The Violent Sea

by Russell Moran

  “Harry, are you worried that morale is going to take a hit once people begin to realize they are being watched closely?”

  “The only people who will feel uncomfortable are those who have some bad shit going on in their heads. Hey, there’s not one sailor in this strike group that wants to see a Lincoln-style attack on the Ford. No, babe, I’m not worried at all.”

  As I said that, I didn’t realize that I did have something to worry about, something big.

  Chapter 16

  Captain Elliott Boylan, commanding officer of the guided missile cruiser USS Sternberg, called to his assistant. The Sternberg was a modern Ticonderoga Class cruiser, and Boylan had been her captain since she launched in April of the previous year. His aide, LTJG John Lavan, saluted the captain as he entered the bridge.

  “John, round up the six division heads for a meeting in the wardroom at 1400.”

  Boylan had just met with an officer who identified himself as Lieutenant Walter Lambert, an agent with the Office of Naval Intelligence (who was really with the CIA). He briefed Boylan on the urgent new Navy policy of “see something—say something.” The aftershocks of the explosions on the USS Abraham Lincoln were still being felt.

  “Good afternoon everybody,” Boylan said. “I’ve just been briefed by Lt. Lambert here on the new policy that everybody’s been talking about. Since the Lincoln was bombed and because nobody saw it coming, the Navy has now announced Operation Shadow Warrior, the motto of which is the familiar phrase we hear from Homeland Security—‘If you see something, say something.’ Frankly, I think it’s a bit dramatic. In the Navy we always say something when we see something.”

  The room was silent except for a few confused glances.

  “Whether it’s dramatic or not, I’m paid to follow Navy rules, so we’re putting the procedures that Lt. Lambert will discuss into action.”

  Lt. Lambert went over the details of Operation Shadow Warrior. “If you see something out of the ordinary, such as a package that shouldn’t be there, immediately report it to your superior, who will then pass the word up the chain of command.” Boylan sat in the rear of the room and yawned, stifling a laugh.

  At 1530 the Sternberg got underway from its slip at Naval Station Norfolk and headed south to the Charleston Navy Yard for brief visit, and to pick up Loretta Sternberg, the granddaughter of Captain Otto Sternberg, a World War II naval hero, after whom the ship was named.

  When the Sternberg was 10 miles from the entrance to Charleston Harbor, Captain Boylan, carrying a briefcase, went to the ship’s magazine, where the ammunition and weapons are stored. He walked up to the rack that held the powerful missiles, reached into his briefcase, and withdrew a hand grenade.

  The explosion rattled windows in Charleston, 10 miles away. The ship’s hull sustained a large opening below the waterline, and the Sternberg sank in 10 minutes. Eighty-five of the ship’s personnel lost their lives, including Lt. Lambert from the CIA. Another 103 were wounded, some critically.

  Chapter 17

  I never understood terror. Don’t know if I ever will. My recent time travel to 1942 brought me into the middle of a big war, even though I only experienced a month of it. The Japanese killed us in vast numbers and we returned the serve. We did the same with Germany. Nations of intelligent people, slugging it out, bringing death and destruction as a matter of course. But the Japanese had their reasons, as did the Germans. The reasons may have been wrongheaded and cruel, but at least they had reasons, and war followed logically from those reasons. The Japanese wanted break our oil embargo and tried to cripple our Pacific Fleet with the attack on Pearl Harbor so it could continue to conquer nations around the Pacific Rim. Hitler wanted to roll up his hegemony over Europe and the Western world with his tanks, planes, and ships.

  Terror is different. Did the people who committed the acts have anything against their shipmates on the Abraham Lincoln? What about the captain of the Sternberg? Did he have a logical reason for killing himself and sinking his ship? The Japanese militarists and the Nazis believed they could win. Stupid thinking, but the thinking had a destination, a point. Terror doesn’t have a point. Of course, I hear all the bullshit about striking fear into the hearts of the infidels so that we’ll cower in corners, afraid to venture forth. Yeah, right. After every instance of terror, we blow the living shit out of them. As of now, ISIS is little more than a word, but that word still finds its way into people’s heads, and convinces them the they should murder—in the name of what? Do these people really think that a just God will smile on the way they murder innocent people?

