Lion Resurgent (16 page)

“Pleased to meet you, Captain Foster, Commander Quigley. Congratulations to both your teams, that was a good race. The children were shouting themselves hoarse.”

“Well, we’ll have to get them some tea, won’t we.” Commander Quigley knew his duty as a host and offered his arm to Alice Blaise.

As they set off, Blaise and Foster dropped back slightly. “You got the word too?” Foster didn’t know if the quiet message that was going around the fleet had reached here yet.

“We most surely did. We’re getting
Mermaid
ready now. Nothing too obvious but we’ve been asked to do a fast run down to South Georgia. There’s people down there and we’re supposed to get them out. I’ve heard...” Blaise dropped his voice still lower, “that the Booties have put some people in there as a garrison in case we can’t get there in time. They’ll be coming out with us as well if we are. Once the civilians are out, I hear there’ll be a proper garrison put in place.”

“This is serious Mickey. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be earning our salaries sooner than we think.”

Flight Deck, USS
Sacramento
CGN-169, Puerto de Valparaiso, Chile

This was a strange meeting by any standards. The arrangements were eminently sensible, the Americans and Australians had set up barbeques on the downwind side of the rotodyne deck and their cooks were busily competing to turn out the best food. Over on the other side, the crew of the Imperial Japanese Navy (everybody had been cautioned not to refer to the force as Chipanese) submarine had set up tables loaded with sushi, sashimi and tempura, to be washed down with copious drafts of sake. Finally, on the broad fantail, the British had set up a fairly authentic-looking Pub bar and had even found a buxom barmaid to hand out beer and single-malt whisky with a generous hand. The
Sacramento
had managed to put together a good band and they were on a stand in front of the hangars, playing a miscellany that varied from romantic favorites to good old Dixieland Jazz for the members of the ships’ companies who were dancing with their wives or local guests. With the sun setting over the hills that lay between the harbor and the open sea and the lights on the ships twinkling in the growing twilight, it was a magical setting.

“Anyway, so there we were, minding our own business, when suddenly this Australian submarine pops up in the middle of our formation and asks for directions to Chile.” Captain Ernesto Karposi, commanding officer of the
Sacramento,
shook his head sadly.

“Actually, it wasn’t
quite
like that. We knew you were on your way here but you were heading west not east, so we asked if
you
knew the way to Chile.” Beecham sounded almost apologetic as he delicately inserted the barb. He took a bite of the sashimi on his plate and sighed softly with delight. “This is really excellent. Captain Sazuko, how did you manage to get fish this fresh?”

“A single pulse from the bow sonar and we had all the fish we needed.” It was a sign of the informality of the party that the Japanese officers had actually unfastened the collars of their tunics. The Japanese submarine skipper looked around innocently at his audience, then chuckled. “In truth, yesterday, we saw some of the Chilean fishermen and told them of our needs. They made a special trip out this afternoon for us and brought the fish back alive to make sure it stayed fresh. We offered to pay them, but they would accept nothing but a few bottles of sake.”

Which probably had much to do with the fact that the yen was worthless,
thought Karposi. Still, it was true that the Chileans were going out of their way to make the foreign warships in their ports welcome. There was no doubt that this really was a unique occasion. All week, ships had been pulling in to Valparaiso, some staying only a few hours, others for the full week. And yet, for all the festivities of what was apparently an impromptu international fleet review, there was an increasing edginess, a tension in the atmosphere that

was growing daily. The Argentine presence along the border was still growing. Their units were still moving up into position in a threat display that was obviously deadly serious. They were being monitored by space-based assets and by the now-continuous American over-flights but the Argentine military government was showing little inclination to be deterred by that fact. Quite the reverse, in fact. Looking around the party being held on the fantail of his ship, Captain Karposi had the unpleasant feeling that he was watching the band playing on the deck of the
Titanic.

