The executive officer returned, stepped over to a console, and pressed a button. Was she sending the missiles?
I almost clenched my fist. That would have been disastrous.
But they weren’t missiles. Instead, the screen split again. In the new window were the faces of the president of the United States and a uniformed officer with five stars on his shoulder.
Mike jumped in first. “Mr. President, Chairman, thank you for contacting us. The CSG commander seems intent on attacking a British warship in international waters.”
This interruption stopped the admiral from taking immediate action. But he still had his finger on the missile launch key.
“There’s a terrorist aboard that ship!” he snapped. “She’s convinced the crew to follow her madness.”
The president looked into the camera. “Lady Birdsong, I presume? We were scheduled to meet in London, but the trip was cancelled at the last minute.”
Lady Birdsong smiled slightly. “How gracious of you to remember my name. Yes, I was so looking forward to meeting you. Unfortunately, that rogue dragon incident dashed all of our plans.”
“You and your MI-13 colleagues provided invaluable assistance during the event,” said the president. “I’m sure we can build on that mutual trust and defuse this tense situation.”
How did he do it? Calm words and smiles seemed to be lowering the tension of our little conference. Diplomacy must be its own kind of magic.
Then the admiral ruined it. “I still have operational control as the commander of this battle group. I can still launch and destroy these terrorists.”
The president looked at the five-star general at his side. “George, is this correct?”
“We give a lot of power to battle group commanders, Mr. President,” the general responded.
“Enough power to start World War Three? Seems like we should have a way to curtail that in the event a commander goes rogue.”
“We do, Mr. President,” he said. Turning to the screen, he said, “Admiral, you are relieved of duty, effective immediately. XO, you have command of the battle group.”
I thought the admiral might do something insane, but the ingrained nature of decades of military service outweighed his anger.
“Admiral, you are restricted to your quarters until we return to shore and an inquiry can be held,” said the general. He continued, “XO—pardon me. Commander, your new orders are to take command of the George Washington battle group, then provide escort and safe conduct to the HMS Defender to her home port.”
“Aye-aye, General,” said the new commander. Did she smile slightly? Hard to tell her mood over a video link.
The new commander turned to her crew and began issuing orders. In seconds, a trio of Marine guards had escorted the admiral from the bridge.
“Lady Birdsong,” I said, “it looks like things have calmed down. Perhaps we should—”
A faint buzzing sound came over the speakers, indecipherable by human ears, but I could hear it. Marcus and Jonathan were whispering entreaties to all, subaudible enticements which they hoped would rekindle the flames of aggression that had caused this confrontation.
“Still at it, you demon scum?” I asked.
Lady Birdsong, as well as the new battle group commander on the other end of the link, looked puzzled by my comments.
I shook my head and changed the subject. “Can we cut those idiots from the feed? The less they know, the better.”
“That’s not possible,” said our captain. “The link is controlled by the distant end. All we can do is turn off our link. But it needs to stay up to maintain communications until we are out of harm’s way.”
“I can make them scatter,” said Mike. Turning to the screen, he said, “Heavenly Father…”
Two clicks and Marcus and Mr. Jonathan had cut themselves off to avoid the pain of hearing a prayer. I breathed a silent sigh when none of the other participants objected as Mike finished blessing our meeting. Sure, we each had ways to identify demons, but it never hurt to double check.
“Captain, Lady Birdsong,” said the communications officer, “I just received a text message that General Marcus and SAC Jonathan had to drop off the line due to communication difficulties.”
“We’re better off without them,” said Manny.
After a few minutes of discussion with the new battle group commander, our attackers were now an honor escort to accompany us to the HMS Defender’s Royal Navy homeport.
No longer driven by demonic forces, the coalition broke up quickly. The Saudis, Iranians, and Israelis gave each other a wide berth as they steamed away. The Israeli fighter jets zipped away without incident.
The president murmured a few words to the general, who excused himself and left.
Then the president addressed the new battle group commander. “Commander, you have your orders. Thank you for your service. A promotion to match your new position is forthcoming. If you would be so kind as to sign off while I continue this meeting with Her Majesty’s representatives?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” she said, then looked at me. “As long as we are assured that we’ll have no more issues with our reactors.”
“Of course not,” I said as I set the useless amulet on the table. Another magician’s trick and misdirection. Everybody knows werewolves can’t handle magic.
“USS George Washington actual, signing off.” Just before the link dropped, I caught the smile on the former XO’s face.
The president turned his attention to us, “Now, Ms. White—or should I call you Princess Luna?”
“Just Luna, please. I married into a royal family, but inside I’m still the cheerleader from Caspar, Wyoming.”
“A cheerleader who seems to have trouble following her wherever she goes.”
“Don’t start none, won’t be none,” Manny spouted off.
“I beg your pardon?”
Mike answered for Manny. “Luna only strikes back when attacked. She came to Saudi Arabia to rescue her friend and his daughter; they tried to stop us, and many died. Once we had sanctuary in the British Embassy with our rescued hostages, we were surrounded and trapped. Then they kidnapped Logan’s daughter a second time, tortured and maimed her, and threw her near lifeless body on our doorstep.
“After that, they circled the embassy with an angry mob to stone the girl
