“Okay, and what would I have told the press?”
“That’s Pacino’s point, ma’am.” O’Shaughnessy laughed, the president shooting a look of fury at him. “You, Madam President, are a security risk.”
“What? Choose your words carefully, Admiral.”
“That’s just it. Madam President, you don’t. Your words go around the world. To White China, we say hold on, the cavalry’s coming. To Red China we say, get out, get out or die. Did I capture that accurately? And then two hundred news crews on the USS Webb tell the world what we’re doing out there. We should be ashamed of ourselves. And how many press conferences did we give, or that you gave, where you let various military cats out of their bags? Pacino’s right. The only way he can clean up the East China Sea is sneak in there while the Reds are kept guessing. Look over here a minute.”
O’Shaughnessy walked to a world globe placed on a small table. “Hawaii’s here, and White China’s here. The East China Sea is the front yard to White China. Now look at the great circle route between Pearl Harbor and Shanghai, or Tsingtao or Hong Kong. They all pass through the Ryukyu Island chain about here, give or take a few miles. For the Red forces, they don’t need to know exactly where we’re going, they just need to know when we’ll get there.”
“Admiral Pacino has suggested a way to stop the information flow. You’re a politician, you’ve proved yourself to him, and he’s volunteered to take this off your shoulders. He did a great job in Japan. Trust him now. He’ll do this right, ma’am, if you’ll just let him.”
For a long time Warner didn’t look at him, just kept her back to him. Finally she spoke, and when she did, her voice trembled.
“Admiral? You’re fired. Get out of my conference room.”
* * *
Colleen O’Shaughnessy walked into his office as if she owned it.
It was just after five in the morning, and the sun had yet to rise above the shimmering water of the East Loch.
She wore jeans and a simple white blouse under a black blazer, her shoes fashionable black combat-style boots.
Around her throat was a thin gold chain. Her jet black, gleaming hair fell just below her shoulders, her bangs cut just at eyebrow level, bringing out her eyes, which were the biggest Pacino could ever remember seeing.
She sat opposite him with her back to the video screen. On her right sat Emmitt Stephens, the man responsible for the construction of the SSNX. He found Stephens looking at him oddly, then realized Stephens had asked him a question and he hadn’t heard it because he was still staring at Colleen.
“What?”
“I said the news is good and bad. Good news first.”
Stephens went through the notes he’d written on his Writepad computer. “SSNX hull and mechanical systems are ready for sea trials. The reactor is certified, all tests complete with the exception of initial criticality and pierside steaming. All weapons are loaded, but what you wanted with war-shot torpedoes and Vortex Mod Charlies, well, I don’t want to know. Now for the bad news. I’ll leave that to Colleen. If you’ll excuse me. Admiral, I’ve got a lot to do.”
“Listen, Emmitt, I want you to do something. Start the reactor and bring it to the power range, then bring steam into the engine room and put the electric plant in a normal full-power lineup.”
“Sir, Admiral, are you… sir, you can’t just do that. This isn’t an operational ship. The initial criticality is monitored by the Naval Reactors people. And it’ll take weeks to get a new reactor even close to the power range. It’s not safe.”
“Emmittt. Reactor. Critical. Now.”
Pacino and Stephens had worked together for years, and the engineering duty officer had never been comfortable with Pacino’s insistent pushing. He had gotten Seawolf out of the dock in four days when the work should have taken three weeks, then done it again for the Seawolf-class ship Piranha when it had had the Mod Bravo Vortex missiles attached. When Pacino wanted a ship, Stephens had always jumped, but it was unheard of to treat initial criticality like a normal startup. The reactor could come screaming out of the nonvisible range with enough reactivity that they wouldn’t be able to control it. A Russian submarine in Vladivostok shipyard had suffered such an incident on a restart after a core replacement, and if not for the Russian-designed double hull, the entire city of Vladivostok would have had to be evacuated.
