“Same as the two bombers the Harriers greased?” Heath asked.
“Exactly,” Hunter said. “And that’s what worries me.”
Sir Neil shook his head in disbelief. “No bodies,” he said. “No pilot. No crew.”
“No bombs,” Heath said.
“They didn’t need any crew,” Hunter said, wrestling with a black box attached on the airplane’s main control board. “These airplanes were flying on some kind of an ultra-sophisticated autopilot. More like a remote-control unit. I’m sure the guts of it are in this black box.”
“Autopilots, I can understand,” Heath said, trying to reason it out. “But why no bombs?”
“This might give us the answer,” Hunter said, struggling with yet another piece of smashed, tangled equipment.
“Is that what I think it is?” Sir Neil asked, looking at the almost unidentifiable chunk of melted metal and wires.
“If you are thinking TV camera, you’re right,” Hunter told him. “These airplanes weren’t on a bombing mission at all. They were sent here simply as TV spyships, getting closeup pictures of us and the ferrying operation and transmitting them back to whoever was watching at the other end.”
“And radio sensors triggered the tail guns?” Sir Neil deduced.
“I’m sure of it,” Hunter said, turning the destroyed TV camera over in his hands. “They were flying so strangely. The Harrier pilots noticed it too. They got to those Ilyushins before they even dived on the Moroccan troopship.”
“Well, that’s how a lot of Soviet pilots fly,” Heath observed. “Rather robotic bastards, aren’t they?”
Hunter nodded, then said, “Whoever sent these airplanes really knows our way of thinking. They know we’re not going to shoot down everything that comes close. They know we have to intercept and ID anything before taking action. So they keep us guessing as to who is flying these things. Then, when I got too close, they have the tail gunner open up on me.”
“Pretty elaborate scheme just to take our picture,” Heath said. “Kind of spooky having someone up there watching us. Especially someone flying Soviet Air Force bombers.”
“Christ,” Hunter said softly, something clicking in his mind. “Wasn’t Peter going on about something like ‘eyes in the sky’?”
Both Sir Neil and Heath looked at him. “By God, man,” Sir Neil said. “Peter called this one too?”
Hunter didn’t even hazard an answer.
“Peter or not,” he said, “the lid is really off now.”
Despite the strange Ilyushins episode, the mercenary pickup was completed without further incident shortly before noon that day.
The 200-man, red-bereted French air-defense contingent was busy installing its Phalanx air-defense guns at various points around the ship. When used properly, the Phalanx was an awesome weapon. Using bullets made from depleted uranium, the Phalanx’s mission was to automatically destroy incoming antiship missiles, such as the Exocets. Each 20mm gun contained a search-and-track radar, a magazine holding tens of thousands of bullets, and a hundred or so pounds of electronics. The Phalanx gun had the ability to identify and attack any high-speed target approaching the ship. It did so by simply throwing up a wall of bullets — at a rate of 100 shells a second—in the path of the oncoming missile.
No matter how good the attacker’s guidance system was, nothing could get through a Phalanx barrage. Ships such as the Norwegian frigates usually carried just one Phalanx; a carrier the size of the Saratoga might carry two. The French mercenaries would set up a total of six Phalanx guns around the ship — two on the stern, two on the bow, and two on the Saratoga’s center superstructure. When it came to fighting off Exocets, Sir Neil wasn’t taking any chances.
Nor was he neglecting air defense. The Spanish air-defense team was also busy. The group boasted twenty-five two-man Stinger missile teams. These deadly antiaircraft missiles were launched from a bazooka-like tube held on one’s shoulder. The Spaniards were so good at firing the American-made missile, they actually held highly competitive target-shooting contests among themselves — using authentic, fully armed missiles for ammunition.
The Spaniards had built mobile launching platforms for the missiles and were shoehorning their weapons anywhere and everywhere possible around the carrier. Meanwhile, the ship’s superstructure was crawling with Italian radar and communications experts. They were installing no less than four antennas: one air-search radar at the highest point on the conning tower, with a bulbous Mk-2 fire-control-system radar right beside it. They wired up a SLQ-32 radar-warning and electronic-countermeasures system to the island’s rear, next to a Separate Target Illumination Radar set that would help the French and Spanish gunners track multiple targets. The Italians were also working on setting up a long-range communications antenna which, when operating, would allow them to listen in on transmissions originating from the east end of the Med all the way deep into Lucifer’s Arabian Empire.
Once their equipment was installed, the Italians would join the rest of Yaz’s men in refurbishing the most important unit on the Saratoga—the Combat Information Center. It was in this CIC room that all the carrier’s communications, radar, and defensive systems were coordinated.
At the far end of the ship, most of the Australian Special Forces team were on deck, doing their midday calisthenics. Some of the Gurkha troops sat nearby, cleaning their famous machete-like long knives and watching the Aussies do jumping jacks.
Off the portside of the carrier, a large sea freighter was docked. This was the El Ka-Bongo, the ship that served as a ferry for the 7500 Moroccan desert fighters. It too would become part of the fleet, just as the oiler anchored beside it.
Watching it all from the highest point on the Saratoga’s superstructure was Hawk Hunter. The sun was now at its highest point in the sky. The blue-green waters of the Med were shimmering in the noontime radiance. He watched as the dozen tugs in front of the carrier simultaneously started their smoky diesel engines. The waters churning in their wake, the tugs fanned out until their thick towlines attached to the front of the carrier became taut. Hunter felt their pull. Then, from the rear of the carrier, he heard the familiar bump of the eight trailing tugs nudging against the rear of the ship. This was the push.
The carrier didn’t move for more than two minutes. But then, slowly, the combined forces working on the enormous ship started to take effect. Hunter could feel a light breeze on his face — a slight wind caused by the movement of the huge carrier. They were moving. The ship — like the small fleet of frigates and tugs around it — was alive. Breathing with adventure, sailing toward the east. Toward the unknown.
Chapter 19
Hunter uncorked the wine bottle and poured out three glasses. He was sitting in the Saratoga’s CIC room, studying reams of transcripts just given to him by the head of the Italian communications group, Captain Giuseppe d’Salvo.
“So this is what our friend Lucifer is up to,” said Sir Neil as he reached for his wine glass. “I’m glad the long-range communications antenna is working so well. Giuseppe, your guys have done a great job.”
The Englishman raised his glass in a toast. “To our Italian compadres!”
Hunter and the Italian officer raised their glasses and each man downed the small glass of vino.
“This is invaluable information,” Sir Neil continued. “But it is also quite frightening. Lucifer is definitely on the move.”
It was fascinating stuff. Giuseppe’s men had been able to identify Lucifer’s main radio frequencies. Although the broadcasts were mostly in Arabic, Giuseppe’s men had had no problem translating them with help from the Moroccans. Within hours of setting up their long-range antenna, the Italians had come up with some extremely valuable intelligence.