The Faithful, North African and Middle Eastern Islamic nations, are plotting to seize the oil resources of the Middle East. By controlling the earth's oil and its major trade routes, they plan to bring the world to its knees. Then, when the entire world is kneeling, the Faithful of Allah will read to them from the Koran, preaching the message of Islam, the True Faith. The Faithful will stop at nothing to achieve their goal. But how far will they go? And how many lives will it cost?

1 Beginnings

1.2 America

1.2.1 The Admiral’s Halsey

Rear Admiral James Thomas "JT" Duncan stood on the dock in Norfolk Naval Yard staring disdainfully at the USS Halsey, thinking of the past and the future. When he was a young officer coming up through the ranks, he had dreamed of commanding a big fleet carrier like the Nimitz, Enterprise or Lincoln surrounded by CGNs, DDGs and scores of quick ASW "FiGs". Now, he had made it, but he was bitterly disappointed.

He was a senior officer aboard the CGN Arkansas in support of the Nimitz, when the old Soviet Union collapsed like a rag doll. When Soviet threat dissipated, the United States isolated itself once again. All the armed forces were "down-sized". And, as the Navy dwindled, he found that he was always one step away from his goal.

Then, the Second Korean War broke out. Neither the United States nor South Korea was ready for it. The North Koreans had almost won, and would have if they had been just a little luckier. Then, came the troubles in South America and in Africa, and, once again, the United States was unprepared. Begrudgingly, Congress voted to expand the armed forces. They admitted that the Navy needed twelve carriers to fulfill its many missions. Yet, instead of appropriating the money to do the job right, they had "compromised" making WW-II sized ships and had called them CVs.

JT shook his head in disgust as his sailor’s eye examined the ship before him. Clusterfuck was the only word to describe it. It was small; too damned small. Even though it was a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, it was an undersized kluge from the word go. And, to name this entire class of ships after one of the greatest carrier admirals of all time was an abomination!

The original design of the Halsey Class CVNs was over a hundred feet shorter, displacing only three-fourths that of the old super carriers. It had only two small "Tea Kettles" that’d barely drive it at twenty knots. That was scarcely enough to launch aircraft, never mind fully loaded Tomcat IIs or A-29 Avengers. The Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Doug Smalley, had fought the Congress tooth and nail. He had even gone on television talk shows to discuss the deficiencies of new class of ships.

Finally, Congress relented, and, once again, compromised. They authorized a redesigned ship, with two auxiliary gas turbines linked to the nuclear turbines with the klugiest drive train known to man. When everything worked, the CVNs could steam at about thirty-four knots, which was pretty respectable. But, a first class crew was needed to keep the ship running. And, the consensus among Naval planners was that under battle conditions, they’d never hold together.

Then, the penny-wise Congress decided that a smaller carrier didn’t need as many aircraft. Duncan snorted in contempt as he remembered the times he’d gone up to Capital Hill to fight for the kinds and numbers of aircraft Naval Aviation needed. He had told them that a carrier battle fleet exists for the sole purpose of attacking and destroying the enemies of this country before, not after, they attacked us. He had pounded his fist on the table as he had exclaimed, "A weak, undermanned, under-gunned fleet is not a deterrent. It’s a target!"

They did appropriate for enough money to upgrade the old F-14s to the new, but almost identical, F-34 Tomcat IIs. They upgraded the F/A-18 Hornets with new engines and better electronics creating the F/A-38s. They even spent some money on new missiles, but when it came to the attack squadrons, Congress again balked.

He had gone back to Capitol Hill six times to testify before either the House or Senate Armed Forces Committees. He told them that the old A-6 Intruders were falling apart. Some of those birds were over thirty years old and had taken over a thousand carrier landings. Those planes were often ten years older than their crews. The 1970’s design was obsolete and dangerous in the middle of the twenty-first century. He’d grown gray trying to get Congress to see the problem, and to give this country something that would fly off a deck, deliver a punch and get its crew home.

In the end, they had come up with a winner. But, Congress refused to foot the bill for the new, stealthy A-29 Avengers. They’d jammed the compromise carriers down the CNO’s throat. "You want those new birds?" they had asked. "What’ll you give up to get them?" The big super-carriers had taken it in the neck. They’d scrapped all the non-nuclear flat-tops, leaving the Navy with only six carriers to guard two oceans. Then, they’d "replaced" the ones they’d scrapped with the Halsey Class, calling them CVNs.

