Tempered Steel

Chapter 11

Gregory Sussman was a low level diplomat assigned to the American Embassy in Beijing. His forte was business negotiations, and he had been working with the Chinese government for several years. Most of the time he negotiated copyright laws — primarily in music and films. China had a plethora of places that copied and sold bootleg CDs and DVDs.

The latest round had to do with fashion design. The Chinese had very good fashion designers, but it was much easier to make copies of popular fashions and sell them on the open market. Unfortunately, China was so far reaching in landmass it was difficult to pinpoint where the manufacturers were located. The Chinese government was not particularly interested in hunting them down. It all brought money into their coffers.

The day had been somewhat frustrating with both sides going over particularly hard points and offering proposals and counter proposals. It was all done in a friendly and amicable way, of course. Never were heated words exchanged. At the end, both sides offered to continue the discussions the next week. The two top negotiators left the room for a media-related statement while the “underlings” cleared the tables.

Greg had just completed gathering the notes for the day when he noticed he and only one Chinese associate were in the room. The associate was eyeing him closely and walked over to where Greg was standing, offering a packet of paper.

“I believe this is something you should have in your notes,” he said with a broad smile.

Greg took the papers and looked at them, expecting they had been retrieved by mistake, but something was wrong. The papers were of an inferior grade to those the Americans used. In addition, he saw something that appeared to be colored with some drawings on it. He opened the packet and stared at what he saw. It was a small map of Korea with all the roads and five places marked along the DMZ. On another sheet was an explanation in perfect English outlining the location of five tunnels that had been constructed by the North. He looked questioningly up at the other man.

“It is hoped that this will demonstrate the close ties my nation has with your nation and its desire to end this conflict amicably,” the Chinese delegate said calmly.

“I am not used to receiving this kind of information,” Greg said. “I am not sure of what to do.”

“We understand, Mister Sussman. We know you are an honored negotiator with no ties with your intelligence gathering brethren. It was decided to pass this information along through less known channels to demonstrate the, shall we say, delicate nature of our relationships in the area. I offer myself as a conduit so that you may pass along additional information and requests from your government. However, please let your superiors know that once the current conflict ends, this cooperation will also be at an end,” he said pleasantly. “You see, I am a negotiator much as you are and this is a different task for me as well. Let us hope this will not mean a change in either of our careers.”

Greg nodded. It was clear this conduit was only a temporary one. “I shall pass this along. Will I see you at further negotiations?” he asked.

The man nodded. “I am a regular trade negotiator and will most likely be seeing you often enough,” he said. “We are often asked to perform special duties when the situation requires.”

“Then I thank you, sir, and hope to see you at our next meeting,” Greg said extending his hand. It was shaken warmly and the two men exited through different doors. Greg kept the packet in his briefcase until reaching the embassy where he contacted the station agent, as he was required to do with any contact between himself and other Chinese officials. Little did he know the chain of events he would unleash.

“Drop 100, fire for effect,” came the voice over the radio. In main battery plot the offset was dialed into the fire control computer and the barrels of all nine guns rose at once. The technician grabbed the triggers, squeezing them three times. On the third squeeze he also squeezed the main firing key. All nine 16-inch guns belched out their deadly cargo towards the spots designated on the beach.

“Shoot, over”

“Roger out.”

One minute later all nine rounds hit within a 100 yard radius of the target — an old school bus. Two rounds actually struck the bus itself, sending it shrieking into the air to come back to rest on the ground in a clutter of mangled steel.

“Cease fire, target destroyed, over.”

“Roger out.”

The exercises had taken all day, but in nearly every case, the Iowa’s guns proved their accuracy and the proficiency of her crew. They had, in that brief time, aced each gunfire exercise. In one case, a moving radio-controlled bus had simulated a moving ship. The Iowa’s guns flipped it high into the air on the fourth single round from a range of 11 miles. Captain Hammond had been very pleased. The older crewmen had fallen right back into the ship’s routine as if it were yesterday. The younger guys simply followed their lead. The captain was reading a copy of an older publication that the XO had reinstituted called “Battleship Standards” when a messenger came up from radio and handed over a message just received. Hammond read it carefully as the Weapons Officer debriefed the exercises.

“Ninety-eight percent on the last one Captain. I believe we are in all respects ready for anything they throw at us. I still wish we could go through some sort of refresher training, but I have a feeling this is all we’re going to get,” the Weapons Officer said.

Hammond handed over the message. “Looks like you are right on all counts Weps,” he said while reaching for the bitch box in front of him. He pressed the switch for engineering main control. “This is the Captain, is Cheng down there?”

“Chief Engineer here, Captain,” said Commander Kimberlain.

“Cheng, we are being ordered to rendezvous with a supply ship tomorrow morning. It will mean a high speed run tonight. No more than 25 knots. Are you ready for it?”

“Aye, sir. We will be able to make that without lighting off the additional boilers. Just let us have a little heads up to be ready.”

“Good. I’ll be working it out with the Gator and will let you know when,” the Captain said.

The Weapons Officer handed back the message. “No rest for the weary,” he said.

“I guess not,” the Captain said as he made his way to the Navigator’s station at the rear of the bridge. The Chief Quartermaster was there working on the plot. The Captain gave him the coordinates for the rendezvous. The Chief plotted the point and measured the distance.

“If we leave now, we can be at the rendezvous at first light. If they are there early, we can get a jump on it,” I would recommend 290 at 23 knots. If we go 25, we will arrive at about 0500,” the Chief said.

“Concur. Let’s plan on leaving station in about half an hour then.”

“Aye, sir,” said the Chief who picked up the telephone to call the Navigator.

The captain went back to his seat and hit the bitch box again. “Engineering, this is the Captain. We will be going to 25 knots in about 30 minutes.”

