Aboard the Wisconsin , over the Gulf of Aden
6 November 1997
2223
DOG SHOOK HIS HEAD, WONDERING WHY EVERY NAVY OFFICER
he ever dealt with had an ego larger than an aircraft carrier.
“Patrol craft are starting to move again,” said Sergeant Mallack. He’d gotten his nickname, “Dish,” not because he worked a radar, but because he always went back for seconds, and sometimes thirds and fourths, in the mess hall.
“Any hostile action?” Dog asked Zen.
“Negative. They manned their guns and got a missile ready, but didn’t attack.”
“Follow them at a distance.”
“Flighthawk leader.”
Aboard Baker-Baker Two , over the Gulf of Aden
2224
“SO WHAT DO YOU FIGURE THE SUDANESE F-7MS WERE UP
to?” asked Spiderman as they got ready to drop their second control buoy.
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
“Just a macho thing to show us that they’re here,” replied Breanna. “And to see what we were.”
“They didn’t go slow enough to see anything.”
“Maybe they were too scared to slow down,” said Breanna. “Piranha, how are we doing?”
“Probe’s just humming along,” said Commander Delaford. “We have control from the second buoy. Proceeding on course as planned.”
“All right. We’re going to swing south and drop our next control buoy, then climb and take a look around.”
“Roger that,” acknowledged Delaford.
“You sleeping yet?” Breanna asked Starship.
“No ma’am,” said the lieutenant. “Just wishing I’d had a Flighthawk to kick those two ragheads in the rear.”
“All right, let’s all just relax,” said Breanna. “We’re going to be out here for quite a while tonight. No sense using up all our adrenaline in one shot.”
“Contacts, hot, Fishbeds!” said the radar operator. “From the southwest—Ethiopians. Just crossing Somalian territory.”
Aboard the Abner Read , Gulf of Aden
6 November 1997
2225
STORM POUNDED THE LEDGE AT THE BASE OF THE CONTROL
console twice before he was able to corral his anger.
“Captain?”
Storm looked up at Eyes.
“Flyboys have found our bad guys. But they don’t want to get their hands dirty.” He went over to the display, dialing the range out so he could see the area where Bastian had located the pirates.
“We can get a Shark Boat over in a little more than an hour,” said Eyes.
“They’ll be gone,” Storm said. He contemplated going SATAN’S TAIL
103
into Somalian territory after them but knew he couldn’t—
Johnson would jump on it as an excuse to block his career forever.
He could, however, wait for them offshore. Spread a net and catch them when they tried to run.
“Maybe we can have Boat Three pick up the boarding party while we go up there,” said Storm. “Have the two other Shark Boats come as well.”
“Marcum’s not going to like that,” said Eyes.
“I wouldn’t either. But I think it’s our best bet here.”
“Boat One is closest.”
Storm reached to his belt and hit the preset, connecting him with the commander of Shark Boat. “Boat One, this is Captain Gale. I have a target for you. We’ll get the position but you’re to stay in international waters and wait until he gets there.”
“Shit.”
Storm punched the button to connect with the boarding party. “Still there, Gordie?”
“Aye, Cap. What’s going on?”
“Looks like the flyboys have found our bad guys. We may arrange for you to have another taxi pick you up. Can you handle that?”
“I can handle anything.”
“Stand by. Commander Marcum will contact you directly.”
“Aye.”
Storm took another look at the hologram, then decided to tell the ship’s captain personally what he had in mind. He found Marcum out on the folding bridge, looking at the tanker alongside.
“Killed them all?” asked the ship’s commander. The other ship was less than twenty feet away, a brooding hulk on the water.
“Looks like it,” said Storm. “We have a possible location on our pirates. Very close to Laasgoray. They have a fifty-mile head start. I have Boat One heading there. I want AbnerRead to help.”
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
“What about the boarding party?”
“I’d prefer to have Boat Three stand by and pick them up if they need assistance. This way we can leave right away.”
Storm could tell from the look in Marcum’s eye that he didn’t want to leave his men behind. It was a natural objection, and even though Xray Pop had been configured for exactly that sort of flexibility, Storm couldn’t blame him.
“All right,” said Marcum. “Tell me one thing, though.”
“Yeah.”
“Can we get these bastards?”
“I want to. But not if they’re close to shore.”
“Which they will be by the time we get there.”
“Very likely.”
Marcum frowned. Storm turned to go back inside the ship.
As he did, the world lit with a red glow and Storm felt himself flying through the air, propelled by a massive explosion.
III
Territorial Waters
Aboard the Abner Read , Gulf of Aden
2234
STORM SMASHED HEAD FIRST INTO THE SIDE OF THE CAPTAIN’S
chair at the center of the bridge, rolling to the side as the force of explosion pummeled the Abner Read. He tried to stand but fell back against the helmsman. Acrid smoke filled the small space, and for a moment he feared the ship was on fire. That fear helped him find his balance, and as alarms began to sound around him, he gave his first orders, calling a fire control party to the bridge.
Scrambling on his hands and knees to the flying bridge, he found Marcum clinging to the damaged decking. He grabbed the lieutenant commander’s arms and yelled at him to pull himself up, but Marcum didn’t respond. A sailor ran over, leaping down across the deck to help pull the ship’s captain inside; it was only then that Storm realized Marcum’s grip had tightened around the deck piece in death. A thick piece of metal had buried itself in the back of Marcum’s skull. If that hadn’t killed him, he would have bled to death from the wounds caused by the shards of steel in his chest and side.
“God, protect him,” said Storm, and then he turned to the business of helping the living.
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Aboard the Wisconsin , over the Gulf of Aden
6 November 1997
2235
DOG LISTENED AS THE CHAOTIC CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE
American ships continued on the radio channels they were monitoring. His reaction mixed outrage with impotence and shock.
“Should I contact them and ask if they need assistance?”
said his copilot, Captain Kevin McNamara.
“Give them a minute to sort things out,” said Dog. “We’ll continue our patrol in their direction so we can respond if they do require our help.”
The task force’s position was marked at the left-hand side of Dog’s control panel screen. The Megafortress was already flying in their direction. It would take a little more than ten minutes to get there.
“Zen, there’s been some sort of explosion on the ship Xray Pop boarded,” Dog told the Flighthawk pilot over the interphone. “It’s not clear exactly what’s going on. I want to be prepared to assist if necessary. I’m taking us east in their direction until we have confirmation that we’re not needed.”
“What do you want to do about these patrol boats?” Zen asked. “They’re splitting up.”
“They’re pretty clearly in Somalian waters.”
“Yeah.”
“According to our orders, we can’t touch them.”