Fly Into Black
by Michael G. Crawford
Chapter Seven
"Message from CINCPAC"
"I'll take it in the wardroom, Mr. Daily"
"Aye Sir."
Tom Aderly, walked through the bulkhead doorway, and smiled back at the Marine posted at the entrance to the CIC.
"Morning, Chuck."
"Good morning, Sir."
"Did your poker game turnout ok?"
"Aye Sir. We missed your money though."
"Yeah, well. My wive wants to buy a damn beemer. It's gonna strap the hell outta me. Never marry a younger woman, Chuck."
"Wouldn't think of it, Sir."
"You'd better not. With two girls and a wife all under 30, my life is turning into TV soap opera."
The young Marine corporal chuckled at the comment as the Admiral turned the corner at the end of the companionway.
Stepping briskly, the Admiral stopped by his stateroom to pick up his reading glasses, his coffee mug, and the sealed envelope in his safe.
Before leaving his room, he smiled at the picture of his family. He really was quite proud of them all. They were so much alive and made his life so different than on board ship. His duty in-port was always a joy, and he thanked his lucky stars for his good fortune. If he could buy a BMW sports car for every one of his woman, the two daughters and his wife, he'd gladly do so. It made him feel young just to be with them.
Returning to the companionway, he walked the few steps to the door to the wardroom.
"Ten Shut"
"At ease, gentlemen" he murmered.
He sat down at the head of the wardroom table, and calmly made eye contact with each of his senior officers, while his yeoman poured steaming coffee into his cup. The cup's vents issued steam, and the wild eyed face moulded into the fired clay cup gave his men an image of fierce anger. He knew that his men whispered amongst themselves that the cup was a cast of his own face when crossed. He made them wait a while longer, as he read the signal from Commander in Chief, Pacific. He visualized Ben Corsairs sitting in his office at Hickam, the huge TAI plant sprouting new babies behind him. He wondered if the General had ever bought the automatic sprinkler system for his little garden backdrop. He could just imagine the advertised "rainstorm" it was supposed to produce.
"TO COMMANDER, CBG WASHINGTON. PROCEED AT ONCE TO ENCLOSED RENDEVOUS POINT, AND AWAIT FURTHER ORDERS."
"That gentleman was our first order on this mission and as you know it arrived two days ago while we were enroute for our new home port at Pearl. Well, here..." and he shook the white HPAX sheet in front of his face, "...here are the further orders."
And now he read from the HPAX sheet,
"TO COMMANDER, CBG WASHINGTON. RENDEVOUS WITH USS SALT LAKE CITY, AND PROCEED TO POSITION FOUND IN SEALED ORDERS. YOUR RULES OF ENGAGEMENT ARE ENCLOSED THEIRIN. CONTACT THIS COMMAND AS DIRECTED. CORSAIRS CINCPAC, VIA DAVIES, COMMANDER 3RD FLEET."
"Here are the sealed orders. We are to patrol the Pacific waters directly in line between Nicaragua and the United States. Intelligence reports that naval activity in the Gulf of Fonseca has escalated to a point which may indicate a major naval effort in the near future. Our job is to insure that any force which leaves Nicaragua does not arrive close enough for battle with any of our allied nations, or the U.S."
"The rules of engagment are as follows. From this point on, we are at condition 2. We will assume any vessel or aircraft which comes into range of this CBG will be hostile. AIRCAP will pursue them fully armed and ready for action. Warnings will be given both via radio and gunfire. Any ingored warnings will result in destruction. There is to be no chance of successful attack on this CBG. Do I make myself clear. Now I don't want us to shoot some poor fool in a Cessna out of the sky, but at the same time, I do not want a MIG to lob a couple of cruise missiles at us either. The SAG will patrol the mouth of the port and insure our Soviet or Cuban friends do not send along underwater help. From time to time, we will launch standby aircraft to support other CBGs in the area, as necessary. We will be under orders of Admiral Hardy, CBG 3, Task Force 1."
Reaching over to the intercom on the wall, he ordered, "CIC, this is the Admiral. Signal group to power up. Signal on Gertrude,
'READY WHEN YOU ARE, ADERLY, CBG WASHINGTON.'"
