“Thank you, Admiral, but my crew certainly deserves the credit.” Edwards knew what was coming next. It was inevitable.
“Fine, Dave. Whatever way you want it. Unfortunately, Providence’s return home is going to have to wait. We need her immediately. We’re sending you to the Moluccas down in Indonesia.”
Edwards glanced at Bloomfield. Bloomfield raised his eyebrows high above the rims of his glasses, causing the skin on his forehead to scrunch up, before he scribbled something on his notepad.
“The Moluccas, Admiral?” Edwards said, searching the far recesses of his mind to remember the geography of the waters around Indonesia. “That’s quite a distance.”
Chappell nodded. “Yes. It can’t be helped. This is a most unusual assignment, gentlemen, but it calls for a submarine and I’m afraid you’re the lucky bastards.”
“Admiral, before you begin, I’d like to remind you, sir, that my crew has been at sea for the past six months. They’ve been on station in the Red Sea almost that entire time. They’re tired and worn out, sir.” Edwards noticed the admiral’s expression change slightly, and he wondered if he was overstepping his bounds. He personally did not care whether Providence pulled in today or next year, but he had to try for the sake of his crew. He hoped Chappell at least recognized that. He decided to continue on another tack. “My men haven’t seen their wives and children since we put to sea six months ago, Admiral. They have personal business to take care of, lives to live outside the navy.”
Edwards knew his reasoning was falling on deaf ears. He already knew what Chappell’s answer would be. Chappell wouldn’t have cared if Providence’s crew had been at sea for two years straight. The special operations deputy to ComSub-Pac had more to worry about than the families of a few sailors. The Providence and her crew and their families were simply a number on the wall. A resource that was now available to be used somewhere else in the world.
“My men need a rest, Admiral. Besides, Providence’s main engines are in serious need of an overhaul. My engineer will be pulling his hair out.”
“Damn your engineer, Captain! It can’t be helped!” the admiral snapped. Chappell’s face started to turn red. He obviously had heard enough. “The overhaul can wait. After your engineer’s pathetic performance on his last ORSE, another few months at sea will be good for him. It’ll give him time to get his damn department back in order before they fuck around and fail another one.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Edwards saw Bloomfield bring a hand to his mouth and cough a few times. Edwards suspected it was to disguise a laugh. He had scolded Bloomfield so many times in the past months that it must be amusing for him to see Edwards receive the same from Chappell. Edwards knew the admiral had already made up his mind. It was pointless to keep arguing.
“I understand, Admiral,” Edwards finally said. “I had to try, sir. What’s the mission?”
“Good,” Chappell said. He waited a few moments with his ear cocked toward the camera, as if he half-expected Edwards to give him another argument. Then in a more conciliatory tone, he added, “Good. The fleet is stretched pretty thin these days, Dave. All the other operational boats are actively employed in the usual hotspots, otherwise I’d … Anyway, just tell your engineer that Providence will get first priority in dry dock when she gets back from this one.”
“Thank you, sir. He’ll be glad to hear it.”
“Well, then, that’s settled. Let’s get to your assignment. What do either of you know about the Bunda Islands?”
Edwards exchanged looks with Bloomfield, and Bloomfield shook his head.
“Never heard of them, Admiral.”
“It’s a small atoll a couple hundred miles west of Halma-hera just on the edge of Indonesian territory. It’s officially territory of the Republic of Indonesia, annexed back in 1969 along with the western half of New Guinea. I didn’t expect you to know where it is. It’s not something you would ever know unless you’ve been there. It’s not on any major shipping lanes and it’s definitely not strategic. You can download all the details from the secret net, but the atoll consists of three islands. Most of the people live on the namesake, Bunda, and that’s where the main harbor is, if you could call it that, a town called Ujungpang. Most of the population reside there, except for a few small villages along the coast. There’s also a workable airstrip and some local government offices. That’s where you’re going, to Ujungpang.”
“To do what, sir?”
Chappell paused for a moment, then said, “Humanitarian mission, Captain. You’re going there to rescue an American doctor who’s about to get himself trapped in a situation he’s unaware of. Dr. Gregory Whitehead’s a kind of selffinanced philanthropist, you might say. He goes to places like Bunda and sets up his own little field hospital and offers medical attention to the kids and old folks and anyone else who wants it. Spends most of his time in the trash dumps of the world.”
“And why does he need rescuing, sir?”
“Because a rebel element on the island is threatening to overthrow the local mayor and declare the Bunda Islands as an independent autonomous region. They’re going to try to break away from the Indonesian government, and we have reason to believe they’re planning to make this move in the next few weeks. I guess they watched the East Timorese do it, and now they think they can get away with it, too. They call themselves The New PKI. Don’t ask me what it stands for but it’s in reference to the old communist party of Indonesia. Of course, the Indonesian government is denying that this group poses any real threat to security on the island and they’ve guaranteed the safety of Dr. Whitehead, and all that load of crap, but our government’s decided to pull him out nonetheless.”
“I thought the State Department issued warnings for such situations, Admiral,” Bloomfield said with a sudden abnormal interest. “Can’t this guy just hop on a flight and get the hell out of there, sir? Why not just send a plane or a helo to whisk him away?” Just as Bloomfield finished speaking the deck took a heavy angle as Providence battered her way through a strong cross wave. Bloomfield’s blubbery figure lurched to catch his coffee cup as it slid across the desk beside him. His taut shirt lost its tuck in the back and Edwards instantly shifted his eyes to avoid seeing the disgusting sight of his XO’s fleshy white backside protruding from his beltline. The cup was saved from a messy spill and Edwards found himself wondering if his executive officer would ever jump to his duties like he jumped to rescue his coffee. The camera’s field of view was wide enough for the admiral to witness the whole event but his expression remained unchanged as if nothing had happened. He simply waited for Bloomfield to regain his seat.
“We’re not sending aircraft, Commander Bloomfield,” Chappell said. “Yesterday, an Indonesian commuter turboprop was shot down as it took off from the Ujungpang airstrip. All seventeen people on board that aircraft were killed. Hence the heightened tensions we now enjoy and the urgency of your mission. The Indonesian government has subsequently closed the Ujungpang airstrip and restricted the airspace around Bunda. It’s considered hostile airspace now. No flights are going in or out of there until the rebels who shot that plane down are caught or killed. We don’t know if they’d fire on a U.S. aircraft. We suspect not, but the NCA’s not going to take that chance. The NCA has decided not to ask the Indonesian government for assistance because they don’t want it to look like the United States is taking sides in this matter. Their conflict is strictly an internal matter for the Indonesian government and the people of Bunda, and we want no part of it. We’re also not asking for help from any of our allies for … other reasons. Other reasons that you don’t need to know.”