Tempered Steel

Chapter 5

From the top of a hill Master Sergeant Paul Hufham surveyed the remains of the motorpool yard with Private Ricks. The sun was just peeking over the horizon and the scene it illuminated was not a good one. As expected, the North Koreans had already been there. There was evidence of grenades and a lot of shooting. Several small fires were visible from the residue of some oil barrels, but the place looked deserted. Hufham took out his binoculars and scanned the area more closely. Dead soldiers lay at the gate, a couple were near the garage and several outside the door of a small barracks and office in the compound. It was obvious the surprise had been complete. The poor soldiers had been awakened and died within feet of their beds. Those on duty or working late died where they were working.

“Where are all the vehicles?” Ricks wondered in a whisper.

Hufham smiled. All those days of watching the enemy across the Z had paid off on this guy. He was noticing things that were not the norm. “Good call, sport. The last time I saw this place there were 20 or 30 vehicles here. I only see about 8. I guess they are the ones that didn’t finally start,” Hufham said quietly. Then he looked over at the boy. “What does that tell you?”

Ricks continued to peer through his glasses. “I’d say they are scavenging transport and fuel along the way,” Ricks said. He pointed to the far side of the compound. “I don’t see a scratch on the fuel depot. I bet they filled up and took a little with them…” he stopped mid-sentence and pointed. “About 9 o’clock from the office. I just saw somebody move.”

Hufham shifted his glasses and scanned the place Ricks pointed out. Just barely visible, he could see a leg moving back and forth between the edge of a building and a drum of something. The boy’s got good eyes, he thought. “That makes sense, doesn’t it? There’s still fuel here, so they leave some people behind to keep an eye on it. OK, let’s take this slow. You circle toward the gate and see how many there are. I’ll circle this way,” pointing to the back of the compound. “We take it slow and meet back here in one hour. Make sure you stay in the gullies and vegetation. No shooting since we don’t know how many there are yet. Just act like you’re a ghost and get info. Got it?”

Ricks nodded. “One hour,” he said quietly. He turned and eased down into the bushes slowly making his way in silence. The sound of the crickets and other insects drowned out what little noise he made.

Hufham was a little surprised at how the boy had grown up in the past few hours. He wasn’t cowering in a hole anymore. Somewhere between the Z and the motorpool he had grown a couple of balls. The kid was thinking like a soldier — on mission. It never dawned on Hufham that his own leadership and example had anything to do with it. The kid will go far, he thought as he got down on his belly and began crawling through the weeds. Every movement was getting a little more painful. Age sucks, the Master Sergeant thought as he made his way. Every so often he rose up to get an overall view. All was still quiet.

The quiet was interrupted by a couple of shouts. At first Hufham thought Ricks had been found, but a few seconds later some vehicles rolled through the gate. Four men walked out of the sheltered area to greet the trucks and lead them to the fueling depot. After a few minutes, the trucks left fully fueled and the men returned to the shelter. Hufham wished he could hear what they were saying. He had learned the language over several tours, but the men were too far away to make it out. He checked his watch and decided it was time to head back to the rendezvous.

Ricks was there waiting for him. The sneaky little shit actually surprised Hufham by concealing himself pretty well with some dirt and grease from an old drum that had been discarded. That earned the kid a slap on the shoulder and a big grin. He even borrowed some of the concoction to put on his own face. “I saw four guys. They are in a little open shed eating Ho Hos and drinking sodas,” Ricks said. “I didn’t see anyone else.”

“That’s old Charlie’s shack. He’s an old Korean that has a little concession stand there. I guess he’s out of business now,” Hufham said. “I didn’t see a soul, but I did see what we were coming for.”

Ricks grinned slightly. He’d had a feeling there was a method behind this madness. Trust the sergeant to have a plan. “I didn’t see much of a way to sneak up on these guys. Just open ground from the gate all the way in. We don’t have grenades or we might get close enough to throw some. Is there another way in?” he asked.

Hufham winked at the boy. “Trust me,” he said. “There was an accident a few years back and the fence was damaged. Split it wide open, but instead of fixing it, they just tied it together.” He pointed toward the other end of the compound. “If we go this way, there should be plenty of cover, but it’s two to one and I don’t like the idea of making a lot of noise.” He reached into his boot and pulled out a long knife. “You remember your basic training?”

Ricks gulped at that. He hadn’t been that good at it, and he still considered himself a 90 pound weakling. Worse yet, he didn’t have a knife with him. He pointed that out to Hufham.

“That’s okay. I can get you a knife,” Hufham said with an evil grin. “Until then let’s see how jumpy these guys are.” He picked up a rock and threw it deep into the yard. It rattled off some barrels causing the men in the shack to come out and look around. Three of them fanned out and searched the yard. After only a few minutes they gave up and returned to Charlie’s shack. A few minutes later another rock was thrown into another part of the yard. Only two came out this time and walked around a little. This time Hufham heard one of the guys say it must be the heat from the sun causing the metal barrels to expand. The men returned to Charlie’s.

