The admiral frowned. “You don’t think PACCOM is going to want to use their Marines?”
“Sir, I’m sure they will. But other than spreading out my ships and…”
“What about the Australians?”
“Sir?”
“Have we reached out to the Royal Australian Air Force? Let’s see if we can get some of their maritime surveillance aircraft to help out down there. Work with the IWC.”
The information warfare commander said, “Sir, they already feed into our collection box — everything has just been disrupted over the past twenty-four hours. Actually, we may have an additional maritime reconnaissance tool soon. The Air Force has a few B-52s out of Guam that they’re outfitting with Dragon’s Eye sensors. They’ll be able to patrol large areas of ocean in the South Pacific around Guam.”
“That’s excellent news. Gentlemen, we need to look at the possibility that China is trying to do what Japan couldn’t during World War II. North Korea may attack the South. China has threatened to retaliate against the United States if we attack North Korea. Now that we’ve bombed North Korea’s missile site, we’ll find out if China was bluffing. We may very well be at war this time next week. If that happens, China will be storming across the Pacific, trying to grab as much land as they can, as fast as possible. Then they’ll arm it, and fortify that land so we can’t take it back.
“All those battles you studied in World War II history — all those names you know — Midway, Wake Island, Tarawa, Iwo Jima — remember them. They are once again strategic land masses that we’ll need to consider. Those islands are able to support runways that line up with the prevailing wind direction. There are only a handful. Once these islands are occupied by the Chinese military, it will be much harder for us to maintain control of the seas in the vicinity.
“Soon we’ll send some of our ships off to be part of a surface action group to the south. Our carrier strike group will maintain tactical control of that SAG while they look for possible Chinese convoys that are trying to make it across the Pacific. Our strike group will head to Pearl Harbor to take on more people, parts, and aircraft. We’ll be joined by more ships — preferably as many as possible.” He looked at the commodore when he said that.
“We are working with Pacific Fleet on what our orders will be after we reach Hawaii. But for now, I need everyone in this room to start planning for war.”
Determined nods from around the room.
“Whether it’s China, North Korea, or both, our strike group may soon be in harm’s way. Prepare. Train your people. Make sure they’re in the right state of mind. Make sure they’re keeping healthy. No more communications home. Operational security is paramount. That’s all, gentlemen. Now get to work.”
Everyone jumped to attention as the admiral stood and walked out of the room.
Commander Boyle caught the commodore’s eye after the admiral left the conference room. Dozens of officers remained. Most were staff officers, huddled around their bosses, talking game plans and schedules.
The commodore smiled at Commander Boyle. “Well, you lucked out, Captain. Now you don’t have to deal with me living on your ship.”
Boyle gave a slight grin. “Did you want to talk, sir? My helicopter leaves in about forty minutes to take me back to Farragut.”
“Yes, come back to my stateroom for a few minutes.”
Boyle followed the commodore as he walked. The busy passageways of an aircraft carrier reminded Boyle of driving on a highway. It was crowded, with many bottlenecks. The people behind you always seemed to be in a rush to go faster, and the ones in front were always going too slow. But overall, the traffic moved fast. Every twenty feet or so, they stepped up and through the six-foot-tall open hatch of a watertight compartment. Boyle knew that if general quarters were called, all these watertight doors would be closed and sealed shut, increasing the chances that damage to the ship would be survivable.
Dark corridors branched off to either side of the main passageway. Doors lined the corridors. Some of the doors had name plates on them — living quarters for the officers. Some of the doors were office spaces. Heads — or bathrooms — were spaced throughout these living quarters. Boyle saw a man in a towel coming out of one of them, his flip-flops squeaking on the floor. Probably on the night watch, or a pilot with a night flight. Shipboard operations were twenty-four hours a day.
At last they reached the commodore’s door. Unlike the other stateroom doors, which were plain gray plastic, his was a deep blue color, with a decorative wooden plaque on the outside. It read Commander, Destroyer Squadron 22. Underneath that, it read Sea Combat Commander. The man had many titles.
“Would you like a coffee? Coke?” The commodore opened up a mini fridge, holding up a can.
“Sure, I’ll take a Coke, sir. Thank you.”
They cracked open their soda cans and sat down, Boyle on the couch, and the commodore on a blue cushioned seat across from him. A small coffee table sat in the center. The room was cramped, but even these sparse quarters were considered luxurious living on board the carrier. The commodore was one of the highest-ranking members of the now-nine-thousand-person-strong carrier strike group. His reward was a couch and a Coke-stocked mini fridge, crammed together in a space the size of Boyle’s wife’s walk-in closet.
“Our conversation was going to be about how I planned to run the surface action group.” He smiled. “But now that I won’t be going…”
A knock at the door.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Captain Hoblet stuck his head in. “Scott… just wanted to chat for a second if you’ve got a chance. They’re sending a helicopter over for me soon.”
“Come in, come in.” The commodore waved.
“Sir, I can leave.”
“Jared, this is James Boyle, the new captain of the Farragut.”
“Ah. Pleasure to meet you, James. It appears that we’ll be working together.” An amused look on the man’s face. They shook hands.
“I’m sorry about the admiral’s decision, Scott. If you like, I can talk to him about—”
“No. He’s right, when I think about it from the perspective of air defense. Which I wasn’t. It makes more sense to leave another AEGIS ship here with Ford and have you lead the SAG.”
Hoblet nodded. “I tend to agree. I believe that Michael Monsoor’s air defense capabilities will exceed all expectations. But it’s not worth the risk. Not if we have so many proven DDGs.”
“Would you like to sit?”
“No, I just wanted to swing by to make sure you were good with all of this.”
“We’ll make it work. Hell, PACFLEET’s staffers are rewriting everything we submit to them anyway.”
Hoblet chuckled. “No doubt.” He stuck out his hand, looking the commodore in the eye as they shook. “Godspeed.” Then he looked at Boyle and said, “Commander. I’ll be in touch.” Captain Hoblet walked out, the door swinging shut behind him.
The commodore let out a long sigh. “How many pilots do they have on your ship?”
Boyle furrowed his brow. “Sir?” An odd question.
“Commander, I’m short one aviator on my staff. My air ops officer had a baby just before we put out to sea, and my team is struggling to speak aviator. I need a helicopter pilot who can help my staff work with the air wing. Pretty soon, we may be running round-the-clock surveillance and ASW flights from the carrier and all the ships in company. So, I need an air operations officer. I mentioned it to the CAG. The helicopter squadrons on board the carrier are short pilots, and he doesn’t really want to steal from them if he can help it.”