The Aegis fire control system itself was still in manual, requiring human intervention to launch missiles. They could, if in high tempo operations, configure the Aegis computer for fully automatic operations. But in the constrained waters of the Gulf, with the airspace overhead cluttered with commercial flights, transports, as well as the occasional Air Force tanker who forgot the check-in with Red Crown, full auto was not the preferred mode of operation.
“You heard that?” the captain asked his TAO.
The TAO nodded. “Yes, sir. We’re ready — count on it.”
“I know we are. But the question is, ready for what?” He studied his tactical action officer for a moment.
Lieutenant Commander Abe Norfolk was his weapons officer. Norfolk was a veteran of the cruiser community, experienced and capable, well on his way to a command of his own someday. Captain Henry had liked him immediately from the moment he checked on board. Not that that was a requirement, of course — all he really demanded from his officers was that they demonstrate superb tactical competence. But in the close quarters of a cruiser, it helped that everyone got along.
Abe stood six-foot four inches tall, and weighed in at around 230 pounds. He was a massively boned black man, and one who clearly took working out seriously. Like everyone on the cruiser, he had a difficult time finding both the time and the facilities to maintain his conditioning program. Captain Henry was not entirely certain how he managed it, but he suspected Norfolk had not lost one inch of mass in the three months they’d been at sea.
In addition to his imposing physical condition, Norfolk was also a Rhodes scholar. He had attended undergraduate school at the University of San Diego in California, majoring in physics. He had quickly put that knowledge to use in conducting departmental training, and now most of his enlisted technicians sounded as though they had completed the graduate course in weapons engineering. Captain Henry often found himself chuckling over the phrases that he heard coming out of his enlisted men’s mouths and he felt an intense flush of pride when he saw the occasional equation scribbled on the hard plastic surface of the enlisted mass dining facility tables. Writing on the tables, particularly in pen, was strictly forbidden.
But there was no way he was going to do anything about it — hell, he was tempted to cut those scribbled-on pieces out and mount them on the bulkhead, point to them with pride as he showed others around the ship and shout, “This is what these men and women are capable of, given the chance. Don’t ever underestimate them — not ever.” For some of his toughest cases, kids who had barely graduated from high school, Lieutenant Commander Abe Norfolk was a god.
“Captain, you want to set general quarters or air defense conditions?” Norfolk asked.
“What would you do?” Henry responded. It was his policy to use every second for training that he could, to test his officers as well as his enlisted people on their readiness to advance to the next level of responsibility. Not that he had any doubts about Norfolk — no, not at all.
“I would pass the word quietly around ship, sir,” Norfolk said. “Key personnel, but then decide who needs to know. Knowing these folks, they’ll soon start drifting into Combat just to keep an eye on things. General quarters — no, not yet. It will only wear them out, use them up before we really need them. Besides, that Commander Busby — he’s one smart spook.” Norfolk used the Navy slang word for intelligence or cryptological officer. “If it were serious enough to be setting general quarters, he would have let us know.”
“Exactly so,” the captain answered. And it wasn’t a polite comment — Norfolk had reacted exactly as Henry had.
During the pre-sail conferences and staff conferences since they’d been underway, Captain Henry had taken Norfolk with him several times to the carrier. There, they both got to know the rest the staff, and when messages like this came in over the wires, they knew who they were dealing with. And Norfolk was right about Lab Rat — the intelligence officer had an instinct for trouble that was simply uncanny. If it had been more urgent, Lab Rat would have let them know.
“Tomcats are on station, sir,” the air track supervisor said. Two blue symbols were arrowing out from the carrier to the cruiser, the target numbers displayed next to them and the shape of the symbol showing that the computer had identified them as friendly contacts. One of the modes of the IFF was especially encrypted, and would have identified the contacts to the computer as a friendly military platform. Even in full automatic, the Aegis cruiser missile system would not have attacked them.
“Any more word on that submarine?” Henry asked Norfolk.
Norfolk shook his head. “Not a word, sir. But Chief Clark and Petty Officer Apple are champing at the bit to get hold of it.”
Norfolk didn’t have to tell him that. He’d seen Chief and Apple in the sonar shack already, and each one gave the appearance of having been there for several hours. It was clearly not their watch, but they were there anyway, just watching. “Don’t let them wear themselves out,” he warned Norfolk. “They will if you let them.”
Norfolk nodded. “I threw them out about four hours ago, with orders to hit their racks. You think they look rough now, you should have seen them then. It’s a definite improvement.”
“Good thinking.” He grinned down at his TAO, absurdly pleased with him. For just a second, he considered placing his hand on the man’s shoulder, giving it a hard shake. But then he drew back. As satisfied as he was with Norfolk’s performance thus far, it never worked to let an officer think he’d achieved every goal set before him. It could lead to laziness — he was certain it wouldn’t in Norfolk’s case, but that’s not the way he trained his junior officers.
“I’ll be in my quarters,” Henry said. “Call me if you need me.”
Wadi walked in on an argument raging inside his operations center. He stood just inside the door, watching the chaos for a few moments. The men, most dressed in traditional garb with only a few in uniform, flowed and eddied around the wide open space, shouting, gesturing, each one louder than the next. His cousin Jemal stood in the center, striving to be heard over the noise as he shouted at another man instead of attempting to regain control of his people. It was, Wadi knew, his cousin’s greatest failing, this inability to see the big picture, to step into a position of leadership. If he could not control even his own staff, how could he be expected to deal with powerful heads of neighboring Arab states?
No, Wadi was the one to seize the reins of leadership, to take the Middle East into the next era. It was so clear now as he stood there and watched his relatives, his subordinates, his entire staff disintegrate into a squabbling mob in the absence of strong leadership.
And the way to settle this was not to be the loudest, to participate in this game. No, there were other ways.
He stepped into the center of the room, a powerful presence. The men around him who were arguing faltered, tried to carry on their arguments but could not do so under his calm, impassive stare. He let them feel this presence, not speaking, reaching out to each one of them to exert his influence over them.
Quiet spread out in ripples around him, within a few minutes reaching to the farthest corners of the room. Only Jemal refused to yield, continuing — or at least trying to continue — an argument with another officer, deliberately ignoring Wadi’s presence in the room. Finally, when his disobedience became ludicrous even to himself, he capitulated. He turned, and a bright smile of friendship spread across his face.
“Cousin,” he boomed, making a welcoming gesture. “Welcome.”
Wadi stared at him, his face still impassive. He let the full meaning of his displeasure sink in with his subordinates. It was as though he could actually see the power draining away from his cousin, coming to him. Finally, when his cousin’s smile began to falter, Wadi unbent slightly. “Is there some problem?” he inquired, as though sincerely concerned. “I wish be able to make a full report to my father.”
His cousin recognized the threat for what it was. “Of course not,” he said, perilously close to losing his own temper again. “We were simply discussing the next step.”
“Which needs no discussion,” Wadi said smoothly. “The sequence of events is well-established. And all is ready?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain?”
“I said yes.” Wadi could see his cousin struggle to keep his voice down.
