Colt's Crisis

by Tom Carroll

  “No, ma’am, nothing at all,” she answered, stiffing slightly at the mere suggestion she may have prompted this behavior. “Like I said, I’ve hardly said a word to him since I reported aboard. It just feels sort of like a weird obsession.”

  Jen looked at the young woman and knew exactly why this guy was attracted to her. She was quite pretty, with a great smile and a figure even a polyester uniform designed for males couldn’t hide. She had been a collegiate athlete, and it showed. But there was something else. During the occasional steel beach picnics when the flight deck was turned into a beach party, Rebecca had worn clothing that was not really appropriate for a Naval officer on a ship at sea. Even the ship’s captain had remarked that the ship’s officers needed to maintain a certain degree of military bearing, even at a picnic.

  Jen stood and walked around her desk. “I think I understand,” she said to Rebecca. “Have you ever spoken to Lieutenant Commander Bryant and told him to knock it off? I mean, in the most direct way?”

  Rebecca looked down and replied, “Not really. I’ve been hoping he would stop. I wasn’t sure if I should submit a formal complaint. Frankly, I’m afraid that if I did, I could kiss my career goodbye.”

  Commander Abrams knew there was some truth to what the ensign was saying. Many organizations still blamed women when they reported being harassed or mistreated. She was also aware of harmful retaliatory actions after women exposed men who had behaved this way toward them.

  “How about this,” Jen offered. “I’ll drop in to the gym before your watch this evening. Perhaps I’ll see him in action.”

  Rebecca stood and hugged the senior officer. “Thank you, ma’am. I didn’t know who else to tell, and I appreciate you helping me. I’ll see you later, then,” she said and headed to her stateroom.

  Jen Abrams sat back down at her desk and thought further about what Ensign Clarke had told her. Women had been serving on Navy ships for many years, but some men still saw them as objects, or even as an opportunity for a few moments of affection. Jen was annoyed to hear that this young Naval officer was being abused by this jerk. She was determined to put an end to it.

  Officer’s Wardroom, the Reagan

  Rear Admiral Joseph Carlisle had been eating his meals in the ship’s wardroom since losing his cabin to the secretary of defense. He had tried disguising his resentment by telling his staff he preferred to eat in the wardroom as it gave him opportunities to meet informally with ship and airwing officers. At the same time, the ship’s supply officer had started noticing a dramatic increase in the number of officers eating in the more casual dirty shirt wardroom, where aircrew typically went for meals because they didn’t want to deal with the more formal wardroom, and presumably, Admiral Carlisle. The supply officer laughed to himself when it occurred to him that he should ask the admiral to alternate between the two wardrooms just to even out the seating.

  Today the admiral was joined only by his chief of staff as the other officers had already managed to find seats at the far end of the wardroom.

  “Did you hear about Garrett’s “town hall” on the mess decks? What was that about, sitting down with a bunch of junior Sailors and Marines, answering their questions and letting them complain about their living conditions? It reminded me of the late 80s when the Navy jumped on the quality movement. Ship captains were directed to hold open forums and let the Sailors tell them how to run the ship. It was a joke then, and it’s still a joke now!”

  Captain Winters, who had decided not to stoop to the adolescent level of the admiral’s comments, replied, “That was a few years before my time, sir. It does seem the Navy goes through phases of social experimentation, usually a few years on the heels of the civilian business community when it attempts something new.”

  “We’ve got more than 5,000 people on this ship. Is Garrett planning to talk with every one of them to help him figure out how to do his job? Nobody asked me, but I don’t think this is how you run the department of defense!”

  That’s right, nobody asked you! thought Captain Winters as he reached for the coffee carafe and refilled his cup. After he heard what the one-star admiral had said on the video call with the president, Winters thought it unlikely that anybody would be asking his opinion about anything, ever again. It also occurred to him that he should distance himself from this self-important, self-absorbed admiral who seemed to gain toxicity with each passing day. It would be a difficult tightrope to walk, maneuvering away from the admiral without appearing to be disloyal to him. Perhaps he should ask Lenny Wilson if there was any possibility of an assignment on Garrett’s staff at the Pentagon. Who would blame him for leaving Carlisle’s staff to accept a position in the new defense secretary’s organization? It was something to consider.

