Show of Force (20 page)

In his stateroom on
Nimitz,
Admiral David Charles stretched out on his bunk, turning off the wall light. He rubbed his eyes, and yawned, hoping he might be able to sleep for a while. But his mind was still too active. He reflected on what they had seen from the new weapons that day. Many—no, most—of them had never been used in anger before, not against ships or people. It had been awesome, really a new era that they weren't prepared for. Men on a ship never saw who or what fired a weapon at them, nor were they aware of the vehicle of their destruction. Submarines now could stand off so far that they were never known to be in the area. Aircraft and most ships launched missiles well out of visual sight. And there was no noise of action or warning of impending doom, just an explosion. The power of the new warheads was so great that there was no longer as much opportunity for a damaged ship to fight again. Most were simply destroyed. The personnel casualties were the most shocking. There were few survivors. The magnitude of the warheads saw to that. Often, ships were hit so hard and went down so quickly that there was no opportunity to search for survivors. Modern sea battle was. impersonal, even more so than they had ever anticipated. He hoped the future would bring ships requiring as few people as possible.

I wonder what great events we have accomplished today, he thought. With the wrecks we will sink, Alex and I have lost eight ships and seven more are damaged. Both of us will probably sink the wrecks. He sighed audibly. And we've lost a lot of men. He hoped that Dailey would find some way to reestablish communications, since he did not like the thought of placing more of his ships in battle without the understanding of Washington. He would maintain his present position until he knew what Alex was doing. It would give him time to reprovision.

DEAREST MARIA,

There's a flight taking off
Nimitz
shortly for land, I'm told, and I wanted to make sure this letter was on it. I've been very, very busy the last few weeks, and my letter writing has suffered a great deal. As a matter of fact, before I forget it, please tell the kids that the next plane that leaves after this one will have a letter for each of them.

You know me well enough by now to know that I'm not a worrier. But I've decided that when I get back home we're going to have a good, long vacation and I'm going to think about retiring. I never thought I'd be CNO anyway, and now I don't think I'd want it if Sam said it could be mine for the asking someday. What I guess I really want is two vacations, one for you and me so we can get to know each other again after all this sea duty, and then one with the kids so they know they really have a father. I'm sure you will be able to convey to them better than I will how much I miss them, too.

I'm not much of a writer, and never will be, especially letters. You've spent a lifetime, it seems, wondering when I would write the next one, which I would do only if I couldn't phone halfway round the world. Well, I'm no better now than ever. I have been reading back through my log, the one I told you I've been keeping since I was an ensign. There's some good things in it (the writing is awful), and I think part of what I've written over the years has affected what I'm doing now, enough so that I may want to retire and apply it outside the military. I want so much to tell you everything I have inside me right now, but I'd have trouble writing it, and I do have to go.

You know how you and the children are in my thoughts all of the time and how much you all have my love, David

MY DEAREST ALEX,

Your father didn't want me to write you today, but I wanted to more than ever after talking with him. Maybe in my old age I'm getting more able to stand up to him. Please don't take me wrong. I love him almost like my own father, and you know that even fifteen years ago I didn't think I'd ever be able to say that.

But the reason I'm writing is more important. I wanted to tell you how much I do love you. I know you'll say I never have to do that, just like you always say whenever you come home from sea. But I know something is desperately wrong wherever you are, and sometimes it's just nice to know someone far away is thinking about you and needs you. I told your father that, after he wouldn't tell me where you were (he said he really didn't know, but he can't fool me anymore) and he said you learned how to be alone a long time ago. Perhaps learning how to be alone is the first step in learning how to love someone. I was going to tell him that, but then I decided he wouldn't understand. You know what I mean.

I planned to have your son write you also, but he went out in the fields to hunt this afternoon. Yes, that's right. He's home from his naval school. I don't know why, but your father (he brought him) said he was doing very well but studying too hard, so he thought a few days at the dacha would do him well. After Pietr comes in from hunting, I'll try to have him write you. Maybe he'll even bring back some birds for dinner, if the snow's not too deep for him to move around out there.

