“How’s that work, sir?” Christine inquired.
“It means we’re guaranteed a window of opportunity. While Harconan may be holding Amanda prisoner, we likely don’t have a sword-of Damocles scenario. She’s probably not going to be sitting there wired to five pounds of Semtex. No doubt Harconan will be quite willing to use her as a shield and a bargaining chip for his own survival, but her death is not going to be ordered casually or automatically in the advent of an attack. I’ll give him that much. We can exploit this if we can get a large enough force inside his base fast enough.”
“Fa’ sure, that’s going to be the trick, Admiral,” Christine said, setting aside her coffee cup. “The Japanese knew what they were doing when they dug in at Crab Claw. I’ve been networking with the unit tactical groups all night, and so far no one’s been able to come up with a valid concept for a fast entry.”
“I have.” MacIntyre ran a blunt fingertip along the curving reach of water between the blades of the claw. “The frontal assault through the inlet.”
“Uh, sir, even Steamer Lane is real iffy on that one, and usually he’s sure his Sea Fighters can beat the world. To make that frontal assault work, we’d have to stand off and really rake the place to suppress the defenses. Everyone agrees that would be too slow for a hostage takedown. Amanda would have a kris at her throat by the time we could get in there.”
“Not necessarily. I think we can make this thing work. We just have to invoke one of Amanda’s pet doctrines. We have to turn our enemy’s advantages back against him.”
MacIntyre rose from behind the desk and paced out into the office space, his thumbs hooked into the corners of his pants pockets. “For example, the Japanese fortifications. Now, the safe assumption is that Harconan’s core personnel, the INDASAT, and Amanda are all underground in the sub pen’s tunnel and bunker complex, right?”
Christine considered for a moment. “Yeah, I’d say so. That would give them both maximum concealment and the most livable environment for a non-New Guinea native.”
“Thus they’re going to be safe under several dozen feet of concrete and lava rock, pretty much permitting us to go crazy topside on the surface of the peninsula. We might have to worry about something on the scale of a Daisy Cutter, but anything the task force can throw shouldn’t affect the deep tunnels. Once we get our assault team inside the sub pen, we’ll be able to isolate the landward entrances with gun and air power, preventing reinforcement from the surface reaching the complex.”
“Yes, sir, that would work, but that still leaves us with the problem of getting inside in the first place. That’s the hard part.”
“As I said, not necessarily.” MacIntyre looked back at the intel, an odd smile on his face. “It just requires a degree of… unconventional thinking.”
Christine hesitated. “Sir, I’ve been here before with Amanda, and yeah, you’re scaring the hell out of me too. How unconventional are we talking about?”
“Saint-Nazaire, Chris. The Campbeltown and Saint-Nazaire.”
Christine applied her eidetic memory, flicking back through military history for a match for the names. When she came up with them, her eyes widened. “Oh, shit, sir. Oh, holy shit!”
MacIntyre shrugged. “It should work.”
“Yeah, but… where are we going to get a spare destroyer from? I mean… you weren’t going to use the Duke, were you?”
“Oh, no, I never considered that.” MacIntyre strolled across to one of the cabin ports and peered astern toward the Indonesian frigate doggedly trudging in the wake of the task force. “I thought that instead we might… borrow one.”
“Oh, my god…!” Christine clapped her hands over her mouth, muffling her exclamation.
Maclntyre’s grin had grown, a bold, reckless, and somehow youthful cast coming to it, vastly different than anything Christine Rendino had ever seen before. “That’s how we also turn Harconan’s Indonesian navy contacts back on him,” he continued. “As we move in on Crab’s Claw, our erstwhile shadower will be transmitting a series of false position reports that indicate we’re buying the hostage package and that the task force is getting the hell out of Dodge. That ought to work. Shouldn’t it?”
When Christine lowered her hands, she was grinning as well. “Yes, Admiral, sir, it should work just fine, and afterwards they are gonna throw our asses in Leavenworth for the next three hundred years.” She put emphasis on the our.
“Very likely, Chris,” MacIntyre acknowledged, shoving his hands all the way into his pockets. “But if Amanda’s there to testify at our court martial, won’t it be worth it?”
For the second time in his career, Eddie Mac MacIntyre earned himself a fierce hug around the neck from a junior officer.
Flag Plot, USS Evans F. Carlson
2253 Hours, Zone Time: August 24, 2008
MacIntyre leaned forward at the communications console and spoke into the microphone grill at the base of the videophone link. “Admiral Elliot MacIntyre, authenticator Ironfist November zero two one. Ready to receive call.”
Truth be told, he wasn’t. He wouldn’t be for perhaps another twelve hours. But one didn’t simply wave away a direct communication from the United States Secretary of State, not even if he was a friend.
The screen before him filled with the Milstar-linked image of Secretary of State Harrison Van Lynden, set against the backdrop of his private office at the State Department.
“Hello, Harry,” MacIntyre said levelly.
“Eddie Mac, what the hell’s going on out there?”
“A great deal, Mr. Secretary.”
“That’s readily apparent. What the world and the National Command Authority wants to know is, what? The Indonesians are yelling their heads off about a major firefight in Benoa Harbor. CNN camera crews seem to be backing that up. We have reports of many unidentified Indonesian casualties and rumors of missing U.S. personnel. What we aren’t receiving is input from NAVSPECFORCE. You’ve practically been running EMCON, Eddie Mac. What’s going on?”
MacIntyre sat back in his chair, aware of the other figures standing around him in the dimness of the flag plot. “Mr. Secretary, as stated in my preliminary report to the CNO, the task force came under attack by a heavily armed force believed to be an Indonesian pirate raiding party. Our ship’s personnel defended themselves and an emergency sortie from Benoa Port was conducted. At this time the task force has withdrawn to the Flores Sea south of the island of Sulawesi and an assessment of the situation is under way.”
“That’s exactly what I want, Eddie Mac, an assessment of the situation. I’m expected in the Oval Office in forty-five minutes and President Childress wants a nuts-and-bolts update. All I’m getting out of your headquarters are rewritten versions of this initial report. I want the whole story, Admiral, now, and do not even begin to bullshit me!”
“Mr. Secretary, what you have is essentially what we have. We’ve been successful in pushing the Indonesian piracy cartel into a corner, and they’ve pushed back — hard. The ships are intact and operational, we have taken casualties, two dead and five wounded, also as stated in our incident report.” MacIntyre took a deliberate breath. “However, there is an additional factor.”
“Do we have a hostage situation, Eddie Mac?”
“Yes, Mr. Secretary, we do. My task force commander, Captain Amanda Garrett, is in the hands of the cartel at this time.”
“Ah, Christ!” Van Lynden grimaced. “That is all we need. How in the hell did this happen, Eddie Mac?”
“They had good luck, we had bad, Mr. Secretary.”
“Can you confirm if she is alive?”