"Aye Sir. Signal reply sir,
"LEAD THE WAY ADMIRAL, CARLSON, SSN-693"
"Very Good. Signal to group,
'TASK FORCE TO CONDITION 2, FORMATION 3, ALL AHEAD FULL, FOLLOW UP TO 32 KNOTS, COURSE IS 098 DEGREES.'"
"Aye Sir" and the deck officer repeated his orders before carrying them out.
"Okay, gentleman, any questions."
"Yes Sir," This was the Captain of the Washington, Mannie Hill.
"Are we really expecting trouble or are we just rattling the President's sword."
The junior officer's faces showed a little humor as they enjoyed seeing their Captain attempt to put the Admiral on the spot. But Tom wasn't in the mood for play. This entire operation stunk. But he wasn't about to question his superiors. Not now anyway.
"Like to hop on a jet and go ask him, Mannie?"
"Love to, Sir. When do I leave?"
"Any second now. Look, regardless of why we are here, most likely we are in for some shit. When Intelligence gets the Fleet in an uproar like this, they usually have some good information. Let's assume we are going to get shot at. Play it safe, check?"
"But Admiral..."
"Can it, Captain! We can talk it over later. Anyone else have any questions? Fine."
As the Admiral stood to leave, the rest of the staff rose.
"Duty stations everyone" said the Captain. I want 10 minute G.Q.s every two hours during the next two days. That is all."
As the nervous officers left the wardroom, the Captain sat down into his chair again.
"What the hell was that all about Mannie? I'm trying to impress the men with the seriousness of this mission, and you're cutting up" asked the Admiral, a puzzled look on his face.
"Sorry, Sir. But that's what the men were thinking in their heads, and I like to be part of my crew. They all were busting to ask the question, but don't know you well enough to take the chance. In a way they were depending upon me to ask it. Nobody else was sure they could get away with it."
"Well you didn't. You've set a horrible example of how to deal with your superiors. Hundred bucks says I'll get some J.G. questioning my orders in the next few months."
"Maybe, Sir. But it will be an honest man asking the question, not some frightened young shit. Don't misunderstand, Sir. The men still respect the rank. Only now they can see that despite your reputation for chewing everyone's head off when you're angry, they have seen that you are almost a regular guy."
"Almost, huh? Great. Well consider yourself fired" he said with a grin. Then relaxing his disciplinarian facade, "Anyway. I really wanted you to stay after to read these orders in full. The intelligence report is a lot more specific than I let on. Read it and then return it to me, personally, so I can put it back in my safe. I'll be in CIC."
"Aye Sir. You know, I really would love to go to D.C. Got alot of old friends around the Pentagon who are wondering why I took back the Washington."
"Let 'em wonder, my boy. General Chain wants the new Admirals to be action men, not desk jockeys. Unless he croaks over his cigars, he'll be around long enough to see that you get your stars."
"Right, and my mother chews tobacco. Seriously, Sir. I hope you're right. My Dad has always taught me that the Pentagon is the way to those stars and just about every one of his cronies have taken that route. As I told you before, I think I was already on the track."
"Yeah, well maybe you were. But with Chain as Chief of the Joint Chiefs, we're going to see some changes. Quick."
"You'd better be right, Sir."
"It does happen occasionally, Mannie. In any case, if I'm wrong, you'll have only been away from the brick for 2 years. Your buddies on the hill won't have forgotten you."
Mannie reflected over that statement. Senator Sustance on the Armed Services Committee would probably be the Chairman by then, and he would have a lot more to say in the makeup of the Navy. If he was to get back the kind of officers who had been cut out of the Navy, and in fact all of the services, he would need that the power of the Chairman of the Armed Services Committee on his side.
"Well, I'm FIGMO then. 1 year, and 11 months to go."
"Right. Go join your crewman and gossip about the bastard Admiral."
"Yes Sir."
Mannie wiped the smile from his face before leaving the wardroom, it wouldn't do to have his men see that smile. He was supposed to be the cold, disciplinarian now, and lead his men through a grueling 48 hours of combat drills. At least now he could read what had caused all the fuss.
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"But it's not out of production yet!" shouted Blackie. His rage was not aimed at the Senator, but at the ridiculous positions the Air Force continually placed him in. His responsibility at Edwards was to test and approve for IOC testing new aircraft for the military arsenal. In this case, his baby was the new ATF fighter. And soon he would have both the B and C prototypes back on the long dry lakes which served as runways.
