Like all Vikings in the Navy, this one was scheduled to lose its ASW role in the next few months. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the conflict with China, it probably already would have changed roles. Orions and helicopters were set to take on the task, though as this plane’s presence showed, neither aircraft could quite completely take the versatile little Lockheed’s place.

This particular S-3B happened to be a member of a storied squadron, the oldest dedicated carrier ASW group in operation, the Fighting Redtails. While their planes and detection gear had changed dramatically since the squadron was first organized in 1945 (it didn’t gain its nickname until 1950), the pilots and crew members still showed the determination born in a period of worldwide strife.

They also liked to rag on the Air Force whenever possible.

“What the hell you doing out over water, Air Force?” mocked the Redtail pilot. His plane was roughly fifty miles to the southeast, approaching at about 320 knots. “You lost?”

“We hear you Navy boys needed your hands held,” replied Breanna.

“Hey, Air Force, either you’re a woman or real popular with the choir.”

“Want to hear me sing?”

“Only if it’s ‘Anchors Away.’ ”

“Sorry, my plane is programmed to self-destruct if I sing that. You want a fix on our contacts or what?”

“Roger that, good-lookin’.”

“My, what a charmer,” Bree said to Chris. “Give the joker what he’s looking for.”

“A punch in the mouth.”

“Just the coordinates for now,” she said. “You can protect my honor later.”

As Chris filled Redtail in on the submarine contacts, Torbin told Breanna the Chinese were scrambling a pair or fighters after the S-3.

“Redtail, be advised you have some tagalongs,” Bree told the Navy flight.

“We always dig a little faster and a little harder when people are watching,” answered the pilot.

“Come again?”

“Line from ‘Mike Mulligan,’ ” explained the Navy aviator. “You know, Maryanne and the Steam Shovel. Kids book.”

“You got me.”

“You don’t have kids?”

“Negative.”

“I’ll give you one of mine.”

Two Sukhois from one of the Chinese carriers rode out to shake hands with the S-3. Chris tracked them for the Viking, then helped Breanna get ready for the buoy drop, now less than five minutes away. After they opened the bay doors and started to nose downward, the radar picked up a new flight taking off from the T’ien, the Chinese carrier that had recently entered the arena.

“Sikorsky SH-3,” said Chris, his voice jumping an octave. “Wow. Where’d that come from?”

“Range?”

“One hundred miles. That’s a Sikorsky. The Chinese don’t have it,” added Chris. The venerable SH-3 had served with many countries, but wasn’t listed in the inventory of Chinese aircraft. “Those are ours.”

“Want me to tell them to give is back?”

“Captain, I have an active search radar off a Sea King AEW Mark 2 British helicopter,” reported Torbin. “Hey, this is pretty interesting stuff—the Chinese have a Sea King bag on that Sikorsky. Searchwater. Getting parameters.”

Torbin was using the slang term for the special airborne early warning system installed in Royal Navy Sea Kings. The British had pioneered the use of AEW systems on helicopters, installing what they called Searchwater radar with a data link to their Harrier aircraft. Mounted in what looked like a large spaghetti pot off the starboard side of the aircraft, the radar gave roughly a hundred-mile coverage when the helicopter reached ten thousand feet.

“Chinese don’t have this sucker,” added Torbin.

“Yeah, so you think the Queen defected?” asked Breanna.

“More like someone from Spain. They use this configuration. Wait, though. You know, it’s not exactly a Searchwater.”

“Does he have us?”

“Uh, negative on that. Our profile’s too small for him.”

“Okay, everybody take a breath,” said Breanna. “Let’s drop the buoy, then recheck your gear and make sure our Ids are right. Major Stockard, Ms. Gleason, we’re about thirty seconds away from the drop.”

Philippines

2120

Danny Freah’s legs wobbled as he stepped out of the Quick Bird; he had to grab on to Stoner to keep his balance. The rest of the team was waiting near the edge of the runway. For some reason, he had expected Powder’s remains to be waiting there as well, though, as protocol demanded, the dead man had already been removed to a proper area to await disposition.

“Colonel’s inbound,” reported Bison. His eyes looked red, but his face was set in its usual frown.

“Okay.”

“Marines found a place for the villagers,” added the Whiplash trooper.

“The Marines?”

“Peterson worked it out with some Navy people. The word came down. No government, just do it. They’re about to take off now.”