After receiving his reply the Captain called over the OOD. “We will need to come to 290 and increase speed to 25 knots at 1930. We will remain at that course and speed until dawn when we rendezvous with USNS Spica. Do you have the copy of my standing orders?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. I have read the standing orders. When can we expect your night orders, sir?”

“I will always try and get those out before the 8 o’clock reports. Let the others know. If you would, get Ops and XO up here,” he said going back to his seat.

The OOD made some hasty calls and both men appeared by the Captain’s side. “XO, I doubt any of this crew has had any practice on underway replenishments recently. Let’s get some briefings set up for about 2100. Ops, I want a message prepped for signal light to the Spica at first light telling her how many rounds and how much fuel. We are at radio silence until further notice.” After completing his instructions, the Captain grabbed the microphone for the 1MC.

“This is the captain speaking. It looks like we will be needed with the fleet even sooner than we realized. We are ordered to rendezvous with a replenishment ship at first light, then proceed from there to join a task force. This means tomorrow morning we will be doing an unrep. Since we haven’t done one of those recently, we will have a briefing at 2100 in the wardroom. I want all officers and chiefs there along with key first class. We have to make sure we do this right without getting someone killed in the process.”

“Tomorrow morning reveille will be at 0430. I need as many people rested and ready as we can. But more importantly we need to make sure all the equipment for this unrep is in working order. That will include bringing over ammunition to replace what we shot up today. It may come over by wire, by vertrep, or both. Just be ready.”

“Now I know we are being asked to jump right into operations without much training. You older crewmen will need to carry the ball and bring the others along. The main thing I want to do is make sure we do this all safely. If you see something wrong, stop everything and let’s fix it. I don’t care if this lasts all day, I don’t want to have anyone hurt. The supply ship will just have to be patient.”

“One more thing. We have been told to expect an admiral and his staff to come aboard tomorrow. Just remember to be good hosts and help if you can. They have their job to do and we have ours. If one of them gives any member of the crew problems, talk to your division officer and department head. We can take care of it on our end.”

“Guys, I must say that the gunnery you demonstrated today would be the envy of anyone I have ever known. Superb job and well done to all. You are all going to put new meaning to the word dreadnought. If we get any more word on our future, I’ll let you know,” he said completing his message. Looking around the bridge he could see the men exchanging smiles. They had accomplished a lot and had a great deal of pride in what they had been able to do. Hammond knew pride could make or break a ship.

The Captain sat back in his chair and sighed. He called down to the Marine sentry and had the mess specialist bring him some dinner. It was going to be a long night.

“Okay, what does this tell us?” the President asked. The note and the map had been flown directly from China to CIA headquarters and checked for levels of authenticity. But there was really no doubting the information that had been provided. The US had known of only one tunnel through the Zone, provided by Master Sergeant Hufham. The indication for the number two tunnel was exactly where Hufham had said it was. Of more important information, this was one of the smallest tunnels there. This was important. They had to find a way to plug those things for good.

“We consider this information accurate, Mister President,” said Ben Watson, the National Security Advisor. “It matches what we know and adds a lot more detail. Notice the differentiation between the tunnels in size and capacity. This one can handle aircraft going through it and is wide enough for four lanes. It’s no wonder they have been able to get equipment and supplies through so rapidly.”

“That’s true,” said the DDI, “and it presents a difficult problem. How can we close it? It’s designed to be a nuclear shelter. We can drop bombs, but they wouldn’t even dent it.”

“And I am not going to drop a nuke on that mountain. That would be just want they want me to do,” said the President.

The National Security Advisor thought for a moment. “It carries trucks doesn’t it?”

“Yes, so?”

“Then I wonder if we could get something inside?” asked General Black.

“That many explosives would be a dead giveaway,” said the DDI.

“Yes, but a small device, maybe about four kilotons, might go unnoticed. A pipe or box falling off a truck on the side of the road. And remember, the North used weapons of mass destruction against us. There might be a way,” said Black.

The President listened intently. “What would be the collateral damage?”

“I don’t know sir, but it might be worth checking out.”

“Okay, but no more than finding some answers for now. I do not want to do anything that will upset our allies or the UN. The alternative is to bomb it every day to keep it unusable. Ben, do this personally. I want all the answers before I even consider such a thing.

“Yes, Mister President.”

“Now on to something else, what about how it was sent to us? This business of going through a lesser official and keeping things so quiet; if they really wanted to help, why not start feeding things through to us directly? Are they for us or against us?” the President wondered out loud.

“It’s more complicated than that,” said the Deputy Director of Intelligence. “You see, if the party over there openly forsakes another communist nation, they lose face and a major pile of credibility. But they are also in a bind economically. In other words, they need our money. By coming to us this way, they can openly support their allies while assuring the United States they are really on our side. It’s a game they play very well,” the DDI said. “Also, by using a very low level official, it gives them some deniability. They can actually accuse the man of being a spy and have it stick. At the same time, they can simply change the messenger and continue operations. It is a well thought out system.

The President nodded. “Okay, I can accept that. Now how will it affect our operations?”

General Black spoke up. “This could actually give us a boost. Now that we know where everything is going through, we can target the roads they use. If we can get some of the remaining operational smart weapons over there, and decide what to do about the big one, we could close the operations for good. The Chinese might even be willing to help. The DMZ is still heavily mined. From the few overflights the Japanese have been able to do for us, we have seen no vehicles coming across that way. So if we can shut these before we begin our big campaign, it should seriously degrade their capabilities,” he said. “But in another area, this meeting could be made into a distinct advantage. All we need to do is send a little message,” he said. After another thirty minutes of talking, the plans were set.

