*
*
*
TWENTY MINUTES LATER DOG’S TIRED FACE APPEARED ON THE
large screen at the front of the Command Center in the Tac subbasement. Jennifer felt her chest clutch.
“Ray, what’s up?”
“Colonel, I asked Dr. Gleason to refine our computer simulations on the effects of the EEMWB. As you recall, we based our original assessments on the programs we used to design the tests, rather than the tests themselves.”
“Uh-huh.”
“After using the data from the tests to update the simulations, it would appear that a change in strategy would be desirable. I’m going to transmit a map for you. You’ll notice it requires seven missiles launched at two separate in-tervals. This is to achieve the proper overlap to account for any malfunctions.”
“Seven missiles? That’s two aircraft.”
“Yes.”
Jennifer watched Dog as he studied the screen. She longed to be there with him, though truthfully she was probably of much more use here.
“This is going to change things for us quite a bit,” said the colonel finally.
“I realize that. I’m sorry we didn’t develop this information sooner. I take full responsibility.”
The corner of Dog’s mouth curled up just a bit. But instead of the sardonic comment Jennifer expected, he told Rubeo not to worry about it. Then, before she could say hello, he killed the connection.
Northern Arabian Sea
2355
SATTARI TOOK THE NIGHT GLASSES AND SCANNED THE OCEAN
to the south. He could just make out the mast of the Pakistani warship the Mitra’s captain had pointed out.
END GAME
281
“It is the Babur, ” said the captain. “A destroyer.”
The Babur was more than twenty years old; it had begun life as the British Royal Navy frigate Amazon, before being sold to Pakistan a few years before. Cramped, not a particularly good seakeeper, and far past its prime, the vessel had an accurate and deadly 55mm gun at its bow that could tear through the tanker’s skin like a staple gun chewing through paper. It also had potent antisubmarine torpedoes that could send a Parvaneh to the bottom with even a near miss.
Sattari’s plan called for the three Parvanehs to leave the oil tanker in thirty minutes. Sailing at top battery speed, they would reach the Indians’ offshore early warning radar platform off Dw¯arka in five hours. That would allow them to launch the attack just before dawn. If successful, the strike would convince the Indians that the Pakistanis or the Chinese were clearing the way for a bombing attack on India itself.
The platform had been constructed on a rock outcrop-ping in water so shallow that not even the Parvaneh submarines could get closer than three-quarter miles; to succeed, the commandos would have to approach in darkness. Delaying for too long now would scrub the mission for tonight.
Sattari did not want to delay. The transmissions they’d been monitoring all day showed that the antagonists were primed and ready for battle. But there were news reports that diplomats had begun shuttling around the subcontinent, trying to get the sides to stand down. The longer he waited, the greater the chance that the conditions he needed for success would slip away.
Could he take the chance that the Pakistanis’ antiquated sonar systems would miss the Parvanehs? Perhaps this very frigate had been responsible for the disappearance of his other boat.
“We will wait,” Sattari told the Mitra’s captain. “Continue on the course you have set. We will review the situation every twenty minutes.”
282
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Aboard the Shiva ,
northern Arabian Sea
2355
“THE CHINESE AIRCRAFT PRESENTED THE MOST DIFFICULT
challenge,” said Admiral Skandar, pointing to the chart.
“Their missiles were the ones that struck the Shiva. By coordinating their attack with the salvos from the destroyers, they were able to swarm our defenses. That must not happen again. The screening vessels must be placed here and here, to deal with the Chinese.” Skandar jabbed his thumb at the map. “And a more aggressive air patrol sent to combat the attackers. They were too late to prevent the missile launches—that was their first duty.”
Memon listened as the Defense minister continued to lay out the battle plan. Two more destroyers had joined the Shiva in the past two hours, and their captains—along with officers from the other escorts and the warfare commanders of the Shiva—had assembled in the warfare briefing room aboard the carrier. The admiral had eschewed the array of multimedia equipment available, preferring a large sea chart with the positions of the ships penciled in by hand. He spoke without notes, his knowledge of the ships, weapons, and strategies available to both sides evident as he prioritized the targets—the radar helicopters first at long range, then the carrier.
This was a different man than the one Memon had seen in the political halls of New Delhi; this was the man who matched the reputation that had brought him to congress and the ministry. His voice remained gentle, and yet he was neither reticent nor compromising. He had begun the meeting by saying that he hoped dearly for peace—and then plunged straight to war making.
A week ago such talk would have filled Memon with confidence and excitement. Now he felt dread. He was afraid that the missile attack had revealed his true nature as END GAME
283
a coward. The memory of the dead man vibrated in the air before him, a storm just outside his flesh.
Skandar had quieted the panic he felt, but this was not to say that the Defense minister had restored him to the man he had been before the attack. On the contrary. Memon’s great fear now was that the admiral knew he was a coward, and was merely biding his time before denouncing him.
Then his despair would be complete.
Adri had been banished for being too aggressive, if only by a hair; how much more extreme would the punishment be for a man who was a coward and a disgrace? If Admiral Skandar saw his true nature, would he not react with disgust?
Memon’s eyes followed as Skandar pointed to the map west of the Shiva’s position.
“And where is the American ship?” he asked.
The intelligence officer who had plotted the positions for him said the Abner Read had moved to the west overnight, and its location had not yet been ascertained.
“It must be known at all times,” said the admiral, his tone still mild. “In the event of action, it must be targeted immediately.”
“The Americans?” said one of the destroyer captains.
“Yes. They must be attacked at close range. The design of their vessel is well-suited to warding off radar-guided weapons, but an old-fashioned attack, launched with bombers at close range—that is how to defeat them. The aircraft must be close to them before the fighting begins.
Their radar planes, too, must be attacked. This task we will assign to the shore batteries.”
Attack the Americans? Memon glanced around the room, waiting for someone to object. But no one did.
Skandar looked up at Memon. “And now, a late snack for all before you return to your ships.”
The others began filing out. As Memon turned to join them, Skandar settled his hand on his shoulder.
“Deputy Minister, a word.”
284
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
They waited until the others were gone.
“You are anxious about attacking the American ship,”
said Skandar.
“I am not questioning your orders.”
“There are situations when questions are appropriate, and situations when they are not. Express your thoughts.”
Was this a trap? Memon wondered. A test to see if he was a coward?