Using hand signals, Hufham led Ricks toward the back of the compound near the garage. Sure enough, behind a stack of oil drums was a place where the fence bulged out between two of the supporting poles. In the center, a simple rope held the links together. A couple of cuts later and both men were inside the compound making their way — building by building — toward the “enemy.” Hufham and Ricks both now thought of the North Korean soldiers as the “enemy.” In some ways, it made what they were about to do much easier.

Hufham stopped Ricks as they neared the corner of a building and listened. They could hear footsteps in the gravel of the yard that appeared to be getting closer. Hufham motioned for Ricks to stay put, then pulled his knife and eased farther along the wall. Listening carefully, he knew it was only one guy, not two or three. He stood and pressed himself tightly against the wall and waited. The soldier didn’t even have his rifle ready. He seemed to be looking for something as the sergeant reached out from behind him and cupped his hand across the soldier’s mouth. The knife flashed and the soldier stiffened and tried to cry out, but there was nothing he could do but die. The gurgle from the dying man’s throat could not be heard five feet away. Within a minute, the man was limp and Hufham dragged him away from the center of the compound.

Ricks looked a little pale.

“You gonna be okay?” Hufham asked.

Ricks took a breath and nodded. Hufham reached into the belt of the dead soldier and grabbed something long and straight. “This should work,” he whispered as he unsheathed the bayonet.

“Do the same thing I did, but put it through his back, kind up upwards, like this,” he said demonstrating the technique. “It’s good for stabbing, not cutting,” he said. The boy nodded in understanding but still looked a little pale. Hufham smiled at Ricks and placed a hand on his shoulder. Ricks gathered himself up and followed Hufham along the wall.

There was a call out — probably for the dead soldier. Hufham said something in Korean changing his voice so that it sounded higher and echoing it off a back wall. Ricks looked at him questioningly. Hufham leaned in and whispered, “Told them I had to take a shit.” Ricks almost laughed. They even heard laughter from the shack. A couple of minutes later they were well concealed behind another building and Hufham whispered to Ricks, “Stay here and be ready. I’m going to sneak around to the left. If any come by, you know what to do.” He then eased around the opposite corner and was gone.

There was a call again. This time, there was no answer. More laughter came from Charlie’s shack and one of the soldiers walked around to check on his friend. Ricks heard the footsteps getting nearer. He gripped the bayonet tightly in his hand and pressed himself into the wall. He could hear his blood racing in his ears and hoped no one else could hear it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the shoulder of a man appear walking along the building. Just like Hufham, he reached out and slapped his hand across the man’s face while shoving the bayonet deep into the man’s back. This time the man’s voice could be heard through his fingers and he was desperately trying to get his hands around to grab Ricks. Instinctively, Ricks pulled the bayonet out and shoved it forcefully in and up again. This time the man tensed and in only a moment went limp in Rick’s hands. Ricks could feel the life leave the man as his arms finally dropped and he took all of the weight. He swore he could even feel the man’s heart stop beating. Ricks pulled the man back into the shadows and laid him on the ground.

The click of a rifle bolt was heard and Ricks turned to see another soldier aiming directly at him. Then something suddenly came at the soldier from behind. The soldier dropped like a rag. As he fell forward, Ricks saw a machete embedded neatly through the spinal cord in the man’s neck. Hufham eased down and gently rolled the soldier over. He was still breathing somewhat, and his eyes darted back and forth at Hufham and Ricks. It appeared he was trying to say something. Hufham gently patted the man’s face and said something to him in Korean. The young man appeared to calm a little. Hufham spoke again and the young man smiled slightly, though the fear in his eyes gave evidence he knew what was happening. Then Ricks came over and reached down, taking the man’s limp hand and holding it for both to see. The young man smiled weakly again and closed his eyes. In a moment, the breathing stopped.

After a moment Hufham stood. “He’s just a kid,” he said sadly.

Ricks could not keep his eyes off the boy. “What did you say?”

“I told him I was sorry and that we would no longer hurt him. At the end I said to be at peace.”

Ricks nodded. Then an overpowering urge swept over him and he lurched to the side and vomited into the sand.

Hufham watched as the young man heaved violently. His first time had been not that long ago in Iraq. The young man he killed had been dressed almost in rags and so young he had trouble holding the assault rifle that lay beside him. The youthful face had been contorted in the pain of the bullet in his chest from Hufham’s own rifle. Even in death he could tell the young boy had been in agony his final moments. That was when Hufham understood that it wasn’t the kids’ fault they were fighting. It was the fault of some other person — a leader, a cleric, or a group of men — that had forced them to take up a rifle or some other form of destruction. Since then, that was the real person the Master Sergeant wanted on the end of his knife.

Hufham walked over to a water bowser and filled one of the water cans. Ricks had finally stopped heaving and was sitting exhausted in the dirt. He took the can over and poured some water over Rick’s head. Ricks held out his hands and washed off the blood before filling them with water and washing his face. He then took out his canteen and washed out his mouth.

“Don’t worry,” Hufham said quietly. “I did the same thing my first time. Stand up,” he ordered.

Ricks did as he was told. Hufham poured the contents of the can over Rick’s uniform, washing most of the blood away. When he was done, Ricks looked like a drown rat. Hufham then grabbed another can and did the same for himself.

Ricks looked around. “I thought there were four.”

