Mac did not have a good weekend, nothing bad, but the Docs had taken beer away from him again. Boomer had the shift off to do family business, and Big Jim was covering for her along with Liz-with-an-S. There was energy in town, the elections and the partisans on both sides had become irritating. It looked like a time to move forward, perhaps to Mac Shower’s time as the Pacific Fleet Intelligence Officer, the job once held by his old Boss, Eddie Layton. That was not going to happen. Perhaps the Virgin Mary that Big Jim assembled for him was not exactly what he wanted, or something else had driven a mildly pensive mood to the afternoon. I was fairly upbeat, since the day had gone as well as could be expected at the office, and we had actually won a task order from the government on the big open-ended contract I allegedly manage for the company.
I was having the Happy Hour white, and I expected to have a few of them while we talked.
“So, on to the Pacific and Vietnam,” I said, lifting my pen.
“Not so fast. You got me thinking about the the last genuine character in the U.S. Navy: Vice Admiral William Kearney Phillips. He was a colorful gentleman from Texas and a delight to work for at FIRST Fleet.”
“Admiral Nimitz was a land-locked Texan when he started as well. Is there something about the Lone Star State that makes for great Naval leaders?”
“Admiral Phillips was as authentic as they come. He wore a Silver Star for valor and had, at various times, commanded a submarine, destroyer and a cruiser. I think he was Annapolis Class of ’17, and had World War one service on a cruiser. He was assigned to intelligence duty in the Panama Canal Zone, so he knew a little bit about what we do, and in the second war he was in command during the Gilbert and Marshall Islands campaigns, the first battle of the Philippine Sea and the later strikes again Guam and Saipan. And you might be right about Texas. I have worked often with the nice folks at the National Museum of the Pacific War, which is located in Fredericksburg, the boyhood home of Admiral Nimitz. Not many of us left who actually knew him.”
“I actually had an interaction with them when I was at THIRD Fleet the first time,” I said, taking a pallet-cleaning sip of wine. “They were looking for a piece of the Arizona to display in Texas. One of the Pearl Harbor secrets is that the wreckage cut off the ships after the attack was taken to the Waipio Peninsula and stacked in pieces according to what ship it came off of in case it was needed later. There apparently had been periodic attempts to purchase the pile of rusting steel that had been Arizona’s superstructure. I suppose the buyer wanted to make souvenirs out of the steel- key chains, maybe.”
“Clearly an inappropriate use of parts of a war memorial,” said Mac firmly.
“For sure. But I wound up with the chart of where the pile of Arizona steel was, and the museum sent someone out to look at it for something that would be immediately recognizable as being part of a ship. They found a hatch and frame that would do nicely, once cleaned up and painted haze-gray.”
“I dont recall seeing something like that the last time I was down in Fredericksburg.”
“No, I don’t imagine you did. Someone stole it from the warehouse while it was in transit to Texas. So maybe there are some keychains out there we don’t know about.”
“Sol Phillips would never have put up with it,” said Mac. “Like I said, he was a character. Destroyer-man in the Big War, much in the manner of 31-knot Arliegh Burke and his Little Beavers. Wyman Packard knew him better than I did, since he had been at FIRST Fleet for a couple years when I showed up. He was given a fourth star when he retired and went home to Texas. But my favorite story about him is what shows the kind of guy he was- real Old Navy. When he arrived to take command, Wyman scheduled him to be indoctrinated for communications for the first time.”
“Imagine that- a three star admiral and combat hero and no Special Intelligence background? That is how commanders make uninformed decisions.”
Mac nodded in agreement. “That is why it is important for the Admirals to know about all the arrows in their warfare quivers. But since Admiral Phillips had never had access to Special Intelligence before, he had to have a background investigation. The Navy insisted.”
“I hate those things,” I said with sigh, thinking back to the time I got in trouble for falling asleep during a lie detector exam. Not to mention the urine tests and all the rest of that nonsense. Like it stopped Snowden or Manning from walking off with the whole data base.”
“It is what it is,” Mac said. “Has been since the beginning. Anyway, since a background investigation of the Fleet Commander was required by regulation, the machinery began to grind on. Forms were filled out and submitted and the Navy investigators began their work.”
“I am actually kind of looking forward to not having a clearance,” I said. “The five-year general updates, the five year polygraph cycle and the two-year Top Secret in-status limit. I am tired of my own government following me around.”
“You have to be careful with the Crown Jewels,” said Mac. “But remember, the very existence of COMINT was not declassified until the early 1970s, and it was a very big deal when I was at FIRST Fleet.”
“I understand. So how did the Admiral take it?”
“He told a story that he heard back from a buddy in Texas while the investigation was in progress. What he heard was this: “Sol, you ought to know the ‘Feds’ were here asking all kinds of questions about you. And I didn’t know what you were up to so I told them everything I could to steer them wrong. I hope they never find you.”
“Did he get his clearance?” I asked.
“Eventually, he did, and Wyman read him into the program, and he continued his command tour. He used to have a sign in his office that read: “They who go around in circles shall be known as Big Wheels.”
“Our pal Jake had an inflatable cow head mounted on the wall in his office as the Director of DIA.”
“I would expect nothing less,” and he took a sip of tomato juice. “Did I mention the best restaurant in Coronado, the Mexican Village?”
“It was still open down by where the ferry landing was. I heard that before the bridge was opened, people would get the cars in line to board the next one to go to the San Diego side and have a margarita or three while they waited.”
“We called it the Mex-Pac, in honor of where the fleet units were deploying. Great place and great food.”
“It was. So much is gone now.” I thought about the other little bar just up Orange Avenue from Mex-Pac, the one that opened at 0600 to catch the Chiefs trade before morning quarters. “So,what does a fleet commander concentrate on when he is home-ported in San Diego?” I asked. “I know what we were interested in when I was there, and that was mostly Soviet ballistic missile submarines.”
“Admiral Phillips concern was primarily Southeast Asia. He had just returned from there, as I mentioned, and I think he saw that there would be a wider conflict presently. He wanted to be fully prepared if he was ordered to deploy again and set up a joint staff to manage operations in Vietnam.”
“What sources of information did you use to keep the Admiral up to speed?”
“All sources, attache reports to COMINT. Communist expansion in the region was a concern, and a primary one for the Admiral. But we also kept an eye on the Soviets and particularly the Soviet Pacific Fleet.”
“It became an all-consuming effort,” I said, finishing my glass of Happy Hour white. “But working for a commander who understands what is going on and has a vision to deal with it is pretty special.”
“You bet. We could level with Sol Phillips and tell him what we really thought. Sometimes you have to do that. Admiral Phillips was a great man to work for, and we were sorry when he retired.”
“I bet. Is that going to get us to Vietnam?” I said hopefully.
Mac shook his head side to side. “No, that is going to mean a trip to Arlington Hall Station and Fort George Gordon Meade first.”
I picked up my pen again and waved at Big Jim down the bar for reinforcements.
Copyright 2017 Vic Socotra
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