And then he heard the far-off clatter of approaching helicopters, a clatter that swelled rapidly to full-blown aerial thunder. Looking through the shattered windows toward the west, he could see a flight of bulky helicopters silhouetted against the moonlit sky, flying toward the base.
An antiaircraft gun up on the roof opened fire, the burst cut short an instant later by an answering burst from a high-speed rotary cannon on one of the helicopters.
"I suggest you tell your men to stand down," the SEAL group's leader told him. "There's no need for further loss of life."
Han hesitated, then nodded, suddenly tired. He felt… broken.
But at least he was still alive. He gave the necessary orders.
When Virginia returned to periscope depth several hours later, they learned that the brief skirmish for the Chinese base was over. Elements of the U.S. Army
Delta Force had gone in on board MH-60K Black-hawk helicopters belonging to the 160th SOAR(A), the Special Operations Aviation Regiment (Airborne), better known as the Nighthawks. They'd deployed off the Roosevelt to a loiter area above the Al Qahir in order to present themselves to Chinese radar as more Navy choppers operating around the captured yacht. As soon as the Tomahawk had struck, however, they were on their way, serving as backup and reinforcement for the SEAL element that had already boarded the Chinese base.
The hostages, according to the latest intelligence report from the Roosevelt, were safe and en route back to the carrier on a pair of Blackhawks. Delta Force personnel were swarming through the captured base, disarming prisoners and assisting with damage control. According to the last report, the fire was under control. The base commanding officer was also en route to the Roosevelt. There might well be diplomatic fallout over this raid, but a PLA general officer in custody would be a valuable playing piece in this insane game of military threat and counterthreat. Beijing would be forced to acknowledge that the hostages had been at their base. Most likely, they would be given a face-saving way out, by way of General Han. He would explain that the PLA had, in fact, rescued the hostages from terrorist forces, and that the brief skirmish between Chinese and U.S. units had actually been conducted jointly against the terrorists.
Such a shame about that accidental explosion at the Chinese base, and the loss of one of their Kilo-class attack boats….
And if Beijing didn't care to save face, well, the might of the U.S. Navy now dominated the Spratly Islands. Eventually, they would see reason.
"Okay, Nav," he said. "Set course for Small Dragon Island. We have some SEALs to pick up."
"Set course for Small Dragon Island, aye aye, sir," Lieutenant DeKalb replied. "I make our course one-one-zero."
"Ahead one-third."
"Ahead one-third, aye."
Garrett leaned back in the command chair, allowing himself a small measure of relief. Kazuko was avenged…
There was not much comfort in the fact. But the people who'd killed her and hundreds of others would not kill again.
"Quite a show, Captain," Stevens, the CIA officer, had said before boarding the helicopter. "Almost makes that swim in the ocean worth it." And he'd grinned as he'd shaken Garrett's hand.
Stevens wasn't a bad sort, Garrett decided. He'd brought in key information when he could have delegated a dangerous mission to someone else, and he hadn't been the micromanaging monster Garrett had half expected him to be.
Even so, Garrett was glad to see him leave the boat.
Just as glad, in fact, as he'd been to see the two women bundled into harnesses and hoisted aboard a hovering Blackhawk. Some among Virginia's crew had loudly mourned the departure of the "honorary Waves," as they'd called them, but even the most vocal of the complainers had swiftly settled back into blissful male-only routine.
It was a relief to have them gone. Garrett considered himself to be reasonably enlightened where feminist issues were concerned… but, whatever the words of his written apology back at New London might have said, the reality was that there would be no women on board submarines until the submarines were built with female crew members in mind… or until the mores of both the American public and of the naval community changed substantially. A couple of centuries might do it….
He'd had a brief opportunity to talk to both women about it before their departure. Katie had insisted on saying goodbye to him moments before going topside to be strapped into a harness and plucked from Virginia's afterdeck to a waiting helicopter. "Tell me the truth, Captain," she'd said, looking around the control room. "Do you think there'll ever be women on board these things?"
"Katie!" Ginger had said, shocked. "What are you saying?"
"Why?" Garrett had asked. "Are you thinking of volunteering?"
Katie had made a face. "I think I've had enough of submarines," she'd told him.
"Yeah," Ginger had added. "If we get nostalgic, we'll try locking ourselves inside a closet for a week or two! Submarines!" She'd shuddered. "Ugh!"
Ginger seemed to have recovered from her ordeal. It sounded, though, like she was going to have a lifelong hatred of small, enclosed spaces.
"Don't worry, Ginger," he'd told her. "We won't have women on submarines for a long time to come." He'd glanced at Katie. "Does that make me a male chauvinist pig?"
"No," she'd told him. "It makes you very male." She'd stood on tiptoe and given him a quick kiss. "Thank you, Captain. For everything."
"And… will you thank the SEALs, too?" Ginger had asked. "We never got a chance to talk to them."
"SEALs never hang around to talk to anyone," he told her. "They're more silent than the Silent Service."
"And… Captain," Katie said. "If you get back to Hawaii, look me up, okay? I'm in the Honolulu directory."
He studied her a moment. Katie Milford was smart, sweet, and incredibly sharp despite what she'd gone through. But he was thinking at the moment about Kazuko, and he was feeling terribly old.
"I don't think that would be a good idea, Ms. Milford. I mean… don't get me wrong. I'm flattered. But, well, it's not like a submarine captain has anything like a life, right?"
"Ms. Milford?" Jorgensen had called from the aft passageway, holding out a bright orange life jacket for her to don. "We're ready for you!"
"Thanks again," she told Garrett. "For everything."
He'd put the women out of his mind almost immediately. Kazuko. He still had some grieving to do. And some healing.
In the meantime, though, Virginia had a mission to complete.
The mission, the vessel, the plant, the crew….
And only after all of that, the captain. He'd found he was eager to get back to work.
Because, he'd found, and despite what he'd told Katie, he did have a life after all.
A life of command, of duty… and of the sea.
EPILOGUE
"Hey, Wall-eye!"
Wallace turned, facing EM1 Kirkpatrick. "Yeah?"
His hands still hurt, still swathed in gauze. The Doc had tried to ship him off the Virginia Saturday, evacuating him with several other injured men and the two rescued women, but he'd pleaded his case to the exec and been allowed to stay. His fingers were free of the gauze, and the pain was getting less each day. Jorgensen had discussed his case with the Doc, then ordered him on light duty.