The Gulf (8 page)

“Fair enough.” Hart smiled broadly, turning it into a joke. The other officers giggled.

“Blair, my feeling for the situation is that their navy's about shot its wad. Malekzadegan's never been trusted by the Ayatollah's people; there were too many Shah-era officers left. Since the war began, the army's gotten the attention and funding. Their air and surface activity is at a low level. And my pilots report that when their air does come out, they're docile, very docile. They catch our radar and they turn back into their own airspace.”

“That's excellent,” she said. “What you're saying, then, is that we can begin reducing the U.S. presence here.”

Hart began a nod, then caught himself. “Well, now, not so fast. It's more complicated than that. The other side of the coin is that the Pasdaran, that's their revolutionary guard, has been stepping up their activity. They harass shipping, lay mines, and raid oil platforms. We're developing countermeasures against this type of attack. What worries me is what they might do if they get some real resources to operate with.”

Byrne, beside him, bent and whispered. Hart listened, then shook his head slightly, glancing at Blair. “Shall we continue the briefing?” he said.

“By all means.”

The swarthy captain reviewed the Iranian order of battle, the rules of engagement, talked about weather, and discussed rotation of escort units in and out of the Gulf. Then he stopped. “I guess that's about it. Admiral, Miss Titus, thank you. Are there any questions?”

“You're finished?” she said. Byrne nodded. He collapsed the pointer down to a nub and clipped it to his shirt.

“Thanks, Jack,” said Hart. He lit his pipe, puffing out clouds of vanilla smell, and looked at her evaluatingly over it. “Well. In as few words as possible, I'd say we have the situation under control. Congress and the administration have given us the resources we need and we're out here putting 'em to work. Our allies are with us, the Gulf states are happy we're here, and the Iranians are blowing smoke as usual. Is that your understanding of it, Blair? Is that what you wanted to know?”

“No.”

“No?”

She found a tissue in her purse and blotted her forehead carefully with it. “No. It's not my understanding of it, it's not under control, and the brief was unsatisfactory.”

“Excuse me?” said Byrne.

“I said it was unsatisfactory! This is what you call high-level briefing? This is the sort of thing you put out to the press pool.”

“I don't understand,” said Hart, his forehead meshing into wrinkles. “Of course, we didn't get down into beans and bullets and comm plans. Didn't think you wanted that. I asked Jack to keep it light, give you an introduction to the situation—”

She crossed her legs the other way, instantly annoyed at the way their eyes fastened to them. They were all staring at her now. Her voice went flat, the tone she'd learned in the Special Prosecutor's office. “You don't understand. In that case, let me bring up a few points for your consideration, gentlemen. Things you might think about now and then while you're moving your little gray toys around.”

She considered, organizing her thoughts the way she did before sitting down with Bankey.

“The first point is that this entire operation is too expensive. Our defense budget is now three hundred billion. That's more than we spent at the height of Vietnam. Godwin's resigned, Weinberger's own procurement chief, because Defense has no noticeable commitment to controlling spending.

“Now, you tell me you have fifteen ships in the Gulf. That's horseshit. My count is twenty-five, with the
Forrestal
battle group, and if you include everything, minesweeps, auxiliaries, survey ships—thirty-eight. I estimate our effort here is running almost a million dollars a day in above-normal costs. That doesn't include losses. Maintaining a carrier in the Indian Ocean is straining our entire defense posture. It's showing in retention, upkeep, and manning. And all at a time when Congress is desperate to cut expenses. I'm sure you've heard of Gramm-Rudman, Admiral?”

Hart said in a fatherly tone, “These forces pay for themselves. If the Iranians were ever able to close the Straits—”

“Please let me continue. Point two. Several people in the Association for a Rational Defense have told me the Gulf proves we've built the wrong kind of navy. We're top-heavy in carriers and expensive cruisers, leading-edge technology, but when we had to sweep mines, you came to us hat in hand and said you had to mobilize the reserves. That made people very angry on the Hill, Admiral. We mean to modify the Defense Five-Year Plan to reflect this sort of oversight.”

