John Schettler - Fallen Angels - 9 Days Falling, Volume II

“Who the hell sent that flash traffic to Tanner? That’s what I want to know. We had Nimitz out there on his right flank and that order prodded him to act unsupported. Damn sloppy in my judgment.”

“It didn’t come from this office,” said Leyman. “We paint the broad strokes here, but I have no idea what flash traffic even is.”

“You’re telling me the order did not originate from the White House Situation Room? Well it sure as hell didn’t come from the Joint Chiefs. I was in a meeting with the entire group not three hours ago and we heard nothing of this flash order that sent Tanner into action.”

“If I may, sir…” An adjutant stepped forward at the Admiral’s elbow and handed him a file.

Ghortney flipped the cover open and looked it over, a single raised eyebrow registering surprise as he read. He finished and set the file on the table, covering it with his stripe festooned jacket cuff. Then he looked Leyman square in the eye.

“I was just handed a message trace file on that order, and it appears to be classified above top secret. That makes it an SCI file, so I am not at liberty to discuss it further unless everyone in this room has the necessary clearance.”

SCI files were those reserved for Sensitive Compartmentalized Information. In the labyrinth of security protocols it amounted to a “need to know” designation on the file, with access strictly limited to a select group of individuals. That alone was a surprise to Ghortney, for his designation as five star Fleet Admiral placed him at the top of the chain of command now for all naval matters. That any message should be sensitive enough to bypass his inbox before an order was issued made for some very uncomfortable feelings in the gut, particularly around a table like this, where decisions were about to be made that would affect the outcome of this rapidly developing conflict and the world that would be left when it was over. Ghortney wasn’t happy about the situation.

“I’m going to be frank here and say that if I sit down to a card table for a good hand of poker, I damn well want to see every card the dealer hands me. Now, I wasn’t born yesterday and I know there are segments of this government that are buried so deep you’d need an undertaker to show you the door, but this doesn’t work for me. I don’t care if you tattoo these orders with code words from Aardvark to UMBRA. This one here was coded Watchstander-1G, for what it’s worth. If I’m appointed theater commander, I want all tactical orders routed to me, and I call the shots. Clear?”

“I wish I knew what you were talking about, Admiral.”

Reed cleared his throat and intervened. “Excuse me, Mister Leyman. What the Admiral is saying is that this order was not cleared through his desk because of a security classification issue. It was most likely designated SI, that would be Special Intelligence, and the sources and methods that developed the information are highly classified, as well as the heads that information is disseminated through.

“If I’m in command then this head better be on that list,” Ghortney said pointedly. “Anybody wants to start pushing naval carrier battlegroups around on a map, then I want to know about it and approve— that’s what I’m saying.”

Leyman seemed surprised. “You mean to say these orders were withheld? You never saw or approved them?”

“Correct.”

Now it was Leyman’s turn to sit with that discomfort. Yes, the US Government was a deeply furrowed maze of convoluted byways, where information flowed through secret plumbing from wells of power that he could not even fathom. There was NSA, CIA, black projects originating in organizations like DARPA, and virtually every branch of the military. Even NASA held secrets that few were privy too—things seen in orbit, things found on the moon and Mars, things too secret to ever contemplate open discussion. Now here was the Admiral in charge filing a complaint in the White House Situation Room and claiming key intelligence had been denied him and battle orders were issued without his knowledge or consent. It was a most uncomfortable situation.

“I understand,” Leyman began. “Well I can look into this, Admiral Ghortney, and I can also tell you that we were as much in the dark about this as you were. What is this classification you spoke of?”

“Watchstander-1G. God only knows what it’s supposed to mean, but I’m issuing standing orders that no commander under my authority is to act on any order that does not originate from FLEETCOM-1—that’s me, gentlemen—a new designation for the command I now hold. I don’t want to sound arrogant, or even selfish, but that’s the way I play the game. The congress handed me this fifth star for a reason. I know the Executive Branch is fond of reminding us that the buck stops on that desk in the Oval Office, but unless the President wants to set up shop and start issuing fleet deployment and combat orders, I’d prefer to do the job myself.”

“You’ve got it,” said Leyman. “I can’t say I’ve heard anything of this Watchstander thing, but I can find out what happened here and see that it doesn’t happen again. General Lane, have you any light to shed on this?”

“I’m afraid not. If that attack order was deemed to be above the Admiral’s desk then they sure as hell wouldn’t send it to me.”

“Then we are agreed that no one in this room knew that this message, this flash traffic as you call it, was even sent.” Leyman scratched his head. This was the White House Situation Room!

“That appears to be the case,” said Ghortney. “And to put it bluntly, that stops now.”

“Your pardon, sir,” said Reed. “That may require some rather high lever intervention. Anything coded SI-GAMMA-UMBRA would take an Executive Order to inhibit or restrict dissemination. In fact, and no offense here Mister Leyman, the President may get a daily intelligence briefing, but there are lists out there that will not even have his name on it, and that’s just the fact of the matter.”

“I see…” Leyman looked concerned. “Well if that’s what it takes—an Executive Order—then I’ll raise the matter with the President. In the meantime, before I take this to the old man himself, can you paint me a picture of what we’re going to do about this situation in the Pacific? I understand your position entirely, Admiral Ghortney. If we stand you up in front of the tiller then the ship is yours. I’ll tell you right now that I’ll do everything possible to see your decisions are final.”

“Much obliged,” said Ghortney. “As to our intentions at this point, I can brief you on that right now. General Lane here has his assets in theater ready to go now. The two Missiles North Korea tried to lob at Guam were successfully intercepted and he has a number of strategic assets now in place for deep strike missions. It’s time we begin offensive operations. General Lane?”

“Sir, I have Bones, Bats and Buffs in theater now, and I can put missiles and heavy metal wherever you need it.”

“Bones and Bats?” Leyman looked at Reed.

“That will be B-1B Lancers , B-2 Spirit stealth bombers, and our older B-52s, Mister Leyman.”

“Buffs? Where do you guys come up with this stuff?”

“It stands for Big Ugly Fat Fellow, sir. A term of endearment among the air corps.

“Correct,” said Lane. “We’ve cued up that X-51C WaveRider strike Mission and it’s ready to go. The first thing we have to do is take out their ability to access space and prevent any further attempt to hit our satellites.”

“You’re talking about hitting the Chinese?” Leyman wanted to know what he had to take to the President.

“That’s right, the Chinese…But the Russians are on my short list now as well. We may have to hit their primary Cosmodromes and other key launch sites if we want to do this right.”