“You’d better see this,” he said, switching the widescreen on. A reporter was standing on the tarmac in the noon sunshine in front of Air Force One. The stairway led to an open door, and the airplane was flanked by Secret Service agents and newsmen.
“… an announcement concerning the war in White China and the deployment of the U.S. backup Rapid Deployment Force. And here she comes now.”
Jaisal Warner walked down the ramp, wearing a dark suit that emphasized her slimness, smiling and waving at reporters. Behind her was Admiral O’Shaughnessy in his service dress blues, his stripes gleaming gold and climbing high up his sleeves. Colleen O’Shaughnessy froze, having moved behind Pacino’s shoulder at his seat at the conference table. Pacino could faintly smell her perfume, and he turned to look up at her. Her features had become soft while she watched her father walk down the steps behind the president.
Warner walked up to a podium, looking determined.
“Good afternoon, Americans,” she began. “Effective immediately, I am appointing Admiral Michael Pacino, U.S. Navy, the supreme commander-in-chief of Pacific U.S. Military Forces. As such. Admiral Pacino will lead the invasion and liberation of White China. All force commanders will, as of this moment, immediately report to him. And, per the special request of Admiral Pacino, also effective immediately, the U.S. military and all branches of the federal government are commencing a total news blackout of the conduct of this conflict against the Red Chinese.” A small uproar broke out among the reporters. Warner held up one hand. “Please, ladies and gentlemen, bear with me. After a detailed study into the loss of the first Rapid Deployment Force, and under the direction of Admiral Pacino, I am ordering the press removed from all U.S. military establishments, starting with the aircraft carriers of the task force of the backup RDF. In addition, any aircraft of any nationality which attempts to approach anywhere within a thousand miles of the task force will be intercepted by the Navy fighter jets of the force and escorted away. In the event any aircraft does not heed the orders of the fighters, that aircraft will be shot down.” Warner paused for effect, greeted with pin-drop silence. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the press, for your cooperation. And for all Americans, I ask for your prayers for the men of the Rapid Deployment Force, and for Admiral Pacino. That is all.”
As Warner walked away, bedlam broke out, shouted questions flying at her from all directions. Paully White clicked the widescreen off. The silence in the room was only momentary, though, for a dozen phones suddenly began ringing in the outer office.
Colleen O’Shaughnessy looked at him in astonishment.
“You’d better hurry. Colleen,” Pacino said, putting his feet on the desk and his hands behind his head. “The supreme commander has spoken.”
“Good to see this hasn’t gone to your head. Admiral,” Colleen said, crinkling her nose at him. Then she swept out the door.
“You knew,” White said in awe. “You knew she’d do that.”
“Of course,” Pacino said. “What the hell else was she going to do? Fire me and Dick O’Shaughnessy? And have the second RDF put on the bottom by the Reds? I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, well, when this is over, you’ll be retired. Your paycheck stops the day they hit the beach.”
“Paully, if we can do this, I’ll be happy to retire. Let’s just worry about coming out of this with a task force that reaches the beach instead of the bottom of the ocean.”
“You ready for Tanaka?”
“Listen, I want to talk to him, but I need to talk to Dick Livingston, then to Bruce Phillips on the Piranha, and we’ve both got to pack. Get out to the SSNX and meet me aboard. And get Tanaka out there—”
“He’s going with us?”
“Yes, so get him some clothes and set him up in a stateroom. Settle Colleen into one of the other staterooms — in fact, give her the executive officer’s stateroom, so she doesn’t have to share the bathroom with anyone but the captain.”
“Sir? Um, who is the captain?”
“Don’t know yet. That’s what Admiral Livingston is here for. Now shove off, and I’ll see you at the SSNX.”
“Maybe you should start calling it by its real name. Devilfish.”
“I don’t know if I can. It’s just a little too weird.”
“Sir,” Joanna interrupted.
“I thought you were taking Colleen down to the pier.”
“She said she didn’t need my help,” Joanna said, glaring at Pacino. “Anyway, sir, SNN has some good news.”
“The only good news that could come right now is no news,” Pacino grumbled.
But when the widescreen came up, there was John Patton, wearing orange search and rescue coveralls. The voiceover said, “… survivor of the sinking of the submarine USS Annapolis. Captain Patton, who didn’t go down with the ship, was plucked from the sea by a helicopter of the Japanese Kaijo Hoancho, or coast guard. After arriving at Yokosuka, Captain Patton and an unidentified second survivor had no comment for our news cameras. Meanwhile, Admiral Pacino, the newly announced supreme commander of the Pacific forces, has made no statement and has been unavailable for comment. Meanwhile, at the Pentagon, inside sources revealed today that—”
Pacino switched it off, feeling an exhilaration he hadn’t since he’d married Eileen. With a stab of guilt he realized that in his moment of happiness, her memory had been swept aside.
“Did you see that. Admiral?” White asked, incredulous.
“Looks like the SSNX has her captain,” Pacino said, unable to suppress his smile. “Joanna, get on the horn to Navforcepac Admin in Yokosuka. Get Patton down here on a supersonic jet — an F-22 maybe, or an F-14, but get him back here fast.”
“You’re putting him in command of the Devilfish? After he lost Annapolis?”
“Damned right I am. He’s probably pretty angry at the Reds by now. Let’s put him in the saddle. He’ll do fine. Now get me Admiral Livingston. We’ve got to get a crew for the SSNX — I mean Devilfish.”
“Yessir,” White said, smiling back.
Suddenly Pacino had a good feeling about the operation.
It wouldn’t be easy, but then, at least if it failed, it would be his fault, not some politicians’ or the news media’s. He smiled at Livingston, ushered him to a seat, and began to speak.
Rear Admiral Gregory Copenflager sat up straight in his seat before the videoconference camera.
“Yes, sir,” he said, receiving an order he would be glad to follow.
“One other thing,” Admiral Pacino said from his Pearl Harbor office, “even before you redeploy into the ASW formation. You may have seen this on the news. I want all reporters rounded up and transported to Pearl Harbor. I want their gear — suitcases, underwear, cameras, tape recorders, computers, all of it — sent on a separate airplane. And before you bring them up on deck, blindfold them. I know it sounds paranoid, but I don’t want them reporting anything except how poorly they were treated. No ship formations, order of battle information, attitude of the troops, nothing. We’ll see to their reception on this end. And don’t worry about them smearing your career. You just blame the whole thing on me. Is that completely clear?”
“Yes, Admiral. We’ll get on it immediately.”
“And, Greg, you should expect to be at the Point Delta Hold Position for some time. I want you to make the best time you can, with your random zigzag pattern, for Point Delta, but don’t expect to go in as soon as you get there. You’re not crossing the line until you hear from me personally, and that word won’t come until I know the East China Sea is clear.”