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Dan stared at the grainy footage as a commentator came on. The dialect was unique, but it was English. As his ear tuned he braced his fists on a work desk. Savo rolled hard, the spare boards and tools shifting and rattling. Probably in a turn at the west end of her long racetrack. Ought to alter that now and then; being predictable wasn’t a good idea, not with a sub hanging around.

“The invaders succeeded in barricading themselves in the eastern wing, but security forces say their numbers are significantly reduced. However, the litters coming out point to heavy casualties. We have no firm numbers yet, but are told by a member of the police that well over a dozen have been killed. And as you can hear, the fighting is still going on.”

Medical personnel were carrying a body out of the hotel, surrounded by Asians in dark suits. Each held a pistol down alongside his leg. As the camera started forward, one of the men caught the movement, and pointed a gun. The screen abruptly went dark.

Dan frowned. “This is Mumbai, you said?”

Wenck said, about as somberly as Dan had heard him ever say anything, that it was the peace conference. “Somebody drove a truck in. Blew through the gate, then satcheled the walls from the inside. There were more guys outside waiting to blast their way in.”

“The peace conference.” Dan stared at the screen, which had cut to what looked like a service entrance, to judge by the trash containers. Men in hotel livery were carrying out litters, laying them in a row. Those with faces covered were being carried off to the side, out of view of the camera, which jerked and went black before the program cut back to the commentator. “Okay, you were right to call me. Keep notes on what’s going on, okay? As things develop. Run updates to me on the bridge.”

* * *

He stopped in CIC on the way and checked the air, surface, and ASW pictures. Then took the command seat, next to Dave Branscombe. The CIC copies of the Navy Enemy Threat Guide and Savo’s fighting instructions lay open in their red plastic binders. The comm officer was the most junior of his qualified TAOs. A little slow, but he generally reached sound decisions. A lot of the job was memorization, and being able to follow the logic chains in the pubs under tense conditions. On the large-screen display, the Aegis beam metronomed, outlining the flat land to the east, the north, highlighting the mountains rising behind it in neon orange. The air picture, digitally relayed from Mitscher, looked normal at first. But over the next hour, flights between cities in India began to divert, turning back the way they’d come or sharply veering south.

Something else scratched at his memory. Then crept out into the light. “Dave, whatever happened to that Snoop Tray emitter? I never heard a redetection on that.”

“We never redetected, sir. Got every sensor we own up and looking, and Mitscher’s got her tail out too.”

This wasn’t reassuring. The sub might be gone, of course. Detected for just a moment while headed east, west, or outbound. But he couldn’t assume it had gone away just because it was no longer emitting. Its exposure, on that first detection, had been only fifteen seconds. The hallmark of a savvy submariner, revealing himself only for an instant before going deep again. And it hadn’t shown up since, not even on the GCCS, which usually carried at least a general localization and identification of every foreign submarine worldwide, derived from NATO and allied sensor chains and traffic analysis.

He rubbed his face. It wasn’t good having a sub lurking around, without knowing at least whose it was.

Someone cleared his throat, and he looked up at one of the cryptographers. “Special intel, sir,” he said. Dan accepted the clipboard. That hadn’t taken long.

It was flash, SPINTEL to the cryppie spaces, too hot for the general messaging system. From the Joint Chiefs. Its spare sentences detailed a terrorist suicide attack in Mumbai. The attackers had breached a security wall around the Renaissance Convention Centre, where the peace conference was being held. Wielding automatic weapons, RPGs, and satchel charges, they’d penetrated the Powai Ballroom and killed nearly twenty diplomats, security personnel, and hotel staff.

Bad enough; but the next paragraph was worse. Not only had several Chinese been among the diplomats killed, but General Zhang had been wounded. Dan hadn’t even known the senior military leader had been at the conference.

3. (S/NF) NO ORGANIZED GROUP HAS YET ACCEPTED RESPONSIBILITY, THOUGH AL-QAEDA GROUPS BASED IN PAKISTAN MAY HAVE BEEN INVOLVED. CHINA AUTHORITIES HAVE DENOUNCED INDIA FOR FAILURE TO PROVIDE SECURITY, VIEWING ATTACK AS INDIAN PROVOCATION.

