Admiral O’Flanagan, in Pearl Harbor, turned to his Communications Officer, “Get another satellite overhead down there. I don’t care if we lose coverage on the whole rest of the Pacific! I need comms with SAN FRANCISCO. Now! Damn it!”
23 Jun 2000, 1450LT (0750Z)
The B-2 came around to a launch course that pointed directly at Nusa Funata and came to a launch altitude of 10,000 feet. The mission commander began the pre-launch checklist. He took the unlock codes envelope out of the pre-sealed safe resting just outboard of his station. Both crewmen broke open the envelope and checked that the codes matched the ones on the message that they had received less than an hour ago. All that was left to do was to load the codes into the missiles, verify the targeting data and launch the first nuclear strike since World War II.
The pilot brought the ungainly black bird around to fly in the launch parameter envelope as the mission commander finished the pre-launch sequence. The bomb bay doors rumpled open and the rotary launch magazine lowered enough to expose one AGM-86B nuclear cruise missile to the slipstream.
The command radio crackled alive as the mission commander lifted the red launch cover. “Gold Eagle, this is Knee Cap. Mission Abort, Repeat Mission Abort! Authenticator Lima Zulu Six Tango Gulf. You are directed Romeo Tango Bravo. Report status. Over.”
National Command Authority had just canceled their mission. The pilot swung the bomber around and climbed as the bomb bay doors rumpled shut. They were headed home.
23 Jun 2000, 1640LT (0840Z)
LCDR Jones lay unconscious on the wardroom operating table. His leg was splinted and the gash on his forehead now sported a neat row of sutures under the gauze bandage. But he had slipped in and out of consciousness repeatedly since they had pulled him from the water.
“Doc, we have Dr. Morgan from the ESSEX on satellite voice,” Chief Tyler said over the MJ phone. “We've patched it through on the 21MC box to the wardroom for you.”
Chief Pugh, this is Dr. Morgan on the ESSEX,” the box on the bulkhead squawked. “I have reviewed the information that you relayed to us. Has there been any change in the patient?”
“He is currently unconscious,” Doc Pugh answered. “Blood pressure has been one-six-zero over nine-five. There has been recurring emesis. There is evidence of anisocoria. The right pupil is dilated considerably larger than the left. When the patient was conscious, he complained of a severe headache. The onset of cephalalgia, together with the other symptoms point to a subarachnoid hemorrhage. The other possibility is a subdural hematoma. Both are way beyond my capability to treat.”
Dr Morgan responded, “Chief Pugh, it sounds like your diagnosis is on the spot. You know your stuff. Is there any sign of opisthotones?”
Doc Pugh answered, “No sir, the neck is stiff and he resists movement but no sign of opisthotones.”
After a brief pause, the 21MC again squawked again as Dr. Morgan answered, “Well, I think that we have a Grade IV subarachnoid hemorrhage. He needs to be moved to a neurological unit as fast as possible. The nearest one appears to be in Jakarta. Can you get him there?”
“I’ll have to talk with the Skipper,” Doc Pugh replied. “We’re a long way from Jakarta and I’m not sure how friendly they will be. What do I do in the meantime?”
“We’ve got to relieve the intracranial pressure, relieve the swelling. You have mannitol and dexamethasone in your AMAL.” Dr. Morgan’s voice crackled over the circuit. “Administer an injection of mannitol and continuous dexamethasone through the IV. That will reduce the swelling and buy us a few hours. Place the patient in a cervical collar and catheterize him. Measure the urine output and give me the numbers every hour.”
Dr. Morgan prescribed a regime of analgesics, nimodipine and anti-hypertension medications to combat the symptoms and to make Jones as comfortable as possible. That was all that they could do for the injured flier until they could get him to a proper hospital.
22 Jun 2000, 2220LT (23 Jun, 0920Z)
“Have they gone nuts on SAN FRANCISCO!” Admiral O’Flanagan ranted. “What’s this crap about attempting to rescue the survivors from that frigate? There are probably two to three hundred of them. SAN FRANCISCO doesn’t have any place to put them. They’ll be stuck on the surface, sitting ducks. And, worse, they will blow cover for any deniability in this. Get me General Schwartz on the red phone, again!”
After a brief pause to establish the communications link, COMSUBPAC was speaking with the Chairman. He first briefed the General about the activities of the night around Nusa Funata. He then launched into an explanation of the intentions on SAN FRANCISCO.
General Schwartz warily questioned, “What are the alternatives here? As I see it, we can’t leave them in the water. The nearest land is Nusa Funata. If any make it that far, they’ll die of the smallpox with the remaining terrorists. There are no other ships in the area. If we leave them, we have a couple of problems. Just for a start, it violates international law."
Schwartz paced the length of his desk, turned and paced back. The red cord for the handset trailed behind him. "SAN FRANCISCO can do the rescue with little risk as long as we can keep air cover over her. More importantly, when word gets out that we sank that frigate and then left the survivors to die, we have a huge black eye. On the