General Claire Richardson ended her briefing and walked up to her stateroom aboard the M/V Morning Chorus. It was late and she had not slept much the last few nights. Finally just a few days ago the last of the vehicles and troops had been brought aboard the vessels and they got underway. The Navy was miffed that she hadn’t chosen one of the LPDs or other naval vessels to be her headquarters, but Richardson couldn’t have cared less. In all, the Navy was supplying only a third of the transport needed to get her people to the beach, so she could pick and choose as she wished. After all, the new Deputy Commander of 1st Marine Division should be able to pick and choose. Her position as Deputy Commander was one she had requested. It was a reward for all she had done in planning these landings. But what meant more was that the deputy went in with the ground forces on the initial landings. She would lead troops in battle — and that had been her dream for a long time.

To make the Morning Chorus more usable, the Marines brought in a portable command center with a communications trailer. Even now it was intercepting messages and keeping the staff up to date on what was going on. The radios would actually be used only once the soldiers were on the beach. Radio silence was the key to everything. Knowing the ship was limited in their cooking capabilities, the Marines even brought in their own mess gear and supplies. Right now the ship was home to the 1st Marine Division; one of the oldest and most distinguished commands in the world. Along with them were a division of tanks, a variety of support equipment, tanker trucks with fuel, loaded supply trucks and tons of equipment staged in the twelve huge open decks on the ship. Normally the ship could carry over 6,000 automobiles, but this load was a little heavier and more volatile. Almost 10,000 Marines were also aboard. She had been amazed at the ability to set up rows upon rows of bunked cots — enough to sleep half that number. The men rotated 12 on and 12 off. The rest of the time there was plenty of space on the open decks and on a separate deck set up just for recreation.

Sixteen of the big automobile carriers were in the group, carrying the war to Korea. In addition to the 1st Marines, the units included the 2nd Marine Division and the Army’s 1st and 3rd Infantry Divisions and 1st Cavalry Division. The ships also carried all the artillery and helicopters for the assault and enough fuel and ammunition to last three weeks. It had been a monumental task getting it all together, but with a President behind you, things could move fairly rapidly.

The plan itself turned out to be a simple one. It didn’t need Marines landing on a beach or anything else that might mean many lives lost. What it did count on was a little surprise and a great deal of support when the time came. Both of those aspects were set in place. All they needed to do was show up at the right time.

Richardson paused at the entrance to her cabin and decided to walk out on the main deck and get some air. She walked down the darkened passageway and came to a large steel door. A curtain was in front of it and she switched off the lights before going out except for some small red ones that gave just enough light to see in the passage without providing a beacon for some enemy submarine. She opened the door and stepped out into the darkness. Clouds were out and only a faint glow of the moon shown through. People were standing around, but you couldn’t see who was there, their rank or their features. Slowly she made her way to the railings she knew to be at the side of the ship on this level. Her hands touched the rails and she leaned on them and took in the salty sea air.

After a minute or so someone stumbled into her. “Sorry. It’s a little dark out here,” said a young male voice.

“Yeah, but it’s nice. Pull up a piece of rail,” Richardson said.

“Thanks. I couldn’t sleep, so I came up for a few to get a few breaths of air. Even though they have blowers down below it can get pretty thick. You been to sea before?” he asked.

“A couple of times,” she said. It was very pleasant talking to someone who just treated you like a shipmate instead of a demigod. “I’m like you, would rather be up here. If there weren’t any clouds you would see so many stars it’s hard to believe. It’s really different from being on land.”

“I was raised out in the cornfields of Nebraska. I know what you mean about the stars. I used to go out in the field after we’d taken the crop in and just lay out looking up at them all. You go camping much?” he asked.

“Never had much chance,” she said. “But I enjoy it.”

He had a laugh at that. “I guess being a Marine we have to like it a little,” he said.

They stood silently for a while listening to the swish of the water alongside the ship. Richardson broke the silence. “Where are you in all this,” she asked.

“They put me in charge of a of rifle company in Second Bat, A Company,” he said. “My guys are all trained up and raring to go. With all the training we’ve been going through it’s nice to finally be on the way.”

“Yeah it is,” she said. “I’m on one of the staffs. I thought we’d never get this show on the road sometimes. Your guys anxious?”

He chuckled. “Screaming to get there and kick a little ass. Most of them ticked off because they lost a car or their music. What about you?”

“Yes, I’m ready to go. They actually had me working on the Memphis cleanup at first. I saw first hand what they did. It was pretty bad.”

“I bet. Can’t imagine what it would be like to live through such a thing. I was lucky enough to be down at Quantico when it started. I was so green I didn’t have a clue what had happened until my Gunny told me. When it dawned on me, I was pretty pissed. But it looks like we’re going to get some payback,” he said.

They talked for nearly half an hour about simple things, good times and bad. Richardson was able to relax talking to the young man about things that didn’t matter. The night was warm but the wind was refreshing. The ships had been passing through a small front. In the distance, she watched as the line of clouds ended. In the middle of one conversation about school the moon suddenly broke through the clouds illuminating the ship and revealing the young man standing next to her. He was a handsome man, fit and trim as the others onboard, dressed in his camouflage uniform and sporting the high and tight haircut typical of Marines. He was leaned against the railing staring out to sea as he spoke.

As he finished what he was saying he glanced over and saw the stars on Richardson’s collar. He suddenly straightened to attention. “Excuse me, Ma’am. I didn’t know who you were,” he said.

Richardson was almost saddened that the simple conversation was now over. She waved him down. “Stand at ease, Lieutenant. Generals like talking, too,” she said glancing at her watch. “But it’s getting late and I need to hit the sack.” She looked at the name on his uniform. “Lieutenant Dickson, I enjoyed talking with you this evening. It’s nice to relax a little after a hard day. I hope we can continue this conversation again sometime,” she said extending her hand. They shook briefly. She could tell by the look on his face he was still in some shock. “And always remember, we’re all Marines. We have to talk to each other, whatever rank. It’s what makes us what we are,” she said.

Dickson smiled. “Thank you, Ma’am. I just never spoke to a general before.” She could almost sense him blushing.

