“Might as well be a damned cruise ship for all the excitement we’re gonna’ see,” Mac said sarcastically, finishing the last of his coffee and setting down the cup. “I’m gonna’ miss this old ship, Commander Ewell.”
He rose from the old captain’s chair, walked to the port side of the bridge, and looked at the map on the chart table.
The red phone adjacent to the captain’s chair buzzed loudly and Lt. Commander Ewell answered it.
“Bridge: Lt. Commander Ewell,” he answered nonchalantly.
“Radio shack, sir,” an excited voice spoke on the other end. “I have a satellite call for the captain. It’s the President of the United States.”
“You’re joking,” Ewell replied incredulously.
“No, sir, I’m not. President Clark is on the horn, and he wants to speak with Ole Mac. Sorry, sir, I mean Captain McKnight.”
“Standby,” Ewell said as he held the phone up and motioned to Mac. “Captain, radio shack says they’ve got a call for you from the President.”
“I’m not in the mood for practical jokes from CVBG today,” McKnight said angrily, walking over and grabbing the receiver. “McKnight here,” he said coarsely.
“Standby, Captain, I’ll patch him through to the bridge,” the radioman said. Mac listened to the click of the transfer, and to the new voice that came over the satellite link.
“Good afternoon, Captain McKnight. This is Alan Clark.”
“Yes, Mr. President.” Mac responded in surprise, recognizing the President’s voice immediately and staring wide-eyed at his first officer. “How may I assist you?”
“Captain,” President Clark stated. “I wish I were calling under better circumstances, but a matter of National Security has arisen that will necessitate expeditious action by you and your fine crew. I have no doubt that you will respond in the fine tradition of the United States Navy.”
“Our ship and crew are at your disposal, sir,” Mac replied ingenuously.
“Orders from Admiral Borland at COMLANTFLT are being sent to you as we speak. I wanted to communicate with you directly as to the extreme importance of this mission, and what could happen if we fail,” the President said in a dire tone as Mac snapped his fingers at Lt. Commander Ewell and signaled him to retrieve the clipboard hanging from the chart desk. McKnight listened intently to the situation that was presented to him by President Clark as Ewell handed the pen and clipboard to him.
McKnight jotted down specific notes as Clark described to him the threat relayed by the Turners.
Lt. Commander Ewell could see the serious look in his skipper’s eyes, growing in intensity as he continued listening. McKnight finished the conversation by saying. “I understand the gravity of the situation, Mr. President, and we will do our utmost to assist you. We’ll contact Turner when the time is appropriate,” he said, writing down the number on the clipboard. “Yes, Sir. Goodbye.” Hanging up the phone, he gave his first officer a look that he had not seen in several years.
“Captain, what's going on?” the mystified officer asked.
“Jack, get on the horn to the chart room and have them plot a course to the Canary Islands. Once plotted, set course immediately and at full speed. Have the chart data relayed to the Combat Information Center. I’ll be there later and will explain to everyone, understood?” He barked, picking up the bridge phone and buzzing CIC.
“Yes, Sir,” Ewell said dutifully, not questioning his orders as the CIC picked up the Captain’s call.
“CIC: Lieutenant Minichino here.”
“Lieutenant, this is the Captain. I want you to come to battle ready and I want all chopper pilots and senior officers to the briefing room ASAP,” he ordered as Lt. Commander Ewell finished communicating his orders to the chart room.
“Captain,” Ewell asked pensively. “What's going on?”
“Jack, you’re not going to believe this one,” he stated as he headed out of the bridge. “You have the bridge, Commander. Once the new course is set, I’ll come to the briefing and explain everything.”
He disappeared out the hatchway and headed down into the heart of the ship. The bridge crew just looked at each other in stunned confusion.
Twenty minutes later, the Hazleton and her two escorts were plowing through the open waters of the North Atlantic en route to the Canary Islands. The Hazleton’s two twelve thousand shaft horsepower engines whined in protest as she cut through the gently rolling ocean swells. The ship had been placed on battle alert and stations were manned. McKnight walked into the Hazleton’s briefing room, located amidships behind the Combat Information Center. Those present rose as he walked in, but Mac waved his hands in protest.
“Remain seated, people,” he stated as the men and women sat back down in their seats. “This mission comes directly from the President, the Joint Chiefs, and COMLANTFLT,” he announced, wasting no time getting to the crux of the situation. “This may be the most important mission this ship and crew will ever be assigned, so I want everyone on their toes. The lives of millions of Americans depend on our success.”As he spoke, Lieutenant JG Minichino handed out the hastily assembled CIC report outlining the threat from the island of Tenerife. Those gathered in the room read the report in stunned disbelief.
After giving his crew a moment to peruse the document, the captain continued. “Our mission is two-fold. First, we must aide the operatives on the scene at Tenerife. Our Marine contingency will provide full air and ground support until the operatives inside the terrorist’s facility can render the weapon safe. Second, we need to get our people out of harm’s way if the order comes for a Tomahawk strike on the site. The strike is a last-ditch effort and would be carried out by the Milford.”
After ten more minutes of questions and answers, Captain McKnight dismissed his staff. “That’s all, people. Get to your stations. I want Lieutenant Minichino, Colonel Sears, and Major Zibrinski to remain,” he said over the rush of excited conversation as the contingent filed out of the briefing room.
Colonel Kyle Sears was a seasoned Marine pilot and had been flying the AH-1F Strike Cobra helicopter since the second Iraq war, and in operations in Afghanistan. This hard as nails, highly decorated Marine took his profession seriously and, in his twenty-five years in the corps, had earned the respect and admiration of his peers. Many times he’d put his own life at risk to help his brothers-in-arms through tough combat situations. He now sat down in the front row as the rest of his peers filed out of the room.
“Captain,” Sears asked directly, “why the hell can’t we just take the damn thing out now?”
“No can do, Colonel,” Mac countered. “If we were to take it out too soon, we’d risk heavy collateral damage to civilians on the island. I can’t explain the science behind it, but you must go with me on this one.”
“Will we encounter resistance?” Sears questioned.
“Colonel, from what the intel on-site has reported, most likely, but to what extent is unknown. That is why you must coordinate with this Turner fellow. He seems to be up to his eyeballs in this mess and is launching an assault with a handful of the island’s National Guard. I want you to signal them from the Cobra upon acquisition and get any tactical data that you may need.”
“This Turner is a civilian?” CH-46 pilot Major Sid Zibrinski asked in disdain. “We have to rely on a civilian?”
“Until you and your Marines get a foothold on the complex, he’s going to have to suffice. You are to secure the facility, take out any combatants, and offer complete aid to Turner. This comes from the President, Major, not me,” said Mac. “That’s all I have, unless you have any other questions.”