From high overhead, the dull thump of sonic booms momentarily interrupted the band and rattled the glasses behind the Royal Navy’s bar. Karposi looked up at the dark blue bombers, almost invisible in the darkening sky.

“Your Vigilantes I think.” Captain Sazuko was also staring skywards. “On their way to watch our friends over the border. From
North Dakota?’

“Probably.” Karposi was slightly guarded. Despite the current situation, Chipan and American interests were rarely aligned and one had to be careful what was said.
“North Dakota
is still officially running trials so she’s getting in all the air operations she can.” There was more to it than that of course. With two carriers out there, somewhere, one was carrying out the offensive operations, the other was riding guard. Even now, 35 years after the sinking of the
Shiloh,
the U.S. Navy was still cautious about protecting its carriers.

“Vanguard
also ran her trials on her way down here. You know she came under the ice?” Sazuko was impressed. A transit from the Atlantic to the Pacific by way of going under the Arctic ice was a remarkable feat for a newly-built submarine. “She is very modern.” The Japanese captain sounded almost wistful. His country’s navy was falling further and further behind world standards as the economic crisis back home slowly bit deeper. He’d been almost embarrassed to conduct the foreign skippers around his boat when his turn had come to return the invitations extended to him.

“She is indeed. The British have come a long way in a few years.”

“And soon they will be tested, yes?” Sazuko blinked. “Oh, it must come. If the Argentines are deterred by our little show here, then they will have to turn on the British to satisfy the expectations they have raised in their own people. And if they are not, and war starts, then they will attack the British as a natural extension of that war. Either way, in a few weeks, the British will have to fight and then we will see how well they have rebuilt themselves.”

Themselves; not their navy.
Karposi noted the expression carefully. For all his apparent openness and joviality, the Japanese skipper would not be here if he wasn’t both absolutely trusted and the very cream of the crop. He was right too, what was on test here was more than the ability of the Royal Navy to fight. It was the willingness of the British to do so. They’d had plenty of good ships in 1940 as well, but Halifax had done for them then.
Was there a Halifax in the wings today?

“At least they have one advantage.” Sazuko was almost laughing. “At least their ships are all Navy. There is an agreement in our country that the long-range bombers and cruise missiles are Navy but the ballistic missiles belong to the Army. So, on our ballistic missile submarines, we run the ship but the missile compartment amidships is run by the Army. The Army actually puts armed guards on the hatches leading from our part of the ship to theirs and our sailors need special passes to cross through those hatches. That is why our ballistic missile submarines have long tubes that join the weapons and command sections forward and the machinery section aft. Just so our sailors do not have to pass through Army country. Madness.”

Now why did he tell me that?
Karposi thought while he filed away the information for transmission back to the Naval Intelligence Department.
Always remember the first rule. When given information, ask why the person giving it away is doing so. He is never doing it in your interests, always in his.

“Thank heavens we never had that problem.” Karposi’s voice was devout. “We scrapped our ballistic missile submarine designs the day President LeMay cancelled all the strategic missile programs. If it fights at sea, it’s Navy. If it fights on land, it’s Army. If it’s Strategic, it’s Air Force. All nice and simple. And, since we don’t do fighting on land, the Army keeps out of everybody’s way.”

Karposi, Sazuko and several other Navy officers who had been politely listening to the conversation on behalf of their naval intelligence services all burst out laughing. “But Monsieur Captain,” the Captain of a French corvette anchored in the auxiliary port a mile or two down the way contained his laughter for a second, “is not the Air Force just long range artillery for the Army? After all, in Algeria, the Valkyries saved our Army from destruction by the Blackpox Plague.”

There was a split second of uneasy silence as people remembered the terror of Blackpox and the bombing that had wiped out the factories that gave it birth. They also noted a French officer giving credit to the Americans for their action. It was of such little things that shifts in international politics were made. There were eleven navies whose intelligence operations would be receiving confidential reports on tonight’s party and every one of them would mention that small but significant statement - as the French officer who had made it had known they would. Then the silence was broken by the sight of an Australian officer dancing past with a gloriously beautiful Chilean woman whose evening dress was the height of Rome fashion.

