by David Capps
Jacobs lowered his head. The Navy didn’t take the loss of a 3 billion dollar submarine lightly. He wondered if he might be able to patch things up with Lynn Waggoner. She might be in another relationship by now, but he could ask. He waited in silence for the rest of the Squadron Commander’s decision. Instead, the Secretary of Defense spoke.
“You showed great courage and skill in handling this situation, Captain. I know what you must be thinking. The thing is – this whole disaster was created by someone I trusted – someone who took it upon himself to use the force of one of America’s secret technologies to covertly attack mainland China without authorization. He has confessed to his crimes and will go to the hell he created. We have given his wife the pension he earned in exchange for his cooperation and her discretion.
“You have discovered part of the secret technologies in your encounter with the Chinese sub – the use of explosive devices to trigger what appear to be natural disasters. Your action of taking out that Chinese sub and stopping the placement of more mines cut the strength of the earthquake to a quarter of what it would have been. In doing that, and warning us before the earthquake struck, you saved several hundred thousand lives. I don’t take that kind of action lightly.
“Publically, it will be just that – a natural disaster. I don’t want to turn a man of your experience and, let’s say your knowledge, loose. You think fast on your feet and you make good decisions. You did not hesitate to make tough life and death decisions. You are a valuable asset to your country. Vice Admiral Billingsly’s departure moves General Jankowitz of the Air Force up to the position of Deputy Director of Covert Operations. I would like you to move up into the General’s position as Assistant Deputy Director. It will mean a desk job at the Pentagon and a promotion to Rear Admiral Lower Half. You will also receive the Navy Cross per your Squadron Commander’s recommendation. Does that interest you?”
Jacobs felt relieved on one hand and stressed on the other. He didn’t know if he could go back into another submarine and risk his crew again. But instead of taking on fewer life and death decisions, he was about to have more. It was that or resign and take his pension. But what would he do? The Navy was his life. He had never married or had a family. The Navy was his family, Lynn Waggoner notwithstanding, and serving his country was the only thing he was actually married to; there really was only one option.
“There’s more than bombs and earthquakes, Sir?” Jacobs said, managing a partial smile.
“There’s a lot more, Admiral Jacobs.” The Secretary of Defense replied. “You’re stepping into a whole new world – one you may not have imagined existed at all.”
“When would you like me to start, Sir?”
“You have some leave accumulated – you tell me when you can start.”
“I will do that Sir. I just have one more duty as Captain of the Massachusetts to perform.”
CHAPTER 62
Portland, Oregon
Senator Elizabeth Bechtel stepped out of the Oregon National Guard Humvee in front of what was the City of Portland Office Building. The driver had taken her past her local office two blocks away, or what was left of it. She stood in shock at the level of devastation. I expected storm damage; wind, water, some local flooding. She slowly turned a 360 degree circle, her left hand covering her open mouth. My God, how could this have happened? She knew from the news reports that an earthquake had occurred, but even from the photos that she had seen, she was totally unprepared for what lay before her.
Oregon National Guard bulldozers had pushed enough building debris and vehicles aside for large trucks to move through the streets. She watched a large front-end loader lift pieces of glass, bricks, broken concrete, splintered wood and sign parts from the side of the street into an oversized camo-colored dump truck. The Portland City Hall stood, partially collapsed floors running at diagonals between cracked and tilting columns. Pieces of cloth, roofing and fractured wood hung from the open sections of the building. The sixty-foot high tsunami had completely engulfed the City Hall Building as it passed through the downtown section of her home city.
This is what the attack by China has wrought. This is the new way war is being waged in our world – and I can’t say anything about the real cause without making things immensely worse. Glen Liechtfield was right. We can’t allow this to escalate – we can’t let nuclear weapons be used in response to this attack or any action to be taken against China. It has to stop here, before the whole world dies. As she turned, her gaze locked on a brown fuzzy object protruding from under a piece of broken concrete. She walked slowly over, lifted the ten-inch piece of what looked like part of a bus stop bench, and retrieved the item. It was a child’s Teddy Bear, missing its right arm and an eye. It was still wet and covered in mud, and the left foot was damaged. What happened to the child who held this? Is she still alive, or did she drown? What about my friends, the people who worked in my office? Are any of them still alive?
“Ma’am, are you alright?”
She turned to see who had spoken to her. The Oregon National Guard Sergeant who had driven her into the city stood there, his hand out to steady her.
“I…” she wobbled slightly.
“Ma’am, why don’t you sit down for a minute?” He gripped her arm and guided her back to the Humvee.
“How many… How many died?” she asked, as she held the Teddy Bear close to her chest.
She saw the muscles in his jaw flex as he gritted his teeth. “We don’t know exactly, ma’am, but somewhere in the ball park of 20,000. The good news is that it happened early in the morning, before most people were downtown. It could have been a lot worse. We’re still recovering a lot of bodies that were trapped in the collapsed buildings, people who would have been saved, except for the tsunami.”
“They were trapped, and then they drowned?” Nausea added itself to her feeling overwhelmed. I’m going to be sick. She closed her eyes, bent forward and tried to breathe deeply.