Pacino looked imploringly into Stephens’ eyes, his hands out in an unconscious imitation of Admiral O’Shaughnessy. “Emmiitt, you’re the only one who can do this. The SSNX is your baby, you built it with your own two hands. Don’t let it be a white elephant, useless in its moment of need. There are about a billion men, women, and children in White China counting on you right now. If we delay a single minute, that’s another minute that the Reds hold the East China Sea. Can you do this, can you get it going?”
Emmitt Stephens stood, knowing that Pacino was pulling his old trick, giving him a pep talk that could fire him up, make him work around the clock, coax from him the impossible, and he smiled suddenly, knowing that once again it had worked.
“Aye, sir. I’ll do my best.”
“Good man. See you pierside.”
Pacino waved at him, then turned to Colleen O’Shaughnessy.
She looked back at him, and he found himself somehow drawn to her. She started talking about the Cyclops battlecontrol system and how it was still nonfunctional.
“… failure modes have revealed almost nothing, and the decision was made early this morning to scrap the Dynacorp code and return to an earlier version before the acquisition and restart all code entries at that point.”
“Okay, I admit it, I’m lost. What’s all that mean?”
“Well, Admiral Pacino, it means your onboard computer has just had a lobotomy and has the brain of a newborn.”
“So what now?”
“So now I recede it, writing it so it’ll work.”
“Just you?”
“That’s right. Just me.” Her voice was deep, throaty, yet refined and certain, the voice of a woman unused to being questioned.
“How long?”
“About a month to get to the C-1 test, maybe a week after that to get to C-9. And just so you know, that’s the optimistic schedule. If I’m honest with myself, this could take three months all told.”
“Today is Monday, right? You’ve got until Thursday. By then we’ll be in the East China Sea. And you’d better go get some sensible clothes. You can’t dress like that at sea.”
“Excuse me? What are you talking about?”
“The SSNX is leaving. Colleen, and you’re going with it. You’ll have to do your coding on the way. We leave in sixty minutes. See you at the pier.”
Her air of confidence cracked, just a little. “I’m not reading you here. I—”
“You’re getting underway on the Devilfish, Colleen. The SSNX is deploying to the East China Sea operation area — for those of us in the know, the’op area’—and you are the battlecontrol system.”
“But—”
“Joanna, can you help Ms. O’Shaughnessy pack? Get her to her house and down to the pier by zero six hundred. Yes?”
Paully White poked his head into the room.
“You’d better see this,” he said, switching the widescreen on. A reporter was standing on the tarmac in the noon sunshine in front of Air Force One. The stairway led to an open door, and the airplane was flanked by Secret Service agents and newsmen.
“… an announcement concerning the war in White China and the deployment of the U.S. backup Rapid Deployment Force. And here she comes now.”
Jaisal Warner walked down the ramp, wearing a dark suit that emphasized her slimness, smiling and waving at reporters. Behind her was Admiral O’Shaughnessy in his service dress blues, his stripes gleaming gold and climbing high up his sleeves. Colleen O’Shaughnessy froze, having moved behind Pacino’s shoulder at his seat at the conference table. Pacino could faintly smell her perfume, and he turned to look up at her. Her features had
become soft while she watched her father walk down the steps behind the president.
Warner walked up to a podium, looking determined.
“Good afternoon, Americans,” she began. “Effective immediately, I am appointing Admiral Michael Pacino, U.S. Navy, the supreme commander-in-chief of Pacific U.S. Military Forces. As such. Admiral Pacino will lead the invasion and liberation of White China. All force commanders will, as of this moment, immediately report to him. And, per the special request of Admiral Pacino, also effective immediately, the U.S. military and all branches of the federal government are commencing a total news blackout of the conduct of this conflict against the Red Chinese.” A small uproar broke out among the reporters. Warner held up one hand. “Please, ladies and gentlemen, bear with me. After a detailed study into the loss of the first Rapid Deployment Force, and under the direction of Admiral Pacino, I am ordering the press removed from all U.S. military establishments, starting with the aircraft carriers of the task force of the backup RDF. In addition, any aircraft of any nationality which attempts to approach anywhere within a thousand miles of the task force will be intercepted by the Navy fighter jets of the force and escorted away. In the event any aircraft does not heed the orders of the fighters, that aircraft will be shot down.” Warner paused for effect, greeted with pin-drop silence. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the press, for your cooperation. And for all Americans, I ask for your prayers for the men of the Rapid Deployment Force, and for Admiral Pacino. That is all.”
