2.1.1 Admiral Duncan

Vice Admiral James Thomas Duncan was jet-lagged all to hell by the time he arrived at the Admiralty. Fleet Admiral George Flagett greeted Duncan warmly and quickly put his mind at ease. The Admiralty would honor their commitments by deploying both of the Royal Navy’s carriers. They would be a huge help, especially since Britain had finally gotten back into the Navy business for the first time since the Second World War.

Britain had downsized its fleets for decades. Even after the Falklands debacle, the British had shied away from a commitment to their historic strength, the Royal Navy. They had kept two small ships, suitable only for jump-jets, through the first quarter of the 21st century. America’s continuing downsizing, combined with Britain’s remarkable economic growth, had brought about a resurgence in national pride and a recognition of the need to protect its interests throughout the world. Great Britain had built a real carrier, calling her Victory, a name that had lived in fame and glory for centuries in the RN.

H.M.S. Victory was a pretty ship. She was about the same size as the Halsey, but the Brits had done the job right by designing her as a full-fledged nuke. She had an angled flight deck like her American cousins with a complement of about sixty planes. Victory had two twelve-plane squadrons of Sea Typhoon interceptors, plus an equal number of Sea Fury fighter-bombers. She also had ten twin-jet attack bombers, American Hawkeyes, and her own propeller-driven ASW aircraft. All in all, H.M.S. Victory was a good ship. And, when she sailed with the old Ajax and her two dozen jump-jets, they were a formidable presence.

Following his meeting with the Brits, Duncan flew to Paris where he talked at length with the French Naval Minister, Monsieur DuPreiss, and Admiral Angelou, the Naval Chief of Staff. The French had officially stated that they were not ready to commit their armed forces and were awaiting NATO’s decision. Regardless of the official French position, Admiral Angelou confided that Foch was already on station about 100 kilometers off the southwest coast of Corsica, while cautioning that the carrier’s maneuvers were strictly defensive in nature. Duncan could get no French commitment regarding French protection of NATO ships in the Mediterranean.

Admiral Duncan was bitterly disappointed with the results of his meeting with America’s oldest ally. He believed that the French were as involved in this as much as anybody else, if not more. The very least they could have done was commit to the oldest of all treaty obligations -- freedom of the seas. Further, since he couldn’t count on the French to protect his PhibRon, he would have to turn Halsey around to ensure that the Marines weren’t attacked on their way to wherever they were going.

"What a way to start a tour of duty," he fumed.

His driver interrupted him, "Change of plans, Admiral. They want you over at the embassy."

"Why?"

"Didn’t say, Sir. They just said do it."

The admiral nodded, and the big car whipped a U-ey much to the consternation of several Parisians, who tooted their little horns and shook their fists at the big Yankee limo. "Screw them!" Duncan fumed, "If their admirals had even that much courage, they’d be in this thing where they belong." By the time he arrived at the embassy, Jim Duncan had worked himself into a towering rage.

Ambassador Dillon greeted the admiral upon his arrival. Dillon was a political hack from the word go, but he had spent years in the political arena. He knew how to put people at ease and how to get things done. Within minutes, he had seated Duncan in the Naval Attaché's office next to a security VisiPhone with a large pot of strong coffee at his side. Duncan punched in his code. The screen blinked a couple of times as the satellite synchronized the transmission frequencies.

Doug Smalley’s face appeared on the screen. "Admiral, how are you? Sorry to interrupt your vacation, but there’s some news I’d better tell you. I tried to get you before you met with the French.

"This morning Iran and Iraq invaded Kuwait. The Kuwaiti army was destroyed. The President has declared a State of Emergency. Kimmel is sailing from Diego Garcia along with her PhibRon. The prepositioned ships there will put to sea ASAP. The 82nd and the 101st are alerted as are the Ninth and Twelfth Light. Air lift will begin within the hour.

"On top of that, it looks like the Syrians and Iraqis are going to attack Israel. Syria has moved three divisions into the Golan Heights area, and Israel has mobilized. The Iraqis are sending at least one division overland towards Syria.