“Well, I don’t have my ogre hat on,” she quipped. They both gave a short laugh. “Good night and thanks again,” she said as she turned to reenter the ship. Just as she opened the door and stepped inside she glanced at Dickson once again. He was still watching her. His face still held that smile and he waved at her like a friend might do as they passed. Nice guy, she thought as she closed the door behind her. As she made her way back to her stateroom she wondered if most of the young lieutenants were like Dickson. Her thoughts strayed to wondering how many might be around after all this. But she shook the thought out of her mind quickly. It didn’t pay to dwell on those kinds of things. It was much better to remember that she had met a really nice good looking Marine from Nebraska who was happy about being where he was. As she went to sleep later, she was more relaxed than she had been in a month.

Captain Hammond was not having a very restful night. Although the ship was burning its normal running lights, it was not operating its radars. As a result, more lookouts were posted to make sure the ship was aware of all things that they might run into or might run into them. As the early morning hours went on, more and more sets of running lights were being reported. Finally, the OOD called to say that it appeared one set of lights was bearing down on them. Hammond quickly dressed and walked out of his sea cabin to the bridge. The moon was bright and through some binoculars he could see one of the shadows was definitely headed their way. Since they were nowhere near a war zone and he was half expecting other Navy ships to be around, general quarters was not sounded. Instead he moved between several sets of lights to see if he could make out what kind of ships they were. Most were too far to really make out, but the one approaching had the masts and radars to be some kind of naval vessel. It was headed toward them from almost dead ahead, so he could see both the port and starboard running lights along with the mast head and range lights.

After studying the form a few minutes, he could tell it was not one of the kinds of ships he was used to seeing. There appeared to be guns forward, but the shadows might be playing tricks. Hammond was starting to become a little concerned when a red flashing light began blinking on one side of the shadow coming towards him. He heard feet running above and the shutters from one of the signal lights begin slapping away returning the call. He knew he should be patient. Signal light messages tended to take longer since they were sending and receiving in Morse code. After about three minutes a signalman came down the ladder with the paper in his hand.

“Officer of the deck, I have a message,” he said excitedly.

The OOD took the message and held his flashlight over it. The beam was tented red for use at night. After a moment, the OOD made his report.

“Captain, the message is from USS Rooks. They are an escort vessel and request to form up on our starboard side to escort us to our rendezvous,” the OOD said handing the sheet over.

The Captain scanned the message. He had never heard of a “Rooks” in the fleet, but with all that was going on, he wasn’t that surprised. Sure enough they would be an escort. “Permission granted. Request they come no closer than 1,000 yards,” he said.

The OOD gave the instructions and soon the shutters of the signal light were clattering again. The message was acknowledged and the outline of the ship changed slightly. Hammond was no longer able to see the port running light and the mast head light shifted a little more to the right relative to the range light. The Rooks was much closer now and more detail of the ship could be seen.

The OOD was watching the captain out of the corner of his eye when he saw him straighten up in some sort of recognition. “Well I’ll be damned,” he heard the Captain say. Then the Captain sat back in his chair and lowered the binoculars. He had a smile on his face. “Is there a problem, Captain?” he asked.

Hammond shook his head. “No problem. It just seems somebody is looking after us. Take a look at our escort. You ever see a ship like that before?” he asked

The OOD looked at the oncoming ship again. It was turned so that you could see more of a sideways look at the ship instead of from just ahead. Two guns appeared to be forward, a tripod mast with radar and other gear on it and what looked like two stacks amidships. The after end of the ship appeared as a lump. Nothing was familiar about it. “No, Captain, I can’t say I’ve seen one like that,” he said.

Hammond was amused at the confusion he could just make out on the OOD’s face. He couldn’t blame him. That ship was older than his father. “The Rooks was probably built in 1943. At the time, she probably had the most up-to-date equipment in any fleet. As a matter of fact, her design led the way in Navy destroyers for decades. That, sir, is a Fletcher class destroyer. She’s one of our generation,” he said referring to the Iowa’s age.

They both watched as the old destroyer silently made her way down the starboard side of the ship and then suddenly turned 180 degrees, ending exactly on the Iowa’s starboard beam at 1,000 yard’s distance. The young OOD had never seen such a cool maneuver and Hammond simply stared in admiration. He then wrote something furiously on a piece of paper and called down the signalman. The young seaman took the message up to the signal bridge and handed it to the petty officer in charge. The petty officer read it and grinned. He took the signal light, swung it around, and began sending the message: CO TO CO. GOOD TO SEE THE NAVY STILL HAS STYLE. HAMMOND.

In a minute, a reply was sent back: CO TO CO. ALWAYS WANTED TO FETCH A BIG STICK. DANDRIDGE. The petty officer grinned. This is all right, he thought. He took the message down personally.

The Captain almost howled. He rose from his chair and walked out to the bridge wing looking over at the Rooks. He saw a lone figure step out of the Rooks’ pilot house. Hammond raised his hand and waved. The other figure did the same. It was a simple moment, the connection between two professional men of the sea. Unfortunately such things were too often ignored, so when it did happen, it was to be prized. The two men shared the moment though 1,000 yards of water was between them.

Hammond came back in and sat back in his seat. “God, this is what the real Navy is all about,” he said. He sat back in his chair and let sleep fall over him a little longer. It seemed like just a moment before he felt a tug on his arm and he drifted out of his sleep. A new OOD was standing before him. The early morning light was bright enough to read without a light. “Sir, we are coming into the rendezvous area and have multiple contacts out here. I have been able to make some of them out. You need to see this, sir,” he said nervously.