  “Hey, you, a penny for your thoughts.”

  “You’re gonna need a lot of pennies.”

  “If I hadn’t been on watch I would have come to see you as soon as they announced the Sternberg sinking,” Meg said.

  Even though she was my aide, Meg requested that she stand watch, and I agreed with her. Her watch station was on the bridge, where she served as junior officer of the deck. OODs loved to stand watch with Meg because her vast knowledge of every aspect of the ship makes four hours go by quickly.

  “I guess I should make an announcement to the crew. I just received a secure radio briefing from NavOps. There’s no definitive proof, but three witnesses said they saw the Sternberg’s captain entering the magazine with a briefcase just before the explosion. Shortly before that, the harbormaster in Charleston received a brief radio message in what sounded like the captain’s voice. The message said: ‘Alahu Akhbar.’ So, there’s a strong chance that the captain may have sunk his own ship. Meg, what the fuck is going on?”

  Meg knows when I need her, which is always, but especially now. She wrapped her arms around me, real tight, like she wanted to send me an encouraging message through her body. She did.

  The squawk box squawked.

  “Admiral Fenton, this is the bridge.”

  “Go ahead, Marty.”

  “I was just about to make an announcement about the Sternberg, sir, but I figured you would want to address the entire strike group.”

  “I’m just about to do that, Marty. Come to the flag bridge please. After my announcement I want to meet with you, Meg, and Buster the spook.”

  The tweet of the bosun’s pipe sounded throughout the Ford and the other ships in Carrier Strike Group 14.

  “Attention all hands, attention all hands. Stand by for Admiral Harry Fenton.”

  “I was about to say, ‘good afternoon, everyone,’ but this afternoon is not good. By now you have all heard about the sinking of the USS Sternberg. The evidenced strongly points to Captain Elliot Boylan, commanding officer of the Sternberg, as the person who set off the bomb in the ship’s magazine. Too many times recently, as I get on the microphone to address you all, my mind tells me—‘I can’t believe what I’m about to say.’ This is one of those times. For reasons I can’t fathom, terrorists want to kill us, but we’ve all known that for a long time, at least as far back as 9/11. What we now face is something like a brick wall. We have no idea who the next murdering terrorist is. As sailors, we all have a lot of duties. I want to remind you that each and every one of us has a new duty, one that we can’t ignore. If you see something, say something. You’ve heard it before and you’ll hear it again. You’ll hear it constantly. We’ve just seen an American Navy ship sunk by its own captain. It hasn’t been conclusively proven yet—maybe he had a reason for shouting ‘Alahu Akhbar’ on the radio shortly before the explosion—but if anything alerts us to be diligent, that is the most dramatic reminder I can think of. You’ve all heard the announcement about Bust…I mean Commander Charles Atkins, our visitor from the Office of Naval Intelligence. Ongoingly, Commander Atkins will be coaching us on the methods of active intelligence. Now I will introduce the most important man at this time. Please stand by for Father Rick Sampson, Chaplain of Carrier Strike Group 14, as he leads us in prayer for our fallen comrades on the Sternberg.”

  “My friends, let us bow our heads in prayer…” Father Rick began.


  Chapter 18

  “Ambassador Yakuri is here for his appointment, Mr. President.”

  Jimunu Yakuri is the new Japanese Ambassador to the United States.

  “Ambassador Yakuri, it’s a pleasure to meet you, and congratulations on being our new ambassador. That your prime minister has appointed such a fine man as you, shows me that he values our friendship.”

  “Mr. President, if I may be so bold, please honor me by calling me Jimmy. Everyone else does.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Jimmy, and I look forward to the mutual cooperation between our countries that we’ve grown to expect. As you know our Navy’s Carrier Strike Group 14 is heading to the Sea of Japan for joint maneuvers with your country and South Korea. There was a time, long before you or I were born, when the news of an approaching naval force would be met by fear instead of trust.”

