by Craig Reed
"How soon?" he whispered.
Kashgari frowned. “No more than thirty minutes.”
Riyad reached for the sat-phone and pressed the auto-dialer. Narsai answered.
"Yes, Colonel?"
"You are now within range for SANDSTORM. Can you fire the missiles?"
After a slight pause, Narsai said, "Not quite yet, but Dr. Masood and his team are working as quickly as they can."
"Tell him to hurry. The Americans are sending helicopters and will be there in less than half an hour."
"We will fire them before then, sir."
"You had better. Good bye."
Riyad broke the connection and stared out into the darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Tanner answered his satellite phone to hear Casey’s energized voice.
"We got the pictures. They're kicking over a few anthills here in D.C. We have a SEAL team in the air, heading your way— ETA is thirty-five minutes. Call sign is Javelin, pass code is Alpha-3."
"Understood."
Without introduction, a new voice, male, came on the line. "Mr. Wilson, we've taken a look at those pictures."
"And you are?"
"That's Admiral Landers, ONI," Casey said. "He's part of the team shadowing the warheads."
"As I said," Landers continued, "my people are staring holes into those photos. Not the best shots in the world."
Tanner made a spitting sound. "To the contrary, Admiral. Right now I’d wager that they are in fact the best shots in the world of those missiles. Unless you have some better?”
An uncomfortable silence ensued during which Tanner could hear Casey and Landers exchanging muted words.
Then Landers’ voice was back on the line. “I’m just saying, those images aren’t a lot to work with—“
“And I’m just saying that our team almost got our asses blown to shit taking them, so how about you stop complaining and do what you can from your air-conditioned office, okay?” Behind him, Stephen grinned and gave him a thumbs-up sign.
Landers recovered quickly. "Touché. From the enhancement work we did with the photos, it does look like the warheads are on the missiles. My people also say those missiles have a range of maybe eight hundred miles, probably less. Have you shed any more light on the possible targets from your end?"
"We're thinking it’s either something in the UAE or Oman."
"These people want to strike back against the West," Landers said, his tone distracted.
"There are a lot of expats in the UAE," Tanner said, "but I think they want an obvious western target…"
He stopped, an idea clicking into place. "A warship."
"My God," Landers said. "The Harry S. Truman is in Dubai."
"For how long?"
"Another seven days," Landers replied. “Son of a bitch!”
“What?”
“The president is going to be visiting the Truman the end of the week, along with leaders from the surrounding countries!”
“That would be one hell of a target,” Tanner said. “Any others?”
"The Amphibious Assault Ship, the USS Essex is in port in Salalah, Oman."
"Makes sense," Liam said. "These missiles are set up to fire at a target off to port."
"I think the Truman's the primary target," Tanner said. "But they might target the Essex if they can't get close enough to Dubai."
"But both the Truman's and the UAE's radar systems would pick up those missiles before they got close," Casey said in a clipped tone.
"Not if they were planning to launch the missiles only ten or twenty miles off the coast of Dubai," Tanner hypothesized. "The Northstar’s next port of call is Doha, and its course would take it right past Dubai."
Landers’ voice was quiet and slow. "You are right…At that range, the Truman would have only a couple of minutes’ warning. Two nuclear missiles would, at the very least, cripple the carrier, and if it hits in the wrong place—"
"A major disaster," Casey finished.
"Excuse me," Landers said hurriedly, "I need to alert NAVCENT and the White House."
Tanner could hear movement and a door opening and closing.
"I haven't seen Al move that fast in years," Casey muttered. Then in a louder voice, he said, "Tanner, you have command authority from the president himself, and your orders are to stop that ship at all costs, before those missiles are launched."
"Understood."
"I have to go," Casey said, fatigue creeping into his voice. "I need to activate a few contingency plans, and a lot of people are going to be getting unpleasant late-night phone calls, no time to sugar-coat anything."
"I do have one favor I need to ask.”