Hufham motioned for him to follow. They walked into Charlie’s shack. The soldier was sitting in a chair leaned back against a table. His head was sitting back on his shoulders at an awkward angle. “That’s why we tell you not to sleep on watch,” he said. “That last one left him here and I had to take care of business. Lucky it didn’t take but a second.”

Ricks looked at Hufham almost in disgust. “You must have enjoyed yourself. Three in one morning.” You could tell he was disgusted with himself and anyone else that could kill with such disdain.

Hufham chuckled. “If you think I enjoy it, you are sadly mistaken. I remember the face of every man — and this is the seventh that I have had to kill up close. I keep telling myself that I didn’t start whatever war I happen to be in, but might just be the one to end it. Just keep in mind — these guys would not hesitate to put that same knife through your heart if they had the chance. You are a soldier, and a soldier’s job is to kill people and break things. It may not be the fun you think I am having, but it’s a job that’s up to us to do. So soldier, you are stuck with it. Now grab your weapon. We’ve got a job to do.”

In a Senate office building a meeting was going on. Senator Dan Williamson was visibly upset at the more recent turn of events. It was bad enough that his party had lost the recent election, but now they were getting blamed for the inability of the government to either detect or stop the attack. Now O’Bannon was crusading down a path of war and no one dared to stand in his way. He couldn’t let the party be run over this way. Three close confidants in his office listened to every word.

“We have to derail this effort. Even though the President hasn’t said so publicly, the people are blaming our party for all this. More than that, if he succeeds in restoring the services in a short amount of time, I guarantee he will be hailed as some Caesar and we will be out holding the bag. I want us to find some way to change all that. So I need ideas.”

Frank Fallon sat back in his chair. He had been dreading this meeting, but he had to give his best advice. As a thirty-year veteran of the political system, he had been instrumental in getting two presidents elected and keeping the party one step ahead of the game. Unfortunately, the last man elected had been a bone head that ignored his advice and had pulled out some pretty whacky ideas before being drummed out in a landslide election. Now the party was once again trying to get him to pull their proverbial nuts out of the fire. Senator Williamson was not a bad man, but he was an opportunist. He could smell out a weakness a mile away and exploit it. Now even he was grasping at straws. Williamson was up for election in two years and wanted the backing of both the party and his constituents. It was obvious he was starting that campaign now.

Fallon took a deep breath. “Senator, if we go storming out right now the American public will stomp on us like a bunch of grapes. Everybody, and I mean everybody, is really pissed that they have personally been attacked and they want something to start happening. Whether we like it or not, O’Bannon is doing things. I talked to one of the White House staffers and they say no one has a clue who did this yet. Until then, there’s not much you can hold against him,” he said.

“It goes deeper than that,” said Hank Yates, the party’s media czar. “Right now even if we did have something to say, there’s not much of a way to get that word out. The media is almost hard down. I could get something in the Post, but that’s about it. The President has a lock on what information is being put out to the media. I was told they all bought into it too. He told them it was all a part of keeping information from the enemy and all that garbage. When I started talking about freedom of the press, I was told there were other aspects of things I didn’t know about and was shut down,” he said.

“What kinds of things are going on here?” Williamson asked. “What’s he got on them?”

“Beats me. It’s not just the one, it’s all of the reps I talked to.”

“Damn it. He can’t squash the people’s right to know! What can we do about this?”

Fallon raised his hand. “Hang on. Remember, we declared war. Under those circumstances there’s a whole lot he could do. Look, we are in the early stages of this thing. One thing I have learned over the years is to be patient. The longer we wait, the more things will get back to operating as normal. O’Bannon is going to screw something up. When he does, it will mean we will be in a better position to take him down,” he said. “Until then, I suggest we get on the bandwagon and do a few things ourselves to support the war and get things going.”

Williamson looked like he might explode. He looked over at his Chief of Staff. “What do you say?”

Torry Yates had been standing in one corner listening to the conversation and his boss’s tirades. He knew he was in a tough spot. He had to keep the boss happy without letting him shoot himself in the foot. Too many times he had been forced to tell his boss to calm down. This was one of those times. “Frank’s right. This isn’t the right time. To change public opinion we have to be strategic in our efforts and right now there’s not so much to say against O’Bannon. Even if he is controlling the media some, most Americans would celebrate that fact. But if we wait and find that right event or moment, we can flip this. If we can get the public to start questioning his motives or his decision making, I have a feeling the whole house of cards will fall. Then we will be in position to provide our own view on things. Until then, we know there is going to have to be some rebuilding in our armed forces, so I will be trying to get a few contracts in our districts, make sure our television and radio people get back on line, everything that will make us look good and trustworthy. Then when we shake the tree we will look much better in the public eye,” he said.

“That’s exactly what needs to be done,” Fallon said. “Get out there and tell people we are getting their phones back and their cars running. Then tell them we are doing everything we can to find out who attacked us and what we will do. It’s going to have to be done at home instead of here, but that’s just the price we have to pay.”

Williamson calmed down. That was some basic politics. He could no longer sit in his office in Washington and send out press releases. This would mean spending some weekends and weeks on the road in his state. But that wasn’t so bad, was it? “I can’t fight all of you,” he said breaking into a smile. “Okay, we wait and look. Torry, lets see if we can scare up a train or something to go home on and do some stumping. But let’s also schedule a meeting each week or so to see what’s happened and what we can do about it. We can’t let the party take the blame for everything and just sit by and watch. I want to make sure we are there when O’Bannon screws up and ready to jump in when the time comes.”

