A storm indeed.
One of the men assigned to relay messages approached as Chen stared out at the water.
“Yes” he asked without turning.
The man held out a slip of paper. Chen let his eyes linger, then turned and took the message.
The captain of one of the trawlers had seen the American Megafortresses drop an unknown type of buoy into the water. Photos of the buoy did not match any of the ASW types the Americans typically used. Interestingly, the trawler—equipped with an array of high-tech snooping gear that worked both under and above the water—had been unable to pick up any transmissions to or from that buoy, or a second one dropped sometime later, at least not at the distance he had been ordered to stay from any American asset. The captain wanted permission to investigate, and perhaps retrieve one of the buoys if the opportunity presented itself.
Chen weighed the matter. Despite being allies, the Americans were hardly forthcoming when it came to sharing new technology. The appearance of the EB-52’s—which had not been used in marine patrol or ASW roles before—surely meant they were using some new device. Whatever it was—a passive sonar system perhaps?—would be of great value in dealing with the Communists.
He would not, and could not, provoke an incident with the Americans. But surely this was worth studying. What if he snatched the device, then claimed to have thought it was a Mainland weapon?
In the confusion of battle, such an explanation would be accepted, if only reluctantly. In such a case, the asset would be returned—after it was examined, of course.
Chen took a pen and wrote his orders to the captain, telling his to proceed. He handed the message back to the courier, who immediately retreated for the radio room.
“Ready, Commander,” said Professor AI, who’d been waiting.
“Then begin.”
Fann turned toward the crane as the taro was taken off the small aircraft. The large hook, very old and heavy, swung freely above, making him slightly apprehensive; its weight could easily damage the robot. The crew was well trained and practiced, however. Two men grabbed the hook as it came toward them, then fit it into the harness. One of them climbed up above the Dragon and onto the chain. It must seem like the greatest job in the world, riding on the hoist as it swung out, waiting as the four men in the water carefully undid the sling, then riding back to the deck.
For Chen, the elation would come later, much later—he hoped to see one of the carriers in flames before the end of the day.
Professor Ai looked at him, and Fann realized the scientist was waiting for his order to begin. Fann nodded. The scientist smiled broadly, then turned and waved to the crane operator, who stood a short distance away with a wired remote. The man pushed one of the levers and the motor on the crane whirled.
There was a loud grinding noise. Someone shouted. Smoke appeared from the crane house. Professor Ai leaped toward the robot cursing.
Fann stood impassively, watching.
Who was riding the donkey now? Which way did Fortune blow?
“It’s a problem with the crane,” said the scientist a few minutes later.
“Yes.”
“We have to use the backup.”
“Do so.”
“It will take time.”
“Do it as quickly as you can,” said Chen. He turned and went back to his cabin.
Philippines
1346
Dog took a last check of the situation at the Whiplash trailer, touching base with Dreamland Command before leaving. Major Alou and Raven were on station, Alou being extra careful to stay outside the patrol area the Chinese fighters had established. Piranha sat about tem miles away from the Chinese submarine. The sub had taken up an almost stationary position to the southwest of the carrier task force. A U.S. sub had already found the other Chinese submarine on the eastern side of the Chinese fleet. Within the next twelve hours, a second SSN should be on Piranha’s target as well. Whiplash could close up shop.
The fate of the Indian sub remained a mystery. Though the profile wasn’t a good match, the contact Piranha had seen was discounted as American SSN, which had indeed been in the vicinity. Intercepts of Chinese Mainland transmissions by the NSA showed the Chinese believe the submarine had been sunk, but the analysts weren’t completely sure. There was no hard evidence it had gone down, and it clearly had the capability to stay submerged for several days. It could still be shadowing the Chinese fleet, or it could have set sail south to return to India.
Whiplash had accomplished its mission. The data they had gathered would provide a hundred analysts useful employment for the next year or more. Just as importantly, they demonstrated they value of Piranha and its technology.
Yet Colonel Bastian felt as if he’d failed. Because he’d lost a man? Or because he’d had his tail whacked by Woods?
Definitely the tail-whacking. He’d lost men before—good men, friends. It was the cost of freedom, as corny and trite as that sounded. The sorrow of their deaths was as much part of his job as the speed-suit he donned to fly. But getting treated like—like what, exactly? A lieutenant colonel?
He missed General Magnus now. The three-star general would have insulated him from this BS. He had in Turkey, when Central Command tried to get its fingers in.
Problem was, at the time he’d thought Magnus was a bit of pain as well. So the real problem was his ego.