Meg and I agreed that war gaming with the Japanese was so strange it was almost surreal. Three weeks ago (in 2018 time) we were sinking Japanese ships and killing their crews. Now we’re pals. It felt strange as hell.
“Hey, hon, when we get together for cocktails, please don’t mention that you sank the Yamato.”
“And you shouldn’t bring up the fact that we sank the entire Japanese fleet.”
Meg and I discussed the importance of respecting Asian sensitivities, especially when the issue involves men and women. Although Meg was due for some flight time to maintain her proficiency, she agreed that only male pilots would be involved in air operations. Actually, she didn’t have to agree, because the order came directly from the White House.
Our major exercise called for the Ford to launch aircraft, with the South Koreans and Japanese playing the part of the bad guys. My frigates and destroyers of CSG 14 would have the task of keeping the enemy away from the Ford, and the enemy’s objective is to sink or disable us. A small detail known as North Korea was in the foreground of all our thinking. Supreme Leader Kim Jong-un would like nothing more than to open fire on our ships.
I had been involved in joint naval exercise many times before. Once you get past the language difficulties and the normal screwups of bureaucracies, these exercises are quite helpful, especially if the need ever arises for actual naval combat. The exercises were more like playing games on a computer. When a simulated “enemy” missile came within range of the Ford, the officer of the deck would yell “incoming.” Our computer program would then calculate the odds of the missile penetrating our sophisticated Aegis missile defense system, an amazing piece of technology that enables a ship to shoot down a fast-approaching missile.
After three days of bobbing and weaving, I was pleased with the result. The Ford’s sophisticated (and expensive) defense systems proved every bit as capable as we had hoped. The “bad guys” were also happy with the results. When you need to rely on a big badass friend like the United States, it’s comforting for our allies to know that we’re a challenge for an enemy to deal with.
***
Jimunu Yakuri, the Japanese Ambassador to the United States, boarded the Ford after we dropped anchor in Tokyo Bay. Meg and I took him on a tour of the ship. Jimmy, as he insisted on being called, was a nice guy, what you’d expect for a person with the title of ambassador. He studied at Columbia University and lived in the United States for over 10 years, so his English was almost perfect. I kept forcing my recent memory from my head, the memory that included sinking the ships of Jimmy’s country just a few weeks ago. Time travel is not for the faint of heart.
After the tour, a launch took us to the dock to meet Jimmy’s limousine, which would bring us to The Four Seasons in Tokyo. A big dinner was planned for the participants of the war games. Meg and I agreed that we would steer clear of talking about our recent time travel excursion to 1944, a story that got worldwide attention in the press.
But Jimmy wanted to talk about exactly that.
“Harry (I insisted he call me by my first name), I have read and studied the amazing stories of your recent adventure.”
“I was hoping that we could avoid talking about that, Jimmy.”
“But we should not avoid the subject, Harry. I don’t know if you are aware of it, but you’re quite a hero in Japan. Because of what you did, you saved hundreds of thousands of lives, Japanese as well as American. My country was once controlled by an insane group of militarist fools. This was a long time before you or I were born, but the amazing phenomenon of time travel gave you a recent look at our past. According to the reports, your objective was to use your powerful ship to put a quick end to the horrible war. You did exactly that. Even the fanatical militarists came to realize that you had defeated us. And your charming lovely wife here sank the revered Yamato.” He raised his glass in a toast to Meg as he said that. “When the Yamato sank, Japan’s heart sank with her. You certainly know a thing or two about psychological warfare, Harry. I believe you call it ‘mind fucking,’ no?”
I laughed. This guy is easy to like.
“Yes, Jimmy. That’s what we call it.”
“Well, my friend, you sure fucked a lot of minds at the Battle of Leyte Gulf.”