The men in the room nodded, though they all knew it wasn’t really about the party, it was about Williamson. There was a little more discussion on other issues before the men finally got up and left.

After a brief rest, Hufham picked up his rifle and headed toward the small barracks. Ricks took a deep sigh, and then followed the Master Sergeant. In the little bunkhouse they gathered the tags and weapons. Fortunately the small arms locker was open and they were able to get plenty of ammunition and a few grenades. They even found a couple of packs and sleeping bags. Next the men went to the messhall to see what food they could find. The MREs were pretty new, much to the joy of Hufham. They also gathered up the canteens and filled them at the bowser along with a couple of five gallon Jeri cans. They brought all the gear over to a small shack behind one of the outbuildings.

Old Charlie hadn’t had a chance. He was spread-eagled on the floor — in pieces. The North Koreans had obviously begun to cut the man up before he died. Blood was everywhere. Hufham lowered his head and said a small prayer for the old man. Then he backed out of the door and closed it.

Rick’s eyes were wide and he seemed to be in a state of shock. Hufham started pulling him away from the carnage. “Who was he?” Ricks asked.

“Old Charlie. We let him run the concession over here for all the guys in the area. He would bring us Cokes and candy up at the Z every so often, or we would sneak away down here. He always seemed to have cold beer stashed somewhere,” Hufham grinned. “He was so much a part of the Army we gave him a uniform. He was a good man,” he said sadly. “He’s why we’re here. We’re gonna borrow his vehicle.” The two men walked around back to a wooden outbuilding attached to Charlie’s shack. Hufham pried the lock off the old timbers and pulled the door open. Sitting inside was something to make old soldiers feel homesick. It was a Jeep.

“We gave him this thing,” Hufham said. “When the Army started getting rid of them, we got this one declared surplus. Then we put the engine, transmission, and all the parts back on it and gave it to Charlie. It’s what he delivered his goods in,” he said getting into the driver’s seat. The keys were in the ignition. When he turned it, the engine fired immediately. Hufham backed the Jeep out and around to the front where they loaded their gear. Then he and Ricks took it to the fuel station and filled it up along with six more five gallon cans and a case of oil. Hufham pulled the Jeep up to the back gate. Using some bolt cutters he found, he opened the gate and drove the Jeep down a narrow two rut trail in the trees. He walked back to Ricks at the gate.

“Okay, now we have to blow this place the hell up,” he said. Ricks nodded and followed. He had seen Hufham’s reaction to old Charlie and somehow he seemed to understand the man a little better. The two men walked around the compound opening every drum of fuel they could find and began pouring the contents on the ground. They left trails to each building and to the remaining vehicles. Then Hufham opened the main tanks to the underground gasoline storage.

Ricks looked at him questioningly. “If you think I’m going to light a match and drop it in, you’re nuts.”

“Not so dramatic. I’m going to turn on all the pumps and let it pour out some. Then we’ll use a grenade. I don’t particularly want to be around when it all goes up.”

Working quickly, Hufham saturated as much of the ground as he could while Ricks dragged the bodies of the North Korean soldiers around one of the pumps. The last thing they did was to raise the American flag once more over the compound. Ten minutes later Hufham and Ricks stood by the Jeep as Hufham pulled the pin on a grenade and lobbed it into the compound.

The explosion knocked both men off their feet as the whole facility seemed to ignite at once. Buildings, shops, and other facilities began burning fiercely. As planned, it even penetrated the main gasoline and diesel tanks. The resulting explosion blew parts of the fuel depot far into the sky and set fire to the surrounding woods. But by that time Hufham and Ricks were long gone. The trusty Jeep was sprinting through the dense woods around the far hill as it was designed to do. By nightfall, they were far away searching for the American lines.

Vice Admiral Thomas Granger was the Commander of the Naval Sea Systems Command. He was a surface line officer who had been in the Navy for 29 years. During that time he had commanded a destroyer, a cruiser, a destroyer squadron, and a task group. It was a good career on paper, but there had been some problems along the way. His destroyer had nearly run aground at one time because he decided to take his ship outside a marked channel. Only the quick response of his executive officer saved his bacon. His cruiser had failed an operational propulsion plant examination, but he had just been relieved by the new CO prior to the event, so it did not occur on his watch. Finally, as a task group commander he had drilled his ships to the breaking point and when a sailor accidentally launched a missile at a civilian plane, he blamed the CO of that ship for poor leadership. Luckily the missile was self-destructed immediately after launch.

The only reason he continued to rise in rank was because he had made all the right friends and offered the right favors. Along the way he had several tours in Washington, DC, giving him the chance to become friends with a number of influential congressmen and senators. Since his last tour at sea, he spent almost the entire time around Washington. On the outside he was a respected Naval Officer, but in the Navy Surface Line community he was more of a serious joke. He was better known for going with the flow than making a real decision.

