Authors: Patrick Robinson
U.S.S. Seawolf (57 page)
And so the admirals, including Mulligan and Cameron, had agreed upon this course of action. The court-martial would almost certainly find both men not guilty, but to have staged it, and put two of their own through the humiliation, would hopefully absolve the Navy from further blame.
The trouble now was that the President was not having it. He stood before Admiral Morgan and said categorically, “No one is going to court-martial my son. Not while I sit in this chair as Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces.”
“But, sir, I don’t see that we have any choice. We have to deflect the media from the real story, which would have this administration thrown out. You would be in disgrace, sir. Going to war with China, to save Linus. Even you, sir, could not get away with that.”
“Okay. I accept that. But look here, Arnie, I’ve read this report, and I don’t think anything of this Crocker guy. Jesus, I’m a lawyer, and there’s not one shred of corroboration to back his claim that Linus made a mistake. Nothing, ’cept stuff that happened after the fact. I mean, give me a break. There was three seconds on the periscope. And you guys want to hang my own son on that? Nossir. That’s not going to happen.”
“Mr. President, the Navy is going to court-martial
either Linus, or both him and Judd, for the loss of the ship. After all, he was driving the damned thing.”
“So he may have been. But this Crocker guy should have been there. He’s the captain. And his evidence is flawed against my boy. Linus has always been truthful, ever since he was little…and this Crocker character is trying to turn him into a liar. And that’s what I’m not having.
“Admiral Morgan, I want that captain court-martialed. But I’m not having Linus there with him. He’s the CO. Let him take the blame. It’s just his word against the truthful word of my boy. I’ll even have Linus stand witness for him. But I’m not having that boy facing a Navy court-martial, which would ultimately bring a much greater disgrace upon him than it would for a normal person.”
“Sir, I will make your wishes known to the respective admirals, and we’ll just have to see how the cards fall. But I do know everyone is very concerned about how much press this thing is beginning to attract.”
“All right. But don’t come back with a lot of crap. I just want to be told that Linus is not going to be facing a U.S. Navy court-martial. Not after all that boy’s gone through.”
0900. Wednesday, September 27
.
The Oval Office
.
Morgan paused before the door of the Oval Office, then entered.
“Sir, you’re not going to like this,” he said to the President. “The Navy is to convene a Special Court-Martial charging both Captain Crocker and Lt. Commander Linus Clark with gross negligence in the loss of the submarine
Seawolf
. Sir, they feel they have no choice in the current climate, and I agree with them.”
“GODDAMNIT, ARNIE! Can I overrule, strike Linus off the charge?”
“Yessir. As C-in-C you may do as you wish. But I am told you will then receive the instant resignations of your chief of naval operations, Admiral Joe Mulligan, and that of the commander of the Pacific Fleet, Admiral Archie Cameron.”
“THEN TELL ’EM TO GET THE HELL OUT AND I’LL APPOINT A COUPLE OF GUYS WHO WILL HELP ME OUT HERE…MAYBE APPRECIATE SOME OF THE STUFF I’VE DONE FOR THE NAVY.”
“Is that your last word, sir?”
“It sure as hell is. I need a new CNO and a new CINCPAC, right? Please start things moving, and announce nothing about the court-martial.”
“Very well, sir. But we have to hurry. They intend the court-martial to sit on Friday morning, while the evidence is fresh.”
“They can sit whenever the hell they like. But the only man they’ll be trying is Captain Judd Crocker. I want him charged with being absent from his place of duty in the face of the enemy. China, right. That’s an enemy.”
Arnold Morgan left without another word. And within 30 minutes the two resignations were in. It took another five hours to make new appointments, and both men were given to understand that if the Navy wanted its massive budget for the next two years to be approved by the President, they would acquiesce to his wishes in the court-martial of Judd Crocker.
Admiral Dick Greening, flying in from Pearl to replace Archie Cameron, had no feelings about the trial, and felt that the probable letter of censure to a captain who had lost his submarine could not possibly be worth such a total disruption.
The appointment of a new CNO was more difficult, but in the end they appointed Admiral Alan Dickson, Commander-in-Chief of the Atlantic Fleet. His views, too, were ambivalent on the subject of Judd Crocker’s
court-martial. He was not, however, appraised of the President’s wish that the captain should be found guilty, and the entire matter closed at that point.
Admiral Morgan requested a delay until Monday for the trial of Judd Crocker, which was granted. And he spent much of the weekend trying to reason with the President. But there was no reasoning. He did not wish Linus Clarke even to attend the hearing, and he sent him home to the ranch in Oklahoma.