As Warner walked away, bedlam broke out, shouted questions flying at her from all directions. Paully White clicked the widescreen off. The silence in the room was only momentary, though, for a dozen phones suddenly began ringing in the outer office.
Colleen O’Shaughnessy looked at him in astonishment.
“You’d better hurry. Colleen,” Pacino said, putting his feet on the desk and his hands behind his head. “The supreme commander has spoken.”
“Good to see this hasn’t gone to your head. Admiral,” Colleen said, crinkling her nose at him. Then she swept out the door.
“You knew,” White said in awe. “You knew she’d do that.”
“Of course,” Pacino said. “What the hell else was she going to do? Fire me and Dick O’Shaughnessy? And have the second RDF put on the bottom by the Reds? I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, well, when this is over, you’ll be retired. Your paycheck stops the day they hit the beach.”
“Paully, if we can do this, I’ll be happy to retire. Let’s just worry about coming out of this with a task force that reaches the beach instead of the bottom of the ocean.”
“You ready for Tanaka?”
“Listen, I want to talk to him, but I need to talk to Dick Livingston, then to Bruce Phillips on the Piranha, and we’ve both got to pack. Get out to the SSNX and meet me aboard. And get Tanaka out there—”
“He’s going with us?”
“Yes, so get him some clothes and set him up in a stateroom. Settle Colleen into one of the other staterooms — in fact, give her the executive officer’s stateroom, so she doesn’t have to share the bathroom with anyone but the captain.”
“Sir? Um, who is the captain?”
“Don’t know yet. That’s what Admiral Livingston is here for. Now shove off, and I’ll see you at the SSNX.”
“Maybe you should start calling it by its real name. Devilfish.”
“I don’t know if I can. It’s just a little too weird.”
“Sir,” Joanna interrupted.
“I thought you were taking Colleen down to the pier.”
“She said she didn’t need my help,” Joanna said, glaring at Pacino. “Anyway, sir, SNN has some good news.”
“The only good news that could come right now is no news,” Pacino grumbled.
But when the widescreen came up, there was John Patton, wearing orange search and rescue coveralls. The voiceover said, “… survivor of the sinking of the submarine USS Annapolis. Captain Patton, who didn’t go down with the ship, was plucked from the sea by a helicopter of the Japanese Kaijo Hoancho, or coast guard. After arriving at Yokosuka, Captain Patton and an unidentified second survivor had no comment for our news cameras. Meanwhile, Admiral Pacino, the newly announced supreme commander of the Pacific forces, has made no statement and has been unavailable for comment. Meanwhile, at the Pentagon, inside sources revealed today that—”
Pacino switched it off, feeling an exhilaration he hadn’t since he’d married Eileen. With a stab of guilt he realized that in his moment of happiness, her memory had been swept aside.
“Did you see that. Admiral?” White asked, incredulous.
“Looks like the SSNX has her captain,” Pacino said, unable to suppress his smile. “Joanna, get on the horn to Navforcepac Admin in Yokosuka. Get Patton down here on a supersonic jet — an F-22 maybe, or an F-14, but get him back here fast.”
“You’re putting him in command of the Devilfish? After he lost Annapolis?”
“Damned right I am. He’s probably pretty angry at the Reds by now. Let’s put him in the saddle. He’ll do fine. Now get me Admiral Livingston. We’ve got to get a crew for the SSNX — I mean Devilfish.”
“Yessir,” White said, smiling back.
Suddenly Pacino had a good feeling about the operation.
It wouldn’t be easy, but then, at least if it failed, it would be his fault, not some politicians’ or the news media’s. He smiled at Livingston, ushered him to a seat, and began to speak.