His type of rise in the Navy wasn’t supposed to happen. The selection boards were supposed to be fair and impartial — simply looking at the merits of each officer. But insiders knew this was not the case. All it took was the right word from a briefer or a nudge from a senior member of the board and you were either out or in. This allowed the board to become more “selective.” In Granger’s case, he always seemed to have a friend on the board who got the word to the members that Granger should be advanced.

Now he was making decisions on all shipbuilding in the Navy — and that included all the systems on the ships as well. He was tasked by the CNO to go to Lockheed Grumman Newport News Shipbuilding to see about how more ships could be built as quickly as possible.

He was seated in the helicopter beside RADM Mike Shranski, his Supply Officer, and Captain Hammond from the White House. Granger didn’t like either man. They said “no” too much to suit him, and he wanted people around him to say “yes” with a “sir” tacked on the end. But they were necessary. First he needed someone to talk contracts and Shranski was the best in the Navy at that. If anyone could make sure he didn’t make a contracting mistake it was Shranski. Hammond had been invited along to appease the President and show him the Navy was trying to make things happen. Hammond had a good reputation in the Surface Line and that was a plus. If he could convince Hammond of his ideas, Granger knew the President would not be far behind.

The Chief of Naval Operations had talked to Granger about what he thought was the proper way to get things moving and Granger was going to carry out those ideas. He sat back and shouted over the scream of the turbines. “We’ve got to get these big shipyards to start turning out new ships right away. Some of the ships we have can be overhauled and made ready locally, but this is the Navy’s chance to get a whole new line of equipment in a short amount of time. If we can get just a few frigates and destroyers online this year, it will set the stage for further shipbuilding at a lower cost per unit than what we are currently paying,” he said. “All we have to do is convince these civilians to get off their duffs and build ships,” he said with a smile.

“At what cost?” Hammond asked. He knew what Granger was saying was not quite true. Operations like Newport News were run by top engineers and former Navy men and women with a lot better reputations than he had. They knew shipbuilding from front to back and they did not like paper pushing admirals trying to tell them how to do their jobs. He also knew that getting geared up to build a ship was expensive and time consuming. What he didn’t know, and had come to find out, was what capabilities they still had. Hammond glanced over at RADM Shranski. He looked a little uneasy. Either he didn’t like flying or he didn’t like Granger — or both. At one point in their conversation he noticed Shranski roll his eyes. That was what really gave him the answer.

“Costs aren’t as important as getting the ships Hammond,” Granger continued. “We have us a war starting and the purse is open. Besides, we at the Pentagon know best what is needed to fight a war, don’t we?” he said with a grin. Shranski turned his head away and sat back in his seat. Hammond smiled and nodded. There was no use getting into an argument. Granger sat back and smiled at himself. He took Hammond’s nod as agreement with him.

The helicopter continued heading south and after a few minutes Shranski motioned for Hammond to come over to the bubble window. Looking down, he saw a sight people rarely saw these days. Sitting in the drydock at the far end of Newport News was a monster of a ship. Her nine 16-inch guns were pointed skyward as if ready for action. A few workmen were working along her sides apparently sandblasting off a layer of barnacles she had acquired sitting as a museum piece. “I wonder which one she is,” Hammond said.

Shranski shrugged. “Pretty though.”

It was then that Hammond noticed the surface warfare badge Shranski wore. He pointed to the pin. “I didn’t think Pork Chops got these things,” he said smiling.

Shranski’s grin broadened. “I was a SWO before I became a chop. I always have loved ships and being at sea. If I had my choice I’d still be there,” he said.

Hammond nodded in acknowledgement. He knew the feeling well. “Well, at least we can still get close,” he said over the din.

The helicopter began banking as it made its way to the pad by the Norfolk Naval Base. Sitting beside the pier were all kinds of ships and swarms of men. A purposeful bustle seemed to always go on at the base. The helicopter circled a set of buildings just beyond the base and settled in a grassy area beside some older brick buildings. Very quickly the engines were shut down and the rotors stopped. VADM Granger was met by a Rear Admiral that Shranski knew as the Deputy CINCLANTFLT. Granger greeted him warmly. “Tom how are you doing?”

“Pretty fair Admiral. Admiral Johnson asked if you would join him for lunch,” he said formally. Then he turned to Hammond and Shranski. “If you gentlemen would like to freshen up, I have a place in our main office. I have a vehicle running that will take you to your meeting at 1400 hours.

Rear Admiral Shranski waved him off. Don’t worry about us Tom, the Captain and I will go to the mess and then meet outside your office just before 1400.” Then he turned to Hammond, “Roger, let’s get a bite to eat and talk about ships,” he said with a grin. Both men made their way to the officer’s mess just a few doors down. Once inside, they ordered their meal and sat in one corner of the room away from the rest. Shranski looked around first, then leaned in to Hammond. “Roger, I need to know something. How do you really stand on this meeting?” he asked.

Hammond looked a little ill at ease with the question, but Shranski smiled at him. “I could tell you weren’t really buying all that hogwash about building ships. Quite frankly, I don’t either. But I kind of want to know if I’m out on the limb by myself,” he said looking around again.

