She laid out the 7.62mm semi-automatic rifle, using the stack of crates in front of her as a base for its tripod. As she relaxed her breathing and set her right index finger alongside the trigger, she peered through the sight of the 6x48 riflescope, made a two-click adjustment for the slight breeze and the distance.
Today would be the prelude of tomorrow’s glorious beginning. The culmination of a masterful work — and the next 48 hours would decide everything.
Nothing left to chance.
She switched off the safety on the rifle, signaled to the captain to set the boats on a drift course toward the Sea Shepherd. On her signal, the attack began. No weapons at first, only the heavy chain links the fishermen would have used — if there were actual fishermen on any of the boats in her tiny fleet.
Predictably, those she watched responded by sounding a ship-wide alert. She watched and waited as they responded with fire hoses and stink bombs. Any other day such a response would have sent the fishermen running, but today wasn’t any other day.
The L129A1 Sharpshooter she used was effective at a range of up to 800 meters. Her target would be much closer and she was confident there would soon be one less complication.
She stared through the sight, blocking out everything else as she controlled her breathing and prepared to take the shot that would change everything.
One bullet. One bullet to erase the trail and blaze the way to tomorrow.
The target came up from below decks like a Brahma bull out of a chute at a rodeo. She sighted the target in her scope and squeezed the trigger.
Chapter 8
The amphibious assault ship USS Kearsarge turned slowly toward its rendezvous with the battle group led by the aircraft carrier USS Harry Truman. The Kearsarge was alive with activity, like a hornet’s nest that had been kicked hard.
Scott Evers was exhausted, and only adrenalin from all that had transpired kept him on his feet. He followed Midshipman Tinsdale as she led the way from the ship’s mess. Being a civilian, former NSA operative or not, he wasn’t allowed anywhere aboard the Kearsarge without escort.
Being designed for amphibious assault meant the Kearsarge was part aircraft carrier, part guided missile cruiser, and part troop transport. Not only was the Kearsarge 844 feet long and 106 feet abeam, but the ship also had an impressive displacement of about 40,500 long tons, which made her roughly half the size of the USS Harry Truman.
The Kearsarge’s armament included two short-range anti-aircraft and anti-missile weapon systems; two infrared homing surface-to-air missile systems; three radar-guided 20 mm Gatling guns designed to defend against anti-ship missiles; and eight .50 machine guns. In addition to a complement of about 4000 combat-ready sailors and marines, the Kearsarge carried 22 Ospreys, 6 Harrier IIs, and 6 Seahawks.
As Ospreys were tiltrotor aircraft with both a vertical takeoff and landing (VTOL) and a short takeoff and landing (STOL) capability, they were essentially half conventional helicopter and half long-range turboprop aircraft. Harrier IIs also had V/STOL making them very capable ground attack and armed recon fighters. Seahawks were capable combat helicopters equipped for naval warfare missions as well as search and rescue operations.
In the tight quarters, the crew practically had to crawl over each other at times. Midshipman Tinsdale was overly formal. She hadn’t said a word as she sat across from Scott in the ship’s mess. Scott’s mood was such that he wasn’t really hungry, but he had eaten because he knew his body needed the sustenance.
Now the midshipman was mutely leading Scott back to infirmary, but he didn’t want to go back to infirmary. He didn’t want to sit beside Edie as she clung to life. What he wanted was answers. Answers he would only get if he made his way to the operations room. Serious obstacles to that though were his escort and the civilian clothes he wore.
Scott suspected the clothes were donated by someone of a similar build, but he didn’t know by whom. The black, long-sleeved t-shirt, the gray sweat pants, and the white sneakers all seemed to be someone’s idea of after-hours dress. He was thankful for dry clothes after his ordeal in the water, but he really wished he was in uniform now.
If he was wearing a uniform, he could go just about anywhere on the ship. Looking down at the shirt that he’d hastily pulled on earlier, he grinned when he saw the Kearsarge’s insignia over the right breast with the “Proud — Trustworthy — Bold” motto stitched beneath in white letters.
One good thing about the seat he had chosen in the mess was that the ship’s diagram had been on the wall directly opposite him. The diagram, meant to show evacuation routes, helped him deduce the location of the operations room relative to the mess and the infirmary. If his assessment was correct, the passageway ahead ran nearly bow to stern. The midshipman would turn and follow the passageway toward the stern and to the infirmary. He’d turn the opposite direction and follow the passageway toward the bow.
He took careful, measured steps behind the midshipman, awaited his chance. The turn came. The midshipman turned right. Scott took two steps in her direction before turning sharply on his heel and then steadily pushing his way through toward the bow as fast as he could. He expected to hear shouts at any moment. He waited, steeled himself for it, but the shouts never came. Instead, he soon found himself standing outside “Sit 1.” Sit 1, he assumed, stood for Situation Room 1, which he was certain was the Kearsarge’s main operations room.
Scott was contemplating whether to enter when he noticed the sentries standing on either side of the closed door. As he looked over at one of the sentries, a uniformed officer pushed past. As the door opened, he followed the officer into the room without hesitation.
The situation room was filled nearly to capacity. Scott joined the uniformed officers and crew standing at the back of the room. A uniformed officer at the front of the room was slapping a situation map with a long pointer. The officer’s back was turned to him, so Scott couldn’t see the officer’s name tag.
“As you know search and rescue recovered the second inflatable in waters near Sea Shepherd some hours ago,” the officer was saying. “We’ve rejoined the main strike group. Gettysburg and Bulkeley are performing protective maneuvers for Harry Truman. Mason and San Jacinto are under way and will rejoin the strike group by 18:00.
“Aboard Harry Truman, Carrier Air Wing 3 is on full alert. Strike Fighter Squadron 32, the Swordsmen, are on CAP now, with four fighters performing continuous protective ops while the Marine Fighter Attack Squadron, the Checkerboards, continues seek and destroy ops.
“The Seahawks are up performing airborne early warning. AWACS and EC recon are on route from Naples. ETA 18:30. Full theater security and response will be in place at that time.”
Scott studied the e-wall on the far side of the room as he listened to the briefing. While the e-wall itself was a single paper-thin screen covering the wall completely, it was comprised of many individual display areas. The main display, which dominated most of the space, was a real-time tactical map of the Mediterranean Sea showing the locations of Naval vessels and items of interest like the last known position of the Bardot and the Shepherd.
As the speaker stepped aside, Scott saw a Navy captain. The name tag said Howard, but Scott didn’t need the name tag to recognize the captain.
“Thanks for the update, lieutenant,” Captain Howard said, as he stood to address the room. “Well, gentlemen, ladies, that’s the current situation in a nutshell. Full response, with ongoing seek and destroy. Rest assured, we will find those responsible, and when we do they will know the full might of the U.S. of A.”