Authors: Patrick Robinson
Nimitz Class (12 page)
It would be up to the President to check the balance, to try to convince a by-then hysterical public that the U.S. Navy was not in fact being run by a group of homicidal maniacs. He had about four hours to perfect his words. Dinner for the ten participants involved in the drafting process—which included Scott Dunsmore and Josh Paul—consisted of ham sandwiches and coffee. By the time the last sandwich had gone, the American public was being blitzed by news, news of death and destruction in a faraway ocean, news of massive incompetence
by the U.S. Navy, news of evasion by service Chiefs, news implying a cover-up, news designed to spread consternation, uneasiness, and, above all else, news to make the public want more. Much more.
Meanwhile, the two service Chiefs left for the Pentagon at 8:30
P.M.
At just about the same time the Navy jet from San Diego and Dallas touched down at Andrews Air Force Base. There was a Navy helicopter on the runway, waiting to fly them in, direct to the Pentagon.
Twenty-five minutes later, the President, wearing a perfectly cut dark blue suit and a jet-black silk tie, left the Oval Office with Dick Stafford, and walked down the long corridor to face the media; Stafford for the second time that day, the President for the first time in six weeks. His mood was one of wary contempt. His party might dominate the Senate, but it did not dominate the awaiting pack. He would have to face them alone, with all of his formidable intellect, and all of his renowned rattlesnake cunning under pressure.
Stafford announced there might be a limited “questions and answers” at the conclusion of the speech. But too little was yet known by the Navy’s investigating professionals. There would however be a major briefing at the Pentagon at 1100 hours tomorrow morning. Then he requested silence for the President of the United States, who walked steadily to the dais and stood before hundreds of microphones. The cameras whirred. The lighting was dazzling, the mood pseudo-reverential.
The President spoke carefully, in the thoughtful tones that unfailingly mesmerized a big audience. And right now he had one of the biggest television audiences in history. Maybe
the
biggest.
“My fellow Americans,” he began,
I address you this evening on one of the truly saddest days in the entire history of the United States—a day when we have lost several thousand of our finest men in what appears to have been a freak accident, a one-in-a-billion chance, which is baffling our most senior military scientists.
There has never been a nuclear accident in our armed forces—and the sheer scale of this one, which this afternoon devastated
the great aircraft carrier, the
Thomas Jefferson
, has brought to each one of us a sense of shock; of grief for the anguished families of the men who served in her; of sorrow for colleagues and friends.
This most appalling event will in the coming days touch every corner of our country, because the scale of this disaster will spread its sorrow into communities for which death has usually been of intimate local importance, brushing only those lives which came close to a lost friend or relative.
The bereavement we all face now is of another dimension. I too had friends serving on board the
Thomas Jefferson
. And I am all too aware of the sadness their deaths will bring to lonely farming communities in the High Plains of the state of Kansas. One of them was a beloved senior admiral, another a first-class captain, destined for the very highest office in the service.
I know there will be personal sorrow too in little towns along the coast of Maine, in New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New York, New Jersey, Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, and the Carolinas…the traditional recruiting grounds for some of our finest Navy commanders.
In Georgia and Florida, too. In the South and the Midwest, and perhaps most of all, up and down the coast of California…in particular in the great port of San Diego, which was home to the
Thomas Jefferson
, and to so many of those who sailed in her.
At this time I would ask your forbearance in what I am about to say. For I come only to praise them, these finest of American patriots, who have made the final sacrifice of their calling in the most unforeseen way. But death to them, in the split-second unconscious heart stop of a nuclear fireball, was not quite what a similar death might have been to us—we, whose risks are so minimal, whose lives are mostly led without fear and ever-present tension.
For these men who died on the
Thomas Jefferson,
death, and its unseen threat, was a perpetual companion
.
Because peacetime to us did not mean peacetime to them. We have a perception of peacetime
only because of them
. They were
not part of its blessing. They were the
cause
of it; they were its guardian and its savior. No more in life than in death. They were not
ordinary
men. They were men who went down to the sea in ships; who patrolled the world’s oceans beneath the flag of this great nation. They were men who
demanded
peace.
Pax Americana
—peace on the terms laid down by the great steadying hand of the United States of America. Peace because
we say
there’s going to be peace, because
we say
the world’s free trade must
always
be permitted…in peaceful waters.
Peace because we say so
.
How many times, in moments of international strife, have you read the words: ‘The United States has warned…’? The United States can issue warnings
only because of the men who died on the
Thomas Jefferson. They were not like other men. They even have a joke about facing death in battle: ‘You shouldn’t have joined if you can’t take a joke.’ The words of our military men down the ages.
Each man who sailed in the great warship knew that deep in her bowels there were weapons of destruction that did not merely pack sufficient punch to blow up
any
enemy; they formed the barricade behind which
all of the free world lives in peace
. The men on the
Thomas Jefferson
knew that. As they gazed out at the awesome fighter/attack bombers that flew from her decks they saw the fire and the fury we could use against
any
aggressor. They knew that.
But these men had joined the United States Navy. And they knew something else. They also knew that in their most dangerous calling they might be asked to make the final sacrifice, in war, or in peace, at any time. They always
knew
that. For them, few days passed without reminders of the proximity of death. For their workplace was lethal—filled with mach-one fighter aircraft screaming in over the stern of the carrier; with guided missiles; with great Navy guns and bombs; with nuclear submarines. These men, the men of the
Thomas Jefferson
Battle Group,
knew
the frightening responsibilities of their profession. And they knew the
great honor that profession bestowed upon them, and
all of their families—every day of their lives.
They died with suddenness, all of them in the prime of their being…these were the men for whom we sing, ‘For those in peril on the sea…’—the sailor’s hymn.
