Shattered Trident (7 page)

“Nice landing by Q,” he said proudly.

“Indeed it was, and I said so,” remarked Jerry.

“I figured as much.” Thigpen then pointed over to a young petty officer pacing nervously by a car. “I believe your ride is here, sir.”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Jerry said with disappointment. “The squadron headquarters isn’t that far,” he protested to no one in particular. “It would have been nice to take a little walk.”

Thigpen chuckled. “I’ve already got a working party standing by to load the supplies the Chop ordered. Is there anything else you need me to take care of, sir?”

“Just one, Bernie. Get the COB off the boat.” Thigpen opened his mouth to protest, but Jerry raised his hand and cut him off. “I know, I know, he’ll complain and spew profanities like his volcanic namesake, but this is his home. We can make do without him for a few hours so he can visit family he hasn’t seen in years.”

“I’ll try, sir. But MP can be
quite
stubborn when he wants to,” replied Thigpen, smiling. Stern, uncompromising, but fair to a fault, Master Chief Marco Pompei was well respected by everyone on
North Dakota
. He would back you up without reservation if you were in the right, correct you if you were wrong, but God help you if you were just plain stupid. It was unfortunate that his initials were synonymous with “military police,” an apt nickname that no one, including Jerry, used to his face.

“I hear you,” Jerry said knowingly, then added with emphasis. “Make it an order. Get the whole Goat Locker to help you if necessary, just get his butt on the beach.”

“Aye, aye, Skipper. Enjoy your meeting.”

“Thanks, I’ll try. But you know that it has to be something bigger than the incident we witnessed to haul our boat all the way back to Guam. I’ll let you know what’s going on as soon as I get back.”

Saluting the ensign now flying at the sub’s stern, Jerry walked across the brow toward the awaiting car. Behind him, Jerry heard the loudspeaker announcing, “
North Dakota,
departing.” Seeing Jerry approaching, the petty officer quickly opened the door for him and saluted.

“Welcome to Guam, Captain. I’m to take you to the meeting with Commodore Simonis.”

“Thank you,” replied Jerry as he returned the salute. Climbing inside, Jerry watched with surprise as the young sailor goosed the car and raced down the road at a speed that easily exceeded the posted limit. The obvious urgency got Jerry wondering again. Just what the hell kind of meeting was he attending?

The Squadron Fifteen headquarters building was barely half a mile away. It wasn’t even two minutes before the car pulled right up to the main entrance. Another petty officer scurried over and opened the door for Jerry. Saluting, he said, “Welcome to Squadron Fifteen, Captain. If you’ll follow me I’ll take you to the conference room.”

Jerry was unceremoniously whisked through the security checkpoint; stopping only long enough to sign the visitor’s log and collect an ID badge. Once through the turnstiles, the petty officer walked briskly down a hallway to a set of large double doors at the end. The red flashing light above the door signified a classified meeting was in session. The sailor snapped one of the doors open and stood at attention while Jerry strode through.

Inside the spacious conference room, he saw a dozen or so individuals gathered into three small groups. He immediately recognized Rear Admiral Wayne Burroughs, Commander, Submarine Force, U.S. Pacific Fleet. Whatever was happening, it had to be big for COMSUBPAC to fly all the way to Guam. To his right was a navy captain, probably Charles Simonis, the squadron commodore, and to his left was Dr. Joanna Patterson.

Surprised, Jerry came to a complete stop just inside the conference room. Joanna’s face lit up when she saw him, and as he feared, she marched right on over and gave him a big hug. Awkwardly, he returned the embrace.
Well, so much for first impressions,
he thought ruefully.

“Jerry! It is so good to see you!” Joanna exclaimed. “The president sends his warmest regards.”

Jerry groaned inwardly. While he didn’t doubt that the greeting was sincere, or that she meant well, the circumstances couldn’t have been worse. He’d worked hard to downplay his political connections. Unfortunately, his reputation as a naval officer with unusual political pull continued to dog him.

Joanna’s greeting would only serve to reinforce that reputation, one that tended to complicate his relationship with his peers, as well as with senior officers. Jerry also suspected it had something to do with the nervousness of the two petty officers earlier.

“It’s good to see you too, Joanna—Dr. Patterson,” he replied. “But it’s a bit of a surprise. Since you’re here, should I assume that things are worse than I suspected?”

