Command and Control by David Bruns & J.R. Olson

Author:David Bruns & J.R. Olson [Bruns, David & Olson, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn River Publishing
Published: 2022-01-11T00:00:00+00:00

Rear Admiral Thomas Sharp stood at the open French doors looking out onto Narragansett Bay. With the passing of each hour, he could feel the tension easing out of his shoulders.

The Naval War College in Newport, Rhode Island, put on the International Seapower Symposium every two years. Hosted by the US Navy’s Chief of Naval Operations, it was the most prestigious maritime conference on the planet. It was also an apolitical event, meaning that the heads of all the world’s navies, coast guards, and major maritime commerce organizations were invited to attend regardless of their political relationship status with the host nation.

This year, the Russians had declined at the last minute, which irked Sharp, but the Chinese were well represented—albeit at a lower echelon of power than he would have liked. To his eye, the Chinese admirals were all too young and inexperienced, not a gray hair among them as far as Sharp could tell.

A bit like the Chinese naval forces, he thought. Young and bold, but inexperienced.

Of course, when the Chief of Naval Operations says he “hosts” the Symposium, that doesn’t mean that he participates in any of the planning for the event. He appoints a “volunteer” to attend to the details so that the largest gathering of naval military brass in the world comes off without a hitch.

And this year, that lucky man was Rear Admiral Thomas Sharp. Sharp was coming back to DC after a brilliant tour as J2 for the US Indo-Pacific Command. As the newest—and most junior member—of the CNO’s immediate staff, he was the logical choice.

Even at the highest levels of power, Sharp mused, the laws of gravity still apply. Shit still rolls downhill.

Sharp stepped through the open doorway onto the gallery overlooking the water. Across the array of small standup cocktail tables—those had been his idea—uniformed officers mingled, chatting in any number of languages. He caught a snatch of Mandarin to his right; to his left a torrent of Hindi was in verbal combat with a wave of French.

The breeze off the bay was fresh and brisk. Sharp drew a deep breath and forced himself to relax. This was the third and final day of the Symposium. They were on the midmorning coffee break. Just one more session, then lunch, then a closing dinner, and he was free to go back to some real work.

A young lieutenant appeared at his elbow. Jill Bowers had a round face, stocky physique, and a pageboy haircut. She had terrible PT test scores, but the woman was an organizational genius. As his aide-de-camp, she was the one who had marshaled an army of contractors and enlisted personnel to make sure that the event came off flawlessly. Her boss, Admiral Sharp, was just the suit from Washington to make sure it was done to “Navy standards”—whatever that meant.

Bowers had done an amazing job. The best in years, he had heard from several longtime participants. Her fitness report would reflect her hard work.

“Sir.” Bowers cleared her throat. “May I

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