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SEA OF SHADOWS 157
Whelkin whistled through her teeth and scribbled a rapid note on her
legal pad. “That’s a tuffy. I’ll have to go back and look at the wording of
the resolution. It’s possible that Chancellor Shoernberg is right.
Technically, anyway.”
“Technically, my ass,” the CNO snapped. “You don’t shoot at your
allies—your supposed allies—over a technicality. The whole self-defense
argument is a crock anyway. The Kitty Hawk strike group was hit by a
coordinated multi-axis attack. From what I’ve seen of the initial postmission
analysis, the whole thing was a carefully orchestrated attempt to
disrupt the defensive formation around a United States aircraft carrier long
enough to attack the carrier itself. A damned successful attempt at that.”
“Maybe the self-defense claim is Chancellor Shoernberg’s way of
covering his ass,” Brenthoven said. “A whole pack of rogue submarines is
pretty damned embarrassing. Could it be that the German government is
stalling until they can think of the least damaging angle on this thing?”
The secretary of state shook her head. “Those submarines are not
rogue. They are operating under orders.”
Brenthoven stared at her. “How can you possibly know that?”
“It’s not all that difficult to figure out,” Whelkin said. “An entire
squadron of German Air Force jets showed up to escort them through the
Straits of Gibraltar. Unless you’re suggesting that the Luftwaffe has gone
rogue as well, I’d say that’s a pretty good indication that the German
government is calling the plays.”
“Don’t forget those radar-decoy yachts in the southern Med,” the CNO
said. “That was a calculated deception, carried out using boats that were
leased by the German Navy.”
The president’s eyebrows went up. “Right. So, we scratch the rogue
commander theory. What does that leave us? Can the Germans really be
that determined to push us into a war?”
“Not a war, Mr. President,” Whelkin said. “A fight.”
Brenthoven rolled his eyes. “Are we back to playing semantics again?
Planes, ships, torpedoes, missiles. Burnt bodies floating in the ocean.
What difference does it make what you call it? Do you think the families
of those dead Sailors care what word we use for it? Are they any less dead
if we call it a fight instead of a war?”
“You misunderstand me,” the secretary of state said. “I’m not talking
about the choice of words. I’m talking about the scope of the conflict.”
Brenthoven snorted. “What in the hell does that mean?”
The president raised a hand. “Keep your shirt on, Greg. I want to see
where Liz is going.”