"Glad the decision to destroy those things wasn't one I had to make," Toad Tarkington said.
"There are a lot of things in this world that I'm glad I'm not responsible for," Jake replied.
"Why now, Admiral? And why does the ordnance crowd need a battle group to guard them?"
"What I'd like to know," Jake Grafton mused, "is why those damned things were stored here in the first place. If we knew that, then maybe we would know why the brass sent us here to stand guard."
"Think Castro has chemical or biological weapons, sir?"
"I suspect he does, or someone with a lot of stars once thought he might. If so, our weapons were probably put here to discourage friend Castro from waving his about. But what is the threat to removing them? "
"Got to be terrorists, sir," Toad said. "Castro would be delighted to see them go. An attack from the Cuban Army is the last thing on earth I would expect. But terrorists--maybe they plan to do a raid into here, steal some of the darn things."
"Maybe," Jake said, sighing.
"I guess I don't understand why we are taking them home for destruction," Toad added. "The administration got the political credit for signing the Chemical Weapons Treaty. If we keep our weapons, we can still credibly threaten massive retaliation if someone threatens us."
"Pretty hard to agree to destroy the things, not do it, and then fulminate against other countries who don't destroy theirs."
"Hypocrisy never slowed down a politician," Toad said sourly. "I guess I just never liked the idea of getting naked when everyone else at the party is fully dressed."
"Who in Washington would ever authorize the use of CBW weapons?" Jake muttered. "Can you see a buttoned-down, blow-dried, politically correct American politician ever signing such an order?"
Both men stood with their elbows on the railing looking at the cargo ships. After a bit the admiral passed Toad the binoculars.
"Wonder if the National Security Agency is keeping this area under surveillance with satellites?" Toad mused.
"No one in Washington is going to tell us," the admiral said matter-of-factly. He pointed to one of the two Aegis cruisers anchored nearby. "Leave that cruiser anchored here for the next few days. She can cover the base perimeter with her guns if push comes to shove. Have the cruiser keep her gun crews on five-minute alert, ammo on the trays, no liberty. After three days she can pull the hook and join us, and another cruiser can come anchor here."
"There's a marine battalion landing team aboard Kearsarge, which is supposed to rendezvous with us tomorrow. I want Kearsarge to stay with United States. We'll put both ships in a race-track pattern about fifty miles south of here, outside Cuban territorial waters, and get on with our exercises. But we'll keep a weather eye peeled on this base."
"What about the base commander, sir? He may know more about this than we do."
"Get on the ship-to-shore net and invite him to have dinner with me tonight. Send a helo in to pick him up."
"Sir, your instructions specifically directed that you maintain a business-as-usual security posture."
"I remember," Jake said dryly.
Copyright (c) 1999 Stephen Coonts. All Rights Reserved
Blood at the Root
"A gripping, timely, and important examination of American racism."
- PW Starred Review
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