“Admiral, you’ve got a call with CINCPAC in ten minutes, sir.”
“Any luck with satcom?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. We’ll still be using HF secure.”
“Hope we get ’em this time. Okay. Lead the way, Suggs.”
Admiral Manning followed the lieutenant out the hatch and down the ladder way, nine floors down. They were both huffing and puffing and trying not to show it when they reached the O-3 level. In every section of the ship where the admiral walked, someone called attention on deck. The officers and crew would then snap to attention until he told them to stand at ease.
They reached his stateroom, and he took a seat. His office had a plush blue carpet with the seal of the USS Ford Strike Group on the floor, a large oak desk, and traditional Navy pictures and memorabilia on the wall.
One of the pictures was of President Gerald Ford in his khaki uniform in 1944, aboard the USS Monterey, a light carrier. Admiral Manning had read up on Ford’s military service before he was placed in charge of the carrier. President Ford’s ship had participated in carrier strikes in the Marianas, New Guinea, and the Battle of Philippine Sea, among others.
A knock at the door as it opened, the admiral’s chief of staff entering, followed by a lieutenant from the communications department, here to make sure that there were no issues with the HF transmission.
The admiral said, “We need to get better weather information, COS. We’re blind out here without our satellites.”
“Yes, sir, I agree.”
He turned to his aide, who sat at the admiral’s coffee table, taking notes. “Suggs, you see that picture over there?”
Lieutenant Suggs looked up. “The one of President Ford, sir?”
“Yes. His light carrier was knocked out of commission in 1944. Do you know what happened to it?”
“Yes, sir. A typhoon hit it. The USS Monterey was one of several ships that were damaged in the typhoon that hit Admiral Halsey’s Third Fleet in 1944. Three destroyers were lost, and over eight hundred men died at sea. A fire erupted on the USS Monterey, Ford’s ship. They declared it unfit for sea duty after that.”
“Goddammit, Suggs. You’re a lowly lieutenant. When a flag officer tries to teach you a lesson, sound like you know less than he does, okay? Remind me never to get an Oxford-educated loop again…”
The junior officer smiled. Suggs was a Rhodes Scholar and had studied at Oxford for two years after graduating from the Naval Academy.
“Sorry, sir. I’ll try to sound less informed.” The communications lieutenant shared a smile with Suggs.
The COS ignored the light-hearted humor, buried in his own notes. “Admiral, PACFLEET has announced the ships that will be joining us.”
“Have they? How many has the good admiral decided to lend me?”
The COS brought down his reading glasses. “Seven.”
“Seven?”
“Yes, sir. Four destroyers, two LCSs and a cruiser. Plus we’ll have multiple SSNs underneath us.”
The admiral sat back in his chair. “And they’re still deploying others towards the WestPac?”
“Yes, sir. They’re going to join up with the two other strike groups that are already on station.”
Admiral Manning put his thumb and forefinger to his lip, looking off into space. “They must really be worried.”
The radio squelched and the lieutenant from the comms department immediately turned up the volume. They could hear the voice of one of the Pacific Fleet duty officers initiating communication. The conversation lasted a little over ten minutes. Admiral Manning did most of the listening, while his four-star boss gave him his orders.
When it was over, Admiral Manning dismissed the lieutenants so that he could converse with his chief of staff. He also called in the CAG, the Ford CO, and the commodore, who each entered a few minutes later.
“Gentlemen, have a seat. We need to talk.”
Plug took his tray though the salad bar line. He had already placed a plate of meat lasagna on the tray, with two garlic breadsticks and a glass of bug juice. The salad was good quality. Ripe cherry tomatoes and crisp baby carrots. Fresh vegetables almost every day on the carrier. He couldn’t complain about that. It sure as hell beat the week-old brownish lettuce that seemed to always be served on board the smaller ships. Plus, he didn’t have to worry about the food rolling off the table since the carrier barely rolled.
“Plug, you got a seat yet?”
He looked over to see Kevin Suggs sitting alone at one of the four-seater tables, next to a TV playing an Armed Forces Network replay of the Super Bowl. Because who didn’t love watching the Cowboys lose again? America’s team, his ass.
Plug slid his tray onto the table. “How is life as the loop?” Loop was the nickname given to flag officer aides. Admirals and generals were authorized to have an officer designated as their personal assistant. It was an extremely competitive assignment, as it combined great networking opportunities with the experience of witnessing how leaders operated at the highest levels of the military. The term loop referred to the gold embroidered braid that wrapped around the right shoulder of flag aides in certain uniform types.
“It’s alright. Getting busy, though.”
Another lieutenant sat down with them, this one wearing the blue working uniform with an information warfare pin on his chest. “You believe that shit?” he said to Suggs.
Suggs introduced Plug and the lieutenant, who worked in the carrier’s communications department.
The lieutenant asked, “So, Plug, you room with Suggs now?”
“Yup.”
He asked Plug, “How’d you get stuck with him?”
“Well, I needed a room, and the Desron stateroom was filled. So I guess they figured since we were both aviators without a squadron, why not stick us together? Even though he is an inferior pilot, having no idea how to hover and all.”
“Last I checked, they didn’t make Top Gun about helicopters, did they?”
“One word, my friend. Airwolf.”
Suggs laughed. “Touché.”
Plug waved off the mock-insults. “So what’s wrong? Where were you guys coming from just now?”
Suggs’s face grew serious. “We were in with the admiral while he was getting orders from PACFLEET. Some crazy stuff is going down, man. It appears that the Chinese have dispatched a strike group headed a lot farther east than normal. Lot of speculation on where they might be headed.”
“What are you talking about? How many ships?”
“About six of them, including a carrier.”
Plug shook his head. “No, hold up. I was just getting briefed on this before watch. You got it wrong. There are six Chinese merchant ships crossing the South Pacific. That’s what the SAG is going to intercept. Farragut is only a few days from where they think they’ll start catching them on FLIR with helicopter flights.”
Suggs waved his finger. “No, my friend. Two separate groups of Chinese vessels now, both headed east. You have the correct information on the merchants. But there’s another.” His head cocked at an angle to emphasize his point. “And these ones are warships.”
Plug frowned. “How the hell did they get six warships headed this way without us knowing about it?”
“We did notice it. That’s why we’re discussing it now.”
“What do we think they are up to?”
Suggs frowned. “Two schools of thought. One, they might be headed towards Panama to resupply or reinforce their wounded ships there.”
“And the second theory?”
“Some of the experts think that they might be heading in range of Pearl Harbor.”