What was JT's reward for all his efforts on behalf of his country and the United States Navy? They’d given him command of the wimpy Halsey and were sending him to the Med. After all his years of coming in second, they’d told him take command of the junior varsity squad, to go away and not to bother them anymore. They expected him to protect U.S. interests with half a fleet!

To top things off, trouble was brewing from Morocco to Libya. The entire northern coast of Africa was in chaos. Tunisia had kicked over the ash-can. Libya had declared a 200-mile territorial limit, and was aggressively patrolling the Gulf of Sidra with subs, surface vessels and aircraft. Egypt was screaming for help and warning about an imminent invasion.

On top of that, for some reason known only to God himself, the Iraqis and Iranians had patched up their differences and were working with the Syrians to dislodge Israel. There were renewed calls from Baghdad for the annexation of Kuwait.

Last time, we’d kicked their camel-kissing asses out of Kuwait and killed their entire army. Of course, that was back in the days when the USA had the carrier forces to do what we damned well pleased.

Duncan shrugged his shoulders, putting his thoughts aside. He flicked his tie, readjusted his tunic and marched up the gangplank. The pipes whistled as his head neared the flight deck. He faced aft, saluted the flag, and stepped aboard his flagship. He had reached the pinnacle of his career.

His aide suddenly appeared at his shoulder. "Admiral!" the lieutenant wheezed trying to catch his breath. "The CNO wants you in his office. He did say 'immediately', Sir."

Duncan’s only thought was "Oh, shit!"

1.2.2 The Commander’s Halsey

Commander Dave "DJ" Duncan pushed through the crowd gathered around the bulletin board. The new assignments had just been posted, and he, like everyone else, was excited to learn where he was going. He scanned the long list of names until he found his own. The Halsey! And, he’d been promoted! He was the new Senior Squadron Commander of VFA-8.

He shoved his way through the crowd of Naval Aviators and headed towards the parking lot. His mind was buzzing. The Halsey was the sexiest, most beautiful ship afloat. His Dad, Rear Admiral James Duncan, bitched about the Halsey-class CVNs all the time. He bitched about their small size, their hybrid power plant, their aircraft complement and their escorts.

DJ couldn’t agree with him. The Halsey was 989 feet long. That’s three football fields plus another 30 yards. That’s not a small ship.

As for the hybrid power plant, the ship could sail around the world for thirty years on its "Tea Kettles," launching planes and retrieving them all the way. And, when the Captain wanted to do some water skiing, he could just pop off the cookers, pour on thirty-five knots and blow by the FiGs.

As far as the air complement was concerned, DJ just couldn’t understand his father. In "the good old days", the super carriers had twenty-four Tomcats and twenty-four Hornets divided into four squadrons. The Tomcats were the long range interceptors and the superiority guys, while the Hornets were both attack and fighters. That meant each type had very separate roles and there wasn’t that much overlap. But, things had changed.

The new F-34D Tomcat IIs were bigger and faster than the old F-14s. New composites had reduced their weight giving those big birds a lot more speed, while their new engines had extended their range and given them an 800 knot "Super Cruise". And, for a bird of that size, they were damned maneuverable. With their variable wings and their new vectored thrust engines, the T-2s were almost as quick as Duncan’s Hornets. Of course, the Tomcat’s biggest asset remained the combination of the Phoenix missile and the radar systems needed to use it effectively in combat. So, the fact that there were only two squadrons of eight aircraft was more than equalized by the superiority of the T-2s compared with the original Tomcat.

His squadrons’ planes, the F/A-38K Super Hornets, were completely new. About the only thing that has remained the same was the "body styling." As far as he was concerned, no service had a sexier looking machine. The Hornet’s new P&W engines generated a higher top-end, a climb rate that was almost unimaginable, and Super Cruise. Of course, they were still attack planes, capable of launching with almost 7 tons of ordinance including the improved AAMRAM. With it, his squadron could knock enemy aircraft out of the sky at sixty miles. He firmly believed that his Hornets could out-turn and out-fight anything in the sky, including the T-2s.

