The drive from Washington had been uneventful. Fewer cars were on the road because of changes the President had made. There wasn’t gas rationing, but the gasoline tax had been tripled. New tolls had been placed on roads so that driving was discouraged and the use of public transportation encouraged, even for the wealthy. Now the Rolls would be used only on a rare occasion. He had already made arrangements for it to be placed in a special parking area where it would be watched after.
When everything had been put away, he decided to look around some before turning in. It was already 2100 hours and except for the constant hum of the blowers circulating the air, the ship seemed quiet. Like most ships, the passageways were clean and neat. All piping was labeled and there were stenciled numbers on the bulkheads indicating compartment and frame numbers so that anyone familiar with a ship’s numbering system would know where they were and what the space was.
Going down some ladders he entered the vast hangar deck where the ship’s aircraft could be kept and maintained. Because of the new blackout regulations, the huge hanger doors were closed so the lights inside were on. People could be seen going back and forth doing some task or another. There were no aircraft aboard. They would come on only after the ship got underway, but pallets of supplies seemed to be everywhere. Some of the bustle in the hangar deck was centered around getting those supplies into their proper spaces.
The wardroom was huge. Tables seemed to cover most of the floor except for a small area where several officers were watching television. Each table was topped with a fitted blue plastic cover adding at least some color to the bright white painted space. Metal side tables were attached periodically along the bulkhead near the wardroom galley. Someone had covered them with a fake wood vinyl coating that barely resembled anything natural. It was pretty sterile.
Making his way back to his stateroom, he entered a passageway and heard the distinct sound of a guitar playing. Stopping for a moment, he could hear the slow delicate melody of Vivaldi’s Guitar Concerto in D Major. A smile came to his face. This was not something the average sailor, or officer, would be playing. He had to meet this person.
Stopping at the door where the music was coming from, he knocked. The music stopped and the door opened.
“Rod!” cried the voice of the man standing in the doorway. Rod felt two hands grab his arms as the young man pulled him into a hug. “My God, where did you come from?”
Evan Chambers had been a fellow officer aboard the USS Kings Mountain. The two had become instant friends when they discovered their common passion for guitars and music. Although Evan had been in another department, they had spent many hours playing together in their off hours. To see him here brightened Jeffers’ day.
“You know, there is only one person I know who would be sitting alone playing Vivaldi. I had to see if it was you. I’m on the admiral’s staff. What are you doing aboard?” asked Jeffers.
“I’m a damage control assistant. I had been approved for department head school, but with the war, they decided to send me here,” Chambers said as he ushered Jeffers into his stateroom. The two sat down. It was then that Chambers noticed Jeffers’ rank insignia. “Wait a minute. When did you put these on?”
Jeffers grinned. “Got deep selected. I guess they really are hard up on officers. I just got aboard tonight,” he said, changing the subject.
“Well, I hope you brought your stuff. There are a few of us that get together and play every so often. You’d probably enjoy it,” Chambers said. He paused for a minute, then eyed Jeffers seriously. “You know, there is a rumor going around about some hotshot lieutenant up in the Pentagon that’s got all the admirals running around jumping through hoops. I hear he’s responsible for everything we’re doing these days. That wouldn’t be you, would it?” The fact that Rod Jeffers began turning a bright shade of red told him the whole story. Chambers’ face changed to one of astonishment. “My God it is you. Damn, Rod, I always knew you were smart, but all this?”
“Look, all I did was rough up a plan for Admiral Hammond. He said it was just a training thing, then all of a sudden it became this monster. I had no idea,” Jeffers said.
“Admiral Hammond. The Supreme Allied Commander in Europe?” Chambers sat back in his chair. “Holy shit.”
“He wasn’t the commander then. That came later. It’s been pretty hectic the last few months,” Jeffers said.
“I can imagine. So you’re getting underway with us. That should be interesting. At least we can entertain ourselves like we did on the Kings Mountain,” said Chambers.
“Yes, we can,” Jeffers said. He was interrupted when a call came over the general announcing system.
“Lieutenant Commander Jeffers, 417.”
Jeffers reached for the telephone in the bulkhead and dialed the number.
“Rod, you better pack a bag for a two day trip. You and I are going to Europe tomorrow morning at 0800 to do some briefings. Dress blues the whole time. I’ll need the finalized plan and that PowerPoint you did up. Place everything in a secure bag. Can you get everything ready?” asked Admiral Hustvedt.
“Yes, Admiral. I’ll get it ready. Do I need to arrange transportation?” asked Jeffers.
“No, it’s all set. Just meet me down on the pier at 0730. The plane is just over at the airfield. If you think of anything else we need to take, bring it along,” said Hustvedt.
“No problem, Admiral. I’ll see to it.”
“Good. See you in the morning,” the admiral said as he hung up the phone.
Jeffers turned to his friend and gave a shrug. “Duty calls. Got to go to Europe to give some sort of briefings. I need to get a few things together,” he said as he turned toward the door. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m awfully glad you’re here, Rod. Let’s get together when we can,” Chambers said to his friend.
Jeffers gave Chambers a wide grin. “You can count on it,” he said as he squeezed Chambers’ arm. As he made his way to the flag offices he realized that going to Europe might mean seeing Hammond again. That would make the next couple of hours spent getting things together would be well worth it.
“I need the electricity back on!” demanded Borodin. “It has been two months and nothing appears to be happening. I have people freezing to death and you are giving me excuses!”
“What more can I do, Mister President? Every time I get a plant online, we get hit by one of their smart weapons. If it is not my generating plant, it is the distribution yards. There is not one hydroelectric plant online. The dams are gone, and those can’t be replaced for years. Even our nuclear sites were hit. I dare not try and put those back online for some time. I have gotten some coal plants back online, but the mines are down because we cannot supply power to them,” said Ivan Rosenco, head of Unified Energy Systems, Russia’s dominant energy producer.
“I don’t want to hear of problems, only solutions!” demanded Borodin.
Rosenco knew there was no arguing the point. Borodin was in a rage and not thinking about anything but getting something done. When he and the others had thought the war up, they had not counted on the American weapons to be this effective. He sat back in his ruffled suit and glared at Borodin. “It is obvious that whenever a grid comes up, the lights go on and we get targeted. In order to get around their smart weapons, we are operating what few plants I have without using lighting. No electricity can go to the homes because we won’t have any for industry. So you have a choice, power to keep the people warm or power to run the war. You can’t have both! Right now we are directing power only to essential industries so that war production can continue, but even that is becoming an issue. I just lost one plant even though we were in pitch darkness. So now we are distributing diesel generating units to cities so that we can get some minimal power back on. Our industrial plants have their own generation systems now when the power goes out. There is nothing more that can be done!” he nearly shouted.