"Then maybe a ship," Bashir said. "I don't think they would set us out here to be sunk."
"Maybe we are to keep the Americans away from somewhere else," Ghanem commented sourly. "What a cheap sacrifice for al-Mimkhalif, la?"
"You are forgetting the tracking mechanism they put aboard," Bashir said, pointing to the electronic instrument lashed to the after mast. "Our instructions are to turn it on if we see that funny boat that stopped us before."
"Ah!" Ghanem said hopefully. "Maybe nothing will happen. We have only enough fuel and provisions for another forty hours."
"Dir balak!" the lookout on the main mast called down. "The American boat is off the port side."
Bashir yelled back, "Are you sure it is the strange one that stopped us and its crew came aboard?"
"It is the same," the lookout assured him. "I can easily see the spray all around it, and it moves fast toward us."
"Binnihay--at last!" Bashir exclaimed. He walked over to the after mast and flipped on the tracking machine to broadcast its homing signal.
"Bait!" Ghanem said fearfully. "We are just bait!"
.
FLAGSHIP HARBI-MIN-ISLAM
ARABIAN SEA
VICINITY OF 17deg NORTH AND 65deg EAST
"A homing signal from the dhow has been picked up, Amidl" the excited young communication officer reported, looking over at Commodore Muhammad Mahamat.
Mahamat grinned with delight. "Haida taiyib--excellent! What is the course?"
"One-seven-seven, Amid. Approximately one hundred kilometers."
Mahamat turned to the helmsman. "Course one-seven-seven! Flank speed!"
Mike Assad and Hafez Sabah stood on the bridge with the commodore as the flagship began the maneuver, keeling with a quick response of rudder to wheel. Mike had been doing his best to make mental notes of actual locales and courses, but without access to navigational instruments, the more he observed the more confused he became about their location on the watery wilderness. Sabah, on the other hand, was content to merely make casual observations of what was going on.
"What is happening, Commodore?" he asked.
"A signal from our decoy has indicated that the American vessel we seek is approaching her," Mahamat said. He looked to the officer of deck standing nearby. "Sound general quarters!"
Mike felt a surge of nervous dread. "Are you speaking of the air-cushion vehicle, Commodore?"
"The same!" Mahamat replied. "She comes from an amphibious assault ship assigned to an American carrier battle group, and has been doing vigorous patrolling in this area for close to a month."
"Is she a threat, Commodore?" Sabah asked.
"Her potential to harm us must be neutralized at all costs," Mahamat replied. "Our contacts inform us she is called Battlecraft and is extremely fast and well armed. This day's task is to destroy her."
Mike turned away. The thought of watching American sailors being killed sickened him. For one wild, desperate moment he thought of getting the Webley revolver in his cabin and taking out key members of the flagship's crew. But he knew that would solve nothing except provide momentary relief before he was shot down himself. There was absolutely nothing he could do but observe the carnage to come. The worst part was that he was going to have to cheer when the American vessel was sunk by the super-fast missile attack vessel.
The Harbi-min-Islam sped across the Arabian Sea toward her objective.
.
ACV BATTLECRAFT
VICINITY OF 15deg NORTH AND 65deg EAST
THE flickering radar blip was a familiar signal to Lieutenant Veronica Rivers. She grinned, announcing, "The dhow is back, Captain. Three-five-zero at ten miles. She's heading due west."
"Right," Brannigan replied. "Okay, folks. Remember our orders when we caught her heading at two-seven-zero. General quarters! Did you get that course, Watkins?"
"Course three-five-zero, aye, sir!"
Lieutenant Veronica Rivers had her weapons system humming as per standing operational procedures even though they knew the dhow was unarmed. She checked her scopes for signs of aircraft. 'Three aircraft off to the northeast at five miles."
"That would be the Hornet Escort," Brannigan said. He turned to the patrol frequency. "Hornet Escort, this is Battlecraft. Over."
The voice of the F/A-18 flight leader came back. "This is Hornet Escort. Over."
"We've got the dhow on our scope and are moving in," Brannigan said. "How about a security sweep around the area? Over."
"Roger, wilco."
.
HORNET ESCORT
"DID you monitor that transmission from the Battlecraft? the flight leader radioed.
"Roger," his wingman replied. "Lead the way, Boss."
The wingman's RIO came on the air. "I've got a blip just about due east at maybe fourteen miles. Moving rapidly in a southern direction. She's got warship written all over her."
"Let check it out," the flight leader said. "It might be an awkward situation if some Middle East navy observes our activities up close."
The two F/A-18s moved toward the suspect blip, then went down from angels ten to angels two as they closed in. "We're almost there," the RIO reported.
"Okay," the flight leader said. "I've got a visual. She's a warship all right, but I can't make out the nationality. Let's make a close orbit around her."
The pair of aircraft began a flying a tight circle around the vessel that sped across the expanse of water below them.
.
FLAGSHIP HARBI-MIN-ISLAM
THE officer of the watch stepped in from the signal deck. "The two aircraft are American," he reported. "Super Hornets."
"Alert the Exocet crew" Commodore Mahamat ordered. "Lock and fire on the aircraft."
Mike Assad's knuckles turned white from his hard grip on the bulkhead railing. He trembled with impotent rage, taking deep breaths to keep his emotions under tight control.
.
HORNET ESCORT
"WE'RE locked on!" the RIO yelled. "Missile launch!"
Both the flight leader and his wingman reacted as quickly as possible, kicking out chaff and flares as the former broke left and the latter right in violent collective maneuvering.
It was too little too late.
The French MM-40 missiles had very little airspace to pass through and they found their targets easy marks. An American F/A-18E and F/A-18F were blown from the sky in instantaneous detonations of orange and red. Numerous pieces of the aircraft trailed smoke and flame, fluttering all the way down to the sea.
.
ACV BATTLECRAFT
"JESUS Christ!" Lieutenant Veronica Rivers yelled out. "Those Hornet Escort guys disappeared off the scope. They were locked on and hit."
"Where the hell did the ordnance come from?" Brannigan asked. "Nothing was fired from the dhow."
"Ship approaching from zero-zero-three at a high rate of speed!" Veronica reported. "They gotta be the bad guys."
Brannigan flipped to the inter-ship nautical channel. "Unknown vessel, this is United States Navy ACV Battlecraft Identify yourself. Over."
"We're locked on," Veronica calmly informed the skipper. "Missile launch. Evade! I am launching chaff and flares!"
Paul Watkins, responding with instincts honed during their battle drills, went into a wide turn as he pushed the throttle to flank speed. Brannigan raised the Dan Daly's CDC. "This is Battlecraft We are under attack by an unknown naval vessel. Readings indicate this ship has blown away the two aircraft of the Hornet Escort. Over."