Halsey’s big punch came from her new A-29 Avengers. His father was justifiably proud of those babies. They had about the same bomb load as the old A-6s, and, according to the attack guys, they were a honey to fly. They were also supersonic to get in and get out fast. Best of all, they were a cast-iron bitch to pick up on radar. All the new planes were harder to see because of the new composites and such. Even the T-2s couldn’t detect the Avengers until they were within 20 miles or so. By that time it was too late to react. The Avengers would be egressing aggressively long before they could be intercepted.

Furthermore, Halsey was long on ASW and support capabilities. She had a bunch of old, reliable S-3s for ASW, plus E-29F Hawkeye radar planes, EA-29 Regulators for electronic counter-measures and ES-29 Snoopers for electronics detection. She also had six, giant Sea Emperor choppers for SAR, ASW or anything else a chopper was used for. It was always comforting for an aviator to see the big egg-beaters floating alongside during launch or recovery.

DJ had to admit that he didn’t know a lot about ships or fleets. He was a naval aviator, not a squid. Yet, it seemed to him that his father’s complaints about the escorts were as far off base as his complaints about the air complement. Halsey was escorted by three Perry-class frigates, two Burke-class destroyers and a missile cruiser.

The Perry-class FiGs were great Anti-Submarine Warfare platforms. Those FiGs had advanced sonars and ASROCs. Each of them had a helicopter equipped with a dipping sonar and Type-56 light torpedoes. If a sub skipper wanted to play with the FiGs, he was either stupid or insane.

The two Arleigh Burke-class DDGs and the Ticonderoga-class CG were the fleet’s primary Anti-Air defense, but could also support the ASW mission. Bunker Hill alone had 182 missiles ready for launch from its fore and aft vertical launchers. The Arleigh Burke’s weren’t slouches, either. They had ninety missiles apiece and a three-quarter Aegis radar system. When the destroyers’ radars were combined with both the Bunker Hill’s and the Halsey’s Aegis systems, they had enough microwave energy to cook a goose in flight and count its feathers at the same time.

DJ was grinning from ear to ear by the time he turned into his driveway. He had just been promoted. He had a new squadron aboard a new ship. Delores had just announced that she was expecting their third child, and today was his birthday. The twenty-third of May of the year 2036, would be one he’d always remember. He was the happiest man on Earth.

The phone was ringing. "Commander Duncan, please report to your ship immediately!"

"What’s going on?"

"I don’t know, Sir. Please acknowledge receipt of this order."

Maybe this wasn’t the best day of his life after all.

1.2.3 PhibRon 5

Brigadier General Thomas "Blacky" Breckenridge, USMC, stared pensively at the bulkhead in the senior officer’s wardroom aboard the LPHN Hornet. Blacky had chosen the Marines. Marines were tough, just like his Zulu ancestors. Blacky had also chosen his own nickname at the Academy as both a source of pride and a warning to others. He had always believed that he had descended from a long line of big, tough Zulu warriors. He was proud of his race and proud of his people’s accomplishments. But today, the fifty-one year old, six foot three, two hundred and thirty-two pound, genuine, black Marine was meeting his new boss, and he was anxious. These few minutes before everyone else arrived were his first opportunity in days to sit quietly and think about his upcoming mission.

The Hornet and the Halsey were "half-sister" ships. Both classes used the same hull and the same nuclear reactors. Thereafter, they were very different. The Halsey was designed to launch aircraft and project power. The Hornet was designed to carry Blacky’s Marine Amphibious Unit anywhere in the world, and to assault and hold any beachhead or position within range.

Yet, the Hornet was a Navy ship with a naval crew of over nine hundred. The ship was commanded by Captain Xavier "Guido" Guadelfono. Breckenridge was a superior officer, but he and his MAU were just passengers on Guido’s ship. It was Captain Guadelfono’s job to sail the Hornet to wherever they were going. During the voyage, it was Guido’s squids that took care of everything. His crews drove the ship, made the food, and took care of everything. Once they had arrived at their destination, he was responsible for landing Blacky’s troops. Then, he had to support the Marines for as long as was necessary.

