“What are you hoping to get from this? I don’t want to hurt anyone. That’s why I’m going to do this. Because I want to avoid violence.”
Tetsuo kept it vague. “Just information that will be helpful to keep the peace. Things that will help bring forth a peaceful resolution. Ship movements, manifest and cargo information.” Targeting coordinates.
Natesh took a deep breath. “Okay. When will we meet next?”
22
Victoria was enjoying her run on the hangar treadmill. Today was one of those rare days when the sea state was so calm that the ship barely moved at all. Normally the ship’s rolls simulated enormous hills on the treadmill.
The hangar was open, providing her with a nice breeze. The blue sky and the Pacific had a calming effect on her. Victoria had a little longer to go before she got to three miles. Sweat ran down her tee shirt and face.
Since Plug had crashed their other bird, this hangar had become a makeshift gym. Most of the ship’s crew praised the transformation. Apparently, most felt that since the shooting was over, a gym was vastly preferable to a lousy helicopter.
But in the past few days, the intel reports Victoria was reading suggested that hostilities were anything but over.
“Boss!” Caveman shouted from the hangar door.
“What’s up?” She was breathing heavily, trying to appear as if she was in better shape than she really was.
“Captain asked for you. Something’s up.”
She hit pause on the machine, slightly annoyed at the early end to her workout. She dried off the treadmill handlebar and panel with her white hand towel. Then she wiped the sweat off her face and took a swig of water from her plastic bottle. “What do you mean something’s up?”
“I don’t know. The SWOs are running around, though. The XO and captain are with the COMMO. They asked me to get you. We’re headed west now…”
“I saw us turn. You sure they aren’t just running drills?”
Caveman shook his head. “I asked the navigator, but she said she wasn’t allowed to say. But everyone’s got this look on their face like it’s a big deal.”
Victoria frowned. “Thanks.”
She walked through the wardroom and to her quarters. Grabbing the phone, she dialed the captain. “Sir, it’s Airboss. I just finished working out and—”
“Please come up now, Airboss. This is important.”
“Yes, sir.”
She hung up and walked quickly down the passageway, up the ladder, and headed to his stateroom. His door was closed. She knocked and entered.
The master chief, XO, and communications officer were in there.
The captain nodded to her. “Please have a seat, Boss.”
She sat in a small chair that was pressed up against the wall, using her white towel to attempt to dry off her sweaty shirt and face.
“COMMO just gave me this.” The captain held up a sheet of paper. “Flash message. We’re to rendezvous with the Ford CSG and proceed towards Pearl Harbor at best speed.”
Victoria looked at the other men in the room. Their faces were somber. “I take it something has happened?”
“About an hour ago, we bombed North Korea. We’ve already contacted the Ford CSG and chopped back to them. The commodore wants me on board to attend a meeting this afternoon. I’ll need you guys to take me. They’re about one hundred miles away right now.”
“Yes, sir.”
The captain looked around the room. “COMMO, that will be all, thank you. Please contact me immediately if you get anything else. And let me know what you need.”
The junior officer nodded and left the space, closing the door behind him.
The captain said, “Alright, let’s hear it. What are you guys thinking?”
The XO said, “Captain, if North Korea starts shooting, it’s going to be a mess. And I worry how China might respond, considering their recent leadership change.”
Victoria said, “I agree.”
The captain said, “Worst-case scenario, then, we have to consider the possibility that a Pacific war is about to begin.”
No one replied.
He continued, “What I want to know from you all is what do we need to do to get ready?”
The XO said, “We need more personnel. We’re still twelve short from where we were before the missile strike.” His voice lowered a bit, out of respect for the deceased. “And we’re supposed to have about fifty more on board, according to manning requirements.”
Victoria said, “We could use another helicopter to maintain that capability. With one aircraft, we’ll be limited on how often and how much we can fly. And we need to replenish some of our ASW stores. We used a lot of buoys last month, as well as a few torpedoes. We need to resupply.”
The captain nodded. “Master Chief?”
“Captain, we need to continue to train. Some of our crew have just switched into new jobs. They need to improve their expertise in those areas. I recommend GQ at least once more per day. But while we need to keep on the alert, we also need to pace ourselves. If this thing really blows up, the crew is going to be bracing for immediate combat. And we might get it. But the Pacific is a big ocean. It could be weeks or more before we see combat. We need to be ready, but I don’t want us to burn out before we meet the enemy.”
The captain listened intently. “Alright. Let’s start thinking about changes we can make. And make a list of everything we need. XO — you be on point for this. Make sure the supply officer has a request order for everything on your list. I want to see it on the next replenishment at sea. I expect them to schedule us for two of them on our way to Hawaii.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, Boss, you work your magic with the carrier. I need a deck hit today, prior to the admiral’s four o’clock briefing. Please work with whoever schedules that stuff.”
“Yes, sir.”
Commander Boyle was flown to the Ford by one of the carrier’s MH-60 Sierra helicopters. It landed him on the flight deck in the early afternoon, in between the cycle of fixed-wing aircraft launching and recovering.
Commander Boyle was escorted from the helicopter and over the flight deck by one of the white shirts. They helped him into the interior of the carrier, where he knew his way around. He had been a part of the ship’s crew until recently. The death of the Farragut’s former CO had created an urgent hole to fill. Commander Boyle was the answer.
Inside the skin of the ship, he walked through the O-3 level, where most of the officers lived, passing by several offices run by men the same rank as he.
As the captain of his own destroyer, the Farragut, Commander Boyle was the highest-ranking officer on his ship. But the moment he stepped onto the aircraft carrier, he was just one O-5 among dozens. There were also several O-6s — Navy captains — one of whom was his boss, the commodore. The highest-ranking person in the entire carrier strike group was Rear Admiral Arthur Louis Manning IV — by coincidence, father to Commander Boyle’s new airboss. Almost all these officers would be at the meeting he was scheduled to attend.
Boyle walked through the maze of white passageways and blue linoleum flooring, stepping through opened watertight compartment hatches, and around a few poor young seamen who were chipping paint and cleaning. Arriving at his destination, he knocked on the commodore’s door three times.
“Enter,” a voice bellowed from within.
Boyle walked inside to see two Navy captains — the commodore and his deputy — as well as two lieutenants. The lieutenants were sitting on a worn blue fabric sofa. One of them typed on a computer, editing a PowerPoint presentation that appeared on a flat-screen monitor fixed to the wall.