The Elephant Game (The War Planners Book 4)

by Andrew Watts

  “Do they have escorts?” asked the CAG.

  “We don’t believe so.”

  More murmurs throughout the room.

  Admiral Manning pointed towards the screen on the far end of the conference table. “Do we have a more accurate update on Chinese submarine locations?”

  “Sir, both ship and submarine locations are now at least twenty-four hours time-late.” The information warfare commander’s voice was painfully apologetic.

  “Very well—Commodore, what’s your plan for ASW?”

  “Sir, we’ve asked for maritime air support round the clock from here on out once we get to Hawaii. And I’m working with HSM-74 to set up continuous helicopter support. The carrier strike group will also have a protective screen of destroyers looking for submarine threats at all times.”

  “You’re about to take some of my destroyers from me, aren’t you?”

  The commodore gave an awkward smile. “Sir, the surface action group would be taking many of the destroyers south, but…”

  “The carrier is the high-value unit, Scott. Let’s make sure we prioritize it as such.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We can talk this when we get to your plans.”

  “Yes, sir.” The commodore looked at his lieutenants sitting together on the wall. They were red-faced, realizing that they might have to rework all the plans they had just spent the past six hours making.

  Admiral Manning turned to his left. “CAG, we’re going to need to place a priority on over-the-horizon surveillance. If our satellites and drone support are diminished, we need organic capability to tell us where the bad guys are and what they’re doing.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve already begun planning for this.”

  “What’s the status on plussing up the air wing to full strength?”

  “Sir, the COD’s been flying round the clock bringing in support personnel and parts. We have scheduled V-22 hits while we’re in range of North Island. We have a squadron of F-35Cs aboard—as well as Growlers and the Screwtops. But we need more helicopters and super hornets, sir. We’re about half strength compared to what our normal complement should be.”

  The admiral said, “What help is needed?”

  “Sir, it might help if PACFLEET was encouraged…”

  “Very well. I’ll make the calls after we’re done.” The admiral looked at Captain Stewart. “Will you be able to fit in a day of taking on a few more squadrons over the next week?”

  The CAG said, “Admiral, we’ll need to get close to San Diego if we’re going to take on more helicopters.”

  The admiral frowned. “We don’t have time for that, I’m afraid. Remind me, what do we have aboard now?”

  “We have exactly four Romeos and five Sierras, sir.” The CAG looked along the wall of the room. He asked a commander in a flight suit, “If we can’t get more helicopters, what do you need to conduct twenty-four-hour operations?”

  Boyle realized that the commander in the flight suit must have been one of the helicopter squadron commanders. “Sir, we’ve made arrangements to pick up more personnel once we get near Hawaii. We’re in talks with HSM-37 to detach one or two of their birds to us as well. They’re out of Kanehoe Bay.”

  The admiral nodded. “Good. Gentlemen, we all saw how deadly just one Chinese submarine can be if not detected. We need to be vigilant. Do not sleep on the submarine threat. If the Chinese are moving on us, the carriers will be their number one target.”

  The officers at the central table nodded agreement. “Yes, sir.”

  The admiral turned. “Commodore, let’s talk about your SAG now.”

  The commodore grabbed the clicker and switched the screen to show the map of ships that his lieutenants had worked on. “Sir, based on the intelligence we received earlier today, we intend to put a surface action group in a position to locate and interdict the Chinese convoy. We would plan to search the area our intel expects them to cross. If we make an average speed of eighteen knots, I’m confident that we can intercept them in the vicinity of the Marshall Islands.”

  “Who are you stealing from me, Commodore?”

  The commodore did his best to look humble. “We had originally intended on taking four destroyers, three LCSs, and a supply ship.”

  The admiral stared at the map. As an afterthought, he said, “Remind the group who’s with us now, Commodore. We have a lot of new faces with us.”

