Afghanistan. Angola. Chechnya. Weariness swept through the general. Why was there no other way to learn these lessons other than through hard experience?
“They will attack,” the captain said finally.
“They will not. They have as much to lose as we do.” And I am willing to bet that the man calling the shots in the American battle group has much more in common with me than with this captain.
“They will,” the captain said again.
The general sensed the mood change within the room as the spell the captain had woven crumbled and then collapsed. “You will prepare for that remote possibility. In the meantime, I suggest you stand your forces down from general quarters. There is no point in muddying the waters further.”
And now he understands what it means when orders from a senior officer use the word suggest. It is a polite, face-saving way of ordering him to obey me.
TWELVE
Captain Jack Phillips stood silently just inside the black curtain that protected the bridge from white light from the corridor, waiting for his eyes to adapt to the night. Around him, the quietly reassuring sounds of a normal watch. He knew he didn’t have to be up here. It wasn’t achieving anything except making the OOD nervous. But, under the circumstances, what did they expect? The major incidents at sea in two days — and how nice and sterile that sounded, the attack on the COD, calling the destruction of Montego Bay and the loss of a Hornet “incidents”—and paranoia was running rampant among the officers on board. And it wasn’t like he spent every hour up here, although he suspected that those times that he was away the XO and the senior department heads were covering the bridge. No, it was just that in some way he felt his presence on the bridge prevented anything bad from happening and was an encouragement to the rest of them.
It wasn’t, of course. Leaving them alone to stand their watches in their usual ways would show that he had complete faith and trust in his officers of the deck. And he did, of course. Otherwise they wouldn’t be OODs on his ship. It was just that — well — hell, under the circumstances, any CO would have spent a lot of time on the bridge.
But you’re not just any CO, are you? Maybe you’re more like everyone else than you like to think.
Maybe so. There was such a crushing sense of responsibility, commanding an aircraft carrier. And right now, right as things stood, he needed to be on the bridge. Had to be.
The Russian task group remained twenty miles to the east, carefully pacing the American carrier and her escorts. For a battle group supposedly on independent operations, she was spending an awful lot of time following the Jefferson around. Not that he could blame them. They’d probably claim that Jeff was following them.
So far, the coordinated search-and-rescue operations had gone fairly well. No further incidents, not even a near miss. It was bound to play well with the international community that this was a joint effort. It wouldn’t make up for what happened earlier, but it was a historic effort, almost on par with seeing the Russian ships listed as friendly forces during Desert Storm.
Two helos were just returning from three hours of searching the ocean below them. There had been no signs, not even floating debris or an oil slick. And of everything that had happened, that just didn’t make sense. They should have found something by now. The ocean wasn’t so rough that it would have destroyed all the evidence. And it would be another five days at least before they could call off the search. They couldn’t, no way, quit before the Russians did.
“Still nothing, sir?” he heard someone say quietly behind him. One of the new female officers, he supposed. Maybe that little redheaded one. Good sign that she was up here during her off-duty hours, keeping an eye on things, just like he was.
“No. And I doubt there will be. If we were going to find anything out there, we would have found it by now,” he said, without turning around. “But we can’t quit before the Russians do, you know. Not when it might be our fault. Until we know for sure—” He turned around to give the little redhead the benefit of his years of experience at sea, and saw Cary Winston standing behind him. Her mouth was slightly open, her finger on the play button of a recorder. And just as he was realizing he had stepped on his dick in the biggest possible way in front of the worst possible person, she said, “Thank you, Captain. I appreciate the insight.”
“That was off the record,” he snapped.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. You didn’t say we were.”
“You ambushed me.”
“I simply asked a question. And you answered.”
“Dammit, you can’t do this!”
She held up a small tape recorder. The reels were still spinning. Phillips snapped his mouth shut.
“I think what the captain meant to say,” a confident voice said behind him, “was that we’re currently engaged in some complicated search-and-rescue maneuvers. To ensure that there are no distractions and to maintain the safety of both the bridge watch and our aviators, the bridge is closed to all visitors. Thank you for your cooperation.” The slim, regal form of Phillips’s public affairs officer stepped forward. Lieutenant Commander Brian Frank walked toward them until Winston had no choice but to back up or be run over. Frank held his arms out to corral her and herded her toward the exit.
As they disappeared behind the black curtain, Phillips heard Frank saying, “I believe you heard in the briefing that it is customary to ask permission to enter the bridge, particularly during night operations.”
Surely she couldn’t use what he’d said! This was intolerable, the reporters and news media invading his ship like termites. If they could surprise him on the bridge like this, they might as well be in his stateroom hiding in the head, reporting on what he sang in the shower.
A few minutes later, Frank reappeared. He let out a sigh of frustration and said, “Sorry, sir. I think I put the kibosh on it. They do know better than to pull that crap. At least, the experienced ones do.”
“No more reporters on the bridge. Or in any other area of the ship, other than their staterooms, the passageway, and mess.” Phillips spoke firmly, keeping his temper under control. “You’ll hold a daily press briefing for them. Twice a day, if you think it’s necessary. Any request for interviews with anyone on this ship must go through me. Except, of course, the admiral and his staff, and I’ll talk to him about dealing with his people. I’m going to put a stop to this right now.”
“Captain, I have to say, that’s not the best way to handle this.”
“And what is?” Phillips exploded. “They can’t get away with this, Frank. I can’t have them taking every comment somebody makes out of context and making a big deal out of it. Under the circumstances, we have to be careful.”
“Yes, sir, of course. But in the long run, it’s better to have them on our side, working with us. That way you can present a balanced picture in the press.”
“Stage a crucifixion, is more like it.”
But Frank shook his head, a determined look on his face. “No, sir, I have to disagree. These people have a job to do, just like we do. Okay, something went wrong out here. There’s no way you can keep that quiet. And if you alienate them, you’ll just convince them that we’re covering something up. Because that’s the first thing that occurs to me immediately, that there’s a cover-up. And there’s nothing like a cover-up or a gag order from the senior officers to get them hot on the trail. We need to work with them, not against them.”