Guadelfono commanded a wide range of landing craft to handle virtually any assignment. He had two LCAC air-cushioned landing craft which could transport one of Blacky’s rifle platoons at fifty miles per hour across water, sand or embankments up to six feet tall. He had four LCMs and two LCUs to bring both heavy equipment and supplies to the beach. And, he had twenty ugly ALVTPs, commonly called "puke buckets", which could be counted on to get twenty-five troops ashore regardless of the terrain. Once they were ashore, they reverted back to Blacky’s command, unless they were going back to the ship, in which case they stayed under Guido.

Nominally, Blacky commanded the twelve hundred Marines that were packed into the Hornet. The largest contingent of his MAU was the 565 officers and troops of the 2nd battalion, 3rd Marines. He had trained them thoroughly in amphibious warfare as well as standard land tactics. As far as he was concerned, they were one of the finest fighting forces, for their size, anywhere in the world. Yet, if a fire broke out or some other emergency arose which threatened the ship, Guadelfono had the authority to take command of the Marines.

Hornet’s twelve Harrier II jump jets were just part of Blacky’s Marine Air Wing. Blacky also had twelve Ospreys that could fly at three hundred miles per hour and land vertically to deliver twenty-two troops. He had ten Sea Emperor II’s that could carry two rifle platoons at high speed for over one hundred miles and drop them anywhere they were needed. And, he had six Seminole helicopter gunships to protect the troops before, during and after landing. Yet, the movement of the planes in the hangars or onto the flight deck was Guido’s job. The Navy controlled the flight deck. Even the Air Boss was Navy. If the ship was attacked Blacky’s Marines would fly under Guido’s control to protect them all.

Yet, Blacky’s Marines needed much more than even Guido’s Hornet could provide. Marines needed tanks, howitzers, ammo, food and a mountain of supplies. Without that support, his Marines could land, but could go no further. His MAU would be on the defensive, hiding under the supporting fire of the guns, missiles and planes of the fleet.

The support Blacky needed to go on the offensive came from the least glamorous ships in the fleet. The fleet’s two LSTs, "Landing Ship, Tank," carried Blacky’s armored vehicles, including his tanks and MTAVs. The LSD, "Landing Ship, Dock" carried more heavy equipment plus the extra LCMs and LCUs which were needed to transport the huge quantities of supplies to the beach. It was only because of those stodgy and unappreciated vessels that Blacky’s Second Marines had any offensive punch.

Blacky’s retrospective was interrupted by the call of the bosun’s pipe. The new COMMEDFLT was coming aboard. Breckenridge remembered Admiral Duncan back when he was the commander of the USS Arkansas and called "Dunk". At the time, the feisty, little Navy captain hadn’t impressed Blacky at all. But later, when the CNO had turned Duncan loose on the Congress, he’d really shown ‘em. He’d gotten his new carriers, planes, and missiles, and there was enough left over for the Marines to upgrade their sea-lift capabilities. Blacky smiled as he remembered the old saw -- he may be a son of a bitch, but he’s OUR son of a bitch!

The hatch swung open and the Marine guard led Admiral Duncan into the stateroom accompanied by Rear Admiral (jg) Ellingstone, who was to command PhibRon 5 as both Blacky’s and Guido’s superior. Blacky and Guido stood to attention and greeted their new commanding officers.

Admiral James Duncan vaguely recalled the young Lt. Colonel Breckenridge. About all he could remember was a huge, black Marine who seemed to be in command of himself. But, this morning the Admiral had no time for remembrances. "At ease, Officers. Let’s get this show on the road! I’ve brought a few things with me to get us started." His aide set up an easel and several overlays.

"Here’s the situation." He slapped a pointer at a spot on the North African coast. "The Tunisian government was overthrown yesterday in an Islamic coup. A bunch of Ayatollahs are running the place. They’ve already made overtures to Libya and are preaching Jihad to Algeria, Morocco and anybody else who’ll listen. This morning Libya reimposed its Line of Death, and Tunisia has extended a two hundred territorial mile limit. The CNO has informed me that riots have broken out in Algeria, and that Islamic fanatics are behind them. Officers, this could be quite messy!"

