ferried SEAL teams.
“I happen to have such a device,” Darius said.
“You’re in a sub, is that right?” the air controller asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“It will take…several minutes for the missiles to reach where you’re at,” the air controller said.
“It will take me two minutes to paint the target,” Darius said.
Sulu Khan groaned.
“Yes!” the air controller said. “We have to do something. We can’t let them land unopposed.”
Darius had been thinking likewise.
“Captain,” Sulu pleaded. “We can’t stay up here on the surface this near a convoy.”
“You’re correct,” Darius said. He stuck out his big right hand. It had large, scarred knuckles—those had come from his youthful days of brawling. “It has been a pleasure serving with you, First Mate Khan. Let us meet again in Paradise.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Sulu said.
Darius kept his face impassive as he continued to hold out his hand.
Glumly, Sulu shook it, the big black fingers engulfing his smaller palm.
Then the big man from Chicago moved fast. He grabbed a laser designator and headed for the hatch.
Captain Penner of the Canadian Air Force whooped with delight. “Did you hear that?”
“I did,” the wingman said.
“Reroute your Harpoon guidance system,” the air controller said.
Penner’s right-hand fingers moved fast on a touch pad control. “There. It’s done,” he said.
“Are you in launch position?” the air controller asked.
“We both are,” Penner said.
“This could be a small window of opportunity,” the air controller said. “Launch them all. Then return to base.”
As Captain Penner leveled the F-35, he and his wingman launched the remaining cruise missiles. One after another, the Harpoons kick in their turbojets, showing orange contrails. The sleek missiles zoomed for the enemy over forty-three miles away.
“That’s it,” Penner said a minute later.
Then the two F-35 Lightning IIs banked and headed back for Buffalo, New York. Their first sortie tonight was over.
“Fire!” Lieutenant Smith shouted.
Sergeant Holloway and the other gunners put up a sheet of lead from their 12.7mm machine guns. At the same time, the 76mm cannons launched a flock of antiair shells. Tracers burned red-hot, moving like wasps at the low-flying Harpoons streaking toward the ore haulers and freighters.
Everything happened fast. Harpoons launched flares. Antiair shells zoomed at the hot objects, and they ignited against some. One antiair shell struck an actual Harpoon, taking it out.
“Smith and Sheds,” the Troop’s leader ordered. “They’re heading through your sectors. Turn on your emitters.”
Lieutenant Smith hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he turned on the decoy emitter. It put out a false signal, making his Galahad look like an ore hauler.
“Good luck, Sergeant,” Smith managed to say.
Holloway merely grunted.
Smith shook his head. He hadn’t figured it would end like this. He was going out as a duck decoy. What bloody bad luck was that?
The Harpoons kept boring in. One veered away from an infantry freighter. It lit up Shed’s Galahad in a great fireball, casting huge shadows on the lake. It destroyed the hover but saved hundreds of lives in the freighter.
“It’s our turn now,” Smith said.
Two more Harpoons came on fast. The antiair shells missed. The bullets failed to hit and the emitter—
Smith watched open-mouthed as both cruise missiles flashed past his Galahad.
“Is the emitter on?” Holloway asked.
“Look at your screen,” Smith said.
“What went wrong?” Holloway asked.
Before Smith could answer, the first Harpoon struck an ore hauler. The warhead exploded. The second cruise missile plowed into the wounded hauler a moment later, but the warhead failed to ignite. The kinetic speed still crumpled metal, and might have been the tipping point for the hauler. The long vessel split in two and both ends began to sink. At the same time, Sigrids slid into Lake Ontario and submerged as huge bubbles rose up. The drones headed for the muddy bottom.
“Lieutenant Smith!” the troop commander shouted over the radio. “Did you turn on your emitter?”
“Yes, sir, I did,” Smith said.
“Are you lying to me, Ted?” the commander asked.
“Look at your screen, sir. You’ll see that our emitter is still on. Sergeant Holloway can confirm that.”
“Then what—”
“Sir,” Lieutenant Fleck said. “I’m picking up a laser signal.”
“What does that have to do with—?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt again, sir,” Fleck said. “But the laser’s origin point is near the water four thousand meters away.”
“The sub!” Smith shouted. “The submarine is back.”
“What’s that, Lieutenant?” the commander asked. “What are you babbling about?”
“The American sub, sir,” Smith said. “It must be out there and it’s guiding those missiles into the ships.”
“We must find it,” the commander said. “We must find it before more Harpoons hit my convoy.”
Darius Green smiled so hard that his mouth hurt. This was glorious. He had helped destroy a GD troop transport.
Could he work in close enough to—?
“Captain,” Sulu said in his earpiece. “The Galahads have spotted us. They’re coming our way.”
“How many,” Darius said into his microphone.
“Sir,” Sulu said. “You do realize that the Germans own the skies. Our planes have left. They were smart enough to plan to live again to fight again another day. Shouldn’t we do the same thing, sir?”
“Now is the moment to strike the enemy and keep striking,” Darius said.
“Begging your pardon, sir, but Allah has allowed you to act the part of a warrior. You are a warrior. I think doing more now would be pushing it and might even be an insult to Allah.”
Darius doubted that. The Galahads were fast, though. And likely there were nearby GD aircraft around. He couldn’t fight those. Maybe if he submerged and slunk around, he could do the same thing again later. What a feeling to destroy a large enemy ship. This was why he had joined the Navy: to fight like a warrior.
“Sir, those hovers are coming fast,” Sulu said.
Darius Green ducked in, shut the hatch and slid down the ladder. He hit the bottom landing hard and his feet slid out from under him. He banged his forehead just above his right eye. Ignoring the pain, he shouted for Sulu to take them underwater.
At emergency speeds, Sulu did exactly that.
Lieutenant Smith and Holloway remained in the area for twenty-five more minutes, hunting for the mysterious American submarine. They had several depth charges, and they used every one of them. Finally, a different hover approached to take over the hunt.
Smith licked his lips. He was glad Fleck had spotted the laser designator. Otherwise, the commander might
