She knew how to play tough, yet still give them some room to save face, and sometimes I thought my job on the carrier might be a hell of a lot easier than hers. We've got a saying ? kill them all and let God sort them out. Ambassador Wexler didn't have that luxury.
In addition to dealing with the Vietnamese delegation, she also had to soothe the worries of myriad other nations that felt threatened or beleaguered because of the conflict. Laos, Cambodia, even Japan ? all were in an uproar, desperately trying to decide which side of the fence to sit on.
Add to the mix the silent, ominous presence of China. They figured prominently in every conflict in that area, and I had no doubt that they had some delicate, hidden hand to play in this. Maybe they were the primary customers of the alleged nuclear plant, although I couldn't see how they'd need it. Or maybe this had something to do with trade, expanding China's backyard into a solid phalanx of political support against the United States. God knows they'd been flexing their muscles ever since they took over Hong Kong, becoming increasingly belligerent about everything from the Spratly Islands to the importation of rice into Japan.
Despite all the factors warring against it, eventually the overtures came. Not to me at first, although they eventually trickled down to my level. Instead, underlings at both State and the United Nations started agreeing with their Vietnamese counterparts that there should at least be a conference ? a discussion, if you will ? to sort out conflicting interests in the area. No mention was made of the attack on Jefferson, nor of the pilots and aircraft I'd lost.
For their part, the Vietnamese refrained from blustering about the air strikes. Diplomatic notes were exchanged, arrangements were made. Finally, the beginning of a consensus.
What it all boiled down to was that Jefferson was going to play host to a group of U.S. and Vietnamese officials. They'd argued for two days about whether the conference would take place inside or outside Vietnamese territorial waters, finally settling on giving me rudder orders to delicately patrol the exact twelve-mile limit off the coast. Thank God for the global positioning system ? GPS. It's the only way to get an accurate enough position to make mat sort of political statement.
When things start moving, they move fast. The delegations would be arriving soon, alternating Vietnamese and American flights out to Jefferson, the pecking order and time of arrival carefully calculated to slight the least number of feelings.
I'd pointed out that receiving a peace delegation on board in the middle of bombing the crap out of their country was a bit inconsistent, to say the least. But State and Defense hardly ever talk, and neither one was backing down from their respective schedules. Maybe they had thought it out and figured they were sending some sort of message.
An aircraft carrier is big, but not so big that you can absorb forty people, all of whom rate high-status quarters, without displacing some permanent residents. We did a quick shuffle, bunking senior officers in with each other, and finally had enough staterooms.
The first aircraft arrived at 1700, a CH46 ferrying out from Vietnam to Jefferson, containing a contingent of U.S. representatives on board. They were mostly underlings, advance men who immediately tried to take command of the ship and rearrange my world to their liking.
It didn't work. I held them off, waiting for the arrival of the heavy hitters.
Finally, they came. First a load of Vietnamese underlings, then the U.S. helo carrying Ambassador Sarah Wexler. I watched the entire evolution from the tower, hoping and praying to God that some dumb fuck wouldn't pick this very moment to do something stupid. Not in front of all these people.
Ambassador Wexler's helicopter settled down onto the deck gracefully, and the plane captains raced out to help secure the aircraft and to escort its esteemed cargo across the flight deck. I watched, my stomach knotted, certain that some young plane captain would choose just this moment in time to try to move an F14 or turn an engine and suck the ambassador right down the intake.
Minutes later, the Vietnamese VIP helicopter signaled its approach. Its pilot came in gracefully, settling neatly on the deck as though he did it every day of his life. I was somewhat impressed, although the deck of an aircraft carrier is not that tough a target. Still, it does take some getting used to, hovering and sinking down over a moving airfield.
The Vietnamese senior VIP disembarked from the helicopter last, as befitted his status. The plane captains lined up on either side escorted him to the island, where he was greeted by the same side boys that had just welcomed Ambassador Wexler. The 1MC announcement went off smoothly.
So far, so good. Everybody on deck, nobody ingested by an aircraft engine. That had to count for something.
I raced back down the ladder and made it to the wardroom just as Ambassador Wexler and her counterpart were being escorted in. They'd already been relieved of their cranials, helmets that they'd worn during their flights, as well as their flotation devices.
Ambassador Wexler was much as I remembered her, a short, full-figured tiger of a woman who looked deceptively gentle and calm. She tendered me her hand, offered a warm smile, and said, 'Thank you for having us, Admiral Wayne.'
'Glad to have you aboard, Madam Ambassador,' I replied politely. Yeah, like I'd had a choice.
Then I turned to her Vietnamese counterpart. 'And you, sir, welcome aboard USS Jefferson. If there is anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable, I do hope you or your staff will contact me personally at your earliest convenience.'
The man studied me, his eyes dark and cold. No trace of warmth in his expression, I noted.
Not that I blamed him. He was looking at the son of a bitch who'd just bombed the hell out of his airfield and probably killed a lot of his men. Under the same circumstances, I'm sure I wouldn't have been much more pleasant.
He finally inclined his head, ever so slightly, the minimum sketch of courtesy required in his culture. I bowed slightly, more deeply than he had, determined not to let any inadvertent cultural faux pas muddy up the already turbulent waters of this conference.
'My Chief of Staff,' I said to the man, introducing Irwin to both the Vietnamese and Ambassador Wexler.
Then I fell silent. The man's game was getting on my nerves a little bit. The message we'd received from State only gave us the number and approximate ranks of the Vietnamese visitors who would be arriving, not all of their names.
Not this man's name.
'May I notify my superiors of your safe arrival?' I asked finally. 'if I could let them know, sir, that Ambassador…' I let my voice trail off delicately, waiting for him to fill in the missing name. Seems I had learned something in my D.C. tours after all.
'Than. Bien Than,' he said finally.
'Admiral,' the Chief of Staff said quietly. 'If I could have your attention for a moment?'
I nodded, made my excuses, and stepped away from the dignitaries. 'Jesus, what is it, COS?' I asked. 'I'm a little busy right now, buddy.'
COS nodded. 'I wouldn't have interrupted you, not if it weren't important.'
I let out a huge sigh. 'Yeah, I know. So what is it?'
He pointed at the overhead. 'Another Vietnamese helicopter inbound, Admiral. They say it's been cleared by State.'
'Another one?' I hissed. 'Jesus, I thought we got them all-'
'We did, Admiral,' COS answered, taking a chance on interrupting me. 'But I just talked to my liaison on State's staff, and they evidently overlooked mentioning this one in their last message. It belongs to the Vietnamese, though. And they want the people on board.'
I tamped down my temper, and considered my options. Well, it didn't take long. There weren't any.
'Have the Air Boss get 'em on board then,' I said, sighing. 'Find out who they are ? damn it, we're going to have to rearrange the sleeping arrangements again, aren't we?'
COS nodded. 'I'll take care of everything, Admiral. Just wanted to let you know.'
COS exited quickly, clearly ahead of me on the details. He was like that, a good man, one who seemed to have developed the uncanny ability to read my mind ? or even read my subconscious, knowing what I wanted before I even knew it myself. He was talking about retirement ? damned if I'd let him go before I did.
I turned back to my guests and made polite small talk as I heard the ship go to Flight Quarters, then the