"NATO is meeting as we speak. The French are dragging their heels, but everybody else is on board, except for the Turks and Greeks, that is. They’ve both tied their cooperation to Cypress!

"I’ve talked with the Admiralty. We’ve set up hunting preserves. The Brits will take the Eastern Atlantic, coast of Morocco and the Straits of Gibraltar. If the French come in, they’ll take the Western Med. You’ve got the Eastern MED until CentCom comes up to speed. You will also have the full cooperation of the Italian Navy, including escort vessels if you need them.

"Your orders are to patrol and to protect American interests in the Eastern Med. Your base will be Crete. You are to engage any Iraqi or Irani flagged vessels. Capture them if you can, sink them if you have to. Same goes for aircraft. You will make direct contact with the naval and civilian authorities in Tel Aviv through our ambassador. If this thing turns into a shooting war, you will provide air and naval support for Israel. By the way, keep your eye on Egypt and the Canal!

"As you know, your PhibRon was increased to a MAB under Blacky Breckenridge. I didn’t want to delay his sailing until his entire brigade was assembled. I’m sending Blacky and his MAU right away. The rest will follow in eight days under Rear Admiral Ellingstone. He’ll be your ComSurfPhibRon.

"That’s about it. Anything from your side?"

Duncan shook his head emphatically. "No, Admiral. My meeting with the French was a waste of time. However, f the French do commit, they won’t have far to go. The Foch is already off Corsica. By the way, who’d they select for CentCom?"

"Gator. You know him?"

Yes, indeed, Duncan knew Hector Luis Lopez Algarro. The admiral’s thoughts flashed back to his days at the Naval Academy. Algarro had been at West Point at the same time as Duncan was at Annapolis. Hector was a little shit, but quick as a cat and tougher than nails. He was the Army’s best wrestler and had even gone to the Olympics. The Naval Academy had only accomplished two things during the Algarro era. They had considerably increased West Point’s number of wrestling wins over Annapolis, and they had given Hector Algarro his nickname. A middy who had just lost to him came out of the ring moaning that wrestling the skinny spic was like wrestling an alligator.

Since then, Algarro’s career had been one of steady and sometimes spectacular success. Both he and Duncan had been involved in the Second Korean War when they were still fresh out of school and wet behind the ears. Gator had gone on to get his pilot’s wings, parachuted out of perfectly good airplanes to earn his paratrooper wings, and then, probably because he was bored, took a couple of turns in Special Forces.

In his last command position, he had commanded the Twenty-Fourth Armored Infantry. In the big war games down in Ft. Bragg, his division had wracked up the most points ever won in a war game, ever. Theoretically, he had both the highest number of kills and the lowest number of casualties ever recorded. After that, he had spent three years at the Pentagon bringing all the Army’s units up to that same level of proficiency.

Gator! General Hector Algarro! Those rag-heads were in deep trouble. Last time they’d played with Stormin’ Norman, The Bear. This time, they had a Gator by the tail.

The CNO was still speaking, "I’ve gotta get going. Anything else?" Duncan shook his head. "OK, JT, give ‘em hell, and bring my ships back in one piece!" The screen went blank, leaving only the afterimage of a smiling, confidant CNO.

Jim Duncan was in a far better mood as he headed for the airport. His reminiscences had driven his anger with the French completely from his mind. As he boarded his plane to Naples, his brain seethed with potential battle plans. He concentrated, once again, on a game plan that’d protect the entire Eastern Mediterranean, including the Suez Canal, with just one undersized carrier and a handful of escorts. Slowly, he linked scraps of thoughts together, and a single strategy emerged.

Without the French, the small ships and gunboats of the Italian Navy would be spread too thinly for Duncan to use in the defense of his fleet. He could count on the Egyptians to protect their most important asset, the Suez Canal. He knew that the Israelis would be able to handle things close to their shores. If he positioned Halsey off Gaza, he could cover both the Canal and Israel at the same time. It’d be a long haul for Halsey’s planes to get to Syria and back, and they’d have damned little time over target, but it just might work.