Hart was turning red now. He tried to interrupt again, but she kept on, her voice calm but insistent, hammering fact after fact into the smoky air. “Point three. The Western Europeans are increasingly concerned about what you're doing out here. The recent defense ministers' meeting at the Hague—well, I'm sure you read your press summary. They don't understand why we have such large forces here when, as you say, the opponents are fanatics in speedboats. They're afraid we're going to engage Iran for reasons of our own. They're supporting us so far, but every new incident makes them more nervous. The French and the Dutch are especially wary. They're not beyond pulling out their forces and letting us go it alone.

“Point four. The Gulf states aren't ‘happy,' they're desperate. They all have large Shi'ite minorities and any hint of crusading encourages revolt. They have to live here after we've gone home. They're worried about trading relationships, about the attacks on their oil platforms, and they wonder every day whether Hormuz is going to be closed.

“Now let's get to what concerns me, gentlemen. That's what the Iranians are going to do. The war's stalemated in the north. It has to be settled, but without Khomeini's having to tell millions of bereaved families their sons died for nothing.

“His strategy may be to expand the war southward, into the Gulf. If it succeeds there, Iran's a geopolitical winner. If it fails, if the major powers step in and force peace, it can be presented as a dictated armistice, a stab in the back by the Great Satan. The way the Pasdaran are being used is consistent with this. They're perceived as out of control, but the chaos they cause plays right into Iran's long-range plans.

“Now, the last point I want to make. And probably the most important.” She got up, drawing their eyes with her, feeling now their hostility, and crossed to the far wall. It held a huge map of Southwest Asia. Her finger swept past the blue writhe of the Gulf, inland, to the northeast.

“You act as if Iran were our enemy. That's the short view, gentlemen. Beyond Shi'a fundamentalism is still the Soviet Union.

“There are twenty-five divisions in the Transcaucasus and Turkestan military districts. Twelve of them are armored or mechanized. They're seven hundred miles from the Gulf. There are four more, battle-hardened and highly mobile, in Afghanistan. The Soviets can drive across Iran anytime they like in two weeks. They can airlift a division and take the choke points in two days. All we have to stop them is a couple of antique ship-based nuclear weapons.

“What could we do about it? I've discussed it with your boss, General Cannon. The Shah-era strategy, theater nuclear strikes, is out of the question now. The Soviets have us outgunned four-to-one in medium-range missiles, and they can reinforce faster. Cannon's plan is to put six light divisions into the Zagros Mountains. Once they're dug in, they might stop an invasion. But it would take five weeks for them to get there. The limiter is heavy lift, because no one in this part of the world will let us base equipment in advance.

“So really we
can't
stop them. The Russians know that as well as we do. So we just can't let Iran destabilize. Even Khomeini's government is better than that.

“Our strategy doesn't have anything to do with ‘freedom of the seas.' We have to keep either side from winning and bring them both to the table. Over time, we can then reestablish a relationship with Iran, which is the key to the whole Gulf area. And that, gentlemen, is why you're here. Not to fight a war. To end one.”

“This is all very enlightening,” said Hart. He had leaned forward to look at the map. “But what's it got to do with us? Broad-brush strategy belongs to the Joint Chiefs. I appreciate congressional interest, and I understand your concerns. Particularly the budgetary question. But as far as I'm concerned, I have my orders, I have sufficient forces, and I know how best to use them. Give me credit for that. Therefore, and let me put this as gently as possible, I'm still not sure why you're here.”

“Admiral, you're in charge of our forces in the Gulf. That's fine, but we're not sure you have the long-range interests of the country in mind. This buildup is forcing us into a no-win situation. The Navy's strong enough here to start a war, but not strong enough to win it. Unfortunately, we can't afford a war in Southwest Asia. And the more we weaken Iran, the more inviting we make it for the U.S.S.R. to intervene.

