“Let’s do this,” said Greenstreet, hitting the throttle to spurt ahead.
Turk juiced his gas. His heartbeat began picking up. He scanned the sky from left to right and back, checked his readouts, then his radar.
“Nothing,” said Greenstreet as his F-35 approached the reef at the side of the island.
The spit of land was so tiny that the aircraft were over it in literally half a heartbeat. Turk stretched himself upright in the ejection seat, alert, on edge — this was the point to watch for a response, for now it was obvious to anyone that they were there.
Nothing.
“Infrared, radar, all systems clear. Nobody home,” said Greenstreet. “We take another pass. Stay with me.”
They banked wide and came around for another pass in the same direction, this time lower but just as fast. Turk felt himself starting to lose a bit of his edge. He warned himself this was the most dangerous point of the mission, a bit of a lie but a well-intentioned one. He needed to stay alert; he needed to be ready.
“Nothing down there but sand rats,” said Cowboy after they cleared the island.
“Low and slow,” said Greenstreet.
They took two more passes without drawing a response or seeing anything move on the island.
“I’m going to talk to the Ospreys,” said Greenstreet as Basher One rose from the final flyover at 3,000 feet. “They should be here inside ten minutes.”
A few minutes later aboard Marine Osprey One, Danny Freah steadied himself at the back of the aircraft’s rear ramp, waiting for the Osprey to touch down. He had his gun in his hand, loaded and ready to fire. The F-35s hadn’t drawn a response or seen anyone on the island, but that wasn’t a guarantee the place was deserted. Danny knew from experience that even the best radar and infrared detection systems could be fooled with patience and creativity. He’d been ambushed too many times in his career to take a landing like this — against a well-equipped and undeniably intelligent opponent — for granted.
“Charlie Platoon! Ready!” shouted an NCO as the rotorcraft settled into its landing squat.
“Ready!” shouted the rest of the company. They were loud enough to briefly drown out the engines.
The ramp fell and the Marines hustled out. They might not be considered a “Tier One” group, but they were as professional, moving quickly across the sand as they stormed the open beach.
The platoon’s first objective was to take holding positions along a low rise near the center of the open area of the island. The jets were then called in for another flyover, while the Marines watched for a reaction. That done, two three-man groups got up and ran to the tree line. When they didn’t find anything or draw fire, they plunged a few yards deeper. With still no contact, the commander unleashed the unit in a systematic search of the island.
Danny, trailing behind, couldn’t have organized them better. But if he’d been hooked up to a lie detector and questioned, he would have had to admit that he was disappointed: if the people with the UAVs weren’t here, where were they?
As the ground units scoured the island, Greenstreet had Turk extend his orbit outward, theorizing that the UAVs might be using this as bait and would launch from another base.
A civilian airliner twenty miles to the north provided the briefest of diversions before Turk double-checked its identifier with the Cube. Otherwise, the sky was empty, except for the Marine force.
There were dozens and dozens of little islands and reefs below, but the vast majority weren’t big enough for a walrus to sunbathe on. Turk took his circle wider, double-checking his position with the other aircraft as he flew. Trying to stay alert, he ran himself through the possible reactions to a UAV, trying to guess where it would come from. He thought about Cowboy and the pilot’s desire to fly with Whiplash.
Then he thought of Li. That was very dangerous — she was distracting even at the best of times. He refocused his thoughts as well as his eyes, examining the islands and waves below.
Turk’s attention drifted again. Suddenly he was back in Iran, flying the Phantom that he and Stoner had used to escape in. MiGs were coming after them.
God, am I ever going to get away from them? Flying this old crate, desperate for fuel, a sitting duck…
He jumped upright against his restraints. He hadn’t fallen asleep, but he’d been slightly dazed, inattentive. He thought of taking one of the emergency “go” pills he had in his leg pocket before something serious happened.
The AN/APG-81 AESA radar system had picked out two contacts at ninety miles, coming fast in his direction from 30,000 feet.
Fast movers. J-15s. Chinese.
J-15s! Chinese carrier planes.
“I have two contacts coming hot from the northwest,” said Turk, hitting the mike. “Chinese.”
Danny reached the edge of the island and pushed out onto the shallow ledge overlooking the water. If there had been people here in the past ten years, they hadn’t left a trace.
The ocean spread out before him, the water shimmering with the afternoon sun. The waves were so gentle that they barely made a sound as they lapped against the rocks skimming the rim of the island.
The place was picturesque, at least. Maybe in a few years some international hotel chain would discover it and set up a massive resort.
“What do you think, Colonel?” asked Captain Thomas.
“Analysts were wrong,” said Danny.
“Not wrong — they hedged their bets.” Captain Thomas smiled. “We just happened to be in the twenty-fifth percentile.”
He was referring to the estimate that there was a seventy-five percent chance the base would be here.
“How do they come up with those percentages?” asked the Marine. “Dart boards?”
“I think it’s dice,” said Danny.
“Military intelligence. Oldest oxymoron going.”
Danny picked his way across the rocks, skirting the water. The truth was, the estimates the analysts made were usually pretty good; they were able to deal with an incredible amount of data and make guesses based on historical patterns. But in cases where there wasn’t a past to speak of, it was all just a guess, wasn’t it? Garbage in, garbage out, as they liked to say.
“Hey, Colonel,” yelled one of the Marines who’d come out on the shore about twenty yards away. “What do you make of that?”
Danny walked over to the private, who was pointing at the reef. “Make of what?”
“Next to the reef?”
“In the water there. See how it jugs out a bit? Under the water?”
“I don’t see anything but the reef,” said Danny, staring. The rocks formed a small, shallow cove; the water was lighter, almost a pale green in the sun.
“The rocks and coral and what have you are irregular. There’s a straight line there.”
Danny stared but he couldn’t tell what the private was talking about.
“I’m going to take a look,” said the Marine. He began walking out on the sand that had piled up on both sides of the reef.
“Don’t fall in,” warned Danny.
The private waved his hand. He took a few more steps, then retreated back to shore where he gave his rifle to one of his companions, then pulled off his tactical vest and boots. Stripping to his shorts and undershirt, he hopped into the water, then swam and walked to the part of the reef he’d been pointing to. He glanced around before diving under the water.