“I hope he’s aware of the custom out here that flirting is one thing, but attempting anything more serious is tantamount to a proposal of marriage?” The Captain of HMS
Vanguard
had just joined the group.

“If he isn’t, he’ll soon find out.” Karposi mentally shrugged his shoulders. The complications of a run ashore didn’t just end with making contact reports on interesting conversations and, anyway, the officer didn’t come from his ship.

Conference Room, White House, Washington D.C.

“Hours, Sir; not days. Our satellite imagery and our reconnaissance flights show the Argentine units are moving to their jump-off positions. Their Air Force units are also readying. My guess is dawn tomorrow.”

“So the naval demonstration didn’t deter them.” President Regan sounded disappointed. “I really had hopes that might work. We even had the Chipanese taking part. Lord knows why, but they came on-board.”

“Because this is a war that nobody wants, Sir. It has the potential to cause entirely disproportionate damage, especially if the Argentines go nuclear, and it won’t do anybody, even Argentina, any good at all. The Chipanese are just as keen to see things kept peaceful as anybody else; a message that got sent to us via the back door before we started arranging things.” The Seer hesitated slightly; he was keen not to mention which back door had been used primarily because he still didn’t quite know what to make of it himself. “Anyway, I wouldn’t write the exercise off as a failure. In fact, it’s done a lot of good, Sir. Quite apart from the various navies getting to know each other a little better, it also showed the Argentines that they are truly on their own. Their nerves must have been shaken by that. When we make an example of the first forces to get in our way, it’ll be much more effective.”

“Perhaps there is something in this international cooperation business after all.” Reagan didn’t really believe that but he was interested to see what his National Security Advisor would say in return.

“Oh there is, Sir, As long as we’re in charge. The problem comes when everybody at the top thinks they are either running things or have an equal say in running them. Then everybody talks and nothing gets done. Then while that circus is going on, somebody picks them off one by one.”

“Tomorrow at dawn. A traditional time.”

“With good reason, although I prefer three in the morning myself. Dawn is so traditional that people tend to have alerts then. They’ll probably be slipping their path finder units over the border a bit earlier. But, their main thrust will be in daylight, either at dawn or a couple of hours later. That can work as well. People go on alert at dawn but then relax when nothing happens. Then, in the first early brightness of morning when everything seems cheerful, they get the hammer dropped on them. One thing we do know, Sir; their objective is annexation. They’re going for broke, grab the whole country.”

An aide quietly entered and gave a message to the President who read it and passed it to The Seer. “I think that makes it final.”

The Seer read the note quickly. “Cruiser
Pueyrredon,
assault cruiser
Almirante Brown
and two destroyers heading south towards the Beagle Channel. The assault cruiser is carrying Argentine Marines. That does make it final, Sir. The grab’s starting.”

“We can’t allow it to succeed. And we will not. We have a strike plan I assume?”

“Of course, Sir. 35th and 448th Bomb Groups. Both B-70 formations.”

“Order them to full readiness.”

Captain’s Cabin, HMAS
Rotorua,
Puerto de Valparaiso, Chile
“Are we ready to move?”

“Yes Sir. Donks are warmed up, batteries are fully charged, everybody is on board. We can be under way in five minutes.”

Beecham nodded. An alert had come through during the night; a war-warning. He happened to know that all the other ships in port had received similar warnings from their governments. During the time this international naval display had been in progress, an efficient unofficial communications system had grown up.

“Good. Now we can deal with this.” He fingered the card in his hand and read it again. “The Veracruz Family invite the officers and men of HMAS
Rotorua
to attend the wedding of their daughter Emilia Consuelez to Lieutenant Graeme Gavin.”

He looked balefully at his Navigating Officer. “Well Lieutenant, what have you got to say for yourself?”

“Sir, I haven’t proposed, honestly.”