Hammond sat up and looked around. The Rooks was still glued to her position on their starboard beam. Everything appeared normal, but as he stared out the bridge windows he could see dark spots on the horizon. Hammond grabbed his binoculars and scanned the area. True enough. This was something he needed to see. The spots were far away, but different from what he expected. He could see the tall towers on at least five very large ships and just make out smaller ships around them. The ships were spread out and covered almost thirty degrees off either side of his bow. A report from a lookout sighted another ship on their port side, just coming out of the morning haze. There was no mistaking this one. Even at the 10 miles separating the ships you could make out the silhouette of a battleship. They could make out the three gun turrets on her decks and the tall tower for her fire control directors, but she was different from the Iowa class. There was only one stack joined to the forward tower. It was as if someone had squeezed the ship shorter and everything had bunched up in the middle. The bow wave was considerable as she muscled through the water towards the rendezvous. After a quick exchange of light signals, she identified herself as USS Alabama.

The Iowa stirred with excitement now as sailors came on deck and saw the other ships. Most had never seen a destroyer like the Rooks. Within the hour the men could also clearly see the Alabama making her way to join the others. The replenishment ship Spica was identified and after some signals altered her course to join up with the Iowa and Alabama, who would be unreping from the Spica’s port side.

Breakfast was a hurried affair and people were already at their various unrep stations readying equipment. Hammond grabbed a bite to eat sitting on the bridge. Things were happening too quickly now for him to go to his cabin. As she made her way toward the Iowa, Spica sent a message to prepare to receive the admiral and his staff.

Flight quarters was sounded and the crew donned their flight quarters gear. The repair locker team set up and the deck crew had everyone in place to land the helicopter. The ship cleared off the large helicopter landing area on the fantail and signaled readiness. In a few moments a CH-46 lifted off from the Spica’s stern and made its way towards Iowa. It paused just after takeoff to hook up to two large cargo nets full of materials. The big twin rotor helicopter with its cargo circled the ship once before drifting aft and coming in slowly. The controller began directing the helicopter in towards a spot for unloading the cargo. The helicopter swung across the stern and deftly placed the nets in a clear area on the port side before easing over to the landing pad on the stern. The petty officer used hand signals to direct the helo so that it had a clear landing area. The helo eased down until the wheels came to rest gently on the deck.

The engines of the helo remained at idle but the rotors slowed to a stop. An older man in a khaki uniform bounded out of the doorway followed by about ten other officers. The older officer made a beeline to the Captain. Vice Admiral Rich Thacke grabbed Hammond’s hand and shook it warmly.

“Damn it, Captain, you have no idea how glad I am to see you!” he said over the din of the helo’s engines.

“I had no idea it was you coming aboard, sir,” Hammond said smiling broadly. He made some introductions of his officers.

Thacke made the rounds then took Hammond by the arm, “Let’s get the hell someplace quiet so we can talk a little before the unrep,” he said loudly in Hammond’s ear. Then calling out to the others, “Finch, you and the ship’s supply officer get things on track. Let me know the status after the unrep,” he barked. By now the rotors of the helo were turning again and it lifted off for a second load of staff members. The ship’s XO remained behind to oversee the vertrep while Hammond and Thacke walked up the starboard side and up the ladders to the Captain’s stateroom. They both entered on the starboard side and the Captain sat down with Thacke in one of the lounge chairs. Hammond placed a call to the bridge to notify him when the ship made its way toward the Spica. Once done, he turned back to Admiral Thacke.

“I had no idea you left the Navy Yard,” Hammond said.

“Roger, you have some powerful friends. I got the word the same day you were sent to take command and have been in briefings ever since. Then they put my ass on that USNS and I have been going crazy just to get off of it,” he said almost in a growl.

Hammond chuckled. “I bet. I don’t think I could stand being a passenger either.”

“Well, it’s over with now and I am glad to be here. You have any idea what’s happening?”

“Not really. I got to Vallejo and have been either in training or onloading ever since. There are still parts of this ship I haven’t seen, but that should be done within a week.”

“What do you think of your crew?” Thacke asked, his eyes focusing in on the answer.

“I was a little worried at first. Half the ship’s crew are old — some older than I am — but from the minute I stepped aboard they proved to me they know their stuff. In just these few days I have seen these older guys teaching the younger ones things I’ve rarely seen in my career. They aced out the training exercises and the gunnery was something out of a dream. Right now I wouldn’t trade ‘em, Admiral. So just stand by and watch.”

Thacke sat back and grinned. “That’s the best thing I could have heard. Some of the other battlewagons are experiencing some teething problems, and they didn’t do as well in the gunnery training. I got a message with all the scores from the guys in California. You and your guys were at the top. So when they asked which ship I would ride, I picked yours. You have a habit of getting good ideas and getting the job done. So between you and your crew we’re going places.”

Thacke leaned forward in his seat and looked at Hammond. “I am in charge of Battleship Division One. We are all joining up off Hawaii and heading to Korea. I figure you know some of the things we were trying to set up.”

Hammond nodded. “Some. I was getting a lot of the Navy and Marine Corps options set up. I know they put General Richardson in charge of the planning and then put her in First Marine. I also know they were getting everyone ready to shove off, but I don’t know the final plan or much on the details.”

“Well, we’re on the way now. Claire Richardson came up with some brilliant ideas of how to do this. She’s a sneaky gal. I like it. We are heading up to provide gunfire support and in general scare the shit out of the North Koreans. Our force is made up of seven battleships, two cruisers and a pot full of destroyers. We’re going to divide up to provide support in three separate landings and then patrol the shoreline providing gunfire support and denying the North access to everything between the beach and 20 miles. We’ll need to make our plans between here and Korea. In the mean time, I’m going to have the staff run a kind of mini refresher training. Lots of Zulu 13s and damage control drills. We’ll also do some formation maneuvers. The main thing is to make sure we can handle whatever is thrown at us,” Thacke said.

The telephone rang interrupting the conversation. Hammond answered, listened for a moment, and then hung up. “We’re making our approach. I need to head up to the bridge,” he said.

Thacke smiled. “No problem. I just wanted to kind of fill you in. We’re going to be working really closely for the next few months. I don’t want anything to stand between us,” he said as he stood. “You run your ship. Maybe we have dinner together tonight and talk a little more.”

