The Marathon Watch Read online

  THE MARATHON

  WATCH

  Lawrence K. Laswell

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, events, characters and locations are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any similarity between the names, events, characters, and locations described in this book with real events, people, and locations—past, present, or future—is unintended and coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 Lawrence K. Laswell

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10: 0615886435

  ISBN-13: 978-0615886434

  DEDICATION

  To all the men of the USS William M. Wood DD-715 and to Captains Barker, Tsantes, and Costano—three of the finest captains it has been my honor to serve.

  On his way to the US Embassy in Athens where he was stationed as naval attaché, Captain Tsantes and his driver were gunned down by a terrorist on a motorcycle in 1988.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To Carol, whose interest, assistance, and support rekindled the fire I needed to finish The Marathon Watch.

  Special thanks to Lindsay and my friends at Vistage.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Witches’ Brew

  Underway

  Bastards

  Breakdown

  Assessment

  Admirals

  Returning Home

  Straits of Messina

  New Men

  Visits

  Placing Bets

  Operation Steel Henge

  Damage Control

  Burial at Sea

  Wooden Ships and Men of Steel

  Ashore

  Tsushima-Kaikyo

  To Sudha Bay

  Night Ops

  Skaramanga

  Diego Garcia

  Winds of November

  Midnight Parties

  The Conquered Knee

  Harpies of the Shore

  Of Dragons

  And Dragon Slayers

  Truths

  The God of Storms

  Eagle of the Sea

  Footnote

  To My Readers

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  In the early 1970’s, the world lived under the threat of nuclear annihilation. The United States and Russia had thousands of nuclear-tipped missiles aimed at each other, and Cold War tensions grew greater every day. With no effective defense against a nuclear attack, Pentagon strategists created a doctrine of deterrence they called MAD (Mutual Assured Destruction).

  A limited nuclear exchange of two to three dozen nuclear warheads was the only nuclear war scenario one could contemplate. Either national leaders would use restraint, or the human race would go extinct. War strategists believed that a limited nuclear exchange would devolve into a protracted naval war of attrition.

  During this period, the compass of military doctrine was swinging towards today’s high-tech military. The Pentagon had several high-tech weapons on the drawing board: Aegis for the Navy, stealth technology for the Air Force, and the M1A1 Abrams tank for the Army. The budgets for these systems were both historic and enormous.

  Against this backdrop, the highly unpopular Viet Nam war raged on. Without any clear objectives or progress in the war, the American people had lost faith in their military. The My Lai Massacre, the napalm bombing of Trảng Bàng, and the Kent State Massacre fueled massive anti-war street demonstrations.

  Congressmen and senators walked a political tight rope to show support for a strong military on the right, and support for anti-war sentiment on the left. Pentagon bashing became the political game du jour on Capitol Hill.

  WITCHES’ BREW

  November 1969, Dirksen Senate Office Building, Washington DC

  The prim secretary ushered Rear Admiral Eickhoff directly into Senator Carmichael’s office with a wide friendly smile and a comment that the senator had been expecting him. As the senior NSA presidential briefing officer, Eickhoff didn’t really have time for this, but Senator Carmichael was too important to snub. Besides, the senator held a big IOU from Eickhoff; the senator had wrangled Eickhoff’s promotion from congressional liaison officer to his current White House position with the NSA. Eickhoff had also done favors for the senator who was chairman of the Senate Armed Forces Committee, but now Carmichael held the marker.

  Carmichael looked up over his half-moon reading spectacles. “Admiral, good to see you again. Come on, have a seat. How they treating you up on sixteen hundred Pennsylvania?”

  “Nixon is a man on a mission. Let’s just say he keeps me on my toes.”

  “I bet,” Carmichael replied, with a broad welcoming smile. “Anyway, what’s the navy got planned for you next?”

  Eickhoff was at ease but he knew Carmichael’s banter had a purpose. It was always business with him. The trick was to figure out what he really wanted. “I take command of Sixth Fleet in the Mediterranean in May.”

