Cameron.”
“THEN TELL ’EM TO GET THE HELL OUT AND I’LL APPOINT A COUPLE OF GUYS WHO WILL HELP ME OUT HERE…MAYBE APPRECIATE SOME OF THE STUFF I’VE DONE FOR THE NAVY.”
“Is that your last word, sir?”
“It sure as hell is. I need a new CNO and a new CINCPAC, right? Please start things moving, and announce nothing about the court-martial.”
“Very well, sir. But we have to hurry. They intend the court-martial to sit on Friday morning, while the evidence is fresh.”
“They can sit whenever the hell they like. But the only man they’ll be trying is Captain Judd Crocker. I want him charged with being absent from his place of duty in the face of the enemy. China, right. That’s an enemy.”
Arnold Morgan left without another word. And within 30 minutes the two resignations were in. It took another five hours to make new appointments, and both men were given to understand that if the Navy wanted its massive budget for the next two years to be approved by the President, they would acquiesce to his wishes in the court-martial of Judd Crocker.
Admiral Dick Greening, flying in from Pearl to replace Archie Cameron, had no feelings about the trial, and felt that the probable letter of censure to a captain who had lost his submarine could not possibly be worth such a total disruption.
The appointment of a new CNO was more difficult, but in the end they appointed Admiral Alan Dickson, Commander-in-Chief of the Atlantic Fleet. His views, too, were ambivalent on the subject of Judd Crocker’s court- martial. He was not, however, appraised of the President’s wish that the captain should be found guilty, and the entire matter closed at that point.
Admiral Morgan requested a delay until Monday for the trial of Judd Crocker, which was granted. And he spent much of the weekend trying to reason with the President. But there was no reasoning. He did not wish Linus Clarke even to attend the hearing, and he sent him home to the ranch in Oklahoma.
Which meant that on Monday morning, in the same room where the Board of Inquiry had sat, Captain Judd Crocker faced the court-martial alone. Only his father was there, waiting outside for the verdict. And for three hours, the former commanding officer pleaded his case, explaining the circumstances, trying to explain his XO’s mistake.
But there was no pleading here. The Navy wanted a conviction, to get everyone off the hook. The President wanted a conviction, to get his son off the hook. This was a trial that was lost before it was held.
At 1625 on the afternoon of Monday, October 2, Captain Judd Crocker was found guilty of gross negligence, effectively “on grounds that he had been absent from his place of duty in the face of the enemy.” He was relieved of command and issued a letter of the severest censure, with a recommendation that he leave the service forth- with.
Admiral Morgan had just proposed to Kathy O’Brien. “Thought I’d get that absolute formality out of the way before I go along and tell the Chief I’ve resigned,” he said.
“Well, yes. I will marry you. But this is all a little sudden. I presume it’s about Judd Crocker’s court- martial?”
“Not quite. It’s just that I can no longer give my loyalty to a man like President Clarke. This whole thing has been riddled with dishonesty and corruption. Nothing’s ever been straight, right from the start. And I cannot put up with it. I’m outta here, though he will not know that for a couple of days.
“I’ve been in the United States Navy almost all of my life, and I have never known such a series of totally shocking events. Losing Joe Mulligan? Archie Cameron? Disgracing our best submarine CO? All for this little shit Linus Clarke? No, Kathy, I’m not having it. I’m out.”
Then the admiral was gone, on his way to the Oval Office, taking with him his letter of resignation, effective Friday.
The President was stunned at his decision to quit on him.
The two men talked for an hour, John Clarke trying to persuade Arnold Morgan not to leave the ship. But there was no changing the mind of the National Security Adviser. He simply felt he could not offer this President the kind of loyalty he needed.
They shared a pot of coffee, and just as they were preparing to shake hands, there was a tap on the door, and a thoroughly distraught Kathy O’Brien came in slowly, a white handkerchief pressed to her face.
“Sir,” she blurted out, “Captain Crocker has shot himself. He’s dead.”
President Clarke went white. His hand was clasped across his mouth as if trying to” stop himself from crying out.
Admiral Morgan steeled himself and put his arm around Kathy, guiding her out of the room. Just before he walked out through the doorway, he turned and said, “Corruption, sir, when you’re dealing with men of honor, sometimes carries a very high price.”
EPILOGUE
They brought Judd Crocker’s body home by military aircraft, landing at Cape Cod’s sprawling Otis Air Force Base. His heartbroken family arranged a small private funeral on the outskirts of Osterville, just for relatives and the small contingent from Washington — the President, Admiral Morgan and Kathy, and Admiral Joe Mulligan. However, Lt. Commander Rick Hunter flew in with Brad Stockton on a military jet from San Diego, and they flanked Nicole and the two little girls throughout the proceedings.
The service was conducted by the local pastor, and they laid Judd Crocker to rest near the grave of his grandfather in the hillside cemetery. The President himself looked as if every one of his worst dreams had just happened.
Here, in this village by Nantucket Sound, he faced for the first time the consequences of his actions. The entire place was in mourning for a native son who had died by his own hand. Down at the Wianno Yacht Club, where Captain Crocker had learned to sail as a boy, the flag of the United States flew at half-staff.
It was the same in the center of the town, outside the country store, where the town flag was also at half- staff. Shops all along Main Street were closed for the funeral, and a huge crowd was gathered on the sidewalks all the way down to the cemetery.
There had been just enough in the newspapers and on television for everyone to know there had been something highly suspicious about the court-martial. No one believed that Judd Crocker could possibly have been solely responsible for the loss of the
And now the President seemed to be in shock at the outpouring of hometown grief. The worst news he heard was that Admiral Nathaniel Crocker had told the
In the event, the final word, perhaps, went to Admiral Crocker, who waited for the President after the service.
Judd’s father walked up to him, and he did not offer his hand. He just said softly, “I wonder, sir, whose son has the greater honor, yours or mine?”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For my fourth military novel, my principal adviser was again Admiral Sir John “Sandy” Woodward, who was thus obliged to steer me through the dangerous waters of the China seas in a large nuclear submarine.
Where I wanted to go was often impossible. “Depth, man, depth, for heaven’s sake watch your depth!” Will I ever forget his admonishments as he paced the office glaring at the charts? While I tried to grapple with the
