“No. Manpods, the one-man clandestine insertion devices that will give us a stealthy strike capability and allow us to grab the key actors in this international crisis.”
“Pretty risky, Danny. Assuming there is another submarine.”
“I think it’s worth a shot. We ought to at least be in position.”
It was a no-brainer, wasn’t it? If the Pakistanis, Chinese, and Indians were given evidence that they were being provoked into war, surely they’d stand down. And if the Presi-
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dent was willing to risk the crew of a Megafortress to stop that war, then he’d be willing to risk the Whiplash team and an Osprey as well.
“Danny, tell you what,” said Dog. “Let me get Storm on the line and have you run the plan down for him. Stand by.”
Aboard the Abner Read , northern Arabian Sea
1600
THE SEA AIR PEPPED HIM UP AS SOON AS STORM STEPPED
out on the fantail of the Abner Read. Squinting at the late afternoon sun, he walked over to the two seamen who were prepping the Werewolf for another sortie. He watched as the men went silently about their business, working together as if they’d done this for years, though they had never even laid eyes on a Werewolf until two months ago.
Starship appeared from the hangar entrance, walking toward the aircraft on unsteady legs. Storm watched approvingly as the Dreamland pilot checked with each of the men, then ducked under the rotors of the craft, kneeling over some part of the control unit, giving it his own personal check.
Storm stepped forward to talk to the men, but before he reached the flight area the com unit on his belt buzzed. He pushed the headset forward, then hit the switch to connect.
“Storm.”
“Captain, incoming communication from the Dreamland aircraft Wisconsin. It’s Colonel Bastian.”
“All right. Tell him to wait for a minute until I’m on the bridge.”
STARSHIP PULLED BACK THE PANEL ON THE SELF-DIAGNOSTICS
unit of the Werewolf, punched in his code, and then keyed PrG-1, the main diagnostics program, to start. The LEDs began to blink furiously. He backed out from under the ro-
END GAME
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tors; the checks took thirteen and a half minutes, and there was no sense waiting on his knees.
“You really flew this thing into the Chinese aircraft carrier?” asked one of the maintainers.
“Yup,” said Starship, trying to remember the sailor’s name. He thought it was Tony, but he didn’t want to say it in case he was wrong.
“Could’ve shot them up pretty bad, I’ll bet,” said the other sailor.
“You’re probably right. Sure scared the hell out of them,”
said Starship.
“Probably peed in their pants, I bet,” said the man he thought was Tony.
Tony or Tommy. Starship had always been lousy with names.
The other was Jared. Definitely Jared.
“So you like being aboard the ship?” asked Jared.
“It takes some getting used to,” Starship admitted. “I mean, I’m used to, well, moving around more.”
“It’s not too bad once you get used to it,” said the sailor he thought was Tony. “On the bigger ships, you have more facilities and stuff, but the thing with a small boat like ours?
Everybody pulls together. It’s like a family.”
“Yeah, the people are pretty good,” said Starship.
“Captain can be a bit of a pill,” said Jared.
“Storm? Nah. His bark is worse than his bite,” said Starship. “Tough guy, but fair.”
Jeez, listen to me, thought Starship. Guy says a few nice words to me and all of a sudden I’m running his campaign for President.
“I CAN USE ANOTHER AIRCRAFT, THAT’S FOR SURE,” STORM
told Dog and Danny after they finished presenting the plan to take the commando submarine. It involved basing an Osprey on the Abner Read and having two Whiplash troopers dive into the water from a Megafortress using a special deployment device they called a manpod. Storm wasn’t famil-
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iar with it, but it sounded a bit like a hollowed out bomb.
“But I’ll be honest with you, Captain Freah. I’m not positive that there is another submarine out there, and I’m not sure you can pull this off, even if there is.”
“If we’re supposed to be trying to stop a war,” said Danny, “then it seems to me grabbing the people who are trying to start it ought to be a priority.”
“I’d rather sink the bastards and be done with them,” said Storm.
Then, as he often did after he’d shot from the hip, he considered the situation more carefully. First the negatives: The Osprey did not fit in the Abner Read’s low-slung hangar, negating much of the ship’s low radar profile. They had not been resupplied for three weeks and were already starting to get low on fuel for the Werewolf.
Then the positives: Capture the submarine and its crew, and they’d have all the information they needed about who was trying to instigate the war. The commanding officer of the unit responsible would get considerable glory … and maybe an admiral’s gold braid.
Same thing would happen if he sank the Chinese carrier, only faster. But that chance might not come, especially if Bastian found some way to muck things up.
Bastian was trying to be nice, deferring to him on this. It didn’t fit him particularly well.
“What are the logistics?” snapped Storm. “We haven’t resupplied our jet fuel for the Werewolf, and we’re pretty deep into our supply. How much fuel are you going to need?”
“I have to get a tanker to refuel the Osprey while it’s en route,” said Dog. “It may take me a few hours. If we can set that up, we may be able to arrange for a tanker to orbit outside the combat area to the west. If the Osprey is needed, it can tank before returning to the ship.”
“How long before you can get the Osprey up here?”
asked Storm.
“We still need some gear and the manpods,” said Danny.
“But I would say we can launch within twelve hours, just END GAME
279
before dawn our time here. We stay on station for the whole EB-52 shift, then the next group comes in. Two of our guys will be with the Osprey, and you can supplement them with your SITT team. Worst case with this whole deal, you have my whole team aboard your ship and we stage from there.”
“Let’s do it. Captain Freah, I look forward to welcoming you aboard.”
Dreamland
1055 (2355, Karachi)
JENNIFER GLEASON LOOKED AT THE COMPUTER SCREEN AND
shook her head. “The problem is that last set of missiles, Ray. If they don’t launch simultaneously, they’ll be too far from the initial explosion to guarantee they’ll be affected.”
Rubeo sighed. “With all due respect, Dr. Gleason,” he said, in the tone he always used when he disagreed, “your expertise is with computers.”
“Listen, Ray, I’m telling you—if you want to reach that set of missiles, you have to launch another missile. And change the launch coordinates.”
Jennifer knew why Rubeo was hesitating—her recommendations meant two planes, not one, would have to un-dertake the mission, and both aircraft would have to fly deeper into Indian territory. Besides Russian-made SA-6s and improved SA-2s, the Indian antiair batteries in the flight paths had recently been equipped with Russian SA-10s and SA-12s. The latter was considered especially advanced, roughly on a par with the American Patriot.
“I suppose I had best tell Colonel Bastian of your findings,” said Rubeo finally.
“I’ll do it, Ray,” Jennifer told him.
“As head scientist, the job is mine. Besides, delivering bad news enhances my image as a killjoy.” He got up from the console. “You might accompany me to the Command Center, in case technical data is needed.”
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