Читать книгу The Crucible - Joaquin De Torres - Страница 7

When Antonio Espinoza saw his brother coming through the door, he was riddled with emotion. He needed comfort, encouragement, but not a lecture. When his brother extended his hand, Antonio ignored it, moved in and embraced the man fiercely. It had been many long months since they had been together. It was then that he wanted the dam that walled in his tears to break. He simply closed his eyes and held on tighter. Antonio was not permitted to cry, however; not today. He bit his lip as they released, and quickly turned around to hide the wanting and the suffering that was painted on his face.

“Please, please sit down,” he said under a stifled whimper. “We have much to talk about.” Antonio told his secretary to hold all incoming calls and appointments before he closed the door-—the door of the Chief of Naval Operations (CNO)--the highest-ranking naval officer in the Navy.

The atmosphere was thick with clouds of an impending storm. Admirals Antonio Espinoza--CNO, and Ramon Torres, Commander-in-Chief of the Pacific Fleet (COMPACFLT) faced each other with caution. They’d been best friends since childhood; their inseparable bond had been intact from junior high school through the Naval Academy, to the present time. There were no secrets kept between them; they were brothers in all respects. Seventy-two years of combined military experience, five wars, and countless ship and shore commands later, the two most powerful naval commanders stood on the brink of becoming mortal enemies.

Over the last three years, Ramon had discovered and tracked something very disturbing about Antonio since his prestigious appointment to the president’s cabinet--the position he himself had refused. An explosive temper, episodes of indecisiveness, irritability, and an indifference to more private matters such as family and health began to exude from within Antonio. It was just a matter of time, Ramon believed, when the Beltway political bureaucracy would suffocate a man’s vision, his principles and his true sense of mission.

Ramon regarded Antonio’s haggard face. This was the man he was most proud of all his life. This once hero of social adversity had now devolved into an inflexible, rank-appeasing puppet for an administration determined to use the Navy as a global hammer.

But alas Ramon had an agenda, and it was one of epic proportions. They had furiously battled over this subject one time before, but this time Ramon was prepared to have his end accomplished even if it meant damaging, or even ending, a bond that had lasted over half a century. This meeting wasn’t business; it was personal.

The two sat in the suite’s large reading room that also doubled as a mini library. This was a special room to Ramon; a small museum where Antonio displayed his collection of original wall tapestries, paintings, antiques and relics from ancient South and Central America. This was Antonio’s sanctuary; the room where he could escape into the past and hide from the miseries of the present. They sat on leather couches opposite each other. Between them was a green marble coffee table, and resting in the center of it was a 1,300-year-old Inca dagger encased in glass. Antonio’s love for Latin American artifacts were displayed on mantels, walls and shelves throughout the room. These were the only things left of his personality that remained unaltered by modern times, Ramon surmised sympathetically.

Antonio carefully removed the centerpiece so that they could litter the table with documents, pc tablets and cell phones. Ramon couldn’t help but compare this office with his own in Pearl Harbor. It was only a third of the size of Antonio’s, and did not contain a fraction of its lush opulence. But then, Ramon wasn’t required to entertain many dignitaries as part of his administrative duties. Ramon’s command and control center, three stories directly below his reception and administration office, was a high-tech, computer-choked citadel from which to oversee the operations of his charge.

As commander of the Pacific Fleet, he was responsible for operations from the Coast of the United States to the eastern shores of Africa, the North and South Poles, and over 100 million square miles of ocean. He had command over 200 combat ships, more than 2,000 aircraft, and 130,000 Sailors, Marines and support personnel. The Pacific Fleet was his passion, his life and nothing else. What most admirals considered the ultimate dream job as CNO, the epitome of naval command, Ramon considered with suspicion. He called the position the ultimate public relations job for politicians. This was not Ramon. He didn't care to give speeches at the Naval War College, or at the Naval Academy commencement ceremonies, or drink champagne with policy makers and political suck-asses. He was a point man. He wanted to remain on the front lines and protect his country. And now, he was about to find out how much damage the CNO job had done to the only man on earth he called his brother.

At 9:30 A.M. that morning, the long anticipated and dreaded meeting began. After some small talk about their families, the Redskins and Ravens having horrible seasons, and the latest troubles plaguing the president and his administration the official agendas began to take form. Almost immediately, Antonio was on the defensive.

“First off Ray, don’t start in about your carriers. Okay?” Antonio resembled a grandfather giving guidance to his grandson--head low, eyes up, eyebrows furrowed and glasses resting at the tip of his nose. “I’m giving you the Kitty Hawk for now. Maybe another from the Gulf in about a month.”

“A month!? China will be invading Taiwan within that time. The Middle East operations have more than enough firepower. I need more carriers in the Pacific. You know this, Tony.”

“It wasn’t my call, Ray. It was Cranston’s.”

