Authors: John Spikenard
Counter Poised (11 page)
“But wiretapping without a warrant is illegal,” said Lannis.
“But the
Times
didn’t stop at just reporting that wiretapping was being done. They followed up the article and published details about sophisticated techniques that were being used to recognize suspicious calling patterns. Those techniques were significant because there were just too many millions of phone calls and e-mails for our intelligence agencies to monitor them all. You have to understand that this type of intelligence gathering is based on probabilities. The pattern-recognition techniques gave us a way to cull through millions of calls by little girls doing their homework, to identify perhaps a few hundred or a few thousand calls worthy of more scrutiny.”
“Great!” said Buffalo sarcastically. “So after warning the terrorists not to use certain words on the phone, we followed it up by warning them not to make calls that would fit into any of these patterns. What else could we tell them?”
“We didn’t have to tell them anything else,” said George. “Just take a look at our nation’s capital!”
“Well, that’s not fair, George,” said Lannis. “We know now what happened in Washington DC, but they didn’t know that then. We’re looking at this with the benefit of twenty-twenty hindsight.”
“Lannis, you’re an idiot,” George responded. “It was a surprise to no one that terrorists were trying to obtain nuclear weapons. Hell, the whole basis for the War in Iraq was to try to prevent that from happening. The fact is Risen and Lichtblau weakened our defenses by publishing information about how our intelligence agencies were analyzing phone traffic. You can call it aiding and abetting the enemy, or you can call it treason. Either way, these Benedict Arnolds should be
shot
. At the very least, they should spend the rest of their lives in prison. The only
balancing
Risen and Lichtblau did was to balance their desire for personal fame—their desire to be the next Woodward and Bernstein—against their anonymity. Unfortunately for those in Washington DC, they chose personal fame. As a result, two hundred and fifty thousand of us are dead, and our capital is uninhabitable for at least ten more years.”
George turned and walked toward the door.
“Hey, don’t turn your back on this backstabber, George!” said Buffalo as he turned to follow George. “That’s a dangerous move!”
George paused at the door long enough to say, “Lannis, I don’t mind your having different opinions on these subjects, but backstabbing me and humiliating me in front of the admiral are things I won’t put up with. I agree with Buffalo—I’ve had enough of your crap—you can find your own way home.”
Six weeks later, Petty Officer Harris entered George’s office and silently handed him a note from the admiral’s yeoman, Petty Officer Ed Humphrey. On it was simply, “Admiral Yates wants to see you, NOW.”
“What’s this about? And why is this note being handcarried? Why don’t they call me or e-mail me like they always do?”
“I don’t know, sir. Petty Officer Humphrey looked pretty grim when he handed it to me.”
“Now what?” His perplexity was aggravated by the fact that Harris was being more formal than usual when they were alone in George’s office. He replaced the folder he had been working on in his desk drawer and turned to ask Harris what she thought was going on, but to his surprise she had already left.
George locked up his desk and file cabinet and headed down the hall for the admiral’s office. He stuck his head into Buffalo’s office intending to ask him if he knew what was going on, but there was no one there. Lannis’s office was next, and even though George rarely talked to him these days, he glanced in to see if Lannis was there. The office was empty.
It looks like I am going to have to go into this without a clue.
When he got to the admiral’s outer office, Petty Officer Humphrey immediately picked up the intercom phone and spoke to the admiral. “Commander Adams is here, sir…Yes, sir…No, sir…Aye-aye, sir.” He hung up the phone. “Go right on in, Commander. Admiral Yates is expecting you.” With a quick glance, Humphrey returned to shuffling papers on his desk.
“Thanks, Hump” said George, although he was starting to dread this unexplained meeting. Petty Officer Humphrey’s expression gave him no clue. Humphrey was probably like those marines at the gate. He had no idea what the admiral wanted—he just knew the admiral said to get Commander Adams down here.
George entered the admiral’s carpeted office, and to his surprise, the room was crowded with people. As far as he could tell by quickly glancing around, the entire staff except for Buffalo was already in there. Even Petty Officer Harris had slipped in ahead of him. George was shocked. Had he forgotten a staff meeting? Why hadn’t Petty Officer Harris told him anything? All he could do was stammer, “Uh, sorry, Admiral.”
