Red Tide, стр. 27

Greer nodded. “I’d be happy to tell my superiors what I’ve seen, and suggest that the United States send more supplies to your organization. But I think there’s an even more effective way to accomplish what you have in mind.”

Dalisay cocked his head. “I’m listening.”

“Good,” Greer replied. “Let’s gather intelligence on the prison where the American pilots are being held. Then, with help from your organization, we’ll steal a private plane.

“I’ll fly it to Indonesia where we’ll propose a special ops mission to rescue the pilots. And you will take the opportunity to make the case for additional support. Believe me, at that point you’ll have their undivided attention.”

Dalisay stared across the two-foot space separating them. Greer thought he could see the wheels turning. At least thirty seconds passed by.

“He who speaks first loses.” That was a negotiating tactic the pilot’s father swore by, and Greer was determined to win.

Dalisay spoke first. “If your superiors agree to the plan, and if the raid is successful, would the Allied press report on it?”

“They’ll shout it from the rooftops,” Greer assured him. “The story will be everywhere.”

“I will make the necessary arrangements,” Dalisay said. “And I’ll meet you in Bagao.”

***

Manado, Indonesia, aboard the Allied transport Agger

Prior to the war the Mermaid Room had been used to stage lectures about the major attractions available in the next port of call, as well as musical performances after dinner.

Now, as Ryson took his place behind the podium, the tastefully decorated room was half filled with Squadron 7’s commanding officers and their senior enlisted people. He cleared his throat. “Good morning, and welcome. My name is Maxwell Ryson, and it’s an honor to join Squadron 7. I didn’t have the pleasure of speaking with your last CO, but I understand he’s out of hospital, and the prognosis is good.”

Ryson’s eyes scanned the room. He had some basic information about each man and woman, but he couldn’t put faces with names yet. That would come soon.

“It would have been nice to have your executive officers present for this meeting,” Ryson said. “But duty requires that our fast patrol boats be fast. And among other things, that means the ability to clear the harbor within fifteen minutes, day or night, except when vessels are in for maintenance. With that in mind either the CO or the XO will need to be aboard their boats at all times.”

There wasn’t any applause, nor did Ryson expect any, since he was imposing a higher level of response time than they were used to. “And that isn’t all,” Ryson added. “To maintain that state of readiness, 75 percent of your crews will need to be on board or nearby. Please adjust your liberty rotations accordingly.”

“Now, a word or two about what Squadron 7 is, and is not,” Ryson added. “Squadron 7 is a multinational naval combat unit, rather than two units operating under a single name.

“Take a look around. You chose to seat yourself in groups according to nationality. That’s understandable. But it needs to change. Part of fighting as a unit is to be a unit. Please rearrange your seating so that Squadron 7 is fully integrated.”

Ryson saw some frowns as officers changed seats. And he could practically read their minds. “What a load of crap,” at least half of them were thinking. “This guy is a full-on asshole.”

“Good,” Ryson said, as the exercise was completed. “Now, if that pissed you off, then you’ll love this. It is my intention to cross train all of the COs and XOs so they are qualified to command any boat in the squadron.

“No, you won’t have to become experts. But it’s important for American officers to know what the Armindales are capable of, and for Aussies to be sufficiently familiar with PHMs, so they could take one into battle if that becomes necessary.

“And understand this … Each mission is unique. When a boat is on patrol the crew will have to deal with whatever comes their way.

“But when we plan a mission, we will assign to it the type of boat most likely to succeed. And if that isn’t known, we’ll use secondary criteria such as maintenance, crew condition, and arm wrestling to settle the matter.” That got a few chuckles, but not many.

“As you know, Lieutenant Commander Linda Vos is not only the Perth’s commanding officer, but the squadron’s XO, and will no doubt set me straight on all sorts of things.”

That line got a laugh because Vos had a rep for not only speaking her mind, but lacing her comments with profanity. She was thirty something, with bright blue eyes, and a shaggy hair cut.

“And,” Ryson said, “you are already acquainted with Master Chief Jensen. She is, and will continue to be, our senior enlisted person … Ah, I see that breakfast is being wheeled in. Please enjoy it. I will see many of you this afternoon when I tour the boats that are in port. I hope to ride with each of you on patrol. Thank you.”

Breakfast was a chance to chat with Vos, Lieutenant Commander George Trygg of the Stratus, Lieutenant Commander Marie Moreno of the Nimbus, and the others. With the exception of Vos, the rest were polite, but reserved. And Ryson understood that. Seeing was believing. And they hadn’t seen anything yet.

“Don’t worry,” Vos said as they parted company. “They’ll come around.”

The next few hours were spent reviewing personnel files, a maintenance summary for each boat, and the squadron’s budget. Expenditures were right on target. That was a surprise. But consistent with the relatively small number of patrols authorized by his predecessor.

Why was that? Had Commander Pierson been more concerned with hitting a number than strategic success? Or were there mitigating factors he didn’t know about? Perhaps weather, a lack of Intel, or command interference were factors.

But for his part Ryson was determined to find the Sea Dragon, cost be damned. The decision to delay that discussion had been intentional. It would take place