, but it’s my carrier,” Dick said forcefully, tapping himself on the chest.
“Yes, it is, Dick. I am not asking you to give up being its captain permanently. I am asking you to temporarily shift command to your XO and come aboard with me. I need you. The Navy needs you.” Dick sighed. He knew he was going to do it. He obeyed orders. He did what the Navy wanted, even when the Navy sometimes didn’t know what it needed. He nodded a couple of times. “When do you want me to shift my colors.
Gordon? Sorry, Admiral?”
“I would like to get it done before Rocky Lewis arrives.
I want my staff the way I need it to exercise the orders of the new commander of the Joint Task Force.”
Dick nodded again. “Yes, sir, Admiral.” He slid his chair back, reached in his pocket, and stuck his cigar in his mouth. “With your permission, Admiral, I feel the need of a good cigar before I break the news to the XO.”
“How do you think Commander Conroy will take the news?” Cameron asked.
“You mean when he finishes dancing across the bridge or pirouetting through the wardroom?”
They laughed.
“I may have to fight him to take back command when this is done.” He grinned again. “No, Conroy is an outstanding officer. Between him, the wardroom, my command master chief, and the goat locker”—referring to the chief petty officer’s mess—“the Stennis could not ask for a better commanding officer.” He paused, took his cigar out of his mouth, and waved it at the three. “Except for me.”
They stood up and shook his hand. “Thanks, Dick. I know how hard this is for you. but we need you and your experience.”
They didn’t need my experience when all those past admiral boards met, but Dick quickly dismissed the negative thought. He was not going to fall into that group of malcontent officers who fail to select for the next promotion and then spend their time bad-mouthing and writing negative articles and letters about the Navy. Dick saluted Admiral Cameron as a sign of respect, although saluting inside the skin of the ship was not usually done. He quickly departed, the creaking of the watertight door following in his wake.
The three sat back down at the table as Holman left.
Commander Kurt Lederman, the Sixth Fleet intelligence officer, passed Holman at the hatch. Kurt Lederman had been in the bistro the night the terrorists had attacked the officers of the Sixth Fleet staff in an unsuccessful attempt to kill Admiral Cameron. Short and balding, he faced the challenge most at-sea Navy officers did: a growing waistline from putting work above physical fitness. However.
Clive knew, as others did also, that Kurt Lederman was a damn good intelligence officer.
Ask him, he ‘ tell you, thought Clive.
Kurt Lederman could give as much ribbing as he took from the unrestricted-line officers. Kurt appreciated the limitations and challenges of being an intelligence officer in the cyber age where what seems is not necessarily what is. He had no adversity to jerking those with the skills he felt were needed to develop the full battle space picture.
When he provided the flag a recommendation, confidence in the analysis and the advice was preordained. He also learned early as an intelligence officer to never say, “I don’t know”: always saw “We’re working that, sir or ma’am, and should have an answer soon” The sibling rivalry between the intelligence and the Navy’s Cryptologic community still remained an open affair, but Kurt and his Cryptologic counterpart on the Sixth Fleet staff. Captain Paul Brooks, was both a professional and personal relationship.
The technical expertise brought by cryptologists capable of data-mining the information highway like concert pianists kept Intelligence on top of the battle space picture.
Despite years of attempts by the Intelligence community to move the Cryptologic officer under the Intelligence chief of staff, Sixth Fleet remained the only United States Navy fleet who, quite rightly, separated the two. Paul Brooks was the head of Operations Command, Control, and Communications’ (C3) Warfare department and ran the Information Operations for this theater. In formation Operations was the military cover term for fighting the virtual war on the cyber battlefield. Paul, like the majority of Cryptologic officers, knew his expertise was an integral part of the Intelligence picture and worked closely with Kurt to profile the battle space. It helped that the two were friends.
A gray metal door with a small circular window, located along the port side of the staff operations compartment, opened. An aproned mess specialist entered with a tray of fresh coffee and midmorning pastries. Heavily tattooed arms stuck out of the starched white shirt the thin, shaven-head sailor wore.
Cameron smiled. “Mitchell, they brought you over, too?”
“Yes, sir, Admiral,” the first class replied, smiling.
“Told them you personally wanted me over here, and if they tried to stop me, if you personally didn’t whip their butts, it would be because I did.” He set the tray down on the table, stepped back, and smiled. “There you are, Admiral.”
“Damn, Mitchell! You really know me well. However, I hate to burst your bubble. It’s your pastries I like.” He pointed at Petty Officer Mitchell’s arms. “All I have to do is make sure I don’t get blinded by your tattoos. Isn’t that a new one?”
Mitchell stood back up and wiped his hands on his apron. His face turned slightly red as he blushed. “Yes, sir.
Admiral. I had it done by a fellow first class on board here. He insisted that what I really needed to set off my others was this one of a Tomcat blasting off a carrier.
Don’t know how I came to have this many tattoos. Must be something in the seawater.” He straightened up, coughed once, and said, “Admiral, with al
l due respect, sir. Me and the others want to offer our condolences on your wife, sir.”
The admiral stood and reached out his hand.
Mitchell stared at the outstretched hand for a couple of seconds before reaching forward to shake it. The sailor’s palm was warm from the tray.
“Thank you, Mitch. Tell the others I appreciate their thoughts and concerns. The flowers were nice.” He dropped his hand. “Now, you sailors get busy, and let’s have a nice welcome-back meal tonight.” Then, in a voice that seemed to share a secret, he said, “The officers don’t realize how long and hard they’re going to be working, so I want a nice meal to keep their energy going. They’re going to need it.”
Mitchell beamed from ear to ear. He ran his hand over his shaven head. “No sweat, Admiral, I have been saving one recipe I wanted to try. It’s a — it’ll be a surprise. You’ll love it.” Mitchell turned and walked slowly, head down, as if already planning the meal, toward the door leading back to the small pantry.
Clive smiled as he watched the senior mess specialist mentally going over his planned dinner while physically counting the menu items on his fingers. One thing about the cooks Admiral Cameron brought with him to Sixth Fleet; they were experts. He could not remember another command or ship where he had eaten as well. He touched the small love handle on his waist. Moreover, if he didn’t get back to some sort of physical fitness routine, this half inch roll of fat was going to turn into several; then he and Dick could trade clothes.
“Well done. Cam,” said Devlin. “There goes another ten dollars on our mess bills.”
“You know, Pete, if you won the lottery, you’d bitch about the taxes you had to pay on it.”
They laughed. Even Pete Devlin managed a smile.
“Kurt, come join us,” Cameron said to the intelligence officer, who stood talking to the chief petty officer in charge of the operations, while he reviewed the logs the chief had handed him. “How’s that leg?”
“Better, Admiral. They took the cast off. Next time I want to scramble down a ladder at night, I will do it slow and careful,” Kurt answered, limping to the table. “I was lucky it wasn’t a break of the bone. More like a serious fracture.” After shaking hands, Kurt said, “Admiral, welcome back. A lot has been going on since you’ve been away.”
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