Hammond became more relaxed. “Not only do I not believe it, but I have the feeling Granger is going to be handed his head on a plate for just suggesting it. But that won’t be my call. Look,” he said making his point, “first of all we don’t even know who the enemy is yet, so we can’t say what we will need. Second, we already have a bunch of ships that may need only minor work to get them back in some sort of shape, and third, despite what he thinks, the purse strings are not open. The President has made that abundantly clear to me and a lot of others. The only problem he seems to have is a bunch of senior officers who are looking for political points and more toys,” he said in somewhat disgust. Then he caught himself. “Present company excluded, I hope.”

Shranski almost laughed at that one. “Present company excluded. The way I see it, we do need some assets. We just don’t have enough to meet all the commitments. It’s like you said, we don’t know who yet, and if it’s far away or in more than one place, there will be hell to pay getting enough in place for any invasion.”

Hammond nodded. “I’ve been talking to General Black. His Marines are going to have to hit a beach somewhere and right now we don’t have much to get him there or to soften that beach up. We also don’t know if more nukes can be thrown at us. That means we have to be ready for strong weapons or more EMP. I know we’ll have some building to do to get these assets, but we don’t know what or how much. We can’t afford to throw money away on things we don’t need,” Hammond said.

“I totally agree. I’m supposed to be going down here to be ready to execute some contracts, but nobody has thought of what they will look like or what for. This trip is a thrown together mess,” Shranski said in disgust.

“Oh I don’t know. Admiral, I was told you are the contract czar. What could we do on short notice if we found some answers?”

Shranski smiled. He liked Hammond and the way he thought. “Call me Mike. Look Roger, we find an answer or two, I can generate a contract like nobody has ever seen and have these shipbuilders running around like there was heaven on earth. But before we wheel and deal, we both need some answers. I suggest we keep our ears open and see what happens,” he said.

The food came and both men settled into some general banter about ships and the sea. During coffee Shranski looked over at Hammond. “Roger do you know anybody we will be seeing today?”

“Not really.”

“Well, Tim Reardon is the head of Newport News. We’ve worked some before. He’s a straight up kind of guy that knows ships and contracts. You won’t be able to pull any wool over his eyes. He is shipbuilding and nothing but, and his loyalties are to the company, not the Navy. However, he is also a patriot,” he said emphasizing the word. “I don’t mean fair weather either. If he knows something will be good for this country, he will back it and put the company on the line. He may seem to be a little pompous, but his heart is in the right place. I would suggest being open with him if we find something. He’ll lay it on straight,” Shranski said.

“Good to know. And that tells me our esteemed Admiral may come home with some bruises if not a few good cuts,” he grinned.

Shranski raised his coffee cup. “To cuts and bruises,” he said with a smile. The two men tapped their cups together and shared the moment. Shranski was a good man, Hammond thought. Nice to know there are more on our side.

Thirty minutes later the car took the three men out the gate and toward the highway leading to Newport News.

“So we need you to begin building frigates, cruisers, and destroyers as soon as possible. We would like the first ones available by January of next year,” VADM Granger said to the men seated around the table. He sat back in his chair.

Tim Reardon had listened patiently. He knew it was all bullshit from almost the second sentence. It was blatantly obvious this man didn’t have the faintest idea how ships were built or the situation they were currently in. More than that, this jerk was trying to tell him to build his ships for practically nothing because of the current emergency. That really pissed him off. He looked over at Mike Shranski and the other captain sitting with him. Both were playing their cards close to the vest, but he knew Mike and could tell in his eyes that he thought the same things. That made his job a little easier.

“Admiral, I appreciate your bringing your ideas to us. Newport News Shipbuilding is the primary builder of naval ships in the world. If we can’t do it, it can’t be done.” He got up and walked around the table a little, more to organize his mind than to stretch his legs. “You propose we take your plans and begin building ships we have not built here before. You also propose that we have the first ones out to you within 8 months. Granted, back in the Second World War the Kaiser people turned out a merchant ship in a week. But those were merchant ships, not warships. I can gear up and build them, but the costs would be astronomical. Why, because we no longer have the laser cutting capabilities, the bending and the shaping we could do with the computers. In other words, we are back to the good old World War II days of shipbuilding and it all has to be done by hand.” He pointed out the window at the far drydock. “You see that old battleship out there? I could put her and four others like her back in commission for less money than it would take to build one of your frigates. Aside from piping and some refurbishing, everything is already there,” he said.

With that comment both Hammond and Shranski glanced at each other. The idea needed some cultivating.

Reardon continued. “I don’t have the manpower or the equipment to do what you are looking for, and I can tell you none of the other shipyards will be able to do it either. So I suggest you go back to Washington and rethink all this,” he said. Reardon sat down before Granger exploded.

“Then we will take our business other places. You are not the only shipyard around and you can’t tell the Navy what it can and can’t do!” Granger stormed.

Reardon laughed out loud. “Go take your business elsewhere. We are the only ones that can build your submarines and aircraft carriers. I am one of two that builds the DDGs. I am telling you it is a waste of time and money to build all these ships in the timeframe you are giving. If I did, each frigate would cost two billion. The DDGs would jump to four. Carriers simply can’t be built that fast. Now are you telling me that we suddenly have the funds to do this?”

“I am the one that makes these decisions and in the name of national security I am ordering your shipyard to do it!” Granger shouted.

