Debt of Honor - Tom Clancy [231]
"You look like hell. What's the problem?"
"Mr. President, based on information received over the last few hours, I believe that the United States of America is at war with Japan."
"What you need is a good chief to run this for you," Jones observed. "Ron, one more of those, and I'll toss you in the brig, okay? You've thrown enough weight around for one day," Mancuso replied in a weary voice. "Those people were under my command, remember?"
"Have I been that much of a jerk?"
"Yeah, Jonesy, you have." Chambers handled that answer. "Maybe Seaton needed to be brought up short once, but you overdid it big-time. And now we need solutions, not smartass bullshit."
Jones nodded but kept his own counsel. "Very well, sir. What assets do we have?"
"Best estimate, they have eighteen boats deployable. Two are in overhaul status and are probably unavailable for months at least," Chambers replied, doing the enemy first. "With Charlotte and Asheville out of the game, we have a total of seventeen. Four of those are in yard-overhaul and unavailable. Four more are in bobtail-refits alongside the pier here or in 'Dago. Another four are in the IO. Maybe we can shake those loose, maybe we can't. That leaves five. Three of those are with the carriers for the 'exercise,' one's right down below at the pier. The last one's at sea up in the Gulf of Alaska doing workups. That has a new CO-what, just three weeks since he relieved?"
"Correct." Mancuso nodded. "He's just learning the job."
"Jesus, the cupboard's that bare?" Jones was now regretting his comment on having a good chief around. The mighty United States Pacific Fleet, as recently as five years ago the most powerful naval force in the history of civilization, was now a frigate navy.
"Five of us, eighteen of them, and they're all spun-up to speed. They've been running ops for the last couple of months." Chambers looked at the wall chart and frowned. "That's one big fuckin' ocean, Jonesy." It was the way he added the last statement that worried the contractor.
"The four in refits?"
"That order's out. 'Expedite readiness for sea.' And that brings the number to nine, in a couple of weeks, if we're lucky."
"Mr. Chambers, sir?"
Chambers turned back. "Yeah, Petty Officer Jones?"
"Remember when we used to head up north, all alone, tracking four or five of the bad guys at once?"
The operations officer nodded soberly, almost nostalgically. His reply was quiet. "Long time ago, Jonesy. We're dealing with SSKs now, on their home turf and—"
"Did you trade your balls in to get that fourth stripe on your shoulder?'"
Chambers turned around in an instant rage. "You listen to me, boy, I—"
But Ron Jones just snarled back. " 'I,' hell, you, used to be a kickass officer! I trusted you to know what to do with the data I gave you, just like I trusted him—" Jones pointed to Admiral Mancuso. "When I sailed with you guys, we were the class of the whole fuckin' world. And if you did your job right as a CO, and if you've been doing your job right as a type-commander, Bart, then those kids out there still are. Goddamn it! When I tossed my bag down the hatch on Dallas the first time, I trusted you guys to know your damned job. Was I wrong, gentlemen? Remember the motto on Dallas? 'First in Harm's Way'! What the hell's the matter here?" The question hung in the air for several seconds.
Chambers was too angry to take it in. SubPac was not.
"We look that bad?" Mancuso asked.
"Sure as hell, sir. Okay, we took it in the ass from these bastards. Time to start thinking about catchup. We're the varsity, aren't we? Who's better suited to it than we are?"
"Jones, you always did have a big mouth," Chambers said. Then he looked back at the chart. "But I guess maybe it is time to go to work."
A chief petty officer stuck his head in the door. "Sir, Pasadena just checked in from down the hill. Ready in all respects to get under way, the