Woods settled into the chair in the back of the ready room just as he had hundreds of times before. Wink sat next to him, and the other four officers in the brief were scattered in the other chairs. At the prescribed time, the television came on for the brief, but instead of one of the Ensign Intelligence Officers, CAG stood behind the podium looking particularly stern. “Instead of the usual intelligence brief before the first event, there have been some developments of a serious nature that I want to discuss with you. Those of you in the ready rooms, call all your officers. I want to speak to as many at once as we can. The television will be going off right now. You have five minutes to round up your squadrons. My brief will begin in exactly five minutes.”
Woods yelled to the front of the ready room, “You hear that?”
“I heard it. I need help,” Easy said as he reached for the phone. “Can you start at the bottom of the list and call from the phone on the ops desk? I’ll start at the top with Rocket One and go down.”
Woods jumped up, threw a concerned look at Wink, and ran to the phone on the desk on the other side of the ready room. “Bottom aye,” he yelled to Easy as he ran.
Within five minutes they had found everyone in the squadron but one. Word spread fast. Most of the officers had been in the wardroom eating breakfast, and those who weren’t had been in their racks. They came in their flight suits to see what CAG thought was so important.
“You ever seen anything like this, Skipper?” Sedge asked casually as all the officers settled into seats.
“Never,” Bark replied, annoyed the CAG hadn’t talked to the Squadron Commanders first. Typical. Senior officers were always yelling about using the chain of command, except when it suited them to go around it.
“You got any hints what this is about, Skipper?” asked Easy.
Bark shook his head. He drank from his coffee cup as the television in the front of the ready room jumped to life.
CAG stood in the same place with the same grim look on his face. He was sour-looking anyway, a forty-five-year-old man with skin that looked as if he had spent his whole life avoiding the sun. He was tall and gaunt, and kept his graying hair closely cropped. “Sorry to interfere with the cyclic ops, but we have some news that I wanted to convey to all of you as soon as possible,” he began.
“As you and everyone else in the world knows, yesterday Israel attacked terrorist bases in southern Lebanon. But this was more than the usual air strike. This time they went in force. They sent antiradiation missiles to take out the air defense network, they sent Wild Weasels to take on the SAMs directly, they sent special forces to attack the communications. They had jamming birds, and the E-2C airborne, and they sent their bombers against the camps and one town. They sent fighters in force. Syria apparently responded in kind, and sent dozens of its own fighters… ”
Woods sneaked a look at Big, who was licking his dry lips and avoiding Woods’s gaze.
“… all leading to an enormous air battle. Israel apparently was very successful in taking out the air defenses, as well as the Syrian fighters. The preliminary reports out of Israel are that over twenty Syrian MiGs were shot down, with no Israeli losses.”
The Jolly Rogers looked at each other amazed, murmuring. “Ooorah,” one said.
“All this is interesting, and I’d love to see the gun camera film, but there are other implications,” the CAG went on.
“If you recall, this ship was in port in Haifa the day before yesterday. We went en masse” — he pronounced it “in-mace,” butchering the word, “to a reception at Ramat David Air Force Base. In all likelihood we were with the very people involved in the raid. They couldn’t very well tell us about it because it had probably been in the plans for weeks. The timing of our visit was just unfortunate. The problem is that someone may try to imply that we helped plan the raid. We must do everything we can to avoid even the appearance of complicity. That is why the first two events of this morning are canceled” — the aircrew moaned as a group — “and the ship is going to steam due west to put more distance between us and the Syrians and the Israelis. We don’t want to be mistaken for someone participating in this melee,” he said, butchering the pronounciation again.
“So, when we do fly, stay west of the carrier, ensure that we aren’t approached by any unauthorized aircraft, by either side — we don’t need another Liberty incident — and we’ll make our way to the western Mediterranean. If you have any questions, please address them up the chain of command. Anything you want to know about the raid will be forthcoming in intelligence reports or news reports, whichever comes first. That is all,” he said, removing the microphone from his shirt. The television went blank.
Bark stood up and turned to look at the squadron. “How ’bout them apples,” he said, grinning. “Hey, Trey, just when you were whining, wishing someone would go beat the hell out of them, the Israelis were planning to do just that,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll bet you’d give your left nut to have been on that go.”
Woods nodded and laughed. “I don’t know about that, Skipper. That’s an awfully high price — I’d let them have Wink’s left nut though,” he said.
Bark continued, “Did you tell the Israelis it was Vialli?”
Woods nodded.
“I’ll bet they were busting a gut to tell you,” Bark said.
“Probably,” Woods replied.
“Well,” Bark said, “nothing really to be done. Can’t wait to hear the after action reports. Stay loose, and don’t fly feet dry over Lebanon. Course it’ll be hundreds of miles away by the time we fly again.” He stopped and looked around. “Any questions?”
Easy raised his hand. “What liberty incident was CAG referring to? Some sailor do something in Tel Aviv?”
Bark shook his head. “Not liberty incident, the USS Liberty incident,” he said, emphasizing the name of the ship. “How many of you have heard of the Liberty?” Three of them raised their hands tentatively, hoping he wouldn’t call on them for an explanation. Bark shook his head disgustedly. “You guys are pathetic. The Liberty was a U.S. comm ship operating off Suez in the eastern Med in 1967 when the ’67 war kicked off. The Israelis attacked it and killed a bunch of Americans. Over thirty. Even though it was clearly in international waters and clearly flying an American flag.”
The officers looked at one another. “Mistake?” one finally asked tentatively.
Bark shrugged. “Broad daylight? U.S. Navy gray ship, with U.S. flag? ID number and name in twelve-foot-high letters? International waters? Attacked by airplanes and torpedo boats all of whom were close enough to hit it with machine guns, and neither Egypt nor Syria has a ship anything like it?” He paused. “You tell me. A lot of people think they did it because they were afraid the U.S. was sending intel to Egypt.”
“That’s incredible,” Big said, feeling somehow betrayed, looking at Woods, who was fighting the chill that had settled over most of the officers in the room.
“There are books on it. Read for yourself. Israel said it was a mistake and they were really sorry.”
“What do you think, Skipper?” Big said, anger inside him.
Bark stared at him. “Would you make a mistake like that? Dropping iron bombs on the wrong ship? If you weren’t sure, would you drop? And they had boats out there machine gunning it. Visual range.”
Big shook his head.
“Me neither. I think the official U.S. policy is to accept the Israeli explanation. Well,” Bark continued, “go about your business. Lieutenant fitness report inputs are due to the department heads by Friday, and in final form to the Ops O, our pinch hitting XO, by the next Friday.” He hesitated as they all thought of the XO and Brillo. Woods tried to keep the image of Brillo’s scalp on the airplane tail from leaping into his mind but was completely unsuccessful. “First class evals are due to you in draft from your division chiefs by the end of the month. I still need Sailor of the Quarter nominations, and we have a surprise health and safety inspection scheduled for tomorrow morning. Any other questions?”