Shattered Trident (23 page)

“Somebody will accuse us of being the ‘world’s policeman’ again,” Alexander observed.

Myles shook his head sharply. “Absolutely not. The world’s too small for conflicts like this anymore. If two neighbors next door are feuding, and it’s likely to endanger my family, then it’s in my interest to stop it. Let me worry about justifying this to Congress and the American people.”

“Excuse me, Mr. President, I’m loath to bring this up, but I believe it’s necessary,” Kirkpatrick interrupted hesitantly. “This course of action you are considering has considerable risk, politically. It would be quite damaging to your campaign to insert U.S. forces into this conflict. Your opponent would be able to capitalize on this move, and your poll numbers are not as … as robust as we would like.”

To everyone’s surprise, Myles laughed. “Ray, I appreciate your concern. But my Republican opponent will criticize me just as vigorously if I choose some other course. Since I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t, I might as well get skewered for doing something.”

He turned to Dewhurst. “General, in consultation with Dr. Kirkpatrick, the CNO, and Secretary Geisler, write orders that turn Commander Mitchell’s tactic into a plan for spoiling attacks by either side. The goal is to limit the violence to both sides while minimizing the risk to our people.”

Dewhurst was writing furiously as the president spoke, and when the general paused to look up, Myles added, “And get some more submarines into the area immediately.”

2 September 2016

1430 Local Time

Old Ebbitt Grill

Washington, D.C.

Joanna had called and asked him to take her to lunch at the Old Ebbitt Grill. It was one of her favorite places, and Hardy knew immediately she was upset.

They both liked the place—dark, warm décor, great food, and bustling without being too noisy. She’d met him inside, out of the late-summer heat. She smiled, but it was thin, almost forced. He’d started to worry with the phone call, and that now blossomed into full-blown concern.

They’d been seated immediately, with Hardy watching her every movement. They both knew the menu well enough to immediately order their meals. The waiter had barely disappeared with their choices when she asked, “Did you ever have to carry out an order you didn’t agree with?”

Surprised but relieved, Hardy asked, “In what way? Illegal, immoral, or just stupid?”

Patterson shook her head and gestured as if brushing the question aside. “It’s not illegal or immoral, and I’m almost sorry it isn’t. That would be easy.”

Hardy almost laughed out loud, but suppressed all but an amused snort. “Not for some people in this town. What’s this about?”

“I can’t go into details. It concerns my current assignment.”

“So it’s stupid, but important.”

“Yes. Very important,” she answered. “But let’s change ‘stupid’ to ‘bad idea.’ And can I pass it on if I don’t think it’s the right thing to do?”

Hardy sighed. “It’s an old story. I was in command of a nuclear submarine, master of all I surveyed, except for the ‘in’ box in the radio room. Whoever you are, whatever rank you are, there’s usually somebody with a higher rank, telling you what to do.”

“Not in this case,” she replied. “Nobody outranks this person. He gave the order, and it’s passed down to me, and now I have to tell someone else to do it.”

“I understand why this is hard, Joanna. I’ve had the ‘chain of command’ philosophy drummed into me since the academy. It doesn’t take a full day there before you find out that not all orders make sense, and that some of them aren’t just bad ideas, they’re downright stupid. With anyone in the military, following a legal order should be automatic.”

“I can’t be just a robot,” she protested.

“You’re not a robot,” Hardy insisted. “I said ‘automatic.’ That doesn’t mean you stop thinking. You’re allowed to have your own opinion, but it’s the big guy’s call to make. Wait a minute. Did he come up with this on his own, or was there discussion?”

“Lots of discussion.” Their drinks arrived, and she took a good-sized pull on her glass of wine.

“Do you have information that he doesn’t?”

“No.”

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” he explained. “It really is his decision to make, and your duty is now to carry it out to the best of your ability, especially if you think it’s a bad idea. The orders you agree with are the easy ones. Now is when you earn your lunch money.”

“I can’t help but feel that by cooperating, it’s my fault when it goes bad.”

