“Well, that’s good news,” the commodore said.
“The EP-3E went off station nearly an hour ago. The Rivet Joint is here. The RC-135 is the best reconnaissance platform around. But, whatever you do, don’t tell the Air Force.
Their heads are big enough as it is. If they knew the Navy thought that, they’d being doing the Mexican wave at their base in Mildenhall. CICWO, did they bring protective air cover and tanker support?”
“Rivet Joint, interrogative your air cover and fuel support?”
“Sixtyone, I’ve got an F-16 Fighting Falcon, armed to the teeth, under each wing. Sigonella air station KC-135 scheduled for top-off at ten hundred hours. Wait one. Sixtyone.”
few seconds later the RC-135 returned on the circuit.
“Sixtyone, Fighting Falcons prepared to escort Rivet Joint over Algeria if so desired.”
“Right!” said the commodore, sarcastically, to the three officers.
“I’m going to give permission for an unarmed RC135 with only two fighters to overfly Algeria?”
“Sixtyone, stand by for Rivet Joint Sitrep One. We are showing large-scale military movements in Algeria toward the eastern and western border areas. Additionally, a massive search is under way approximately forty-five kilometers east of Algiers with helicopters and ground troops. We are still evaluating the raw data, but onboard analysts’ opinion is that they may be searching for President Aineuf, who dropped out of sight two days ago. We are seeing a lot of isolated fighting around the country, much more activity than we have the resources to cover. Therefore, a lot of the minor stuff is being tossed into the bit bucket for later processing.”
The communications circuit dropped for about fifteen seconds before resyn ching with the aircraft.
“… aircraft shooting up a fishing boat that subsequently beached itself. The search is centered on that area. Over.”
Commander Mulligan motioned for the microphone from the CICWO.
“Romeo Charlie One Three Five, Sixtyone here. We copy your last. Hold one, I have our India Oscar here who has some questions.”
The CICWO handed the microphone to Commander Mulligan.
“This is the intelligence officer for Sixtyone. Do you have any indications as to why forces are moving toward the border areas? And what is the situation around Oran?”
“Sixtyone, don’t know, they may be sealing their borders.
We are showing sporadic fighting around Oran. It looks as if government forces are being pushed back. At this time, Oran remains in government hands, but I wouldn’t give it much longer. Our pr emission briefer said she heard before our briefing that national intelligence has linked the antigovernment riots in Morocco and the Algerian revolution to the anti-West government in Egypt and whoever is running Libya now. Seems Tunisia is the only remaining stable country on the North African coast.”
“What is the situation at the Algerian Mers El Kebir Naval Base east of Oran?”
“Wait one.” Several seconds passed before the Rivet Joint responded.
“Negative indications on Mers El Kebir, India Oscar. We don’t know who controls it right now, but give us ten hours on station and we should be able to downlink a complete profile to your C4I console.”
“Roger your last. One Three Five, Sixtyone standing by on this circuit. Out.”
Commander Mulligan looked at the C4I console operator.
“Do you have a link with the Rivet Joint?”
“That’s an affirmative, sir. We have a good connection at this time and they have already begun downloading their intelligence picture.”
“Good, I want to be kept up to date on their reports.”
“Yes, sir. You should be receiving them in the Intell spaces, since this console’s data is being piped from there.”
Commander Mulligan nodded and glanced at the commodore, who was bent over the plotting table trying to locate Mers El Kebir.
The intelligence officer handed the microphone back to the CICWO.
“Well, Lieutenant,” the commodore said, looking up and peering over his bifocals at the young officer.
The lieutenant looked puzzled.
“The INMARSAT phone call to Gearing, If you please!”
The CICWO grabbed the INMARSAT phone, punched in the number for the Gearing, and waited for an answer.
It continued to ring. The commodore watched the CICWO shrug his shoulders. The lieutenant put his hand over the mouthpiece to tell the commodore there was no answer, when he heard the familiar click of someone picking up the other end.
“Gearing,” the voice answered. “Gearing, this is Lieutenant Stumple on board Nassau.”
“Go ahead, Nassau, this is the CIC watch officer. Lieutenant Smith, on Gearing.”
“Wait one. Gearing.” He lowered the phone.
“Commodore, we have Gearing on the line.”
“Give me the phone.” He jerked the handset out of the lieutenant’s hand.
“This is the commodore, CTF Sixtyone. Let me speak to your Charlie Oscar.”
“Sorry, sir, the commanding officer is in Radio. We had a small fire earlier and he is assessing the damage. Do you wish to wait while I send for him, sir?”
“No, that’s okay. Who am I talking to?”
“Sir, this is Lieutenant Smith. I am the duty watch officer here in Combat Information Center.”
“Okay, Lieutenant Smith, relay to your skipper that the FONOP is curtailed. You’ve been on track long enough to log this as a completed mission. Use this time”—he looked at the twenty-four-hour clock—“zero five thirty hours as the time for completion. You are to immediately break off and at flank speed rejoin the battle group. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. Present mission curtailed. We are to rejoin Nashville battle group.”
“Nassau battle group,” the commodore corrected testily.
“Nashville is in company with us. I’m on Nassau The commodore cupped his hand over the mouthpiece.
“What is this? Am I surrounded by imbeciles this morning?”
he asked Duncan, Bulldog, and the skipper of the Nassau, Captain Farnfield.
“Sorry, sir. Nassau battle group,” the voice of Lieutenant Smith responded. “Now, repeat what I just told you.” He looked at the others and with a finger made a circling motion around his left temple.
Looking at the commodore, the words pompous ass sprang to Duncan’s mind.
“Commodore, we are to break off, break off.”
“FONOPs, Lieutenant. FONOPs is what you’re to break off. Are you sure you understand my directions?” He held the phone out and looked at it in disbelief before placing it back to his ear.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It is just that we are still at General Quarters because of the fire. We are to stop present operations and at fastest speed rejoin the battle group.”
“That’s right, son. Now, I want your Charlie Oscar to give me a call when you are off track and heading our way. I want to hear from him ASAP. That’s A-S-A-P! Got it?”
“Yes, sir. Ass AP.”
“Don’t get smart, Lieutenant. You tell him I expect to hear from him within the next ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Son, how bad was the fire?”
“Not too bad, sir, but Radio is inoperable for the time being.”
“Okay, you tell Captain Cafferty I’m waiting for his call.”
The commodore hung up the phone.
“Trying to joke on the circuit. Never would have done stuff like that when I was a junior officer. The caliber of JOs keeps going down as the years go by,” he said to no one in particular.
“Different Navy, gentlemen. Most of the good ones leave after their obligated four years are up or when …” He noticed nearby junior officers and sailors listening and smoothly changed the subject. “Fire must have been worse than Lieutenant Smith said. I mean, why else would they still be at General Quarters?