  “And did you hear about Garrett shooting the pistol qualification course on the fantail? I mean, what’s he trying to prove? You’d think the guy was running for office.”

  “I did hear about that, sir, and they say he scored 100 percent. That’s some pretty good shooting. I wonder if that has anything to do with his mysterious intel background.”

  “No, he probably pressured the senior chief to give him a high score. He seems like the type who’d do that.” After a pause, Carlisle said, “Gary, I want you to help me with something.”

  “Yes, sir?” Winters replied, always suspicious when Carlisle used his first name to start a sentence.

  The admiral looked around the wardroom to be completely sure their conversation would be private.

  “I want to get Garrett off this ship. That thing during the video call with the president didn’t do much for my Navy career, or my post-Navy political aspirations either, and I blame Garrett. Every day that man spends on this ship seems to cause me more problems, and I want to do something about it.”

  “Just what do you have in mind, Admiral?” asked Winters, mildly entertained while also feeling discomforted by Carlisle’s childish and spiteful thought process.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps he could ‘accidentally’ slip and fall,” Carlisle suggested, using air quotes for emphasis. “Ships are dangerous places, and accidents happen all the time.”

  Winters couldn’t believe Admiral Carlisle was actually serious.

  “True,” Captain Winters said, then continued dryly, “Maybe you could challenge him to meet you on the flight deck at high noon. What do you think, Admiral, pistols or boarding cutlasses? Maybe cutlasses would be the better choice, given his skill with that pistol!”

  But when Captain Winters looked at the admiral, he could see the man wasn’t at all amused by his archaic scenario. He felt a cold chill and took another sip from his coffee cup.

  “I’m kidding, of course!” declared the admiral, thinking twice about appearing too diabolical. “I just want to discredit him before he jeopardizes my career, and I wouldn’t miss him if he were off this ship.”

  The admiral abruptly got up, threw his napkin down, and quickly left the wardroom. It wasn’t long before the atmosphere in the wardroom immediately changed, with officers once again joking around and enjoying their meals with their shipmates. Captain Winters finished his coffee and stood to go back to his stateroom. He wasn’t all that certain the admiral was just joking about causing harm to the defense secretary. He wondered if he ought to do anything about it.

  Carrier Intelligence Center (CVIC), the Reagan

  Commander Abrams was not looking forward to her meeting with Lieutenant Commander Bryant. She wasn’t in his chain of command and had no official role in protecting Ensign Clarke from his unwanted advances. But Jen was a senior female Naval officer, and as such, she felt a responsibility to the other females onboard when they found themselves dealing with unprofessional behavior. In fact, Jen’s lack of official standing made her the perfect advocate for Ensign Clarke. Now, she intended to do what she could to keep Gary Bryant from continuing to harass the young woman.

  Bryant knocked on Commander Abrams’ office door and entered as Jen said, “Have a seat
, Gary.”

  Gary Bryant worked in the ship’s engineering department as the main propulsion assistant, responsible for the nuclear reactor that powered everything onboard the Reagan. He had graduated from the Naval Academy and served on an Arleigh Burke-class guided-missile destroyer out of Rota, Spain, where he earned his SWO qualification. He subsequently attended Nuclear Power School in Goose Creek, South Carolina, where he learned the fundamentals of nuclear propulsion, and then attended a 26-week prototype training at the same location, where he applied the concepts learned in nuke school while running a full-scale operating plant. He next reported to the USS Nimitz, and finally transferred to the Reagan for his current assignment. Ever since his days at the Naval Academy, Gary Bryant was known by his fellow officers as a party animal. His bad behavior at Annapolis nearly got him kicked out on several occasions, and it was only his exceptional scholastic performance that convinced the Academy to allow him to graduate, earning a degree in nuclear engineering. Gary Bryant was a very smart man. When he received a curt invitation to report to the commander’s office, he sensed it wasn’t because he had done something well.