  “Yes, Mr. President, that was a time when my great country was led by militant madmen like Tojo. Now you send your great ships to us so that we can try to convince another militant madman from raining terror. I fear that Kim Jong-un is North Korea’s Tojo. He and his friends in Iran are the world’s supporters of terror. My country sends its deep condolences for the sailors who died on the USS Sternberg yesterday. As our intelligence agencies have discussed, terrorism now has a new face, one that is hard to pick out of a crowd. I hope and pray the reports that Sternberg’s captain may have been the bomber are false.”

  “I hope so too, Jimmy. At a time like this we all need our friends, and you’re one of America’s greatest friends.”

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. President, and don’t hesitate to call me if I may be of assistance.”

  “I just may do that, Jimmy.”

  Chapter 19

  At the time I met Harry, my career was in the stock market. As the operations vice president of Malta Investments, I made a hell of a lot of money, and enjoyed my work—somewhat. I was only 30 years old, and I used every bit of my education, including an MBA from Harvard, and was on my way to a big successful career. I hadn’t married although I dated a few men. For reasons I’ll never figure out, not that I want to, I never had a relationship that I found satisfying. Sounds crazy, but men just didn’t interest me, at least not romantically. I was happy and satisfied with the direction of my life, or at least I convinced myself that I was. But deep down I knew that was bullshit. Something was missing.

  Then I met Harry. Whatever was missing from my life suddenly showed up. It was Harry that I was missing. It sounds like a Harlequin romance to say I met a tall, handsome man, and my life changed. Maybe that’s why Harlequin romances are so popular. With Harry, it was no romance novel, it was reality. It wasn’t just his good looks, which are considerable. He was, and is, the most unassuming man I ever met. He takes his work as a military leader seriously, but not himself. Unlike so many guys I met over the years, Harry communicated something to me that I couldn’t understand. I tend to be over-analytical. If something hits me that I don’t understand, I can’t rest until I figure the damn thing out. I couldn’t even come close to understanding what was going on with me and Harry. Then it hit me—I loved him, simple as that. And he made it abundantly clear that he felt the same way about me.

  I didn’t just love him, I loved everything about him, including his career.

  When two people meet who both have serious occupations, planning the future includes the practical matters of where to live and how to handle the normal complications that arise when big careers are involved.

  That frightened me. My job with Malta required that I be close to the action, which meant Manhattan. When Harry sewed on his admiral’s stripes, we knew that his duties may take him to far-flung places, including sea duty, and that also meant he would be away for long stretches of time. I was scared, but not for long. Harry agonized over this problem, if it ever was a problem. I didn’t agonize over the issue for long. I joined the Navy. I had spent a brief time as a lieutenant with a direct commission when I accompanied Harry on our search for that time traveling cruise ship. But this time I didn’t look for a direct commission but rather the traditional way of going to OCS, Officer Candidate School.

  But two married naval officers can have the same problems as if one partner had a civilian career. Chances were that I would be assigned to one duty station, Harry to another. But Harry’s a persuasive guy, and he carries a lot of clout with the top brass at the Pentagon, not to mention the White House. So just like that, I became Flag Lieutenant Meghan Fenton, Harry’s aide. We kid each other about my status as his aide, but it’s only kidding. He insists on getting us coffee, and even loading the dishwasher regularly. I loved the idea of being an aide to an admiral, an executive position that requires every bit of my management background. And we’d be together, the most important thing in my book.

  When I get involved in something, I tend to “go all in,” as the phrase goes. Joining the Navy didn’t just mean being close to Harry, it was also a career that I loved from the start. Ever since my first day in the Navy, I noticed that Naval air power is as important as sea power. So, what’s a former Wall Street executive to do? I needed to get my wings. Up until then, flying meant, for me anyway, sitting in first class, sipping a martini, and going over reports, or maybe reading a novel. Suddenly, the sky looked different. I fell in love with the idea of being a naval aviator.

