Nimitz Class

President is probably going to hit the ceiling. I’d prefer he was furious with both of us, than just me.”

“Yes, I do see that of course,” said the admiral. “He will have to broadcast to the nation. Which he is not going to love. How long before you announce it to the press?”

“Well, we’ll liaise with the White House on precisely what time you are going to announce it to the press.”

“I was rather afraid you might mention that, sir.”

“There is a certain kind of real heavy tackle I have always taken great care to avoid. Brace yourself, Admiral. We’re heading for the roughest seas either of us has ever seen.”

The somewhat bludgeoning nature of the conversation had the effect of shifting the admiral’s mind into a higher gear. The entire hideous scenario was moving rapidly from a grim, distant, unreal accident into a stark and immediate nightmare which required urgent, drastic attention. He must bring clarity to the disaster, he must find a way to lay this out before the President of the United States in a form which was lucid, reasonable, and above all manageable. Everything is manageable to the full-sized intellect, he was telling himself.

“But God help me if I’m not up to it,” he said aloud. “Because if I screw it up, the President will hang me up by the thumbs, or worse. Within about six minutes of this announcement there will be people demanding that the Navy never be permitted to drive around the world armed with such shocking, self- destructive weapons.”

The CNO and Lieutenant Commander Bamberg headed back to the fourth floor, carrying with them the gargantuan secret which all too soon would cause the media to ask the kind of dread questions service chiefs detest….

“Was this accident avoidable?” “Should big-deck aircraft carriers be carrying these kinds of weapons?” “Should anyone be carrying these kinds of weapons?” “With the nuclear threat of Russia now diminished, why are we doing this?” “Isn’t this what the anti-nuclear lobby has been warning us about for thirty years?” “Did it take the death of so many young Americans to finally show you what the liberal Democrats have known for years?” “Are you a fit person to be running this country?” “Should the Pentagon be abolished since everyone in it is plainly crazy?”

The real question was one he was not yet ready to face.

The admiral did not look forward to the forthcoming press briefing, which would almost certainly be staged at the White House. But he knew the President himself would be in for a far rougher ride this evening.

Back in his office he ordered Jay Bamberg to reopen the line to Admiral Sadowski, and he called back Admiral Morgan at NSA. The intelligence chief was steady and controlled, and advised that the CNO make a public announcement very quickly. He had already fielded a call from the Russian Naval intelligence commander and feigned ignorance. In his opinion something needed saying officially, inside the next ninety minutes, or someone else would break the news for them.

The CNO wound up the call swiftly and spoke briefly to CINCPAC. The news was sparse. It was still pitch- dark and the weather was worsening. The frigates felt it dangerous to reenter the contaminated “last known” position. There could be no further doubt about the fate of the Thomas Jefferson. The great ship had gone, in a nuclear fireball, made less blinding by the low clouds, fog, and rain which annually blanketed the Arabian Sea during July and August when the southwest monsoon swept in.

Scott Dunsmore gathered up his final reserves of self-control, and instructed Lieutenant Commander Bamberg to speak once more to CINCPAC and inform Admiral Sadowski that in his opinion the remainder of the Thomas Jefferson Battle Group should return to Diego Garcia, regroup, make temporary repairs, and head as soon as possible for their home port of San Diego.

Then he walked back out into the wide corridor of E Ring and set off for the meeting which had the potential, in his opinion, to begin an insidious political reduction in U.S. Navy firepower — firepower which had grown relentlessly from the early days of the Polaris submarines to the modern era of Trident and the carrier Battle Groups. No one walking along E Ring noticed him brushing the forearm of his dark blue suit across his weather- beaten face.

Dunsmore joined General Paul in the second-floor office and the two Chiefs, accompanied by two military aides, made their way down in the elevator to the subterranean Pentagon garage. The staff car was parked four strides from the door. Only General Paul and Admiral Dunsmore embarked, and the Army driver, briefed in the urgency of the journey, drove swiftly out into the sweltering humidity of a Washington summer afternoon, air- conditioning at full blast, right foot ready to hit the gas pedal as they headed for I-395.

“Did you tell the President what has happened?” asked the admiral.

“No. I interrupted some meeting in the cabinet room and told him I was on my way to see him on a matter of such grave consequences, I would not even trust the White House switchboard to overhear the conversation.

“You know how quick he is? He just said, ‘Fine. Get over here. I’ll be waiting. Do I cancel appointments?’

“I told him in my view he ought to clear his schedule for at least two hours. If I’d been completely honest I probably shoulda said two months, or years.”

“You go through the White House Chief of Staff for this kind of appointment?”

“No. With this President, there’s a direct line between CJC and the Chief Executive. Someone else answered the call and I said: ‘This is the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs speaking from the Pentagon. I need to speak to the President on a matter of extreme urgency. Right now.’ That’s all it takes. He was on the line in seven seconds.”

The staff car sped across the Potomac, and the tires squealed as they swung off 395 at the Maine Avenue exit, heading west along the waterfront, and then hard right, straight up the short wide highway which cleaves across the top end of the Mall, past the Washington Monument and onto Constitution Avenue.

As they threaded their way up through the government buildings, Admiral Dunsmore asked two questions: “Will he be alone? And who speaks first?”

“Yes, to the first. At least initially. I do, to the second. Then I’m passing the ball right into your safe hands.”

“Where are you going to be during my explanation?”

“I am afraid to say, right next to you.”

“West Executive Avenue entrance coming up, sir,” announced the driver as he hit the brakes. And it was already clear they were expected. The guard waved them straight through, and at the door they were both instantly issued security passes handed to them by Secret Service agents.

Two of them escorted the military Chiefs straight into the West Wing, directly to the southeast corner, to the Oval Office. The senior agent tapped just once and opened the door. He and his colleague walked through first, beckoning the general and the admiral to follow. The President stood up, nodded to the agents to wait outside, shook hands gravely with his visitors — both of whom he knew well — and asked them to sit down in the two sturdy wooden armchairs set before his desk.

The admiral glanced briefly at the portrait of General Washington, admired the beautifully scalloped arch above the bookshelves, and stared out onto the sunlit southern lawn of the White House. He could hear General Paul speaking.

“Mr. President, it is my very sad duty to inform you that we have lost a U.S. Navy aircraft carrier in some kind of a nuclear accident in the Arabian Sea, about three hours ago. There were six thousand men on board and you may assume there are no survivors.”

The President hesitated, grappling with the immensity of the words. “I may assume there is absolutely no possibility of a mistake, General?”

“You may, sir.”

“God Almighty! Six thousand dead? Six thousand American servicemen dead? How could such a thing possibly happen?”

“Mr. President, I just wish I knew. But we were all ten thousand miles away from the Arabian Sea. There’s never been anyone killed in a nuclear accident. I just cannot offer any explanation. But Admiral Dunsmore may be able to clarify the situation a little better than I.”

“Okay. Okay. Now let’s just stay calm, despite the fact that the United States is about to earn both the ridicule and the sympathy of the entire world during the next twenty-four hours. Come on, Scott, any clues? Any excuses? Any ray of light? Can you give me a rough outline of what transpired? I guess we’ll have to announce