Which meant that on Monday morning, in the same room where the Board of Inquiry had sat, Captain Judd Crocker faced the court-martial alone. Only his father was there, waiting outside for the verdict. And for three hours, the former commanding officer pleaded his case, explaining the circumstances, trying to explain his XO’s mistake.
But there was no pleading here. The Navy wanted a conviction, to get everyone off the hook. The President wanted a conviction, to get his son off the hook. This was a trial that was lost before it was held.
At 1625 on the afternoon of Monday, October 2, Captain Judd Crocker was found guilty of gross negligence, effectively “on grounds that he had been absent from his place of duty in the face of the enemy.” He was relieved of command and issued a letter of the severest censure, with a recommendation that he leave the service forth-with.
1400. Tuesday. October 3
.
Office of the National Security Adviser
.
Admiral Morgan had just proposed to Kathy O’Brien. “Thought I’d get that absolute formality out of the way before I go along and tell the Chief I’ve resigned,” he said.
“Well, yes. I will marry you. But this is all a little sudden. I presume it’s about Judd Crocker’s court-martial?”
“Not quite. It’s just that I can no longer give my loyalty to a man like President Clarke. This whole thing has been riddled with dishonesty and corruption. Nothing’s ever been straight, right from the start. And I cannot put up with it. I’m outta here, though he will not know that for a couple of days.
“I’ve been in the United States Navy almost all of my life, and I have never known such a series of totally shocking events. Losing Joe Mulligan? Archie Cameron? Disgracing our best submarine CO? All for this little shit Linus Clarke? No, Kathy, I’m not having it. I’m out.”
Then the admiral was gone, on his way to the Oval Office, taking with him his letter of resignation, effective Friday.
The President was stunned at his decision to quit on him.
The two men talked for an hour, John Clarke trying to persuade Arnold Morgan not to leave the ship. But there was no changing the mind of the National Security Adviser. He simply felt he could not offer this President the kind of loyalty he needed.
They shared a pot of coffee, and just as they were preparing to shake hands, there was a tap on the door, and a thoroughly distraught Kathy O’Brien came in slowly, a white handkerchief pressed to her face.
“Sir,” she blurted out, “Captain Crocker has shot himself. He’s dead.”
President Clarke went white. His hand was clasped across his mouth as if trying to” stop himself from crying out.
Admiral Morgan steeled himself and put his arm around Kathy, guiding her out of the room. Just before he walked out through the doorway, he turned and said, “Corruption, sir, when you’re dealing with men of honor, sometimes carries a very high price.”
They brought Judd Crocker’s body home by military aircraft, landing at Cape Cod’s sprawling Otis Air Force Base. His heartbroken family arranged a small private funeral on the outskirts of Osterville, just for relatives and the small contingent from Washington—the President, Admiral Morgan and Kathy, and Admiral Joe Mulligan. However, Lt. Commander Rick Hunter flew in with Brad Stockton on a military jet from San Diego, and they flanked Nicole and the two little girls throughout the proceedings.
The service was conducted by the local pastor, and they laid Judd Crocker to rest near the grave of his grandfather in the hillside cemetery. The President himself looked as if every one of his worst dreams had just happened.
Here, in this village by Nantucket Sound, he faced for the first time the consequences of his actions. The entire place was in mourning for a native son who had died by his own hand. Down at the Wianno Yacht Club, where Captain Crocker had learned to sail as a boy, the flag of the United States flew at half-staff.
It was the same in the center of the town, outside the country store, where the town flag was also at half-staff. Shops all along Main Street were closed for the funeral, and a huge crowd was gathered on the sidewalks all the way down to the cemetery.
There had been just enough in the newspapers and on television for everyone to know there had been something highly suspicious about the court-martial. No one believed that Judd Crocker could possibly have been solely responsible for the loss of the
Seawolf
.
And now the President seemed to be in shock at the outpouring of hometown grief. The worst news he heard was that Admiral Nathaniel Crocker had told the
Cape Cod Times
that he would devote the next five years to writing a book about the loss of the submarine, and his son’s part in the disaster. He had, he revealed, been promised total cooperation by many of Judd’s crew.
In the event, the final word, perhaps, went to Admiral Crocker, who waited for the President after the service.
Judd’s father walked up to him, and he did not offer his hand. He just said softly, “I wonder, sir, whose son has the greater honor, yours or mine?”
For my fourth military novel, my principal adviser was again Admiral Sir John “Sandy” Woodward, who was thus obliged to steer me through the dangerous waters of the China seas in a large nuclear submarine.
Where I wanted to go was often impossible. “Depth, man, depth, for heaven’s sake watch your depth!” Will I ever forget his admonishments as he paced the office glaring at the charts? While I tried to grapple with the subtleties of English prose, he mostly talked to me as if I were a petty officer third class wrestling with the conn.
