"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
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 not 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
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.