Joint Task Force #1: Liberia (18 page)

THE HELICOPTER BANKED RIGHT AND STARTED A STEEP DESCENT
toward the flight deck of the FN
Charles de Gaulle
. Even
through his anxiety at trying to fill in the blanks that European Command and the disposition of the French battle group had opened, Holman was looking forward to the visit. He had never been aboard either of the French carriers, and while they were slightly smaller than any of the eight American aircraft carriers, they still wielded a lot of airpower. Enough to eclipse every nation but America. They carried two long-range surveillance EC-2 Hawkeye aircraft purchased from America. Both French carriers had two catapults. An American aircraft carrier had four. Even with two, they could launch two Super Etendard fighter aircraft every thirty seconds. They carried forty fighters to an American aircraft carrier’s eighty. Without that American aircraft carrier, the French controlled the seas around this part of Africa.
Damn good thing they’re our allies.

A couple of minutes later, the wheels touched down on the deck of the French nuclear-powered carrier. The turbine noise from the helicopter engines wound down as power to the rotors decreased. They were on board the command ship of the French battle group. Both Davidson and Upmann were aware of his conversation with the Deputy, European Command, and like him, had more questions than answers as to why the amphibious task force had been downsized. The rationale that they had been shaped for the mission just didn’t hold water.

A tall French Navy officer stood regally a few feet away from the edge of the slowing rotors as Holman, Upmann, and Davidson stepped down from the helicopter. Holman moved forward, hunched over, to avoid the rotors. No one walked upright beneath revolving helicopter rotors—not unless being tall was a major concern. The French officer rendered a sharp salute as he approached. Holman returned it, and immediately grasped the Navy officer’s hand. The shoulder epaulets on the white uniform identified the Frenchman as a captain. Three other officers standing slightly behind the French captain dropped their salutes.

“Admiral Holman, welcome to the
Charles de Gaulle
. I am Captain Marc St. Cyr,” the man said in flawless English and with only a slight Gallic accent.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Sir, if you and your officers will follow me, we will go to the wardroom for discussions.” Without waiting for a response,
St. Cyr did an about-face and led the way toward the forecastle of the ship.

One thing about warships of our European allies, thought Holman as he followed the lanky Frenchman, they were all a lighter gray than American warships. The other thing was they served wine with their meals and brandy after dinner. No wonder the U.S. Navy always insisted on having at-sea conferences on their ships.

French warships had their numbers painted amidships, while American warships’ numbers were painted along each side of the bow. The names of every warship, including American warships, were painted across the stern.
Maybe so you could tell who was running
.

A junior French Navy officer brought up the rear. They crossed the threshold of the hatch into the skin of the ship and out of the bright sunlight of the African sky. The junior officer turned, rotated the locking mechanism of the hatch, and sealed the interior from the smell of aviation fuel and the heat of the day. The air-conditioning quickly dispelled the heat, and the noisy ventillation cleared the air. The
Charles de Gaulle
had come a long way from its first two or three years of service when it kept breaking down and suffering the humiliation of being towed into most of the ports it visited. The French were the first nation other than the United States to build aircraft carriers capable of launching and recovering high-performance aircraft since World War II. Other than the United States, France was the only nation possessing a formidable at-sea airpower capability. China had yet to complete its second aircraft carrier. Its first had never deployed out of its coastal waters and had yet to launch its first aircraft while under way.

The French were ecstatic over the military victories in Somalia back in ’07 when the only fighter aircraft capability originated over the horizon from the decks of these two carriers. French morale and prestige had soared. In the shipyards of Marseilles, the keels for two additional French nuclear aircraft carriers had been laid last year. Holman recalled that along with morale and prestige, their arrogance had soared, which shocked everyone since no one believed that it could have gotten any higher.

“This way, Admiral,” St. Cyr said, motioning toward the ladder leading upward.

