“Goddamn it, Bob! Can’t you see what this is about? In the minds of the people, perception is reality. Shoernberg is making a power play here, and he’s only thrown a few cards on the table to do it. If we have to call up the militia, the Boy Scouts, and the Air National Guard to catch one lousy German submarine, he
“We’ve only got one choice here, Bob. We’ve got to take Friedrik Shoernberg’s little power play and shove it so far up his ass that he can’t remember what he had for breakfast. He sends out four submarines;
“Mr. President, if what you say is true, then we need to
“No, Bob.
“That’s what you keep telling me, sir,” the CNO said. “But I’ve got two ships out there that have already had the shit shot out of them, and I’m asking them to take on a killer submarine without backup.”
The president sighed. “Okay, Bob. Let’s try it this way … In a one-on-one fight between a surface combatant and a submarine, who wins?”
“Whoever shoots first, sir.”
“Exactly. And who
“Whoever gets contact first.”
The president chuckled. “You’re going to make me drag this out of you, aren’t you? All right, you stubborn bastard, who gets contact first?”
“Three times out of five, it’s going to be the submarine, sir.”
“So, if a surface ship mixes it up with a submarine, three times out of five, the ship gets its doors blown off. Would that be a safe assumption?”
“Pretty much, sir.”
“And anybody who has a clue about Undersea Warfare knows this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, how many of our ships have the Germans sunk so far?”
“One, sir, if you count the
“I do
“With all due respect, sir, that doesn’t make any sense. We can build a Flight-Three
“Perception,” the president said. “Perception. The political value will be tremendous. Think about how it will look to the man on the street …
Submarines kill surface combatants three times out of five, but
“And you think he’ll tuck tail and go home?”
“If he does, maybe we can stitch NATO back together for a few years,” the president said.
“What if he doesn’t, sir? What if Chancellor Shoernberg comes out with guns blazing?”
“Then we teach him a lesson that his country has already learned twice.”
The line was silent for nearly a full minute before the president spoke again. “Bob, we can’t afford to lose this one.”
The CNO’s voice was very quiet. “I know, Mr. President. I know.”
CHAPTER 41
The shore version of the admiral’s Flag Plot bore very little resemblance to the sort found on aircraft carriers. Gone were the radar consoles and radio handsets, replaced by computer terminals and desks with secure telephones. The walls — uncluttered by piping and cable runs — were decorated with bronze and wooden plaques bearing the names and coats of arms of nearly every ship, submarine, and aircraft squadron that had ever served within the U.S. Naval Central Command’s area of responsibility. The large tactical display screens that dominated the east wall were of civilian design: the type used by corporations for training or briefing large groups of people. But despite the obvious physical differences, the shore and ship versions of Flag Plot were more alike than they were different. The tools were different, but the conversations that took place over the secure telephones tended to cover the same subjects that were discussed over shipboard secure radio circuits. The tactical symbols that peppered the big civilian-built display screens were from the same catalog of symbology used on ships.
The Duty Intelligence Officer, Lieutenant Commander Calvin Fisk, didn’t give the differences or similarities of ship and shore facilities even a passing thought. In addition to his other duties, he had an inch-thick stack of reports and message traffic to plow through. Luckily, most of the information was routine, meaning that he could skim some of the pages — checking only for significant changes in matters of tactical interest.
One message grabbed his attention. It was a contact locator report from SUCAP (Surface Combat Air Patrol), the squadron of fighter jets dedicated to monitoring — and if necessary, engaging — hostile and unknown surface craft operating in the Gulf region.
According to the report, three unmarked fishing trawlers had spent several hours cruising around off the coast of Siraj. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have even been worth mentioning, but the SUCAP aircraft had spotted the trawlers several times, and none of the boats had ever made any visible efforts to deploy fishing nets.
Lieutenant Commander Fisk looked up from the stack of paperwork.
He wasn’t particularly concerned, but it was a little strange. He picked up the phone and punched the extension number for the Plot Supervisor.
“Plot Supe.”
“This is the Duty Intelligence Officer,” Fisk said. “I’m holding a SUCAP locator report on some Siraji fishing boats that are acting a bit on the squirrelly side. I’m sending a copy your way. I want each reported position for the boats recorded on the master tactical plot. I also want you to update the positions of the boats if any new reports come in.”
“Will do, sir,” the Plot Supervisor said.
As soon as he hung up the phone, Fisk realized that he hadn’t mentioned the lack of nets. It probably wasn’t important anyway.
He summoned an orderly. “Here,” he said, handing the young Sailor the SUCAP message. “Make a copy of this. Put the original back on the
“Aye-aye, sir.” The orderly turned and walked away with the message.