  So, I reported to flight school at Naval Air Station, Pensacola, Florida. As I said, I like to go “all in,” so I requested and was accepted into the training program for the F/A-18 Super Hornet, a monster of an airplane. The Super Hornet has an internal 20 mm rotary cannon and can carry air-to-air missiles and air-to-surface weapons. It can carry additional fuel in up to five external fuel tanks. The plane can be configured as an airborne tanker by adding an external air refueling system. It can fly at Mach 1.8, about 1,190 MPH. Think of a rocket with wings.

  After my first solo flight from Corpus Christi, I was assigned to the USS George H. W. Bush for carrier training. Taking off and landing on a carrier are two experiences that are hard to describe. Landing on a carrier deck is scary as hell. About the most physically dangerous thing I ever did in the investment business was to walk across the floor of the New York Stock Exchange during a market correction.

  The best part of my wild experience with flight training involved Harry, of course. He stood on the open-air catwalk overlooking the flight deck as I came in for my first carrier landing on the Bush. He could hear me on the radio as I approached.

  One of a pilot’s most critical jobs when coming in for a carrier landing is to “call the ball,” indicating to the landing crew on the flight deck that he has a visually accurate view of the “meatball.” The ball, or meatball, is an orange orb of light emitted from the optical landing system on the carrier’s flight deck. A green horizontal row of lights (known as the datum) indicates proper glide slope. If the ball is below the datum, the aircraft is low, and if it’s above the datum, the plane is high. When the ball is in proper view, the pilot repeatedly says, “Roger Ball.”

  So, there I was, Roger Balling my way toward the flight deck of the Bush, which, from a pilot’s perspective, looked like a toy in a bathtub. I only had about 500 square feet of flight deck on which to land, about the size of the living room in our house at Pearl. Having kept the meatball in proper focus, my tailhook grabbed the arresting wire as the Hornet went from 150 mph to zero in less time than it takes to sneeze. Honey, I’m home!

  Harry walked up to my plane as I climbed down the ladder.

  We exchanged salutes. When you’re an admiral’s aide, as well as his spouse, military protocol can be a pain in the ass. Harry grabbed me by the hand and walked me to the side of the plane facing the ocean, taking us out of view. Harry didn’t salute this time. He hugged me, lifting me clear off the deck. Harry and I try our best to keep up appearances, even though everybody knows we’re married. But sometimes, we act like ourselves and show our love. If somebody sees us, well, as my salty-tongued husband would s
ay, “fuck ‘em.”

  Chapter 20

  “Commander, there’s something you should know about” the duty officer at Naval Operations, or NavOps, said. “It may be nothing, but it’s out of left field, so I figured I should mention it to you folks at Naval Intelligence. A chief petty officer on the nuclear submarine USS Michigan phoned NavOps and asked for the nuclear launch codes. He said he needed the codes for a routine maintenance test.”

  “Routine maintenance? Who the hell is this guy, lieutenant?”

  “That’s why I called you, sir. I recommend that you call the captain of the Michigan and ask about the man. His name is Chief Petty Officer Jason Banks.”

  ***

  “This is Commander Scott Valente with Naval Intelligence at the Pentagon. Please put me through to Captain James Ridgley.”

  “Good morning commander, Ridgley here, how can I help you? I don’t get many calls from you spy guys. Please call me Jim.”

  “Jim, a strange call came in this morning to NavOps from a chief petty officer on the Michigan. The guy asked for the nuclear missile launch codes. He said it was for a routine maintenance test.”

  “Who is this guy?”

  “The man’s name is Jason Banks.”

  “That name doesn’t sound familiar. If there was a chief petty officer aboard with that name I’d recognize it.”

  Ridgley typed the name into the search screen on his computer database.

  “Scott, we don’t have anybody aboard with that name.”

  “Could it be somebody with a name that sounds like that. Maybe the NavOps guy misunderstood.”