Nerve gases were loaded into missile and rocket warheads, bombs, land mines, and artillery shells. Biological agents were loaded into missile warheads, cluster bombs, and spray tanks and dispensers mounted on aircraft.
Historically nations used chemical or biological weapons against an enemy only when the enemy lacked the means to retaliate in kind. The threat of massive American retaliation had deterred Saddam Hussein from the use of chemical and biological weapons in the 1991 Gulf War, yet these days deterrence was politically incorrect.
In 1993 the United States signed the Chemical Weapons Convention, thereby agreeing to remove chemical and biological weapons from its stockpiles.
The U.S. military had been in no hurry to comply with the treaty, of course, because without the threat of retaliation there was no way to prevent these weapons being used against American troops and civilians. The waiting was over, apparently. The politicians in Washington were getting their way: the United States would not retaliate against an enemy with chemical or biological weapons even if similar weapons were used to slaughter Americans.
When Jake Grafton finished his push-ups and stood, the staff operations officer, Commander Toad Tarkington, was there with a towel. Toad was slightly above medium height, deeply tanned, and had a mouthful of perfect white teeth that were visible when he smiled or laughed, which he often did. The admiral wiped his face on the towel, then picked up the binoculars and once again focused them on the cargo ships.
“Glad the decision to destroy those things wasn’t one I had to make,” Toad Tarkington said.
“There are a lot of things in this world that I’m glad I’m not responsible for,” Jake replied.
“Why now, Admiral? And why does the ordnance crowd need a battle group to guard them?”
“What I’d like to know,” Jake Grafton mused, “is why those damned things were stored here in the first place. If we knew that, then maybe we would know why the brass sent us here to stand guard.”
“Think Castro has chemical or biological weapons, sir?”
“I suspect he does, or someone with a lot of stars once thought he might. If so, our weapons were probably put here to discourage friend Castro from waving his about. But what is the threat to removing them?”
“Got to be terrorists, sir,” Toad said. “Castro would be delighted to see them go. An attack from the Cuban Army is the last thing on earth I would expect. But terrorists — maybe they plan to do a raid into here, steal some of the darn things.”
“Maybe,” Jake said, sighing.
“I guess I don’t understand why we are taking them home for destruction,” Toad added. “The administration got the political credit for signing the Chemical Weapons Treaty. If we keep our weapons, we can still credibly threaten massive retaliation if someone threatens us.”
“Pretty hard to agree to destroy the things, not do it, and then fulminate against other countries who don’t destroy theirs.”
“Hypocrisy never slowed down a politician,” Toad said sourly. “I guess I just never liked the idea of getting naked when everyone else at the party is fully dressed.”
“Who in Washington would ever authorize the use of CBW weapons?” Jake muttered. “Can you see a buttoned-down, blow-dried, politically correct American politician ever signing such an order?”
Both men stood with their elbows on the railing looking at the cargo ships. After a bit the admiral passed Toad the binoculars.
“Wonder if the National Security Agency is keeping this area under surveillance with satellites?” Toad mused.
“No one in Washington is going to tell us,” the admiral said matter-of-factly. He pointed to one of the two Aegis cruisers anchored nearby. “Leave that cruiser anchored here for the next few days. She can cover the base perimeter with her guns if push comes to shove. Have the cruiser keep her gun crews on five-minute alert, ammo on the trays, no liberty. After three days she can pull the hook and join us, and another cruiser can come anchor here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“There’s a marine battalion landing team aboard Kearsarge, which is supposed to rendezvous with us tomorrow. I want Kearsarge to stay with United States. We’ll put both ships in a race-track pattern about fifty miles south of here, outside Cuban territorial waters, and get on with our exercises. But we’ll keep a weather eye peeled on this base.”
“What about the base commander, sir? He may know more about this than we do.”
“Get on the ship-to-shore net and invite him to have dinner with me tonight. Send a helo in to pick him up.”
“Sir, your instructions specifically directed that you maintain a business-as-usual security posture.”
“I remember,” Jake said dryly.
“Of course, ‘business as usual’ is an ambiguous phrase,” Toad mused. “If anything goes wrong you can be blamed for not doing enough or doing too much, whichever way the wind blows.”
Jake Grafton snorted. “If a bunch of wild-eyed terrorists lay hands on those warheads, Tarkington, you and I will be fried, screwed, and tattooed regardless of what we did or didn’t do. We’ll have to will our bodies to science.”
“What about the CO of the cruiser, Admiral? What do we tell him?”
“Draft a top-secret message directing him to keep his people ready to shoot.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Nuestra Señora de Colón is sailing this evening for Norfolk. Have a destroyer accompany her until she is well out of Cuban waters.”
“Yo.” Toad was making notes on a small memo pad he kept in his hip pocket.
“And have the weather people give me a cloud-cover prediction for the next five days, or as far out as they can. I want to try to figure out what, if anything, the satellites might be seeing.”
“You mean, are they keeping an eye on the Cuban military?”
“Or terrorists. Whoever.”
“I’ll take care of it, sir.”
“I’m going to run a couple laps around the deck,” Jake Grafton added.
“May I suggest putting a company of marines ashore to do a security survey of the base perimeter? Strictly routine.”
“That sounds feasible,” Jake Grafton said. “Tonight let’s ask the base commander what he thinks.”
“Yessir.”
“Terrorists or the Cuban Army — wanna bet ten bucks? Take your pick.”
“I only bet on sure things, sir, like prizefights and Super Bowls, occasionally a cockroach race.”
“You’re wise beyond your years, Toad,” the admiral tossed over his shoulder as he headed for the hatch.
“That’s what I tell Rita,” Toad shot back. Rita Moravia was his wife.
Jake Grafton didn’t hear the rest of Toad’s comment. “And wisdom is a heavy burden, let me tell you. Real heavy. Sorta like biological warheads.” He put the binoculars to his eyes and carefully studied the naval base.