MacDonald shook his head. “No. It's probably not enough.”
“You could be right.” He chuckled. “I heard one of our destroyers lost track of an Echo II submarine yesterday. I forget which one. I wonder if the admiral is pissed over them losing it?”
MacDonald's lips tightened. How could the admiral be angry with the
Dale
? He caught Smith turning slightly in his chair to look at Kennedy. Finally he replied, “I doubt the admiral is upset.”
The Dale
had
done things no other destroyer had done with the Soviets. And, as Captain Smith pointed out, there were no airborne ASW assets out there helping him.
“I mean, if you have contact, it has to be something monumental to cause you to lose them.”
“I suppose you have to have been there to appreciate it.”
Kennedy nodded. “The
Coghlan
has the best damn ASW team in the fleet.” He jabbed his thumb into his chest. “My crew won the battle excellence award for ASW before we left San Diego.”
“Gentlemen, the admiral,” a lieutenant commander positioned near the front door announced.
MacDonald recognized him as Wayne Powers, the admiral's executive aide.
Everyone stood to attention. The sound of chairs scraping on the tile floor and the rustle of pant legs rubbing against each other replaced the low ebb of conversation that had filled the room.
“At ease,” Admiral Green announced as he entered the room.
No one moved, waiting for him to sit.
“I said at ease, you bunch of seadogs. I'm going to be standing, so sit down so everyone can see what a real sailor looks like.”
Light laughter filled the room, along with the noise of sliding chairs. An unfamiliar captain stood near the lieutenant commander at the door. He must have arrived with Admiral Green. As MacDonald watched, the captain, who remained standing in the open doorway, began to fill a pipe with tobacco. Around the table, most of the captains lit up cigarettes.
Green held a pointer in his slim hands as his eyes roamed the room. When he spotted MacDonald, he stopped. “Gentlemen, I want to introduce you to Commander MacDonald for those who don't know him. Stand up, Danny.”
His face was still glowing red from Kennedy's stinging remark.
“Danny, are you blushing? Now, don't be modest. Gentlemen, Commander MacDonald and the crew of the
Dale
have spent the last forty-eight hours chasing two Soviet Echo submarines that had been trailing the
Kitty Hawk
battle group. One, if not both, of those submarines was caught flat-footed by VQ-1's reconnaissance aircraft as it was surfaced simulating the launch of cruise missiles against us.”
The captain at the door nearly dropped his pipe.
Green continued. “The intelligence gained from disrupting the Soviets when they are doing these exercises gives us insight into what we can expect to see when the bubble goes up and we have to bomb those commie bastards back into the Stone Age.”
Green paused and took a sip of water from the glass on the lectern. “Commander MacDonald and his crew arrived in the vicinity of the submarine and covertly chased the son of a bitch, eventually catching him on the surface with a member of his wolf pack. Then they chased one of the two submarines for nearly another whole day before losing him.”
He set the glass back on the lectern.
“Let me tell you. If we had wanted to sink those two submarines, we could have done it and it would have been done because of the professionalism of the crew of the
Dale
. Well done, Commander,” Green finished and clapped his hands.
Applause came from around the room. Captain Smith turned and shook MacDonald's hand again, his eyes on Kennedy. “As I told you, the admiral is very pleased with the
Dale.
”
When Smith turned around, the commander sitting on MacDonald's right shook his hand also, offering congratulatory comments.
When MacDonald turned around, Kennedy reached out and shook his hand and whispered, “Can a young commander eat crow now, or would you prefer it served hot later?”
“Okay, Danny, sit down. You've had your moment of glory so now you have to return to the navy leadership mantra of âWhat have you done today for the fleet?' ”
Several laughed as MacDonald sat down.
Kennedy leaned over and whispered, “Did I ever tell you about my ability to stick my foot in my mouth? My apologies, Skipper.”
MacDonald nodded.
Apologies? You can go to hell, my fellow skipper who has no idea what a live ASW operation is really like.
Admiral Green cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I asked you here this morning to discuss Beacon Torch. I know you are aware of some aspects of it, but every one of you, your ship, and your crew are going to be living it, breathing it, and eating it for the next three months. What happens after those three months will be up to the enemy.”
Green nodded at the lieutenant commander, who quickly stepped to the front and pulled down the map behind the admiral, a topographical map of the Vietnams.
“We are heading to Yankee Station.” Green slapped his pointer against the Gulf of Tonkin.
Yankee Station was the notional spot in the Gulf of Tonkin where American aircraft carriers launched and recovered their aircraft. Yankee Station was far enough out to sea to discourage even the most foolhardy of the North Vietnamese ships or fighters from trying to attack.
“When I say âwe,' I mean the
Kitty Hawk
battle group. The
Tripoli
Amphibious Task Force will head toward Vietnam.” Green moved the pointer away from the map, and while tapping the free end of it on his left palm, he continued, “That's the simple operational plan, but we all know simple is something applied to what landlubbers do. Nothing is simple about operating a battle group so every element arrives together, steams together, and fights together.”
Green paused with another sip of water, before continuing. “By June 18âtwo weeks from todayâwe are going to be providing air support to an operation led by the Marines in the
Tripoli
Amphibious Task Force to hasten the end of this godforsaken war. We may even drive the communists back across the DMZ and stop the domino-effect commie-bastard leaders in Peking and Moscow want.” He took a deep breath.
“Maybe it means we are going to invade the North?” Kennedy whispered.
MacDonald ignored the comment, keeping his eyes on Green. Kennedy obviously didn't know the admiral's reputation.
“No, Commander, it does not mean we are going to invade the North,” Green answered.
MacDonald smiled. Green's keen sense of hearing was legend in the fleet.
“Yes, sir,” Kennedy answered.