At Naples Airport, Fleet Admiral Cesare Robustelli greeted his American counterpart as though he were the long sought savior. They exchanged formal salutes. Then the huge Italian totally embarrassed Duncan by hugging the stuffing out of him and planting a big, sloppy kiss on his cheek!

As they drove to Italian Naval Headquarters, Duncan tried to explain the problem with the French to Robustelli. The Italian answered, "Don’t you worry. We will handle it." He tried to explain his concerns about Blacky’s PhibRon and its passage through the Straits of Gibraltar. Once again, Robustelli answered, "Don’t you worry. We will handle it." No matter what problem Duncan raised, the answer was always the same, "Don’t you worry. We will handle it." By the time they arrived at HQ, Duncan was pissed off all over again.

Robustelli led Duncan into the Italian Naval War Planning Bureau. It was only then that Duncan began to understand Robustelli’s confidence. The Italians had established three identical war rooms, each developing a different scenario on its computers. Italian, American and even British naval and air units were engaged in a series of trial combats. Huge electronic screens showed the battle results in "real time", compressed to a one hour per day time scale. In the first scenario, the French were assumed to have remained neutral. In the second room, the scenario involved the full participation of the French. In the third scenario, the variables were the Greeks and the Turks. When Duncan asked about this, the Italian just shrugged and smiled, "Don’t you worry. We will handle it."

With his staff working feverishly on the different scenarios, Robustelli suggested that they should eat a little lunch. Duncan readily agreed. He loved Italian cooking, but was unaware that in Italy, the words "eating" and "little" are mutually exclusive terms.

They started with a little wine and a little antipasto. Then, they had a little more wine and a few shells in marinara sauce. That course was followed by a little more wine and a wonderful veal Marsala. In turn, that led to a little more wine and a superb pastry that tasted like honey, but melted in their mouths. Their meal finally ended with a little more wine and a fine cigar.

Duncan was stuffed! If he ate like that every day, he’d be as round as he was tall. Now, he understood why the Italian Fleet Admiral was so portly.

Yet, in spite of their gargantuan meal and the relaxed pace of eating and drinking, JT was surprised at how much they had accomplished. They developed areas of separate responsibility and of joint responsibility. They worked on the problem of getting the PhibRon safely from Gibraltar through the Straits of Sicily. They worked on the defense of Pantelleria and of Malta. Duncan found that, in spite of Admiral Robustelli’s easy-going temperament, he had a quick, active intellect that cut to the heart of even the most difficult problem. By the time the two of them waddled away from their two-and-one-half hour "lunch", Admiral Duncan was convinced that the Italian Navy was one of the best kept secrets in the whole world.

Duncan’s opinion was further substantiated when they arrived back at the war rooms. At first, nothing appeared to have changed. Computers were still humming with their screens flashing. Worried-looking staffers were hunched over readouts comparing notes. As the admirals walked in, one of the senior officers rushed over to them with a portfolio. "Sirs, we have tested several scenarios, both with and without the French. Here’s what we have so far."

The staffer led them into a miniature theater where a large overview of the entire Mediterranean was displayed on its screen. Lights of different colors and shapes alternately appeared and disappeared as the senior staff officer described the positions of each of the vessels within the fleets. All the scenarios assumed that North Africa from Morocco to Libya was hostile.

The first two runs ended in disasters. The Moroccans attacked Blacky’s PhibRon as it attempted to run Gibraltar without additional support. The Moroccans fired missiles from their positions near Ksar es-Seghir. Their high speed gunboats hit the convoy, while their air forces overpowered the meager Marine Air CAP. The second scenario was equally disastrous as the PhibRon ran the Straits of Sicily. The distances were so short that hit and run raids by the Islamic air and sea forces caused major damage.

In the next set of scenarios, the variable was the presence of the British carriers during the passage through Gibraltar. With the small Ajax in support, the PhibRon still got hit hard. But, if Victory were present, the fleet had more than enough air and missile power to get through without any hits in five consecutive runs.

