But then the bad news had started coming in again.
Admiral David McDonald tried not to fret too visibly while he waited for the link to the USS Independence at Malta to be re-established.
The latest reports from the Gulf lay before him on his desk like malignant, smoking accusations. He hated himself for thinking the thoughts he was thinking. One day soon he would surely be sitting before a combined Congressional Committee of the House of Representatives having to justify his part in the greatest humiliation ever suffered by American arms.
What was he going to say?
The truth?
Maybe we military men were all weak. Maybe we should have stood up and pounded the table… I was part of it and I'm sort of ashamed of myself too. At times I wonder, ‘why did I go along with this stuff?’
The Kitty Hawk was gone…
The Brits had used nukes and Kamikaze tactics with Canberra bombers at low level and V-Bombers dive bombing Carrier Division Seven from altitude. The whole thing had been one insane suicide mission!
Kitty Hawk had taken hits from British torpedo bombers, and from ten and six ton Grand Slam and Tallboy munitions, at least one V-Bomber had crashed into her deck amidships in a vertical supersonic dive…
A Canberra bomber had flown into the side of the cruiser Boston at six hundred knots; and the fifteen thousand ton cruiser had sunk in minutes.
The Albany (CG-10), another cruiser was on fire and in a sinking condition.
The destroyers Dewey (CLG-14) and John Paul Jones (DD-932) were both dead in the water.
Every major surface unit of Carrier Division Seven was either sunk, drifting without power or fighting fires and flooding with dead and wounded onboard.
Thousands of US Navy seamen and aviators had died.
Thousands…
And nobody knew if the British would attack again.
Without Kitty Hawk’s combat air patrol over southern Iraq sending in the B-52s of the 319th Bomb Wing would be suicide if the British still had any kind of operational air defense grid. Even the RAF’s old-fashioned Bloodhound surface-to-air missiles would wreak havoc on a formation of B-52s; and if they still had fighters in the region… nobody was going to forget what had happened to the Bloody 100th over Malta back in December.
A message pad was placed before the Chief of Naval Operations.
The Albany (CG-10) had been abandoned.
The British fleet oiler Wave Master was hove to recovering survivors from the water.
HMS Monkton, a four hundred ton coastal minesweeper was in the area under a flag of truce assisting in ‘recovery operations’.
A new report came in.
The Dewey (DLG-14) had sunk…
The commanding officer of the USS Halsey (DLG-23) had taken command of the surviving units of Carrier Division Seven. His ship had suffered severe splinter damage disabling its forward Talos launchers and temporarily reducing its speed to fifteen knots. There were only three dead and eleven wounded onboard the Halsey.
“We have Admiral Clarey back on the horn, sir!”
McDonald snatched up the handset.
“Take this off the speaker,” he requested tersely. He took a deep breath. “What is your situation Bernard?”
It helped a little that McDonald and Clarey had worked closely together after the Battle of Washington, and met several times before the latter assumed command of the Sixth Fleet. The men liked and respected each other and had enjoyed nothing but the most cordial and collegiate of professional relations. However, that was cold comfort in the present circumstances.
The scrambled radio link, boosted and redirected via possibly as many as four or five relays around the globe had been passed through an ultra-modern digital filter in an attempt to clean it up. Nevertheless, it was still like two deaf men shouting at each other from the opposite end of a tunnel.
“Air Marshall French has arrived onboard Independence to negotiate the peaceful internment of Sixth Fleet, David!”
“Have there been any incidents?”
“Negative. MPs have been sent to all ships to keep the peace.”
“What does ‘internment mean’?”
“Air Marshall French is requesting to speak with you directly, David!”
“Put him on, Bernard!”
“This is Dan French,” the Englishman announced, his tone a little apologetic, “for my sins C-in-C all British and Commonwealth Forces in the Med.”
“You are speaking to David McDonald, Chief of Naval Operations, United States Navy.”
“I am sorry we speak for the first time on such a sad day, Admiral McDonald.”
“I feel the same way about this, Air Marshall.” The Chief of Naval Operations went on, his throat constricting: “I wish to avoid further violence. I am authorized to inform you that Sixth Fleet is operating under orders signed by the President mandating it stand down from operations until further notice. However, I must know your interpretation of the term ‘internment’ in this context, sir?”
“Ah, now we’re getting into the legal niceties of the thing,” the British Commander-in-Chief retorted, again with no little regret. “I am commanded by my government that in this instance ‘internment’ means ‘arrest’ in the most unambiguous sense of that word. I am directed to arrest, intern and take as prize all enemy ships in the Mediterranean. Forgive me, Admiral McDonald, if I am blunt about this,” he added, ever more sadly, “but our two countries are at war and if any man, on any US ship in my area of command resists arrest, internment and the taking as prize of his ship that ship will be attacked and sunk immediately and without compunction. I understand that Admiral Clarey feels himself unable to order the surrender of his ships to my officers. I completely understand his position and respect it. That said, I must re-iterate that any attempt at sabotage prior to the surrender of a vessel will be regarded as a war crime and those responsible subject to summary punishment. Moreover, if all vessels are not immediately surrendered my orders oblige me to start sinking them within the next few minutes. Please take me at my word, sir.”
McDonald stared into space.
Bernard Clarey came back on the link.
“What are my orders, sir?”
“Does French mean what he says?”
“Yes. He has his orders, sir.”
Carrier Division Seven and the Sixth Fleet represented better than two-thirds of the entire operational capability of the US Navy. Kitty Hawk and Carrier Division Seven were gone, decimated. The Sixth Fleet was held hostage and any time now the British were about to start shooting hostages.
The Chief of Naval Operations knew it was his right to duck this pass; to send the decision and the responsibility for it up the line to Curtis LeMay as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, or directly to the President.
But there was no time for that.
Too many good men had already died and he had had… enough.
The World was racing towards a new nuclear war and somebody, somewhere, had to take their foot off the accelerator.
It might as well be him.
“Turn the speakers on so everybody can hear this!” McDonald ordered, his voice ringing with command.
He hesitated, got the signal confirming that everything he said was being broadcast.
“Admiral Clarey,” he said, finding a strength he thought he did not have, “this is David McDonald, Chief of Naval Operations. I hereby order you to surrender all the ships and men under your command to the responsible authorities on Malta, Gibraltar and elsewhere in the Mediterranean theatre of operations. Please acknowledge this order and confirm that you understand it.”