4. (S/NF) NATIONAL TECHNICAL MEANS INDICATE GOVERNMENT OF INDIA IS CONSIDERING MILITARY ACTION INVOLVING THOSE UNITS ALREADY MOBILIZED FOR EXERCISE QUOTE DIVINE WEAPON UNQUOTE ALONG WESTERN BORDER. GOVERNMENT OF PAKISTAN HAS WARNED ANY ATTACK WILL BE MET WITH QUOTE MAXIMUM FORCE UNQUOTE.

5. (S/NF) NSC HAS ORDERED US FORCES IN IO AREA TO COMBAT READINESS BUT DIRECTED TO WITHDRAW TO STANDOFF DISTANCES TO AVOID BEING DRAWN INTO INCIPIENT CONFLICT. EXCEPTIONS: USN USS SAVO ISLAND TASK GROUP AND SUBPAC INSHORE RECONNAISSANCE ASSETS, AND USAF RAINBOW, WHICH ARE SPECIFICALLY TASKED WITH MAINTAINING TABS ON INDIAN AND PAKISTANI GROUND MOVEMENTS AND THEATER STRIKE ASSETS. SPECIFIC ORDERS FOLLOW.

6. (S/NF) NRO AND NATIONAL TECHNICAL MEANS DEDICATED TO CENTCOM/PACFLT/IO AOR. INTEL SUPPORT IS BEING RAMPED UP FOR THIS REGION AND MORE ASSETS ARE BEING REFOCUSED ON BELLIGERENTS AND OTHER STATES THAT MIGHT TAKE ACTION ON CURRENT EVENTS. FOR SAVO TG AND OTHER FORWARD ISR ASSETS: ANY INDICATIONS OR WARNINGS OF ANY MOVEMENT OR ACTION BY ANY INDIAN OR PAKISTANI MILITARY ASSETS, ESPECIALLY THOSE INVOLVING POTENTIAL LAUNCH SITES OR MISSILE DEFENSE SITES, WILL BE FORWARDED IMMEDIATELY UPON DETECTION DIRECTLY TO WH SITROOM FLASH VIA STEL/SPINTCOM, IN ADDITION TO CURRENT THEATER NOTIFICATION PROTOCOLS. ADDITIONAL INFORMATION TO BE DISSEMINATED AS BECOMES AVAILABLE. SPECIFIC AMENDMENTS OR CHANGES TO CURRENT OPORDERS PASSED SEPCOR.

SECRET NOFORN

//BT

DECLAS OADR

He initialed the route sheet with the pen the radioman held out. Telling Branscombe quietly to set condition three, he went up to the bridge for a short conversation with “Stony” Stonecipher over the covered tactical net. He told Mitscher’s commander to open the distance between the ships, put his helo in the air, and increase his readiness against submarine, air, and cruise missile threats.

When he went back down to Combat, Cheryl was reading the same message at the command desk. Speculation and turnover briefings buzzed as the rest of the consoles manned up. The exec glanced up when he took his seat, then went back to reading, following each line with a clear-enameled fingernail.

Dan shivered, suddenly, deeply. He examined the large-screen display with a sinking feeling. Remembering the process Tuchman had outlined: domino toppling domino, preliminary mobilization, full mobilization, then declaration of war. Country after country dragged in. Sleepwalking, one after the other, into war. Please, God, not again… but it hadn’t happened since 1945… maybe people had learned to step back from the brink. “Okay, Cheryl, what else should we be doing?”

“As I read this, we’re primarily an intel asset right now. Tasked to keep tabs and report back.”

“I read it that way too, but why station a TBMD-capable ship here for that?”

“Our Aegis picture, primarily, I guess. And our nice beefy cryppie assets.” She blinked, looking worried. “I don’t see this as anything… personal, Captain. They’re just tasking us based on our gear.”