He looked at the pavement. “Seattle fared a little better than we did,” he replied, trying to sound positive. “The tsunami was only twenty feet high there, and they had more time after the earthquake, but the damage to the buildings is still severe.”
“My sister, she lives in Dolphin Beach, she’s on the coast. I can’t get her to answer her phone.”
“Look,” he replied. “Electricity is out all over the Pacific Northwest. No cell phone towers are functioning, land lines are down. She could be alright. The warning went out just before the earthquake hit. That alone saved thousands of lives. You can’t…” He stopped, breathed deeply, obviously trying to hold back tears.
“I can’t assume she’s dead?”
“No, ma’am, you can’t,” he said.
“You have family here?”
He nodded. “My mom and dad live on a farm. I haven’t been able to talk to them. My sister lives in Eugene…”
“And you haven’t heard from her, either?”
“No. ma’am.”
“How extensive is the damage?”
“All I can tell you is what I saw. We were airlifted in by helicopter the same morning as the quake and the tsunami. That was three days ago. The higher elevations didn’t have the tsunami to contend with, so the damage isn’t anywhere near as extensive as it is here. Still, from what we could see, the damage extends for at least a hundred miles inland from the coast.”
“I think I’m ready to see your Colonel. Thank you for taking this little detour.” She got back into the Humvee still clutching the Teddy Bear.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ten minutes later they arrived at the command center. The Sergeant led her into the large tent where portable tables ringed the side flaps. Colonel Graytower stood in the center reviewing reports and issuing orders.
“Colonel, this is Senator Elizabeth Bechtel,” the Sergeant said.
The Colonel turned and smiled. “Senator, thank you for pushing for National Emergency Status on this. The federal funding is helping.
I must have a hundred private contractors running all over the place, asking how they can help, and they all seem to know your name.”
“It is my district, Colonel, it’s my business to know them,” she answered.
“Of course it is,” the Colonel replied. “I wouldn’t have implied otherwise.”
“So, what’s happening?” she asked.
“Portland is our ground zero,” Colonel Graytower replied. “Between the earthquake and the tsunami, the greatest number of casualties were here.”
“What about the coastal cities?”
“They are a total loss, as would be expected, but the advance warning saved a large number of people. We were very fortunate for what little warning there was. Usually with an earthquake like this one, we don’t get any warning at all.”
He doesn’t know, she thought, and I have to keep it that way.
“Fortunately,” he continued, “with the shape of the Columbia River Valley, the effect of the tsunami was limited. As bad as this is, it could have been a lot worse.”
What he doesn’t understand, is that none of this should have happened in the first place, either here, or in China. I have to find a way to keep events like this from ever happening again. The problem is that I can’t pass a law prohibiting the military from using a weapon they already have. The public can’t know what happened. As a Senator, I can’t stop them from using this weapon, but there is one public office where I could…
CHAPTER 63
Naval Support Facility, Diego Garcia, Indian Ocean
The Island of Diego Garcia was the largest in the Chagos Archipelago in the British Indian Ocean Territory. Originally settled by the French, the island chain and surrounding ocean had been part of the Terms of Surrender agreed to with the defeat of Napoleon Bonaparte by the Duke of Wellington on June 18th, 1815. In 1971, under a Joint Operating Agreement with Great Britain, the United States Navy began on Diego Garcia construction of the largest Naval Support Facility in that part of the world.
As he awoke in his jail cell, Billingsly still felt exhausted from the long C-130 flight. It was dark when he had arrived, so he didn’t recognize any of the buildings or the locale. All he knew was that it was hot and muggy and his orange jump suit stuck to his skin. Well, I’m not in Kansas anymore, he thought. He had assumed that the rest of his life would be in the Special Prisoner Section of the Disciplinary Barracks in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.
Four Marine guards entered the brig area and stopped at the door to his cell. “Prisoner 3258717, turn around, get on your knees, hands on your head, fingers interlaced, NOW.”
Billingsly complied calmly. There wasn’t any point to arguing or resisting. Two of the Marine guards approached and began the process of placing the handcuffs and chains on his wrists and ankles. When they were finished, the Marines lifted him to his feet. “Where am I going?” The Marines wouldn’t even make eye contact with him. “Where are we?”
Billingsly was led out of the brig, which was part of the Shore Patrol complex, and across the large paved area. He scanned the clear blue sky, taking in the aroma of the sea air as the gentle breeze drifted across the pavement. He took particular notice of the scattered palm trees interspersed between the light tan buildings. His stomach began to knot up as he realized how far from America he must be. What the hell are they doing? Why am I here? As the guards and Billingsly approached a small building with a covered porch, a man in a suit emerged from the door.
“I’m Sam Forrester, Secretary of State, Mr. Billingsly.” The man’s expression was grim. He didn’t offer his hand, nor did he make more than momentary eye contact. “We’ve had to resort to extraordinary measures in an attempt to de-escalate the situation you caused. This way.” Billingsly was led into a large room. On the left side of the room stood the Secretary of Defense and the Secretary of the Navy, along with a number of support staff. He noted the look of anger on the face of his old boss. The Secretary of the Navy wouldn’t even look at him. The men standing on the right side of the room had their backs turned to him.
