“Perfectly clear. In fact you are the perfect mutineer. No further questions. I rest the case for the prosecution.”
There was no summing up by either the court president or the lawyers, as there would have been in a civilian case. And Captain Dunning rose and led his panel out. Lieutenant Commander Headley and his attorney also left the room, in company with Admiral Bergstrom and Admiral Curran.
Their wait would not be long. In the room behind the main court, Boomer Dunning called his team swiftly to order.
“I’ll take the view of the Lieutenant first, since I do not wish him to be influenced by the opinions of those who outrank him…. Lieutenant?”
“Not guilty, sir. Reid is plainly crazy. In my view he should be court-martialed, for cowardice in the face of the enemy.”
Boomer nodded. “Lieutenant Commander?”
“Guilty. If the CO says no, the risk is too great, that’s an end to it. The CO stands or falls by that decision, and no one’s charged him with anything.”
Captain Dunning turned to the second Lieutenant Commander. “And your verdict?”
“Guilty. Headley, for all of his good intentions, had no right to seize the ship. Certainly no right to have his CO arrested.”
“And you?” replied the Captain, turning to the last of his four assistants.
“Not guilty. I think the XO was right to assume command. There were grave doubts about the suitability of Commander Reid to make sound judgments.”
“Excellent. But may I just clarify that none of you is interested in a possible change of mind? Anyone want to go over the issue? Or discuss it further?”
No one did. Minds were made up at 2–2. Captain Dunning would decide Lt. Commander Headley’s fate.
“Very well, gentlemen. In a few minutes, we will return to the courtroom and I will make my casting vote, plus a short summation for the court, in order that they understand our verdict.”
He sat at a table and wrote carefully on the pages of the large writing tablet inside the leather folder. Then he stood up, and beckoned his four colleagues to follow him. They walked through the door, and Captain Dunning removed the sword from the wall and placed it upon the table. “Ask them to come in,” he ordered.
Lieutenant Commander Headley entered last and stared at the sword almost in disbelief as he took his seat at the defense counsel table.
“I should tell you the votes are divided two to two in this case, and I now have the duty to pass the casting vote, and with it the judgment of the court,” said the ex-submarine Captain.
“And I should begin by stating that Lieutenant Commander Headley’s opinions about Mercury in retrograde or any of the other foibles displayed by Commander Reid are not the bedrocks of the case. And we are not here to stand in judgment on them either.
“We are here, very simply, to decide whether Commander Reid issued an order in the early hours of that June morning that was so wrong, indeed so crazy, that he had to be arrested and relieved of the command of his ship under Section one-zero-eight-eight.
“And what was that order? He said he would not leave his nuclear submarine on the surface, and risk the lives of his one hundred seven-member crew, and the ship, in order to save eight men. Was that wrong? Possibly, in the light of events. Was it crazy? No. It wasn’t crazy. Was there a suggestion of cowardice? Again, possibly. No more.
“But was it sufficiently outlandish for him to be relieved of command of his ship, arrested and incarcerated in his cabin while his number two took over?
“The answer is plain. NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT.
“The defendant is guilty as charged. Guilty of making a mutiny on the high seas. But the court does not recommend he be jailed, as would be expected in such a case. But rather that he be dismissed from the service immediately, under the severest censure. The court further recommends that Commander Reid never again hold the position of Commanding Officer on a U.S. Navy submarine involving Special Forces. That’s all, save to remind everyone in this room of the following:
“If you permit every lieutenant commander to seize control of a warship because he does not agree with his CO, you no longer have a Navy. You have a rabble, in a very dangerous ship. My verdict was reached strictly for the greater good of the United States Navy. It was the only verdict to reach. And it always has been, ever since the morning of June seventh.”
And long after the principals of the Navy’s first court-martial for mutiny had departed, Dan Headley still stood helplessly at the defense counsel’s desk, still staring at the long mahogany table. Still staring at the cruel steel blade of the gilded sword, which was pointed at him alone.
EPILOGUE
Rick Hunter and Dan Headley returned home to the bluegrass together. Old Bart Hunter said it was about time, and promptly retired, leaving the entire operation of the sprawling Hunter Valley Thoroughbred Farms to his son.
Rick thus moved from U.S. Navy SEAL Commander to president of a multimillion-dollar Kentucky corporation in the space of a week. His first action was to deed a 10 percent shareholding of the land, mares and stallions to the ownership of Dan Headley.
Within one more week the headed writing paper of Hunter Valley contained the words Directors, Richard Hunter (President), Dan Headley (Vice President, Thoroughbred Operations), Bart Hunter (consultant), Robert Headley (Stallions).
Bart was surprised, but agreeable. “Took me and my daddy fifty years to build this place,” he said. “Took you about ten minutes to start dismantling it, giving it away to our good neighbors.”
“It only took Danny ten minutes to save my life,” replied Rick. “Guess it’s called quality time, right?”
“Well, I’m glad he did. Whatever you think’s fair, boy. That’s the way to run a business.”
“And a life,” said his son.
