by Andrew Watts
The admiral said, “First, let me just say how sorry I am for the loss of your father, Commander. I spoke with him a few weeks ago—after your temporary command of the Farragut.” The admiral said it as if the event was humorous. Maybe to him it was.
“Your father was a friend of mine, and he was enormously proud of his three children, but he had a special place in his heart for you, I think.”
“Thank you, sir.” She forced herself to continue breathing in a slow rhythm. She was still numb from the loss and just wanted this talk to be over.
“There will be a memorial service for the fallen tomorrow. At the waterfront memorial. It will be a short service, but it is important, even in such times as these, to remember our brothers and sisters in arms with dignity and respect.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll make sure to attend, assuming my ship is still in port.” Victoria pressed her lips into a tight line, nodding respectfully.
The admiral and general exchanged an odd look. Had she said something wrong?
“You’ll be in port, Commander. But you won’t be with your ship.”
“I’m sorry?”
The four-star said, “No, Miss Manning, it is I who am sorry. I’m sorry to ask you to take on this assignment in the wake of your father’s passing. But I recognize talent when I see it, and this mission requires someone of both your skill set and your considerable ability.”
Victoria frowned, looking among the faces of the flag officers.
“Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the Army general. “General Schwartz here has just flown in from the East Coast of the US. He is now going to tell us how we’re going to win the war.”
Victoria thought that the memorial service was well done. Short and sweet. White wooden folding chairs on a green lawn. The attendees wore their dress uniforms and were almost all active-duty military from the ships in the harbor. A way for the sailors, marines, and airmen who had just come into port to say goodbye to their fallen comrades—before they were called out to battle once again.
Victoria sat with her air detachment from the Farragut, and the other members of the ship’s crew. They had all noticed something different about her.
She had been promoted.
After General Schwartz had outlined the operation, the PACFLEET admiral had informed Victoria that she was to lead the air portion of the mission. The billet was deemed appropriate for an O-5. Victoria didn’t complain, but she also felt funny about skipping her place in line. It would be at least a year before she was supposed to have been eligible for that promotion, and she wasn’t sure what this would mean for her career. The Navy was notorious for its backwards HR system. She wouldn’t be surprised if this “honor” came back to bite her someday during a command selection board, with someone on the panel penalizing her because the assignment didn’t fit into the normal list. Or maybe now that she’d put on commander early, she would have to compete for assignments with men who’d been in rank longer and, as a result, had several more checks in the required boxes. There were all sorts of ridiculous land mines to watch out for in the military promotion system.
But she kept coming back to the same thought.
She didn’t care.
Not anymore.
Her father was the one person she would have wanted to see her get any more promotions or accolades. Her father was the one she had wanted to someday witness her first change of command ceremony. Without him, it wasn’t the same. As she looked around the rows of uniformed men and women and heard the first cracks of ceremonial rifle fire, she searched her soul for a reason to keep on going. Had her own ambition always been about her father?
She dipped her head, willing herself not to cry. Anger welled up inside her, rage at an unseen enemy for taking her father, for killing her shipmates. The anger felt good. It reminded her that it wasn’t just ambition that drove her. Maybe she didn’t care about rank or making command as much anymore, but Victoria still felt a very strong sense of duty. A need to serve a higher purpose. To defend her country and stand up for a freedom-loving society.
She felt the three stripes on her shoulder boards that signified her recent promotion. She should be grateful as hell for this assignment. It was a chance to make a difference.
She looked at the men and women of her air detachment and the USS Farragut sat in the chairs surrounding her. She had a duty to them, too. God had given her many gifts. Her skill as a naval aviator was as good as anyone’s. Her ability to lead under pressure, she knew, was exceptional. And with those gifts came a responsibility to use them when called.
The chaplain leading the ceremony said a final blessing, and then the group was called to attention and dismissed.
Her men, knowing that she was leaving, came up to her after the dismissal.
“Sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
“Yeah, sorry, Boss.” One after another, they all paid their respects.
She nodded and thanked them, eyes moist, barely holding it together.
“So are you coming back to the ship at all, Boss?” They had all heard about her reassignment. They didn’t know what she would be doing. That was top-secret compartmentalized information. But they knew she would no longer be with them, and they were disappointed as hell.
“Just to clean out my stateroom. They said someone else will be replacing me later today.”
“They know who yet?”
“Sorry, I don’t know.”
The senior chief said, “Alright, leave the commander alone. She’s got to get out of here.” He shook her hand. “Best of luck, ma’am. It’s been a privilege.”
“Thank you, Senior. Same here.”
Victoria walked on the lawn towards the parking lot when a familiar face made her smile.
Plug, her old maintenance officer, currently embarked on the USS Ford, stood in wrinkly summer whites and a cover that was slightly cocked on his head.
Plug said, “Holy shit-balls. Boss. What’s up with these?” He pointed to her shoulders. “Er…ma’am?”
“It’s a long story.” She smiled.
“I got time. Wanna grab lunch?”
