“You think not, but remember my brother, we are starving one of them out of existence. You are a history man, you know about Spartacus against the Romans; Alaric and the Visigoths against the Romans; Attila the Hun against the Romans--”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Antonio exhaled. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that the Romans were arrogant and in decline. They didn‘t understand that when you oppress a group hard enough and long enough, that group will organize and rise up. Tony, when are you going to realize that we're the fucking Romans!”
“Ray, please!”
“It will take just one mistake and it’s going to be a shooting gallery out there. Wake up! I’m telling you, North Korea is a wounded beast, backed in a cave. How long do you think we can uphold this idiotic blockade? Without enough overlapping reconnaissance, or long range air defense, how long until one rogue vigilante, or mercenary, or one patriotic boat captain fires on one of our patrol ships? What if one of those Russian subs, now North Korean-owned, torpedoes one of our ships? What then, brother? We don’t have enough units out there to watch everything.”
“Ray, let’s move on. You have to deal with the Koreans, the Chinese, the Indonesians, and the terrorists with what you presently have. We’re about to drop bombs on Iran for Christ’s sake. Can we just move on now, goddamn it!?” Antonio’s hands were shaking even more.
Ramon let it go. This was not the battle he wanted to fight today. There was another. It was the reason why he came. He moved on, allowing Antonio to dictate the conversation and the subject matter. Between typing in notes and figures on their laptops, Ramon looked up to study Antonio. My poor brother, what has this job done to you? He saw the craggily crust of stress on Antonio’s once noble face. He noticed the road map of facial wrinkles, the incessantly blinking eyes; and yes, the quivering hands.
Antonio Espinoza was an enervated man, devitalized and devalued by the recent years of political machinations. The last sessions of fiscal proposals with the president, the Secretary of Defense (SECDEF) and their budgeting committee had completely drowned his spirit. Never before did he fight so hard to protect so little. The dwindling benefits of the fleet would be cut again by Congress to finance interests elsewhere. The three newly-approved anti-terrorism campaigns set against African nations only served to decimate the defense budget.
For Antonio this meant corners had to be cut and his hopes for accomplishing something meaningful before his own retirement were crushed. He saw his Navy being drained of life. The fleet was overstretched and all reserve units were being called onto active duty for indefinite service. The SECDEF ordered stop-loss and stop-move policies service-wide, which froze any type of personnel separation. Those already serving on active duty were extended at their present duty stations indefinitely to save the funds of relocation. Those approaching retirement or separation were not permitted to do either. Antonio was now foundering in rough waters as politicians and special interest groups ran the show and were keys in the decision-making processes of military strategy.
Iran, Syria, Yemen, Somalia, Saudi Arabia and Indonesia-- breeding grounds and financial funnels for terror--had to be fleshed out, and according to President O’Malley, had to eventually be destroyed. It was O’Malley’s personal agenda and the centerpiece of his legacy to rid the world of terrorists once and for all. These were the budget committee’s top priorities. There was nothing else meaningful in the Navy for him now. The machine of war was hot and its political gears turned toward a newer reality: America was now going on the offensive. Anyone who didn't want to be part of this fervor would be simply bypassed. Antonio was simply bypassed.
Ramon had warned him when he first took this job that he would forfeit his right to command, and it was a prophecy that would haunt him for years. His sensitivity and empathy, traits that were once strengths, were now hindrances. He became cold, indifferent and apathetic. Thirty-six years. Antonio Espinoza was ready to retire, and if it wasn’t for the stop-loss he would have already given his notice to the SECNAV.
Almost an hour had passed since Ramon stepped into his office. The official agenda was complete and Antonio began shuffling his papers. He picked up both his and Ramon’s cup and left to refill them. Ramon bit his lip. He didn't want to pursue the final piece of business that he had saved until now. Not five minutes into the subject their voices were thundering. Antonio stood up and took a defensive position behind his desk, his face etched in anger.
“No!” He shook his head. “Stop-loss is stop-loss! There’s no way, Ray! Forget it! I can’t do it!”
“What I ask is not hard to--”
“What you ask is impossible!” interrupted Antonio forcefully. “With all that’s going on in the world, you think SECNAV or the Bureau of Personnel is going to authorize it? You think Admiral Schmidt is going to allow a full commander with such credentials to separate? Are you fucking serious!? Admirals, commanders and captains throughout the fleet are awaiting orders for new commands when they should be retiring. Christ, Ray! It wouldn’t’t go any farther than Schmidy.”
“Antonio, we’re not talking about any command! We’re talking about my daughter--your Goddaughter!”
“The situation in the Pacific has gotten too intense. Look at what you’re facing, Ray. You’ve got a loon telling the world that he’s going to launch a nuclear strike and their people are murdering innocents. And on top of that, there’s no telling what China’s reaction will be when the shit comes down on that peninsula. If I were the Chinese, I’d invade Taiwan the very day North Korea launches an attack, because that’s when we’d be at our weakest.”
“Don’t lecture me about what’s happening in my own backyard, Antonio! That’s why I need more carriers! And if you had any kind of backbone, like you had in the past, I would have had them already! The Pacific would have been locked down tight for months!”
Antonio glared at him, allowing Ramon to continue his rant.
“Tony, China has amassed upwards of a million troops on her coast. A million! Not enough for you and your fucking bureaucrats? How about the increased PRC recon flights over Taiwan; the movement of 25 squadrons of fighters down to Wuhai; and the 65 percent increase of landing craft forces across the Strait? What does that tell you, Antonio? It tells me that they’re waiting. They’re waiting for North Korea to make the move and then they will use that to make theirs. By slowing up the delivery of carriers to the PAC, you‘ve given my remaining battlegroups a death sentence.”
“Everything you say is true, Ray,” Antonio breathed.
“That’s why I’m here. I can’t let my daughter go out there and face that shit, Antonio.” Ramon’s voice softened with concern as he pondered the immense request that he knew Antonio was in no position to grant.
“There’s no way to avoid what’s about to happen. The blockade has brought the North Koreans to the point of no return. It’s just a matter of time.” Antonio nodded emphatically. “I’ll do my best to get as many carriers back to you as possible from the Middle East; but you’re still lacking in surface ships to face their restocked navy.”
“The North Koreans have no significant navy,“ retorted Ramon.
“Ray, they purchased that small armada of ex-Soviet combatants, including two Kirov-class battlecruisers. The PRC loaned them the money to refit and fuel them. One is fully operational. The other is getting refitted.”
“How many now?”
“Thirteen surface combatants, seven ASW ships, and four attack subs. Basically the heavy hitters from the old USSR stock: Slavas, Udaloys, Sovremennys, Krivaks and Akulas. All packed with their old and some improved Soviet weapons. There's some other technology on the big boys, but you'll get a briefing on it soon enough.”
“Remember those names, Tony? Seems like a million years ago.”
“The Chinese are paying for it all, Ray. They want