Shranski and Hammond stared wide eyed. Granger had just made the ultimate blunder. That became immediately apparent when a voice came over the speakerphone on Reardon’s desk.

“Actually Admiral, I am the one that makes decisions like that,” the President said before the men in the room. “Mister Reardon, I appreciate your allowing me to listen in, it appears the Admiral does not wish to hear any suggestions. You are quite right. The purse strings are not as open as some may wish. Admiral, I thank you for your time. Could you please leave while I discuss some things with these people?”

The room was silent. Granger looked as if he had been stabbed in the head with an ice pick. He stood suddenly; growing angrier by the moment. “Come with me gentlemen,” he said to Hammond and Shranski.

“If you please, Admiral Shranski and Captain Hammond, could you remain behind for a moment,” the President said calmly.

Granger looked as if he was about to blow a gasket. He snatched up his notebook and stormed out of the room slamming the door in his wake. After a moment the President asked, “Is he gone?”

“Yes, sir, he is gone,” Reardon said letting out a slow breath. All of the people in the room started breathing again.

“Again, I thank you for letting me listen in. My chief of staff had a feeling this meeting might go this way. I felt like I needed to hear it first hand,” he said. “Ladies and gentlemen, I need help to build up all my armed forces to face what I have just been informed is the country that caused this. Do I have the assurance of everyone there not to divulge what I tell you?”

Reardon and everyone present sat up in their seats. “Hold on a sec,” he said as he got up and locked the doors. “I will vouch for everyone in this room including Admiral Shranski, Mister President. It the word gets out, it won’t be from here,” he said.

“Thank you, my friends. I am counting on you to help me find a way to get this job done. It all boils down to two words — North Korea.” The gasp was almost audible in the room.

“I didn’t think they had the capability,” one of the men said.

“Actually we didn’t either,” said the President’s National Security advisor, Carrie Strong, also on the telephone. “It appears they disguised some container ships and carried intermediate range rockets aboard. They parked off our shores and cut them loose. Then they figured the ships would be sunk with all hands hiding the evidence. We just found out about it.”

“Not like they haven’t done strange things before,” said another man.

“True enough,” said the President. “Now what can we do?”

Hammond spoke up. “Actually Mister Reardon made an excellent suggestion.” He looked at Reardon who had a puzzled look on his face. “Did you really mean what you said about recommissioning the battleships?” he asked Reardon.

Reardon scratched his chin. “Well, I was using that as an example. I hadn’t really counted on actually doing it,” he said. “But I wasn’t kidding when I said it would be cheaper.” He pointed out the window. “That’s the North Carolina out there now. She came in to clean her bottom and check her hull. That one would take a lot more work, but the four Iowas were last used in the 1990s. They wouldn’t be any problem at all,” then he paused a second. “What are you thinking about?”

Hammond walked over to the speakerphone. “How many older ships are still in mothballs?”

“I’m not sure. I know a few are sitting around,” said Strong.

“Think about it. Remember the older cruisers? Most of that equipment was vacuum tubes as well. I remember several amphibs over in Pearl. There might be enough to get something going and still be effective,” Hammond said. “Just before we went to the Barry I mentioned to Jim Butler about looking back and using the older stuff. We just need to expand that a little.”

“Reactivating the older ships might just work,” said one of the older men at the table. “We did it in WWII and in the Korean Conflict. Nowadays we usually just let them sit around and either sell ‘em or scrap ‘em. Unless I am mistaken, the North Koreans aren’t really up to par on technology anyway. These old ships might still do the trick, at least for the time being. They would be relatively impervious to EMP. The trouble will be getting those old systems put back together. I know a bunch of retirees who could probably do it, but it’s not in our training pipeline anymore,” the man said. “There aren’t that many of them anyway, so it shouldn’t really tax the different shipyards that much. Even smaller yards could do it.”

“This can work well for us in the short term, Mister President,” Hammond said. “But now I’m thinking about the Marines. If we can activate the battleships or some other gun ships, we can use those to soften up beaches before the Marines go in and provide support as they move inland. As I recall, Korea is only about 120 miles across in some places. With battleships on either side we can effectively deny the North about one third of the landmass. This is looking better and better.”

“Okay, but how do we make this happen?” the President asked. “Mister Reardon, do you have any ideas?”

Reardon sat back in his seat. It was a rare day indeed when a President asked for advice, much less help. It was time to earn the big bucks. “Okay, Mister President. You want ships, I will give you ships. Get those battlewagons to my yards and I will make them whole again. The North Carolina is here now and the Wisconsin is in Norfolk. I can pull her in tomorrow morning. As I recall, the Iowa is in California, the New Jersey in Philadelphia and the Missouri in Pearl Harbor. I will get in touch with the shipyards in those cities and we’ll get them refit in those yards. I’ll coordinate it for you. Now as I recall, there are at least two others in museum status — one in Massachusetts and one in Alabama. I’ll get Ingalls to do the Alabama and maybe New York to do the Massachusetts. If you guys come up with other ships, I will try and coordinate their activation too. At the same time, let’s try and find out where all the mothball ships are and make our plans accordingly,” Reardon said. There was no denying he was a man of action.