Victoria turned in the direction of the warship masts, then checked her watch.
“Come on, Boss…we all gotta eat.”
“Alright, but I may have to cut out early.”
“Nice.” Plug turned to walk in the direction of the vans, but Victoria said, “Actually, I have a car waiting.”
He whistled. “Moving on up in the world, I see. RHIP.” Rank has its privileges.
“RHIR,” she responded. Rank has its responsibilities.
“Touché, Boss.”
Victoria’s driver was a petty officer stationed on the base. He recommended eating at the Lanai at Mamala Bay, also known as Sam Choy’s. It didn’t disappoint.
They were no windows or walls in the dining area. Just a magnificent open-air room only feet away from the calm turquoise water of the Pacific. Decorative chairs with wooden pineapples carved into their backs. High ceilings with running fans. Polished wooden floors and walls, with tropical plants decorating the area. Palm trees sprouted up along a well-trimmed green lawn.
It was Hawaii life at its finest. It could almost make someone forget that a war was still going on.
“You hear the latest about Korea?” Plug asked.
“I read the newspaper this morning if that’s what you’re referring to.” Reports were circulating that the North Koreans had relaunched poison gas attacks. The death toll in that country was now over two million. “It made me sick.”
Plug, normally not one to be serious for more than a moment, sighed, looking out over the water. “My old roommate from flight school was stationed there.”
Victoria didn’t bother offering an “I’m sure they’ll be okay.” Because they probably wouldn’t be.
They ordered iced teas and sandwiches, which came quick. A smiling woman who looked to have native Hawaiian heritage served them and then left.
“How�
��s life on the Ford?” she asked.
Plug said, “Life on a carrier’s not bad.”
“And the job?”
“Oh, it’s been good. I mean, as long as you don’t care about flying. Or need sleep. Or dignity.” He paused. “Every day I wake up and I feel like the guy in the movie Aliens. You know, the one who’s about to have one of the baby aliens crawl out of his chest? And I’m looking at my friends saying, ‘Kill me. Kill me now.’ But then it pops out and I wake up and go to my seventh meeting of the day and poop out my third PowerPoint brief of the day.” He stuffed his mouth with a handful of fries, and said, “It’s fucking great. But it’s better when nobody’s shooting at us.”
Victoria sipped her iced tea and crunched ice between her teeth. “Sounds like you could use a change.”
He said, “Boss, I know that I wasn’t always the easiest to deal with…but if you have any pull, I will sacrifice my firstborn child to get off that damn carrier, or at least get back into one of the squadrons. I’m trying to work it with the HSM guys on board to let me fly. I think I’m wearing them down. But I’ve been doing PowerPoint, Boss. PowerPoint. Me. It’s truly awful.”
She gave a wry smile. “Any word when Ford will put out to sea again?”
Plug shrugged. “I’ve heard everything from a few days to a few months. That hit to the superstructure really screwed up a lot of systems.” He realized what he was saying. “Sorry, Boss…”
“It’s fine.”
Neither said anything for a moment. Then Plug offered, “I met your dad. Everybody liked him. They respected him a lot. I’m really sorry.”
She placed her glass down on the table. “Thank you.”
Plug squirmed in his seat. “So, are you going to tell me how the promotion happened?”
“The Bureau of Personnel has been updating a lot of their processes. Now that we’re in wartime, recruiting and retention needs are changing. One of the changes will be more promotions, faster. It needs approval by an O-7 or above, but I won’t be the last. At least, that’s what I was told.”
“But why? I mean, why you? Sorry. That came out wrong.”
Victoria chuckled. “No offense taken. They’re removing me from Farragut and reassigning me to a special project.”
Plug looked shocked. “What the hell does that mean?”
Victoria studied him. “Are all of your quals still current?”
“Sure.”
“I need one more Romeo-qualified pilot, Plug. You may have found your ticket out of PowerPoint land after all.”
31
Khingan Mountain HQ
China
Day 30
Jinshan sat quietly, listening to the after-action report on the battle near Midway. He could have General Chen executed for issuing the order. But doing so would give the impression that he hadn’t been aware the attack was going to take place. That would draw attention to the fact that he had been in bed for treatments for four days and make him look weak.
Jinshan stared at General Chen, who refused to meet his gaze. Jinshan was once again reminded of the penalty for picking loyalty over competence.
Jinshan said quietly, “We have lost two carriers that we might have used when the Southern Fleet arrives. This is most disappointing.”
Admiral Zhang, head of the PLA Navy, must have made a pact with General Chen. Otherwise, this never would have occurred. Now Admiral Zhang was trying to refocus the conversation. “The Jiaolong-class ships are invincible. We will still be able to take Hawaii with the Southern Fleet. We can direct many of the Northern Fleet’s support ships to join them.”
Jinshan waved off the comment in disgust. “The Americans have now seen the technology firsthand. They already are developing a plan to defeat it.”
The admiral in charge of the PLA Navy said, “Nothing short of nuclear weapons will destroy it, Chairman Jinshan.”