"So consider this a special test. After all, if you lose one while going for altitude, we just build another. It's for evaluation, that's why it's here, Blackie. Damnit I don't need to explain this to you. You've seen it before."
The Senator was refering to Blackie's familiarity with the other super secret, non- production aircraft which had been taken into combat over the years. Blackie had hoped he would never have to make the same kind of decision. The fact that he really had no choice now only grated more.
"But come on, Gan. I can't believe you of all people would propose this. And the logistics. You can't just stuff the ATF into the belly of a C5C, cart it a couple of thousand miles south, and then land it in the middle the lo-tech wasteland. Do you have any idea what it takes just to crank up the engines on the B model. Deboune fine tunes the son- of-bitch on just about every flight, and almost lost it once. The whole idea is just plain stupid!"
"Yeah...well...I'll ignore the fact you're calling me stupid, Blackie. But take advantage of our friendship."
"Sorry, Sir. But you can see...well hell, I'm a little concerned. If we have any breakdown, there the damn bird sits, very near hostile territory, on the ground, waiting for parts from Northrup. Hell they manufacture each new replacement as we need them. There is no assembly line out there yet, you know."
"So what's the difference? I really can't see us arguing about custom manufacturing whether the delivery is at Nellis, Edwards, or some place a few miles further South..."
"A few miles South! Bullshit. It's not the geography. I said it's the technology. Hell they don't even have power down there. We're going to have to ship a plane full of support equipment..."
Senator Abrahms smiled to himself, realizing that the man was already beginning to work on solving the previously "insurmountable" problem presented to him. As with many problem solvers, his first reaction of disbelieve had quickly been replaced with the "maybe we can do it" attitude.
"...What am I saying?" said Blackie as he realized that he was doing exactly what the Senator wanted.
"Granted there is a time differential..." continued the Senator, trying to keep the brainstorming going, "...but we can live with that."
"Who's going to fly the damn thing. Not one of my people?" and as the Senator nodded, he ranted,
"Gan, you are absolutely nuts. I'm not going to send a highly trained test pilot into combat. It's flat fucking ridiculous. God Damnit, Gan. You really are over the line. You want me to let you have one of the most highly trained men in the Air today. You want him to go on a risky combat mission, in a totally untried aircraft, with totally unreliable weaponry, on a mission no other aircraft or aircrew would have a chance on completing alive. Is that an accurate summary, or not?"
"You've got it, General" replied Gan, reminding his friend once again that this was not a request.
"Well I don't want it. In fact, you can just haul you're butt outta here. Go back to Washington and dream on, Senator. Let your friends at Langley try another scenario...let 'em try some other hare- brained idea, not this one.
"Now Blackie, I'll just go to the man, and you'll get a phone call suggesting you to comply."
"Fine. Do that. In fact, let's call him right now..." taunted Blackie, expecting the Senator to balk when asked to call the Air Force Chief of Staff, the man Blackie reported to. "...Let's just see what kind of support you have on this"
"Hell, Blackie. I just can't pick up the phone and get him right now. These things have to be arranged..."
"Bullshit. I can get him on the line right now..."
"That I'd like to see..." challenged the Senator, assuming they were both talking about the same man. But as the General made to pick up the phone, the Senator held up his hand,
"Now hang on. I will have to call His people, arrange for some documents to exchange hands, and he'll have to the re-read the summary and all that. But if you're that adament, I'll put it in motion. This IS that important."
Blackie wondered about the particular phrases the Senator had used. "...His people..." emphasising the royalty in "His". Then it struck him. Gan wasn't talking about General Chain. Damn the man was ready to have the President call him personally to tell him it was okay to proceed. Hell wouldn't that be something.
"Okay, Gan. Sorry about the resistance, but I'm not gonna risk that much without a direct order. Chain will do, you don't have to go the Man."
"No, this is his pet project. Chain would prefer the Man talk to you anyway, he suggested it as a last resort..." and both men grinned as Blackie realized he had been setup.
The two men shook hands, and the Senator left. Reaching down to his intercom, the General paged his secratary.
"Julie, get Buddy in here, pronto!"