"They've successfully transited the Straits of Malvinas and are proceeding on course south. There have been no contacts with Argentine forces."
"And the Cunningham?"
"Running northeast to rendezvous with the Roosevelt. She's had a combat air patrol over her since first light, and she should be joining up with the Teddy at about noon our time."
"Very good. As soon as she's finished replenishing, relieve her on station. Instruct Captain Garrett to proceed independently to Norfolk at best possible speed."
"Aye, aye, sir. As soon as they had air cover, the Cunningham came out of EMCON. They've executed a post-engagement data dump to our computers, and it's undergoing analysis and processing at this time. By mid-watch we should have a pretty good idea of just what all went on down there."
"That's likely to be some interesting reading."
"Yes, sir. Another interesting piece of reading came in as well. Captain Garrett's transmitted a commendations and decorations list."
"Let's have a look at it."
Captain Callendar retrieved a sheaf of hard copy from her desk. Balancing his coffee mug on the chair arm, Maclntyre accepted it and flipped through the first few pages:
Lieutenant Commander Kenneth A. Hiro… Silver Star and Purple Heart; Lieutenant Christine M. Rendino… Silver Star; Lieutenant Frank R. McKelsie… Silver Star; Lieutenant Dixon L. Beltrain… Silver Star; Lieutenant Commander Carl M. Thomson… Silver Star; Lieutenant Vincent M. Arkady & AC 1st Gregory Grestovitch… Distinguished Flying Cross; Seaman Lucas S. Erikson… Bronze Star for Valor…
"Rubber-stamp everything that I can authorize and pass on everything that I can't with my strongest possible endorsement. You can also tack a couple more on to the end of the list. I'm requesting that the Cunningham be considered for the Presidential Unit Citation and I'm putting Amanda Garrett up for the Navy Cross."
Margaret Callendar smiled. "Yes, sir. My pleasure."
"They deserve it, Maggie. We've just fought, and won, the most intense fleet action since the Second World War, and our 'fleet' consisted of a single ship. Damn, I'm proud of those people."
"You won't be the only one, sir. May I relay the word to Captain Garrett's father?"
"Be my guest, Maggie," MacIntyre replied, reclaiming his mug. "That's one medal I wouldn't have minded presenting myself, but I guess Wils really deserves first call on that job. Now, what are the Argentines up to?"
"They seem to be standing down. No aggressive moves anywhere across the board for the last twenty-four hours. Hardly any activity at all except for on the Antarctic Peninsula itself."
"What's happening there?"
"They appear to be abandoning the British stations. They're pulling their garrison units back into San Martin Base. Sigint and satellite imaging indicate that they've started airlifting personnel and equipment out to the Argentine mainland."
"Has this been verified?"
She nodded. "It looks solid, sir. They're going home."
The CINCLANT nodded to himself and took another sip of coffee. It was over. He could feel it. The figurative hairs that had been standing up on the back of his neck ever since he had sent his people into this campaign were lying down again. For one last time he studied the great graphic representation of the near-juncture of the South American and South Polar continents and the passage of ocean between them.
Well done, thou good and faithful servants.
"That's it, then," he said. "I guess we can put this one to bed."
"So it appears, Admiral, and it's a good thing too."
"Now what?"
"We've just caught a Flash Red from the State Department. The situation in Mauritania has just gone critical. Rioting between Arabic and Black African factions is going into its third day, and there are reports of mutiny within some elements of the military. State is sniffing coup fever in the air, if not an outright civil war.
"The airports and borders have been closed, and they'd like fleet units standing by in case it becomes necessary to evacuate both our citizens and the other foreign nationals who are currently in-country."
MacIntyre smiled wryly and drained his mug. "Two international crises within the space of one cup of coffee. Okay, Maggie, let's see who we have in the neighborhood."
53
The British are a people who frequently prize sentiment above cold logic. It is one of the secret strengths of that race. Thus, the final act was played out on a snow-shrouded hill overlooking the last moorage of the motor ketch Skua. The Royal Navy had responded to the pleas of a small group of college students and one grieving woman. They had brought Evan York home.
The grave had been blasted out of the frozen shale with abandoned Argentine explosives, and a marker had been made from a piece of the Skua's mahogany decking that had been found washed ashore along the edge of the bay. That bay was frozen solid now. Out beyond the entrance, the ice-patrol ship Polar Circle stood by in the last lead of open water. She had executed the dash in to restock Signy Island Base and to return the wintering-over team. She had also carried the burial party.
The ceremony itself was brief and small. There were only the scientists from the base, Evan York's crew, and a navy chaplain whose words were torn away by the gusting winds. Then the others moved back and allowed Roberta Eggerston to say good-bye to the man she loved.
She knelt at the grave and carefully placed a flash of color at the base of the marker, a small handful of flowers husbanded from a Port Stanley greenhouse. She pinned the stems to the ground with a small stone, then rose to her feet and walked away. She would never again return south. There would be no more flowers for Evan York's grave.
Nor would any really be necessary. Before they could even begin to wilt, the blossoms had been flash frozen in the searing, dry chill of the polar winter. They would remain fresh and unchanged for as long as there was an Antarctic.
The burial party departed, the ship disappeared into the sea smoke, and the katabatic winds began to scatter snow crystals across the flowers and the bare stones of the grave, slowly sheathing them in ice and eternity.
GLOSSARY
AEGIS A mating of a sophisticated cybernetic battle-management system with a series of advanced planar-array radars, giving a surface warship a sea- and air-control capacity out to a 250-mile radius.
The augmented SPY-2A variant deployed aboard the Cunningham-class DDG combines increased range and fire-control capacity with improved definition and simplicity of operation.
AEW (AIRBORNE EARLY WARNING) The doctrine of mounting a high-powered search radar aboard an aircraft to enhance its coverage area. The Boeing AWACS is the premier example of this technology.
In Choosers of the Slain, the Argentine Air Force utilizes the Israeli Elta Phalcon phased-array radar mounted aboard a 737–400 airframe, while the Cunningham's Sea Comanche helicopters can mount a podded version of the British-built Clear Water III radar.
ASW (ANTISUBMARINE WARFARE) The delicate and deadly art of submarine hunting.
ATLANTIQUE ANG A twin-turboprop maritime-patrol aircraft produced by Dessault-Breguet of France. Equipped with a wide variety of sophisticated weapons and sensorsystems, it is capable of flying both ASW and surface strike missions.