Chapter 38
My orders were to return to Pearl Harbor with CSG-14. I felt that our joint naval exercises were a success. The Ford was worth the zillions of dollars it cost to build her. Buster’s Operation Escort was becoming a part of the routine of being at sea, and that’s a good thing. Nobody wants to see another explosion on another ship, and randomly assigning escorts is not the problem we thought it might be. The crew accepts it, and that’s critical. You can write a directive, but if people don’t buy into the concept, you may as well not write the directive to begin with. One thing we noticed, a good thing, was that people got into the habit of asking for an escort before going anywhere. What we originally thought would be disruptive, soon became part of the background noise of being at sea.
Meg and I were reviewing our next deployment, which looks like it will be in the Sea of Japan again, not for joint exercises, but as a duty station. This was fine with me, and it would also be okay with the crew, I was sure. When the Ford was launched, NavOps looked to send her and CSG-14 to the Persian Gulf, an unpopular place for shore liberty. Sailors like to belt down a few beers when they’re “on the beach,” but a few beers were not to be had in many Persian Gulf countries. Meg, typically, had begun to put together a “Shore Liberty Handbook” for Asian countries. Such a handbook is common for Navy ships at sea, but usually they’re just a few loose-leaf pages stapled together containing a lot of common sense advice like: “Avoid public drunkenness,” “walk in pairs or groups,” “keep your cell phone in a safe place.” With Meg in charge of the process, the “Shore Liberty Handbook” became a detailed set of answers to any question you could possible think of, a sort of FAQ treatise. She was preparing a separate handbook for each country.
As we passed Guam, I ordered the navigation department to give every watch-standing officer and quartermaster of the watch, a personal copy of the coordinates of the Marianas wormhole so they could tape it to the plotting desk on the bridge. Been there, done that.
It was raining heavily, so I decided to call off flight operations until the weather cleared.
Meg walked over and sat down next to me. She put her hand on my leg.
“I just love rainy afternoons, baby,” she said. For some reason, Meg and I get horny on rainy afternoons. She began to stroke my leg. I was working on—what the hell was I working on?
“Hey, handsome, you know what I want?”
“Let me guess. An afternoon of wild sex?”
“You read my mind, baby.”
Our mood was broken by the squawk box.
“Shit,” we both said.
“Harry, I need to see you,” Buster said. I had finally convinced him to call me Harry, not admiral. Buster’s a great guy, but Meg and I had other plans, or we thought we did.
I was about to answer his call when he walked in.
“Bad news, Harry. Hi Meg. Really bad news.”
“Well, don’t keep it a secret. What’s up?”
“Iran’s got a nuke, maybe a few.”
“Oh, my God,” Meg said.
Rainy afternoon or not, this issue needed my attention.
“Langley just got this information from a one of our best moles. As I said, we don’t know how many, but they have at least one nuke, and probably more.”
“Where did you find them?”
“The news gets worse. My mole spotted the warhead on a ship—heading to North Korea.”
What promised to be a lovely afternoon had just turned into another round of crisis management. Boy wonder Kim Jong-un, along with his Persian friends, is suddenly a world power.
Chapter 39
My orders came through shortly after Buster told us about the Iranian nuclear warhead. The orders were as clear as they we
re frightening:
“Interdict Iranian flagged ship Arya Gam, by lethal force if necessary, and secure warheads.”
The memo then went on to give an exact position. Apparently, our government had been tracking the ship by satellite. CSG 14 was halfway across the Pacific on our way back to Pearl Harbor when I got the change in orders.
A carrier strike group is just that, and we prepared to strike. The entire group would participate in this operation. Besides the Ford, I would send in the guided missile cruiser Vicksburg, and my two destroyers, the Oscar Austin, and the Arleigh Burke. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about our interdiction. Kim Jong-un isn’t known for his predictability, and we’re looking to intercept a delivery of nuclear-tipped warheads.
We practiced at-sea cargo intercepts so many times, the procedure had become natural. I launched two Seahawk helicopters and ordered four Hornets to circle above. A platoon of 16 Navy Seals would then board the suspect ship and ring the doorbell.
