Given their abilities, the Sabres were not only small but surprisingly light. Much of the UAV’s operational weight came from the fuel it carried; three-quarters empty meant it was light enough to be easily handled by two men. In fact, Talbot could probably have handled it by himself; holding the left wing, Braxton mostly steered as they carried the aircraft off the beach and onto the bow area of the long launch. With a wingspan barely as big as the average desk, both aircraft fit nicely in the front of the boat. Lashed down to the deck, they looked a little like stingrays with short tails.
As soon as the aircraft were secured, Talbot backed the launch off the shoal, turning carefully toward the open sea. Satisfied that they were in good shape, Braxton eased himself forward to examine the Sabres. It was hard to believe that aircraft so small and sleek could be so deadly.
If his own UAVs were advanced — as aircraft, he reckoned they were close to the second generation Flighthawks, though not quite as fast — these were a step or two beyond. Even smaller than the Flighthawks, they were built around a lightweight but powerful jet engine and a 25mm cannon. The main electronics, consisting of custom-made chips and IC circuits, were distributed along the aircraft, rather than concentrated in one place; they couldn’t be accessed without disassembling the spine of the aircraft.
The bulge of the rear part of the engine on the underside of the aircraft was similar to that on his airplanes — not a surprise, given that his engine was an earlier version of the Sabres’. The nozzle and variable thrust mechanisms at the back of the planes was both strikingly simple — two perforated pieces of metal, one over the other, made up the body — and yet effective, acting as both a thermal dissipater and directional thruster at the same time. Unable to access the interior of the molded unit, Braxton surmised it was controlled by a coglike mechanism that aligned the perforations as well as changed the length and shape of the tailpipe, adding a vector effect to the thrust.
It would be a shame to sell the technology, he thought. They should keep it for themselves.
“We’re being hailed,” said Talbot from the wheelhouse.
“By who?”
“A Chinese patrol craft.”
“Screw them,” said Braxton.
“I’m not answering.”
“Do they have aircraft up?”
“Not clear,” said Talbot. “Nothing on the passive radar.”
Braxton took the binoculars from the shelf next to the wheel and scanned the horizon. There was a dot in the distance to the north, directly in their path. It was too close to be the cargo container ship.
“Let’s go to Daela instead of the rendezvous,” he told Talbot.
“Got it.”
Daela was the last of their reef hideouts. Larger than the others, with good vegetation covering a third of the land, Braxton had used it for the early tests of the UAVs. It was claimed by Vietnam as well as China and Malaysia, and nearly equidistant to Vietnam and Brunei.
Talbot immediately changed course, consulting the GPS to come to the right heading. Within minutes the blip on the horizon disappeared.
Braxton wondered if he’d been too cautious. He was about to tell Talbot to turn back to the north when they were hailed again, and this time told to stop dead in the water or face an attack.
“They can’t possibly be talking to us,” said Braxton.
“They’re using the Malaysian registration number of the launch,” said Talbot.
“How would they have gotten that?” Braxton asked. It was a rhetorical question — surely the Chinese had plenty of spies in Malaysia who could have supplied it. “It has to be a bluff.”
“Should I answer?”
“Absolutely not.”
Braxton went back to scanning the horizon. The way in front of them was clear, but there was another shadow now to the north.
“It may be a trick from the Dreamland people,” said Braxton, thinking out loud.
He had defeated the locator circuitry in the Sabres as part of the process of taking them over. It had to have worked, he thought; otherwise they would have been all over him when he recovered the planes, if they even let him get that far.
Were the Chinese really following?
“Talbot, when was the last time you used the launch?” he asked.
“Couple of days ago, after we left Brunei.”
“Was it scanned?”
“For bugs? Of course.”
But they were tracking them, weren’t they? How?
Braxton went to the GPS unit.
“Has this been tampered with?” he asked, examining the holder plate. “These screws have been replaced.”
Talbot bent to look at it. “I think you’re getting paranoid.”
“No. It’s either been monkeyed with or replaced. It may even be the same unit; they just have to know which signal is pinging the satellites. Damn.”
He yanked it out and threw it in the water, though if it had been bugged, the damage was already done.
The speck to the north was growing exponentially. Braxton noticed that it was above the water — a helicopter.
He took out the H&K 417 from its case beneath the seats.
“I can handle the gun if you take the wheel,” said Talbot.
“Just steer.”
In a few minutes the helicopter revealed itself as a drone — an unmanned reconnaissance aircraft used by the Chinese navy and generally flown off small patrol vessels. It was rare that they were this far from land.
Braxton hesitated as it approached on the port side of the launch, unsure whether shooting at it would make things worse. It came within thirty meters, passing without slowing or seeming to notice. As it circled back, Braxton raised the gun. He waited until the black bulb of the aircraft’s nose filled his scope, then fired on full automatic, sending two long bursts at the middle of the aircraft. Seemingly unfazed, the aircraft continued past on the starboard side, flying for about a half mile before turning back toward him.
“I can’t believe I missed,” said Braxton, aiming again.
This time the bullets burst the forward portion of the fuselage. The hardened plastic and metal splattered into the air. Part of the shrapnel damaged the rotors, and the aircraft’s tail began to spin slowly. Braxton poured the rest of the magazine into it; flames began spewing from the gas tank as it quickly rotated itself down into the water. It crashed with a satisfying hiss.
Braxton had barely any time to savor his victory — two more drone helicopters appeared from the same area as the other. Meanwhile, the dot on the horizon that had been following them had grown considerably larger and separated into two small fast patrol boats. They looked like speedboats, barely bigger than Braxton’s launch — but considerably faster and undoubtedly armed.
“How far are we from Daela?” he asked Talbot.
“Ten miles.”
“We have to get there ahead of them,” said Braxton, slamming a new magazine box into the gun. “Or we’re through.”
10
Turk tried to relax as the Tigershark raced toward the cargo container vessel and the oceangoing tug, its array of sensors and optical cameras working overtime to record everything below. He was at 25,000 feet, not quite invisible to the naked eye but certainly far enough away that he’d look like little more than a blur in the distance. Neither of the two ships seemed to have a radar system capable of tracking him, let alone direct a weapons system to shoot him down. And yet he somehow felt vulnerable, as if he were being shadowed by an enemy he couldn’t identify, let alone defeat.
It wasn’t the fact that he didn’t have the Sabres escorting him, although it felt strange to fly without them. Nor was he really worried about the Chinese fleet sailing a few hundred miles away — he knew he could fly the pants off a dozen J-15s.