Instantly, Joanna’s jubilant countenance transformed to one of grim concern. Patting his arm lightly, she answered, “Considerably worse, Jerry. Considerably worse.”

Burroughs cleared his throat, grabbing Joanna’s attention. “Dr. Patterson, I hate to interrupt, but we do need to get started.”

“Yes, Admiral. My apologies,” said Joanna, slightly embarrassed. As she stepped aside, Burroughs approached Jerry.

“Good to see you again, Captain.” Burroughs offered his hand as he spoke.

“Thank you, sir,” responded Jerry as he grasped the admiral’s hand firmly.

“I trust you had no difficulties getting here.”

“Other than a strong temptation to find a nice spot to do some sunbathing, no, sir.”

Burroughs chuckled. “I’d be willing to go along with that if I didn’t burn so badly.” The admiral’s hair still had streaks of an intense orange-red color amongst the gray. Gesturing toward the captain, he continued on, “This is Captain Charles Simonis. He’ll be your squadron commodore for the duration of this mission.”

The two shook hands and exchanged greetings. Simonis then directed him to the three commanders standing by the conference table. “Commander Mitchell, these are my squadron COs. Commander Bruce Dobson, USS
Oklahoma City
.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Dobson said, shaking Jerry’s hand.

“Likewise,” he answered.

“You already know Commander Warren Halsey,” Simonis remarked as he pointed to the second skipper.

“Yes, of course,” replied Jerry warmly. “I wondered if
Santa Fe
was going to be pulled too, Warren.”

“We’re here,” Halsey responded flatly. “Besides, we weren’t getting a whole lot of action in our area. Not as much as your boat, apparently.”

Jerry wasn’t sure what Halsey meant by that comment, but he didn’t have time to contemplate it as Simonis moved on to the last commanding officer.

“And this is Commander Ian Pascovich, USS
Texas
.”

“Ian! Good to see you again!” Jerry eagerly grabbed Pascovich’s hand.

“You too, Jerry. How’s
North Dakota
? Have you had a chance to figure out all the gadgets yet?”

“She’s a fine boat, Ian. And no, I’m still working on it. I learn something new every day, much to my XO’s amusement,” Jerry admitted. Turning toward a curious Simonis, he explained. “Ian and I were in the same PCO class together. We had a friendly rivalry going during the attack trainer phase of the course—he usually won.”

“But it was close,” added Pascovich.

“Ah, I see,” Simonis responded, clearly unimpressed. Sweeping his hand toward the chairs he said, “Gentlemen, please be seated so we can begin the briefing.”

Jerry quickly walked around the table and took a chair next to Pascovich. A yeoman immediately followed with a large binder, a dripping cold bottle of water, and a napkin. The binder was covered with colorful security markings, including
TOP SECRET
in large, unfriendly letters.

Nodding his thanks, Jerry opened the binder to the first page. The title caused him to stop short—“Potential for Sino-Vietnamese War.” And he wasn’t the only one with wide eyes. Glancing down the line, he saw that each skipper had the same look on his face.

“Gentlemen, we have a severely strained political situation in the South China Sea,” began Admiral Burroughs. “For decades, the People’s Republic of China has had territorial disputes with Vietnam, Taiwan, Malaysia, Brunei, and the Philippines over the Spratly Islands. There have been a number of diplomatic efforts over the years, but no results. Now it looks like the pot may be boiling over. Needless to say, the president’s concern in regard to this matter is considerable.”

Burroughs paused as he pointed toward Patterson. “So much so, that he decided it was necessary to send his deputy national security advisor, Dr. Joanna Patterson, out here to Guam to personally brief you on the political-military situation.”

Jerry looked at the other three sub captains. They were obviously stunned by COMSUBPAC’s blunt introduction. Jerry’s own anxiety quotient was higher as well. If the White House was sending someone to personally brief them, it had to be bad. Like Jerry, the other three officers remained silent, still trying to take it aboard.

“Dr. Patterson, the floor is yours.”

“Thank you, Admiral Burroughs. Gentlemen, it is the collective judgment of the intelligence community and the National Security Council that a war between the Socialist Republic of Vietnam and the People’s Republic of China is likely. Indeed, it may have already begun. We do not understand why one, or both, nations felt compelled to adopt hostile measures, but indications of large-scale military action are growing.”

