This time Walter had blamed his unexpected presence at the family home on the ineptitude of the US Navy’s Personnel Division. There had been some kind of foul up with officer assignments; he was slated for a spell ashore training new recruits on the ‘simulators’ at Groton and the paperwork had not caught up with him until just before his boat sailed.
“Exigencies of the service, Ma,” he murmured, his thoughts twisting around the fragmentary pieces of gossip and possibly, misinformation the networks and the papers had got hold of about what was really going on across the other side of the Atlantic. Operation Manna, the Brits’ ‘winter supply convoys’ were passing west of Spain about now. And British ships had been attacked…
Joanne Brenckmann gave up trying to squeeze further information out of her son. His father had been similarly tight-lipped about his time in the Navy in the beginning. Other than that Junior had, at some time, been on the nuclear submarine USS Scorpion she knew absolutely nothing of his life in the Navy. True, he admitted to being a ‘torpedo officer’ but as his father had remarked, ‘that could mean anything’.
“Never mind,” she thought out aloud. “With so much trouble in the World I’m just glad you are here, Junior!”
Chapter 38
Nobody had slept overnight because all through the night more information had trickled, and then, in a sudden tsunami-like torrent swept into the Pentagon. The only game in town was the blame game; the Administration, the CIA, Navy, Army and Air Force Intelligence communities had comprehensively failed and with every passing minute it was terrifyingly apparent that the command and control system of the US military machine was broken.
Overnight the President had authorised moving from DEFCON 4 to DEFCON 3; normal readiness to increased readiness for all forces, including the reinstatement of Strategic Air Command failsafe operations, and had authorised all operational Bomb Groups to have at least two ‘bombed up’ B-52s at fifteen minutes notice to scramble. The US Navy was effectively already at war stations, the Army had cancelled all leave and recalled personnel on leave to barracks and muster depots. Steps had also been taken to scale up the security of key military and governmental sites but that would take several days to put into effect.
The Chiefs of Staff had advised the President to step up readiness to DEFCOM 2; he had categorically refused to countenance it.
‘Don’t you people think the situation is dangerous enough already?’
Admiral George Whelan Anderson, the straight-talking fighting sailor who as Chief of Naval Operations had watched in horror as the blockade of Cuba had sparked nuclear war, was grim faced as he contemplated another, possibly worse disaster developing on the battle boards around him while the President’s exasperated rhetorical question still rang in his ears.
“CINCLANT reports that communications with the Enterprise Task Group are subject to delays and interruptions. It is not known if this is due to external factors, jamming for example, or technical issues exposed by operating at a heightened alert status.”
After yesterday’s public recriminations and back biting, the participants at that afternoon’s ‘flag table situation review’ were superficially calm as they considered their options. Heads would roll whether or not they got out of this fiasco without another global nuclear war, but that was for another day. The first thing to do was to stop the bleeding, and then to do whatever had to be done to try and get a handle on what was actually going on. This was easier said than done because what seemed to be going on was so incredible and so outlandish that nobody in the Flag Plot Room really believed any of it.
Secretary of Defence, Robert Strange McNamara’s ordered and methodical intellect rebelled against the insanity and chaos of the situation. He had come to the Pentagon direct from a conference at the State Department with the Secretary of State, Dean Rusk, and his deputy, George Ball. The British, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese and for reasons that were unclear, the Canadian, and several South American Ambassadors had also beaten a path to the Main State Building in the last twenty-four hours. Overnight the Spanish Ambassador had literally camped out in Dean Rusk’s ante room; the poor fellow was frantic with terror and was afraid he was going to discover that the ‘bloody British’ had ‘nuked’ Madrid at any minute.
McNamara raised a hand.
“Forgive me, Admiral Anderson,” he interjected, forcing an ashen smile. Everything was madness. That was a given. Nevertheless, right now he needed everybody to be on the same page. Everybody had to have their eyes firmly on the ball and that was not going to happen if they were all looking over their shoulder worrying about who was going to stab them in the back first. It was up to him, as the civilian ‘executive’ in the room to set the tone for how they were going to conduct this day’s business. “Yesterday, I was intolerably rude to you and several of the other officers in this room. I apologise unreservedly. My outburst was unprofessional and inappropriate. Now is a time when we must set aside personal differences and address the situation facing us all.”
The Secretary of Defence, the Chief of Naval Operations, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Wheeler, the Marine Corps Commandant David Monroe Shoup, Lieutenant-General William Westmoreland, and the Deputy Chief of Staff of the Air Force, General John McConnell stood around the Flag Plot Table, and a host of staff officers hovered at their respective masters’ backs.
“With the Chairman’s permission,” McNamara continued, glancing at General Earl Gilmore ‘Bus’ Wheeler, “I will bring the conference up to date with the latest diplomatic developments. I cannot promise that this will clarify matters but it may cast light on some of the thornier military issues.”
Diplomatic developments!
“This will sound completely out of left field,” he prefaced, trying not to sound overly sardonic, ‘but the Spanish Ambassador swears blind that the mining of Algeciras Bay at Gibraltar was carried out at the behest, and with the explicit knowledge of, our Embassy in Madrid. He further claims that Generalissimo Franco’s people have been in discussions with ‘representatives of the US Government’ for several weeks about quote ‘removing the British from the sacred sovereign Spanish territory of Gibraltar’. Moreover, it is his contention that staff at the State Department and at Defence, had ‘green-lighted’ the recent offensive operations of the Spanish Navy over a fortnight ago. In this connection he cited a secret ‘mutual assistance pact’ of which neither Secretary of State Rusk, Deputy Secretary Ball or I, has any knowledge.”
The silence in the bunker was of the kind that had a pin dropped on the carpeted floor every man would have jumped out of his skin.
It got worse.
“The two British destroyers bombed in retaliation for the bombardment of Santander — HMS Devonshire and HMS Talavera — were attacked by four US Air Force A-4 Skyhawks operating out of Torrejón Air Base, near Madrid. The aircraft were flown by American personnel operating within the US Air Force chain of command. The airmen involved understood that they were participating in an authorised ‘war mission’. They were ‘ordered’ to attack those ships by their commanding officer who was in receipt of orders transmitted from this building under cover of appropriate and verified command codes.”