“Now you’re just whining.” Hardy’s voice was still warm, but it had a hard edge. “That’s why people look at the top of the chain when things go bad. He gets all the credit, and all the blame.”

Hardy leaned closer, and spoke softly, but with great feeling. “What your boss needs right now is everybody working in the same direction. If it’s a near thing, your efforts may make all the difference. You make it happen,
his
way, and no second-guessing.”

As Hardy sat back, he suddenly smiled. “Besides, you can never tell how things will work out. Some years ago, when I was in command of
Memphis,
I got a presidential order that I was certain was insane. Can you believe he wanted me to take two civilian women with me on a northern run?”

She made a face at him. “And it’s been nothing but trouble ever since.”

He shrugged and grinned. “There have been some positive aspects.”

“All right,” she sighed. “It’s my job, and I’ll do my best, but can you please give me some guidance on what to say? Captain Simonis is going to like this even less than I do.”

“The commodore of Squadron Fifteen?” Hardy had started out in a normal speaking voice, but lowered it to almost a whisper as he realized they were veering toward classified realms.

She nodded silently.

“Does this thing have to do with his submarines?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

Standing quickly, Hardy reached for her hand. “Come on. You don’t have a leisurely lunch with operational orders waiting to be sent.” As Hardy pulled out his wallet and threw a couple of bills on the table, their server spotted them. Hardy explained, “I’m sorry, something’s come up. That should cover our order.”

Hurrying out of the restaurant, he said, “I’ll coach you on a few things you can say, and a few more you shouldn’t.”

The thick, hot air was a shock after the air-conditioned interior, but it was only three blocks to the White House’s staff gate. “Don’t worry,” he continued as they walked. “Simonis knows the drill. He’ll protest, and probably ask questions, maybe even pout, but if he’s any kind of an officer, he’ll eventually say, ‘Aye, aye’ and make it happen.”

2 September 2016

1615 Local Time

The White House

Washington, D.C.

Captain Simonis’s image appeared almost immediately. It was a little after four in the morning in Guam, but he’d been close by, evidently. “Dr. Patterson, good…” He glanced at something off camera. “… afternoon in Washington.” He didn’t smile. Captain Glenn Jacobs, the squadron chief staff officer, and Commander Walker were both visible in the background. In the lower corners of the screen were insets showing Admiral Bernard Hughes, the chief of naval operations at the Pentagon, and Rear Admiral Burroughs, COMSUBPAC in Hawaii. Patterson saw Simonis’s eyes narrow as they darted back and forth, looking at the screen; he saw the two flag officers.

“I apologize for the early hour, Captain, and I won’t waste your time. Has anything significant or unusual happened since your 2000 report?”

“No, ma’am. All boats are on station and operating as ordered.”

“Good. The National Security Council has decided to make a change in our tactics. We’ve decided to become more proactive.”

Simonis frowned, mixing confusion and concern. “I’d hoped my boats had gathered enough data that we could think about withdrawing from the middle of a war zone.”

“Unfortunately, Captain, we are still missing several critical pieces of information. Although we know who is participating in the Littoral Alliance, they refuse to acknowledge the fact to us. The president is also very concerned about the damage the alliance is inflicting on China.”

Simonis paused before answering. “If that’s the case, then things are going to get a lot worse. The Chinese Navy is having absolutely no luck in tracking the alliance subs, much less sinking them.”

“That is why your new orders are to actively interfere with the alliance and any Chinese submarine attacks they observe. Distract them, disrupt and confuse them, whatever it takes to make the approach fail and allows the potential target to get away.”

Simonis paused again, but his expression was unusual—wide-eyed and blank-faced. He seemed to be considering different responses, evaluating the pros and cons of each alternative. He finally settled on verifying the content of her last statement.

“Are you directing us to deliberately involve ourselves with a hostile submarine as it approaches a vessel it intends to attack?”

“Yes, with the purpose of preventing that attack, either by alerting the target or distracting the attacker.” She was pleased with her answer.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Simonis replied, almost to himself, but it was clear that he did intend for her to hear it. “What do we hope to gain by this tactic?”

