U.S.S. Seawolf am-4

by Patrick Robinson

  The National Security Adviser smiled. “Okay, sir. Gimme a little time. I’ll be back in thirty…but don’t hold your breath.”

  “Thanks, Arnie. I’d appreciate it.”

  Admiral Morgan walked back to his office slowly, which was rare since he normally hit a pace containing the inertia of an aircraft carrier. He always looked as if he might walk straight through any door he approached with a splintering of wood and wrenching of hinges. But this was a slow walk, and he executed it with his head down, lost in thought.

  “Am I seeing things,” he muttered, “or is this President losing his grip? Jesus Christ, I just told him the facts of life in words of one syllable, and he did not quite get it. That’s not like him at all. This Linus crap has affected him. No doubt of that. As it might affect any father, faced with the terror of his son’s torture on the other side of the world. But we got him out of that, and he ought to be through it. At least, he ought to be if he wants to stay on in that office.

  “Right now he’s too preoccupied with that boy to be any good to anyone.…Christ, he must see the danger of taking the Washington press corps to Pearl, which is what would happen, whether he likes it or not. He answers to the people, and that means the press…it ain’t great, because they’re about as loyal to this nation as the fucking Chinese. But that’s show business, Johnny-baby, and you gotta live with ’em.”

  He rounded the corner to his office, and entered the outer area, where Kathy was on the telephone. “Come on in, soon as you’re through,” he said, and continued walking slowly to his desk.

  Three minutes later, she came in and closed the door behind her. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “He wants you to go to Hawaii with him, while I stay here and look after the store.”

  “Wrong. On both counts. He ain’t going anywhere near Hawaii, and neither are we. Which has left one surly little Oklahoman in the Oval Office.”

  “You didn’t tell him he couldn’t go, did you? He is the President.”

  “Yes, I did tell him. And I told him that if he wanted to go on being President, he better see sense over this particular issue.”

  “This, Arnold, is a Linus issue. And if you’d told me where you were going I’d have told you to keep quiet. He’s developing an obsession over that boy. I would not” be surprised if he converts to Catholicism as a result of the safe delivery of Linus from death.”

  “I know. You told me all about that church business.”

  “Arnie, you know what I think…just from talking to him…when he heard there was a possibility of torture, he fixed in his mind a picture of sweet freckle-faced Linus as a little boy back home in Oklahoma. And whenever he though of torture — red-hot pokers up your butt or whatever — he thought of the desecration of that little boy. There’s a psychologist’s name for it — kind of worst-case-scenario in terms of the psyche. And I think he still has that picture in his mind, which is clouding his judgment on all matters. All he wants is to put his arms around his little boy.”

  “Kathy, I don’t know if that’s right. But it sure does fit…that’s what I’m hearing from him. Even after I laid on him the calamitous consequences of going to Pearl, he still just asked me to try to find a way to make it possible for him to see Linus again, the minute they dock in Hawaii…and I’m not going to be able to do that…and he’s gonna be real disappointed.”

  He and Kathy had lunch together, sharing one medium-sized tuna fish sandwich, which caused the boss to wonder if she was expecting a kitten for lunch. But he ate it in a couple of bites, and gulped down a glass of mineral water and prepared to talk again to the President.

  “Two things are now for certain in this uncertain place,” he growled. “The Chief ain’t gonna like what I’m telling him, and tonight we ate going to find some proper food…steak magnifico, with fries and spinach…and wine from the great vineyards of Bordeaux, left bank of the Gironde…Pauillac, home of the snorto de luxe.”

  Kathy wanted to tell him it was Friday and that she was supposed to be having fish, as she always had since childhood, but she was laughing too much to speak coherently, and just shook her head as the President’s NSA strode purposefully back to the Oval Office.

  “Sir,” he told the boss, “you cannot go. It’s too public, too dangerous, we’re too vulnerable, and you’d end up getting the sack or being impeached, and the Democrats would be back in power…the most I can offer you is to fly a half-dozen of Seawolf’s officers in direct from Hawaii on some pretense. Also, maybe the top SEALs, all to San Diego. Then maybe Linus and one or two significant other personnel could fly on to Washington, and we can pick him up and deliver him wherever in secret. That’s the most. Hawaii is out, out, out. Mr. President, you’re staying in, in, in.”