After Tanner told him, Casey said, "They're yours and will be in the air in fifteen minutes. Talk to you later."
* * *
The radio crackled. "OUTCAST, OUTCAST, this is Javelin."
Tanner picked up the transmitter. "Javelin, this is OUTCAST. Password is SUNDOWN SEVEN."
"Copy OUTCAST, counter is WILDFLOWER THREE."
Tanner exhaled. Casey’s promised SEALs had made contact. "What is your status, Javelin?"
"Twenty minutes out. Can we get a sit-rep?"
"Tangos are in full control of the ship. Intel indicates original crew is KIA. Tangos have anti-aircraft capability. The sun eggs have wings. There is a second ship, suspected tango asset, fifty clicks southwest of primary target."
"Copy, OUTCAST. What's the plan? Not sure exactly who you guys are, but somebody way up high sure as hell likes you, because I’m told you have lead on this op."
"Who we are is a long story, Javelin, and right now we have something ongoing. I need to check on a few things."
"Fill us in at a bar back stateside when this is all over, then. Better hurry. Wind is picking up and the weather wonks think a storm is brewing."
"Copy that. Back in ten. OUTCAST out."
Axiam, who had listened to the radio conversation, tapped his fuel gauge. "We're down to about half. We've got another hour or so in the air before I have to turn back to shore — unless you like swimming."
"How close can you get to the ship now without getting blasted out of the sky?"
Axiam raised his eyebrows. "Those SA-7s have a range of about four klicks. I can get a little closer than that, but I’d rather not."
"We have to wait for the last player in the game."
Tanner stared down at the angry sea below, where he saw actual breaking waves beginning to form, their crests whipped into frothy foam. The conditions were worsening rapidly. He was glad for the interruption of the radio call when it came in.
"OUTCAST, OUTCAST," a new voice said over the radio. "This is Victory. We are at Angels forty and moving fast."
"Copy, Victory," Tanner replied. "ETA?"
"Forty-two minutes. We don't know how much help we can be. We didn't bring a lot of party favors because of the long trip. Orders were to get out here ASAP and contact you."
"Don't sweat it, Victory. You're going to dazzle them with the strength of your personality. Hold on while I bring Javelin into this. We have a plan, and it's going to take all three of us to pull it off."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Aboard the Northstar Venture
The waiting was getting to Narsai. Nothing to do but glance at the radar, then look out into the darkness, wondering what the Americans were waiting for. The one helicopter that had dogged them was still off their port bow, with more choppers off his starboard, all out of range of his Strellas. What did they want?
He glanced down again and saw new blips coming in from the north. They were moving very fast, faster than the helicopters. Jets then — either Oman or maybe the Americans. Twenty minutes out.
Narsai picked up the radio. "Dr. Masood — status of the missiles?"
"We're still working!" Masood snapped back. "We're trying to do hours of work in minutes!"
"There are jets inbound. Minutes are all we have left."
"These missiles are no
t AK-47s. They are delicate machines that have to be handled carefully, or we could die!”
"Doctor, if you don't get those missiles ready before the Americans board this ship, I will personally make certain that you do die! Is that clear enough?"
"Perfectly!" There was a click as Masood ended his transmission. Narsai stared at the radio for a few seconds, then back to the radar screen.
"Those jets could stand off from a distance and target us with missiles," Musa said.
Narsai continued to star at the radar, gauging the distance from his ship to the planes. "Maybe, but the Americans want the warheads — that's what the helicopters are for. I also doubt the jets have much ordnance on them because of the great distance they've traveled from land." He shook his head. "Those fighter jets are a distraction, a threat, or a last resort, nothing more."
Inside, he knew he was lying to himself.
* * *
The four F-18F Super Hornets flew in a tight diamond formation, forty thousand feet above the ocean. Designed as a strike fighter, the Super Hornets were members of VFA-103, the "Jolly Rogers," assigned to the Truman. Traveling at Mach 1.2, the fighters closed in on the target at over nine hundred miles an hour.