“Fuck Cranston! He doesn’t know anything about naval strategy or military operations!” Ramon took a deep breath to keep his voice down. He tried again. “I need at least two more carriers as well as the Kitty Hawk. Give me the Lincoln and the Washington.”

“You’ve got five carriers already. The Joint Chiefs--”

“The Joint Chiefs? The Joint Chiefs!” Ramon rolled his eyes. “My God, Tony, what’s going on with you? I’ve got three conflicts and five carriers in my theatre.”

“That’s all you need for now.”

“That’s all I need? I’ve only three carriers in the Ring of Fire, one in Indonesia, and the Kitty Hawk is still waiting for planes. Tony, only three in the Ring! The Chinese are going to take that island, and while I’m getting my ass kicked there, the North Koreans are going to get tired of the Iron Clad and start shooting missiles. I’ve got to be ready for that.”

Antonio waved his hand dismissively and looked down.

“Ray, I’m not going to argue about this today.”

“Please, Tony, just two more carrier groups.”

“Stop, already!” Antonio’s hands began to quiver slightly as his agitation level began to rise. But Ramon continued hammering on the subject despite the protest.

“So now I have the Japanese and South Korean fleets enforcing the blockade with a handful of our ships. Things are going to get messy.” He leaned forward. “Antonio, I’m too thin out there. If one of those Korean ships runs the blockade, or the Chinese decide to send in a supply ship, I‘ll be trapped.”

“Ray, you know the administration’s policy on the terrorists in the Middle East and Africa. The Joint Chiefs want to hit them all at the same time and we need the carriers to do this.” Antonio’s utterly exhausted response mirrored his exhausted face and dark-ringed eyes. “Besides, neither of those countries you mentioned is going to do anything drastic. We’ve heard the rhetoric for ages.”

“You think not, but remember my brother, we are starving one of them out of existence. You are a history man, you know about Spartacus against the Romans; Alaric and the Visigoths against the Romans; Attila the Hun against the Romans--”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Antonio exhaled. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that the Romans were arrogant and in decline. They didn‘t understand that when you oppress a group hard enough and long enough, that group will organize and rise up. Tony, when are you going to realize that we're the fucking Romans!”

“Ray, please!”

“It will take just one mistake and it’s going to be a shooting gallery out there. Wake up! I’m telling you, North Korea is a wounded beast, backed in a cave. How long do you think we can uphold this idiotic blockade? Without enough overlapping reconnaissance, or long range air defense, how long until one rogue vigilante, or mercenary, or one patriotic boat captain fires on one of our patrol ships? What if one of those Russian subs, now North Korean-owned, torpedoes one of our ships? What then, brother? We don’t have enough units out there to watch everything.”

“Ray, let’s move on. You have to deal with the Koreans, the Chinese, the Indonesians, and the terrorists with what you presently have. We’re about to drop bombs on Iran for Christ’s sake. Can we just move on now, goddamn it!?” Antonio’s hands were shaking even more.

Ramon let it go. This was not the battle he wanted to fight today. There was another. It was the reason why he came. He moved on, allowing Antonio to dictate the conversation and the subject matter. Between typing in notes and figures on their laptops, Ramon looked up to study Antonio. My poor brother, what has this job done to you? He saw the craggily crust of stress on Antonio’s once noble face. He noticed the road map of facial wrinkles, the incessantly blinking eyes; and yes, the quivering hands.

Antonio Espinoza was an enervated man, devitalized and devalued by the recent years of political machinations. The last sessions of fiscal proposals with the president, the Secretary of Defense (SECDEF) and their budgeting committee had completely drowned his spirit. Never before did he fight so hard to protect so little. The dwindling benefits of the fleet would be cut again by Congress to finance interests elsewhere. The three newly-approved anti-terrorism campaigns set against African nations only served to decimate the defense budget.

For Antonio this meant corners had to be cut and his hopes for accomplishing something meaningful before his own retirement were crushed. He saw his Navy being drained of life. The fleet was overstretched and all reserve units were being called onto active duty for indefinite service. The SECDEF ordered stop-loss and stop-move policies service-wide, which froze any type of personnel separation. Those already serving on active duty were extended at their present duty stations indefinitely to save the funds of relocation. Those approaching retirement or separation were not permitted to do either. Antonio was now foundering in rough waters as politicians and special interest groups ran the show and were keys in the decision-making processes of military strategy.

Iran, Syria, Yemen, Somalia, Saudi Arabia and Indonesia-- breeding grounds and financial funnels for terror--had to be fleshed out, and according to President O’Malley, had to eventually be destroyed. It was O’Malley’s personal agenda and the centerpiece of his legacy to rid the world of terrorists once and for all. These were the budget committee’s top priorities. There was nothing else meaningful in the Navy for him now. The machine of war was hot and its political gears turned toward a newer reality: America was now going on the offensive. Anyone who didn't want to be part of this fervor would be simply bypassed. Antonio was simply bypassed.