  “What can I do for you, Commander Abrams?” Bryant asked.

  “This is an unofficial meeting, Gary, and it’s off the record. There are concerns that you have possibly been acting inappropriately toward Ensign Rebecca Clarke. Do you know Ensign Clarke?”

  Bryant shifted in his chair. “I think so. Isn’t she that young thing that works up in combat systems? I think I’ve seen her around.”

  “Young thing? Is that how you refer to another Naval officer?” Jen leaned forward in her chair and looked intently at the engineering officer.

  “Sorry, Commander, I meant to say, ‘young officer.’”

  Jen Abrams realized this might turn out to be easier than she first thought.

  “Several of the Reagan’s officers have told me you’ve been seen leering at Ensign Clarke while working out in the gym.”

  “Has she complained?”

  “It’s strange that you don’t deny it, Mr. Bryant. Should I assume these observations are accurate?”

  Bryant smiled and said, “No, ma’am. I just wondered if Ensign Clarke herself has complained to you. She hasn’t said anything to me about bothering her. If it was a problem, why wouldn’t she say anything to me?”

  “I can’t answer that. All I’m saying is that several people have noticed something. Perhaps you should try being more professional toward the women on this ship and avoid any contact with this particular one. I haven’t said anything about this to the chief engineer — I wanted to allow you to correct this situation before it became a major problem. Do you catch my drift?”

  “Yes, Commander, loud and clear. I have no idea what these people could be talking about, but I’ll make certain to steer clear of Ensign Clarke going forward.”

  After Lieutenant Commander Bryant stood and left Jen’s office, she wondered whether she had scared him off, or if her warning would just encourage him to continue his inappropriate behavior, only more discreetly. Regardless, she decided to arrange her personal schedule so that whenever Ensign Clarke was working out, she would be, too.

  Headquarters, Republic of Korea Marine Corps (ROKMC), Hwaseong, South Korea

  General Cho was impressed with the level of detail in the report describing the surveillance of Colonel Chang’s apartment, and with the speed at which it was prepared and provided for his use. According to the report, Chang had arrived at his apartment in the late afternoon to find his girlfriend, Kang Ji-woo, waiting for him with a martini. Chang and Ji-woo enjoyed a quiet evening together, the surveillance team recording it all as the marine colonel described to the young woman what had happened to him that day. She skillfully asked probing questions that led Chang to provide her with a shocking amount of classified information. The surveillance report also included details of the couple’s intimate activities, but there was no further breach of security during the remainder of the surveillance period. After midnight, once Chang was sound asleep, the team observed as Ji-woo quietly climbed out of bed and carefully removed a piece of clothing from her closet and placed it in a dry-cleaning bag. The seasoned surveillance team considered the incident odd and provided detailed notes regarding the event.

  In the morning, said the report, after Colonel Chang had left for work and Ji-woo had gone for her morning run, the surveillance team entered the apartment. They carefully examined, photographed, and cataloged the contents of the dry-cleaning bag and placed a tracking device inside one of the bag’s seams before replacing it and exiting the apartment. After Ji-woo returned from her run, she showered and dressed for work, grabbing the dry-cleaning bag on her way out the door.

  With a street surveillance team in tow, Ji-woo’s first stop was at a small dry-cleaning shop about three blocks from Chang’s apartment building. Mr. Yi’s Alterations and Dry Cleaning had been the neighborhood’s sole dry-cleaning establishment for over 20 years, with Mr. Yi still performing a majority of the work. Ji-woo was observed dropping her dry-cleaning bag off at the shop and then continuing on her way to work at Sacred Heart Hospital as a respiratory therapist. The surveillance report ended with the recommendation that additional surveillance assets should be assigned to Ji-woo and the dry-cleaning shop. Complete background investigations were also recommended for both Kang Ji-woo and Mr. Yi.

