Operation Orion - Kevin Dockery [1]
On this particular voyage she would carry very important passengers indeed. From the point of view of USN Lieutenant Thomas (Stonewall) Jackson, his fellow travelers belonged in an orbit worlds, if not galaxies, above the circles in which he usually dwelled. Merely in making the journey from his “cabin”—actually a tube barely long enough to allow him to roll over in his sleep—to the mess hall, he had encountered a four-star general, the ambassador from China, the Secretary General of the United Nations, and lastly the Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) himself, Admiral Brian “Ball-Breaker” Ballard.
“So you’re Jackson?” the admiral queried casually, taking his time looking the lieutenant up and down. The two officers stood on the deck just outside one of Pangaea’s elegantly appointed lounges. For the moment, they were alone.
“Yes, sir,” Jackson replied. “U.S. Navy SEALS, sir.”
“I know you’re the SEAL—excuse me, SEALS,” the admiral retorted with more than a touch of sarcasm. “I suppose you think that extra ‘S’ on the term stands for ‘Special Privileges’?”
Jackson stood at attention but made no reply. The admiral knew as well as anyone that the SEALS classification was an elite status, indicating a SEAL who was qualified not only for Sea, Air, and Land operations but for Space as well. He was proud of his Team and it was galling to listen to the admiral’s unpleasant tone, but there was nothing to be gained by arguing. He wondered where this was going and tried to suppress a longing for the safe and secure, if claustrophobic, confines of his sleeping tube.
Ballard nodded at the ribbon signifying the Silver Star that emblazoned the decorations on the breast of Jackson’s dress uniform. Jackson was justifiably proud of his decoration, the third highest given for valor in the United States military. Originally, he had been nominated for the Navy Cross for his actions in leading his contingent of SEALS in action against a hostile enemy force consisting of an entire planet of aliens who had wanted to kill or capture the SEALS. But politics had reduced the award received by Jackson to the Silver Star, with the SEALS he had brought home all receiving a Bronze Star for their part in the action. There had been some in the military command structure as well as politicians who had felt that Jackson and his men deserved courts-martial rather than decorations for their actions, the least of which had been the unauthorized release of nuclear weapons. Right now Jackson had a pretty good idea of just where the CNO might have stood on that issue.
“I know about your little escapade back in ’50. You probably think you’re some kind of Buck Rogers space cowboy, don’t you?”
“Sir, no sir, I do not,” Jackson replied stiffly.
“Well, I want you to remember that on this mission, sailor! This is a diplomatic embassy, with nothing less than the future of your country—of your whole goddamn planet!—at stake.”
“Yes, sir. I understand, Admiral.”
“Make sure you do!” The statement was like a broadside from an Iowa-class battleship of a hundred years earlier. “Because what I mean by that is that you and your men are along on this embassy not because you have a mission but merely as a precaution. Powers that dwell on a much higher plane than myself”—Jackson was surprised to realize that there could be such powers!—“deemed it appropriate that we have a small military component to our ambassadorial team. But you are not to advertise your presence in any way!
“What I wanted to accompany this mission was a traditional detachment of marine embassy guards. They have the special training to