“We are heading to Yankee Station.” Green slapped his pointer against the Gulf of Tonkin.
Yankee Station was the notional spot in the Gulf of Tonkin where American aircraft carriers launched and recovered their aircraft. Yankee Station was far enough out to sea to discourage even the most foolhardy of the North Vietnamese ships or fighters from trying to attack.
“When I say ‘we,’ I mean the Kitty Hawk battle group. The Tripoli Amphibious Task Force will head toward Vietnam.” Green moved the pointer away from the map, and while tapping the free end of it on his left palm, he continued, “That’s the simple operational plan, but we all know simple is something applied to what landlubbers do. Nothing is simple about operating a battle group so every element arrives together, steams together, and fights together.”
Green paused with another sip of water, before continuing. “By June 18—two weeks from today — we are going to be providing air support to an operation led by the Marines in the Tripoli Amphibious Task Force to hasten the end of this godforsaken war. We may even drive the communists back across the DMZ and stop the domino-effect commie-bastard leaders in Peking and Moscow want.” He took a deep breath.
“Maybe it means we are going to invade the North?” Kennedy whispered.
MacDonald ignored the comment, keeping his eyes on Green. Kennedy obviously didn’t know the admiral’s reputation.
“No, Commander, it does not mean we are going to invade the North,” Green answered.
MacDonald smiled. Green’s keen sense of hearing was legend in the fleet.
“Yes, sir,” Kennedy answered.
“But then again I have to tell all of you that the administration is under a lot of pressure. Every day in America demonstrators are tearing up our cities, destroying property, and, worst of all, spitting on returning servicemen. The decaying lack of will within America for this war is spreading. You spend four years winning a world war and it takes six to win a regional conflict? You got to ask yourself whose hand is in this pie.”
Green lifted the pointer again and touched the area of the demilitarized zone separating the two Vietnams. “The exact landing area is top secret — as is this briefing, if you get my drift.”
The captain at the door stepped inside and gently pulled the door shut behind him.
“The Tripoli will close the coast under air protection of the Kitty Hawk battle group.” Green pointed toward MacDonald. “We will detach a surface action group, led by Commander MacDonald, to provide naval gunfire support and antisubmarine protection.”
MacDonald’s head lifted slightly. This was a first-heard for him. Not only was Green known for his keen sense of hearing, slight paranoia, and love of the sea, but he was also known for enjoying the thrill of springing surprises on subordinates. And for being on his third wife.
The news of commanding a SAG was a surprise MacDonald appreciated. So the Dale would have another chance in a different venue to prove as effective in it as it had in ASW.
“Congratulations,” Kennedy whispered.
“Commander, you sure talk a lot,” Green said with a tilt of the head. Every head in the room turned toward where the admiral was looking.
MacDonald was surprised to see everyone looking at him. He was going to throttle this Kennedy before the briefing was finished.
“Aye, sir,” Kennedy replied.
The stares shifted slightly, much to MacDonald’s relief.
“Earlier the same talkative officer offered Commander MacDonald…”
Yes, he was going to throttle this Kennedy.
“… the opinion that maybe we were going to invade the North.” Green shook his head. “To the best of my current information, which is in the top secret portion of your Beacon Torch operations message, is that we are not, but we want them to think we are. That means we mention nothing of our destination.”
The door to the conference room opened and two sailors entered pushing a small cart filled with pastries. Another two entered through the rear door with a large unplugged coffee urn.
Green smiled. “Even an admiral has to stop for morning coffee.” He looked at his watch. “Let’s take a ten-minute break and then we’ll continue. Gentlemen, I do not see this being a short briefing, if you get my drift.”
MacDonald glanced at his watch as the noise of moving chairs and standing bodies blocked his hearing and view of the admiral. Another pet peeve of the mercurial flag officer was “clock watchers.” Green’s time was their time, so don’t piss him off by being caught looking at a clock or your watch. He had been known to order all watches tossed into the center of a table if he caught more than two men glancing at their wrists.
“My apologies for being such an asshole earlier,” Kennedy said in a soft voice. “It’s the Irish in me. Can’t keep dumb thoughts to myself.”
MacDonald smiled. “That’s all right,” he said as calmly as possible.
“But you should know, with an Irish name like MacDonald.”
“It’s Scottish,” he said sharply. Lord, don’t put the Coghlan in my SAG. I might sink it instead of hitting the targets ashore.
MacDonald stood. “Excuse me, Commander. I need to call my ship.”
Kennedy stood also. “Guess if we want any sticky buns and hot coffee we should push our way to the front.”
“I think I’ll pass,” MacDonald said, as it seemed Kennedy was not going to move until he did.
Kennedy nodded. “I would like to talk with you after this meeting to get a feel for how you want to do the surface action group…”
“Sorry. It’s much too soon to discuss how we’ll split up the duties, and definitely too early to determine how the operations will be divided.”
“I just thought—”
MacDonald nodded sharply. “You have to understand Admiral Green. He enjoys surprising folks with their assignment; more so when there is an audience to enjoy the surprise with him.”
“I understand. By the way, the name is Ron.”
“Plus, I have to sit down with my operations team and work up a plan. The good thing is the Coghlan and the Dale have the five-inch guns we’ll need to support the troops when they go ashore.”
“Just want to make sure you recognize that the Coghlan is smaller — less trim — than the Dale. Means we have more flexibility to do some innovative things such as dashing up the river for close-in naval gunfire support.”
MacDonald cocked his head to the side. “River?”
“Mekong or one of the other large ones in Vietnam.”
MacDonald smiled. “I think we both need to review the charts once we are sure where the Marines are going to land. But I will remember that, Commander.”
Kennedy nodded and then started weaving his way to the coffee.
Motion caught MacDonald’s eye from the front of the room. It was Admiral Green gesturing for him. A minute later of congratulatory handshakes and pats of the back, MacDonald stood near the admiral.
Green pointed at his mouth as he chewed. “One moment,” he mumbled. A second later he swallowed. “Sorry about that. Carrier food is good and it is always plentiful, but nothing beats an Olongapo cinnamon bun.” The admiral wiped his hands on the paper napkin, wadded it up, and tossed it into the nearby waste can.
“Danny, me boy, that was not bullshit about you and your crew with those two Echo submarines. You did more in two days than the rest of the navy has done against the Soviet submarine threat all year.” Green laughed. “Would not surprise me to see the KGB take the captains of those two boats and shoot them both. Wouldn’t surprise me in the least. At least all our navy does is write you a letter of reprimand. Any submarine captain worth his salt would never get caught on the surface.”