“My pleasure, Admiral. I assume you will be taking this cabin,” Hammond said. Usually the Admiral took the best cabin on the ship.

Thacke shook his head. “I never liked that practice. I understand there is another VIP cabin, I’ll take that one and you keep yours.”

Hammond smiled at him. “Always knew I’d like working with you,” he chuckled. “Your stateroom is right next door then. We’ll share the galley.”

“Good enough. Now get up to the bridge, Captain,” Thacke said.

Hammond bid his goodbyes and hurried up the ladders to the bridge. A quick glance showed that all the people were in place. The Iowa was holding astern and to the port side of the Spica waiting for the signal to proceed. The bridge was quiet and orderly. Commander Davis, the XO, was on the starboard bridge wing along with Ensign Martinez, one of the junior officers. Hammond joined them just as the Romeo flag was hoisted to the top of the Spica’s halyard signaling the Iowa to make her approach.

Under the watchful eye of the XO and Hammond, Martinez issued the orders to bring the Iowa alongside the Spica. Hammond was impressed at the skill level Davis displayed as he explained the helpful rules in the maneuvers. He even gave the warnings of the suction effect of the other ship when making an approach. As a result, Hammond had merely to sit back and watch as the Iowa slid flawlessly into place alongside the Spica at a distance of only 150 feet and stayed there.

“USS Iowa, prepare to receive shot line fore and aft!” came an announcement from the loudspeakers on the Spica. Within seconds, three loud bangs were heard as weighted lines were shot across the 150-foot void between the ships. Immediately Iowa crewmen grabbed the shot lines and passed the ends through a pulley attached to the bulkhead and along to a line of men who began pulling it across.

Forward, the men pulled across a telephone and distance line that held a sound-powered telephone line and a small line with flags marking every 20 feet to help the ship’s conning officer maintain the distance between the ships. A second line came across for a high tension line to transfer cargo. Back aft, the end of the shot line was attached to a messenger line and finally a steel span wire. Once the span wire with its attachment shackle came across, it was attached to a pelican hook over a probe receiver for the fueling hose.

Once the wires were attached at both places, winches took tension on the lines and everything was pulled taught. Using the messenger lines, the men of the Iowa then pulled across the fueling probe and the standard underway replenishment fixture or SURF. Using brute strength, the Iowa crewmen pulled the probe across the span wire until it slammed into the fueling probe receiver on the ship and seated itself. When all was ready, thousands of gallons of DFM, or diesel fuel, marine, came pouring through the hoses and probe into the bunkers of the Iowa. At the same time, a trolley began shuttling back and forth along the highline between the ships carrying 5-inch and 16-inch ammunition to replenish what was expended in training. Once the transfers began, the helo also began shuttling back and forth between the ships carrying cargo nets full of food, equipment and materials and depositing them on the Iowa’s fantail. Using hand operated fork trucks sent over with the first loads, work crews immediately began moving the pallets of materials out of the way and then down the hatches into the ship. Ammunition was trucked to the loading hatches for the three turrets where the powder cans and projectiles were lowered into the magazines. The last of the projectiles and powder were lowered into the turret three magazines. The 5-inch ammunition was carried one at a time from the pallets to each 5-inch magazine by a separate working party.

In all, the Iowa took on 56 rounds of 16-inch ammunition, 340 rounds of 5-inch and 20 tons of food and other supplies. They also took on 380,000 gallons of fuel. The whole evolution took more than four hours. By the end of that time everyone was exhausted. Talking to the CO of the Spica through the sound-powered telephone, Hammond decided not to practice an emergency breakaway but take their time and do the evolution at a slightly slower pace so the new guys could learn. As the last of the pallets was being sent across, Hammond heard some disturbances behind the bridge. Looking aft, he saw several crewmen setting up the last of some musical instruments in a wide walkway. He turned to the XO. “I didn’t know we had a band,” he said with a smile.

The XO got a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry about that, Captain, these guys got together while we were rebuilding. I told them to be ready for all our unreps and special events.”

“No problem. This is one area I don’t mind surprises. I hope they’re good.”

“Not bad at all, Captain,” he said as he turned back to the evolution.

Over the next few minutes the fueling hose and other gear were released in the reverse order they had been sent over. The last sent back was the tension wire and messengers for cargo. As the tension line was unhooked, the band immediately began to play. It was a mix of older and younger crewmen playing music that was very familiar to Hammond. It took only a few seconds to recognize the old Doobie Brothers song “Rockin’ Down the Highway.” The XO was right. The guys were very good. As the Iowa sped up and began passing the Spica, Hammond looked back at the faces of the band members. They were actually having a lot of fun playing the music. Better yet, the guys still at their unrep stations were clapping and singing along. The tradition of playing music during a breakaway had been going on for many years, though it was usually some kind of recorded music being played over the ship’s public address system. To have a real band out there playing was a novelty. Even the crew of the Spica seemed to enjoy the show.

USS Iowa made her way to a new station to wait for other ships to replenish. The watch was set and the ship returned to a more routine operation. USS Alabama had taken Iowa’s place alongside Spica. That was when Hammond had the chance to look at all the ships in the force. While replenishing, several more ships had come into view. Several modern frigates and two Ticonderoga Class cruisers had been in the force along with five Charles F. Adams class Guided Missile Destroyers. Hammond remembered the old workhorses of the fleet. The Adams Class DDGs had a reputation of doing more than their share and were still able to get the job done. Although the electronics were older, they were very reliable and the missile magazines could carry up to forty Standard SM-1s.

The ships that really got his attention were stationed five miles on Iowa’s port side. The first was USS Salem, an 8-inch gun cruiser. Just forward was USS Little Rock, a 6-inch gun cruiser modified in the late 1950s to carry missiles. Although her 6-inch guns were active forward, back aft there was a lot of hustle around what looked like a fist with two arms. Hammond watched as two doors opened up on the aft bulkhead and two huge missiles slid onto the arms of the missile launcher. Talos missiles had been way before his time, but they were impressive nonetheless. They looked like telephone poles and he had heard that they could reach out over 100 miles to hit an incoming aircraft. The things had to be about 30 feet long. Fins along the side of the things were for stabilization. Hammond hoped he would never have to be anywhere near the receiving end of those things.