Admiral Yates, who was working on something at his large mahogany desk, did not look up. No one else in the room spoke. George looked around. It was strange how the offices of everyone below the rank of admiral had standard gray metal furniture, linoleum floors, cinderblock walls, and bare windows. But admirals got to have real furniture—wood furniture. They also got carpet, wood paneling, and curtains. They were even issued two flag stands—one with a U.S. flag and one with a U.S. Navy flag—to place behind their desks. The reward for twenty to twenty-five years of sacrifice and service to your nation, George noted, was that you were given office furnishings any first-year associate in a law firm or accounting firm would get his first day on the job.
Petty Officer Humphrey entered, handed the admiral a couple of folders, and left the office. Another minute went by with George feeling extremely uncomfortable. The admiral’s intercom buzzed, and Petty Officer Humphrey announced that Commander Sewell had arrived.
“Send him in,” responded the admiral.
Buffalo entered the room, displayed the same shocked reaction as George, and apologized to the admiral. He slid over next to George. While Admiral Yates continued to work at his desk, George whispered, “Where were you?”
“In the head. What’s going on?” Buffalo whispered back.
George shrugged, indicating he had no clue. They both looked at Lannis, hoping to receive some sign of what was going on, but he would not even look at them.
Finally, Admiral Yates rose from his leather chair and came around to the front of his desk. He looked at George and Buffalo and said, “No need to apologize, Captains.”
“Excuse me, sir?” said George. This didn’t make sense; neither he nor Buffalo was up for promotion to captain this year.
The admiral smiled and said, “Congratulations, gentlemen. You have both been selected for command!”
The room burst into applause as it became clear that everyone except George and Buffalo had known what was going on. In the navy, the term captain has two meanings, depending on how it is used. In one meaning, it refers to the rank of captain, which is equivalent to a full colonel in the other services. In the other meaning, it refers to the officer in command of a ship, no matter what that officer’s rank actually is. Lieutenants or lieutenant commanders, for example, may command smaller patrol boats, and navy commanders or captains generally command submarines. Regardless of their rank, their crews still address them as “captain” once they put the Command at Sea button on their uniforms.
“I have some official orders to read for you two gentlemen.”
“Attention on deck!” called the admiral’s aide.
George and Buffalo came to attention standing side by side. Admiral Yates moved to a position in front of George.
“From the Chief of Naval Personnel to Commander George Adams: You have been selected for command of the nuclear fleet ballistic missile submarine, USS
Louisiana
SSBN 743, Gold Crew. You are to report without delay to Prospective Commanding Officer (PCO) School, and then report for duty no later than April fifteenth to Commander Submarine Squadron 16, Naval Submarine Base, Kings Bay, Georgia.”
The admiral handed George his orders and shook his hand. “Congratulations, George. I know I’ve given you a hard time every now and then, but it’s only because I have known you were command material. You just needed a little developing.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” George responded, shaking the admiral’s hand vigorously. The shock was overwhelming.
The admiral then stepped in front of Buffalo. “From the Chief of Naval Personnel to Commander Robert Sewell: You have been selected for command of the nuclear fast attack submarine, USS
Texas
SSN 775. You are to report without delay to Prospective Commanding Officer (PCO) School, and then report for duty no later than April fifteenth to Commander Submarine Squadron 8, Naval Submarine Base, Norfolk, Virginia.”
The admiral handed Buffalo his orders and shook his hand. “Congratulations, Robert.” (The admiral was not one for using nicknames in formal ceremonies.) “You’ll make a fine commanding officer. You have my full confidence and support.”
“Thank you, Admiral.”
Everyone surged forward to shake hands with George and Buffalo and congratulate them for their accomplishments. George was overwhelmed. In Academy parlance, it was enough to “wet your eyes.” Seventeen years in the navy; two sea tours as a junior officer; two sea tours as a department head; and a sea tour as an executive officer had finally led to command at sea!
At one point in the midst of all the congratulations, Buffalo shook George’s hand and leaned close and asked, “Are you disappointed that you got a boomer, George?”
“Not at all,” George answered. “Command at sea has been my dream since the day I started as a plebe at Annapolis. This is my dream come true.”