And now for the exciting news! I received a letter from Maria Charles yesterday. Apparently David is also at sea, and she has decided that we should all plan to get together next summer. In London! Isn't that wonderful? She said that all of us could afford a trip like that since you're both admirals now, and she said you both have such fine contacts (your father and his Mr. Carter) that we shouldn't have any trouble getting permission if we ask soon enough. Maria said maybe it would improve the spirit of detente, since it's been dragging a bit lately, if everybody knew we were going to get together. Do you think if I ask your father now he might see if he could arrange to let us leave the country and go to London for a week without having to take one of those horrible tours with the Intourist people? And she and I both agree it would be good for the two of you to get away for awhile. She said David's responsibilities are wearing him down, and I couldn't
,
agree more as far as you're concerned. I know I shouldn't worry about you, like your father says, but each time you go to sea I worry a little bit more.

If you're not going to be home to celebrate the New Year, then I've asked your father if he can arrange to let me go back to my village in Finland for a good, old-fashioned Christmas. I miss that holiday so much, and he claims he understands. He said he was very busy the last few days and didn't know how much longer he'd be tied up, but he said he'd try to make arrangements as soon as he had time, because he thought you might be away.

There's so much more I want to say in this letter, but I don't know how many other people might read it before you do. But I don't care how many people know how much I love you and miss you, as long as you know it. I hope this letter might find you safe and on your way home.

With my deepest love, Tasha

N
ot knowing quite what to say, the staff communications officer simply listened to the tirade.

“I don't give a shit if you have to tie a long string between two tin cans. We had to talk to Admiral Collier a couple of hours ago!” Sam Carter rarely gave visible signs of losing his temper, but this time there was no doubt about it.

“Sam, we've got to give these boys time. They can't just send up satellites on demand.”

“Sorry, Mr. Secretary,” Carter nodded his head, grimacing. “It's just that we're losing ships and men, and our strategy's shot to hell if Collier can't lay it on the line to the Kremlin.” He looked at the Secretary of State for some support. “We can't afford to lose this one or we might as well pack our tents.”

“First of all, Sam, enough of the formalities. It looks like we're going to spend some time together on this. I'd sure appreciate it if you'd start calling me Tom.” The older man had grown quite fond of the naval officer in front of him in a very short time. Unlike so many of the others, this one didn't mind making his own decisions. He was no politician, probably the reason he'd never be CNO. “That's what my close friends have all used, and I hope you and I will remain friends long after this is over.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Carter automatically after so many years of dealing with superiors.

“Tom,” the Secretary corrected.

“Right.” Carter smiled, still not quite able to use the man's first name. He would next time. He liked Jasperson also. The Secretary of State had been introduced to him a number of times since he had begun working under the Chief of Naval Operations, and he had known for quite some time why those in the know referred to this senior statesman as the “closet president” whenever things got tough. Jasperson was always there when experience was needed and a decision maker was required. He rarely attracted the headlines nor did he like publicity, but he wanted to ensure that his President mouthed the right decisions. Thomas Jasperson looked very much like the paintings of the man many compared him to—Thomas Jefferson. Jasperson was a scholar, a statesman, a framer of treaties, a painter in his own right, and an author. Now he was a military strategist since he had a real one to work with.

Sam Carter had found himself with complete responsibility for the tactics in the Indian Ocean. His boss, the CNO, had decided that his own responsibilities were purely administrative. He felt his place was with the President, another man who was now unwilling to involve himself with a potential war, or the avoidance of that war. And Jasperson had found himself working with Carter. The President, rather than negotiating as planned, was now talking of withdrawal from the carefully planned installation at Islas Piedras. It was the last chance the Americans had to protect themselves as a world power. Now should have been the time that Admiral Collier and the Ambassador to the Kremlin presented themselves to the Russians. They should have instructions from Washington to explain the situation tactfully in an effort to avoid further bloodshed, backed up by a firm President. But it was already too late. The Russians had learned too soon of the missile installation at Islas Piedras. Quickly they determined the reasons for the U.S. strategy. World leadership was basically seesawing between Russia and the United States. The many nations in the immense Indian Ocean sphere, most of whom were either just-emerging countries or in the throes of revolution and counterrevolution, were easily swayed and looking-for leadership. The Cold War romancing by the two giant nations had lost touch with the reality of new countries caught between socialism and capitalism. Economics and protection was the name of the new game. Whichever country offered security would become the suitor. Military protection was paramount.

