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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.
The Committee of Inquiry had already been formed by the time the President arrived. It would be based in San Diego while the preliminary data were established and damage to other ships was assessed. The C-in-C Pacific Fleet would be its chairman and he had already asked that Captain Art Barry be flown home to California at the earliest possible time from Diego Garcia. Captain Barry had replied via the satellite and requested that he bring his Watch Officer with him, since he had witnessed most of what little there was to see. All such requests were given an immediate go-ahead.
The President was briefly introduced to those around the table, and he took considerable care to greet everyone he knew by name. When he was introduced to Lieutenant Commander Baldridge he walked right around the table and clasped the hand of the young nuclear weapons expert. “My God, Bill, I can’t tell you how upset I was to hear about your brother. I guess you know our parents have known each other for many years…please remember to pass on my deepest sympathy to everyone.”
Baldridge was keeping his emotions under iron control. This was without doubt the most important gathering he had ever attended. Probably the most important he ever would attend, and he was trying to concentrate while haunted by the fact that he would never see Jack again.
He was listening to Admiral Dunsmore explain how far they had come. New information trickling in from the Middle East was confirming what was already suspected. More nuclear particles detected on the ships, no detection of sound on the sonars of any impact, or of a ship breaking up or sinking. Just the great muffled thunder of an underwater eruption. Everything pointed to the fact that the source of the explosion was inside the great ship, somewhere deep below the waterline where the big nuclear warheads and missiles were stored. One weapons storage area right above the keel was about a hundred feet for’ard from the twenty-two-foot-high propeller. It was five stories high, the size of a large apartment house.
“If one of the warheads in there went off, that would be sufficient to vaporize the entire carrier,” said Admiral Dunsmore. “I’m inclined to think that our accident occurred in that particular part of the ship.”
“What could make a nuclear warhead explode like that?” asked the President, suddenly. “How do these damn things work?”
“I think Lieutenant Commander Baldridge might be the best person to answer that,” Admiral Dunsmore replied.
“Well, sir, it takes some kind of an electrical impulse. The parameters for impulse need to be set deliberately. The simplest of them work on a timing device with a small, rather sophisticated clock. They are not designed to detonate on impact, not like a regular bomb.
“For instance, a nuclear warhead used in a torpedo would be set to explode at a certain time, precalculated from the torpedo director’s best predictions of the position of the weapon and its target. All intended to ensure the warhead goes off in the approximate direction of its quarry.
“Quite honestly, sir, I have a real hard time trying to think of a way one of them could ever explode without some very heavy man-made assistance.”
“Does this bring us to the possibility of sabotage?” asked the President quickly.
“Well, sir,” replied Baldridge, assuming the question was still directed at him, “I have an even harder time dealing with that. Those weapons are under the most unbelievable strict guard. Even to get into the area you need a special pass signed by God knows how many people. Then you have to get past the two Marines who guard the entrance, and then you would be escorted into the area you are visiting by about three ordnance men, including one officer. Anyone tried to get in there illegally, well, my guess is those two Marines would shoot you down like a prairie dog. No questions asked.”
“Does anyone have access to go in there alone?” asked the President.
Admiral Arnold Morgan interjected. “Nossir, no one may enter alone, ever. It would be unheard-of for anyone, the captain, the admiral, whoever, to visit the ordnance area without at least one, or maybe even more, accompanying officers who are formally cleared for access. It would be like you wandering around the boiler room in the White House by yourself.
“Kind of too bizarre to contemplate. And anyway it would require two real experts to prime a warhead, and they would need signed passes. Unless there was a lunatic conspiracy among the top brass of the ship to blow themselves and all of their colleagues to pieces, I would personally regard the entire notion of sabotage as out of the question.”
“So would I,” said Admiral Dunsmore. And there was a murmur of agreement from all around the table.
“There is no evidence of anything really,” added Dunsmore. “Just the deep eruption and the disappearance. I do not think we need pursue the sabotage theory. But I suppose we should consider the possibility that the ship was hit by an unknown enemy.”
The table went completely silent, until, after twenty seconds, Lieutenant Commander Baldridge broke it. “Well, we know the carrier was sunk by nuclear forces, of a magnitude that produced so much heat, the atoms of the ship just vaporized, leaving very possibly no trace. So if you would like to deliberate that theory it might be wise to work out just how that warhead arrived.”
“There are only three ways it could have arrived,” said Admiral Dunsmore. “In a guided missile delivered from an aircraft; in a seaskimming guided missile delivered from a ship; in a torpedo delivered from a submarine.”
Admiral Albie Lambert, C-in-C Pacific Fleet, himself a former Carrier Battle Group commander, now stepped into the discussion, somewhat to the relief of the CNO. “I would consider it impossible that a missile could have come in from an aircraft, and utterly unlikely that it could have come in from a surface ship or a submarine.
“To blow the aircraft theory out of the water, as it were, we need only to know that there were at least five guided missile warships sweeping the skies with their radar at the time, and three and a half hours before, Hawkeye had reported nothing within three hundred miles in any direction. No one can hide from him. In the event of an incoming long-distance missile, the ships could not have missed it. They would have taken it out in thirty seconds. Besides, who could have fired it? No one in that part of the world has such a capability.”
