Читать книгу Damage Control - Gordon Kent, Gordon Kent - Страница 41

Admiral Pilchard came up a corridor in Fifth Fleet headquarters with his flag captain beside him and his flag lieutenant running interference. All three looked grim: they had just come from a meeting about the Jefferson.

“Spinner!”

“Sir!”

“Get me the Public Information Officer—my office. Now!”

“Sir!”

That’s what Spinner seemed to do best—do things to please people. He was almost running in his eagerness to get the PIO.

Pilchard turned into the flag deck, waved a hand at people who were perfunctorily rising, and banged right through into his private office, a whirlwind pulling Lurgwitz in his wake. She was a stocky, intense woman who would one day have stars on her collar like Pilchard’s.

“What d’you think?” he demanded, throwing himself down in his chair.

“I don’t see the pony yet.”

Pilchard put his forehead on the heel of one hand. “What a mess! Jesus, Shelley—” He looked at her. “Sit down, for Christ’s sake!” He blew out breath. “Okay. I want CAP for the carrier, even if we have to go to the goddam US Air Force for it. Two, I want liaison with the embassy about the Indians and whatever the hell is going on over there. A, there’s the question of relations with their navy—get their attaché, what’s his name? Roopack, Jesus, what a birdbrain, but he’s what they sent—calm him down if need be, make sure he gets the message and relays it home that we deeply regret, etcetera, not our doing. A full investigation—make that a full joint investigation—will follow. Don’t mention the Jefferson unless he does; if he does, not word one that we think it’s one of their birds that went into our deck or whose fault it was. Okay? B, put intel on finding out what the hell is going down in India itself. Find out why we haven’t heard from Craik and get on his ass if you can find him. Then—”

He looked up at a knock, bellowed to come in. Spinner put his pleasant face around the door, waited to be signaled in, and then let the Public Information Officer go first. Then, even as the admiral started speaking, Spinner was arranging chairs, making sure there were notepads, and fetching coffee from the admiral’s pot.

“We have a situation,” Pilchard said to the PIO. “Your job is to put a wall around it.”

The PIO, a commander with degrees in journalism and mass communications, nodded.

“The Jefferson, that’s the BG flagship, has had an accident. It’s bad. We don’t know how bad, but the boat’s crippled and people are dead. Right now, the deck’s closed and she’s got no air cover.” Pilchard picked up a pen and tossed it back on the desk. “We can’t let word about it get out until we know just what we’ve got and how we can cover. If the media pick up on it, we’re going to have every hardhead in the Middle East trying to pick off the BG. Understand?”

“You want a soothing-syrup story or no story at all?”

“No story today. Maybe syrup tomorrow. No press briefing.” He picked up the pen again. “Can we keep five thousand sailors on the Jeff from phoning home about it? So far, maybe—acting BG CO is ‘taking steps.’ If that holds, we’ll be okay for a day.” He cleared his throat. “If the story gets out—if you’re asked, volunteer nothing—then you say that the ship is underway and doing its job. Got it? That’s the bottom line—the ship is still the biggest piece of force projection in the world, on station and on duty.”

“Uhh—” The PIO cleared his throat. “What’s Washington’s spin on it?” By Washington, he meant not the Navy, but the politicians in the executive branch.

“Washington doesn’t know yet. I’m reporting to the CNO as soon as this meeting ends. From there, he can do what he wants with the civilian spin-doctors.” He didn’t add, And if I had my way, they’d never find out.