  Even President Clarke was obliged to chuckle. “Are you sure you’re not overreacting to all this, Arnie? I just want to meet his ship, like any other dad.”

  “What you are not, sir, is any other dad. The U.S. made mistakes on this. Do you really want all of that to come out? Don’t answer. You don’t. Trust me. I’m leaving you with just one thought. This afternoon I’m bringing Who Flung Dung in for a chat. By seventeen-hundred the recent events that took place in the China Sea NEVER HAPPENED. Both our governments will agree for different but equally subversive reasons, all to do with total embarrassment.”

  And he stood, preparing to leave, saying very simply, “You want me to get Linus home, by air, in secret, as fast as possible?”

  “Arnold, thank you. I’d be more grateful than you’ll ever know.”

  1530. Friday. July 21.

  Office of the CNO. The Pentagon.

  “Joe, I’m telling you, we have a real problem here. The President’s lost the plot.”

  “What do you mean, he’s lost the plot? Come on, Arnie, this is the best President the military has ever had.”

  “That may be so. But right now, he’s a goddamned time bomb. The only thing in his mind is his son Linus: He actually wanted to go to Hawaii and meet the kid, complete with the omnipotent Washington press corps. All two hundred of them, all asking every sailor in Pearl Harbor precisely what happened in the South China Sea.”

  Admiral Mulligan sucked in his breath. “Jesus Christ, Arnie, are you kidding?”

  “Kidding! Yeah, right. Just a little joke to give us both heart attacks. Joe, if the full length and breadth of this whole scenario ever got out, that we actually started a shooting war with China to save the ass of the President’s son, there’d be a change in administration, and we’d all be out of here in disgrace. And that includes the President.”

  “Does he understand that?”

  “Barely. I’ve tried to tell him that his only chance is secrecy. But he doesn’t care. He only wants to see his son as soon as possible.”

  “And do you think secrecy is possible?”

  “Not total secrecy. But we don’t want total secrecy. We have to come clean about the loss of the submarine, and how it happened, and who, if anyone, was to blame. That’s gotta be hard, regular U.S. Navy routine. But we do not want anything released about its mission, nor the actual…er…demise of the ship.”

  “How about the SEALs and the release of the prisoners?”

  “Nothing. We cannot admit there ever were any prisoners, certainly not that we effectively went to war over them without telling anybody.”

  “Think we’d have done it if Linus hadn’t been there?”

  “Nah. Not a chance. We’d have tried to negotiate them out, failed, and then had to threaten massive economic retribution. Which may have worked, over time, maybe, six months.”

  “You really think we could keep this whole thing secret?”

  “For one reason only…the Chinese also want it kept secret.”

  “You know that?”

  “Absolutely. I had Who Flung Dung on the phone an hour ago…for once we’re in step.”

  “WHO FLUNG WHAT?”

  “Oh, that’s just my nickname for Ambassador Ling Guofeng…slippery little p
rick, like all the rest of ’em. But smart. He knows what a disaster this would be if it got out. His government is more worried than we are. There’s a press clampdown in Beijing and Canton.”

  “What worries them so much?”

  “Well, not that they kidnapped the submarine and its crew in international waters. They’d just lie and lie about that. Much more, that they were unable to hold on to the hundred-man crew, that their jail was stormed and breached, that they lost a patrol ship and two hugely expensive helicopters, not to mention a destroyer plus some three hundred naval personnel. The Navy C-in-C, according to the ambassador, may not survive it. To the Chinese it all represents the most awful loss of face. In fact, it represents total incompetence. Let’s face it, old pal, they think they’re tough and militarily proficient. We made ’em look like fucking children.”

