The Crucible. Joaquin De Torres

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      As commander of the Pacific Fleet, he was responsible for operations from the Coast of the United States to the eastern shores of Africa, the North and South Poles, and over 100 million square miles of ocean. He had command over 200 combat ships, more than 2,000 aircraft, and 130,000 Sailors, Marines and support personnel. The Pacific Fleet was his passion, his life and nothing else. What most admirals considered the ultimate dream job as CNO, the epitome of naval command, Ramon considered with suspicion. He called the position the ultimate public relations job for politicians. This was not Ramon. He didn't care to give speeches at the Naval War College, or at the Naval Academy commencement ceremonies, or drink champagne with policy makers and political suck-asses. He was a point man. He wanted to remain on the front lines and protect his country. And now, he was about to find out how much damage the CNO job had done to the only man on earth he called his brother.

      At 9:30 A.M. that morning, the long anticipated and dreaded meeting began. After some small talk about their families, the Redskins and Ravens having horrible seasons, and the latest troubles plaguing the president and his administration the official agendas began to take form. Almost immediately, Antonio was on the defensive.

      “First off Ray, don’t start in about your carriers. Okay?” Antonio resembled a grandfather giving guidance to his grandson--head low, eyes up, eyebrows furrowed and glasses resting at the tip of his nose. “I’m giving you the Kitty Hawk for now. Maybe another from the Gulf in about a month.”

      “A month!? China will be invading Taiwan within that time. The Middle East operations have more than enough firepower. I need more carriers in the Pacific. You know this, Tony.”

      “It wasn’t my call, Ray. It was Cranston’s.”

      “Fuck Cranston! He doesn’t know anything about naval strategy or military operations!” Ramon took a deep breath to keep his voice down. He tried again. “I need at least two more carriers as well as the Kitty Hawk. Give me the Lincoln and the Washington.”

      “You’ve got five carriers already. The Joint Chiefs--”

      “The Joint Chiefs? The Joint Chiefs!” Ramon rolled his eyes. “My God, Tony, what’s going on with you? I’ve got three conflicts and five carriers in my theatre.”

      “That’s all you need for now.”

      “That’s all I need? I’ve only three carriers in the Ring of Fire, one in Indonesia, and the Kitty Hawk is still waiting for planes. Tony, only three in the Ring! The Chinese are going to take that island, and while I’m getting my ass kicked there, the North Koreans are going to get tired of the Iron Clad and start shooting missiles. I’ve got to be ready for that.”

      Antonio waved his hand dismissively and looked down.

      “Ray, I’m not going to argue about this today.”

      “Please, Tony, just two more carrier groups.”

      “Stop, already!” Antonio’s hands began to quiver slightly as his agitation level began to rise. But Ramon continued hammering on the subject despite the protest.

      “So now I have the Japanese and South Korean fleets enforcing the blockade with a handful of our ships. Things are going to get messy.” He leaned forward. “Antonio, I’m too thin out there. If one of those Korean ships runs the blockade, or the Chinese decide to send in a supply ship, I‘ll be trapped.”

      “Ray, you know the administration’s policy on the terrorists in the Middle East and Africa. The Joint Chiefs want to hit them all at the same time and we need the carriers to do this.” Antonio’s utterly exhausted response mirrored his exhausted face and dark-ringed eyes. “Besides, neither of those countries you mentioned is going to do anything drastic. We’ve heard the rhetoric for ages.”

      “You think not, but remember my brother, we are starving one of them out of existence. You are a history man, you know about Spartacus against the Romans; Alaric and the Visigoths against the Romans; Attila the Hun against the Romans--”

      “Yes, yes, yes,” Antonio exhaled. “What’s your point?”

      “My point is that the Romans were arrogant and in decline. They didn‘t understand that when you oppress a group hard enough and long enough, that group will organize and rise up. Tony, when are you going to realize that we're the fucking Romans!”

      “Ray, please!”

      “It will take just one mistake and it’s going to be a shooting gallery out there. Wake up! I’m telling you, North Korea is a wounded beast, backed in a cave. How long do you think we can uphold this idiotic blockade? Without enough overlapping reconnaissance, or long range air defense, how long until one rogue vigilante, or mercenary, or one patriotic boat captain fires on one of our patrol ships? What if one of those Russian subs, now North Korean-owned, torpedoes one of our ships? What then, brother? We don’t have enough units out there to watch everything.”

      “Ray, let’s move on. You have to deal with the Koreans, the Chinese, the Indonesians, and the terrorists with what you presently have. We’re about to drop bombs on Iran for Christ’s sake. Can we just move on now, goddamn it!?” Antonio’s hands were shaking even more.

      Ramon let it go. This was not the battle he wanted to fight today. There was another. It was the reason why he came. He moved on, allowing Antonio to dictate the conversation and the subject matter. Between typing in notes and figures on their laptops, Ramon looked up to study Antonio. My poor brother, what has this job done to you? He saw the craggily crust of stress on Antonio’s once noble face. He noticed the road map of facial wrinkles, the incessantly blinking eyes; and yes, the quivering hands.

      Antonio Espinoza was an enervated man, devitalized and devalued by the recent years of political machinations. The last sessions of fiscal proposals with the president, the Secretary of Defense (SECDEF) and their budgeting committee had completely drowned his spirit. Never before did he fight so hard to protect so little. The dwindling benefits of the fleet would be cut again by Congress to finance interests elsewhere. The three newly-approved anti-terrorism campaigns set against African nations only served to decimate the defense budget.

      For Antonio this meant corners had to be cut and his hopes for accomplishing something meaningful before his own retirement were crushed. He saw his Navy being drained of life. The fleet was overstretched and all reserve units were being called onto active duty for indefinite service. The SECDEF ordered stop-loss and stop-move policies service-wide, which froze any type of personnel separation. Those already serving on active duty were extended at their present duty stations indefinitely to save the funds of relocation. Those approaching retirement or separation were not permitted to do either. Antonio was now foundering in rough waters as politicians and special interest groups ran the show and were keys in the decision-making processes of military strategy.

      Iran, Syria, Yemen, Somalia, Saudi Arabia and Indonesia-- breeding grounds and financial funnels for terror--had to be fleshed out, and according to President O’Malley, had to eventually be destroyed. It was O’Malley’s personal agenda and the centerpiece of his legacy to rid the world of terrorists once and for all. These were the budget committee’s top priorities. There was nothing else meaningful in the Navy for him now. The machine of war was hot and its political gears turned toward a newer reality: America was now going on the offensive. Anyone who didn't want to be part of this fervor would be simply bypassed. Antonio was simply bypassed.

      Ramon had warned him when he first took this job that he would forfeit his right to command, and it was a prophecy that would haunt him for years. His sensitivity and empathy, traits that were once СКАЧАТЬ