“Lima Foxtrot, Lima Foxtrot, this is flight Bravo Xray,” said the pilot of one of the Seahawks. I just saw a group of men drop four large objects overboard. I took a photo and I’m forwarding it to you.”
I looked at the photo we just received. Meg was standing next to me.
“What do you think, hon?”
“It appears to be one of the Dae-Rung missile warheads they’ve been testing, Harry. Looks like they were expecting us.”
SEAL Lieutenant Walter Richter interviewed the ship’s captain and took down notes. Richter spoke fluent Korean, not that it helped much with the evidence thrown overboard.
Buster walked up next to me.
“It’s not my call, Harry, but I think NavOps is going to want to inspect every ship inbound for North Korea. It won’t take many warheads to raise hell, and that’s exactly what Kim Jong-un wants to do.”
My new orders came in after we broke off contact with the Iranian freighter.
“Set course for Yankee Oscar Bravo,” the code sign for Pearl Harbor, read the order.
The other ships in CSG-14 weren’t nuclear, which meant they would need to refuel. The Ford, with its gigantic fuel bunkers, served as the gas station for the rest of the group. Each of the ships in turn maneuvered next to the Ford to take on fuel through the hoses suspended from cables between us and the other ship. Next to landing a jet on a carrier deck, an underway replenishment, also known as an ‘UNREP,’ is one of the more ticklish maneuvers a commander faces. The helmsman’s job is to follow the commands of the OOD precisely, and the OOD’s job is to keep the ship’s nose pointed into the oncoming sea, to cut down on rock and roll and maintain course integrity. If the helmsman oversteers one of his course corrections, it’s time for a big paint job.
After we were done unrepping we set course for Pearl Harbor. I sat in my office with Meg and Buster, my unofficial executive committee.
“I just got my latest communication from Langley,” Buster said. “It’s top secret, of course, and I’m not comfortable even discussing it.”
“Buster, my friend, if I told you I give a rat’s ass how uncomfortable you feel, I’d be lying. What did the message say?”
“President Blake wasn’t exaggerating when he said that we’re in a shooting war,” Buster said. “We haven’t seen any bombings of our ships recently, but I expect them to resume before long. This latest announcement that Iran is now a nuclear power, along with its little pal in North Korea, changes the game. We have a president who’s a cool and calm leader, but he isn’t afraid to squeeze the trigger when he has to.”
“What do you think about the mental status of the leaders of Iran and North Korea?” Meg asked.
“They’re nuts,” Buster said, “and I think we’d be mistaken if we assume they’ll act rationally much of the time. The top dogs in Iran really believe that stuff about the coming of the Twelfth Imam. It’s a serious possibility that, when the chips are down, Iran will throw its fate to the God they worship and welcome the End of Days. Kim Jong-un, likewise, isn’t guided by rational decision-making. If he picked a nuclear war with the United States, he would see himself as a hero. Hell, you just saw what a fanatical regime can do in your visit to World War II. As crazy as the Japanese militarists were, they backed down when you showed them the gates of hell. Can we expect such rational behavior from Iran and North Korea? I wouldn’t bet heavily on it.”
“If Iran and North Korea decided to throw the dice and see what dropping a nuke on the United States would result in,” Meg said, “we may be on the verge of a world war.”
“The three of us don’t have a lot of control over this shit,” I said. “But keep in mind, that a World War consisting of Iran and North Korea on one side, and us on the other, would be lopsided. Both Iran and North Korea are distrusted by a lot of people in the world, and we wouldn’t have a hard time rounding up allies.”
“Buster, as I listen to you it seems like the situation’s hopeless,” Meg said. “Is that right or do you see a way out of this?”
“It’s far from hopeless, Meg,” Buster said. “Pardon me if I’ve been overly negative. What I’m about to say will show you that the situation’s not hopeless at all. Dangerous, but not hopeless. When we tie up at Pearl, I have a little surprise for you.”
“Hey, Buster, wait a minute,” I said. “How does all of this have anything to do with me—or Meg. We’re Navy line officers, not diplomats.”