Ramon had warned him when he first took this job that he would forfeit his right to command, and it was a prophecy that would haunt him for years. His sensitivity and empathy, traits that were once strengths, were now hindrances. He became cold, indifferent and apathetic. Thirty-six years. Antonio Espinoza was ready to retire, and if it wasn’t for the stop-loss he would have already given his notice to the SECNAV.

Almost an hour had passed since Ramon stepped into his office. The official agenda was complete and Antonio began shuffling his papers. He picked up both his and Ramon’s cup and left to refill them. Ramon bit his lip. He didn't want to pursue the final piece of business that he had saved until now. Not five minutes into the subject their voices were thundering. Antonio stood up and took a defensive position behind his desk, his face etched in anger.

“No!” He shook his head. “Stop-loss is stop-loss! There’s no way, Ray! Forget it! I can’t do it!”

“What I ask is not hard to--”

“What you ask is impossible!” interrupted Antonio forcefully. “With all that’s going on in the world, you think SECNAV or the Bureau of Personnel is going to authorize it? You think Admiral Schmidt is going to allow a full commander with such credentials to separate? Are you fucking serious!? Admirals, commanders and captains throughout the fleet are awaiting orders for new commands when they should be retiring. Christ, Ray! It wouldn’t’t go any farther than Schmidy.”

“Antonio, we’re not talking about any command! We’re talking about my daughter--your Goddaughter!”

“The situation in the Pacific has gotten too intense. Look at what you’re facing, Ray. You’ve got a loon telling the world that he’s going to launch a nuclear strike and their people are murdering innocents. And on top of that, there’s no telling what China’s reaction will be when the shit comes down on that peninsula. If I were the Chinese, I’d invade Taiwan the very day North Korea launches an attack, because that’s when we’d be at our weakest.”

“Don’t lecture me about what’s happening in my own backyard, Antonio! That’s why I need more carriers! And if you had any kind of backbone, like you had in the past, I would have had them already! The Pacific would have been locked down tight for months!”

Antonio glared at him, allowing Ramon to continue his rant.

“Tony, China has amassed upwards of a million troops on her coast. A million! Not enough for you and your fucking bureaucrats? How about the increased PRC recon flights over Taiwan; the movement of 25 squadrons of fighters down to Wuhai; and the 65 percent increase of landing craft forces across the Strait? What does that tell you, Antonio? It tells me that they’re waiting. They’re waiting for North Korea to make the move and then they will use that to make theirs. By slowing up the delivery of carriers to the PAC, you‘ve given my remaining battlegroups a death sentence.”

“Everything you say is true, Ray,” Antonio breathed.

“That’s why I’m here. I can’t let my daughter go out there and face that shit, Antonio.” Ramon’s voice softened with concern as he pondered the immense request that he knew Antonio was in no position to grant.

“There’s no way to avoid what’s about to happen. The blockade has brought the North Koreans to the point of no return. It’s just a matter of time.” Antonio nodded emphatically. “I’ll do my best to get as many carriers back to you as possible from the Middle East; but you’re still lacking in surface ships to face their restocked navy.”

“The North Koreans have no significant navy,“ retorted Ramon.

“Ray, they purchased that small armada of ex-Soviet combatants, including two Kirov-class battlecruisers. The PRC loaned them the money to refit and fuel them. One is fully operational. The other is getting refitted.”

“How many now?”

“Thirteen surface combatants, seven ASW ships, and four attack subs. Basically the heavy hitters from the old USSR stock: Slavas, Udaloys, Sovremennys, Krivaks and Akulas. All packed with their old and some improved Soviet weapons. There's some other technology on the big boys, but you'll get a briefing on it soon enough.”

“Remember those names, Tony? Seems like a million years ago.”

“The Chinese are paying for it all, Ray. They want the North to attack. Like you said, they're counting on it.”

“Sons of bitches!” Ramon huffed.

“Those Kirovs are as big as a World War Two aircraft carrier,” Antonio continued. “They carry the nuclear Shipwreck missiles, and I got someone from WEPS e-mailing me about thermobaric weapons, too. Ray, if they get all these ships equipped with their entire original and upgraded ordinance, we will face a fleet as powerful as our own.”

“A ghost fleet resurrected from the dead,” breathed Ramon.

“Old, yes; rusted, yes; but armed and lethal nevertheless. Now put into the hands of captains frothing with vengeance.” Antonio stepped around his desk and stood in front of Ramon. “Ray, imagine what a fully-loaded Kirov battlecruiser could do to one of our ships.”

Ramon closed his eyes and thought of Kristina. Antonio shook his head in regret.

“I’m sorry, Ray; I can’t do it. I can’t let her go. She’s too good, too gifted, too valuable. She needs to command a ship. The new ships are coming, but we don’t have captains.”

