Island Warriors

with stuff that really required his attention — so what? The chief radioman had been around the Navy just as long as Ganner and had been making the calls on radio messages for admirals for at least ten years. Sure, having Ganner screen routine stuff was a necessary part of the chain of command, but there were limits to that, too. What worked well in peacetime wasn’t always a good idea when flash traffic started flying around.

The carrier was moving so slowly than it was impossible to tell that she was leaving the pier and getting underway except for the one long blast sounded by the ship’s whistle and the order over the 1MC, “Shift colors.” Other than that, the only clue was the gradual opening of the distance between ship and the pier and the low vibration running through the deck.

Coyote scanned the message, then whistled softly. Without comment, he passed it over to Ganner, who scowled as he read it. “There goes the deployment schedule,” Ganner said when he’d finished.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Coyote said, perversely driven to disagree with Ganner although he had a feeling the man was right. “One antimissile shot’s not the end of the world. Nobody harm, no foul.” Even as he let the trite saying slip out of his mouth, Coyote knew he didn’t believe it.

Why didn’t they just let the missile go? According to the trajectory, it was headed for open ocean. Why shoot this one down when they’ve let others go before?

“Could be nothing at all,” Ganner agreed easily, although Coyote could see that he didn’t agree at all. Regardless of his faults, Ganner was no fool. “But it wouldn’t hurt to be ready for a change in the schedule. If we do get shipped out early, the time schedule’s going to be short. Not only supplies, but personnel as well. With your permission, I’ll tickle the system a bit, see if we can’t get some orders expedited.”

“Make it happen,” Coyote said. Maybe he’d been too judgmental — from the sounds of it, Ganner knew exactly what a chief of staff ought to be doing.

As the United States used her massive rudders and her propellers to twist her stern away from the pier, the tides pulled mightily on the bow, resulting in a sideways motion that brought her clear of the pier. The tugs remained tied off to the carrier until the ship had negotiated her turn toward the channel, and then, at the earliest possible moment, cast them off. The USS United States was underway, making way and ready to answer all bells.

Coyote finally saw a strip of water between the ship and the pier, a dark swath of oily, dirty ocean that he was glad to be away from. Yes, the USS United States was ready — but ready for what? They might have a chance to find out sooner than any of them had planned.

Naval Station Norfolk

1230 local (GMT –5)

By the time they’d transited the toll road running from Virginia Beach to the naval base, there was evidence of additional activity at the gate. The guards were checking ID cards and the already long line of cars was growing. The threat condition assigned on a board located next to the guard shack had gone from condition white to condition yellow. As Lab Rat watched, two men came out from the OOD’s office and removed the sign completely.

“Dear God,” Lab Rat said. “They’ve gone to condition Red. What the hell is going on around here?”

“I don’t know what it is, sir, or I’d tell you,” Frank said. Lab Rat had elected to leave his rental car at Tony’s Chowder Shack so that Frank could drive and he could eat. “The duty officer made it sound like it was for real, though. Full recall for selected commands, the JIC among them.”

“Not good,” Lab Rat commented around a mouthful of chowder. It was starting to cool and he was eager to get it all consumed before it clotted up. “Not good at all, from the looks of this mess. Selected commands around here must mean most of the base.” The crackers were still in a paper bag in front of him. All he wanted was chowder, and more chowder.

When they finally made it inside the front gate, the traffic was relatively light, although most of the parking lots were filling up. They waited until they were inside the foyer of the Joint Intelligence Center and then through the security hatches to talk further.

With Jefferson in the shipyard for the foreseeable future, one of the first priorities had been to find temporary positions for her ship’s company complement. Those that would be in no way involved in repairs, such as the staff of the intelligence center, were quickly sent to temporary duty elsewhere. Everyone was insisting it was temporary — there was no discussion that might indicate Jefferson’s eventual fate.

They were finally admitted through the locked doors to the inner sanctum of the intelligence center. Senior Chief Armstrong Brady, one of the most perceptive intelligence experts Lab Rat had ever known, was the first person they saw.

“Okay, quick version,” Lab Rat said. He pointed at Brady.

“Chinese missile test near Taiwan, except this time we think it will be an actual attack.” Brady stopped, to give Lab Rat a chance to absorb it.

Of course, it was not completely unexpected. The Chinese had been posturing in this way for decades. Not that they’d actually had the balls to do anything about it. That part of the world was extremely conscious of the potency of a force like the U.S. military, given the evidence of Nagasaki and Hiroshima so close at hand. In the back of their minds, there always lurked the memory of how completely devastating an attack on U.S. forces could be.

The only nation in the world to use nuclear weapons, and we’re surprised that nobody else forgets it, Lab Rat thought. He shrugged off the dilemma, and nodded his appreciation for Brady’s one-liner. “So what else? What’s the story?”

“That’s a problem, sir,” Brady continued. “Most of it’s human intelligence, HUMINT. This stuff from the SEALs — I gotta say, I agree with their intelligence estimates. But as for hard evidence…” Brady shrugged. They all knew that hard evidence was something you couldn’t expect in intelligence work.

“What’s the staff doing?” Lab Rat asked, referring to the intelligence personnel permanently assigned to JIC.

“They’ve already got a standard intelligence brief prepared for the area, of course,” the senior chief said. “Given that we’ve been there, they want us to look it over — see if there’s anything we can add from our personal experience.”

Lab Rat nodded. “Any indication from force commanders on what forces will be deploying?” he asked, knowing that was indeed the five million dollar question.

“Even with everyone working at top speed, Jefferson is at least a week away from getting underway.” Frank spoke with authority, since that was his area of expertise and he spoke daily with the maintenance forces back in San Diego. “Of course, if all they need is seaworthiness and no flight deck capabilities, it could be a lot sooner.”

“They could carry Harriers, at least,” Lab Rat said. “And helos, and logistic support. Maybe some aircraft maintenance depot stuff.”

“Yes, sir. And as for United States, a lot will depend on how her sea trials go.”

Lab contemplated the ceiling, the pieces falling into place in his mind. “Don’t count Jefferson out completely,” he said softly. “No, it’s far too early to do that. Okay, everybody, listen up. Suppose — just suppose, mind you — that there was a call to immediately staff the United States’ CVIC. I’m not saying it is going to happen, but I’d like a list of people who want to go, and a list of people who don’t. Senior chief, you handle that.” He turned to Frank. “Go sneak around. Find out what the thinking is at all the Fleet headquarters.”

“Yes, sir, I certainly will. If that new carrier is going to deploy anywhere suddenly, she deserves to have the best intelligence crew around onboard her.”

“And where you going, sir?” Brady asked.

Lab Rat was heading for his office to change into his khaki uniform. He paused for a moment and grinned. “San Diego. I’m going to go see my old friend, Admiral Coyote Grant.”

“Hope you’re a strong swimmer, sir,” Brady said, deadpan.

“Why?”