Coyote finally saw a strip of water between the ship and the pier, a dark swath of oily, dirty ocean that he was glad to be away from. Yes, the USS United States was ready — but ready for what? They might have a chance to find out sooner than any of them had planned.
By the time they’d transited the toll road running from Virginia Beach to the naval base, there was evidence of additional activity at the gate. The guards were checking ID cards and the already long line of cars was growing. The threat condition assigned on a board located next to the guard shack had gone from condition white to condition yellow. As Lab Rat watched, two men came out from the OOD’s office and removed the sign completely.
“Dear God,” Lab Rat said. “They’ve gone to condition Red. What the hell is going on around here?”
“I don’t know what it is, sir, or I’d tell you,” Frank said. Lab Rat had elected to leave his rental car at Tony’s Chowder Shack so that Frank could drive and he could eat. “The duty officer made it sound like it was for real, though. Full recall for selected commands, the JIC among them.”
“Not good,” Lab Rat commented around a mouthful of chowder. It was starting to cool and he was eager to get it all consumed before it clotted up. “Not good at all, from the looks of this mess. Selected commands around here must mean most of the base.” The crackers were still in a paper bag in front of him. All he wanted was chowder, and more chowder.
When they finally made it inside the front gate, the traffic was relatively light, although most of the parking lots were filling up. They waited until they were inside the foyer of the Joint Intelligence Center and then through the security hatches to talk further.
With Jefferson in the shipyard for the foreseeable future, one of the first priorities had been to find temporary positions for her ship’s company complement. Those that would be in no way involved in repairs, such as the staff of the intelligence center, were quickly sent to temporary duty elsewhere. Everyone was insisting it was temporary — there was no discussion that might indicate Jefferson’s eventual fate.
They were finally admitted through the locked doors to the inner sanctum of the intelligence center. Senior Chief Armstrong Brady, one of the most perceptive intelligence experts Lab Rat had ever known, was the first person they saw.
“Okay, quick version,” Lab Rat said. He pointed at Brady.
“Chinese missile test near Taiwan, except this time we think it will be an actual attack.” Brady stopped, to give Lab Rat a chance to absorb it.
Of course, it was not completely unexpected. The Chinese had been posturing in this way for decades. Not that they’d actually had the balls to do anything about it. That part of the world was extremely conscious of the potency of a force like the U.S. military, given the evidence of Nagasaki and Hiroshima so close at hand. In the back of their minds, there always lurked the memory of how completely devastating an attack on U.S. forces could be.
The only nation in the world to use nuclear weapons, and we’re surprised that nobody else forgets it, Lab Rat thought. He shrugged off the dilemma, and nodded his appreciation for Brady’s one-liner. “So what else? What’s the story?”
“That’s a problem, sir,” Brady continued. “Most of it’s human intelligence, HUMINT. This stuff from the SEALs — I gotta say, I agree with their intelligence estimates. But as for hard evidence…” Brady shrugged. They all knew that hard evidence was something you couldn’t expect in intelligence work.
“What’s the staff doing?” Lab Rat asked, referring to the intelligence personnel permanently assigned to JIC.
“They’ve already got a standard intelligence brief prepared for the area, of course,” the senior chief said. “Given that we’ve been there, they want us to look it over — see if there’s anything we can add from our personal experience.”
Lab Rat nodded. “Any indication from force commanders on what forces will be deploying?” he asked, knowing that was indeed the five million dollar question.
“Even with everyone working at top speed, Jefferson is at least a week away from getting underway.” Frank spoke with authority, since that was his area of expertise and he spoke daily with the maintenance forces back in San Diego. “Of course, if all they need is seaworthiness and no flight deck capabilities, it could be a lot sooner.”
“They could carry Harriers, at least,” Lab Rat said. “And helos, and logistic support. Maybe some aircraft maintenance depot stuff.”
“Yes, sir. And as for United States, a lot will depend on how her sea trials go.”
Lab contemplated the ceiling, the pieces falling into place in his mind. “Don’t count Jefferson out completely,” he said softly. “No, it’s far too early to do that. Okay, everybody, listen up. Suppose — just suppose, mind you — that there was a call to immediately staff the United States’ CVIC. I’m not saying it is going to happen, but I’d like a list of people who want to go, and a list of people who don’t. Senior chief, you handle that.” He turned to Frank. “Go sneak around. Find out what the thinking is at all the Fleet headquarters.”
“Yes, sir, I certainly will. If that new carrier is going to deploy anywhere suddenly, she deserves to have the best intelligence crew around onboard her.”
“And where you going, sir?” Brady asked.
Lab Rat was heading for his office to change into his khaki uniform. He paused for a moment and grinned. “San Diego. I’m going to go see my old friend, Admiral Coyote Grant.”
“Hope you’re a strong swimmer, sir,” Brady said, deadpan.
“Why?”
Brady handed him another message. “I figure if you can do fifteen knots in an overhand crawl, you ought to be able to catch up with her. She left for sea trials this morning.”
Batman swore quietly as he thumbed through the message traffic. With his own communications and intelligence staff temporarily reassigned, he was reduced to thumbing through the station’s message file like any other officer. After a couple of years of having his very own message boards, meticulously maintained and organized for his convenience, trying to read grubby-edged, blurry copies left him singularly cold.
Halfway through the most sensitive message board, Batman stopped breathing. He read over the details again, up to and including the Lake Champlain’s after action report, his heart thudding. When he finally realized that he was getting dizzy, he leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. The fresh oxygen invading his temporarily starved brain cells brought a host of ideas flooding in as well.
It was bad — real bad. Even though nobody was saying it, Batman knew that it wouldn’t stop with this one missile shot destroyed or the one incursion into Taiwan. No, it was all going to start going to shit soon enough, and going to shit in a big way. China, Taiwan, and then most probably Russia. The former Soviet Union would be tempted to stand by and let China and Taiwan and perhaps the United States battle it out, hoping that they’d exhaust themselves and be easy pickings. But Batman thought that they’d probably be unable to resist the opportunity to nudge things along a bit, maybe picking off some easy targets or taking advantage of the hostilities to make a covert grab for the Kurile Islands again. Whatever they’d have in mind, the fur was going to be flying over there.