Operation Golden Dawn

by George Wallace

  The pair chorused, “Yes sir!”

  “How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?” Hunter questioned.

  Staring rigidly straight ahead, they both stammered, “Guilty, sir.”

  “Very well, before I pass sentence, are there any mitigating or extenuating circumstances that I should take into account?" Hunter asked.

  With a slight hesitation, they answered, “No, sir.”

  Putting down the script, he peered up at the two sailors standing before him. “You two have seen the report of the investigation that the Navigator conducted and read all the findings. Do you want to tell me, in your own words, what really happened?”

  Chief Richey swallowed hard and spoke up, “Skipper, this is all my fault. Seaman Martinez was only doing what I told him. He shouldn’t be here in front of you.”

  “Chief, I admire your leadership and forthrightness for saying that, but, as you have both admitted, you both submitted a false official statement and the fact that you told Martinez to do it, does not change that. Now, please explain to me how my best chief petty officer, who I just recommended for early advancement to senior chief, is standing here before me?” Hunter queried.

  “Captain, when this happened I was still a first class petty officer and I had been assigned to the Thirteenth Recruiting District working in South East LA. We were having a terrible time trying to meet our quotas everywhere and I think that South East was the worst. When I first reported there, I busted my butt to make quotas and did everything exactly by the book. The first quarter I made it, barely. The second I didn’t and the Senior Chief who ran the place called me in to his office. He had a stack of records from all the guys that I had interviewed and rejected. He chewed my butt royally and then started going through the stack, marking them up. Every mark changed something that was a mandatory reject into an acceptable recruit. I asked the Senior Chief what he was doing. He looked up and sort of smiled and told me he was showing me how to make quota. I said something about how all these kids would get kicked out in basic training. He told me that was boot camp’s problem, not his. I told him that I couldn’t do that. He let me know that if I didn’t make quota, my career was in the tank.

  “Well, next quarter I didn’t make quota, again. He made life really miserable for me. Even threatening Mast for dereliction of duty. He had me in a real bind. I knew that all the other recruiters were doing it. I was the only hold out. He called me into his office again. Told me that I was on my way out as a second class, but he was going to give me one last chance.

  “The next interview was Martinez. He’d dropped out of high school and started to run with a pretty tough street gang. I told him to answer that he had a high school diploma. After I had processed him, I felt so bad that I went to the Senior Chief and told him that I wanted a transfer back to the fleet. He did it, but really screwed me on the transfer eval.”

  “OK, Chief. Now Martinez, what’s your story?” Hunter said, turning his gaze to the young sailor.

  “Captain, I grew up in South East. Mom was trying to raise us four kids alone. She is a good lady and she worked hard to keep us out of trouble. I dropped out of High School because of the gangbanging and the drugs. I couldn’t handle that scene. I had to get out of there. The Navy seemed like a good way to go. I called the recruiting office and talked to Chief Richey. When I went in to sign the papers, I read the part about having to have a high school diploma and I told him that I didn’t have one. He said not to worry, he would fix it. Go ahead and say that I had one. So I did,” the young sailor concluded.

  “And you both ended up here purely by chance?” Hunter asked.

  “Yes, sir. When Martinez reported onboard, I was more surprised than anyone,” Chief Richey replied.

  Hunter carefully placed the report on the table in front of him and thoughtfully gazed down at it for a few moments. The two accused sailors locked their eyes rigidly on the bulkhead behind the Commander. The moment of truth had arrived. Beads of sweat popped out on their brows.

  They were clearly guilty and freely admitted it. The both expressed regret for what they had done. Most importantly to Hunter, one of them was an outstanding chief petty officer. And Hunter had a gut feeling that Martinez could be turned around into a good sailor, given enough time and effort. If he found the charges to be serious or criminal, Hunter would have been bound to hold the two for trial by court-martial when they returned.

  Hunter looked directly into the eyes of each one, then he said, “I find you both guilty as charged. Furthermore, I find these violations to be minor and administrative in nature.”

  Picking up the Manual for Courts-Martial and turning to the marked page, he read aloud, “The maximum punishment that could be meted out for this violation is a reduction in rank to E-1, forfeiture of half of all pay and allowances for six months, confinement for up to ten years and a dishonorable discharge.”

  Turning his gaze up to the two sailors, he continued, “I further find that there are mitigating and extenuating circumstances here and will weigh them accordingly. Chief Richey, what you did is without excuse. I understand the pressures that you were under, but you are expected to withstand those pressures and maintain the highest moral integrity. You didn’t do that and that is a deep disappointment. However, in the time that you have been onboard, you have developed an excellent reputation. Your chain of command, standing here before you, has uniformly praised you.

  “Taking that all into account, Chief Petty Officer Richey, I find you guilty as charged and assign the following punishment. You will receive a punitive letter of reprimand that will become part of your permanent service record. Additionally, you are confined to the ship for the next thirty days. Because of your expressed remorse, I am suspending the letter of reprimand for a period of six months. The Executive Officer will explain your rights of appeal after this Mast.

