"What happened to General Van Riper?" Stewart asked.
A shrug. "He went back into retirement."
"And you? Where were you in all of this?"
"I was a colonel then, serving on General Van Riper's staff. During the hearings afterward, I came across… well, a little shrill, I'm afraid. I was the one who first said things were rigged to guarantee a Force Blue win. Some of that was attributed to the general. Eventually, I was… encouraged to take an early retirement. They sweetened the deal by letting me retire as a general." Vintner looked away, his fist clenched on the arm of his chair. "Maybe I shouldn't have taken it. But there wasn't any other option open to me. If I'd refused, I would have spent my last six years in as a colonel, probably in charge of the penguin census in Antarctica."
"I see."
"At the time, I thought that was just the way things were. That I should be a team player, shut up, and let them do it their way."
"Well, the invasion of Iraq went off without a hitch. The Fifth Fleet wasn't sunk."
"Iraq wasn't being led by Saddam Van Riper, either. But you'll notice that the enemy's tactics over there have pretty much followed those employed by Van Riper. The insurgency in Iraq… that was mostly carried out by suicide bombers and IEDs" — Improvised Explosive Devices—"basically, home-made bombs and other low-tech tactics. Never try matching the U.S. forces strength for strength. Always try for the unexpected."
"Are you saying they're following Van Riper's lead?"
"No." He sighed. "Fortunately for our side, al-Qaeda and most of the military leaders in Iran right now are not anywhere close to being in Van Riper's league. Most of them are idiots… or at least completely uneducated in the science of modern warfare.
"But you don't have to be a freaking military genius to figure out that it's a bad idea to take on a U.S. carrier battle group with a small surface navy… but that ambushing that CBG with cruise missiles and suicide boats might give you a good chance of scoring at least a kill or two. And, God help me, I have to wonder how long public support for a war would last — no, worse, how long congressional support for the war would last — if we lost an LPD with a thousand Marines on board in there, or maybe the Kitty Hawk or Abraham Lincoln."
"You're saying we might win the war militarily, but lose it politically," Stewart said. "Just like in Vietnam."
"Bingo." Vintner shifted in his chair, folding his hands. "In modern war-fighting parlance, it's called 'asymmetric advantage,' meaning the little guy finds a way to yank the rug out from under the big guy.
"Mostly, though, I'm saying that exercises like Millennium Challenge perform a serious disservice to our young men and women in uniform. That kind of self-serving ass-covering bullshit puts their lives in danger. I don't care how many generals' and admirals' careers are saved — it's not worth the life of a single one of our people."
"I agree. But why… "
"Why am I coming to you with this?" Vintner grinned. "Actually, I went to Tom Garrett first. He's in Littoral Warfare, and in a position to put the word where it'll do the most good. And, like I said earlier, he's a hard-charger.
"And he suggested I come talk to you because you are going to be the sharp end of the spear pretty soon. I don't know what the Ohio is going to be doing out there. I'm not in the service anymore, and that's not my responsibility. But I do know that the people who ought to know better, the people in charge, didn't learn a damned thing from Millennium Challenge. For them, it's all cosmetic. A game to play, to win, and then they get to congratulate themselves on how great everything was, and maybe pass around some medals and citations.
"Captain Stewart, I am convinced that the Fifth Fleet is in serious danger over there. If Iran can find a way to launch a crippling strike on the fleet, or on the base at Qatar, it would make them the overnight heroes of the whole damned Muslim world. They know damned well they wouldn't win a stand-up fight. But they might think they could hurt us enough that we would apologize and leave. At the very least, they would have a shot at rallying the Islamic militants around their banner.
"And if that ever happens, the United States will find herself in a very precarious position."
"I'm not sure the Ohio could do much about it if it did."
"Maybe not. But Captain Garrett felt it was important that you know what's going on at the top of the brass pyramid. We have good people at every level of our military hierarchy, but we also have sycophants, blame-passers, and assholes, too, just like in any big organization. If enough people at high command levels have the same head-in-the-sand attitude as the JOINTFOR people running Millennium Challenge, it could seriously hamper us, even cripple us, if we found ourselves up against an adversary worthy of the name in the Gulf. The more people at an operational level who know the score, the better. At least, that's my feeling. And Tom Garrett's, too, evidently."
"And mine."
Vintner stood up. "Well, I've said my piece. Like I say, I don't want to take up any more of your time."
Stewart stood as well, and they shook hands. "I appreciate your coming in to talk to me. Did you have a long drive?"
"Nah. I live in Oregon. A few hours' drive. No biggie."
"Well, thank you, just the same. Believe me, I'll keep in mind what you said."
"Thank you, sir. That's all I ask."
The retired Marine came to rigid attention for a moment, just as though he were centering on the hatch in front of a superior officer. Then he turned, opened the door, and was gone. Stewart heard the Marine outside the office door snap to attention, heard Vintner's easy "As you were, son."
And then he was gone.
Was it Josephus, the First-century Jewish historian who'd written of the Roman army, who said that the Romans' battles were bloody exercises, while their exercises were bloodless wars? His point had been that Rome had conquered the known world because they had a superb army, one that trained constantly and in the most realistic ways possible.
The U.S. Navy submarine service had a similar philosophy. Drills and training exercises were as realistic as possible, in order to give the men a taste of what the real thing was like, whether it was a torpedo attack, an emergency surfacing, or a fire or flooding "casualty," as an accident on board a sub was known.
But realistic training exercises weren't just to help the crew prepare for the real thing. They were designed to help the officers overseeing the evolution learn where the crew was weak, what needed attention or more work, where a problem might arise if the real thing arose, even to pinpoint individual sailors who might be having a problem in some area, where they might be given some extra help or incentive.
If problems were noted, then ignored because they made a department look bad, that was a deadly threat to the entire boat. Within the brotherhood of the submariner service, there was no room for that kind of deliberate blindness.
And that, Stewart reflected, could as easily be applied to the whole world of international relations and the U. S. Navy's role both as peacekeepers and as guardians of the sea lanes.
A U.S. Navy submariner was used to being the sharp point of the weapon — out in front where the action was hottest. It always helped to know, though, that your own people were there to support you, to provide the backup and support you needed to survive.
He did not like what Vintner's indictment implied.
Commander Jack Creighton stepped up to the periscope dais.
He surveyed his domain. Pittsburgh's control room was surprisingly spacious, though crowded at the moment with officers and men at their duty stations. Popular myth insisted that submarines were claustrophobic sewer pipes crowded to the point of madness. In fact, Creighton felt a certain fondness for the close quarters. It was reassuring to know that over a hundred shipmates shared this sealed space, which had been designed with astonishing precision and efficiency.