“That’s my surprise. After we dock, the three of us will fly to CIA headquarters at Langley. Director Carlini wants to speak to you personally. Harry, you and CSG-14 are in the government’s plans, big time. And I don’t just mean militarily.”
“I’m not in the mood to play games, Buster. What the hell does Carlini want to see me and Meg about?”
“He wants to tell you about some new friends of ours, such as the mole who told us about the Iranian nukes heading to North Korea.”
“Who is this guy that you’re being so secretive about?”
“He’s a high-ranking minister in Iran.”
Chapter 40
A CIA car took Buster, Meg, and me to CIA Headquarters. Buster, reflexively or not, is so goddam secretive about things it’s annoying. So here we are, about to huddle with the Director of the CIA, and all Buster had to say was that’s it’s about a mole, a big mole. I did have to admit something to myself—I was curious as hell.
At 11:15 a.m. we were led into Carlini’s office. The place was huge. I guess spies like to talk to one another in pleasant surroundings. The late morning sun peeked through the window at the south side of the office, casting the place in a pretty glow. Nobody seemed surprised at our uniforms. Military brass in the director’s office is not a strange sight.
Carlini walked quickly to the door as we walked in. Having met the man before, I find him a friendly guy, as friendly as a top spy can get, I figured.
He pumped my hand, and also shook Meg’s.
“Congratulations, Commander Fenton. The way you get promotions, you’ll catch up to Admiral Harry pretty soon.”
Meg thanked him, but not before she looked up and gave me an eye roll.
“When Buster told me that you wanted to have Mrs. Fenton with you, at first I objected. But he described the two of you as a ‘twofer.’ One comes with the other. From what I’ve read about Commander Fenton, I welcome you. I guess you’re both wondering why I want to see you?”
“Yes, sir. We’re both military people, and we’re surprised at being invited to see our country’s top spy.”
“As you will soon see, the fact that you’re the commanding officer of a carrier strike group is why I wanted to see you. Recently you intercepted an Iranian ship that was carrying nuclear weapons to North Korea. Unfortunately, they threw the warheads overboard before your SEALs could do their job. But you did a fine and professional job of intercepting them, admiral.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said. “Interdicting a ship at sea is one of the activities we plan for and drill.”
“
And I believe that Buster told you how we knew about the warheads, yes?”
“He did, sir, and what he told us is fascinating. Buster said that the man who leaked the information about the warheads was none other than a high-ranking minister of the Iranian government, not the usual source of leaked information.”
“Yes, admiral, not your everyday mole. And he’s not the only one. We also have high placed ‘observers,’ as I call them, in North Korea.”
“And the warheads are definitely nuclear?” Meg said.
“Yes, they are. Iran is now a nuclear power, not a big one, but when you have nukes in your arsenal you don’t have to be big to spread a lot of mayhem.”
“So, pardon me, sir, if I seem overly eager to get to the point, but what does all this have to do with the Navy and my strike group?”
“You, Admiral Harry, along with your lovely wife, are soon to become the most high-level spies on the government’s payroll.”
Chapter 41
I can’t say that Director Carlini’s plan doesn’t make sense. An order from the White House means it doesn’t matter if it makes sense. I’d better fucking do it.
It’s been a wild few days. First, Buster tells us that Iran and North Korea are nuked up. Then Buster gets a leak about an Iranian ship headed to North Korea with nuclear warheads aboard. Then CSG-14 interdicts the shipment, although it was tossed overboard before we got there. Then Buster tells me that the inside leaker is none other than an Iranian minister, one step from the top.
So, CSG-14 will appear to the public and the press as a naval force that interdicts illegal shipments of nuclear weapons, a normal job for a carrier strike group. But here’s where the rub comes in. Buster and his fellow spooks will leak to the Iranians and the North Koreans that CSG-14 is on their side, sort of like counterspies. The mullahs and their weird little pal will think they can ship nukes all over the place because I’m going to let it happen. I think I read a plot like this in a spy novel.
The Violent Sea Page 13