“Now that I have said all this, what’s in it for us?” Reardon asked. “I will gladly donate my time and efforts, but shipyards have to pay staff and workers. I need to be able to cover my expenses. If there is anyway to make a little profit, I am one happy man, but we need to work this out,” he said.

Shranski stood up. “Mister President, I need your permission to do something. It is out of the ordinary, but in this case it might work well,” he said.

“What do you propose?”

Shranski straightened up. Now he was in his element. “Mister President, I think Mister Reardon will agree that the biggest headaches in military contracts are all the minutia we have put into them. If we can make it plain and simple, we can save money and get a product much faster.”

Reardon nodded. “That’s entirely true, but what are you getting at?”

Shranski grinned. “Sir, I propose a cost-plus contract for the refurbishment and recommissioning of the seven battleships mentioned. The costs will be the actual expenses of the organization with a ten percent administrative charge to cover any additional overheads. All charges will be accompanied by receipts and invoices. Any ship delivered within 100 days of it entering the shipyard will get an additional bonus of ten million dollars per ship for expediting the order. All materials used will meet the requirements set down in the original shipyard plans or as prudent for its operation. There will be no further stipulations.” He turned to Reardon, “Would this meet your requirements?”

Reardon was astonished. He had never seen a contract that lenient. But Shranski was right, with this, he could make a small profit and get the work done in practically no time if he had a free hand. He even had an idea of how to speed up the process. “Will all the work be MilSpec?” he asked; referring to stringent military specifications.

Shranski thought a moment. “With your approval, Mister President, we will suspend the MilSpec provisions until this conflict is over. Just make sure the materials are top quality and the systems work well before turning them over. As long as the systems work, we will consider the contracts fulfilled.”

“I see Strong nodding her head, so I agree,” said the President.

“This will work, Mister President,” Reardon said. “I pledge that no one at this shipyard will use shoddy materials or cut any unnecessary costs. Hell, there’s no reason to since you are paying all the costs anyway. By requiring copies of invoices and our bills, I can cut out half the paperwork at this end. You guys would be doing a lot of the accounting as it is. I can make this fly with the other shipyards. If I can’t, then Mister President, we may have to double team them.” Reardon was beaming by this time.

“You know, I think that could be fun,” the President said. “Admiral, draw up and sign that contract. If you need me to sign it, bring it up,” he said over the telephone. “When you get back to Washington, I think you will find a few changes made. Come with Captain Hammond when you get in town so we can discuss a few other things I have in mind,” he said.

“My pleasure, sir,” Shranski said.

“Is there anything else to discuss?” the President asked.

“I don’t think so, sir,” Hammond answered.

“Good. Thank you all very much. Our country is in a bind right now and I’m glad we have people like you working to get it fixed. Mister Reardon, you may call me anytime,” he said. “Thank you again.” The line went dead.

Everyone in the room let out a whoop. Reardon came over and slapped Shranski on the back. “Mike, that’s one hell of a boss you have there.” He turned to Hammond. “And you, sir, are a shrewd operator. It’s a pleasure to work with you,” he said shaking Hammond’s hand.

Reardon then asked the people in the room to sit again as he brought up his ideas. “In order to make this work and get that bonus, I need people. Not just shipyard workers, but the workers that put those ships together and operated them. They are the ones who will know what to look for and how to get them working. Craig,” he said indicating one man at the table, “I want every retiree from this place identified and brought back in for this special purpose. If they worked on these things, then they get a bigger salary. Bill, get up with Ingalls and Brooklyn. Get what you can there too. I think even the old Philadelphia Navy Yard had some people. We got phones back, so let’s use them where we can. Tom, you get on the horn to Norfolk and get all the plans for these things. George, get the ball rolling internally to hire these people back and outfit them, then make sure all the shops are online and ready to go on a 24-hour rotation as of tomorrow. When these ships come in, I want work to start immediately and be at 100 percent until they are accepted by the Navy.”

Then he turned to Shranski. Admiral, we don’t have the access to the ammunition or the electronics that these things had. If something is broken, I can probably get it to work, but specialized equipment might be a problem. If you guys can deliver what radars you want on them, the fire control radars and stuff like that, we can get them installed and operating. Then you guys will need a crew. The quicker you can get them here, the quicker I can help you get them trained on where things are and how they work. After that, it’s up to you,” he said with a grin.

Shranski was taking notes. “I’ll see to it. Will you need any materials shipped here quickly? I can probably muster up some transportation.”

“I’ll need a couple train loads, but I can let you know. We have enough for now. The big thing right now is manpower. I am going to bring in a shitload of people to get these things out the door. The good news is that the work is mostly just time consuming. We’re not building hulls. Most of this is piping and clearing out the Cosmoline. I may even throw in some air conditioning for these older ones,” he said standing and extending his hand. “Mike, I’ll get them done for you,” he said. “And I’ll operate on a handshake until you get the ink dry,” he said.

Shranski took Reardon’s hand and shook it firmly. “Tim, let’s make history.”

After a few minutes RADM Shranski and Captain Hammond were walking out the front door of the headquarters building. They looked around for VADM Granger, but he and the car were gone. They heard a helicopter overhead and looked up to see the one they came on pass over them. Hammond looked over at Shranski. “The son of a bitch took our ride.”