  “That’ll be the last punch in your ticket to vice admiral, right?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Looks that way? Hell, we both know once you finish with Sixth Fleet they’ll hand you another star. Time to start thinking about promotion to full admiral, isn’t it?”

  The senator knew how to push someone’s buttons. He wanted something and he always repaid those loyal to him. Eickhoff bit his inner lip and rubbed the back of his neck before replying, “One step at a time, Senator. Enough about me. What have you got up your sleeve this week?”

  The senator’s gleaming eyes dug into Eickhoff. Bending forward in his chair, the senator said, “I have a bone I need you to chew on for me. I commissioned a study on nuclear war strategy, and what I got back made me think of you.” Carmichael reached into his desk drawer and dropped a two-inch thick wire bound report on his desk. The title page read, Military Imperatives for Victory in a Limited Nuclear War.

  “I would appreciate it if you could read this and tell me what it really means,” Carmichael said, pushing the report across his desk.

  So that was the reason he wanted to see me. With Carmichael there was always a reason behind the reason. What’s he after? “I’d be glad to, Senator, but can you give me some idea what you are looking for?”

  “Here’s the long and short of it,” Carmichael began. “The report predicts the most likely nuclear war scenario is a limited nuclear exchange. Us and the Russians will be on our knees but the war will continue, and the navy will decide the war. First they have to prevent a third world country from trying to exploit the power vacuum, and second they will have to protect shipping and oil supply lines in addition to moving military men and materiel.”

  “That’s nothing new, Senator.” Eickhoff replied.

  “Yeah, but that’s all been speculation. This lays it out in detail,” Carmichael said, jabbing his index finger into his desk. “The kicker is the report predicts we won’t be able to support the fleet because our industrial base will be decimated.”

  A few things clicked into place for Eickhoff, but not all of them. What the senator had described was a problem, but Carmichael never saw problems. He only saw opportunities. “You want to know what we can do to win the war?” Eickhoff asked.

  “Well that too,” Carmichael began. “Hell, you know full well what I want. I want the holy grail; a position that will win votes from both the hawks and the doves in my state.”

  §

  One month later Admiral Eickhoff took the parking ticket from the valet and bounded up the steps to the Tabard Inn. At the top of the steps, he stopped to straighten his suit coat and check the street for someone he might know.

  This was the riskiest move he had ever taken, and was far beyond doing a favor h
ere and there. The military ethos is to be apolitical. Officers serving in Washington were to stay away from the bubbling political witches’ brew in the capitol. If an officer was caught dipping so much as a spoon in that cauldron, his career was over. Satisfied the coast was clear, he opened the oak and leaded glass door and entered the intimate dining room. It appeared most of the diners were from out of town. There was no one there he knew. He made his way to Room 51, the private dining room he had reserved for this dinner.

  Senator Carmichael and three other senators on the Armed Services Committee greeted him. Since his last assignment was as a liaison officer to the Armed Services Committee, he knew them all and greeted them with a wide smile. He joined the group gathered around the open bar. His relatively young age at fifty-two, short haircut and trim but diminutive stature at a bit over five feet four set him apart from his older, taller, and more corpulent guests. His short height didn’t bother him because influence and power were the great equalizers in Washington, although another six inches wouldn’t hurt.

  The conversation was all small talk, as it would be through the dinner. It was after dinner the conversation would get serious.

  Two hours later, Eickhoff beamed as he put a twenty-five percent tip on the check and handed it back to the waiter. The waiter had been the epitome of discretion and had remained scarce during dinner. Finally, Senator Carmichael broached the subject of the meeting.

  “Admiral,” he began, “we appreciate the advanced copy of the article you wrote for the Naval Review and the overview of your proposed Operation Marathon. You sure took the Pentagon top brass to task on their ship and weapons systems procurement strategy with that article.”

