But still, he would try.
‘It’s not a question of being abandoned,’ Meadows said evenly. ‘It is true that the rest of our carrier group has had to retreat out of the East China Sea, but we are being constantly monitored by satellite and we have air support ready to come to our assistance if we should need it.’
‘But we’re not allowed to be moved?’ another voice called out, one that Meadows couldn’t identify. ‘We’re not allowed to be rescued?’
‘Are we hostages?’ said another voice, and this one Meadows did recognize — it was Leanne Harker, a seasoned and reliable Chief Petty Officer.
There was loud debate at this last question, and Meadows moved quickly to cut it off, stepping forward on his dais at the front of the huge hall and raising his hands. ‘Okay,’ he said loudly, sternly, ‘okay. Enough. You’ve asked a question, now let me answer. You might be expecting me to bullshit you, but I can’t do that to you. I’m gonna give it to you straight. The answer is yes.’ He saw Admiral Decker, watching the proceedings off to one side, squirm in his chair as he said this. ‘To all intents and purposes, we are being held hostage.’
There were more murmurs and arguments, but Meadows again quickly cut them off. ‘Let me finish,’ he said sharply in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘Let me explain exactly what the situation is. We are stuck in the middle of the East China Sea. Our propellers are damaged beyond hope of repair, our entire rear end is destroyed, and we have no immediate in-theater back-up. Many of our aircraft survived the hit, but without the ability to move the carrier, those planes aren’t going anywhere — we just can’t launch them. And even if we could, remember that we are within range of Chinese missiles, any of which could destroy us totally. And I know that we are all ready to risk our lives for our country, but at the moment, we just don’t have enough intelligence to warrant any action on our part — we have no idea what good it would do, if any at all. And although it is painful to all of us, the unfortunate fact is that the White House also doesn’t have enough useable intelligence to act. And so we are going to have to wait — like all good military forces — until we are given our orders. Is that understood?’
There were grumblings of agreement throughout the mess hall, and Meadows knew that although nobody was happy, everyone would keep toeing the line — for now, at least.
Just before the meeting was about to break up, another voice sparked up. ‘Is it true that China have just taken the Senkaku Islands?’ asked Casey O’Neil, another Chief Petty Officer.
Meadows frowned; it was not just the question itself, but the fact that it had been asked by a man of O’Neil’s rank. While not a commissioned officer, O’Neil was an important man on the ship, personally responsible for a large number of sailors. He should be trying to keep a lid on things, not stirring the situation up more.
Meadows wondered where he had heard about the invasion; the news had only come through secure channels from the White House an hour before the meeting. But, he knew, an hour aboard an aircraft carrier was more than enough time for word to leak out. What was more surprising, he decided, was that more people didn’t already know.
He would have to answer the question honestly, he realized; the crew would see right through him if he tried to flannel things like a politician. Damn that Casey O’Neil, he thought, before realizing that perhaps the CPO had actually done him a favor; it wouldn’t be long before the rumor would be all over the ship anyway, so it was probably better if it was dealt with right now.
‘Although that is privileged information Chief O’Neil,’ Meadows said with an icy stare, ‘I can confirm that yes, this is true.’ There were gasps from the crew members. ‘It seems that part of the Chinese plan may have been to take us out of action so that we were unable to help defend the Senkakus.’
‘Are we going to help get them back?’ a voice called out, one of many asking the same thing, shouts and hollers from all around quickly swamping the huge room.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Meadows said calmly, maintaining his control, ‘those questions are being dealt with as we speak. And when I know, I’ll let you know.’ Meadows knew he couldn’t leave it at this; the men and women under his command were trained professionals, people who needed a job, a mission; they were not used to just sitting around aimlessly. They needed a task, and Meadows decided to give them one.
‘Please remember, we are all still a part of the United States Navy, and although our ship is down, she is not out. There is a lot of work to be done aboard this ship, and the desalination plant is only part of it. Our back end is shot to hell, sure. But we don’t employ the best engineers in the business for nothing, and now that we’ve got everything sealed off nice and tight and we’re sure we’re not going to be sinking, it’s time to get proactive. We’ll be setting up working groups to tackle getting the Ford mobile again, and we’ll need all hands on deck.’ Meadows could sense the excitement building throughout the mess deck. Yes, he knew, the military mind just loved a mission. ‘But remember, we’re being monitored by Chinese surveillance, and we’ve been warned to not effect repairs. But screw them, right?’ There were cheers from around the mess hall, and Meadows grinned. ‘Yeah. Screw ‘em. We’re gonna get this ship fixed up without them knowing a damn thing about it and then when those Washington politicos get their fingers out of their asses and send us our orders, we’re gonna be ready to go. Am I right?’
The crowd erupted into chorus of cheers and hoo-ahs!, and as Meadows looked around, he saw that even Admiral Decker was smiling.
7
Clark Mason was having a good day. First there had been a morning roll in the sack with his most recent mistress, in the private suite at the Jefferson Hotel they’d checked into the night before. Then there’d been the leisurely breakfast at the Four Seasons before his conference with the Washington press corps.
He had fielded questions about the Chinese situation with his usual aplomb and panache, giving just enough to placate them while not revealing anything of real importance — a skill Abrams recognized, and which was why he’d been picked to give the conference in the first place.
Indeed, it was his skill as a politician which had earned him the Vice Presidency after his predecessor Glen Swain had been diagnosed with terminal cancer and taken early retirement to deal with it. Abrams needed someone with political acumen and a broad support base for the second ticket of her nomination, and Mason — who had done good work as Secretary of State through her first term — was the only person who had fit the bill.
He knew it helped that he was good looking too, a blessing for the cameras. His vast personal wealth didn’t hurt either.
And so while Abrams was hustling and bustling around the West Wing trying to get a grip of the situation, Mason was seducing young beauty contest winners, eating gourmet food, and charming an army of journalists.
Life just didn’t get any better.
He felt no guilt whatsoever for the mistress — wasn’t that what powerful men did? He felt entitled to his proclivities, and cared not at all whether his wife of thirty-one years knew about it; and if so, whether she was upset by it. At the end of the day, it was really none of her business. His relationships with beautiful young women kept him young, kept his mind fresh, his body eager.