“First, to reduce the casualty count. If the Chinese lose too many ships, they will be compelled to take more aggressive military action as a face-saving measure. Second, to compel the Littoral Alliance to open a dialogue.”

“I guarantee it will get their attention. But what if our subs are detected, or mistaken for an enemy boat? What if they are fired on?”

“It’s no longer necessary to remain undetected, but your rules of engagement regarding counterfire remain unchanged,” Patterson replied calmly.

“I like being undetected. If they can’t see me, they can’t shoot at me. Deliberately revealing ourselves in the presence of not just one, but possibly two potential enemies, while tying our hands behind our back, goes against all my training. It’s not what submarines are supposed to do!”

The captain paused, and took on a calmer tone. “This is taking what Mitchell did and asking everybody in the squadron to do it—repeatedly. Are you sure the president has been properly informed on the capabilities and vulnerabilities of our submarines?”

“He was well briefed, Captain.” Patterson chose a firmer tone. “The detailed orders are being sent right now by secure communications.”

Simonis was visibly shaken. “Mitchell was lucky, and
North Dakota
is a flight three
Virginia
class—a step up from
Texas
and at least a generation more advanced than my two Improved
Los Angeles
boats. They won’t have the same acoustic edge over the alliance boats. The Chinese, perhaps, but not a Project 636 Kilo or India’s
Chakra
.”

“But they still have superior sensors and fire control systems, and we are also sending reinforcements; at least three more submarines are being sent to you. USS
North Carolina
left Pearl Harbor earlier today.” Patterson took a deep breath. “I appreciate your concern, Captain, we all do, but all your boats have to do is interfere with an attack, not sink them.”

“Sinking is easier!” he shot back. “Leaving a hostile sub that’s detected you alive invites disaster. I can’t even begin to assess the increased risk to my boats. Is the return on this change in tactics worth the lives of my crews?”

His question went straight to her heart, and although Patterson tried to hide her reaction, the effort may have given her feelings away. She’d been ready for this, though. Lowell had taught her.

“Captain, you have your orders. I expect you to do your best to carry them out.”

11

DIVISION

3 September 2016

0445 Local Time

Squadron Fifteen Headquarters

Guam

Simonis sat motionless; he simply stared at the now-blank screen. The staff members present, amazed by the orders Patterson had just given them, were likewise stunned. They looked hesitantly back and forth between each other and their commodore in awkward silence. The only discernable noise was the whirling blades of the cooling fan on the VTC computer.

Everyone in the room waited anxiously for the other shoe to drop. The commodore’s temper was a fact of life in Squadron Fifteen, and collectively the group couldn’t decide whether to beat a hasty retreat, or stay and watch the fireworks.

After an uncomfortable length of time, Simonis’s head slowly began to fall. He took a deep breath, the expected prelude to a monumental rant. But when he finally spoke, his voice was calm, emotionless, the volume restrained.

“Captain Jacobs, I want a draft message ordering the four boats to break away and establish a SATCOM link with squadron headquarters at…” Simonis paused as he looked at his watch. “… 0600 their local time. Flash precedence. You have seven minutes.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” responded the chief staff officer. Rising, the CSO pointed to an information technician to follow him. Both quickly left the conference room.

Simonis took another deep breath, then looked around the room. Struggling, he said, “With the exception of Commander Walker, everyone else is dismissed.”

As the staff filed out of the room, Walker moved up to the main table and gestured for the last man out to close the door. Pulling a chair away from the table, he quietly sat down, pen and notebook at the ready. By the time Walker had situated himself, Simonis’s face was crimson, his body shaking visibly.

“Rich, I have never, throughout my entire career, ever considered disobeying a lawful order from a superior, until now,” Simonis rasped through clenched teeth. Suddenly he lashed out with his right arm, striking a wooden chair next to him. A sharp snap and flying splinters testified to the force of the blow. Rising abruptly, he kicked the damaged chair out of his way. Stomping angrily around the table, he slammed the top with his fist and bellowed, “What is the president thinking!? Does he even have a clue as to what he’s telling me to do!?”