  “Sir, ships in company include one Arleigh Burke–class destroyer, the USS Mason. We have the latest Zumwalt-class destroyer riding shotgun—the USS Michael Monsoor. Our supply ship is the USNS Henry J. Kaiser, and we have two littoral combat ships: the Detroit and the Fort Worth.”

  “And the Farragut…”

  “Yes, sir, the Farragut is steaming this way as we speak, and we actually have Commander Boyle, their new captain, with us here today.”

  “Welcome, Commander Boyle.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The admiral said, “Commodore, when do we meet up with the others?”

  “Sir, we have three more destroyers, two LCSs, and a second supply ship steaming from San Diego now. They should join us the day after tomorrow based on my conversation with Captain Stewart and the navigator.”

  The navigator was in a flight suit, sitting against the wall. Boyle knew him to be a former P-3 squadron commanding officer, a mean poker player, and an overall good guy. He said, “That’s right, sir. Around twenty hundred local time the day after tomorrow.”

  “And the strike group will pick up several more once we’re closer to Pearl.”

  “How many?”

  “Sir, we’re still working that out.”

  “What’s the issue?”

  “Third and Seventh Fleet are trading pieces. No one wants to be shorted.”

  Admiral Manning frowned. “We can discuss that later. Tell me, are you planning on going with the destroyers when we break up?”

  The room was uncomfortably quiet. This was probably not the best venue for the conversation. But Admiral Manning had a reputation for making his O-6s sweat it out during meetings like this. During one meeting Boyle had observed, when the information warfare commander had suggested that they take a conversation offline, Admiral Manning had replied, “What the hell was this meeting for, then? A show for all these junior officers to know that we’re doing our job? Give me your damn answer, Captain.” The O-6s had come prepared to discuss any and all agenda items after that.

  The commodore cleared his throat. “I had planned to embark on the Farragut, sir…”

  “And you’ll leave the Michael Monsoor here?” The admiral looked down the table at the Michael Monsoor’s captain, who had also flown over for the meeting.

  “Yes, sir, of course. Captain Hoblet on the Monsoor is the air defense commander. I assumed you would want to keep them as shotgun…”

  Both the commodore and the admiral turned now to Captain Hoblet, who sat a few seats down from them at the center table. The air defense commander was normally the ship captain of the shotgun cruiser. Since this strike group had been thrown together in haste, and with units that were not scheduled to go on deployment for months or years, there weren’t any cruisers to be given. The USS Michael Monsoor was a three-billion-dollar advancement in naval technology—or, depending on who you asked, a three-billion-dollar piece of junk.

  Controversy had surrounded just about every new piece of military technology in recent years. Part of that was due to legitimate problems with the bureaucratic procurement machine that plagued the defense industry. Another part of it was the lobbyists of competitor defense firms, happy to run negative news campaigns if it might help their business. If one new military platform didn’t get funding, the money wasn’t saved by the taxpayers. It went to the competition, for a proven and ready piece of hardware that was battle-tested. Washington made Boyle sick, if he let himself think about it too much.

  The Zumwalt-class destroyer was no exception to this. While much of the technology was stat
e-of-the-art, it had several eye-popping problems—one of which was its air defense capability. The Zumwalt was unproven in this arena. Her systems were different than the AEGIS system that other Navy destroyers and cruisers used.

  Admiral Manning said, “Should I be comfortable with a Zumwalt-class ship as my air defense commander?”

  Captain Hoblet said, “Sir, the Michael Monsoor is fully capable of—”

  “How much testing and training have you and your crew done? And how well integrated are you with the AEGIS destroyers?”

  “Admiral, admittedly, the ship is brand-new. We haven’t yet finished—”

  “Let’s be clinical in our decision making. The Michael Monsoor might be great at air defense. But I don’t want to find out that there’s some compatibility issue integrating with the other destroyers’ AEGIS systems in the middle of a missile attack. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “From what I’ve read in your reports, you have tested some of the other weapons systems aboard, and she’s more than adequate at the surface warfare mission.”

  “That’s an accurate statement, sir.”

