What made the whole situation seem like an exercise in complete futility was the fact that every program or base or weapon system also had its defenders. There were congressmen determined to kill the V-22 Osprey, which was already in production after millions had been spent on its development … yet who were fighting tooth and nail to keep an Army post open that served no tactical or strategic point whatsoever, simply because that post was in their district.
It was frustrating, and frightening. No one in the entire city seemed to understand that political realities could change overnight, while weapons programs took years to implement. A coup in Moscow, and America could be back in a shoving match with the Russians who were still gun-for-gun, tank-for-tank, and plane-for-plane the most powerful military force in the world.
A nuclear carrier could not be turned on or off so quickly. The budget for the U.S.S. Nimitz, for instance, had been approved in fiscal year ‘67. Construction had begun in June of ‘68, she was launched in May of ‘72, and she was commissioned on 3 May, 1975. Eight years from start to finish. And there were loud cries in Congress now to retire Nimitz and the other Nimitz-class carriers, Jefferson among them, because they were big, expensive to operate, and no longer had a part to play in the world political arena.
Magruder snorted at the thought, as the limousine exited the freeway and headed north on 14th Street. The green openness of the Mall caught him, as always, by surprise. To his left, the white concrete spike of the Washington Monument stabbed into the blue March sky. One mile away to his right, the Capitol Building rose in white magnificence beyond the Mall and the museums lining it.
In the years since communism had begun visibly crumbling, the world had become far more dangerous and uncertain, not less. The brief horror of the Gulf War had proven that. Now Pakistan and India were at each other’s throats again.
And the bureaucrats wanted to trash the very ships and aircraft and men that could make a difference. Magruder leaned back, fingers pressing against his eyes. It was a losing fight.
Months before, in the Sea of Japan, he had faced personal and national disaster as he replied to a North Korean challenge with a military response. But the day-in, day-out struggle for sanity in the Pentagon was infinitely harder to bear.
The limo turned left at E Street, then swung north again onto Executive Avenue. Parts of the street had been closed off to vehicular traffic, but a Marine sentry ushered the limo past a checkpoint to a stretch of road that had been turned into a parking lot. The sergeant stayed with the car, but Haworth and the civilian accompanied him. Ahead, the White House stretched across green grass between the Treasury and the Old Executive Office Building. Magruder found himself staring like a tourist and had to tear his eyes away to watch where he was going.
“Ever been in here before, Admiral?” Haworth asked.
“Never have,” Magruder replied. He gestured toward a colorful line queuing up for the daily tours. “Never could stand to wait in line that long.”
“Well, you get the special tour today.” The colonel seemed amused.
Magruder felt his stomach knot. The President of the United States had asked for him by name, had sent a driver and car to pick him up. Why?
As they showed their ID cards to Marine and Secret Service personnel and were signed in at the east door, the questions grew more urgent.
They passed several more checkpoints before a civilian dismissed Magruder’s escort. “Admiral Magruder?” the man said. “I’m George Hall, White House Chief of Staff. If you’ll come with me, sir?”
The Oval Office was much as Magruder had pictured it, though it was smaller than he expected. The windows overlooking the Rose Garden and the South Lawn were heavily tinted and so thick he could barely see through them. He remembered reading that they were designed to stop heavy-caliber rifle fire. A TV monitor set into a wall cabinet was tuned to a cable news channel. The President rose behind his desk.
“Admiral Magruder,” he said, smiling and extending his hand. He was considerably shorter than Magruder had imagined. He had the warm smile of the practiced politician. “We meet at last. Welcome.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
Hall showed him to a chair and he sat down. He’d not felt this out of place since the first time he’d attended a formal military ball. He was an ensign at the time.
“Well, Admiral,” the President said, seating himself behind the desk.
“How do you like your new assignment?”
That was the second time in the last thirty minutes someone had asked him that question. His eyes shifted to George Hall, then back to the President. “It’s not quite what I expected, sir.”
The President chuckled. “I daresay it’s not.” The politician’s smile faded. “Listen, Tom. I know what you must be going through over there, across the river. And I’m sorry things worked out this way for you. But something has come up … something new, and right now I’m damned glad you’re here in Washington. I need you.”
Magruder waited. He could hear the undertone of worry in the President’s words.
The President nodded toward the TV screen. “I’m sure you’ve been following the news. You know where your battle group is right now.”
“Last I heard, they were in the Indian Ocean. Gonzo Station, I imagine.”
“Actually, it’s east of Gonzo Station, a couple of hundred miles south of Karachi. We call it Turban Station.
“CBG-14 was ordered there a week ago. Purely routine, in light of the events over there lately. We wanted to send New Delhi and Islamabad both a strong message, that we would not tolerate any threat to American lives or interests in the region.
“Twenty-seven hours ago, the U.S.S. Biddle sank an Indian submarine.”
“My God-“
“What’s worse is, even though the Indians fired first, they seem to think we provoked the action. Their ambassador was here in my office not two hours ago. He point-blank accused me of taking Pakistan’s side and said that India would tolerate no interference in her … ah ‘military exercises along the Pakistan border.’”
“Then there’s a possibility that CBG-14 could come under attack. Is that what you’re saying, Mr. President?”
“Partly. There’s more bad news.” He glanced at George Hall. “What I’m about to tell you is classified. We’re keeping a lid on this one, for rather obvious reasons.”
“Well, Mr. President, I’m cleared for-“
“I know your classification, Tom. I’m just reminding you that this is hot. Very hot. Yesterday evening, Pakistan exploded a nuclear device.”
“What?”
“It appears to have been a test … and a warning.”
“And India already is a nuclear power.”
“Exactly.” The President leaned back in his leather chair and sighed.
“My predecessors in this office have all wrestled with nuclear proliferation. I guess we all knew that things would get out of hand sooner or later. Now they have, big time. We could be looking at a nuclear war over there if we can’t work something out between these two countries, and damned fast!”
“What’s being done about it?”
“The matter went to the United Nations yesterday afternoon. The UN Security Council voted fifteen to nothing to censure India as an aggressor and called for her immediate withdrawal from Pakistani territory.”
“I imagine India’s feeling rather isolated right now.”
The President’s mouth quirked. “Try surrounded. Anyway, the wrangling on the East River is going to go on for a while. In the meantime, Indian troops are still advancing into Pakistan, Indian planes are still hitting targets from Karachi to Islamabad. The Indians know they’re going to be branded the villains in this, but they’re determined to end the Pakistani threat to their internal stability. CIA believes they intend to install their own government in Islamabad.”