Another late arrival rushed through the door, worked his way along the narrow lane between the knees of those against the wall and the backs of those at the table. He was a thin man — seemed nervous to MacDonald, but if you were late to one of Green’s meetings, you had reason to be nervous — and the man’s red hair could use a trim.
The daylight twinkled off the silver oak leaves on his khaki collar. Awful young to be a commander, MacDonald thought. The collar devices looked almost new. Different year group — not a competitor for the captain selection board next fall.
MacDonald would be looked at early for selection. Everyone received an early look, and sometimes the magic wand of the kingdom would reach down and touch the head of a perceived hot runner. Seldom happened, and he had great doubts, with only this tour as a commanding officer, of it happening to him. But his record was good. He knew it. His bosses definitely knew it. And many of his peers whom he considered competitors had either screwed up or shipped out. So maybe he had a chance.
The redheaded commander tripped over the feet of one of the men, who reached out and steadied him before he could fall on anyone.
“Thanks.”
A bit clumsy, MacDonald thought. He watched the officer as the man continued his progress — accompanied with “excuse me’s”—toward one of the few empty chairs in the room; the one beside him.
“Anyone sitting here?” the commander asked.
MacDonald shook his head. “Nope. It’s free.”
The man dropped his notebook on the chair and smiled, revealing a bright set of straight teeth — he must have spent a lot of time in a dental chair.
Before sitting down, the man stretched his hand out to MacDonald. “Hi, I’m Ron Kennedy, skipper of the Coghlan.”
A fellow destroyer skipper. Might not be a bad sort after all. MacDonald smiled and introduced himself as they shook hands. “Skipper of the Dale.”
Kennedy sat down. “Looks as if we’ve got two of the destroyers with the group.”
MacDonald pointed out the two other destroyer skippers with the group.
“Four of us.” Kennedy’s eyes widened as he leaned too close to MacDonald. “That’s a lot of destroyers for a battle group, don’t you think?”
MacDonald shook his head. “No. It’s probably not enough.”
“You could be right.” He chuckled. “I heard one of our destroyers lost track of an Echo II submarine yesterday. I forget which one. I wonder if the admiral is pissed over them losing it?”
MacDonald’s lips tightened. How could the admiral be angry with the Dale? He caught Smith turning slightly in his chair to look at Kennedy. Finally he replied, “I doubt the admiral is upset.”
The Dale had done things no other destroyer had done with the Soviets. And, as Captain Smith pointed out, there were no airborne ASW assets out there helping him.
“I mean, if you have contact, it has to be something monumental to cause you to lose them.”
“I suppose you have to have been there to appreciate it.”
Kennedy nodded. “The Coghlan has the best damn ASW team in the fleet.” He jabbed his thumb into his chest. “My crew won the battle excellence award for ASW before we left San Diego.”
“Gentlemen, the admiral,” a lieutenant commander positioned near the front door announced.
MacDonald recognized him as Wayne Powers, the admiral’s executive aide.
Everyone stood to attention. The sound of chairs scraping on the tile floor and the rustle of pant legs rubbing against each other replaced the low ebb of conversation that had filled the room.
“At ease,” Admiral Green announced as he entered the room.
No one moved, waiting for him to sit.
“I said at ease, you bunch of seadogs. I’m going to be standing, so sit down so everyone can see what a real sailor looks like.”
Light laughter filled the room, along with the noise of sliding chairs. An unfamiliar captain stood near the lieutenant commander at the door. He must have arrived with Admiral Green. As MacDonald watched, the captain, who remained standing in the open doorway, began to fill a pipe with tobacco. Around the table, most of the captains lit up cigarettes.
Green held a pointer in his slim hands as his eyes roamed the room. When he spotted MacDonald, he stopped. “Gentlemen, I want to introduce you to Commander MacDonald for those who don’t know him. Stand up, Danny.”
His face was still glowing red from Kennedy’s stinging remark.
“Danny, are you blushing? Now, don’t be modest. Gentlemen, Commander MacDonald and the crew of the Dale have spent the last forty-eight hours chasing two Soviet Echo submarines that had been trailing the Kitty Hawk battle group. One, if not both, of those submarines was caught flat-footed by VQ-1’s reconnaissance aircraft as it was surfaced simulating the launch of cruise missiles against us.”
The captain at the door nearly dropped his pipe.
Green continued. “The intelligence gained from disrupting the Soviets when they are doing these exercises gives us insight into what we can expect to see when the bubble goes up and we have to bomb those commie bastards back into the Stone Age.”
Green paused and took a sip of water from the glass on the lectern. “Commander MacDonald and his crew arrived in the vicinity of the submarine and covertly chased the son of a bitch, eventually catching him on the surface with a member of his wolf pack. Then they chased one of the two submarines for nearly another whole day before losing him.”
He set the glass back on the lectern.
“Let me tell you. If we had wanted to sink those two submarines, we could have done it and it would have been done because of the professionalism of the crew of the Dale. Well done, Commander,” Green finished and clapped his hands.
Applause came from around the room. Captain Smith turned and shook MacDonald’s hand again, his eyes on Kennedy. “As I told you, the admiral is very pleased with the Dale.”
When Smith turned around, the commander sitting on MacDonald’s right shook his hand also, offering congratulatory comments.
When MacDonald turned around, Kennedy reached out and shook his hand and whispered, “Can a young commander eat crow now, or would you prefer it served hot later?”
“Okay, Danny, sit down. You’ve had your moment of glory so now you have to return to the navy leadership mantra of ‘What have you done today for the fleet?’ ”
Several laughed as MacDonald sat down.
Kennedy leaned over and whispered, “Did I ever tell you about my ability to stick my foot in my mouth? My apologies, Skipper.”
MacDonald nodded. Apologies? You can go to hell, my fellow skipper who has no idea what a live ASW operation is really like.
Admiral Green cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I asked you here this morning to discuss Beacon Torch. I know you are aware of some aspects of it, but every one of you, your ship, and your crew are going to be living it, breathing it, and eating it for the next three months. What happens after those three months will be up to the enemy.”
Green nodded at the lieutenant commander, who quickly stepped to the front and pulled down the map behind the admiral, a topographical map of the Vietnams.