Waianae, HI
“What do I think about it? I think it’s the stupidest fucking thing I have ever heard!” The Admiral shook his head.
Shockingly, the media seemed to love him. Despite his complete disdain for reporters and reporting, he was regularly asked to appear on Sunday morning talk shows like he was doing today. Of course, living on the Hawaiian island of Oʻ ahu meant that the talk shows aired at obscenely early hours of the day. It was still dark outside at 4am.
Of course, he didn’t sleep well anyway so that didn’t matter much.
He had the window open so he could hear the surf breaking on the sand across Pokai Bay Street. The surf was the only reason why he lived in the little house in Waianae. It soothed him and was normally the only way he could get to sleep.
The reporter didn’t seem shocked at his outburst. Of course, The Admiral was famous for his swearing so she probably expected it. “Admiral, perhaps you could tell our audience why the Guard and Reserves are so critical to our armed services.”
The Admiral leaned back in the leather chair in his small study, squinting against the bright lights the camera crew had brought out to his house at 3am. “Lisa, let me be clear. In the South China Sea conflict we most recently fought, the Reserves and Guard units were critical to our success. I cannot stress this enough. Fully two-thirds of our refueling sorties for example were flown by Air Force Guard units. Hell, the Ohio National Guard 121st Wing flew over one thousand sorties on their own! The current proposal to cut Guard and Reserve spending by 50 percent is just criminal. The idea that our thirty-two billion dollar investment in the Guard isn’t needed is frankly stupid and naive.”
The TV show host nodded and gave a thoughtful look to the camera. “General Thomas, I believe that you have a different perspective?”
The other officer on the broadcast nodded, his slicked back hair shining a bit in the studio lights. Thomas lived in Washington DC and made a living telling politicians what they wanted to hear. Retired after a twenty-year career working at the Pentagon, the Admiral was convinced the man had never even seen a gun fired in action, let alone seen combat. “As we all know, the pace of change is relentless. With all due respect to The Admiral, his stunning success in the South China Sea will not be repeated in the next war. Unfortunately, like most military minds, The Admiral is focused on fighting the last war. The goal of the current administration is to fight the next war. The next war will be fought with drones, not by grunts. Things like manned fighter aircraft are a thing of the past; we need to move on.”
The Admiral had heard this kind of thing before. He was not impressed. Nor was he shy about sharing his opinions. “Well, that’s bullshit.” He leaned forward, getting truly angry at the sheer stupidity of the man. “War is about convincing the other guy to stop fighting. Kill him if you have to, but you must break his morale first. This is done by skilled men and women. Highly trained, dedicated to their task. Fancy weapons systems and drones can assist those men and women, but they don’t do the fighting and there is no substitute for a trained warrior at the controls. The US military is the finest fighting force known to man. A fact that we proved to the world five years ago. This ass-hat and his cronies want to dismantle it. I cannot believe that anyone with half a brain is willing to listen to this nonsense.”
And so it went. After the show was over, he regretted losing his composure. Not because he didn’t believe in what he said but because people might not take him seriously if he wasn’t calm, cool and collected like a naval officer should be. Of course, he had been retired for almost three years, but he still thought of himself as a naval officer first. Many years divorced and children all grown and living on the mainland, he had time to himself. Time to think, time to brood. Time to focus on his mistakes. Time to think about all the men and women who had died under his command.
After a nice long walk along the beach to calm himself, he was ready for his breakfast appointment with Bill Lenston. After Lenston’s ship had been shot out from under him at the battle of Fiery Cross Reef, Bill had been stationed at Pearl on The Admiral’s staff. These days he was an admiral himself (O-7, Rear Admiral Lower Half or just RDML) and was up for a deputy commander slot and wanted to talk to “The Admiral” about it. Retired or not, the former Supreme Allied Commander, Pacific (SACPAC) was still “The Admiral” to most of those in uniform who served under him.
Unfortunately, he had decided to have this chat just after the quarterly Pacific Command Brunch at the Historic Hickam Officers Club Lanai. While the site was beautiful, it meant this was a semi-official event and he would be expected to press the flesh. Not something The Admiral enjoyed now that he was retired. Well, it was an excuse to fire up the battered old Porsche 911SC Cabriolet that he still drove around the island. Salt water hadn’t done the old girl any favors, but she still ran.
As he drove up the main gate, he waited in line for the three cars ahead and presented his ID to the marine sentry on duty there.
“Thank you, sir, please state your business on base.”
“I am here to have lunch with Pacific Theater Command.”
“One moment, sir.”
A few seconds later, a lance corporal came out of the gate shack and took The Admiral’s ID from the private and inspected it. Then he stiffened in surprise. Well, so much for sneaking on base for a quick chat with an old friend. “Sir! I was not told you were expected today! My apologies for the delay!”
The Admiral smiled and took his ID back. “I wasn’t expecting pipes and sideboys, son. I am retired after all.”
The corporal stiffened to salute. “Sir! No, sir! You may proceed sir!”
Because the top was down, he could hear the frantic bark of orders to the guard shack as he pulled away. “PRIVATE! Call HQ and let them know SACPAC has entered the base! MOVE IT, PRIVATE!”
The Admiral didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. He hadn’t been SACPAC for over five years now and he was pretty happy to be rid of the responsibility. He sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be a new one assigned any time soon since that would mean war in the Pacific again.
By the time he turned off Signer Boulevard and into the O-Club parking lot, a receiving committee had formed, waiting for him.
Thankfully, RDML Lenston was at the forefront, hand extended. “Admiral, always nice to see you, sir.”
It took nearly an hour but he was finally able to get Lenston off to one side of the party, just along the sea wall that faced the channel to Pearl Harbor. “Bill, cut out this “Admiral” stuff. I’m retired and you’re on your way to your next slot. I can’t think of a better man for the job.”
Lenston grinned. “Sorry, sir. You are still ‘The Admiral’ around here and I think you always will be. The only Five Star Admiral since Nimitz? The only Supreme Allied Commander the Pacific Theater has ever had? Sorry sir, this one time I cannot obey your order.”
“Jesus Christ, Bill, I’m just a sailor who was in the right place at the right time.”
“Yeah, that’s why they’re talking about giving you the Congressional Medal of Honor.”
“Oh Fuck, I hope not. Those are for actual sailors and marines, not for REMFs. The Sov’s used to give out Hero of the Soviet Union to anyone above two star. They looked ridiculous with all those matching medals.”
Lenston just laughed. “I can’t see you strutting around the presidential box in your old uniform.”
The Admiral laughed too. “Hell no, Bill. You’re lucky I’m wearing shoes today. I’ve gone native—don’t leave the beach most days.”
Lenston sobered. “Yes, sir. I’ve heard that. How are you holding up?”
The Admiral put a hand on Lenston’s shoulder. “I’m fine Bill, really. After the war and all the aftermath, the press and all that nonsense, I just need some time alone. It’s very healing up there.” He gave Lenston’s shoulder a pat. “Let’s talk about your new berth. What’s Third Fleet up to these days? I assume you’ve already talked to Admiral Tucker and his staff?”
Lensten smiled again, happy to have the support of such a brilliant officer. “Yes, sir. I’ve talked to them.” The ensuing conversation lasted well past the end of the party. Several other party goers thought about walking over to interrupt this deep conversation but they were dissuaded by subtle headshakes from Lensten’s chief of staff.