  Eickhoff feigned a grimace before responding, “Well, yes and no. I just wanted to ask questions no one else was asking.” Eickhoff paused for a second to wipe some perspiration from his upper lip. “My purpose was not to take anyone to task but to spark an honest debate.”

  Carmichael grinned at him as if he knew better, then said, “Your article put the nuclear war report I shared with you in an entirely different light. It caught the attention of everyone on the committee. From what I gather, you believe we will ultimately lose the protracted naval war following a nuclear exchange. Could you walk us through that?”

  Carmichael’s approached surprised Eickhoff and made him feel a bit betrayed. Eickhoff pursed his lips and folded his napkin to give him time to think. They had been over this many times in the past few weeks. He thought he was here to answer questions after Carmichael had laid out his proposal. Instead, Carmichael was going to stay neutral and make him put the cards on the table. Once Carmichael read the reaction of his colleagues, he would either jump on board, or shoot Eickhoff down in flames.

  Nice technique. I’ll remember that one.

  Eickhoff knew this was not the time to go for the hard sell. Be cautious, don’t oversell, he thought, then out loud, he said, “Frankly, Senator, I am not sure. From what I know from the report, our current weapons procurement strategy, and intel we have on the Russian navy, it is a distinct possibility.

  “The question ultimately comes down to the reliability of the new high-technology ships. Our strategy relies heavily on electronics and now even computers. The long-term reliability of these systems has not been proven. We know they are finicky at best when properly maintained, but what if repair parts were taken away? That is exactly what the nuclear war report predicted.”

  The senators all nodded in solemn agreement before Senator Carmichael spoke again. “Admiral, I’ve read about your proposed Operation Marathon, what’s that all about?”

  Eickhoff understood his part in Carmichael’s ambush, and didn’t like it. “The oldest and least advanced ship in the navy is the USS Farnley. Operation Marathon would subject the Farnley and five other ships to the staffing, supply part availability, and operating tempo predicted by the nuclear war report. This then would be a valid test to determine the reliability of the newer high technology ships.”

  One of the senators looked concerned and asked, “My question is how far do you push these ships? What is the risk to the ships and crews as their material condition deteriorates? My constituents would go berserk if someone got killed or hurt and then found out about this.”

  Eickhoff had dismissed safety issues weeks ago; his ideas were far too strategic and far-reaching to be concerned about the health of a few sailors. He pursed his lips as he formulated an answer, “Ah… that is why I shaped Marathon the way I did. With all of the Operation Marathon ships under my command, I would be able to watch them closely and prevent that from happening.”

  “This is all well and good but how do I sell this back home?” another senator asked.

  Eickhoff looked at Carmichael for help; none was coming. The question put him right in the middle of the political stew he wanted to avoid. This is risky. Great rewards only come with great risks, he thought. To the senator Eickhoff replied, “Senator, I am not a politician.” Eickhoff waved his hands for emphasis. Senator Carmichael’s jaws went so stiff they stretched a smirk across his face.

  Eickhoff continued, “I don’t know. I would think with the temperament on Capitol Hill, the doves would be elated that you were beating the Pentagon down for wasting taxpayer money on expensive and possibly unreliable ships. For the hawks, you could point to your support of Operation Marathon as evidence of your concern for a strong defense. It seems to be a middle of the road approach to me.”

  The senators all began speaking at once. Eickhoff sensed his job was done, so he relaxed and listened to the debate. To his surprise, a consensus formed quickly. Finally, Senator Carmichael spoke for the group, “The appropriation hearings on new ship construction are coming up. The questions raised by the nuclear war report, your article in the Naval Review, and Operation Marathon will be center stage. We won’t give the navy another red cent for construction until we get the results of Operation Marathon. If your projections pan out, we’ll tear the navy down and maybe let someone like you rebuild it.”

