missiles, among other things. Today’s secret test would be the first for the updated Phoenix missile. Its range had been doubled to 500 miles, a new self-guiding radar system had been added, and, most importantly, its maneuverability had been vastly increased. All of this was unquestionably outside the limitations of the treaty Congress had decided on. But if the weapon proved workable, it could significantly alter the balance of power in any future air-to-air combat scenario.
Hennings became aware that a young ensign was holding a salute, speaking to him. He glanced at the woman’s blue and white name tag. “What is it, Ms. Phillips?”
The ensign dropped her salute. “Excuse me, Admiral. Commander Sloan requests that you join him in E- 334.”
Hennings nodded. “Very well. Lead on.”
Hennings followed the ensign through the hatchway and down the metal stairs. They walked in silence. Hennings had entered the Navy at a time when female personnel did not serve on warships. By the time he left the Navy, it was not uncommon. While in the Navy, Hennings had towed the official line and outwardly approved of women serving with men aboard ship. In reality, Hennings thought the whole social experiment had been and was a disaster. But the Navy and the Pentagon had covered up most of the problems so that the public was never aware of the high pregnancy rate among unmarried female personnel, the sexual harassment, abuse, and even rapes, and the general lowering of morale and discipline. In short, it was a nightmare for the ships’ commanders, but it wasn’t his problem.
On the 0–2 deck of the conning tower, they stepped into a long gray corridor similar to the thousands that Hennings had walked through in his shipboard career. There had been an incredible amount of technological innovation aboardship since his day, but the old architectural adage that form should follow function was never more true than on a warship. There was a familiarity about naval architecture that was comforting. Yet, deep down, he knew that nothing was the same. “Did you ever serve on an older ship, Ms. Phillips?”
The ensign glanced back over her shoulder. “No, sir. The Nimitz is my first ship.”
“Could you imagine what these corridors were like before air-conditioning?”
“I can imagine, sir.” The ensign stopped abruptly and opened a door marked “E-334.” She was relieved to be rid of her charge, relieved not to have to hear a story about wooden ships and iron men. “Admiral Hennings, Commander.”
Hennings stepped into the small gray-painted room packed with electronics gear. The door closed behind him.
An enlisted man sat in front of a console. Standing behind the man and looking over his shoulder was Commander James Sloan. Sloan looked up as Hennings entered the room. “Hello, Admiral. Did you see the launch?”
“Yes. The F-18 was being strapped to the catapult when I arrived on the bridge. Quite impressive.”
“That machine really moves. Excuse me for just one minute, Admiral.” Sloan leaned over and said something to the electronics specialist, Petty Officer Kyle Loomis, in a voice just a bit too low for Hennings to hear.
Hennings could see that Sloan was unhappy. They were apparently having some technical difficulty. Still, Hennings had the feeling that he was not being shown all the military courtesy possible, but decided not to make an issue of it. Retired, after all, meant retired. He had one mission aboard the Nimitz, and that was to carry back the results of the “special test” to the Joint Chiefs of Staff, to carry on his person untitled and unsigned test results, and to commit to memory everything that could not be written. He was a messenger. The execution of the test was not an area he cared to get involved with.
His old friends in Washington threw him these consulting plums as a favor. He had little else to do. This time, however, he was beginning to wish he hadn’t been home when the phone rang. Hennings had the feeling that all those soft jobs to exotic places and those generous “consulting fees” had been a setup for the time when his friends might need a special favor. Could this be that special time? Hennings shrugged. It didn’t matter. His friends had earned his loyalty, and he would provide it.
Commander Sloan was pointing to a panel of gauges above the console. Loomis mumbled something. Sloan shook his head. He was clearly not happy.
“Problem, Commander?”
Sloan looked up and forced a smile. “Only the usual… Admiral.” He paused and considered for a second. “One of our high-frequency channels to San Diego isn’t working. Can’t figure out why.” He glanced at the equipment panel as though it were an enlisted man who had jumped ship.
“Will it delay things?”
Sloan thought it might, but that wasn’t the proper answer. “No. It shouldn’t. We can go through Pearl. Just a procedural step.” He paused again. He wondered how much of this Hennings was taking in. “We could eliminate the step anyway. The things we need are working.”
“Good. I’m to be at a conference tomorrow morning.”
Sloan already knew that. The famous breakfast meetings of the Joint Chiefs, where bleary-eyed old men turned the talk from golf scores to nuclear holocaust with the ease of a piano player going through a familiar medley.
“I’m set up on a commercial flight out of Los Angeles late tonight. I need to be off the carrier by 1600 hours.”
“The mission should be completed shortly.”
“Good. Now, do you mind telling me why you summoned me here, Commander?” His tone was as gentlemanly as always, so the words were more, not less, terse.
Sloan was taken aback for a second. “I didn’t summon… I mean, I thought you would want to be here.”
“This…” Hennings waved his hand around the room, “… this means very little to me. I would rather have just gotten an oral and written report from you at the completion of the test. But if you want me here, I’ll stay.” He sat in a small swivel chair.
“Thank you, sir, I would.” Sloan didn’t trust himself to say any more. He had treated Hennings in an offhand manner since he’d come aboard, but now he was reminded, in case he had forgotten, that Randolf Hennings had friends. More than that, though, the old saying, “Once an admiral, always an S.O.B.”, was brought home.
As Hennings watched Sloan shuffle through some papers, he realized for the first time how much Sloan wanted him to be here, as an actual accomplice in the missile test. They were, Hennings now realized, doing something criminal. But it was too late to turn back. Hennings pushed those disquieting notions out of his mind and forced himself to think of other things.
Sloan turned to the electronics. He peered at the panel intently, but he was trying to recall all that he knew about Randolf Hennings. Action in and around Vietnam. He was considered a likable man by his peers, but you never knew about admirals, retired or otherwise. They could change as quickly as the North Atlantic weather. Hennings was known for having enough perseverance to get his job done but not enough to be a threat to his seniors. Those very seniors who had made it to the top had now picked Hennings to carry out a most sensitive mission. Hennings was known to be the epitome of dependability and discretion. Like a dinghy caught in the suction of a battleship’s wake, thought Sloan, retired Rear Admiral Hennings had followed at a speed and course set by others. Yet Sloan had to reckon with him. He glanced back at Hennings. “Coffee, Admiral?”
“No, thank you.”
Sloan’s mind was still not on the electronics problem but on the politics of the test. He thought about asking Hennings for some information, but decided that would be a mistake. At any rate, Hennings wouldn’t know much more than he, Sloan, did.
“Sir, the patch to Pearl isn’t carrying.”
Sloan looked at the electronics man. “What?”
“The problem might be on their end.”
“Right. Probably is.” Sloan glanced at Hennings. Hennings was drumming his fingers restlessly on the arm of his chair. His attention seemed to be focused on the video screen that was displaying routine weather data.
Petty Officer Loomis glanced back over his shoulder. “Sir? Should I keep trying?”
Sloan tapped his foot. Time for a command decision. He felt acid in his stomach and knew why officers had more ulcers than enlisted men. He considered. The test elements were nearly all in position. A delay could disrupt things for hours. Hennings had to be at the Pentagon the next morning with the report. If the report said only “Special test delayed,” Commander James Sloan would look bad. The men behind the test might lose their nerve