“But then again I have to tell all of you that the administration is under a lot of pressure. Every day in America demonstrators are tearing up our cities, destroying property, and, worst of all, spitting on returning servicemen. The decaying lack of will within America for this war is spreading. You spend four years winning a world war and it takes six to win a regional conflict? You got to ask yourself whose hand is in this pie.”
Green lifted the pointer again and touched the area of the demilitarized zone separating the two Vietnams. “The exact landing area is top secretâas is this briefing, if you get my drift.”
The captain at the door stepped inside and gently pulled the door shut behind him.
“The
Tripoli
will close the coast under air protection of the
Kitty Hawk
battle group.” Green pointed toward MacDonald. “We will detach a surface action group, led by Commander MacDonald, to provide naval gunfire support and antisubmarine protection.”
MacDonald's head lifted slightly. This was a first-heard for him. Not only was Green known for his keen sense of hearing, slight paranoia, and love of the sea, but he was also known for enjoying the thrill of springing surprises on subordinates. And for being on his third wife.
The news of commanding a SAG was a surprise MacDonald appreciated. So the
Dale
would have another chance in a different venue to prove as effective in it as it had in ASW.
“Congratulations,” Kennedy whispered.
“Commander, you sure talk a lot,” Green said with a tilt of the head. Every head in the room turned toward where the admiral was looking.
MacDonald was surprised to see everyone looking at him. He was going to throttle this Kennedy before the briefing was finished.
“Aye, sir,” Kennedy replied.
The stares shifted slightly, much to MacDonald's relief.
“Earlier the same talkative officer offered Commander MacDonald . . .”
Yes, he was going to throttle this Kennedy.
“. . . the opinion that maybe we were going to invade the North.” Green shook his head. “To the best of my current information, which is in the top secret portion of your Beacon Torch operations message, is that we are not, but we want them to think we are. That means we mention nothing of our destination.”
The door to the conference room opened and two sailors entered pushing a small cart filled with pastries. Another two entered through the rear door with a large unplugged coffee urn.
Green smiled. “Even an admiral has to stop for morning coffee.” He looked at his watch. “Let's take a ten-minute break and then we'll continue. Gentlemen, I do not see this being a short briefing, if you get my drift.”
MacDonald glanced at his watch as the noise of moving chairs and standing bodies blocked his hearing and view of the admiral. Another pet peeve of the mercurial flag officer was “clock watchers.” Green's time was their time, so don't piss him off by being caught looking at a clock or your watch. He had been known to order all watches tossed into the center of a table if he caught more than two men glancing at their wrists.
“My apologies for being such an asshole earlier,” Kennedy said in a soft voice. “It's the Irish in me. Can't keep dumb thoughts to myself.”
MacDonald smiled. “That's all right,” he said as calmly as possible.
“But you should know, with an Irish name like MacDonald.”
“It's Scottish,” he said sharply.
Lord, don't put the
Coghlan
in my SAG. I might sink it instead of hitting the targets ashore.
MacDonald stood. “Excuse me, Commander. I need to call my ship.”
Kennedy stood also. “Guess if we want any sticky buns and hot coffee we should push our way to the front.”
“I think I'll pass,” MacDonald said, as it seemed Kennedy was not going to move until he did.
Kennedy nodded. “I would like to talk with you after this meeting to get a feel for how you want to do the surface action group . . .”
“Sorry. It's much too soon to discuss how we'll split up the duties, and definitely too early to determine how the operations will be divided.”
“I just thoughtâ”
MacDonald nodded sharply. “You have to understand Admiral Green. He enjoys surprising folks with their assignment; more so when there is an audience to enjoy the surprise with him.”
“I understand. By the way, the name is Ron.”
“Plus, I have to sit down with my operations team and work up a plan. The good thing is the
Coghlan
and the
Dale
have the five-inch guns we'll need to support the troops when they go ashore.”
“Just want to make sure you recognize that the
Coghlan
is smallerâless trimâthan the
Dale
. Means we have more flexibility to do some innovative things such as dashing up the river for close-in naval gunfire support.”
MacDonald cocked his head to the side. “River?”
“Mekong or one of the other large ones in Vietnam.”
MacDonald smiled. “I think we both need to review the charts once we are sure where the Marines are going to land. But I will remember that, Commander.”
Kennedy nodded and then started weaving his way to the coffee.
Motion caught MacDonald's eye from the front of the room. It was Admiral Green gesturing for him. A minute later of congratulatory handshakes and pats of the back, MacDonald stood near the admiral.
Green pointed at his mouth as he chewed. “One moment,” he mumbled. A second later he swallowed. “Sorry about that. Carrier food is good and it is always plentiful, but nothing beats an Olongapo cinnamon bun.” The admiral wiped his hands on the paper napkin, wadded it up, and tossed it into the nearby waste can.
“Danny, me boy, that was not bullshit about you and your crew with those two Echo submarines. You did more in two days than the rest of the navy has done against the Soviet submarine threat all year.” Green laughed. “Would not surprise me to see the KGB take the captains of those two boats and shoot them both. Wouldn't surprise me in the least. At least all our navy does is write you a letter of reprimand. Any submarine captain worth his salt would never get caught on the surface.”
Captain Smith walked up.
Admiral Green turned. “Joe, have you met Danny MacDonald?”
They shook hands again. “Yes, we have, Admiral.”
“Danny, Captain Smith was recently selected for admiral.
He's going to fleet up in a month to be vice commander Cruiser-Destroyer Group One.”
“Congratulations, sir,” MacDonald said.
Smith waved it off. “And don't pay attention to what Kennedy said. He's a lot more like you than his comments showed. Just a little younger.”
“Yeah,” Green said. “Deep selected for lieutenant commander and now commander. He's about two years ahead of his year group.” Year groups identified the officers by their year of commissioning.