  “Guess so, Arnie…but what you’re telling me is that both the governments of the USA and China wish nothing more to be learned about this confrontation beyond the loss of the submarine, in an accident, and the safe return home of the crew with maximum goodwill on both sides.”

  “You gottit, CNO. And that’s fine with me, just so long as the little pricks understand that NO ONE fucks around with our navy. NO ONE. And should anyone try anything on, they will live to regret it.”

  “Guess our old friend Admiral Zhang Yushu is feeling kinda sorry for himself right now?”

  “Hope so. Cheeky fucker.”

  “Which I guess brings us to the next real problem. How, Arnie, does the Navy deal with the total loss of the top submarine in the fleet?”

  “In the regular way. There was an accident in the South China Sea. Something in the reactor room, and this loss of power caused some kind of collision with a close-by destroyer. That much is already known. The Chinese answered a call for help, towed Seawolf back into Canton, and while they were helping to get the submarine going again, there was a further problem, and the reactor failed completely. The Chinese deeply regret any part they may have had in the final damage to the submarine, and we express our gratitude for their attempts to help us out. That’s all there is. That’s all the press are getting. From either side of the Pacific.”

  “Arnie, can this be kept quiet indefinitely?”

  “Probably. Since the two involved governments have no wish to say anything whatsoever.”

  “And what about the guys? Someone may eventually talk.”

  “If he does, it will be dismissed out of hand as the rantings of a lunatic.”

  “And how about the President? Does he go along with this?”

  “The President’s out of it for the moment. All he wants is to cruise through the last couple of years of his second term…and to see his beloved son again as soon as possible.”

  “Which leaves us to organize a Navy Board of Inquiry, right?”

  “That’s it, Joe. It’ll happen in San Diego, under the auspices of CINCPAC. Makes sense. CINCPAC is Captain Crocker’s Commander-in-Chief. He’s the guy who decides what happens downstream of the inquiry.”

  “I just hope it doesn’t get messy…but I know it’s unavoidable.”

  “You can say that again. The U.S. Navy simply cannot lose a billion-dollar SSN and not have an official and formal explanation to both the government and the taxpayer.”

  “Jesus. You mean the Board of Inquiry hearings have to be public?”

  “Hell, no. They’ll be held in camera, with a lot of witnesses. But the findings will be made public. The Board’s report will have to be published, with its recommendations.”

  “And that’s where life could get a little tough…if they start recommending the severest reprimands, or even censures, of the senior officers of the ship.”

  “Might not even stop there, either,” replied Admiral Morgan.

  “Huh?”

  “In a case such as this, they could actually recommend the court-martial of the CO or his XO, or even both.”

  “A court-martial? Hell, Arnie, I wouldn’t think so. We don’t court-martial for carelessness. Only the Brits do that, and even then they usually find the captain not guilty. It’s been years since the Navy court-martialed anyone for anything that was not actually criminal.”

  “Maybe, Joe. Maybe. But there is nothing ordinary about this case, and I’m interested to hear whether anyone decides to draw a firm line separating a genuine but inexcusable mistake from gross negligence. This is a very, very big loss…it’s beyond imagination that a captain with firm orders not to get detected proceeded to do so, two or perhaps even three times, and then crashed into a Chinese destroyer…I mean, Jesus…it sounds like the boat was being driven by some kind of nut.…Joe, I would not be surprised to see a recommendation for a special court-martial. Unless they got some real classy alibi.”

  “Well, I hope they don’t feel the need to go that far…because that’s likely to muddy up the waters real bad. As it is, that Board of Inquiry is going to be told their brief, and indeed their powers, are restricted to those actions that led up to the submarine’s loss of propulsion in the South China Sea. They are not empowered to ask any questions beyond the moment when the Chinese moved in to assist them. Otherwise we’ll end up with a public report, which details the whole gruesome saga. Which no one needs.”

  “Hell, no. We gotta avoid that, Joe. In fact, I think for the purpose of this inquiry we’ll have a Navy lawyer from the Pentagon sitting in at all times, to make sure our guidelines are strictly followed.”