In the cockpit of the lead fighter, Lt. Commander James "Bulldog" Drummond consulted his radar. He was a bit irascible at the moment, being hauled out of bed and sent into the night sky with scant instructions and armed only with the Super Hornet's M61A1 Vulcan Gatling cannon and a pair of AGM-84G Harpoon anti-ship missiles. The conversation with whomever this OUTCAST outfit was didn't help his disposition any.
"Ten minutes from break point," Drummond's Weapons Systems Officer, Lieutenant Grant "Harvard" Hargreaves announced.
"Copy," Drummond returned. He touched the radio control for the flight frequency. "All right, ladies. Our target is coming up."
"This for real sir?" Lt.(JG) Adam "Jocko" Welborn asked. He piloted the F-18 to Drummond's right. "This is not an exercise?"
"Correct," Drummond said through gritted teeth. "This is real, and if we fuck it up, people are going to die. So shut your mouth and open your ears."
"Copy that, Bulldog."
"Our target is a tango-controlled container ship. The ship has two nuclear missiles onboard, and the spooks think the HST is the target."
"Holy shit," Jocko breathed.
"Exactly," Drummond said.
"That explains the Harpoons," Lt. Malcolm "Cyber" Perko said. “Blow the damn thing out of the water."
"Negative, Cyber," Drummond said. "We're not going to sink this ship."
"We're not?" Jocko asked.
"No. A spook squad and a bunch of wetsuits want to board the ship and grab the missiles."
"So what are we going to do?" Cyber asked.
Drummond smiled thinly. "Our jobs."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Aboard the Northstar Venture
Narsai checked the radar again. The aircraft approaching from the north were close now. For a second, he thought about ordering evasive maneuvers, then discarded the idea as fast as it had materialized. The ship was too slow, too large and too unwieldy to make any such maneuver feasible. No, there was nothing else they could do other than to fire the Baburs.
"I'm going to go talk to Dr. Masood," he said to Musa. "Alert me immediately if any of those aircraft make an aggressive move." He tapped the radio on his belt. Musa nodded and Narsai left the bridge.
By the time he reached the main deck, he could hear the sounds of men moving and shouting ahead of him. He strode purposefully toward the commotion.
He found Masood and his entire team at work on the first missile. Several ICA solders were standing around, watching the team work.
Masood turned toward Narsai. The captain motioned at the direction of the second missile’s location. "Why aren't you working on both of them?"
"I told you, I can't get both ready in time! But I can get one — maybe!" Masood snapped. Sweat was flowing down his now red face, and Narsai could see anger and fear in his eyes. "The second missile has a damaged circuit board that will take half an hour to replace!" He motioned to the missile in front of them. "This one I can get ready."
"How long?"
"Ten minutes, fifteen at most!"
Narsai wanted to scream at Masood, but instead held his tongue. The doctor was right. Better to have one missile to fire instead of none. He handed Masood a sheet of paper.
“The coordinates for the missile's target."
Masood glanced at the paper, then nodded. "I'll program the targeting computer right away."
"There is no time to waste."
Narsai turned away as his radio come to life.
"Sir, the aircraft coming from the north have swung to the west. I think they're going to attack us broadside."
"Bring us about!" Narsai started running fast for the superstructure.
"Head due east now!"
* * *
The four F-18s dropped until they were a thousand feet over the Indian Ocean. As Drummond turned his aircraft toward the target, Welborn called out, "Target is turning east!"
Drummond scowled. "Bulldog to all elements. Cyber, Gabby, stay at thirty angels. Me and Jocko will make the first run, from the stern. I'm going to pop them in the ass with a couple of Harpoons and see if that slows them down. Don't get too close — spooks say the tangos are armed with Grails."
"Bummer," Jocko said. "I wanted to see how many of the ship's windows I could shatter with a sonic boom."
