“I agree,” the Colonel said. “Call down to signals and have them rig it up. We run the same thing tomorrow morning and see how it works,” he said.
They both turned to watch as several of the drones actually ran into each other trying to maneuver around. “I may cry,” Ricks said exacerbated.
Things were moving rapidly around the Pentagon. Troops and equipment were moving and the security around the building had jumped up dramatically. Everyone was searched going in and out, slowing everything to a crawl in the early mornings and late evenings. Lt. Jeffers now had to get to work around 4:30 am. In order to get through the already burgeoning crowd and get to his desk on time. Yet, his job had gotten a lot slower. Admiral Hammond was attending more meetings and there were longer periods where he just sat and waited for his phone to ring. Captain Clarity had him doing quite a bit, but Jeffers always wanted to keep busy doing something. Daydreaming was not fun.
This particular morning Hammond went to the morning brief and asked him to sit still and wait until he returned. An hour later, Hammond came back in and went into his office. He beckoned Jeffers to join him. “Rod, have a seat,” he said. “I have been feeling like I have been deficient in your training. I promised that I would make sure you were ready for promotion, so as a part of that, I want you to take some time and do something for me.”
“What can I do, Admiral?” Jeffers asked.
“You’ve seen operational plans, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking more about what we talked about a while back concerning the Black Sea. Now, I know this is well above your paygrade, but we think a lot alike. I want you to give a crack at planning out our operations there. How can we get in and do what we discussed. What we’ll be up against, all that. Then write up everything, the order of battle, logistics, the timing, everything. Don’t worry about forgetting something, if I like it, we can flesh it out. So let me see what you can do. If nothing else it will get you ready for a senior staff job down the line. So, what do you say? You up to it?” Hammond asked.
Jeffers was almost overwhelmed. He had never done anything like this before, especially to this scale. The closest he had come to it was some of the shipboard plans he had worked out for Captain Davis. But he never turned down a challenge. Jeffers let out a slow whistle. “That’s a tall order, Boss, but if you want it, I’ll do it. How long before you need it?” Jeffers asked.
Hammond was glad the young man had not folded under this kind of pressure. Davis had told him how thorough Jeffers was and just how smart he could be. “Let’s get the first draft to me in two weeks. I’m taking you off your normal duties and let you plug away at this full time. Go visit who you need to in this place, but let’s get something down on paper. Then I promise, I’ll give it a look and we can critique it together. I can then use any parts I like and make up the overall plans,” Hammond said.
“Aye, sir. I’ll get it done. How limited am I with assets?”
Good question, Hammond thought. “You can use up to a quarter of fleet assets. That should get you started. If you need more, come talk to me about it,” he said.
Jeffers stood. “I’ll get started right now, Boss,” he said with a grin.
Jeffers turned and went back to his desk. Where do you start? He wondered. Sitting down, he thought a few minutes, then called up the yeoman in the outer office. In ten minutes a large book-like file with folders was laid on his desk. It was old and musty, but quite readable. On the cover of the book were two words, “Operation Overlord.”
Governor Yost had nearly barricaded himself in his office. Three lines of state police officers were stationed in the halls and corridors. He almost never left his office. As a result, he looked frazzled. His usually immaculately tailored suit was wrinkled and stained. His eyes told a story of a desperate man, trying to escape. He sat at his desk alone. Few people except reporters tried to contact him. His party had deserted him, more to the point; they had given up on reasoning with him. His ship was sinking and he was at the helm, speeding things up.
His aide entered the room. “Governor, it’s time to leave to greet the Prime Minister of Malaysia,” he said.
The Governor looked up at the man with tired eyes. “I don’t want to go.”
The young man insisted. “I’m afraid you have to. They are going to open up some manufacturing up north and it will be the best news for the state since you came into office. If you don’t meet him, the whole thing might be called off. You need to go, for the business and to do something to improve your image. I’ve taken care of everything. No crowds, no close media. Just meet the man and get him in your car. You will drive back here and it will be all over,” he said.
Yost gave a long sigh. “Oh, okay,” he grunted. He stood up and brushed himself off. Another aid came in and helped him straighten up a bit. Once he looked reasonably well, the men left the office and made their way down to the basement garage where the limousine was waiting. Getting in, he was whisked out of the garage and into the sunlight.
The drive to LAX was silent. The aide had tried to brief him, but Yost simply told him to keep quiet. Along the way, crowds of protesters lined the streets shouting and waving signs. At one point, the limo swerved as a protester jumped out of the crowd and ran toward the car. Just missing the man, he had thrown something onto the limousine. It was feces.
Circling around to the business terminal, the limo pulled through the gates and stopped beside the glass and steel building. A red carpet was rolled up just outside the entrance. Just ten minutes later a large Boeing 757 made its way down the runway and pulled left along the taxiway toward the business terminal. It was brightly marked with the colors of Malaysia Airlines. Once in position, a boarding stair was wheeled into place and the red carpet rolled out for the dignitary. The representative from the consulate and the State Department came out and were staring back toward the limo.
The State Policeman escorting the Governor had scanned the area to make sure all the security was in place, then opened the door for the Governor. Yost stepped from the limo and made his way cautiously to the men waiting for him.
The crack of a high powered rifle was unmistakable. Security forces swarmed toward the direction of the shot as the Governor slumped to the ground. Several of the State Police rushed to his side, but it was no use. The shot had entered the side of his head and exited the other side. Governor Yost would not be seeking reelection.
The phone rang at his desk and Hammond picked up the receiver. “Hammond.”
“Roger, come see me,” said the CNO on the other line.
“Right away,” said Hammond as he quickly got up and made his way out the door to his office and into the CNO’s office in the same suite. The CNO was standing by his desk. “Roger, pack your bags. Your presence is requested in London,” Admiral Perry Johnson said with a slight grin.
“But I just got back from there,” Hammond insisted.
“Maybe, but you are going just the same. You will be meeting with the British Prime Minister and His Majesty the King,” the CNO stated.
That made Hammond stop. “The King?”
Johnson laughed. “You have been getting some attention overseas and they want to talk to you about some of the things you have been talking about,” he said. “I got a call from Sir Richard telling me that you needed to get back there pronto. You’ll be staying at his townhouse in London, then after your meetings you are to go to Germany and meet with their Prime Minister there. The Prime Ministers of Belgium and Denmark will meet with you at the same time,” he said.