"As of this morning, I have ordered the Halsey to the MED as fast as she can get there. She should be there in four days, five at the most. I’ll fly on ahead, and join the fleet once she’s on station. We will be enforcing the twelve-mile limit. We’ll use our forces to remind everyone in North Africa that we’re great friends, but they don’t want us as an enemy. The Ayatollahs may hate our guts, but they don’t want our bombs in their mosques."

"Admiral, General, Captain, I need to know when you can get underway? Time is important. We may only have to show the flag to head this thing off. However, we may also need to assist friendly governments.

"Now, I know that a MAU can’t defeat an army. But, with your mobility and striking power you can make the difference. It’s one thing to sail within a few miles of a coast or to launch planes to send a message. It’s a different message when American forces are on the ground helping a friendly government. I don’t want to commit your forces, but if I have to I will."

Admiral Ellingstone considered his reply for a moment. "In answer to your first question, Admiral, I’ve had my staff working on this since the news broke on CNN. Blacky has told me that his Marines will be aboard in three days. Captain Guadelfono has informed me that Hornet will be ready to sail by then. My big problem is the heavies. The LSTs and the LSDs will take seven days to load. After that, if we can maintain twenty knots, I can be across with Blacky’s MAU in five days. As for committing troops, I’d prefer to have Blacky answer you."

Breckenridge sat quietly for a few seconds as he considered his reply. He was the only Marine in the room, and he was hemmed in between two Navy admirals. It was important to be heard, but it was more important to keep his size sixteen foot out of his mouth. "Yes, Sirs," he began, "The Hornet is a great attack ship, but if I’m going to do any damage, or to protect myself from attack, I’m going to need my tanks, howitzers and other heavy equipment. I’m also going to need gas, oil, food, ammo and a lot of other supplies.

"As for committing troops, Admiral, you’re right. My six hundred Marines can be just about anywhere you want them. But a battalion, even my battalion of US Marines, can only do so much. I wouldn’t want my command shot to hell."

"No! No, Blacky," Duncan replied. "I’m not going to commit the Marines without consulting you. I’m a squid, and so is Admiral Ellingstone. He can get you there and I can cover your ass if it’s hanging out too far, but you’re the gyrene. If it can’t be done, I want to know it. At the same time, I don’t want some knee-jerk, 'no-can-do' either.

"I’ll be square with you, Blacky. I’ll tell you up front if we should ever run into that kind of situation. But, remember this. If we gotta, we gotta, regardless of the costs." He smiled broadly, "I’ll expect you to do what Marines have always done . . . the impossible!"

"Shit," Blacky thought. "This little bastard could to get me killed. But, I’ll get the Navy Cross posthumously!"

The Admiral studied his commanders for several seconds. "Seven days it is. Plus five days to get everybody across in good order is twelve days. Unless you’ve got something else, I’m off to the Pentagon for a last word of advice from the CNO. Nothing?" He extended his hand. "Either way, see you in twelve days. Best of luck and Godspeed!"

Admiral Ellingstone, General Breckenridge and Captain Guadelfono accompanied the admiral towards the side. Duncan turned to them, shook their hands again, and was about to say something when the bellow of a ship’s steam whistle drowned him out. The admiral spun around, and when he saw that it was the Halsey getting underway, he stood stiffly to attention and saluted her flag. The other officers, not quite knowing what was happening, followed Duncan’s lead.

The Admiral’s arm fell, and theirs fell in unison. Evidently, their movements caught Duncan’s eye. He turned back to them and muttered an embarrassed thank you before departing over the side to the accompaniment of the bosun’s pipe.

"What the hell was that all about?" demanded Breckenridge of anyone in hearing distance.

"His son," Ellingstone replied. "His son is a squadron commander on the Halsey."

"Son of a bitch!" the big general growled, "The old man’s son!"

1.2.4 Halsey Sails

The Halsey was fifty miles off the Virginia coast when her air wing began to arrive. First, came the big F-34’s, led by CAG, Captain William "Buck" Henry and his RIO Charles "Chunky" Smith. The first nine-plane squadron flew low along the starboard side in three tight three-plane sections. In the Navy, looking good around the carrier was always important. Since this was the maiden landing aboard the new ship, it was even more important to set the right tone. It was up to CAG to make sure that everything was right, or else.