When things finally slowed down a bit, Admiral Yates pulled George aside for a private conversation. The admiral looked him squarely in the eyes and said, “George, I know that from time to time during your assignment on the staff, I have been hard on you. I’m sure it seems to you that I pressured you more than others. The fact is, I have. And the reason is quite simple. Among all the officers on the staff, I believe you have the most potential for senior leadership in the navy.”
George was a little embarrassed by having this glowing praise laid upon him by the admiral. It did, however, solve the mystery as to how George had managed to be selected for command when he had perceived he was not in good standing with the admiral. Obviously, Admiral Yates had provided the Command Selection Board with an extremely favorable recommendation.
“However, an area where I perceived a weakness,” the admiral continued, “is that because of your exceptional capabilities, you had the tendency to try to do everything yourself. You needed to learn to rely on others and to better coordinate your efforts with others. Teamwork is the key to achieving great results, George. Individual capabilities will only carry you so far. You have to trust and rely on your team members.” Admiral Yates took a breath and sighed, and with a knowing look he said, “Even when you don’t like them!”
George laughed, looked at the admiral, and said, “I never said that, sir!”
Now, it was the admiral’s turn to laugh. “I know you didn’t. And that’s one of the things I like about you. Remember the day Commander Wayne manipulated the briefing to put Ops first?”
“How could I forget it, sir?”
“Well, it was clear Intel had no answers regarding al-Qaeda and their threat to nuke the U.S. We all knew that, and I knew the questions I was asking you were Intel questions. The point was you should have coordinated the briefing more thoroughly with Intel before you ever got in the room. Commander Wayne is an excellent intelligence officer, even if he is a bit of a kiss-ass, and you should have used his expertise in developing your Ops plan.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I appreciated the fact, however, that you stood up there and took your medicine like a man. I would have been disappointed if you had done otherwise.”
“Thank you Admiral. It’s good to know you don’t think I’m a total screwup!”
The admiral laughed again. “Keep up the good work, George,” he said while shaking George’s hand and moving back toward the group.
The congratulations kept coming, and George was so engaged in responding to them all, he barely noticed Lannis slipping out the door without a word or a handshake. George’s mind was running a thousand miles an hour in a thousand different directions.
One thought that kept recurring was he would definitely have to accelerate his plan.
At his office at SUBLANT Headquarters, George was engaged in a telephone call when Petty Officer Harris brought him his mail. As he quickly ended the phone call, she heard him say, “Okay, Bill, in the morning, 0645, on the east walkway by the mess hall.”
Leona chuckled to herself. For years the navy had tried to formalize the name of the mess hall to the enlisted dining facility. George, a traditionalist, still called it the mess hall. She wondered whom he was talking to, but of course, she would never dream of asking.
The next day, while walking from his car to his office, George briefly stopped and talked to a middle-aged man in civilian clothes next to the mess hall. They set their identical briefcases down and talked for just a few moments. Continuing on their separate ways, each picked up the other’s briefcase. When George arrived at his office, he placed the briefcase on top of his gray metal desk and then opened it. Inside was a complete set of blueprints, as he had requested.
The blueprints showed a strange looking vehicle, which appeared to be a cross between different types of fighter jets. The craft had small moveable winglets called canards mounted forward on each side of the fuselage just behind the cockpit, similar to a Mirage 2000. The craft’s wings, which were mounted well aft on the fuselage, were short and stubby like those of an F-104. Viewed from above, the craft had a long sleek fuselage similar to the body of a great white shark. Viewed from the side, the fuselage looked more like the body of a bottle-nosed dolphin. Viewed from the front or the rear, the craft had a circular intake below the cockpit. Apparently, an internal tube ran the length of the craft from the bow to the stern. The cockpit, which appeared to be designed for two people sitting side-by-side, had four bulbous Plexiglas portholes, two in the front and one on each side of the cockpit, rather than a true canopy.
George studied the blueprints carefully, verifying each detail, and making notes in a small notebook he had taken from a locked desk drawer. After studying two or three sheets, he glanced at the clock on the wall, hurriedly placed the blueprints and the notebook into the briefcase, and secured the double locks. He would have to complete this task at home. It was time now to prepare for the admiral’s briefing.
With a sense of elation and satisfaction, he got up from his desk and headed for the briefing room.