  Eickhoff had put his projections together on a piece of scrap paper. The real numbers weren’t important. It was just pure logic that the high-technology ships would fail to measure up and that is what Marathon would prove. “I’m very confident in my projections,” Eickhoff lied before adding, “I appreciate your support and the confidence the committee has in me.”

  “Well thanks for dinner and a great strategy session,” Senator Carmichael replied, ending the dinner. All rose and headed toward the door.

  Eickhoff could hardly believe his luck. He was the right man, at the right place, at the right moment in history. He wondered how far he could stretch this run of good luck.

  UNDERWAY

  USS Farnley, Three hours out of Norfolk, VA

  Operation Marathon: Day 1

  This is the real deal, Ross thought. Sitting in the engine room of the USS Farnley watching his men work, Ross felt he was a blessed man.

  Two years from retirement, Ross’ adventure was coming to a close the way he had hoped. The Farnley was a good ship and she carried her heritage proudly; she was the last of the Able class destroyers, and, to Ross, she was the Grand Dame of the fleet. His career was coming full circle, and his last two years at sea would be a pleasure. The Farnley was a good ship with a good crew and a great captain.

  Despite the recent overhaul, he could hear a tick here and a rattle there. They weren’t ready for white enameled bilges yet, but he had a good crew eager to learn and he would teach them all he could. That was also part of the deal. His life would be a joy, and his last two years at sea a pleasure.

  A new man, Fireman Apprentice Stucky, watched the port throttleman. This was Stucky’s first day in the engine room and in a few days, he would stand his first throttle watch. The freckled face kid was wide-eyed in wonderment. Ross knew how Stucky felt. Even loafing along at fifteen knots, the Farnley’s engine room would be awesome to Stucky. Ross remembered how cavernous the Able’s engine room had see
med his first time. At full power, the rolling thunder of her seventy-thousand horsepower engines had frightened and humbled him. He could still recall the exhilaration of his first throttle watch and the heady sensation of power. Her nervous energy seemed limitless and he could feel her chafing at her mechanical harness begging to be free. The Farnley was as good as the Able, both proud thoroughbreds.

  Ross envied Stucky; his adventure was just beginning. Ross set his coffee cup down on the white enameled bench and smiled to himself. “Stucky, what’s our speed?”

  Ross’ address startled Stucky, and he turned away from the gauge board to look at Ross. “Me?”

  “Yes. What’s our speed?” Ross said.

  “Fifteen knots.”

  “What’s our top end?” Ross continued.

  “Someone said thirty-six knots. Right?”

  “Half right. Our design speed is forty, but right now thirty-six sounds right. We’re going to fix that ‘cause it’s the last four knots that separate the men from the boys.”

  Satisfied Stucky’s education was on track, Ross set his coffee cup on his bench, pointed to an open toolbox next to him and said, “Stucky, come here son, this box has your name on it.”

  “That’s not mine, Chief, honest.” Stucky replied.

  “I just said it’s yours,” Ross began, “and I want to know what your toolbox is doing lying open in the middle of my deck?”

  Ross looked at Stucky as if waiting for a reply, then continued softly. “This is an engine room. It ain’t no garage. We keep toolboxes closed and stowed. And look here.” Ross pulled a large wrench, dripping with oil, from the top of the box and handed it to Stucky. “That, son, is unsat. If you had to use it in an emergency, you’d never get a good grip on it. Dirty tools make for dirty sailors, and dirty sailors make for dirty dangerous engine rooms. Keep your tools clean. Understand?”

  Stucky nodded yes, but his face betrayed his confusion. Ross continued, “Now, you’re new, so I’m going to cut you some slack. After your watch, clean the tools until they’re cleaner than the mess deck trays then bring them to me, and I’ll tell you if they’re good enough to stow. From now on, you own it. If the other men don’t treat your tools right, you got the right to raise hell with them, ‘cause if you don’t I’ll raise holy hell with you. Never leave your toolbox in the middle of my deck where someone could trip over it. It’s dangerous and it makes my engine room look bad.”