“Clark was stranded?” Beau whispered.
Commander Naismith handed Duncan a thick brown envelope.
“There are some additional factors to consider, Captain James,” said Commander Mulligan, stepping into the faint light over the table. “The two Algerian Kilo submarines are still unaccounted for. The primary threat to the Albany during this mission will be those two submarines.
That is, if they have, like most of the Algerian Navy, gone over to the insurgents. When the Albany surfaces to disembark you and your teams is when she’ll be most vulnerable. The commanding officer of the USS Albany has already expressed reservations on taking you in close, and is less than enthusiastic about waiting in shallow water for you.
You’ll need to disembark fast, complete the rescue, and get back on board as soon as possible.”
“Thanks, Intell. As for the Albany, submariners are as congenial and sociable as we SEALs are. If he has to stay, he will. He’ll be like the rest of us. He’ll bitch and moan, but he and his crew will be there. I’d trust my life to any submariner.”
“Well, good, because we’re going to have to,” Beau mumbled.
“I agree, Duncan. Now about the CON OP
“Commodore,” Duncan interrupted. “What we need is more information. I need to know how many we are going to bring out, the shoreline terrain, what is the population in the area, the weather, and what kind of opposition we can expect.”
“My orders to the Albany are to be careful and avoid contact with Algerian forces. We don’t want another Gearing,” Commodore Ellison emphasized. He looked at the intelligence officer. “Commander Mulligan, what are the chances of the Albany encountering those two Algerian Kilos, the Al Solomon and the Al Nasser?”
Commander Mulligan shrugged his shoulders. “Without locating data, we are unable to give any reliable estimates, sir.”
Commander Naismith added, “If the Albany detects them before they detect her, then the Algerians won’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.
Knowing your enemy’s location is sufficient to turn the tide of battle.”
“Most times, Commander,” Duncan corrected. “Sometimes it just allows you to avoid them.”
Commander Mulligan stepped in. “Captain James, the Algerians are conducting helicopter patrols during the daytime along the coast. If you should be there when the sun comes up, keep an eye on the sky.”
The commodore grunted. “There is a lot we still don’t know, Duncan.
Unfortunately, we never know enough. Commander Mulligan will brief your team in an hour in Intel!. By then, I expect you to have a rough CON OP to my staff for my review.”
“Commodore, I won’t be doing a written CON OP said Duncan, his voice low but firm. He looked directly at Ellison and paused, for he wanted no misunderstanding. It wasn’t that Duncan objected to a Concept of Operations; it was just that with only six hours to prepare, he didn’t have the time to sit down and do the bullshit, tedious administrative paperwork Ellison wanted. “A rescue mission is just that, a rescue; and a rescue mission in hostile territory is a time-sensitive operation with a lot of danger. What we need is more than six hours to properly plan, but we don’t have it. When we leave the submarine, there is a good chance that events ashore will determine our actions. About all we can do is coordinate with the Albany for pickup and with your communications people for com ms After that … Well, let’s hope we find Alneuf waiting on the beach.”
Surprised when Commodore Ellison failed to object, Dun can continued.
“What you need to know, Commodore, is when to pick us up. What I need to know is what I’ve already asked.”
“But, Duncan,” the Commodore argued. “Without a CON OP I won’t know the sequence of events or be able to plan effectively if something happens to you and we have to come in.”
“Yes, sir. I understand the battle staff concerns. When we have all the information together, I’ll pass it to your staff. Have them write the CON OP Commodore, and pass me a copy, if you would. We have too much to do in the next six hours to burden ourselves with a lot of administrative crap,” Duncan replied, and then added politely. “Sir.”
Commodore Ellison’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and instead turned to Commander Naismith. “Pete, have one of your junior officers start a CON OP for Captain James. Duncan’s right. They have too much to do in too short of a time to write a CON OP
“Yes, sir,” replied the Operations Officer.
“Commodore,” Duncan said. “I appreciate your concerns about us while we’re in-country, but we both know you don’t have the forces to rescue us if something does go wrong. You’re going to be hard-pressed to evacuate our citizens at the embassy. Especially if it’s opposed. That being said, Commodore, if you should have to come in to get us, I recommend you come in shooting because we’ll either be fighting or dead.”
Beau cocked his head toward Duncan. “Fighting is my preference,” he said. He pursed his lips together. Usually Duncan agreed with orders and then went on and did it his way anyway. Beau put his hand over his mouth, as if to stifle a yawn, but mainly to stop himself from saying anything else.
Duncan turned toward the door. “Come on, Pettigrew. We’ve got lots to do before Albany shows up. Commodore, we’ll be in the Spec War spaces if you need us; otherwise we’ll be at the gangway when the Albany arrives.”
“Lieutenant Commander,” Beau said once outside the compartment.
“Lieutenant Commander what?”
“Lieutenant Commander Pettigrew. You called me Petti grew. I don’t like being called by my last name without a Lieutenant Commander or Commander in front of it. Especially in front of others.”
“How about a Lieutenant in front of it?”
“How about remembering that I’m always behind you?”
They both laughed as they hurried down the passageway, ducking through the hatches and turning sideways when they encountered others, acting more like two high school boys who had pulled a fast one on their teacher or gotten a glimpse of the head cheerleader’s panties than two deadly Navy SEALs.
“Damn, Duncan, kind of proud of you,” Beau said as they slowed their gait near the SEAL spaces. “Surprised, but proud. Now, if you’ll listen to me, I’ll teach you some nice words to sprinkle your speech with the next time you want to tell a commodore to ‘go to hell’ or ‘go fuck yourself.” You’ll find it’ll save you a lot of time as you ruin your career. Personally, I prefer to ruin mind gradually, without a heartrending race to a cliff, only to tumble off it without a line or parachute.”
“Shut up, Beau,” Duncan said good-naturedly, rubbing the stubble he called hair on the top of his head. “You tell me how a Navy captain, who has been ordered to retire in less than sixty days, is going to ruin his career? Or a Navy captain, who has …” He stopped.
“There is always a chance that they may change their mind, Duncan.”
“When pigs fly. Besides, look at this!” He opened his pocket and handed the “personal for” message to Beau. “You tell me why I should be grateful to Admiral Hodges for sending us on this vacation.”
“Hey! Slow up! You’re walking too fast.”
Beau read the message as he tried to keep up with Duncan. Duncan slid down the ladder that ended at the door to the SEAL spaces. Beau tripped on the bottom step.
“Took everything?” Beau asked, slapping the paper. “She took everything in the house while you’re over here in the middle of a war?
What type of bitch is she?”