  “Very well. Commodore, when we’re done here, let’s look at sending the Michael Monsoor out as the SAG commander. Captain Hoblet, you can delegate air defense duties to one of our escort destroyers that remains with Ford.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hoblet’s face betrayed no emotion.

  “Commodore, what’s the plan for the SAG?”

  The commodore tried to maintain his composure while all eyes were on him after just getting shot down by his boss.

  “Yes, sir, we’ll have at least four detachments of helicopters embarked on those SAG ships. My intent”—he clicked the button to switch to the next slide—“is to create a giant line abreast formation—about one hundred miles of separation between each of the seven warships. We’ll have the supply ship close to one of them. That gives us a seven-hundred-nautical-mile vertical line that we’re covering each day, plus about two hundred more miles on each side that the helicopters can surveil.”

  “That’s still a hell of a lot of open ocean to have to cover outside of that.”

  “Sir, there’s a marine expeditionary unit embarked on the USS America in the vicinity of northern Australia. With your permission, sir, I’d like to ask PACFLEET to see if they can help them get some of the V-22s and F-35s to conduct a little surveillance in the South Pacific. That would help us narrow down the search area.”

  The admiral frowned. “You don’t think PACCOM is going to want to use their Marines?”

  “Sir, I’m sure they will. But other than spreading out my ships and…”

  “What about the Australians?”

  “Sir?”

  “Have we reached out to the Royal Australian Air Force? Let’s see if we can get some of their maritime surveillance aircraft to help out down there. Work with the IWC.”

  The information warfare commander said, “Sir, they already feed into our collection box—everything has just been disrupted over the past twenty-four hours. Actually, we may have an additional maritime reconnaissance tool soon. The Air Force has a few B-52s out of Guam that they’re outfitting with Dragon’s Eye sensors. They’ll be able to patrol large areas of ocean in the South Pacific around Guam.”

  “That’s excellent news. Gentlemen, we need to look at the possibility that China is trying to do what Japan couldn’t during World War II. North Korea may attack the South. China has threatened to retaliate against the United States if we attack North Korea. Now that we’ve bombed North Korea’s missile site, we’ll find out if China was bluffing. We may very well be at war this time next week. If that happens, China will be storming across the Pacific, trying to grab as much land as they can, as fast as possible. Then they’ll arm it, and fortify that land so we can’t take it back.

  “All those battles you studied in World War II history—all those names you know—Midway, Wake Island, Tarawa, Iwo Jima—remember them. They are once again strategic land masses that we’ll need to consider. Those islands are able to support runways that line up with the prevailing wind direction. There are only a handful. Once these islands are occupied by the Chinese military, it will be much harder for us to maintain control of the seas in the vicinity.

  “Soon we’ll send some of our ships off to be part of a surface action group to the south. Our carrier strike group will maintain tactical control of that SAG while they look for possible Chinese convoys that are trying to make it across the Pacific. Our strike group will head to Pearl Harbor to take on more people, parts, and aircraft. We’ll be joined by more ships—preferably as many as possible.” He looked at the commodore when he said that.

  “We are working with Pacific Fleet on what our orders will be after we reach Hawaii. But for now, I need everyone in this room to start planning for war.”

  Determined nods from around the room.

  “Whether it’s China, North Korea, or both, our strike group may soon be in harm’s way. Prepare. Train your people. Make sure they’re in the right state of mind. Make sure they’re keeping healthy. No more communications home. Operational security is paramount. That’s all, gentlemen. Now get to work.”

  Everyone jumped to attention as the admiral stood and walked out of the room.

  Commander Boyle caught the commodore’s eye after the admiral left the conference room. Dozens of officers remained. Most were staff officers, huddled around their bosses, talking game plans and schedules.

  The commodore smiled at Commander Boyle. “Well, you lucked out, Captain. Now you don’t have to deal with me living on your ship.”

  Boyle gave a slight grin. “Did you want to talk, sir? My helicopter leaves in about forty minutes to take me back to Farragut.”