The flights extended several miles astern before they began their slow roll, reversing course. The first plane in line was CAG’s, and he hit the glide path like the thousand-trap pilot he was. But, first landing or one-thousandth landing, it didn’t matter. Dropping a 20-ton aircraft on a rolling, pitching deck was the most nerve wracking, mentally exhausting exercise ever devised by the cunning mind of man.

Fortunately, Buck Henry had been there before, and he knew what to expect. "Puma one at 1200," he called telling the LSO who he was and how much he weighed.

"Gotcha Puma One. You’re on the glide path. Call the ball," the Landing Ship Officer replied.

Buck breathed a sigh of relief. These Halsey class carriers were a little smaller than the super-carriers he was used to. His perspective was different. He was having a tough time judging his height and his glide path. It’d take him a few flights to get used to this shorter class of ship. He knew that everybody else up here had heard the LSO, and they’d be just as eager as he was to "hit the path" on their first try. Also, hitting it on his first try would enhance his reputation with his new wing. His pilots would never trust a CAG couldn’t do his "stick and throttle".

At about three miles out, he spotted the fresnel lens of the landing lights, but it was still too far for him to see whether he was on his path or not. He felt low, but the ship’s deck seemed to be in the right spot in his canopy. He fought the urge to increase power, and watched his air speed, climb indicator and altimeter while peering into the mist trying to see the meatball. Yes! He was dead on! The meatball was dead center!

"This is CAG, I have the ball." Oops! Going a little high. Ease off the throttles just a tad. Lift the nose a skosh. Going low! Tad of power. Here we go!

Slam! The 40,000-pound Tomcat hit the steel deck at a speed of 140 miles per hour. The tires were crushed, and pushed up and back against the landing gear’s struts and shock absorbers, collapsing them. Within one-tenth of a second, they had taken up the shock, and rebounded bringing the nose back up to a horizontal flight position. At the same time, both CAG and Chunky were violently slammed forward into their five-point harnesses.

Both of them had been there before and knew exactly what to do. By the time the oleos had flattened, Buck had pushed the throttles forward all the way. Plane and man had acted in unison to prepare for the worst. If they missed the arresting wires, the Tomcat would hurtle forward. Unless they were ready to fly, CAG would lose a 50 million-dollar plane while testing the effectivenes of the Search and Rescue choppers.

The tail hook grabbed the third arresting wire. CAG had hit it perfectly. Once again the nose wheel tried to bury itself in the deck. But, Grumman had almost a century of experience in designing carrier-based aircraft. The nose wheel assembly did its job once again, and the two crew members were thrown against the harness with a force of over 5 Gs. Twenty tons of steel, ceramics, composites, flesh and blood came to a stop in just 150 feet.

CAG had arrived in his new home. It was time for him to park his bird, get to the island and prepare for the arrival of the rest of his air wing.

1.2.5 CNO’s Orders

It had been an exhausting day for Admiral Duncan. He had said good-bye to his son, and sent him to sea. He’d rattled a Marine general’s cage. Now he was waiting to see the Chief of Naval Operations to receive his marching orders, and get the good word from the "National Command Authority."

"Admiral? You may go in now."

The secretary’s announcement brought him out of his reveries with a start. "Thank you," he replied as he strode through the heavy oak doors into the CNO’s offices.

Admiral Douglas Smalley jumped up from behind his desk, and, armed with a big smile, extended his hand. "Welcome, Dunk. Good to see you. You were always one lucky son of a bitch. Here I send you off to a quiet spot, and you end up right in the middle of it.

"Here’s the latest poop. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the Secretary and the President are meeting as we speak. I’ve been with them all morning, and here’s the gist of our thinking.

"It looks like this Tunisian thing might spread. The Ayatollahs are in complete control. It looks like they had a lot of help from both the Army and Navy. They and the Libyans declared a mutual treaty of everlasting friendship and issued a joint declaration of a two hundred-mile limit. This could put a real crimp in our style. The Straits of Sicily are only 95 miles across. They’re making noises about the Pantelleria Island and the Pelagie group, and the Italians are mad as hell. God only knows where this leaves Malta, but one thing’s for sure. The North Africans aren’t going to get their way.