Scattered around the ships were destroyers — lots of them. These were not modern vessels that carried missiles and other high tech gear. These too were from out of history. Hammond wondered where they had come from. None of them were from any time after 1960. There were Fletchers, Gearings, Sumners, and a few Forrest Shermans. The one thing they had in common, all carried 5-inch guns as their main armament.

Checking astern, the outlines of other massive ships were in view now. The closest had a turret arrangement similar to Iowa. But there the familiarity ended. Her bow was blunt and she seemed to muscle her way through the seas instead of slicing through them. She had two stacks but they were narrow and placed farther aft. Hammond could also see where her armor plating ended above the waterline just below the main deck. Like all the other ships, she was painted haze grey and, as she rolled back and forth, he could see the teak decking running from forward of turret one back to the fantail. Men were engaged in a variety of duties around the deck, from swabbing to gun maintenance. At one point a puff of dark smoke came out of the forward stack, but that quickly disappeared as the engineers adjusted the fuel/air mixture in one of her boilers. The seas were relatively calm but occasionally a thin spray of water could be seen lifting into the air at the bow and wetting the forward decks.

Hammond turned to the OOD. “What battleships are in formation with us? He asked.

The OOD picked up a piece of paper and walked to the bridge wing with the Captain. “Alabama is with the Spica, and we have the Massachusetts on our port quarter at 30,000 yards. The closest is the North Carolina,” he said pointing to the ship Hammond had been looking at. “The New Jersey and the Wisconsin are out of sight and coming up behind us. I understand from the Operations Officer they won’t be in sight until late this afternoon,” he said.

They were interrupted by the Junior Officer of the Deck (JOOD). “Sir, we are in the center of our assigned sector. Recommend we come to base course and speed.”

“Make it so,” the OOD said. Then he turned to the Captain as the young man left, “Sir, I’m coming to the base course of 310 and slowing to 12 knots. That should keep us in our sector. Do you want us to actively patrol the sector or just remain within it?” he asked.

Hammond nodded. “You were brought up in destroyers. This is what they call a heavy. We don’t patrol, we maintain. It’s up to the others to patrol around us. So just keep in the sector for now,” he said.

“Aye, sir,” came the reply as the OOD went back into the pilot house. As he left, the Supply Officer came onto the bridge wing.

“Is everybody settled into their quarters, Suppo?” Hammond asked.

“At least so far, Captain. I decided to put all the enlisted staffers in one of the empty berthing compartments back aft. I have the Chief getting them tucked in. The Chief of Staff was hoping for a larger stateroom, but that’s the only big one we have. He can’t complain much. At least it has a head,” he said with a chuckle. “The rest of the officers are in staterooms on the O-1 level aft. Right now they are putting their personal things away. I have my guys putting the other items in the work spaces on the O-2 level. I understand the Admiral will take formal command tomorrow after everyone finishes unreping.”

“How did the Admiral like his cabin?”

The Supply Officer smiled. “I was surprised he didn’t take yours, but he seems to like his new home. I got him set up and got a mess cook set up to work with your cook in preparing the meals. The staff didn’t bring any food, so we will have to pull from ship’s stores. That’s not any problem. The Disbursing Officer is working with their supply type to get things squared away. By the way, the Admiral asked us to prepare a meal for himself, the Chief of Staff, and you this evening. I didn’t know if you were aware.”

“He’d mentioned it. Can you let my guy know to help out for a while till they get organized?”

“Sure thing, Captain. I’d already done that anyway. I also asked him to make you a sandwich for lunch since you hadn’t eaten. You want it in your cabin or on the bridge?”

“I think I’ll go to my cabin. How about asking the XO to join me? If he hasn’t eaten, the cook can make another sandwich.”

“Glad to, Captain. I’ll let the cook know. He should be ready shortly.”

“Good. I’ll check out a couple of things and then come down. Thanks, Emmett, for getting the staffers set up,” Hammond said.

“My pleasure, Captain,” the Suppo said as he headed back down the ladder.

Hammond walked over to the navigation table and took a look at the chart. The Iowa’s course was laid out and marked as it should be. Then he walked to the front of the pilot house and looked at the maneuvering board the OOD was using. Iowa was squarely in the center of the sector assigned. The rest of the sectors were mapped out and the positions of the ships inside them. The OOD and the JOOD were on the bridge wing using a stadimeter to get a range on the guide ship. Glancing into the control tower, the helm and lee helm were standing alertly keeping the ship on course and at speed.

Hammond turned to the OOD, now coming back into the pilot house. “I’m going for a bite in my cabin,” he said.

“Aye, sir,” came the reply.

Hammond left the bridge and went down two levels to his cabin. The Marine sentry followed him from the bridge and positioned himself at the door when the Captain entered. Two places were set at the long table and the cook was placing a plate with what looked like a roast beef sandwich and some potato salad on each place. A small tray on the table held mustard, relish, and other condiments. “Afternoon, Captain,” the cook said with a grin. “I hope roast beef is okay. I was able to get some meats we can use for sandwiches with this load, so I can fix something quick when we need to.”

“Good idea, Clark. You’re going to make me fat if you keep this up.”

“That’s my job, Captain,” he said as he reached through a small opening in the bulkhead and grabbed two iced teas.

There was a knock at the door and the sentry opened it for the XO to come in. He had a couple of smudges on his khaki uniform where he came in contact with something. “Thanks for the invite, Captain. I thought I was going to have to wait for dinner for something to eat.”