General Chen looked up, his eyes brightening. “And if they do that, the Russians will attack them with their ICBMs. Either way, we will be victorious.”
Jinshan frowned. He looked at the head of the Ministry of State Security. “Show them.”
The head of the MSS snapped his fingers and one of his underlings came over, connecting a computer to a monitor next to the conference table. The monitor began flipping through a series of reconnaissance images. Some were taken from submarines, others from drones.
The minister of state security said, “The Americans are preparing a defensive perimeter around the Hawaiian Islands. Our sources tell us that within a few days, they will begin deploying enormous minefields in the Pacific Ocean, in the areas between French Frigate Shoals and Johnston Atoll. These minefield perimeters will extend around the Hawaiian Islands. At both the French Frigate Shoals location and Johnston Atoll, the Americans are setting up these antennae.”
The image showed very large metal antenna towers being constructed on sandy islands, small transport aircraft on runways in the background.
“They had been attempting to use Midway Island as one of their gateways, but apparently the distance was too great. Not enough mines.”
Admiral Zhang said, “What is this? What gates?”
Jinshan said, “It seems that the Americans have identified a way to defeat the Jiaolong-class ship’s technology. These antennae are part of their own directed-energy weapon.”
The head of the MSS explained the American strategy of using a perimeter of mines and gateways to let friendly ships in and out.
General Chen said, “But…but…” He looked around the table, frantically searching for an answer. “Does this mean the Jiaolong is no longer useful?”
Jinshan said, “A week ago, General, you were telling us all that it was not important to our Pacific strategy. Now that we have lost two of our carriers to one American carrier in open sea combat, I see that you have changed your mind. A pity that you needed to see evidence for yourself.”
After a moment of silence, General Chen said, “Chairman Jinshan, what would you have us do?”
This constant question was Jinshan’s penalty for being in complete control. Even his generals couldn’t think for themselves. This one in particular.
Jinshan said, “The Hawaiian Islands need a constant influx of commercial shipping to bring in food and supplies. The Americans plan to surround themselves with mines. Fine. Let them. But they must leave open a gateway to allow commercial shipping and their warships to pass. And we cannot let them control a gateway in and out of the island chain. We must take one or both of those gateway islands before their directed-energy weapons are operational.”
One of the Central Committee members said, “How will we know the progress?”
The head of the MSS said, “We have an intelligence source. We will know before the Southern Fleet arrives.”
When the meeting was over, Jinshan left and went into his private quarters, allowing the other military leaders in the room to ponder the details of this secretive operation. They needn’t know that Lena Chou was inside the United States, and that she would confirm the American plans. And the head of the MSS would revel in keeping it from them. Jinshan knew that each of the men around the table was studying him, watching for the tiniest misstep. Hoping that his health would continue to decline so that they could steal his throne.
A part of him wondered if his efforts were justified. None of the fools at his leadership meeting were worthy of this undertaking. Only Lena was, he thought. Lena more than anyone else would be responsible for China winning the war. The Americans knew Jinshan’s fleet was moving towards Hawaii. It would take them another ten days, perhaps, but the melee would come. The whole world knew there was to be a battle. The exact timing and the victor were the only questions. Within a few days, Lena would send him a message, telling him how to best attack Hawaii.
32
Hawaii
The aircraft and equipment had been priority-transported to Dillingham Airfield, on the northern side of Oahu. The military units that were part of Vict
oria’s program had completely taken over the airfield, and roadblocks kept civilians out of camera range. They ate, slept, and trained in a series of trailers and old buildings at the foot of Oahu’s majestic green mountains. Maintenance crews worked on the aircraft in the warm sun. The sound of waves crashing against the shore a few hundred yards away. On either end of the airstrip, Army SAM crews had set up their Patriot missile batteries, large rectangular box shapes sitting on the back of trucks, angled towards the sky.
It was day one of training, and Victoria took her seat in a classroom filled with helicopter pilots, aircrewmen, and members of the Navy’s DEVGRU, also known as SEAL Team Six.
She knew most of the aviators by name. There were eight pilots, including her. Each was a top-rated pilot from the two helicopter squadrons embarked on the USS Ford. Four were from the Helicopter Sea Combat (HSC) squadrons and flew the MH-60S. The other four were from Victoria’s Helicopter Maritime Strike (HSM) community and flew the MH-60R. The latter group included her and Plug. Choosing them from separate communities had been intentional, as they would have different roles in this mission. The aircrewmen were also the pick of the litter. A few of the pilots saw Victoria as they entered the classroom and gave her the standard “sorry for your loss” condolence. No doubt the entire Navy had heard of her father’s passing.
Plug arrived last, as expected. She hoped that she hadn’t made a mistake in recruiting him for this. She’d had to put in a word with the helicopter squadron CO, who was still adjusting to her newfound rank. But while Plug had many shortcomings, his skill as an aviator wasn’t one of them. Even the skipper had agreed with that assessment.