"Not enough to explain to Uncle Sam why you allowed a sixty million dollar airplane to be shot out of the sky by a fanatic with a five thousand dollar missile. They'll take it out of your pay and the pay of your descendants for a century or two."
"You're assuming they'll allow Jocko to breed," Cyber said, eliciting a few chuckles from the squad.
A smile twitched on Drummond's face, but his tone was business-like. "Cut the chatter, people. Let's get this show on the road."
* * *
Narsai made it to the bridge just as Musa yelled into the radio, "Two fighters are coming at us!"
"Which direction?"
The helmsman turned toward him. 'From astern!"
Narsai snatched up his radio. "All AA teams: Keep an eye out for aircraft!"
"They’re going to fire missiles at us!" Musa shouted.
"Bring us onto a heading of fifty degrees." Narsai’s voice was level, but he felt the cold certainty that the plan had failed.
"We need to buy Dr. Masood time to get that missile ready."
"This is not an easily maneuverable ship!" Musa snapped as he made the course adjustments.
"I know that!" Narsai’s voice rose in anger. "We just need a few more minutes!"
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Five miles off the stern, Tanner Wilson listened to the commander of the incoming fighter jets explain to him what was going to happen.
"Copy, Victory," he said once the pilot finished. "We'll stay out of your way."
He met Axiam’s gaze. "Drop back another five miles and gain some altitude."
"Copy." The Somali pilot adjusted the Hip's controls.
"Javelin, back off and give Victory room."
"Already on it," the SEAL Team leader replied.
"Victory to OUTCAST. Beginning missile run now."
“Ship is changing course again," Axiam said. "It’s swinging northeast."
Tanner saw the ship below and to his forward right begin to turn. The ship was large, with powerful engines, but it wasn't armored and was not designed to be nimble.
"Missiles away!" Victory called out.
* * *
The two AGM-84G Harpoon anti-ship missiles traveled at Mach point nine, twenty feet above the undulating ocean waves. GPS and radar kept them on target as they closed the thirty miles between them and their target in less than five minutes. The ICA soldiers on the stern caught only a streak of metal and heat as both fourteen — foot long missiles slammed into the Northstar Venture's port-side st
ern and exploded.
The ship shuddered from the twin explosions hard enough to knock Narsai off his feet. Lights flickered, some dying out while others came back on, leaving everything in a dim red light. Ignoring his pain, Narsai pushed himself up.
"Damage report!" he shouted.
Musa yelled back. "Helm's not responding…Speed dropping!"
Narsai pivoted and glanced toward the stern. Most of the stern lights had been shattered or darkened, but enough remained to see the thick black smoke and twisted red-hot metal. He raised his radio.
"Jibril!" he snapped, putting iron in his tone to cover his own shock. "Uzair! Report!"
"Th-they're gone!" a shaky voice replied.
"Engine room to bridge!" Faisal's voice held barely restrained fury. "We've got flooding in the propeller shaft and surrounding compartments!"
Narsai grabbed the bridge radio mike. "Can we still move?"
"No!" Faisal snarled. "The propeller's been destroyed and the shaft's been twisted so badly, I have to shut it down! We're dead in the water!"
Narsai felt nothing but impotent fury. "Secure the engine room and get your crew up here. We must defend those missiles!"
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The pair of detonations lit up the night, sending twin fireballs into the sky. Axiam let out a slow whistle. "Damn, that's beautiful."
Tanner said nothing, scanning the container ship with binoculars. The ship was slowing and most of the lights had gone out. The stern was now hidden by thick, heavy smoke that blended into the darkness.
"OUTCAST to Javelin. Form up on me. We'll take the lead and come over the stern. We're going after the nukes, your teams are to secure the rest of the ship."
"Negative," Javelin replied. "Our orders are to secure those nukes. We will secure those nukes."
Tanner frowned. "I thought we had lead on this, Javelin, but there’s no time to argue. How do you want to approach this?"
"Two helos forward, two after. Repel down to the deck. How good are your people?"
Tanner looked back into the crew department. "None better."