  “I don’t think we can avoid that, Arnie. But this might mean that the senior officers of the submarine may feel they have to be legally represented. Some of them might. I wonder whether the captain himself might be advised to do so.”

  “Well, I think he would, Joe. And this will almost certainly mean the President will insist Linus has some hotshot attorney in his corner. I don’t have a problem with that. In fact, I think it’s better we advise the President that’s what ought to happen. In Linus’s interests.”

  “Of course, we don’t even know whether Linus was personally involved in this debacle.”

  “No. We don’t. But I somehow doubt Judd Crocker achieved it all on his own.”

  0900. Thursday. July 27.

  The Oval Office.

  “Arnie, do I have the power to stop this?”

  “Yessir. But you’d have to do it publicly. You’d have to say, Look here, guys, I’m the goddamned Commander-in-Chief of the United States Armed Forces and I hereby order you not to inquire formally into the loss of USS Seawolf. Do not come up with any conclusions or recommendations. Just forget about the whole thing.”

  “Well, I plainly cannot do that.”

  “Not if you like working here.”

  “What I meant was, can I just ask you to express on my behalf a general disapproval of putting these brave men through some kind of a trial? Might my disapproval not be enough?”

  “Nossir. It would not. The Navy is obliged to inquire into the loss of any warship. We cannot just put it down as bad luck and write the ship off. No one would put up with it. Least of all the Senate Armed Forces Committee. We cannot be held unaccountable for our actions. Not least because such an attitude would be held over our heads forever…What do you need? Another five billion? And you don’t even have to explain where it goes?”

  “Well, Arnie, I really do not want any criticism or blame attached to anyone over this.”

  “Sir, you might make that view known. It worked for the Brits after the Falklands War back in 1982. They found it politically convenient to avoid any courts-martial, which there probably should have been…they lost seven ships, for Christ’s sake. But there was no action beyond regular Boards of Inquiry. But I do not think your admirals would ever approve of a presidential restriction being put upon the men inquiring into a very serious disaster that cost the Navy a coupla billion dollars.”

  “How about the other tack, Admiral? How about I threaten not to approve the massive increase in shipbuilding budgets unless they do what I say over t
his inquiry?”

  “Sir, if anyone other than my loyal self ever heard you say that, proceedings would begin to have you removed from this office. Remember, sir, it’s Linus. His presence, right in the thick of this mess, makes you an interested party…interested to see your son exonerated from whatever blame there may be.”

  “Arnold, I am interested. I do not want Linus in disgrace. And I’m not having it. You heard my threat. Do not ignore it. Though I shall deny ever having said it.”

  “Sir, I am going to pretend I never heard any of the last few sentences you have uttered.”

  “That may or may not be a wise move on your part. It could cost your beloved Navy a couple of aircraft carriers.”

  “Then so be it, sir. The budget veto is your privilege. But I could not recommend you use it as a blackmail weapon to save Linus’s reputation.”

  The President stood up and walked to the end of his office and back. And then he asked a question that had plainly been on his mind: “Have you seen the preliminary reports from Seawolf?”

  “Nossir.”

  “Are they in? Have the admirals read them?”

  “I do believe so, sir.”

  “Do you have any idea what they contain?”

  “Nossir. Except there was a mighty problem right before the collision in the South China Sea.”

  “Do you have details?”

  “Nossir.”

  “Could I demand to see the reports?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Would they acquiesce?”

  “To the parent of one of the officers? I doubt it.”

  “No, Arnold. To their Commander-in-Chief.”

  “Possibly, sir. But they have one weapon that will always finish you. Any one of them could just say, ‘This is tantamount to corruption. I resign from the Board and I shall have no hesitation in making my reasons public. Crooked President.’

  “Knowing them, sir, they might all do it. You are contemplating very dangerous ground. But right now I have no reason to believe Linus is in any danger. Take a worst-case situation…let’s say he made some kind of mistake, maybe compounding another. That’s not life-threatening. Maybe a reprimand or a letter of censure. Maybe nothing. Just a warning. It’s part and parcel of command in the U.S. Navy.”