The end result would be American missile control over Africa and the oil states, and an obvious shift to the United States of support from the Third and Fourth World nations. The Russians destroyed communications between the American Embassy and Washington as quickly as the U.S. had done with the Soviet communications and missile satellites, and the President was unable to carry off the supreme bluff.

Now it was a stalemate. The Americans either had to go through with their plan, or withdraw, shamed before the world. While their leaders attempted to gain the upper hand by enforced silence, two great fleets unavoidably became engaged in a death struggle in the Indian Ocean.

Admiral Carter resumed his instructions to the lieutenant commander in front of him, a communications specialist on the CNO's staff. “All right, son, we won't use tin cans.” Jasperson, now standing behind Carter, smiled in the direction of the other officer. The latter gave no indication that the silver-haired Secretary had won a point with the Admiral. “First, let's consider communications with Moscow. Do we have any satellites of our own, or any owned by private companies that can provide us with secure contact with Admiral Collier?”

“No, sir. Even if we did, it would have to be one that had a direct space/ground line to the embassy. We feel that if more than one relay is used when the scrambler is in operation, there is the possibility, even probability now, that the message would be recorded each time. That greatly increases the odds of starting to compromise our scrambler system if they have the same message recorded twice. It is communications policy, Admiral, and I would need your written orders to do otherwise.” The junior officer stopped for a moment, thinking better of his explanation. “I didn't mean that exactly the way it sounded, sir. Those are just my orders, and I thought you should be apprised of them.”

“No, no problem,” replied Carter. “We're just trying to determine our next move.” He turned to Jasperson. “What does State have in its grab bag . . . Tom?” The use of the first name of this distinguished man didn't come easy.

The Secretary raised his bushy white eyebrows as he often did when thinking, wrinkling his forehead. “Nothing impressive, I must admit. I guess we've always figured there'd be one more satellite at a time like this.” He nodded briefly in the direction of the younger officer and said, “I guess you wouldn't be here now if you didn't have every clearance in the book.” Then back to Carter, “We have a type of hot line to the embassy, similar to the President's hot line to the Kremlin. But it was set up primarily for direct communications between my office and the ambassador's, mostly for lesser affairs of state. I doubt it's very secure and I'm sure it's tapped right now.” He smiled. "It probably rings in the Chairman's office in the Kremlin."

“But if we used, say, a onetime code, at least someone at the embassy would be able to relay to Collier, wouldn't they?”

“Oh, no problem with that, sir,” offered the communications officer. “We just have to be certain we don't use any that were aboard the ships sunk today.”

“It sounds rather like our Civil War systems,” mused the Secretary. “We seem to be going back to conditions of more than a hundred years ago. It's kind of ironic, isn't it, that in an age of satellites and instant relay we might be reduced to reading coded messages over a telephone. But,” he decided grimly, “it's better than nothing at all.”

“I also have no secure method of communicating with Admiral Charles, Mr. Secretary . . . Tom,” Carter faltered. “I have a task force on the other side of the world that's essentially fighting blind now. It's the fastest, best-equipped force the U.S. Navy has ever had. Its sophistication makes it purer and more effective than the Russian force, and its computers are tied directly into the War Games Center at Johns Hopkins. The tactical situation can constantly be fed back to the center, which can then evaluate every strategic possibility and relay possible decisions to Admiral Charles in seconds. And, if he decides to take the computer's advice, all that need be done is to push a couple of buttons. The system controls air, surface, and subsurface units and can unite the proper weapons in any of the three dimensions to stop the enemy . . . without ever seeing them,” he emphasized. “And that system is absolutely useless right now with the loss of the satellites that unite War Games and the flag ship. You're right for the time being, Tom. Maybe David Charles isn't quite back to a Civil War level, but he's making decisions on his own with no backup from the system that was developed for a crisis such as this.”

The Secretary of State, who with his wavy, neat, silvery hair looked every inch a man who should have been in that position of authority, paced across the room a few times, his hands clasped behind his back. He finally stopped in front of the nervous young communications officer. The younger man was feeling the strain of being in the same room with two who were making decisions that would effect global strategy. Jasperson smiled at the officer, and said rather loudly, “I don't give a shit if you have to tie a long string between two tin cans,” and then he laughed heartily.