Okay, this adequately constitutes “considerably worse
,
”
Jerry thought to himself, as he remembered Joanna’s earlier dire statement.

“But to understand the current state of affairs,” Patterson clicked her remote, moving to her next slide, “you’ll need a little historical background. The South China Sea has been a contentious area for nearly eighty years, but the current dispute started in 1968, when petroleum deposits were discovered in the Spratly Island archipelago. Since then, there have been claims and counterclaims by over half a dozen nations, none of which can be justified under the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea.

“Military action in the Spratlys had been rare, with only one real engagement. That battle was over the Johnson South Reef in the spring of 1988. China won handily, seizing the reef, sinking three Vietnamese ships, and killing seventy-two Vietnamese sailors and soldiers, most of whom were gunned down while up to their knees in water. Johnson South Reef, like many in the Spratly chain, is underwater at high tide.

“For the most part, the ‘fighting’ over the Spratlys has been done with words and the occasional raid to raise a flag on a claimed, but unmanned reef. However, the harassment of oil exploration ships, oceanographic research ships, and fishing vessels has been steadily increasing. In 2011, China and Vietnam started holding regular naval exercises in the Spratly Islands, often with live-fire drills. This has led to both nations beefing up the defenses of their outposts. Other South China Sea littoral nations followed suit.

“The situation really started to go downhill in late 2014 when a Vietnamese warship collided with, and sank, a Chinese fishing vessel. The nationalistic furor that followed this incident led to the Chinese Communist Party’s announcement in the spring of 2015 that the Spratly Islands were a ‘core national interest’ to China. The shockwaves from that declaration sent every nation in the region to a higher state of alert.”

This was huge. Between the upgrading of outpost defenses and the strong political rhetoric, the entire South China Sea was now a powder keg. All that was needed for war was for someone to light the fuze, something Jerry guessed had already happened.

“Eleven days ago, the Chinese aircraft carrier
Liaoning
triggered a bottom influence mine as she departed Yalong Bay. The damage was severe, rendering her starboard propulsion shafts and rudder useless, and causing significant shock damage to her engine rooms. The ship managed to get back to the pier, but it took the crew hours to finally contain the flooding. An official press release stated that
Liaoning
had suffered an unspecified engineering casualty.

“Exhaustive analysis by the intelligence community reveals there is only one possible mining platform—a Vietnamese Kilo-class submarine.”

Jerry was as awestruck as the others by Patterson’s claim. He simply could not comprehend why Vietnam would even consider attacking her much larger, and considerably more powerful neighbor. It certainly did much to explain the attack on the merchant.

“Four days ago a Type 093 SSN torpedoed the Vietnamese merchant vessel
Vinaship Sea
. Commander Mitchell’s submarine witnessed the attack and his report is in your briefing binders.”

All eyes seemed to focus on Jerry as Patterson continued speaking. Pascovich nudged him, his facial expression begging for details. Jerry mouthed the word, “Later.”

“In his report, Commander Mitchell’s noted a large secondary explosion after the
Vinaship Sea
was torpedoed. Such a strong blast was inconsistent with her listed cargo of coal. In addition, he also reported that the ship was significantly off course for her claimed destination.” Patterson smiled as she advanced the slide.

“Your observations were correct, Jerry. The merchant ship was actually heading toward the Vietnamese-held island of Southwest Cay in the northern Spratlys. Her cargo, based on COMINT information, was advanced surface-to-air missile systems, radars, anti-aircraft artillery, munitions, food, and fuel for the garrison—enough for the defenders to hold out for several weeks.”

Jerry heard Pascovich whistle softly and say, “Hoollyy shit!”

“In conclusion,” said Patterson, highlighting the bullets with her laser pointer, “both sides have taken shots at each other. However, it is significant to note that only submarines have been used to date. And while we believe the likelihood for continued hostilities is high, we simply don’t understand the nature of this conflict. What triggered the Vietnamese attack? Is the upcoming PLAN exercise part of the puzzle? There are just too many unknowns right now. This is why the president is asking for your help. He needs more information if he is to respond appropriately to this crisis. The goal is to defuse it diplomatically; hopefully before a full-scale war starts. Are there any questions?”