Which brings me, as it brought many other occupants of this office, to the lines written by the English poet Laurence Binyon:
They shall grow not old,
as we that are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them,
nor the years condemn,
At the going down of the sun
and in the morning
We will remember them.
And now I would like to ask each one of you to reflect, in the memory of these men, upon an issue which each one of them held dear until the end. Should the United States continue to police the world’s oceans? Is the danger, the shocking danger of it all, just too much to ask? I know my answer, and I believe I know the answer we would have received from the admiral who commanded the
Thomas Jefferson
—down all six thousand men, to the most junior rating, to the youngest of the missile officers. Is it worth it? That the USA should take on such onerous obligations and risks in order that we as a nation, and most of the world, may live without fear from
any
enemy?
Is it worth it? Is it right?
Should we go on doing it?
Each time in the future, whenever that question is asked, the beloved memories of the men of the
Thomas Jefferson
will
stand before us all.
And each time we should consider what
their
answer would have been, the answer of those six thousand men. Fellow Americans, these were military men. These were the greatest of Americans. Patriots. Men of honor. Men of duty. They were not
ordinary
men. And their answer would have come without hesitation. Is it right? Yes.
It would always have been, yes
.
And so, in this darkest of our nights, let us harbor no betrayal of their ideals. Let us not even consider that they died in vain. Let us consider only that they died for us, in the course of their most dangerous duties—duties that they loved and, above all, believed in.
Let me ask, most humbly, for your prayers for them, and for their families, on this most terrible night. Let me assure the bereaved that no one is alone this evening. For tonight we all stand together. As we always have. For what it is worth, the prayers of my family, and of course my own, are with you not only now, but for all of my days in this place.
May I now wish all of you whatever peace there may be tonight—and pray that a new dawn will bring a ray of light and hope, to everyone who loved and admired the Americans who served in the
Thomas Jefferson
.
His voice finally broke as he spoke. And he said quietly: “I am afraid I am not up to questions.” And he walked from the dais, with immense dignity, leaving the world’s media, and much of the nation, awestruck by his words.
By the time Dick Stafford reached the lectern to declare the Presidential address formally over, the White House switchboard, which fields forty-eight thousand calls a day, was literally jammed with thousands more, as were the switchboards of all the network television stations. Thousands of ordinary Americans were calling, not only to express overwhelming support for the U.S. military but also to inquire about where donations and wreaths should be sent.
Dick Stafford, an old Harvard buddy of the President’s, hurried back to the Oval Office. He spoke in the dialect of Nebraska, for he originated from Valentine, up there in the gigantic sprawl of Cherry County, north of the Snake River. “Mr. President,” he said, “considering the circumstances, I thought that went reasonably well.”
The reply came out of deep, northwest Oklahoma. “Dick, thanks.
I’m grateful for your help. I just wish I could have announced something for the families,” said the President.
“Not yet. Not yet. We have to pace this. I know what you want. And I believe you are correct in all of your instincts. But you must trust mine. Give it at least four days, then make another announcement. Let the inquiry get under way. Let the Navy take the flack until the weekend. Then we’ll have some time at Camp David to plan three new, separate Presidential initiatives, the special pensions for the families, the day of National Mourning, and a Presidential edict that will require all U.S. Navy ships and shore bases to hold an annual service and wardroom dinner in memory of the
Jefferson
—for all time. People will speak of attending the
Jefferson
dinner, like the Royal Navy over in Britain has always held a Trafalgar Night dinner in all of its warships and bases.”
“Hey, I like that. Hope I get invited. You don’t think it matters that Trafalgar was a huge victory for the Brits, whereas the
Jefferson
was not a triumph for us?”
“No, I do not. Gallantry is gallantry. Dying in the service of your country has a glory of its own. And I feel very certain that the American people understand that, and appreciate what our armed forces do. I actually think the liberal press and all liberal Democrats have been wrong in their dismissal of the military for years. Remember President Reagan, from this very office, increased our military spending by damn nearly 40 percent and was reelected in one of the biggest political landslides in our history.
“We should remember, too, that Reagan’s big military spending ultimately shut down the Soviet Union as a serious military opponent for us—smashed the Iron Curtain. I happen to believe that the ordinary common sense of the people tells ’em the U.S. Armed Forces are
always
on the right track, and ought not to be tampered with, not by left-wing assholes.”
The President smiled at his short, stocky press secretary. His combination of Harvard intellect and shameless use of words like “assholes” were irresistibly appealing to him. And clarity. He loved Dick Stafford’s crystalline clarity.
“What now?” asked the press secretary.
“Well, I think we should let Admiral Dunsmore get his act together for the next hour, then I think you and I and Sam Haynes should ride over to the Pentagon and sit in on the meeting for a while. We need to follow this thing every step of the way. Let ’em know we’ll be there around midnight.”
General Paul decided that the forthcoming debriefing scheduled for 2200 hours should be held in the heavily guarded private conference room used by the Chiefs of Staff for their weekly discussions with the Defense Secretary. Situated off the ninth corridor of the second-floor E Ring, this inner sanctum of the U.S. military was big enough and grand enough to accommodate all of the Navy senior management. It would also be a suitable high-security room for the President and his closest advisers should they put in an appearance. Both Admiral Dunsmore and General Paul believed this was a distinct possibility.
Awaiting the President would be five four-star admirals, two vice admirals, and one rear admiral. In addition there were two lieutenant commanders, one from Admiral Morgan’s National Security office, plus Bill Baldridge from Navy Intelligence. General Paul had requested Scott Dunsmore chair the meeting, and at the far end of the table six armchairs had been placed for the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the President, the Secretary of Defense, and senior White House staff members.