“Now, as you know, we, not the Executive, are responsible under the Constitution for final oversight of foreign and military policy. The Chairman has decided it's time to reexamine that policy, and decide whether to pull the plug on it. And that means the War Powers Act. Sixty days, after we invoke it—and you people are out of here.”

After a long silence, broken only by the hum of the defective air conditioning, Byrne said, “You wouldn't do that.”

“I assure you, we would, and that's exactly what Senator Talmadge is considering.”

Finally, Hart cleared his throat. He knocked out the pipe in an ashtray, the blows hammer-loud, and got up. “I believe that lays your concerns out adequately,” he said dryly. “And gives us—right, Jack?—some idea of the basis for your being here. I personally think invoking the Act would be a disaster for the West. But as you say, it's the law.

“I'll support your fact-finding mission, Ms. Titus, on that basis. Shall we go up to my office? We should look at the ship schedules, discuss your itinerary. That is, if you have time.”

She nodded and crossed the room. But Trudell already had her briefcase, recorder, and purse. He held the door for her, too. She said “Thank you” coldly as she brushed by him.

The corridors were dim, 1960s style, lined with cork boards, yellowing notices, and tables of rank of various nations. They climbed a flight of worn stairs and Trudell held the door again, this time for them both. The other officers lingered in the hall. Hart went immediately to a coffee maker, turned, raised his eyebrows; she nodded. He took his in a Styrofoam cup and gave her china.

“So, what did you want to see?”

“As much as possible. The aspects of the problem that concern me most are force strength and ally support. I'll also be talking to some people who can tell me what's going on inside Iran.”

“I wish I knew that,” said Hart. He'd regained his composure, but she felt distance now. Well, it was better than the patronizing attitude he'd started with. “Sugar? Cream?”

“No, thank you.… I'll be going up to Riyadh this evening. There are State people waiting to brief me, and some host-country contacts I want to check out. The Saudis, of course, are the most important from our point of view.”

“I'd say that's accurate.”

“Then Abu Dhabi, then back here. I'll want to see, if you'll pardon the cliché, the Navy in action. Can you arrange that?”

“I hope not in
action,
but we can fix you up. What kind of units do you want to visit?”

“A sample. Say a frigate, a cruiser—perhaps one of the convoys. Can you arrange that?”

“I'll put Jack on it. I don't see any problem, as long as you don't want to stay overnight.” Hart grinned as if his shoes hurt. “You people have put some restrictions on what I can do with women aboard ship.”

That wasn't the way she understood it. At the last hearings, the admirals had fought increasing female recruitment tooth and nail. But she'd argue that with him some other time. “What about the convoy?”

“We'll have number four making up in three or four days. If you're back by then, we'll fly you out.”

“I'll be here.”

“On your travels—they sound extensive—one thing I might suggest.” Hart grimaced. “I'd like to loan you a man. Say, Trudell. Don't take it wrong, I'm just thinking of the impression you'll make on Arabs.”

“Thank you, but I prefer to travel without a chaperon.”

Blair gave him a beat, but he didn't say anything more. So she looked at her watch. “I should be going—”

“Lieutenant!”

“Sir.”

“Take Ms. Titus to the airport. Use my sedan. Then come right back; I'll need it later.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Hart put out his hand. “This has been an interesting meeting for me, Blair.”

“For me, too.”

“Look, I'm not used to you young, bright Capitol Hill types. Forgive me if I sounded … chauvinistic?”

“I'm used to it. But it's nice of you to apologize.”

“There are some great restaurants in town. Maybe when you come back, we can take an evening off.”

Like hell we will, she thought. But she smiled, shook his hand politely, and followed Trudell out.

When she was gone, the staff officers in the corridor regarded one another with frank astonishment. “That kike dyke. Who'd she have to blow to get that job?” said one.

“Watch the language, fella,” said Byrne mildly. “She's on our side. I think.”

“Bullshit, Jack! You heard her in there! They want to close us down! Leave the Gulf to the fucking Ayatollah!”

“Captain Byrne.” Hart, angry, from the next office. “Jack! Get in here, goddamn it.”