"That’s your first job. Interdict anything afloat or in the air. Remember, you’ll be working with the Italians to defend their lands. You’re not under their orders, but they are our NATO allies, and we’ve sworn to defend them. Of course, we were thinking of the Russians at the time. Personally, I don’t think the North Africans have the cast iron undies to try anything, but you never know with these guys.

"The next problem comes from this idiotic 'Line of Death.' It’s the same old thing that Khadafi pulled until we bombed him. Their new line extends from Cape Blank to Tobruk. That definitely does include Malta and Pelagie, by the way.

"The third problem is over in Algeria. The Ayatollahs have led uprisings against the government from Oran to Annaba. And, here," the CNO pointed to a large scale map, "in El Qata, they have the army on their side. They’ve grabbed all the communications and have asked for assistance from their Islamic brothers to overthrow the Infidels and all the rest of that crap. If Annaba, or Bone as the Frenchies used to call it, falls to them, they can seal up the whole eastern part of the country behind the Seybouse River. That’d leave their back door open to the Tunisians and threaten an invasion of the rest of the country either along the coast, through Guelma or both.

"Of course, the French are going berserk! They still seem to think of Algeria as their colony and have maintained strong political, social and economic ties with them. But, their ties are only good as long as the military government is in power. The Ayatollahs in Algeria view the French as the devil incarnate and us as the devil’s apostle.

"Now, this brings us to the next series of problems. Will Libya move west into Algeria or east into Egypt? If Algeria falls, will Morocco fight or switch? These are the questions we’re wrestling with right now, and, Jim, we don’t have an answer, yet. In fact, we have damned few answers.

"You can expect support from both the Italians and the French, but they’ll stay on their side of the lines and let the other guy come to them. The French carrier Foch will be in the area off Sardinia. The Italians are shifting aircraft and ships to Sicily. You can expect several destroyers and missile boats out of Marsala. We’re working on both governments to involve themselves directly with us in a joint command, but they aren’t ready to do it until we activate CentCom. We’re not ready to do that, so you’re on your own until we can agree to work together. For your part, you will support any NATO naval or air forces that come under attack to the best of your ability and prevailing conditions.

"Finally, Jim, don’t start a war. At the same time, I’m reinforcing MedPhibRon. You’ll have a full MAB under Blacky Breckenridge. By the way, this afternoon, he’ll have his second star. Use whatever force you think is necessary to protect NATO assets. Open up those sea lanes. And, for God’s sake, cover your ass!"

Rear Admiral James Duncan just sat there with his mouth hanging open. Not since the days of sail, when communications took weeks, had an admiral been given such blanket authority to use whatever forces were at his disposal in any way he chose. He had the authority to burn, loot and pillage, as long as he "didn’t start a war." But, that was an interesting point in itself.

"Thank you, Admiral, for your confidence in me. But, Bob, what do I do after the shooting begins? If they start something, how far do I go? What kind of assistance can I expect from the French and Italians, or for that matter any of our other NATO allies?"

"Yup! That’s the 64-dollar question, ain’t it? Hell, Jim, I don’t know nor does anyone else. That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Now, you’ve been up to Congress enough times to know the rules of politics. If you lose, they’ll eat you alive; if you win, they’ll eat you alive. Anything else? What’s your schedule?"

"Well, I’ve got to get back to Ellingstone and Blacky to talk over some contingency plans. Tonight I fly to London and talk to the Admiralty. The next day I’ll be in France doing the same thing and then to Italy. Four days from now, I’ll be on the Halsey."

"Good! Good! Like to see you keeping busy, Jim. Oh, by the way, here’s a letter from the President. You can read it when you get around to it. I’m sure that Congress will approve the appointment. So, take these." The CNO leaned over the desk and dropped two silvery pieces of metal into Duncan’s hand. "I figured you’d need a little swat, and three stars is always better than two! Congratulations, Vice Admiral Duncan. You’ve earned them, and now I’m going to make sure that you keep on earning them. Good-bye, Dunk. Godspeed!"

Vice Admiral Duncan slipped off to the Men’s washroom to put his new stars into his collar. He smiled at himself in the mirror. Three stars did look better on his collar than two. Maybe he wasn’t the captain of the JVs after all!