“I actually think the likelihood of a ship-to-ship missile is even more out of the question,” said Admiral Dunsmore.
“We know there was not another warship within hundreds of miles of the group. If there had been, Zack Carson and Jack Baldridge would have warned it off. Even if it had been completely invisible, they would have spotted an incoming missile on five different screens. Those guys detect seagulls, never mind nuclear warheads.”
“Well,” said the President. “What about a submarine?”
“Bill?” said Admiral Dunsmore, referring to the lieutenant commander, who he knew had spent all of his early career as weapons officer in a nuclear subsurface boat.
“Possible, but highly unlikely unless you have been trained here, or in Britain,” said Baldridge. “Torpedoes are famous for their stupidity. They are very hard to program and it is not that easy to fit them up with nuclear warheads. When you do, you have a great chance of missing the target. You have to prime them, make a real accurate guess as to when it is going to arrive at the target, then set the clock for the exact correct time. You’ve gotta get in close for accuracy, real close, around five thousand yards, but no closer because you have a very good chance of blowing yourself up as well.
“In my judgment it’s near to impossible to get it right, unless you are very highly trained. The issue is getting an attacking submarine in close enough to the Battle Group without being seen. I’d say about a million to one, but there will be gentlemen at this table far better qualified than I am to talk about the likelihood of getting in that close. I wouldn’t want to try it myself.”
“As an ex — Battle Group commander,” said Admiral Albie Lambert, “I believe the carrier to be just about impregnable. She is surrounded by so much detection, surveillance, and radar. And yet we do know of instances of other boats, during exercises, getting in much closer than we would have thought possible. I once knew a Royal Navy submarine admiral who told me one night he could get into the defenses of a U.S. Battle Group. And probably sink the carrier.
“Actually he was the same chap who bamboozled a Carrier Battle Group in the Arabian Sea by pretending to be a goddamned Indian. He was commanding a surface ship then. But I believe he was the best submariner the Royal Navy ever had. Ended up in charge of Her Majesty’s submarine service. Just shows though. Nothing’s impossible.”
“I think for the purpose of this meeting,” said the CNO, “we should reserve judgment on the possibility of a nuclear hit against us until we receive the full surveillance reports from the other ships in the group. We should get the damage report of the other ships first thing in the morning. I suggest we reconvene at 1400, right here if the Chairman agrees. And meanwhile we continue to pursue the most likely, and by far the most convenient, theory, both politically and professionally, that we are dealing with a major nuclear accident, the cause of which our top scientists are still deliberating.”
The President looked up and nodded his assent. Dick Stafford leaned over and said, “Let’s not encourage these guys to look for anything sinister when there probably is nothing. One leak of such a discussion would send the media berserk.”
The President nodded again, and added, “Right now we don’t even have a serious enemy. I’m glad Scott wants to stay with the accident scenario.”
And so the meeting dispersed. Cars awaited the visiting brass ready to whisk them to hotels. Bill Baldridge glanced at his watch before heading to the garage, and then set off along the endless corridor accompanied by Dick Stafford, the President, and Sam Haynes. The President fell into step with the younger scientist from Kansas. “Well, Bill, as accidents go I consider that one about as bad as any of us will ever know,” he said.
“Matter of fact, sir, I consider the accident theory to be pure, copper-bottomed bullshit.”
“You what?” said the President, startled, stopping in his tracks.
“That warship was hit, by a big missile with a nuclear warhead,” he said. “Nuclear weapons don’t go off bang all by themselves, by accident. That is not just unlikely
, sir. That is impossible. Someone, somehow, hit your ship, Mr. President. No doubt in my mind.”
4
Confirming the deaths of all 6,000 men on board, a Navy spokesman at the Pentagon admitted late last night that no one had any solid theory as to what had caused the explosion inside the giant aircraft carrier.
— NEW YORK TIMES
0210 Tuesday, July 9.
Dick Stafford could see the President in conversation with Lieutenant Commander Bill Baldridge. They were walking quickly, just out of earshot. Stafford saw them stop momentarily — causing everyone else to stop as well, backing up the otherwise deserted E Ring second floor. Then the President turned around. “Dick, I want to talk to Lieutenant Commander Baldridge some more,” he said. “He can ride back with me. You and Sam come with us. Have someone bring Bill’s car over to the White House, will you?” Baldridge tossed the keys high, and Stafford caught them expertly left-handed way over his head. “Shortstop, University of Nebraska Huskers ’61,” he said.
Five minutes later, the Secret Service led the three-car Presidential motorcade back through the night, east toward the Potomac. “Okay, Bill. How can you be so certain the nuclear blast was not an accident?” the President insisted.
“I’m not ‘so certain,’ Mr. President. I am 100-percent certain. Someone has to prime those weapons and set up an electric impulse to start the explosive process. It’s a very delicate operation, setting off a chain reaction involving atoms, neutrons, and electrons.