Two decks and several passageways later, they were led into a huge wardroom. Two long tables bolted to the deck and covered with satin tablecloths occupied the center of the compartment. A meter-wide bar ran along the forward bulkhead with a coffee machine—
never visited a Navy ship that didn’t have ready coffee for anytime of the day,
thought Holman—and numerous drawers beneath it. He assumed they held the various utensils for feeding the officers. On the starboard side of the wardroom was a television, a couple of leather couches, a few matching armchairs, and a scattering of small tables with lamps on them. The pastel paint seemed at odds with the light gray of Navy life, but he could see where this room would bubble during the evening when the day’s work at sea eased. It was easy to see that this was the main wardroom for the officers.

It was where meals were served. It definitely wasn’t like any flag wardroom he had visited on allied ships. Even on the USS
Boxer,
he had a smaller wardroom to entertain senior visitors and conduct business. Wonder why they brought them here instead of the flag wardroom befitting a senior officer. “Would the admiral like some coffee?” St. Cyr asked, nodding toward the coffee machine.

“Thanks, Captain,” Holman said, and as St. Cyr motioned one of the officers to take care of the request, he continued. “It was nice of Admiral Colbert to invite us to visit. I think between the two of our Naval forces, we will be able to evacuate our citizens with little trouble.” Dick looked around the room, expecting the French admiral to appear any moment. He knew from experience that managing a battle group could cause Admiral Colbert to be so wrapped up in circumstances that he would be forced to send a captain to meet a fellow admiral. He watched as Captain St. Cyr directed the officers in preparing the coffee. Personally, he would have either had the visiting admiral brought directly to where he was, or would have appeared as soon as possible professing apologies and such. At a minimum, he would have had the VIP taken to his personal wardroom. Maritime tradition between warriors of the sea was very traditional and circumspect. While Holman didn’t
hold much credence with rank and its trappings, he did recognize when it was missing.

A lanky French lieutenant placed three cups along one side of the table.

“If the admiral would be so kind and have a seat, we can begin our discussions.”

What!
Dick’s eyebrows raised at the suggestion. He turned and glanced at Upmann, who rolled his eyes slightly, indicating he didn’t know what was going on either.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Admiral Colbert, Captain?”

The man shook his head, his lower lip pushing the upper up. “The admiral is extremely busy and sends his regrets. He will be unable to attend, Admiral. He has asked that I deliver the restrictions and ensure you understand the limitations on what we will permit the American task force.”

It must be a language snafu
, he thought.
This Frog couldn’t have said what I thought I heard.
Limitations? No one limited the United States Navy. Not in the past, not now, and not in the future.

“Excuse me, Captain. I may have misunderstood what you meant.”

Upmann took a step closer to Holman’s left.

“I assure you, sir. My English is impeccable. I was an exchange officer at your Industrial College of the Armed Forces years ago, and had a tour at our embassy in Washington as the deputy military attaché. My words have been carefully chosen,” St. Cyr replied, his face expressionless. It was as if the French officer had relaxed the muscles in his face with the exception of those needed to speak. His eyes met Dick’s without wavering.

“Then, I doubt that we have anything to discuss, Captain,” Holman said, his voice calm through his anger.

St. Cyr tilted his head to the left and jerked back slightly. Not much, but enough for Holman to know the refusal to begin discussions was unexpected. If he couldn’t deliver—what? What was the man going to say? Deliver some sort of ultimatum?

St. Cyr started to say something. Holman held up his hand. “Go get Admiral Colbert, Captain. Tell him that Admiral Dick
Holman of the American Joint Task Force Liberia is here to see him.”

If Holman refused to listen to Captain St. Cyr, then the captain would have to go fetch Colbert. St. Cyr would have to tell him he was unable to execute his orders. Nothing bothered Navy officers and chiefs more than being unable to complete an assigned task. The difference was that chiefs usually found a way around stupid orders. Officers tended to execute them.

When several seconds passed and St. Cyr stood without moving, Dick turned to his Chief of Staff. “Captain Upmann, work with Captain St. Cyr to arrange our immediate return to the USS
Boxer
.”

