Time was running out. In three minutes every watertight door and hatch on the ship would be ordered shut. And even now the ship’s quick-reaction team — a squad of armed marines — would be on its way to the bridge to protect the captain. He had to get there first.
Qazi led the way up the ladder to the catwalk and up the next ladder onto the flight deck.
Jake Grafton, Rear Admiral Parker, and Captain James were huddled around the captain’s chair on the bridge when they felt the shock of the explosion in the communications compartment. High up here in the island it was just a dull thud that jolted the steel deck. A man was on the phone reporting intruders in the comm spaces when the explosion occurred.
“Sound general quarters. Then call away the nucleus fire party and set Circle William,” the captain told the OOD, who repeated the order to the bosun’s mate of the watch, who announced it on the ship’s loudspeaker. The nucleus fire party was a group of damage-control specialists who normally responded to fire reports when the ship’s watertight hatches were not closed. They were the most highly trained firemen on the ship, so the captain wanted to use them if possible. The Circle William order was critical to containing the smoke and fumes from a fire. Closure of hatches labeled with a W inside a red circle — Circle William — would seal off the ship’s air-circulating system, preventing smoke and poisonous fumes generated by a fire from being pumped throughout the ship.
“Sir,” the OOD reported, “No one answers the squawk box or telephone in the comm spaces.”
Laird James reached for the microphone of the ship’s public address system. “What are you going to say?” Parker asked.
“I’m going to tell the crew what’s going on.”
“Remember, the intruders can hear you.”
James nodded and keyed the mike. “This is the captain. We have just had an explosion in the communications spaces on the O-3 level. Apparently we have at least one group of intruders aboard this ship. Perhaps more than one group. They are armed. Some of your shipmates have apparently already died.”
He released the mike button and looked at Parker. “My men don’t have guns.”
Parker’s lips tightened into a grim line. “Don’t let them die for nothing.”
James keyed the mike again. “Avoid direct confrontation with the terrorists, yet resist the best way you can. Keep the bridge and DC Central informed.” He paused again and stared for a moment into the blackness of the night sea. “You men are American sailors. I expect each of you to do his duty. That is all.”
James punched the button on a squawk box, an intercom system, labeled “CDC.” “This is the captain. You people manned up down there?”
“Yessir.”
“Get off a voice transmission, scrambled if possible, on your circuits. Tell our escorts to relay it to Sixth Fleet and CIN-CLANT.” CINCLANT was the Commander in Chief of the U.S. Atlantic Fleet.
“Yessir. What do we send?”
“Goddammit, man,” James thundered. “Send the substance of the announcement I just made over the 1-MC.” The 1-MC circuit was the ship’s public-address system. “Tell them we have armed intruders aboard. More info to follow as we get it.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Chief Terry Reed stared in disbelief at the padlock on the door to the after hangar-deck repair locker. The men behind him peered over his shoulder, curious about the delay. Why the hell was this door padlocked? The doorknob had an integral lock, and every man in the chief’s repair party had a key. This locker was their battle station. Chief Reed took a closer look at the doorknob. It had been forced.
“Somebody get a fire ax and pry this damn lock off.”
The chief scanned the hangar bay while he waited. Intruders? Aboard this ship? Captain James didn’t throw words around lightly. He must know what’s going on. The chief looked at the doorknob lock again. Someone had pried it until it broke. And this padlock — it wasn’t navy-issue. Damn. Could the intruders have been here?
A man came running with a fire ax. The chief moved back away from the door. He looked again around the hangar bay, still puzzled. Why would anyone want to get in the repair-party locker? There was nothing in there but damage control gear. The valuable assets were the airplanes, out here in the bay. He stared at them, wings folded and chained to the deck. Some of the machines had access panels and nose domes open, exposing radars and black boxes and bundles of cables. They looked naked. Had they been sabotaged?
Even as the thought occurred to the chief, the paint locker on the opposite side of the bay exploded. In an instant the flammable chemicals stored there were burning fiercely.
The chief looked wildly about for the nearest fire alarm. He saw it against the wall right by the fire-fighting station and lunged for it. His motion galvanized his men into action. They energized the pumps and began dragging the hose out. They had the nozzle half way across the hangar when two more paint lockers exploded.
Qazi and his men huddled under an aircraft wing immediately forward of the island. He counted them. Seven plus himself. “Who’s not here?”
“Mohammed. Apparently he only wounded one of the marines on the machine guns and they fought. He may have gone overboard.”
“Did you set his charges on the antenna leads?”
“Mine and his both.” So all the radio-antenna leads of which Qazi was aware had been severed. The damage could be repaired fairly quickly as soon as the Americans discovered where the breaks were, but the search would take time, and time for the Americans was running out.
Qazi looked up at the dark windows of the bridge, eight decks above him in the island superstructure. The glare of the red flood-lights around the top of the island made it impossible to see if any lights were illuminated on the bridge. Of course, the ship’s senior officers were there. They had to be. The quick-reaction team couldn’t have made it to the bridge yet, but they were undoubtedly on their way. Qazi had to reach the bridge before the marines did or he might not be able to get there at all. Time was running out for him too.
He gestured to two of his men, pointing out the positions he wished them to assume on the flight deck, positions from which they could command the helicopter landing area on the angle, abeam the island. Since the ship’s rescue helicopter was airborne, most of the helo landing area was empty and the whip antennas that surrounded the flight deck had been lowered to their horizontal position. Qazi wanted to ensure everything remained that way.
The rest of his men he led across the deck through the wind and rain toward the hatch that opened into Flight Deck Control, the empire of the aircraft handler. E-2 Hawkeye radar reconnaissance planes were parked beside the island, their tails almost against the steel and their noses pointed across the deck at the helicopter landing area. The wet metal skin of the airplanes glistened in the weak red light. The colonel went under the tails and glanced through the porthole into Flight Deck Control. The compartment was full of men. He stopped in front of the entrance door and motioned for two of his men to grab the handle that would rotate the locking lugs.
Reports were arriving on the bridge over the telephones, the squawk boxes, and the sound-powered circuits. Damage-Control Central reported fires in the comm spaces and on the hangar deck. The airborne helicopter had been unable to find the second man overboard. Fully 20 percent of the ship’s company was still ashore. Most of the ship’s radios seemed to be off the air with suspected antenna problems. As Captain James tried to sort it out, Jake and the admiral stood in the corner and listened to the reports coming in.