“Call in fighter-bombers,” Mansfeld said. “Destroy the submersible and capture the commandos. I want to discover what they know.”
The captain saluted and hurried back to the operations center.
Mansfeld glanced at the crushed cigarette, with smoke curling from the mashed end. He must nip this in the bud, and Army Group A must leap forward and capture Detroit, sealing the Southern Ontario Peninsula from the Americans. Then he would unleash the real attack and catch the enemy with their trousers around their ankles.
“Do you think they know we’re down here?” asked the first mate, Sulu Khan.
Captain Darius Green rested his big hands on either side of the screen. It showed ships in fuzzy red or blue shapes that pulsated as they moved. Deep scowl lines showed on his forehead. Two hovers waited out there, a little outside the range of his modified Javelins. If he surfaced, the hovers could swoop in fast.
“If they know we’re here,” Sulu said, “there might be more of them on their way. We have four missiles and that’s it, Captain.”
“They don’t know we’re down here,” Darius said. A hover wasn’t a destroyer or even an advanced patrol boat. Would a GD hover have underwater detection gear? It seemed unlikely.
Darius noticed Sulu glancing at him. Sweat beaded the small man’s forehead.
“How do you
Darius grinned tightly. “What’s our boat made of?” he asked.
“Uh, carbon fiber, sir,” Sulu said.
“They can’t see carbon fiber on sonar or radar.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Our side couldn’t see us,” Darius said.
Sulu laughed weakly. “Hello, Captain. Where have you been the last few weeks? These Germans—”
Darius slapped one of his big hands against the console. “Keep a civil tongue in your head, mister, or I’ll make you wish that you had.”
Sulu gulped nervously before bobbing his head. “Yes Captain.”
“They don’t know we’re here,” Darius told him. “They must see the dinghy.”
“Uh… can I ask a question?”
Darius glanced at the little man.
“If the German can see the dinghy, why aren’t they swooping in to capture them?”
Darius rubbed his chin. He could reach the commandos in minutes. He hadn’t done so yet because those two hovers troubled him. Were the hovers waiting for backup?
“We don’t have a choice,” Darius finally said. “We’re surfacing and picking up the cargo.”
Sulu glanced at him sidelong, hesitating before saying: “I hope you know what you’re doing, Captain.”
“If you have any doubts, pray to Allah,” Darius said.
“Is that Navy regulations, sir?”
Darius sneered at Sulu. He was in the white man’s Navy, and he listened to most of the orders given him. But no man or woman could order or enforce the order for him to stop praying to Allah. There were some things outside the bounds of political entities or military law. They could task his body, but not his soul, never his soul.
“They’re making their play,” Smith said, as he watched the sonar.
Holloway sat in his gunner’s chair to the right, behind and above Smith. The gunner controlled both the 76mm cannon and the heavy machine gun.
Smith glanced back at his sergeant, grinning. “We have them.”
Holloway nodded tightly.
Smith faced forward again. The sergeant was good with his weapons, but the man was wound too tightly for comfort’s sake. It was as if they played rugby for his sister’s virginity. Holloway never smiled during action and said even less.
Smith picked up the microphone and alerted the operators controlling the UAVs. One patrolled almost overhead. The second sped here and the third was minutes away. There were fighter-bombers coming, too, but Smith doubted they would need the bigger planes. After switching off the UAV channel, he called his mates. The rest of the troop—the other three hovers—raced across the waves to join the two of them stationed here.
First wiping the palms of his hands across his trousers, Smith re-gripped the controls. The Galahads used speed, as they had little armor and no beehive flechettes to knock down incoming missiles or shells like the tanks did or the overrated Kaisers. The hovers could spew anti-radar packets and had a nifty jammer, but mainly they had the world’s best jockeys and the nimblest craft in any military.
“There’s a good fellow,” Smith said under his breath. “Get ready for the show.”
Paul lay flat in the bobbing dinghy, with his binoculars trained on the nearest hovercraft.
“They’re still out there,” Paul said.
“I see the bird,” Romo said.
Paul glanced at him. The assassin lay on his back, with his binoculars aimed at the sky.
“L-look,” Hans stuttered in English.
Paul and Romo glanced at their captive and then stared where he looked. Water stirred at the spot.
Romo cursed in Spanish.
Paul’s eyes widened. A blue-green submersible pushed out of the water, surfacing fifty feet away from them.
“I hope it’s ours,” Romo said.
“It is,” Paul said. “See the little flag over there?” An American flag had been painted on the craft.
“You have good eyesight for an old man,” Romo said.
A hatch opened on the submersible, and a man with a bloody bandage popped up. He waved at them, and shouted across the water.
Before answering, Paul resumed his former position and trained the binoculars on the hovers. They still haven’t moved. Could it be the hovers didn’t see them? No. He doubted that. The GD invaders played their own game.
“It’s coming,” Romo said.
Paul craned his neck, staring up into the sky. He looked in the general direction where Romo trained the binoculars. He saw it at the same instant he heard the distant whine. With his own binoculars, Paul looked up. A knot tightened in his gut. The UAV carried bombs or torpedoes.
Dropping the binoculars, pitching them a little too hard, Paul heard them plop. Damnit, he’d thrown them overboard. The binoculars sank out of view. He’d never get those pair back. Paul lunged and grabbed a GD portable antiair missile. While on his belly, he flipped open the control panel.
“It’s diving at us,” Romo said, with his binoculars still trained on it.
Paul twisted around and surged up to his knees. The rubber dinghy was an unstable platform and wobbled. Paul fought for balance and his fingers loosened their grip. If the missile went overboard like his binoculars…they’d never get out of his this one alive.
Their captive made gobbling noises.
The German understood their danger. Paul didn’t have time to shrug or worry. His fought for his balance, almost let go of the trigger, but brought the wobbling dinghy under enough control to stabilize himself. He settled the portable tube onto his right shoulder. The GD version was a lot like the latest Blowdart. First glancing back, Paul shifted his position a little. He had to make sure the back-blast didn’t destroy the rubber boat or flame one of them.
Clicking the controls, turning it on, Paul aimed upward and heard the beep. The thing was fast. It already had radar lock-on. “You little bastard,” Paul said under his breath. He eased his index finger against the trigger. This one resisted until suddenly it moved. The launcher shuddered and the missile popped out. A second later, the solid fuel rocket engaged, and orange fire flamed out the back. The missile climbed fast, heading up into the sky.
