“And their amphibious groups?” The President inquired, knowing the Americans had a significant force of amphibious assault ships that could deploy — besides land forces — significant air assets to include strike aircraft and helicopters.
Once more, the Defense Minister answered confidently, “As with their strike carriers, the Americans have been forced to scrap their usual patrol pattern to respond to the Korean threat. The two amphibious ready groups they normally have at sea are now both in Japanese waters.”
The President lit a fresh cigarette, knowing he needed to quit. He’d been able to back off the vodka in recent years on advice from his doctor, but he hadn’t been able to go without the nicotine yet. The plan was working. There’d been some problems getting equipment moved. The Iranians were slower than expected, but they also had more time than the North Koreans. On the other hand, the North Koreans had almost played their part too well. War still appeared imminent on the Peninsula. The Americans were still building up their combat power in and around the Sea of Japan, and all indications were that the Western powers still believed war was looming on the Korean Peninsula.
As he took another drag on his cigarette, he looked down the table to the youngest member of his inner circle. A rising star in the government, his name was Vitaliy Shuvalov. Of all his advisors, the President kept the closest eye on this young man in particular. He ran the SVR, the Foreign Intelligence Service, which was quite a feat considering he was only forty-three. “Director Shuvalov, what can you tell us about their submarine deployments?”
The young man didn’t drink or smoke. As far as the President knew, he was faithful to his wife — who he’d married for political reasons. They had two children. He carried no personal debt. His education was exceptional, and he’d gotten a post graduate degree in England. The young man was ambitious, ruthlessly so, and his ruthlessness was one of the things that endeared him to the President. He could count on his Intelligence Director to act without compunction to protect the current regime.
The sharp eyes settled on the President as he formulated his answer. “As expected, the Americans detected our submarine deployment and have responded with a similar surge focused on finding and shadowing our ballistic missile submarines. As with their carriers, this unexpected deployment to match our surge of activity, has strained their ability to project power. The result is their forces are spread very thin along their normal patrol areas. Most of their Los Angeles and Virginia class submarines are under the polar icecap shadowing our Typhoons or searching for them.”
“And their ballistic missile boats?” the President inquired.
“We have detected no change in their normal patrol pattern,” the youth answered with certainty. “They could, of course, deploy several of these if they needed to, but apparently they are holding these forces in strategic reserve.”
The President was satisfied thus far, but now got to the most critical point, “And their forces in the Persian Gulf?”
Shuvalov kept his eyes fixed on the President. His eyes were strangely unemotional. The President wondered vaguely if the youth was a sociopath. He certainly gave no indication he cared for anyone else, and the President didn’t doubt that the young man would use whatever means necessary to advance. It was a trait the President admired greatly.
“Since their retreat from Iraq, the Americans have maintained mercenaries in the country, but these forces can in no way interfere with our plans. The American Fifth Fleet headquarters is located at Bahrain, right in the middle of the Gulf. But the command has no offensive assets permanently assigned. It is a paper tiger that can do nothing to check our next move.”
The President already knew this, but wanted to be certain there’d been no change. Satisfied, he looked back at his Foreign Minister. “Minister Puchkov, make an overture through the UN. We need to stabilize the Korean front. Let the Americans know we might be able to exert some influence over our DPRK friends and prevent further escalation. I will contact my counterpart in the DPRK and let him know they have done enough.”
“And the aid shipments to the DPRK?” she asked dutifully.
“They have fulfilled their part of the bargain,” he responded thoughtfully, well aware that several trains filled with coal, food, and fuel oil were already loaded and ready to enter North Korea. “We must fulfill ours.”
Chapter Four
“Are you serious?” Terry asked, caught off guard. He’d phrased the invitation in such a way as to make it sound as innocent as possible, telling her there would be several other officers with them, and they would simply be going as friends. But Terry had made multiple attempts to break through Kristen’s hard, uncompromising exterior since they first met, and he’d been shut down each time.
“Sure,” Kristen replied, “why not? COB and the XO have been trying to get me off the boat anyway.”
“Great,” Terry answered quickly to her unexpected willingness to go out with him. “How about thirty minutes after liberty sounds? We could meet on the pier.”
“Can I bring a friend or two?” she asked innocently enough.
“Uh, sure,” he told her. “The more the merrier,” Terry replied numbly, still recovering from not having been turned down.
That evening, precisely thirty minutes after liberty sounded, Terry stepped onto the pier. He was dressed in casual attire, with a button up shirt — open at the collar — slacks, and jacket. There were a few crewmen from the Seawolf already on the pier waiting for some of their buddies while others were heading toward the wharf where a liberty bus would soon arrive to take sailors out in town. Terry ran his hand carefully over his perfectly combed hair, feeling the slight spikes he liked to put in it with a touch of hair gel. He glanced around, not seeing Kristen yet, and slipped a breath mint in his mouth just to be safe.
Two SEALs appeared at the foot of the gangplank. The Dry Deck Shelter had been removed earlier in the day, along with the two TLAM-Ns, but the two survivors who’d gone ashore with Kristen were still on board. Terry glanced around at the crowded harbor, seeing a huge Nimitz class carrier and her escorts tied up not far away. It meant there would be thousands of sailors in town, but Terry had already picked out a place for his date with Kristen.
He checked his wristwatch and looked back at the SEALs as one of them reached down through the open hatch and offered a hand to someone coming up. A moment later Terry watched as Hamilton helped Kristen up on deck. She was followed a moment later by Petty Officer Gibbs.
“Oh, you have got to be shitting me,” Terry whispered and chuckled at his own foolishness as, surrounded by the SEALs, Kristen ascended the gangplank to the pier. Her “friends” were dressed in faded jeans, practical shoes, polo shirts, and jackets against the cold. Kristen was dressed similarly with designer jeans, comfortable shoes, a shirt, and her leather flight jacket. Hamilton had an arm in a sling, plus the two SEALs and Kristen still had deep scratches on their faces caused by… he could only guess.
“You’re so wrong for this,” he told her lightheartedly as she reached the pier and flashed him a playful smile.
“You’ve met my friends, haven’t you?” she asked.
“Good evening, Lieutenant,” Hoover smiled at him and offered Kristen a hand down from the gangplank.