“Antonio, she won’t be able to handle the stress of battle. She still suffers from what happened on the McClusky.”

“That was almost 16 years ago, Ray.”

“She was only 18, a fresh enlistee onboard that ship. She watched 37 of her shipmates burn alive. You think she hasn’t carried that around with her?”

“Yes, and you’re the one who still encouraged her to apply to the Academy. You wanted her to be an officer; you wanted her to stay in the Navy, Ray!” The vein in Antonio’s forehead began to pulse as his blood pressure began to rise.

“Yes, I did. I orchestrated her career all this time.” Ramon's eyes registered regretful melancholy. “I used my influence to get her into a field in which she would never have to see real combat again.” Ramon put his hand over his eyes. “Now you’re going to throw my daughter onto the front line.”

“She’s too good, Ray. She’s qualified in every warfare position onboard. She knows a ship like her own house, and if it weren’t for you, she’d have her own command. Your daughter is single-handedly revolutionizing our fleet. How can I let her go now?”

More truths and realities flowed forth from Antonio’s words. Ramon knew that despite the pleas and the rationalizations, his brother was right. She was too good; in fact, she was golden. With her quiet leadership, and mastery of a ship’s weapons systems--systems she herself designed--she would make a magnificent captain.

“Ray, you asked me to get her into the Navy’s weapons design program, and I did that for you years ago. That was for you. But now she’s turned that place around. She’s now the head project director.”

“WEPS-ONE,” Ramon whispered.

“That’s right. She’s designed an entirely new NTDS control system and five new prototype missile systems. We’ll be testing out these systems in about a week on the Gettysburg.”

“You know I know this. I’ll be personally overseeing that mission.” Ramon’s eyes were sullen. He was going to lose this battle. He raised his head quickly.

“Can you keep her at WEPS-ONE? Just one last favor for your brother?”

“I can’t promise that. SECNAV will be overseeing a committee to promote qualified commanders to our front line ships.” Antonio turned his head away and dropped his eyes to the floor. “I regret to say that. . .Kristina is near the top of that list, Ray. She’s slated to be the CO of one of our newest missile cruisers, the Rosa Parks. It’s one of the super Arleigh Burke destroyers, refitted with all of Kristina’s weapons systems.”

“Oh my God!” A tear began to pool at the corner of Ramon's right eye.

“Ray, it wasn’t my doing. I was told--”

“You spineless, SON OF A BITCH!”

“Ray, there’s still time. Maybe I can--”

“When were you planning on telling me? During the fucking ship christening!?” The boom of Ramon’s voice made the secretary outside the office and several coworkers slide nearer to the door to listen in. Ramon moved forward slowly, almost stalking Antonio who fell defenselessly into his chair. He moved in closer, raising his index finger like a bayonet. His tone was threatening.

“If you don’t stop this, Antonio, and something happens to my daughter out there--” The malice in his voice and the look in his eyes were horrifying. “If something happens to her, friendship and family be damned, I’m coming after you!”

“Good evening, Baltimore, and welcome to a special addition of Channel 4 Baltimore Evening News. I’m Anita Chavez.

“Today North Korea took another aggressive step towards anti-American diplomacy by deploying five of its newly-purchased warships in close proximity to American and allied warships monitoring the Iron Clad blockade.

“Naval sources tell us that one of the warships, a Slava-class guided-missile cruiser, approached within 10 meters of the U.S.-made Japanese cruiser Kojiro, shadowing her for several minutes before moving off.

“The North Korean government issued a statement that more of their capital ships will come on station in the coming days, and that they will be ready to attack the blockading forces if the order is given. Sources say that Pyongyang’s aggressive maneuvers are a result of their confidence in their new fleet of powerful ex-Soviet combatants, and the fact that the U.S. has no active carrier stationed within Korean waters. In fact, all U.S. carriers are in or around the Taiwan Strait, keeping watch over the Chinese navy whose threat of a Taiwan invasion now seems imminent.

“The area around Taiwan has been dubbed by the Defense Department as the “Ring of Fire.” Presently there are over 75 U.S., Taiwanese and Japanese ships on alert in the Ring. China continues its aggressive force build-up and has amassed over one million landing troops on their side of the Strait; scores of bomber, fighter and air-to-ground attack aircraft squadrons have been moved from all over China to the coast; and several fleets of rocket-attack, landing and transport ships stand poised for what may be a cataclysmic encounter with U.S. and Taiwanese forces.

“There is no word on whether any more carriers are coming to reinforce those already in the Ring. Because the U.S. fleet is stretched so thin, experts believe that North Korea will continue to show increasing aggressiveness towards allied ships the longer the deadly Iron Clad blockade goes on. This has been a Channel 4 Baltimore Evening News update, I’m Anita Chavez.”