of staff looked as if he was about to speak, to start lobbying for a
significant role for Air Force tactical bombers. Navy looked slightly
disgruntled. The Arsenal ship had been forced down his throat over his
protests that while it was a fine platform, he had better uses for the
money. Like training. Like aviation fuel. Like diesel fuel to get
his ships out of port and at sea, where they belonged, training and
practicing for eventualities they hoped would never come. The Army
simply looked envious. The lack of organic air support capable of
carrying out the increasingly popular cruise missile attacks ate at
him.
“Sounds like it’s been decided already to me,” the Navy grumbled.
“I’ll get my people started on a target list.”
The chairman held up a hand. “Won’t be necessary. Most of the target
packages will be decided at the White House.”
“The White damn it, we can’t go backward, not on this issue.” The
chief of naval operations stood abruptly.
“You know what it did to us during Vietnam. Political control of
military objectives simply gets men killed. Men and women,” he amended
quickly. “There’s not a one of us sitting at this table that doesn’t
remember how it worked then.”
“Bothers you to be out of the loop, is that it?” the Air Force
asked.
A slight smile crossed his face.
The CNO wheeled on him. “That’s not the point and you know it. If it
were your forces on the line, you’d be going ballistic. But you let
this start now, with this ship, and you’ll be fighting the same battle
next time there’s a ground war.”
“The Navy’s always been too damned independent,” the Army shot back.
“Gentlemen!” The chairman’s voice was the cold crack of a whip. “We
stand united on this. Is that clear?” All of the other chiefs
bristled. No one spoke to them like that, at least within their
respective organizations. No one.
“The next thing you’ll be telling me is that the President will be
pushing the buttons himself,” the CNO said at last, to break the deadly
silence. “Is that about it?” He looked appalled as the chairman
nodded in agreement.
“The President will be here for all the major portions of the attack.
It’s the low-risk option.” Every one of his audience could translate
that. It meant that with the ship shooting the missiles, there was no
chance of an aircraft being downed, no possibility of an American
airman being paraded through the streets of Cuba as a prisoner. During
this election year, that would be completely unacceptable.
“I’ve got a two-star out there,” the CNO said. “Magruder good man.
Lots of combat experience.”
“Let’s hope we won’t need that, but it’s good to have him on-scene if
we do,” the chairman said. “For now, though, you can plan on most of
the major decisions being made here.”
As the meeting broke up and the men wandered back toward their
respective evening offices, the CNO was grim.
Why was it that his country felt compelled to repeat major operational
art lessons they’d learned in previous wars?
Couldn’t they learn? And the chairman’s easy capitulation when he knew
damn it, knew better. He felt a sick anger welling up again.
Politics, the chairman’s loyalty to the man who’d approved his
appointment where did you draw the line between honor and one’s
career?
And as for Magruder well, he knew how he would have felt if he’d been
the two-star on scene. This would have looked like a vote of
no-confidence, not a political opportunity. He’d better call Magruder
right away to make sure he got the news first. No telling how much
damage one pissed off two-star could do during an election year.
0845 +5 GMT) The Senate Floor “It’s all set.”
Dailey looked up to see Senator Williams leaning across his desk,
resting one hip casually on the corner. Behind them, a junior senator
was lecturing the scattered crowd on the merits of easing restrictions
on the processing of bee pollen. The only people paying attention were
two bee pollen lobbyists seated in the upper tiers.
“I don’t know about this,” Senator Dailey said uneasily.