  Turning his gaze to the young Seaman, Hunter continued, “Seaman Martinez, have you appeared here at Mast before today?

  “Yes, sir. Twice. Once for fighting and once for UA,” he answered.

  “As I remember, you were involved in a fracas with the leading torpedoman during a weapons load just after you reported aboard,” Hunter stated.

  “Yes, sir. He called me a ‘lazy no good taco eating wetback’ and I punched him. You yelled at us and let us off with a warning,” Martinez replied.

  “And why was that?” Hunter asked.

  “You said that I had just got here and deserved a chance. You told me to grow up and learn to control my temper. You lectured us both about how we were all one crew and you would not tolerate any of that racial stuff,” Martinez answered.

  “And the second time?” the Commander questioned.

  “Captain, that was when my girlfriend tried to commit suicide and I needed to get to LA to help her. I just left without telling anyone. You found me at Honolulu airport trying to get a flight out,” Seaman Martinez stated.

  “And what happened in that case?” Hunter questioned.

  “The crew took up a collection and flew my girlfriend to the Islands. Doc got her in treatment at Tripler. She is getting better. We are getting married as soon as I get back. The boat really came through for us,” Martinez said.

  “Now you are here in front of me a third time. In addition to whatever punishment that I deem appropriate for this charge, I could order the Executive Officer to process you for an admin discharge as a habitual offender. Is that what you want?”

  “No, sir,” the young sailor answered, his voice quivering. “I want to stay here on the boat. I belong here.”

  Retrieving the charge sheet from the table, Hunter looked at the seaman. “Seaman Martinez, I find that you have committed the offense as charged. I sentence you to a reduction in rate to E-1 and forfeiture of half pay for two months. Additionally, you are confined to the ship for thirty days. I am suspending the portions of the sentence for the reduction in rate and the pay forfeiture pending your completion of your General Equivalency Degr
ee for a high school diploma in the next six months. Dismissed,” the Commander concluded gruffly.

  After the offenders and everyone else had filed out, Hunter turned to Fagan, “You know, XO, this mast will ruin Chief Richey’s chances of making senior chief for at least ten years and BUPERS will void Martinez’s enlistment contract. He’ll be out on the streets of LA without a job or any prospects of getting one.

  “I want you to draft a reply to that message from SUBPAC and tell them what the investigation found. Make sure that you tell them about that Senior Chief and the climate at LA. I want SUBPAC to know that, in at least that one office, falsifying records was normal and accepted. The Navy needs to investigate to determine if it went any higher. Tell them that we held a Mast and that the results will be sent through normal admin channels."

  Hunter picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. "You know how screwed up the ship’s office is. I expect that they would probably lose the paperwork before it was ever sent.”

  “Skipper,” Fagan protested. He was proud of the ship's office. It was his personal responsibility and they worked hard. Hard enough to be awarded Squadron "Admin A" last year. They had never lost a report or even submitted one late.

  Hunter gave Fagan a look. He then said, very slowly, “XO, you’re not listening to me. The ship’s office would probably lose that report and not be able to find it."

  The light came on for Fagan. With exaggerated emphasis, he said, “Yes, sir, you are right. The situation in the ship's office has become intolerable. I'll have to tighten up on our admin practices because of all this lost paperwork.”

  18 Jun 2000, 2325LT (1625Z)

  The island rose menacingly on the horizon.

  Peering through the periscope, Hunter could clearly make out the rising hump of Mount Guishu, the dormant volcano that constituted the only prominent geographical feature. Although still too distant to make out any details, the sense of dread was palpable.

  “XO, we’ll circumnavigate the island at this range conducting a visual and ESM search before we close it anymore," Hunter said to Fagan.

  He stepped back from the periscope and rubbed his tired right eye. Buell took the scope and started to slowly rotate it, continuing the search.

  Hunter continued, "I want to know if there is any emitter that might be a threat before we get in close enough to do a good surveillance. We'll probably need to get inside three miles to see well enough to get any information usable by the SEALs. That's too close to suddenly find out there's a high-resolution radar on the island. Make sure ESM's on the ball and knows what to look for.”

  Hunter turned to Jacobs, standing by the navigation stand, “Nav, the charts around here aren’t very good. I don’t want to find us high and dry on some uncharted coral head either. Have the secure fathometer manned and run continuous soundings.”

  As they circled and closed the island, more of its features became visible. Mount Guishu rose almost in the center and sloped smoothly down to the shore on the East and South. On the North side of the island, the slope terminated in shear cliffs that dropped several hundred feet to the surf lapping gently below. This side was not accessible to approach by small boat. The West side appeared to be indented with a small bay. The headland prevented viewing the shoreline on the North side of the bay. A line of breakers was clearly evident across its mouth, hiding a reef that guarded the entrance. Dense mangrove swamp seemed to be the predominant feature near the water line all along the West and South sides of the island. There was no visible sign that man had ever visited this forsaken place.

  19 Jun 2000, 0410LT (18 Jun, 2110Z)

  Bill Fagan’s eyes blinked open. The damn lights came on again. He wearily jumped from his rack and again stormed off toward control.

