"Then let's get it all moving this way immediately," Patrick said. "I don't want to give the Libyans a chance-"
Just then, an electronic warning tone sounded-the collision warning. Everyone in the briefing room immediately shot to their feet and headed out to their emergency stations. At the same moment the phone from the bridge sounded; Patrick picked it up before the second ring. "Go ahead, Brian." -
"We got a situation, General," Brian Lovelock, the cap-
tain of the Catherine, responded. "We're receiving distress signals from two vessels within thirty miles of our position, saying they're under attack from unidentified aircraft. No warning given. The attackers appear to be moving from east to west-in our direction."
"Got it," Patrick replied. He pressed another button, this one hooked directly to the Combat Information Center and his longtime friend and partner, David Luger. "Dave, what do you have?"
"We're just now picking up four high-speed aircraft bearing one-zero-five, altitude less than one thousand feet, heading west at four hundred eighty knots," Luger responded. The Catherine had an entire combat radar system hidden aboard the salvage ship, disguised as standard navigation radars-it was as combat-capable as many world navies' warships. "Sorry we didn't pick them up earlier, Muck, but they are right down on the friggin' deck. Their ETE is four minutes."
"Sound general quarters, everyone to air defense positions," Patrick ordered. "Better start a complete data dump to the satellite and then destroy the classified. Someone's on the warpath out here, and I think we're next." On his subcutaneous microtransceiver, he said, "Patrick to Wendy… Wendy, I want you aboard the Pave Hammer, along with the civilians."
"I'm staying, Wendy said. "I can have a FlightHawk armed with air-to-air missiles airborne in three minutes."
"Wendy, no argument. You're evacuating with the other civilians." He paused, then said, "Bradley is waiting for you."
There was a slight pause, but Patrick knew invoking the name of their son would do it. "All right."
"We'll hold them off as best we can," Patrick said. He hit the hidden switch on his exoskeleton, stepped into it after it stood itself up, attached it to his body, locked his helmet in place, then ran up on deck. He immediately dashed over to the bow of the Catherine, which was facing east, in the direction from which the attackers were coming. "Combat, this is Castor," Patrick radioed. "Range to bandits?"
"Twenty-two miles and closing. ETE less than three minutes."
As he searched the morning sky with his helmet-mounted sensors, three crewmen trotted over to him, wheeling a large crate on a cart. Patrick unlocked the crate and with one hand extracted the weapon inside. It was an immense M-168 sixbarreled Vulcan cannon. Normally mounted on a big Humvee or M-113 armored personnel carrier, the eighthundred-pound Vulcan cannon was designed for use against ground targets and fast-flying helicopters at ranges out to a mile and a half. It had a maximum rate of fire of one hundred rounds per second-anything it hit would be chopped to hamburger in the blink of an eye.
"Combat, Castor," Patrick radioed as he hefted the big cannon. The hydraulically powered exoskeleton made it ridiculously easy to level the big gun and move it smoothly and precisely in any direction. "Where are they?"
"Bearing one-zero-two, range eighteen miles, low."
Patrick activated all of his battle armor's sensors and began scanning at maximum range. "Roger. Nike, Taurus, Pollux, you guys up?"
"Nike up in ten seconds," Wohl replied.
"Taurus will be up in twenty."
No reply from Pollux-and Patrick realized that there never would be one either, ever again. "Roger, Stalkers," he said sadly. "Report when you're ready to engage." At that moment, several of their commandos, wearing lightweight non-electronic battle armor, began to set their Stinger MANPADS (Man-Portable Air Defense System) up beside Patrick. The Stinger MANPADS was a portable shoulder-fired heat-seeking antiaircraft missile. Other commandos brought caskets of reloads. "My MANPADS is up on the bow. Hammer, what's your status?"
At that moment, Patrick heard the low, steadily quickening roar of the CV-22 Pave Hammer's engines starting up behind him. It had been raised up on deck from its hold faster than Patrick could ever imagine. "Hammer is starting engines. We'll be airborne in two minutes.'
"Make it one minute, Hammer," Patrick ordered. "combat?"
"Bearing zero-niner-seven, range fifteen miles… stand by, aircraft turning slightly, range decreasing rapidly We're being highlighted by X-band airborne radar. They got a lock on us."
"Get the Hammer off the deck now" Patrick shouted.
"Sixty seconds. All civilians are aboard."
Patrick felt a rush of relief-and then a thrill of fear as his sensors picked up the aircraft. He saw two at first, then three. "Contact, range nine miles and closing fast." The roar of the Hammer's engines increased-it was close to liftoff speed. "Eight miles.. seven miles… bandits climbing slightly… six miles…"
"Sparkle! Sparkle!" Luger shouted. Everyone knew what that meant-they were being highlighted by a targeting laser.
Just then, Patrick saw another target appear-much smaller and much faster. "Stalkers, missiles inbound Missiles inbound! I've got two in sight!" Patrick raised the big Vulcan cannon and snapped off the safety with a quick thought-command. The two missiles were coming in fast, wavering slightly up and down in altitude but coming in straight and true. "Dave, countermeasures starboard nowl"
Behind him, two rockets streaked from hidden launchers. Each rocket was an electronic decoy, designed to broadcast radio and infrared signatures several thousand times larger and brighter than the ship. They drifted up slowly, making inviting targets. Would they be inviting enough…?
They were. Both missiles veered to the right, chasing the decoys. Patrick tracked them with ease. The first missile hit the first decoy-but the second decoy must've crashed or malfunctioned, because the second missile only jinked slightly right and then veered left, back on the Catherine. Patrick issued an electronic command, and the big Vulcan cannon opened fire. A shaft of fire fifteen feet long belched from the muzzle, and a hundred empty cartridges showered onto the deck in front of the Stinger crew. Off in the distance, the second enemy missile exploded in a cloud of fire.
"Forward MANPADS up!" Patrick shouted. As he placed the Vulcan cannon on the deck as gently as if he were setting a golf bag down on the fringe of the green, the team of commandos stepped forward and placed the Stinger launcher on his shoulder. Patrick immediately locked onto the incoming fighter, waited until it got within range, then fired.
The lead fighter must've seen the launch immediately, because it immediately banked hard right and started ejecting decoy flares. But the second fighter was not as quick. He made a gentler turn, obviously hesitant to get too close to his leader at night and low to the ocean, and did not pop any decoy flares until it was far too late. The Stinger missile flew a smooth, unerring arc right up the fighter's hot tailpipe and exploded. The Stinger crew could not see anything so far away at night, but through his millimeter-wave imaging radar and infrared sensors, Patrick could see the second fighter dip precariously close to the ocean, regain altitude, dip again, climb, then plunge almost straight down into the dark Mediterranean. He saw no ejection seat blast free, or any parachute.
"Splash one," Patrick announced. After all the death, destruction, and pain he had seen that day, the crash of this unidentified attacker meant absolutely nothing to him. "First bandit is bearing zero-eight-zero, twelve miles, turning east."