“Gentlemen, we can begin,” Forrester said.
The men on the right slowly turned to face Billingsly. They’re Chinese! What the hell are the Chinese doing here!
An older man stepped forward from the Chinese delegation. “Premier Li Qijing,” the Secretary of Defense said. “The United States of America offers its profound apology for the unprovoked attack against your country and your people. I assure you the attack was not authorized and our country intended no harm to come to you or your people.” Premier Li Qijing’s face looked stone hard as he turned his gaze to Billingsly.
“Are you the one who ordered the attack that caused the earthquake in China?”
“What?” Billingsly replied. Panic suddenly filled his chest, his heart pounded and his mouth went dry. He looked around the room, trying desperately to understand what was happening. He locked eyes with his old boss, the Secretary of Defense.
“I told you, we’re not starting World War Three over this,” the Secretary of Defense said.
“Are you the one?” Premier Li demanded.
Billingsly glanced around the room once more. The only thing that met his eyes was hardened stares. They’re sacrificing me! His mind raced over the options as the final realization settled in. We’re on the verge of nuclear war. I am the sacrifice that will avert the destruction of my country. I am being called on to serve that greater good, one more time. Billingsly stood tall and faced Premier Li. “I am the one who ordered the attack on your country. I caused the earthquake. I acted without authorization. I alone am to blame for the death of your people and the destruction of your province.”
Premier Li studied Billingsly’s face for a full minute, nodded slightly several times, and turned to the Secretary of Defense. “Both of our countries have been seriously injured by the acts of this man. If there are no more provocations, we will take no further action against you. We will need time to heal, just as you will.” Premier Li stepped back as four men from the Chinese delegation came forward and took Billingsly by the arms and guided him out the door. As they passed between the buildings, the large white jet with the red Chinese national flag on the tail section came into view. Leavenworth I could handle. This? I don’t know. All I know is that I live to serve the greater good.
CHAPTER 64
Washington D.C.
For being on leave this had been the hardest week of Captain Paul Jacobs’ life: ten funerals in five days. Each one buried in his home town. One more to go, but this one would be different. The funeral service for Navy Lieutenant Tiffany Grimes was held in the lower level Bethlehem Chapel of the Washington National Cathedral. The entire crew of the Massachusetts and Lieutenant Grimes’ family had been flown in to Washington D.C. by the U.S. Navy.
As the Navy Blue Jackets Choir from the Great Lakes Naval Training Center sang The Navy Hymn, the words took on a very personal meaning for Jacobs.
Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!
He had never been a religious man. He was always confident in himself and especially the command of his submarine and its ability to dominate the conditions of the ocean in which it operated. Through all of the drills, exercises and war games, he never imagined the dire circumstances that not only took the lives of his men, but initiated the supreme sacrifice of one woman so that he and the rest of his crew might live. He still felt stunned and shaken by what had happened. By all rights, he and every member of his crew should be dead and his submarine should be lying, crushed on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, and yet he was here, along with 148 other members of his crew. They were alive, while she was not. He didn’t know what inspired her to do what she did. He wouldn’t have even thought of it, let alone had the inner strength and courage to
do what she had done.
The end of the service dragged him back from his own deep thoughts and into the present world. They followed the Marine Honor Guard out the west entrance of the Washington National Cathedral under the flags of all fifty states and on to the white block surface where the long line of black cars waited for them. The flag-draped casket was carefully loaded into the back of the long black hearse while the rest of the people were guided to the waiting black limos.
The procession moved down Wisconsin Avenue NW, left to Pennsylvania Avenue NW, right at the traffic circle, south on 23rd Street, to the right around the back of the Lincoln Memorial, right again to the Arlington Memorial Bridge and into Arlington National Cemetery.
When the procession came to a stop the members of his crew walked swiftly and lined up in two rows, one on each side of the path that led from the hearse to the grave site. Seeing what was happening, the Marine Honor Guard stood at attention and waited. When the lines were complete, the Marine Honor Guard removed the casket from the hearse and began their slow, measured walk. Each step of the Honor Guard, deliberately taken, paused for an instant in mid stride before commencing the next step. As the casket of Lieutenant Tiffany Grimes passed, each member of his crew slowly lifted his or her white-gloved right hand, saluting her as she passed, and slowly returning to attention as she moved on.
Her home-town minister said a few words at the grave site and closed with a prayer. Jacobs stood across the grave site from Lieutenant Grimes’ mother, who stoically sat watching her daughter’s casket. Her husband and three sons, all in uniform, sat next to her. Jacobs was startled by the rifle shots from the seven sailors, each one fired three times for the traditional 21 gun salute. The sound of Taps being played for the eleventh time this week was more than he could bear, the tears running down his cheeks. The Marine Honor Guard lifted the U.S. flag from the top of the casket and folded it in crisply practiced motions. Once completed, the Sergeant of the Honor Guard approached Mrs. Grimes and bent forward in front of her.
