Unheard, Unseen...

At Maritime Forces Atlantic, Vice Admiral O’Hanlon was studying the reports on his desk. Victoria’s ambush had made surprisingly easy work of the US Navy’s stealthiest boat and she and her crew were now headed south to the Panama Canal, beginning their journey home to British Columbia. Simpson was bringing Corner Brook back to Halifax where she would no doubt sail in with the classic broom tied to her attack scope, signifying a ‘clean sweep’ of her patrol area. Submariners, he knew, liked to hang onto their traditions. He grinned at the Skull and Crossbones pennant hanging on the back of his office door. It had been presented to him by the man occupying this very office the night Brent had come home with HMCS Ojibwa from one of those cruises that no one ever talked about. He knew Canadian submariners were among the best in the world and he was very proud of his crews and the boats they sailed in. In the past twenty years, he had seen a lot of changes in the navy and especially in the submarine service, but through all the transformations, the really important things stayed the same, as they should. The phone chirping brought him back to the present and he punched the ‘answer’ button. “O’Hanlon.” “Admiral? How are you? This is Caroline Wheeler.” Unconsciously, O’Hanlon sat up. He didn’t receive very many phone calls from the Minister of National Defence. Actually, Brent thought, he couldn’t recall any from the woman who was now single-handedly trying to reverse Canada’s military from shrinking into obscurity. She had served in the Canadian Air Force in 1991 during the Gulf War and after an early retirement following an injury received when her C-130 had been hit by a lucky anti-aircraft burst, had entered politics. Rapidly propelling herself through the ranks of her party, she had been intent on taking the portfolio that was both the most revered, and despised position in the Canadian Government, and she had succeeded. “I’m fine ma’am. How are you?” “Great Brent, and it’s Caroline, okay?” “Yes ma’am...err…Caroline,” Brent stumbled out. From her small office (they all were on Parliament Hill, except of course for the Prime Minister’s) Caroline Wheeler, Member of Parliament for Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, smiled at the thought of crusty Brent O’Hanlon actually being uncomfortable. She had studied his record, as she had all the upper echelon officers in HER armed forces. Brent had stood out as being fearless in the face of the enemy…and politicians. Sometimes considered one and the same by many in the forces. Usually that would be fatal for a military commander, but he tempered his opinions with facts and solutions which had won him respect, not only on the ships of the Canadian Navy, but also throughout the halls of Capital Hill. Such was a rarity here in the nation’s capital, especially when the military was always coming hat-in-hand, looking for more money. She knew from her experience in the air force that far too often the soldiers, sailors and airman had to make do with equipment that was simply too old, too used up or when it was modern, in too short supply. She hadn’t been there for the submarine acquisition; sitting as an MLA in the province of Saskatchewan’s legislature at the time, but it had peaked her interest and she had followed the process intently. Caroline had watched as the navy tried again and again to convince opposition MPs and the press that these boats were an incredible deal and they just needed more time to bring them into service. She had also watched as Vice Admiral Brenton A. O’Hanlon had carefully sailed through the minefields of opposition and steadily assured and convinced the government that they would someday look on these boats with pride. She bet that Brent wasn’t aware how close that day might be. “Brent, look. I need one of your submarines.”