When things start moving, they move fast. The delegations would be arriving soon, alternating Vietnamese and American flights out to Jefferson, the pecking order and time of arrival carefully calculated to slight the least number of feelings.
I'd pointed out that receiving a peace delegation on board in the middle of bombing the crap out of their country was a bit inconsistent, to say the least. But State and Defense hardly ever talk, and neither one was backing down from their respective schedules. Maybe they had thought it out and figured they were sending some sort of message.
An aircraft carrier is big, but not so big that you can absorb forty people, all of whom rate high-status quarters, without displacing some permanent residents. We did a quick shuffle, bunking senior officers in with each other, and finally had enough staterooms.
The first aircraft arrived at 1700, a CH46 ferrying out from Vietnam to Jefferson, containing a contingent of U.S. representatives on board. They were mostly underlings, advance men who immediately tried to take command of the ship and rearrange my world to their liking.
It didn't work. I held them off, waiting for the arrival of the heavy hitters.
Finally, they came. First a load of Vietnamese underlings, then the U.S. helo carrying Ambassador Sarah Wexler. I watched the entire evolution from the tower, hoping and praying to God that some dumb fuck wouldn't pick this very moment to do something stupid. Not in front of all these people.
Ambassador Wexler's helicopter settled down onto the deck gracefully, and the plane captains raced out to help secure the aircraft and to escort its esteemed cargo across the flight deck. I watched, my stomach knotted, certain that some young plane captain would choose just this moment in time to try to move an F14 or turn an engine and suck the ambassador right down the intake.
Minutes later, the Vietnamese VIP helicopter signaled its approach. Its pilot came in gracefully, settling neatly on the deck as though he did it every day of his life. I was somewhat impressed, although the deck of an aircraft carrier is not that tough a target. Still, it does take some getting used to, hovering and sinking down over a moving airfield.
The Vietnamese senior VIP disembarked from the helicopter last, as befitted his status. The plane captains lined up on either side escorted him to the island, where he was greeted by the same side boys that had just welcomed Ambassador Wexler. The 1MC announcement went off smoothly.
So far, so good. Everybody on deck, nobody ingested by an aircraft engine. That had to count for something.
I raced back down the ladder and made it to the wardroom just as Ambassador Wexler and her counterpart were being escorted in. They'd already been relieved of their cranials, helmets that they'd worn during their flights, as well as their flotation devices.
Ambassador Wexler was much as I remembered her, a short, full-figured tiger of a woman who looked deceptively gentle and calm. She tendered me her hand, offered a warm smile, and said, "Thank you for having us, Admiral Wayne."
"Glad to have you aboard, Madam Ambassador," I replied politely. Yeah, like I'd had a choice.
Then I turned to her Vietnamese counterpart. "And you, sir, welcome aboard USS Jefferson. If there is anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable, I do hope you or your staff will contact me personally at your earliest convenience."
The man studied me, his eyes dark and cold. No trace of warmth in his expression, I noted.
Not that I blamed him. He was looking at the son of a bitch who'd just bombed the hell out of his airfield and probably killed a lot of his men. Under the same circumstances, I'm sure I wouldn't have been much more pleasant.
He finally inclined his head, ever so slightly, the minimum sketch of courtesy required in his culture. I bowed slightly, more deeply than he had, determined not to let any inadvertent cultural faux pas muddy up the already turbulent waters of this conference.
"My Chief of Staff," I said to the man, introducing Irwin to both the Vietnamese and Ambassador Wexler.
Then I fell silent. The man's game was getting on my nerves a little bit. The message we'd received from State only gave us the number and approximate ranks of the Vietnamese visitors who would be arriving, not all of their names.
Not this man's name.
"May I notify my superiors of your safe arrival?" I asked finally. "if I could let them know, sir, that Ambassador…" I let my voice trail off delicately, waiting for him to fill in the missing name. Seems I had learned something in my D.C. tours after all.
"Than. Bien Than," he said finally.
"Admiral," the Chief of Staff said quietly. "If I could have your attention for a moment?"
I nodded, made my excuses, and stepped away from the dignitaries. "Jesus, what is it, COS?" I asked. "I'm a little busy right now, buddy."
COS nodded. "I wouldn't have interrupted you, not if it weren't important."
I let out a huge sigh. "Yeah, I know. So what is it?"
He pointed at the overhead. "Another Vietnamese helicopter inbound, Admiral. They say it's been cleared by State."
"Another one?" I hissed. "Jesus, I thought we got them all-"
"We did, Admiral," COS answered, taking a chance on interrupting me. "But I just talked to my liaison on State's staff, and they evidently overlooked mentioning this one in their last message. It belongs to the Vietnamese, though. And they want the people on board."
I tamped down my temper, and considered my options. Well, it didn't take long. There weren't any.
"Have the Air Boss get 'em on board then," I said, sighing. "Find out who they are ― damn it, we're going to have to rearrange the sleeping arrangements again, aren't we?"
COS nodded. "I'll take care of everything, Admiral. Just wanted to let you know."
COS exited quickly, clearly ahead of me on the details. He was like that, a good man, one who seemed to have developed the uncanny ability to read my mind ― or even read my subconscious, knowing what I wanted before I even knew it myself. He was talking about retirement ― damned if I'd let him go before I did.
I turned back to my guests and made polite small talk as I heard the ship go to Flight Quarters, then the distinctive whop-whop of a large helicopter approaching my deck. I heard it land roughly, its skids scraping across the deck for far longer than they should have for a controlled landing. I held my breath for a moment, praying that some idiot wasn't going to slam his stupid rotary wing into one of my aircraft.
Finally, the skidding stopped, and I heard the engine start to spool down along with the rotors. My heart started beating again.
"So we'll begin at eight tomorrow morning then?" Ambassador Wexler said calmly. "If, of course, that is agreeable to you, Ambassador Than?"
"Perhaps a little earlier," he said smoothly. "Seven-thirty perhaps?" His voice was perfectly understandable, only the barest trace of an accent in it. Educated abroad, I'd guess ― maybe England, judging from an odd emphasis on certain words.
"Seven-thirty then," Ambassador Wexler agreed promptly. She tendered a charming smile, as though the first minor chivying for position had not just been played out right in front of me. "There will, however, be a limited choice of facilities." She waved one hand gracefully as though to take in the whole of Jefferson. "As large as this ship is, space is still at a premium." She smiled even more politely now, dimpling one chin. "Under the circumstances, with so much important to discuss, I'm certain the captain's normal rectangular table will be more than adequate for our needs. Don't you agree?"
And counter-serve. I watched the two bandy back and forth, balancing and trading off the small details of the meeting. Unbelievable that there could be a discussion about tea versus coffee when so many of my aviators were dead.