Kevin Miller - Declared Hostile

“Who?” Annie probed.

“Tiffany. I told her about the photos. No one else.”

Annie nodded. She had called it.

“How would you like us to proceed?” Wilson asked. “What can we do to make this right for you?”

Shane thought for a while. “There’s a carrier in Japan. May I go there? I tried to escape from North America to the Atlantic Ocean, but now I’d like to go to the Pacific Ocean — the western Pacific Ocean — to start anew.”

Wilson remained silent while he considered the request. Losing a good officer was always difficult, and, after only three weeks aboard, Shane had established herself as a hard-working and dependable intelligence officer. She would be missed, but Wilson found her request reasonable.

“We’ll see what we can do,” he promised.

Shane then straightened her back and spoke with clear resolve. “And I don’t want to be in the same room with Tiffany. I mean Lieutenant Junior Grade Rourke.”

“I can take care of a room reassignment,” Annie said, nodding reassurance.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Shane replied. Wilson then changed course.

“Shane, I’m going to contact Commander Hofmeister now. He holds you in very high regard, and, while he’ll regret losing you, I believe he’ll help you with new orders. But we’ve got a situation brewing here involving two hostile countries, and we need an intel officer — you — to help prepare us.”

“Yes, sir,” Shane whispered. “I’ll help.”

Annie spoke up. “Shane, you know this will follow you. People here are friends with people in Japan.”

“Yes, ma’am, but no one there has betrayed me like my squadronmates here have.”

Shane’s words cut Wilson and Annie to the bone. Coach and Macho would be standing tall in front of both of them for what they had done to this promising young officer, but Wilson still didn’t know why Macho would assist Coach in this way. That Trench was blind seemed punishment enough for his part. Some would even call it karma. But Wilson could ill afford to lose two more of his aviators on the eve of potential combat with the Venezuelans and Cubans. Wilson wrapped it up.

“Okay, Shane, we’re going to move you out of your stateroom as soon as the XO can find you a new one. Before tonight. I suggest you go back to CVIC for now and let us work this for you. Meanwhile, make me smart on the Cuban and Venezuelan air forces.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered and got up to leave. Her forlorn whisper told them, more than anything else could have, that she did not want to go out in the passageway and face any of the Air Wing SIX aircrew. Annie followed her outside.

“Are you really okay?” Annie asked as they walked toward CVIC.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you want to talk more, woman to woman?”

“No, ma’am, I’ll be fine. Guys are fighting and dying overseas. Humiliation doesn’t compare to that.”

Annie could see Shane was deflated, devastated , at what she had just learned. Annie walked ahead of her young ensign, as if protecting her from anyone coming in the opposite direction, ready to silence them with a look. She left Shane at CVIC with a grim smile. “Remember, let us take care of this.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” Shane said as the sentry buzzed to let her inside the classified space.

Annie watched Shane disappear into the main planning room. Worried about her, Annie was also worried about how to deal with the lieutenants who had betrayed a fellow junior officer.

Meyerkopf presided in flag plot while he and his staff officers hovered around a chart of the Caribbean and tried to decide where to best place USS Coral Sea . Minutes earlier, as they plotted reported positions of Cuban troops massing near Guantanamo, they had received a message that the Russians were flying two Blackjack nuclear bombers down the east coast, again causing NORAD to scramble air sovereignty alert fighters to keep an eye of them. Currently transiting past Prince Edward Island, the bombers were expected to land in either Cuba or Caracas in six to seven hours.

The Venezuelan Navy, while no match for the Americans, was still a threat. It possessed two German Type 209 diesel submarines, and intel reports outlined deliveries of China’s Harbin Z-9 ASW helicopter. Because of the potential threat of torpedo attack, Meyerkopf and his staff could be forgiven for their near-catatonic focus on the submarines, despite the fact only one could probably get underway. The Venezuelans possessed six frigates, not all operational, and over a dozen coastal patrol boats.

The Air Force was another concern. Their one squadron of F-16s, while an older model of the aircraft, had to be honored as a point-defense threat if land-based targets had to be struck. The two squadrons of Russian-built Su-30MKV Flanker Gs, however, had the range and weapons capability to threaten Coral Sea anywhere in the Caribbean basin. While the Flankers would have to get past Aegis missile shooters like Gettysburg and Norman Kleiss , the officers had to honor this threat to Coral Sea , which at the moment possessed the only American tactical airpower in the region. From the northwest, the Cuban threat to the ship was minimal. If the Americans had to provide air superiority over their installation at Guantanamo Bay, the ancient MiG series fighters and poor pilot training of the Cubans posed an easy tactical problem.

The media had also become a factor. Fed by the Venezuelans, the “diplomatic crisis” in Caracas was front-page news. Washington’s State Department flacks were back on their heels denying accusations of spying and espionage. Unconvinced, and with the usual suspects led by Venezuela’s fanning the flames, the American media were reporting on the heavy U.S. military posture in the region. The presence of an American carrier strike group in the Caribbean was unusual, and well-placed whispers told of Americans wantonly attacking innocent fishing boats and pleasure craft that the ham-fisted Yankees wrongly suspected of smuggling.

Just killing them outright with their high-tech savagery!

With no prior warning!

Just to, maybe, stop the shipping of a “ few bags ” of marijuana, which was now grown and sold legally in the American interior.

Reporters were en route to the Pentagon to query the public affairs officers, opening a new front in the conflict, the battle for public opinion.

Ed Browne studied at the chart and stroked his chin. “Sir, it may be prudent to move into the Atlantic until forces flow into the region. Right now, we are five hours away from the Mona Passage at flank speed, and that’s right when the Blackjacks are expected to fly by us. Recommend we stay here in open waters, south of the Dominican Republic, until the bombers pass and we can recover the combat air patrol, then get into the Atlantic tonight in a position to support Gitmo.” Meyerkopf shook his head.

“Ed, this Venezuelan 209 boat could be anywhere, and we need to run hard out of here and get into the open. Then we can bottle up these island chokepoints and find the damn thing.”

“Sir, we don’t know that it will follow us into the Atlantic….”

“He could be watching us right now, Ed!” Meyerkopf was losing his temper.

“Yes, sir, and we have a heightened anti-submarine alert posture. But, we know the bombers are coming down here, and, if we are in the restricted waters of the passage, flight operations are going to be difficult. We have been tasked to intercept and escort.”