Hammond ushered the XO to his seat and they both sat down. “You and the crew are doing a bang up job, Brian. I just wanted to tell you that. I really appreciate you keeping me up on everything. It feels like the officers and crew have been aboard for years instead of months. Where the hell did they all come from?” he asked.

“You know it’s a mystery to me too,” the XO said. “From what I understand, when the city decided to put the ship back in service they contacted the Iowa Veteran’s Association. Within a week there were over fifty guys up here helping out. Within a month there were 300. Most of them are from when the ship was in commission in the 80s. When I got here, they had pulled out that Battleship Standards book and people were quoting it chapter and verse. It was a kind of guide they used. It was good for me. I was the rookie and they had all the experience. A few of them took me by the hand and we got things going. These guys seemed to know where everything was and how it worked. I suggested they form a sort of school for the new guys to get them oriented. They set it up. Now when a new guy comes in, he spends at least a week with one of the older guys to learn the ship and all the procedures,” he said.

“That explains some of it,” Hammond said. “But I also like the way you are training the JOs. That unrep was almost perfect.”

“Martinez is a good one. He pays attention and seems to have the feel of the ship. I took the JOs out on an old torpedo retriever at the shipyard one day to do a little training and see what these guys had. Martinez was one of the better ones. But I want to put all the guys through these evolutions before we get over there if I can,” the XO said.

Hammond could tell he was serious when it came to training and anything else that had to do with the ship’s operations. Davis seemed to have a lot of drive and focus with an easygoing way about him that seemed to beg respect. Hammond decided he needed to send the detailers a gift for sending Davis to the ship. “You were CO on the Nicholson weren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Two years, then some staff duty. I actually missed her until I came aboard this ship.”

Hammond smiled through the bit of his sandwich. “Yeah, she has her way doesn’t she?”

“It was like I could feel it when I stepped aboard. Some of the older guys bring it home, especially Boats. He was the one that brought you to the ship.”

“From what I see, he’s a real character.”

“You should hear him when somebody screws up. He has a mouth that would embarrass a hooker. Between him, the Navigator, and a couple of the Chiefs, they could peel the paint off half the ship,” the XO laughed. “And since tomorrow is Sunday, he has already made plans.”

“What kind of plans?” the Captain asked warily.

“I asked the same question, but the First Lieutenant says it’s needed and he’s already set up the working parties. I’m planning on taking pictures,” he said. “It won’t happen until after lunch tomorrow and then will take about three hours. It needs to be done to clean the decks. The band will be playing for this one, too,” the XO said cryptically.

“Okay, come on, give me the skinny,” Hammond said with a grin. The XO’s humor was infectious.

“Time honored tradition, Captain. It involves holystones,” he said.

At first Hammond wasn’t sure what he meant, and then he remembered his history and the smile spread on his face. “You’re right Brian. A time honored tradition. I’m looking forward to it myself.”

“Three — two — one…” the countdown ended as a gout of flame erupted from the end of the venerable Titan III rocket as it lifted gently from its launch pad and began to move swiftly down range. The technicians at the Cape watched anxiously to make sure everything went perfectly and the precious cargo was carried as planned. As planned, the first stage separated and the second continued to shove its payload faster and higher to achieving orbit. Then a much smaller third stage ignited sending the satellite even further above the Earth until it was a few thousand miles up in a stationary orbit.

On cue, photovoltaic panels unfolded to their full length and the large communications satellite realigned itself so that its receivers were aligned with the Western Pacific and its transmitters pointed both toward the Pacific and to another satellite that had been launched earlier in the morning. In the Pentagon, a signal was received indicating the circuit was now complete. Smiles broke out around the communications center and a few of the technicians shook hands.

General Ryan Bradley grinned at the people in the room. “OK, gents, we now have secure comms with the Pacific. I want them quiet until D-Day, then burn up the sky,” he said. Bradley picked up a telephone and dialed a number. “Mister President, this is General Bradley. The birds are up and waiting, sir,” he said.

“What other materials may we assist you with, Comrade?” asked the People’s Republic’s Ambassador to North Korea.

“We believe that is all we currently need, Comrade Ambassador. My government wishes to express its deepest appreciation for everything you have been able to help us with over the past few months. We anticipate a total victory in a short period of time, unifying our divided nation and adding another star to our Communist brotherhood,” said Huo Tiem, a high ranking official with the Secretariat.

“The People’s Republic stands ready to help any aligned nation. As our neighbors, you are always welcome. I believe my assistant also has some business after we have concluded, so I shall return to our embassy,” the ambassador said as he stood. The men shook hands and the primary parties left the room. Only counterparts remained.

After the doors were closed, two men faced each other across the table. “My government wishes to share with you some information it has received regarding the Americans and your soon to be countrymen,” said So Yuan, an intelligence officer from the People’s Republic. He handed over a folder with some papers inside.

“In addition to our regular intelligence assessment, we have received some interesting information. It appears that a number of ships from the Hyundai Corporation have become disenfranchised with the Americans. They have been sneaking their ships out of American waters and have begun making their way back to their homeports on the peninsula. One of our contacts found out and sent us this information. The ships do not have operating radio equipment and from what we understand they are loaded with their automobiles. My superiors believe they should arrive back in their homeports by the end of the month.”

“And why should we be interested in these ships?” asked the Korean intelligence officer.

“My government believes this is a significant political event. These crews have decided that the American political system is incompatible with their needs and have embraced your political system. This can act as a political endorsement of your government. More than that, these people can be used as heroic examples of the new government of Korea — a political system in which people actively wish to participate. My superiors are providing this information so that your government can use it to the maximum effect,” he said.

“Has this information been verified?”

Yuan smiled. “Unfortunately your government’s methods have left our intelligence gathering services without a means for such verification. However, the information has come to us. If the ships arrive, the information should prove helpful. If not, no harm should be done,” he said.

The Korean glanced through the papers. “I will present these to my superiors,” he said.

“We are happy to assist our comrades in Korea.”