Three Plexiglas wheels set into the front plate glass spun at high rpm, throwing off the rain, the only clear view of the sea ahead. The officer of the deck stood at the radar console, his visual sight nearly useless.
“Patch, after nearly augering into the deck and totaling yourself, it’s very understandable. How are you feeling?”
“Seasick, sir. I need to get out to one of the submarines, the Pasadena or the Cheyenne. As soon as possible, sir.”
“Patch, I don’t want to burst your bubble, but have you seen it out there? We’re grounded. Ain’t no choppers going to be flying in this weather.”
“When’s it going to calm down?”
“We’ve got another day of this to go. But there’s more bad news. By the time this weather clears we’ll be in the Japan Oparea and there won’t be any helotransfers.
You’d better read this.” Donner handed Pacino a message, classified top secret/special compartment/codeword Enlightened Curtain.
Pacino read through the message, quickly at first, then read through it a second time. It was a confidential message from Warner and Wadsworth. Ambassador Pulcanson had met twice with Prime Minister Kurita. The first time Pulcanson had laid out the deal — that UN troops would take station on Japanese soil, that their initial actions would be to supervise the dismantlement of the radioactive weapons, the second the deactivation of the nuclear cores of the submarines of the Maritime Self Defense Force, the third the selling off of the Firestar fighters. Kurita had been noncommittal, Pulcanson had been firm and told him he had a day to provide an answer.
Two days later Pulcanson had returned. Kurita’s answer was no better than before. He didn’t say no, he didn’t say yes.
Warner had had a meeting with the National Security Council. She had ordered Donner’s force to set up the blockade. They were going in to stop the flow of all commercial traffic into Japan.
“This will be the first act of war of the new century.
And maybe the worst.”
“Oh, hell, Patch, we did this a ways back with the Cubans and it prevented a war.”
“That was the Cubans, and the Russians. These are the Japanese. Go back to your history books, Mac. The last time we cut off the oil to these people they used it as an excuse to sink our fleet. They’ll do it again, they’ll fight. We shouldn’t just put a ring of warships around Japan, we should hit them preemptively. If we sail off their coast they’ll nail us with everything they’ve got.”
“I don’t think so. Patch. This will last a week, maybe a month. The other carrier groups will get here and then the Japanese will have to see reason. We’ll be home in a couple of months—”
“Mac, I’m telling you. We should hit the Galaxy satellites now. We should sortie every god damned airplane we have to bomb the Firestar squadrons and the Destiny submarines. Then and only then, we should blockade the islands. It’s the only way.”
“I think you’re forgetting the antisubmarine warfare capabilities of this surface force. Patch. Now let me give you a piece of advice.” Pacino stared out into the rain. “Why don’t you go below and meet with Commander White? He’s the submarine liaison officer. He could use a boost. You both must come from the same school, you sound like a broken record.” Pacino went below. It was going to be a long war, he thought. Or a very short one.
Comdr. Bruce Phillips dumped eight heaping teaspoonfills of instant coffee into the Big Gulp cup and poured an entire pot of boiling water into it. He filled a second Big Gulp cup with ice, stirred the instant coffee, then dumped the hot coffee into the iced cup. He pinched his nose, put the cup to his lips and drank the liquid down in one go, gagging as it went down. He looked over to find the XO, Lt. Comdr. Roger Whatney, staring at him, shaking his head.
“Well, Skipper, I hope you’re planning on taking both those cups’to the bridge with you. You’ll need them to dump the used coffee in when your body’s done with it.”
Whatney had a point, he thought. He yawned and glanced at his Rolex, wondering why the hell he had neglected to sleep in the last twenty-four hours. Part of it was Abby’s visit.
“What’s the status, XO?” he asked Whatney.
“Well, sir, we’ve got enough exceptions to our rig-forsea to fill a three-inch-thick three-ring notebook. I don’t know that I’d ever recommend doing this, if not for your orders from Admiral Pacino.”
“How bad is it?”
“Here’s the rundown, Skipper,” Whatney said. “Starting aft, we have no main engines. Propulsion is on the emergency electric propulsion motor. The electric plant is only fair because we’re long overdue for a battery charge. The electrical turbines are as dead cold iron as the main engines, the steam plant is cold, the steam generators are in wet layup and the reactor is shutdown in the fiduciary range, completely nonvisible.”
