She spread her hands. “But like I said, I’m out of the loop, and rightly so. It doesn’t exactly come across as career enhancing for me, either.” She frowned, glanced at her cell, as if the fact it hadn’t rung in the last couple of minutes puzzled her.
Dan got up. “I don’t see how it can hurt you.”
“Mud has a way of spattering.” A closed-mouth bend of the lips that this time wasn’t really a smile.
“Thanks for the briefing. I appreciate your support, Commodore.”
She bent to fish in a black sample case. “That’s my job. Here’re the reports I told you about. Go someplace quiet and read them. Call NCIS about the gate incident. We’ll sit down again when we find out who’s going and who’s staying. Discuss specifics.”
Her cell chimed again. He left her frowning into the distance as she listened.
He found an empty meeting room and read through the files. The Insurv report first, the ship’s last board of inspection and survey. It was like a marine surveyor’s appraisal, or the inspection you ask a mechanic for when you’re thinking of buying a used car. Every mechanical and electronic system, its status and shortcomings and how well the records reflected that, which told you whether the crew were gundecking their maintenance. He read the engineering plant section with particular care, noting the control system grounding problem Roald had alluded to.
The next document was the Command Climate Survey. This was a new report sailors completed anonymously via the Internet. It rated their perceptions of how fairly they were treated, any instances of discrimination, whether the command played favorites, and so forth. There’d been a lot of strife over it, the hardshells complaining that giving the crew power to rate their commander was inverting the chain of command. But as he read it over, flipping back and forth to the unit sitreps on psychological problems, DUIs, and administrative separations, an unsettling picture emerged.
Something had been deeply wrong aboard. And of course, whatever the problem, the skipper was ultimately responsible. As Roald had said, heads had to roll, and Imerson’s would be the first.
But this would be only one of a rash of recent DFCs, detachments “for cause.” What was happening to the fleet? His unease grew as he recalled a Navy Times piece that had said cuts in crews and training funding had left some Aegis units in a low state of readiness. Was Savo Island one? If so, he might be getting issued a real can of worms. Especially if the people he lost included the strike team, the very officers and sailors he’d need most in combat. He was glad now he’d talked to Donnie Wenck and Rit Carpenter before he’d left TAG. Wenck could be a real help. Carpenter, probably, too, although the older man had baggage Dan wasn’t comfortable with. He’d talked to Monty Henrickson, but the civilian analyst had been less than enthusiastic about a months-long deployment.
He went to the Subway for a six-inch turkey, light on the mayo, then back to the second deck of Admin Two. He was rereading the Insurv report when a civilian in slacks and sweater looked in. “Captain Lenson?” Italian, by her accent. “You are Lenson? Admiral Ogawa will see you now.”
Commander, Sixth Fleet, wore rimless spectacles and had buzzcut hair the color of weathered asphalt and a receding chin that did not seem to diminish his command presence. His name was Japanese, but he didn’t look markedly Asian. Another officer — the deputy chief of staff, Dan guessed from his rank — nodded as he entered. Ogawa pointed to a chair. “Grab a seat, Captain. We haven’t met, but I’ve heard about you. From Steve Leache, Vince Contardi, among others. Seems like you really leave an impression — either one way or the other.”
“Um — thank you, sir.”
“How’s Blair doing? She was in the South Tower, wasn’t she?”
“That’s right, sir. She was burned. And broke a hip. But she’s recovering.”
“We met in Ukraine, the negotiations for Black Sea porting rights. Impressive woman. Well, I’ll make this quick.” Ogawa tapped a blue-bound document. “I’ve reviewed the report of the investigating board. I’m relieving Captain Imerson this afternoon. Have you inspected the ship?”
“I haven’t been aboard. I did a waterline inspection as she lies.”
The admiral skated another file toward him. “Damage report. Preliminary, but it’ll give you an idea what you have to work with. I’m convening mast in half an hour, as soon as my jaggies can set it up. I’ll listen to the defendants, but unless they can change my mind, the following will go: commanding officer, command master chief, two E-8s, two E-7s, and an O-3—your combat systems, unfortunately.
“You, Captain, will take command. I expect you to bring the ship back up to full proficiency as soon as possible. This will be a wartime deployment on a national strategic mission, executing a presidential directive. We’ve committed Truman and Roosevelt battle groups in the Med. Abraham Lincoln, Constellation, and Kitty Hawk strike groups in the Gulf. Bunker Hill and Cowpens will launch from the Red Sea. You’ll be our goalie, in case Saddam decides to hit Israel. He threatened that during the Gulf War—”
“Yes sir, I know. Actually I—”
“Oh, yes, I heard about that. Captain Roald has volunteered people from her staff to help you out.”
Dan cleared his throat as the deputy thumbed away at a tablet, trying to wrap his head around the geopolitics and at the same time figure out what he needed to ask for. What had Nick Niles himself said, back when they’d handed him a cruise missile program that was about to crater? I’ve been handed a sick program. What I ask for, I’m going to get. Let’s take advantage of that. “Sir, I’d like to pluck some folks from TAG I’ve worked with before. And maybe a civilian contractor, to help us over the hump.”
Ogawa’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t favor contractor support in a war zone.”
“I didn’t mean a corporation, sir. Individual augmentees. A sonarman, retired Navy, and a PhD I’ve worked with before. And an E-6, who’s real sharp on digital systems—”
“Talk to Carl here. We might be able to, if we don’t have to advertise it. Out of my back-pocket fund. Carl?”
“We might could.” The deputy made a note.
“Your TAG guys, they’re what? Officer, enlisted?”
“One enlisted, one retired enlisted, one civilian.”
Ogawa fluttered a hand. “Sure that’s all you want? You’ll be at the tip of the spear. Carl, get their names and cut the orders. Call Mickey if you have to.”
Dan liked how this guy operated. At fleet commander level, things he’d always considered tough to arrange apparently became minor details, to be flicked aside for a staffer to sweat over. He cleared his throat. “Can I get an augment to my OPTAR? If there are material problems—”
“Cut him an extra half million,” Ogawa said, and Carl made another note. “Anything else? I know you don’t know yet what you’ll need. But when you do, shoot me a message.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“This won’t be easy. From the looks of the report, there are some real problems sitting out on that mudbank. And maybe today’s housecleaning won’t be the last. But Nick said Dan Lenson could turn it around. I hope this works out better for you than Horn did. I’m depending on his judgment here. And on you.”
Great, Dan thought. USS Thomas Horn still lay alongside a fenced-off pier at the Norfolk Naval Shipyard, with WARNING; DO NOT APPROACH; RADIOACTIVE HAZARD signs hanging over bow and stern as she half-lifed toward being cool enough to scrap. But aloud he said only, getting up as both Ogawa and the chief of staff rose, “I’ll do my best, sir.”