  He bumped into Jon Hunter, dressed in his sweat clothes, heading aft for his morning workout.

  “XO, what’s so important that you’re running around in your underwear?” Hunter asked.

  Fagan told him the tale of the mysterious light switch. Hunter chuckled as the story unfolded. Playing practical jokes on the XO was a time-honored tradition amongst the enlisted crewmembers on the boats. The XO was in charge of discipline and generally seen as the “heavy,” compared to the Captain’s “nice guy”. The normal trick was to steal his stateroom door and hide it onboard somewhere. He was then challenged to find it. The crew had tired of that game with Bill Fagan many months ago. This was a more advanced challenge.

  Hunter said, “I haven’t seen that gag pulled since I was a JG. My electrical division chief showed me how to set it up. If you did some really good exploring and hand-over-handed the lighting circuit wiring, you would find a relay that the schematic doesn’t show. That relay will lead you to an MJ growler somewhere onboard. That would be a lot of work. If I were you, I would talk to the COB and ask him to talk with Chief Jones. I bet this problem will just go away.

  "How is our guest doing?" Hunter queried. Turnstill had been maintaining a really low profile since the night he came aboard.

  Fagan answered, "Just eats and sleeps. Speaking of Chief Jones, Turnstill found out about his library of crotch novels and has become a voracious reader."

  Hunter snorted, "Figures. In character."

  19 Jun 2000, 1510LT (0810Z)

  “Skipper, we received a batch of family-grams,” Chief Tyler said as he stood in the CO stateroom door. “Got one for you here.”

  Hunter took the narrow slip of folded paper that Chief Tyler handed him. The short forty-word message was the only tie he had with Peg and the kids back in Hawaii. Each word had to be savored to its fullest. He knew the squadron had censored it and every radioman in the fleet had already seen it, but it didn’t matter. He could almost smell Peg’s perfume and feel the touch of her hand as he opened the family-gram. Gazing at the small, framed portraits of Peg and his two daughters, he slowly read the message. The words were sweet, telling a story of a peaceful life at home. It was all summed up in the last few words, “Girls and I are fine. We send all our love.”

  20 Jun 2000, 1210LT (0510Z)

  Thirty-six hours of circling and monitoring the island produced little new information. A powerful low-frequency surface search radar intermittently swept the sea-lanes approaching the island. An air-search radar was also detected. Neither presented any threat to SAN FRANCISCO as long as she remained submerged, but would warn the inhabitants of the approach of any surface ship or aircraft. No communications were intercepted. Whoever was on the island didn’t want surprise visitors and was not interested in advertising their presence.

  LT Roland and Chief Sergiavich worked closely with Bill Fagan and Warran Jacobs to plan the insertions, missions and extractions of the teams. The detailed work occupied most of the last two days. Turnstill relayed the little information he knew about the harbor.

  The four presented the plan to Hunter as they gathered around the wardroom table, liberally strewn with charts.

  “We need to do two insertions and extractions,” LT Roland began. “The first will be tonight to put Boats and a squad of ten ashore to do initial recon. They will be looking for landing sites, defenses and locations for the hostages. We estimate that the recon will take two nights. Recovery will be on the third night. The next insertion will be the complete platoon on the night before the ARG arrives. The mission will be to prepare the beach and helo landing zones. We will also be disrupting the defenses, take out the radars, and establishing a cordon around the hostages for their protection.

  Jacobs continued the presentation. “With those radar sites operating, we will not be able to do a surface launch of the teams. They would detect us as soon as SAN FRANCISCO broke the surface and we would lose the element of surprise. With the radar on top of the mountain, they should be able to search out to about a hundred miles."

  Hunter walked over to look at the charts. "It's too far to even use the RHIBs to get to shore."

  Jacobs nodded. "We agree. That leaves a lockout submerged as the only option. We know it is
a high-risk operation and has only been successfully done once before, by SAN FRANCISCO as a proof of concept. As we see it, though, there is no other alternative.”

  Fagan took over, “The first squad will use the inflatable boats stored in the after escape trunk. We’ll give them a ride to close in-shore with a snag and tow. Using SAN FRANCISCO to tow them will save several hours of transit time and allow us to do the lock out after dark and still get them ashore before first light. The men should still be rested when they get ashore."

  Roland said, “They’ll hide their boats and scuba gear. They'll need them for recovery the same way on the third night. Once ashore, they will maintain comms with their PRC134 low-power Satcom transceivers."

  Hunter took a sip of coffee. "Have we done a comms check? I don't want to count how many times that comms have screwed up an operation"

  Jacobs answered, "We have checked to make sure that the radio room here on SAN FRANCISCO and the squad has synched up on both frequencies and crypto. The squad will initiate a comms check every four hours and will send any reports as they can. SAN FRANCISCO will be continuously monitoring that circuit.”

  Roland continued. “The second insert will also be a lock-out but with the entire platoon. We will use the RHIBs that are in the supply shapes stored in the torpedo room. The RHIBs are capable of thirty knots so we can get ashore much quicker. That will allow SAN FRANCISCO to stand off, out of the way of the ARG.”