"Victor?" He looked at the DCI. "Anything?"
"Not yet, sir. We've got satellite coverage eighty percent of the time now."
"Keep on it, and let me know the moment you've got something solid."
"Yes, sir." He didn't add of course, but the words were clear in his tone. We're all getting scraped raw, the President thought. My God, how are we going to win this one?
He wondered what more he could do for Chu. She'd probably been ordered by her boss to tow the party line. Her independence just now might well have ended her career.
He watched as the crisis management team scooped up papers and folders, and decided to say nothing.
Admiral Magruder stepped across the cables lying on the deck and found himself a spot out of the way near the bulkhead. Jefferson's Intelligence Center had been cleared of chairs and was now cluttered with the trappings of a television studio: lights, a camera, a handful of seamen in dungarees and chiefs and officers in khaki plugging in power cords and preparing for the morning's broadcast.
A small floating city in her own right, Jefferson boasted two television stations of her own, broadcasting regular programs dealing with problems and matters of interest to Jefferson's crew. At need, Captain Fitzgerald or the admiral could address the entire ship's company without the need for assembling them all in one spot… an obvious impossibility for reasons of space, work efficiency, and safety.
"Ready to go, Admiral. Are you?"
Magruder turned to face Master Chief Raymond C. Buckley, Jr., a stocky, cherub-faced man who had been in the Navy for twenty-eight of his forty-five years, a high school drop-out who'd joined the Navy at seventeen and found himself a home. Buckley was Jefferson's master chief, the chief of the boat, senior enlisted man on board. More than any other, he acted as intermediary between the ship's enlisted men and her officers.
"Ready, Chief, thanks. You're going to lead off?"
"Just like a game show host, Admiral." He seemed relaxed and at ease. Buckley's face was well known to every one of Jefferson's six thousand officers and men. He hosted the ship's nightly We'll Sea program on Channel 1, and he wrote daily articles for the ship's newspaper, the Jeffersonian Democrat.
Buckley walked to the lectern and faced the camera. The chief who was serving as director pointed at him as he gripped the lectern with both hands and beamed at the camera. "Goooood morning, Jeffersons!" The master chief had adopted as his broadcast trademark PFC Pat Sajak's well-known DJ intro from the Armed Forces Radio broadcasts in Vietnam. Buckley had served in Nam, Magruder knew, ashore at Cam Ranh Bay and later on board the U.S.S. Constellation, as had many of the older chiefs on board. It formed a small but important link with other men who had served America's interests in foreign waters.
Magruder did not listen to the master chief's opening remarks. It seemed incongruous, somehow, to be giving Jefferson's crew their orders on TV, orders which could very well lead to their deaths in a very few hours. He looked again at the printout he'd brought with him from the com center, then at the cardboard-mounted photograph which was resting on an easel under the unmoving gaze of a second camera on the other side of the room. Did wars always start this way, with step-by-step events that escalated until there was no longer any way to control them?
"And now, Jeffersons, it is my great privilege to welcome the Commanding Officer, Carrier Battle Group 14, Rear Admiral Thomas J. Magruder!"
Woodenly, Magruder walked into the blaze of stage lights, stepping behind the lectern as Buckley moved out of the way. He placed his notes before him, then looked up into the blank, glassy eye of the camera. The red light was on, putting him squarely at the center of attention for several thousand officers and men on board the carrier.
"Jeffersons," he said. It was best, he thought, to tell this one straight, without preamble. "As you all know by now, Carrier Battle Group 14 has been directed by the President to take up station at Patrol Point November, pending further orders. Yesterday, CBG-14 was augmented by the arrival of MEU-6, comprised of four Marine amphibious ships.
"At zero-five-twenty this morning, we received new orders. They were addressed through the Commander in Chief, Pacific, but the authority comes through the President. I will read you the significant parts."
Magruder pulled his reading glasses from the breast pocket of his uniform coat and perched them low on his nose. "Priority Urgent, to CO, CBG-14, U.S.S. Jefferson, on station at Point November.
"One. Carrier Battle Group Fourteen, together with Marine Expeditionary Unit Six, will henceforth be designated Task Force Eighteen. CO CBG-14 is directed to assume overall command TF-18 and of all auxiliary and support forces Op area November.
"Four. CO TF-18 will make such unit dispositions as are consistent with security of the force. CO TF-18 is reminded of recent hostile KorCom activity in op-area, and urged to take all necessary precautions to avoid unnecessary losses to his command.
"Five. TF-18 will maintain station pending further operational directives of the National Command Authority. TF-18 must be considered to be the primary arm of national foreign policy in the area, and will engage in no activities contrary to national goals or aims.
"Eight. All tactical commands under TF-18, including both Marine and air wing elements, are hereby directed to prepare final operational orders anticipating possible military interdiction at or near the port of Wonsan, North Korea, in keeping with parameters and directives outlined in op-plan designated WINGED TALON.
"Nine. Operation WINGED TALON should be considered to be a limited tactical retaliatory strike aimed at securing the safety of U.S. Navy personnel now held by KorCom forces in or near Wonsan, and at securing the release of U.S.S. Chimera seized two days ago in international waters by KorCom Naval and Air Force units. Final authorization for WINGED TALON will be the responsibility of the National Command Authority alone."
Magruder looked up from the paper and into the camera's eye once more. "These orders are signed by Fleet Admiral Wesley R. Bainbridge, CINCPAC. I needn't tell you, men, that they place a heavy responsibility on all of us, on every man in this task force.
"I have here a TENCAP photo which should be of interest to all of you." The camera's red light winked out, and Magruder knew the second camera was on, focused on the photo on the easel across the room. TENCAP ― the acronym stood for Tactical Exploitation of National CAPabilities ― was a new military adaptation of satellite technology. For the first time, commanders in the field could use their satellite links to call down up-to-the-minute photos from KH-12s directly, rather than waiting for them from Washington.
"What you are seeing, men, is the U.S.S. Chimera tied up at a pier in Wonsan Harbor. I'm told this photograph has a resolution of about three inches, which is pretty damn good from over a hundred miles up. You can see soldiers standing on Chimera's deck, wearing steel helmets and carrying AK rifles. There's been quite a bit of damage. One of the whaleboat davits has been shot away, the mast has been knocked over, and there's been some damage to the forward deck and the deckhouse. That blob you see over the taffrail is a flag… the North Korean flag, raised in the place of the Stars and Stripes.
"This photo confirms that the North Koreans are indeed now holding our ship and nearly two hundred of our men prisoner, a brazen act of modern high-seas piracy."
The red light flashed on. He was on camera once more. "Task Force Eighteen has been called upon to be the steel behind the President's words when he talks to the North Koreans during the next few hours. He will tell them to release our people and our ship. When the NKs look at us, they'll get a pretty good idea of what will happen if they refuse."