Charles Taylor: Show of Force

Shortly after his coffee was in his hand, Bill Dailey, his Chief of Staff, appeared through the hatch on the opposite wing. David motioned with his head to come to the other wing of the bridge. Dailey, a taller and older-looking man, was starched but informal as his boss had dictated: "When you're riding a can" — even though this was far from the old tin can that David had started his career on—"there's a certain informality and I don't want my staff scaring the hell out of these people." The Admiral knew these ships were as big as the old spit 'n' polish cruisers. But he wanted to let the crew know that he still considered their ship with the same reverence as the old, expendable greyhounds that had all but disappeared years ago.

"Bill, I wanted to ask you what you make of that conventional boat they stuck up there near the Gulf of Oman? It doesn't make sense to me. The last printout didn't give a hint about its purpose as far as the War Games people were concerned," he questioned., "Admiral," the other grinned, "I came prepared to answer just about any other question but that one. Is that bothering you, too?"

"Bill, when I was ops officer on a staff, I always offered an answer anyway, just so my boss would know I was thinking." He raised his eyebrows. "I think you're in a position where yon should start asking for some answers, if you don't have any. You know that Gorenko has a reason for everything and that submarine has a purpose." Then, he lowered his brows a bit and offered just a bit of a smile. "You're getting paid to think for me, aren't you?"

"Well, sir," — he'd served with the Admiral before—"we've worked together long enough so I knew that boat was going to get to you. So I had my boys sit down and had each one prepare a list of reasons why it was there. There were some pretty wild ones. Then we narrowed it down to fit ten. items based on Games' projections over the next twenty-four hours, and I had them fire back these alternatives for the computer at Hopkins.

We did that about an hour ago, and we ought to have a printout back shortly. And, since I'm still not a mind reader, I'd like it if you'd come down later and go over the response with my boys. They don't see much of you, and they'd sure appreciate having you come down and show how you operate. As a matter of fact, the more they know about you, the more they'll be able to add new alternatives to each prediction. And they're good enough that they just might end up with some answers the next day or so before you have the questions."

"You know I really wasn't checking on you, Bill." He paused and looked across the bow. "I just got tired of that damn cloud," he said, more to himself than to Dailey.

"Pardon me, sir?"

"Nothing, nothing at all, Bill. Just a cloud I was staring at… trying to look thoughtful to everyone." He laughed this time. "Even admirals have to look busy, and these boys don't have admirals around much." A pause. "Bill, I don't think the Russians are going to sit and wait for an answer to that speech from the President. It's not like Gorenko. He always does something for emphasis, just to show he means business. I'll give you a little side bet that he's going to do something soon, something that's supposed to jolt the President, something that's going to scare the hell out of everybody. Just a little something to put on the pressure. He probably figures if the President sees telegrams from all over the world telling him to get the hell off that island because the Russians have already made a move, he might just get scared into dumping the whole thing."

"Any ideas on what Gorenko might do, sir?"

"Not really. That's why I called you up here. What's the range of Alex's group now?"

"Alex?"

"The Soviet carrier group, Bill. The one to the east that they're sending down to play with us." He grinned at the other man. "Admiral Kupinsky is Alex. His flag is on the Lenin." He turned in his chair to look directly at Dailey. "Remember, he's an old friend of mine and he's bringing a task group down here to play with me and I want to know how close he is, just so I might be able to figure out what his first move might be."

"Sorry, Admiral, I'm not reading your mind again." He knew how far he could carry informality, and when he could let this man know that he was getting too withdrawn on his own wavelength, when he might have to communicate his thoughts in a second. "The sixteen-hundred-position report will indicate they're a bit more than a thousand miles off. If we continue to stream north/south in this sector, and they maintain the speed they've shown since they turned the corner, they'll be right here," he pointed at the deck, "in just about forty-eight hours, which is perfect timing according to Washington. That's when the Chairman predicted we'd be surrounded."

"Noooo… nope! That's not like him to wait until then." He sat up taller in the chair.

"There are six submarines around us now, sir. The closest one is out there," Dailey gestured with his right arm, "about forty miles on our quarter, near Truxton, keeping the same course and speed as we are."

"No. Alex is in contact with his subs, but all they can do is sink someone, and he won't do that before we have a chance to back down. And he's too far away to do anything with ships for awhile. He's become a fan of air tactics, and I think Alex will do something from the air. He's got a couple of long-range jets, those slower ones, that can stay just so far away and choose from a lovely selection of missiles. It won't be nuclear, but it will carry a message for our dear President.

"You see, he thinks this is just another bluff. I don't. If the big guns in the Kremlin feel this is an aggressive act on our part, they're going to do everything short of sinking some ships. And if the President thinks he can develop sympathy from the rest of the world if the Russians cause a little damage, he's in for a surprise."

"How much do you think they're capable of, sir?"

"Enough to turn him pasty white! Hell, Bill, the days of those phony fishing boats tracking our carriers, or Soviet ships jockeying for the same piece of water, are over when they think they've got us like this. If the President cries foul about a couple of missiles in our fantails, the Soviets will just say they were fired on first and were defending themselves. Who's going to say otherwise when we're out here in the middle of nowhere? I don't think he'll find any witnesses," he added with finality.

"War Games says damage with some fatalities is possible in such a situation, though they also wonder whether the Russians would take a chance of hitting a magazine," nodded Dailey.

"Sure they would. Those nice shore-based sailors running those expensive computers don't have enough psychology built into their programs. Do me a favor, Bill. Have your people figure a missile range of about seventy-five miles and an aircraft, probably a Riga, that has about a thousand-mile range from Lenin, and tell me when we can expect a visit. I'll put a little money on it if you will, I'll bet you, right now, Alex does something in the next watch." He sat back, already having dismissed his Chief of Staff in his mind, and picked out another cloud.

The phone next to the table buzzed. "Captain here," answered Casey. David Charles and the commanding officer of the California were having dinner in the captain's cabin.

After listening attentively, he said, "Thank you. Ill-come to the bridge shortly. Let me know any course or speed changes." He placed the sound-powered phone back in its box. "You're absolutely right, Admiral. That's my officer of the deck. Combat picked up two aircraft coming from the direction of the Russian force. Looks like your man Dailey picked everything but their ' wing numbers."

"He's a good man. Bob. Twenty years ago, he would have predicted the same thing without a computer." He looked at his watch. "He just wouldn't have been so damn accurate." He gestured at the dial. "About three and a half minutes off, but Alex always liked being unpredictable."