But the admiral and I have sailed difficult literary waters before, and somehow we made our way around the course. I am deeply indebted to him for his insights, incomparable knowledge of the operation of a submarine, and, in this case, his knowledge of nuclear physics. He’s pretty good on the construction of a plot too—radar-alert to the weak, the unlikely, and, to quote him again, “the grotesquely impossible.”
The highlight of writing one of these novels is, for me, the moment the admiral concludes months and months of scheming, criticizing, and checking with a curt nod and the words, “That’ll do.” I am sure his commanders in the 1982 Falklands War saw that decisive finality many times.
It’s reassuring, of course, to have an ex-Battle Group commander, and the Royal Navy’s former Flag Officer Submarines, in your corner. But no one ever said it was supposed to be easy.
For this book I also required expert guidance from officers who had commanded Special Forces. For obvious reasons, none of them ought to be named. However, I am profoundly grateful for their advice and insights into a large-scale assault action.
I thank also Anne Reiley for her eagle-eyed appraisal of certain Washington landmarks. And also my friend Ray McDwyer of Cavan, Ireland, for providing me with a haven on the south side of Dublin City, where I annually carry out the lonely task of writing a 400-page novel.
Patrick Robinson
Patrick Robinson lives in Dublin, Ireland, and on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. He is the bestselling author of three novels:
Nimitz Class, Kilo Class,
and
H.M.S Unseen.
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FOR PATRICK ROBINSON AND
U.S.S. SEAWOLF
“Gripping…As usual, Robinson makes the impossible look easy and ratchets the tension higher and higher.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“Exciting…action-packed…One heck of a ride both by sea and by land…With this book, Robinson continues to impeccably document military hardware and procedures, as he has done so admirably in his last three naval thrillers.”
—
Cape Cod Times
“Robinson’s most suspenseful naval technothriller yet—a tense, unpredictable adventure that rivals the best of Tom Clancy and Dale Brown.”
—
Courier Times
“Patrick Robinson is quickly replacing Tom Clancy as the preeminent writer of modern naval fiction.”
—
Florida Times-Union
“An absolutely marvelous thriller writer. I don’t need to urge people to read his book, because they will do so by the millions.”
—Jack Higgins
“Patrick Robinson’s best book yet.
H.M.S. Unseen
is a dazzling, page-turning yarn that establishes its author as a master craftsman of the techno-thriller. No one does it better—not even Tom Clancy. Be warned, however, once begun,
H.M.S. Unseen
is impossible to put down. Highly recommended.”
—Carlo D’Este, author of
Patton: A Genius for War
“Another first-rate thriller.”
—
Florida Times-Union
“His willingness to challenge the rigid boundaries of the military thriller is welcome, particularly as his writing stays always on its toes.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“Compelling because it is believable.”
—
New London Day
“Superb.”
—
Florida Times-Union
“Spectacular…U.S. subs are sinking seven ultraquiet Russian ones that have been sold to the Chinese to aid in their takeover of the sea lanes around Taiwan. Now, China’s xenophobic military find their beautiful new subs with their nuclear-tipped torpedoes disappearing into abyssal darkness and utter silence. Sound good? You’re right, and it deserves wide sales to the technothriller crowd.”
—
Kirkus Reviews
“Action follows action with menace piled on mystery on top of intrigue.
Nimitz Class
is a stunner that irresistibly hurtles the reader through explosions and deceptions from the first page to the exciting climax on the last.”
—Clive Cussler
“The best military thriller since
The Hunt for Red October
…Robinson has crafted a fast-paced, chilling, yet believable tale, peppered with unforgettable characters.”
—
San Francisco Examiner
“Clever…Rivals
The Hunt for Red October
in thrills.”
—
Sunday Denver Post
“A perfect nautical thriller: suspenseful, exciting, technically accurate, and plausible enough to be unnerving. For sailors and non-sailors alike, it is the can’t-put-down geomilitary yarn for this summer’s reading.”
—
Dallas Morning News
“Thriller fiction at its best…Riveting.”
New London Day
“A thundering good naval yarn…An enjoyable read,
Nimitz Class
has a more serious purpose, to draw attention to the worldwide peacekeeping role being carried out by the U.S. Navy. We must hope that a ‘Nimitz-Class’ type of incident, which every professional sailor will recognize as extreme but plausible, would not shake American resolve.”
—Captain Richard Sharpe, editor,
Jane’s Fighting Ships
“
Nimitz Class
is that rare combination of military thriller and tactical treatise…I strongly suggest that all military professionals read this book, not only for the issues it confronts, but for the sheer enjoyment of a great book.”
—William J. Crowe, Jr., Former U.S. Ambassador to Great Britain