PACIFIC OCEAN
300 NAUTICAL MILES WEST-NORTHWEST OF OAHU
AIRCRAFT CARRIER USS DOUGLAS MACARTHUR, CVN-85
Rear Admiral Gregory Copenflager sat up straight in his seat before the videoconference camera.
“Yes, sir,” he said, receiving an order he would be glad to follow.
“One other thing,” Admiral Pacino said from his Pearl Harbor office, “even before you redeploy into the ASW formation. You may have seen this on the news. I want all reporters rounded up and transported to Pearl Harbor. I want their gear — suitcases, underwear, cameras, tape recorders, computers, all of it — sent on a separate airplane. And before you bring them up on deck, blindfold them. I know it sounds paranoid, but I don’t want them reporting anything except how poorly they were treated. No ship formations, order of battle information, attitude of the troops, nothing. We’ll see to their reception on this end. And don’t worry about them smearing your career. You just blame the whole thing on me. Is that completely clear?”
“Yes, Admiral. We’ll get on it immediately.”
“And, Greg, you should expect to be at the Point Delta Hold Position for some time. I want you to make the best time you can, with your random zigzag pattern, for Point Delta, but don’t expect to go in as soon as you get there. You’re not crossing the line until you hear from me personally, and that word won’t come until I know the East China Sea is clear.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” Copenflager said, his jaw muscles clenching.
“Good luck, Greg. And watch yourself.”
“Same to you. Admiral. Good hunting.”
Copenflager, the admiral-in-command of the backup Rapid Deployment Force Fleet, clicked off and looked over at his staff and the captain of the MacArthur.
“Round up the press, put them in the ready rooms, and confiscate their gear, then blindfold them. Get five Hawkeyes ready to airlift them back to Pearl, and put their gear on the sixth. No more ship announcements until they are all off. Once they’re gone, execute the maximum-dispersion order, cargo vessels no closer than two miles from each other, random distribution, ASW ships in a large-area screen. It’s zero five forty-five now. In one hour’s time I want the reporters off and the formation redeployed. Questions? Very well, gentlemen. Execute.”
The staff rose and vanished. Copenflager stood up, relived. Maybe with Pacino in command, things would be different. They’d better be, he thought, looking out the window at the formation, or else for him it would be a very short war.
>
UNIFIED SUBMARINE COMMAND HEADQUARTERS
WEST PEARL HARBOR, HAWAII
The president was glaring at him. Pacino couldn’t remember her ever looking at him like that, even after he got kicked out of the Oval Office before the Japan blockade.
“I’d still like to know what you’re doing. I’ve heard rumors about the SSNX.”
“I’d like to know where you’re getting rumors like that,” Pacino said to the camera, hoping his voice sounded sufficiently hard.
In the background Admiral O’Shaughnessy’s face, as usual, was unreadable, yet Pacino thought he detected just a slight smile. Pacino felt a certainty he hadn’t had in a long time. A single word was running through his mind: Devilfish. He knew it was silly and superstitious, but somehow that name was making a difference to him.
Donchez must have known that the name would bring back other things from that time to him. His old cockiness seemed to be returning, the self that had been lost now beginning to resurface.
“Like I told you, I’ll be damned if the Red force commander learns anything about this mission from the news. And the reason I want to know where you got those rumors is because my plan may be starting to work. Madam President, the absence of news is not enough against this guy. We need to get things into the news that are misleading, some completely false, some edged with enough truth to confuse him. If you’ll just lay low until this operation is over, ma’am, you won’t be embarrassed by anything you say that turns out to be my disinformation.”
Jaisal Warner was not happy. “So I’m just supposed to trust you, and three weeks from now you’ll call up and say you’re at the beach?”
“Not quite like that, ma’am.”
“You’re the supreme commander. Admiral. I’ll give you your autonomy. And you’d better win this thing. If anything goes wrong, I’ll consider today’s developments evidence of your insubordination, and the only thing you’ll command is your Annapolis sailboat.”
Piranha: Firing Point mp-5 Page 27