From a former distinguished senator, a Vice-President, a onetime candidate for President, a former Ambassador to the Court of St. James, and now the Secretary of State, the pronouncement broke the ice. “Now, my friend,” he said to the younger officer, “how would you suggest that Admiral Carter and I get in touch with Admiral Charles?”

“It's not going to be easy, sir. We already had another satellite on the pad for just this problem. My boss had planned for something like this months ago. But before we can send it off, we have to ensure that the Soviet offensive satellites are neutralized, or the same thing's going to happen again. And my Admiral says he sure as hell doesn't have any more satellites in his back pocket.”

“Of course not,” Carter responded. “When will you be sure about the safety of this one?”

“As soon as the people at Hopkins get back to us, Admiral. Their intelligence indicates that our initial laser firings got all of the offensive satellites, but they have to check what may have been launched by the Russians since then. They've got a hell of a lot of them in reserve.” He paused for a moment. “And we can't just push a button and put another satellite up, sir. We have to wait until we have enough information on the position of Admiral Charles's forces, so we have a direct relay.”

“Fine, son. Why don't you find out the status of that satellite, and the onetime code system, and get back to us just as soon as you can. And if the people over at Hopkins hesitate, remind them that some very fine men and some very valuable ships need their help immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” The communications officer saluted quickly, turned to the Secretary of State and half-saluted him, not knowing what might be expected, and left the room.

Jasperson used the phone for a few moments to contact various aides. Finished, he turned to Carter, who was relaxing calmly in an easy chair, seemingly unconcerned. “My people don't seem to know(much about your Admiral Charles, just that he's not only one of our youngest admirals but that he's been promoted very fast for his age. And they say that's all quite surprising for an officer with a letter of reprimand in his official file.” The Secretary sat down also, his eyebrows raised, waiting for a response.

Carter's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Jasperson noticed just a slight edge to his voice. “That letter of reprimand was a necessity as a result of a court of inquiry. David was responsible for saving an inestimable number of lives during that incident in Vietnam. He took command of a badly battered riverboat squadron, after his CO had been wounded, and fought a VC force back to a base camp that had been hidden, for weeks from intelligence. Not only did his men put up one hell of a fight, but they went ashore and found the enemy staging area prepared for a full-scale offensive. Most of that was destroyed when he called in aircraft and personally directed the strike from the ground.”

“That's a very impressive action to merit a reprimand.”

"The staging area was just over the border in, Cambodia, Mr.

Secretary. We were .under political instructions not to cross it. David made a decision based on his duty and the lives of his men."

Jasperson smiled, noting the returning formality, and nodded, “I remember it now. I was in a junior position at the U.N. then. I can remember the hell that raised for us. The President was so damn mad because he finally was forced to come out and admit it was an illegal act. But he told me later how proud he was of whoever that boy was. He just asked us to get him the hell out of there before he marched into Hanoi, but he wished he could have personally decorated him.”

“As it was,” remarked Carter, “he also got a letter of commendation for his initiative. But I would have given him the goddamn Medal of Honor,” he added vehemently.

“You know Admiral Charles pretty well, don't you, Sam?”

“Yes,” sighed the Admiral, “I guess I know him like a son. His first assignment out of the Academy was to my ship. He wasn't a student, no MacArthur or Nimitz or Ernie King. As a matter of fact, they had to kind of push him through. But what a leader! He could use his head, and he handled his men beautifully.” Admiral Carter smiled to himself. “Even as an ensign he had that initiative. And he wasn't scared to stand up for himself. I had a couple of battles with him even then, but he always learned from them, even if it was the hard way sometimes.”

“I didn't mean to cut him down a few minutes ago, Sam, if that's what you thought.”

“No, no. That's okay.” Carter waved his hand in acknowledgment. “He is like a son, and he's a good friend, too. As a matter of fact, Tom, I gave away the bride when he got married after Vietnam. Maria was the widow of a Navy pilot shot down over there, and I remember convincing her the night before the wedding that I'd make sure he stayed out of trouble.”

“And now, he's right back in the middle of it.” The Secretary paused for a moment. “Well, we'll see what we can do to help him from here, Sam. I don't think the President's going to do us any good. One of my aides said he's thinking about going to the U.N. to see if they'll mediate for us.”