A second carrier!

Again the gods had been beneficent, guiding them here so they could strike both.

The sonar room gave a fresh warning—the frigate was turning in their direction.

“Return to passive sensors. Take us to a safer depth.”

Swiftly, the crew moved to obey.

Philippines

1326

The water lapped at Danny Freah’s waist clear and warm, if it weren’t for the roar of the approaching F/A-18’s, he could have believed he was wading out from an exclusive private beach.

It wasn’t exactly private, but thanks to a contingent of Marine guards and Dreamland security protecting the island and this cove below the airstrip, it was very exclusive.

Danny slid onto his side and began swimming parallel to the shore. When he’d gone about twenty yards, he turned back. He used large boulders on the hillside as markers, treading back and forth as if working out, though he didn’t keep track of his many laps. He swam a backstroke to the south, the sidestroke or breaststroke to the north. He was not a big swimmer, and his muscles soon began to tire with the unfamiliar exertion. He kept on paddling, the burn creeping down from his shoulders to his arms, out from his hips to his thighs, and then all the way to his calf muscles. He swam until the tingling sensation weighed him down. Finally, he stopped abruptly, putting his feet down to stand on the coral and rock-strewn ocean floor, but his path had taken him into deeper water. He floundered for a second, water lapping over his face. He pushed up with his arms, and in a burst of energy began swimming and laughing at the same time. How ignoble would that be, he wondered to himself, to die recreating in a combat zone?

He didn’t stand until the water was less than waist-deep. When he reached his blanket on the shore, he saw Bison heading down the rock-strewn path from the airstrip.

“Hey, Cap—Colonel Bastian looking to talk to you up at the command post,” said the sergeant.

“Thanks,” said Danny, toweling off. Bison stood a short distance away, staring at the water. Danny suddenly felt modest and, though no one was looking at him, pulled his shorts off below his towel and then pulled his uniform pants up, forgoing underwear.

“Water warm?” asked Bison.

“Yeah,” said Danny, puling on a T-shirt.

“Say Captain, mind if I ask you something?”

“What’s that?”

“How come Powder chose that reading?”

“Sorry?” said Danny, thinking he’d misunderstood.

“Powder—Liu told me to make sure the chaplain got the verse right. That’s what he wanted read? Turn the other cheek and all that shit? I don’t get it.”

Danny pulled on his shirt. “I don’t know,” he said. he hadn’t realized Powder himself had chosen the reading.

“It’s supposed to be a message to us, sure, all right, I can understand that,” said Bison. “But from Powder? Man, he liked to shoot things up. Now he’s telling us to turn the other cheek? Shit. Powder?”

bison—who’d never gotten along particularly well with Powder while he was alive—looked a little as if he was going to cry.

“To be honest, I don’t get it either,” said Danny. “I miss him, though. Already.”

“Yeah, weird. Powder. Fuck. It sucks, Captain.”

“It does suck, Bison. Big time.”

“He told us about you in Sarajevo, how you saved his life that time.”

“It wasn’t Sarajevo,” said Danny. He ran his pinkie around the corner of his ear, clearing out the water. Bison was waiting for the full story, but Danny didn’t feel like telling it. He gave the short version. “We were in town about twenty miles south of there. Guy came around the corner. I popped him. That was it, basically.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Danny laughed as he pulled on his shirt. “Yeah, me too. Because the son of a bitch would’ve popped me next. Had a stinking Uzi—where the hell do you think he got an Uzi, huh? Those things are supposed tp be damn expensive.”

By the time the captain reached the trailer, Dog was already giving the pilots the lowdown. Even before he heard the words, Danny knew from the colonel’s face a heap of bullshit had gone down. Colonel Bastian always wore “the Pentagon stare” when he had to dish out a line he didn’t agree with. Today it was mixed with something else Danny saw even less often, genuine anger, though Bastian wasn’t venting.

“Bottom line, we continue monitoring the Chinese sub until further notice. Bree, your plane’s out in three hours, relieving Major Alou. My replacement will take Iowa six hours after that. We’ll keep turning it around until we’re ordered to go home.”

Zen raised his hand to interrupt. “Colonel, Jen and I have been doing a little thinking. With a little work, we may be able to squeeze the gear tightly enough and route things so Raven and Quicksilver can fly one of the Flighthawks and handle Piranha at the same time.”

“Well, that’s not really necessary,” said Bastian.

“It would keep the Chinese off us,” said Zen. “The way things are going, it makes sense for a Fligthhawk to be along.”

“Our orders are not to engage the enemy,” Colonel Bastian’s eyes were almost glassy—obviously that was the heart of the trouble.

“Flighthawks can help hold them off,” said Zen. “Bree wouldn’t have had to get that close to the Viking. Besides, if the subs surfaces, the Flighthawk can get up close and personal.”