Rusty Bennett also resigned from the Navy and returned to the coast of Maine, where he took over the operation of his father’s two lobster boats, working out of the little island of Frenchborough, home of his mother’s ancestors for 150 years. Six months later he married the prettiest girl on the island, 12 years his junior.
Commander Donald Reid was never heard from again, resigning his commission and moving his wife and family to France, to a small town house in Grasse.
Admiral John Bergstrom was seething at the loss of two of his top commanders, and it took Admiral Morgan five weeks to persuade him not to resign. Admiral George Morris recovered and returned to Fort Meade. His newly promoted personal assistant was Lt. Commander James Ramshawe.
The Chinese ambassador to Washington, His Excellency Ling Guofeng, ran into the most thunderously hard time from Arnold Morgan. The U.S. National Security chief, forced to admit U.S. involvement in the destruction of the Naval base at Haing Gyi, made it crystal clear that the United States would tolerate no further Chinese expansion into the Indian Ocean and its confines.
He told him the United States could, and would, make their actions on the Burmese coast look like kids’ stuff if the Beijing government ever again elected to tamper with the free passage of the industrial world’s oil supply.
The Admiral actually stood up and lectured him. He told him that Beijing now understood what happened when the American superpower was riled. “Just you remember, Ling, behave yourselves. No more adventuring in foreign waters. Because if you do, we’ll hammer you again.
“Okay. Okay. I guess you don’t care. You got Taiwan, which is what it was all about in the first place. The price you pay is to know that’s as far offshore as you guys are going. At least, it is as long as I sit in this chair. As for your most-favored-nation status, you can forget all about that.”
The ambassador stood up to leave. He nodded curtly and headed for the door. And as he opened it, Arnold Morgan said quietly, “Pax Americana, Ling. And don’t forget it.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t quite understand,” replied the ambassador.
“Go figure,” grunted the Admiral, rudely.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
&nb
sp; As usual, I have a list of serving officers who have no desire whatever to be formally acknowledged as my advisers. The subject is always too secretive, too classified in its nature, and my sources too senior for identification.
Do I want to be named in one of YOUR books? Are you kidding! And yet they help me every year, ensuring that I am able to tell my story, handing me advice and detail, which they believe will give the public a greater appreciation of the armed heroes of the United States military.
Mostly my land attacks are planned with the help of former Special Forces officers. My insights into the diabolically secretive Intelligence world of Fort Meade are provided by a couple of former spies who seek only to highlight the sheer professionalism of the place.
However, at sea, my principal adviser, as always, is Admiral Sir John “Sandy” Woodward, the Task Force Commander of the Royal Navy fleet that won the Battle for the Falkland Islands in 1982.
On, and under, the surface, Admiral Sandy plots and plans with me to help bring readers right into the control room of the submarine. Without him, I could not bring reality to the subject of underwater warfare.
I did not trouble him with the final details of the court-martial, but rather relied on legal sources in the U.S. Navy, who again did not wish to be named.
They joined a whole range of new advisers who wished to protect their anonymity: the oil tanker captains who expressed their opinions on their highly combustible cargo; the oil company executives who tried to guess what they would have done in the face of crisis; the Aeroflot exec who told me all about the Andropov, not knowing the purpose for which it was being used!
One of my rare identifiable sources, however, is the excellent geopolitical writer, traveler and scholar Charles Stewart Goodwin of Cape Cod, who provided research on the ancient Chinese fleets and the contents of the National Palace Museum in Taipei. He knows how grateful I am. His own writings on global politics provide for me an unfailing guide.
For insights and expertise on the subject of reincarnation and post-traumatic stress, I have to thank Dr. Barbara Lane of Virginia, whose own book, Echoes from the Battlefield: Past Lives from the Civil War, is probably the best of its kind. Dr. Lane’s wide knowledge of both these subjects, plus a certain surefootedness in planetary matters, provided research of the highest order. In matters of battle stress, her own views dovetailed almost precisely with those of Admiral Woodward.
I thank also my friend Chris Choi Man Tat, whose suave and courteous manner running Kite’s, Dublin’s best Chinese restaurant, quite conceals the fact that he was once bosun on a gigantic crude-oil tanker plying between the Gulf and the Far East. His insights on the great ships were constantly helpful.
Finally I thank my friend Olivia Oakes, who thought she was coming for a quiet weekend with my family and ended up reading this manuscript for almost fifteen hours, checking spelling and punctuation. For any errors in this regard I intend, unfairly, to blame her.
The Shark Mutiny is a work of fiction. Every character in it is a product of my imagination only, though there may be certain college baseball players who recognize their names but not their lives, nor any other connection with reality.
— Patrick Robinson
About the Author
Patrick Robinson lives in Dublin, Ireland, and on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. He is the bestselling author of three novels: Nimitz Class, Kilo Class, and H.M.S Unseen.
Also by Patrick Robinson
ONE HUNDRED DAYS (with Admiral Sir John “Sandy” Woodward)
TRUE BLUE
NIMITZ CLASS
KILO CLASS
H.M.S. UNSEEN
U.S.S. SEA WOLF
Credits
All maps by Justin Spain
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The Shark Mutiny am-5 Page 48
