He had to time this just right….
"Maneuvering, Bridge! All back full."
"Maneuvering, all back full, aye aye, sir!"
The fresh surge of power rumbled through the deck plating at his feet. Ohio had been barely making way before. Going all back brought her nearly to a dead stop, while putting the rudder over helped swing the boat's stern gently toward the pier.
"Handsomely there!" Boatswain's Chief Griswold yelled from the forward deck, as a monkey's fist came sailing across from the pier — a thick, heavy knot of two-inch hawser connected to a light line, which in turn was connected to the forward mooring line. "Now haul!"
The line handling party hauled in on the line, dragging the heavier cable across and above the water. They secured the eye to the bowline cleat, which had been exposed within its recessed chamber on the forward deck.
"Maneuvering, Bridge," Stewart called. "All stop."
"Maneuvering, all stop, aye aye!"
Another line came across the stern, and the aft line handlers grabbed it and made the cable fast. Sailors ashore were taking up the strain, gently easing the behemoth in snug against the pier. Another detail stood ready with the brow — a gangplank extended from pier to quarterdeck, which by submariner tradition was just aft of the sail.
"Let's get below and welcome our guest," Stewart said.
Any time a flag officer paid a call on a mere ship captain, he reflected, it almost certainly meant trouble. As required by protocol and ancient tradition, Stewart met the admiral on the quarterdeck as he came aboard. There'd been no time — or advance warning — to prepare a formal reception, with sideboys and dress uniforms, but Chief Griswold let loose a skirling, wavering blast from his boson's pipe and gave the formal announcement: "Central Command, Fifth Fleet, arriving!"
Rear Admiral Chester R. Brady gave the customary salute to the ensign — raised moments before on the fan-tail — then turned to face Stewart. "Permission to come aboard, Captain."
"Granted, Admiral," Stewart said, saluting. "Welcome aboard."
"Captain Stewart? We need to talk."
"I figured as much, sir. If you'll follow me?"
Though he'd been announced as Central Command, Fifth Fleet, Brady was in fact the Deputy Commander, U.S. Naval Forces, Central Command, which made him the number-two man in the hierarchy of naval forces in the Middle East. As the senior officer in the Fifth Fleet present at Pearl, however, he rated the reception as the
Fifth Fleet's CO.
The question was what the man wanted. Fifth Fleet was currently deployed out of Dhahran, in the Gulf, naval linchpin of U.S. Central Command. As such, Ohio would be transferring to Fifth Fleet operational command… and taking orders from Admiral Brady's boss.
Ohio's wardroom would serve as a briefing room. There wasn't space in Stewart's office to accommodate the entourage Brady had brought on board: a captain and three commanders. Several more officers remained on the pier, where Marine sentries had set up a perimeter cordon in depth.
What Stewart was most concerned about was why an admiral would be sent out here to talk with him.
This definitely was not business as usual.
"What's the word, Cassie?" Sommersby asked. "You look like you just got torpedoed clean out of the water."
"I dunno," Caswell said, slipping into his seat. "I think I did."
"She wouldn't talk to you?"
Caswell sighed, slumping forward and folding his arms on the table. Moone was at his side with a mug of coffee.
"Drink this, man," Moone said. "Perk ya right up."
"Keep him up all night, is what you mean," Jak said. "S'all right," Caswell told them. "I got the ten-to-two watch."
"So what happened?" Sommersby demanded. "Did they patch you through?"
Sommersby and the COB had arranged for Caswell to get priority on the ship-to-shore telephone line, as soon as it was patched in. Caswell had been increasingly frantic with worry ever since they'd left Bremerton and he was forced to miss his own wedding. He'd transmitted a familygram to Nina while en route, a brief message saying only that he was sorry and that he loved her, but Ohio had been out of telephone contact for the entire week. Tonight, when they hooked up at the pier in Oahu, was the first chance he'd had to call her.
"Yeah, they patched me through," Caswell said. "But it was her mother who answered."
"Shit."
"Yeah. She didn't much like me before, I think. Now she hates me. The fact that her mom was at Nina's place, though, tells me Nina was there, too. Her mom said she didn't want to talk to me."
"Well, you don't know the old bag was telling the truth, do you?" Jak said. "I mean, your mother-in-law-elect might have just picked up the phone and told you that, without asking Nina. Right?"
"Maybe. Maybe. Damn it, I don't know." He looked at Sommersby. "Chief? What's the straight dope, anyway? They're saying this cruise could be two months long. Is there any chance we'll be home sooner than that?"
"That, my friend," Sommersby said, "depends on what the brass is telling the Old Man right now." He glanced up at the overhead, indicating the conference still going on in the officers' wardroom one deck up. "Your first duty is to this boat, her mission, and your shipmates. You know that, right?"
"Yeah. I know. Damn it, it doesn't make it easy. It sucks…. "
"I know, son. But it's like our SEAL friends always like to say, 'The only easy day was yesterday.' "
"Your orders, Captain," Brady said, as one of the officers opened a briefcase and handed him a string-tied manila envelope.
"Thank you, sir. Isn't this… a little unusual?"
"What… having a rear admiral as messenger boy?"
"I guess so, sir."
"CENTCOM wanted me to talk with you in person, before you enter the AO. They want to be sure you understand the, ah, sensitivity of this operation."
"I see."
"These orders," Brady said, tapping the envelope, "put you under the command of Fifth Fleet. Admiral Costigan."
"Yes, sir… "
"However, the situation is, shall we say… politically deadly."
Stewart folded his arms and remained silent. He was picking up some unpleasant undercurrents here. Politics…
"I gather you've heard about JOINTFOR and Millennium Challenge."
Stewart nodded. "Yes, sir. Unofficially."
"That was six years ago. Ought to be old news. But the issue resurfaced recently. The Washington Post dredged up the story and ran with it. An article highly critical of the President and his foreign policy.
"Admiral Costigan duly trotted out the reports on Millennium Challenge, shined them up to put Fifth Fleet in the best possible light, and essentially told the press to shove it. Fifth Fleet is ready for any attempt by any aggressor to control the Straits of Hormuz."
"I… see." Stewart kept his voice carefully neutral. An enlisted rating appeared, carrying a tray with mugs of coffee, sugar, and creamer. He took one of the mugs— emblazoned with Ohio's logo — and waited for the admiral to continue.