  General Cho placed the report on his desk and thought through the situation. Several things had now become clear. First, the source of his intelligence leak clearly was Colonel Chang’s nightly conversation with his young girlfriend, who was likely a North Korean intelligence agent. Second, although Colonel Chang should never have been telling his girlfriend anything about the work he does, it was Chang’s girlfriend who appeared to be the true conspirator, and not Chang himself. While troubling, of course, it was still somewhat a relief to General Cho that he wasn’t so far off the mark when it came to trusting others. The dry-cleaning shop was probably being used as a communications relay for the agent. Either Mr. Yi was her North Korean controller, or he was — knowingly or otherwise — passing information along to another unidentified person. At least now, Cho knew how to stop the flow of information.

  The question remained, what if anything would be gained by further surveillance of the young woman and her dry-cleaning contact? The longer Cho ran the surveillance, the more likely Director Pang and his counterintelligence thugs would become aware of the operation. If the fact that one of Cho’s marines had been compromised by a North Korean agent was to become known by the Korean General Staff, Cho’s career would be over, at a minimum. Cho decided there could not be any further surveillance of Colonel Chang or his young companion. He decided to immediately terminate the surveillance operation and have the technicians reassigned to other duties. They would be briefed to forget about the operation and destroy the notes and materials developed during the surveillance.

  With that resolved, Cho returned to the nagging subject of how to deal with Colonel Chang himself. Although Chang’s role appeared to be only that of the unwitting fool, there also was the possibility that the colonel had a much more calculated and profound role. He decided to have Chang meet him at one of the several locations in the city used for covert meetings. Perhaps a few hours with some of Cho’s enthusiastic interrogators might motivate the colonel to provide additional insight into the North Korean penetration of Cho’s organization.

  General Cho finally turned his thoughts to tomorrow’s visit by the new American secretary of defense. Why would President Kim invite the Americans to visit now? he wondered. Kim had already denied any knowledge of the missing warheads. Perhaps it was just an excuse for the president to meet Secretary Garrett and form a first-hand impression. Cho knew that Admiral Pak would be at the meeting. Cho made a mental note to have lunch with the admiral afterward.

  Ready Room 4, the Reagan

  Lieutenants Dan Garrett and Katrina Pierce— dressed in their flight suits — were seated in the
front row of the Scorpion’s ready room. The squadron duty officer selected a channel on the video monitor that was mounted on the bulkhead, changing the picture on the screen to a camera shot of a young Naval intelligence officer.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” the handsome officer said, “I’m Ensign Parker Smith, welcome to the Event 2 brief. Let’s go upstairs first for the weather.”

  The picture changed again, this time to show a meteorology officer in front of a weather map of the region. The Navy’s meteorology and oceanography officers supported Naval strategy and tactics by integrating the sciences of oceanography, meteorology, mapping, charting, and geodesy with Naval operations. Onboard an aircraft carrier, they were affectionately known as “Weather Guessers.”

  After the weather specialist had provided the aircrews with his prediction for the next few hours, he signed off, saying, “Have a safe flight! Back to you in CVIC.” The screen shifted back to Parker Smith who began to brief the aircrew on the airspace in which they would be operating, including any restricted airspace and associated radio frequencies for which to request access. The airspace briefing was followed by a threat briefing, which showed the locations of any potentially hostile ships, submarines, and aircraft currently in the area. Next was an overview of the friendly naval and commercial ships and aircraft within a few hundred miles of the carrier. Parker went on to describe each squadron’s participation in the event, listing the numbers and types of aircraft, the planned mission, the area of operation, and assigned radio control frequencies. Throughout the presentation, aircrew in each squadron ready room took notes, and asked clarifying questions of the briefer.

  Before concluding the briefing, the Parker added, “One last thing, ladies and gentlemen: We have a lost item here that’s currently available to the highest bidder.” The camera view then shifted to a flight helmet with “VFA-67” displayed on the crown and “CHEMO” painted on the side.