Upmann nodded curtly. “With pleasure, Admiral.”

Holman walked past the French captain to the empty lounge area and took a seat in one of the leather chairs.
Screw them
. It wasn’t just
him
these French bastards were shoveling shit at, it was the United States Navy and the United States itself. That was what he represented. It was what military officers of every nation represented. They were their nation, and the traditions of respect at the lower ranks permeated upward as signs of solidarity or dissolution. The failure of the French admiral to pay his respects to his allied counterpart, and further, to leave that counterpart in the hands of a subordinate, was a display of diplomatic contempt. A display no self-respecting American military officer could allow, for it was a snub against the United States of America. He wanted off this despicable ship as soon as possible. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what they would do if the French refused to allow them to leave. He mentally shook his head. Even the French wouldn’t be that foolish.

He tuned to the conversation between Upmann and St. Cyr. Either one of two things would happen. One, St. Cyr would take the incident to the admiral and Colbert would appear; or two, their transportation back to the USS
Boxer
would be arranged shortly. He refused to consider the third alternative.

The wardroom door slammed. Holman turned slightly and saw that St. Cyr had disappeared.
Probably gone to throw himself over the side or shake his admiral into action.
Upmann and Davidson walked toward him. The French lieutenant who
had operated the coffee machine and set the coffee cups started across with them, but Upmann shook his head and motioned the man away. “Thank you, Lieutenant, but we would prefer some privacy.”

Holman stayed seated. He wanted to stand, but right now, actions spoke louder than words. Arrogant wasn’t in his vocabulary, but the French were good teachers. He had to act the part of the senior American Navy officer. Play and beat the French at their own game of arrogance and pomp, which was hard for an American to do. Come to think of it, not many nationalities had the centuries of experience in those areas as the French.
They did put the r in arrogance,
whatever that means.

“I think he’s gone to talk with his admiral,” Upmann said softly. He leaned closer. “What’s going on?” His eyes shifted toward the three French officers watching from across the compartment, whispering among themselves.

Dick nearly shrugged his shoulders, but stopped himself in time. “I’m not sure, Leo. Mary, what do you think?”

“I believe what we are seeing is the French flexing their muscles because they believe we are intruding into what they feel is their sphere of influence.”

“Because we want to evacuate our citizens?” Dick asked incredulously. “How can they confuse a noncombatant evacuation operation—
NEO,
with us expanding influence into a continent that has more failed states than the rest of the world combined?”

She shook her head. “Admiral, they know something we don’t and that we should.”

For a brief second, Holman mulled over the conversation with General Scott, Deputy, European Command. The man had warned him about the French, but said nothing about why they were sending a two-carrier battle group here or what he should be worried about. He just assumed that like so many times in the past, the French were here to help evacuate civilians from the civil war erupting in Liberia. It wouldn’t be the first time the U.S. worked hand-in-glove with the French. In the early 1990’s, he recalled, the French and Americans had worked closely in sharing information about North Africa. A relationship that had decayed significantly by the time Islamic
fundamentalists had tried to overthrow the Arab countries of North Africa and combine them into one fanatical Islamic state. Then, America and Britain had had to go it alone, with the French coming in afterward. The one country that responded unilaterally without asking anyone’s permission had been Spain, which invaded Morocco, kicking ass, and marched across Algeria to protect vital oil pipelines. Two years since that crisis and the third Korean War. Eleven years since the war in Afghanistan when this same French carrier sailed alongside American aircraft carriers to destroy the government and non-government organization that had attacked America on September 11, 2001.

“Leo, Mary; I want us to be able to sidestep this faux pas if that is what it is. If the admiral shows, let me lead, but be prepared for us to ask for transportation back to our battle group.”

“Battle group? Thought we were just an amphibious task force going in to conduct a NEO.”

“Joint task force,” corrected Upmann.

“You’re right, Mary. But a battle group sounds meaner, and we need to ensure they understand that we will not accept limitations imposed by anyone other than our own leaders.”