  “Yes, come back to my stateroom for a few minutes.”

  Boyle followed the commodore as he walked. The busy passageways of an aircraft carrier reminded Boyle of driving on a highway. It was crowded, with many bottlenecks. The people behind you always seemed to be in a rush to go faster, and the ones in front were always going too slow. But overall, the traffic moved fast. Every twenty feet or so, they stepped up and through the six-foot-tall open hatch of a watertight compartment. Boyle knew that if general quarters were called, all these watertight doors would be closed and sealed shut, increasing the chances that damage to the ship would be survivable.

  Dark corridors branched off to either side of the main passageway. Doors lined the corridors. Some of the doors had name plates on them—living quarters for the officers. Some of the doors were office spaces. Heads—or bathrooms—were spaced throughout these living quarters. Boyle saw a man in a towel coming out of one of them, his flip-flops squeaking on the floor. Probably on the night watch, or a pilot with a night flight. Shipboard operations were twenty-four hours a day.

  At last they reached the commodore’s door. Unlike the other stateroom doors, which were plain gray plastic, his was a deep blue color, with a decorative wooden plaque on the outside. It read Commander, Destroyer Squadron 22. Underneath that, it read Sea Combat Commander. The man had many titles.

  “Would you like a coffee? Coke?” The commodore opened up a mini fridge, holding up a can.

  “Sure, I’ll take a Coke, sir. Thank you.”

  They cracked open their soda cans and sat down, Boyle on the couch, and the commodore on a blue cushioned seat across from him. A small coffee table sat in the center. The room was cramped, but even these sparse quarters were considered luxurious living on board the carrier. The commodore was one of the highest-ranking members of the now-nine-thousand-person-strong carrier strike group. His reward was a couch and a Coke-stocked mini fridge, crammed together in a space the size of Boyle’s wife’s walk-in closet.

  “Our conversation was going to be about how I planned to run the surface action group.” He smiled. “But now that I won’t be going…”

  A knock at the door.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened, and Captain
Hoblet stuck his head in. “Scott…just wanted to chat for a second if you’ve got a chance. They’re sending a helicopter over for me soon.”

  “Come in, come in.” The commodore waved.

  “Sir, I can leave.”

  “Jared, this is James Boyle, the new captain of the Farragut.”

  “Ah. Pleasure to meet you, James. It appears that we’ll be working together.” An amused look on the man’s face. They shook hands.

  “I’m sorry about the admiral’s decision, Scott. If you like, I can talk to him about—”

  “No. He’s right, when I think about it from the perspective of air defense. Which I wasn’t. It makes more sense to leave another AEGIS ship here with Ford and have you lead the SAG.”

  Hoblet nodded. “I tend to agree. I believe that Michael Monsoor’s air defense capabilities will exceed all expectations. But it’s not worth the risk. Not if we have so many proven DDGs.”

  “Would you like to sit?”

  “No, I just wanted to swing by to make sure you were good with all of this.”

  “We’ll make it work. Hell, PACFLEET’s staffers are rewriting everything we submit to them anyway.”

  Hoblet chuckled. “No doubt.” He stuck out his hand, looking the commodore in the eye as they shook. “Godspeed.” Then he looked at Boyle and said, “Commander. I’ll be in touch.” Captain Hoblet walked out, the door swinging shut behind him.

  The commodore let out a long sigh. “How many pilots do they have on your ship?”

  Boyle furrowed his brow. “Sir?” An odd question.

  “Commander, I’m short one aviator on my staff. My air ops officer had a baby just before we put out to sea, and my team is struggling to speak aviator. I need a helicopter pilot who can help my staff work with the air wing. Pretty soon, we may be running round-the-clock surveillance and ASW flights from the carrier and all the ships in company. So, I need an air operations officer. I mentioned it to the CAG. The helicopter squadrons on board the carrier are short pilots, and he doesn’t really want to steal from them if he can help it.”