The Straits of Sicily remained a problem. The Italians had no carrier, but did have a sizable complement of missile-armed destroyers and frigates. When they were combined with increased Italian Air Force participation, the convoy got through unscathed in two of three computer runs. In the third, Hornet was badly damaged. Yet if any of the big carriers were present, no ships were damaged in five successive computer simulations.

The next few runs showed the same scenarios after initial air and naval assaults on North African air and naval bases. Although the PhibRon got through after each of these simulations, the cost to Halsey in terms of aircraft and crew losses was considerable. Yet, when the same attacks were made by any combination of two carriers, even including the combination of Ajax and Foch, losses were more than acceptable, and the PhibRon sailed on to Cypress without loss.

Admiral Duncan was amazed. He knew that naval planners used computer simulations all the time, but he had never before actually seen an operation of such magnitude and scale. When he expressed his amazement, Admiral Robustelli just laughed. He then picked up the receiver of a VisiPhone, and almost instantly Douglas Smalley, George Flagett, Elridge Ellingstone and Blacky Breckenridge appeared in split screens.

"Well, what do you think of our toy, JT?" the CNO asked.

Before Duncan could reply, the Sea Lord interjected, "You’ve been using the entire NATO computer network for over eight hours. Do remember to reimburse His Majesty’s government, or submit a properly authorized expense chit!"

"Yes, Sirs, I shall," Duncan joked. "In the meantime, I think I’d better get back to my fleet. I’m heading to Spain in an hour, and then I’ll fly out to Halsey."

"OK, JT. We’ll have a plane waiting."

"Elly, where are you?"

"We’re into our second day headed for the Azores. If all goes well, we’ll be there day after tomorrow."

Duncan nodded, and then asked the question that must have been uppermost in everyone’s mind, "I guess that leaves us with the rest of the game plan. How do we handle it?"

Everyone sat quietly waiting for either the CNO or the Sea Lord to answer. Duncan knew whichever spoke first would be bearing huge responsibility, including the lives of 2,000 Marines and another 4,000 sailors.

Fleet Admiral Flagett broke the extended silence. "We feel that Halsey is probably needed more in the East, to protect the Canal. Victory and Ajax will get your people through the narrows. After that much depends on the French, but we still don’t know about their intentions."

Duncan was relieved, but Admiral Flagett’s dispositions still left his plans wide open. Doug Smalley carried on from there. "JT, I’m sending Jefferson and her battle group your way, but they won’t be there for at least a week. At this point, unless the French come into it, you’re NATO’s answer to control of the Mediterranean Sea. Admiral Flagett and I have talked about detaching Ajax to help you, and we’ve even considered sending Victory in."

Admiral Flagett agreed. "Admiral Duncan, if the Frogs don’t move on this, we’re going to use Victory to keep Gibraltar open, and we’re sending Ajax to help the Italians defend the Straits of Sicily." The CNO glanced quickly at the split-screen image of the Sea Lord. A surprised look crossed his face, and then he grinned broadly.

Flagett continued, "That means, quite precisely, that you and your ships are all we have to send to help the Egyptians, the Israelis and the Saudis. Your fleet from the Indian Ocean will take five days to get there. Your Air Force is flying in right now. Your light divisions are on their way, but it will take a week to get them all there by air lift. I wish you the very best of luck, Admiral Duncan, and I can only tell you to hold on. Help is on its way."

The CNO, still beaming widely, cut back into the conversation, "JT, you heard your orders. Admiral Flagett has hit it on the head. Get back to your fleet, and bring them through.

"Remember one thing, however. Morocco has not, I repeat not, made any statements one way or the other regarding their intentions. They’ve paid a lot of lip service to Islamic unity and made long glowing speeches from the Koran. We haven’t seen anything that’d indicate they’re going to war with us, but keep your guard up, just in case. Questions or comments? No? OK, I’m going to bed." With that all four screens went dead.

Six hours later, Admiral James Thomas Duncan was piped aboard Halsey. As he stepped upon her decks, he assumed supreme responsibility for Allied control of the MED.