“Yes, Admiral, exactly. The thinking is a shallow-water facility in some sheds about fifty yards from the waterline. They’re doing a history run on satellite photos. It’s at least technically feasible. Otherwise the subs just appeared from nowhere. Pacific Fleet has the northern coastline bottled up,” Jed added. “So we don’t think they could have snuck down past.”
Woods furled his brow.
“What’s most important,” Dog asked. “Kali or the subs?”
“The six-million-dollar question,” said Jed. “NSC is split. CIA wants both.”
“That’s not very helpful, Jed,” said Dog.
“Tactical situation to dictate,” said Jed. “Uh, the exact assignment would be Admiral Allen’s call. He’s already been informed.”
“Okay,” said Dog.
“That’s all I have,” said Jed.
“Thanks.” Dog cut the connection by pushing a button on the console. “My plan was to use Piranha to track the Indian sub,” Colonel Bastian told the admiral. “We can do the same for the Chinese. We have two units available; they can operate for roughly eighteen hours. We’re bringing in additional control units so we can run the Megafortresses in shifts gathering the data. We hope to have other probes out here shortly.”
“Right now, our orders are to keep the sea lanes open. That’s our top priority,” said Woods. “But I would say the more information about the Chinese submarines the better. From what Barclay just said, they’d probably be hunting for the Indian sub anyway. We might be able to catch them all together.”
“Okay.”
“Akula can be a true pain in the ass,” said the admiral, speaking as if from personal experience. He took a step away, thinking. “Can the Megafortresses look for the submarines while keeping tabs on surface shipping? Send back data, I mean.”
“You mean tell you what ships are down there while we’re running Piranha? That’s easy.”
“That’s what we’ll do. My carrier group will soon be close enough to handle the surface patrol. We’ll move in ASW units to help you.”
“Okay,” said Dog.
“I’ll talk to Admiral Allen right away. I know you’re one of the Jedi, Bastian,” he added. “I’ll try not to hold it against you.”
“I’m not really involved in Beltway politics,” said Dog.
Though the exact usage varied, “Jedi” was a term often applied to a group of military officers and others connected with defense issues who advocated different approaches to traditional forces and thinking. It was generally used in a disparaging way.
“You think the Navy’s obsolete,” said Woods.
“Not at all.”
“I’ve read the report that led to Whiplash,” said Woods. “Asymmetric technology edge,” he added. The phrase, which had been one of the section subheads, had become a buzz phrase in the administration — unfortunately, without the context that followed the headline.
“The report clearly noted that conventional forces still have a primary role,” said Dog. “The idea is to develop next-generation weapons and get them into use as soon as possible. Piranha’s a good example.”
“I know you don’t like me,” said Woods. “I’m not asking you to. I understand you have a lot of experience. Good experience; and success. Candidly, Colonel — you’re a very capable officer with an enviable track record. But you work for me now.”
“Yes, sir,” said Dog.
“Map out a plan to look for the subs. If we find one, Indian or Chinese, we’ll still with it. The others are bound to show up eventually,” said Woods. With that, he turned and walked quickly out of the trailer.
The girl’s breathing and heart rate were normal, and though unconscious, she didn’t seem to have been severely injured. They brought her to a small tent at the far end of the base, letting her rest on the air-cushion stretcher that carried her. Liu and the others had turned from warriors to mother hens, watching for signs of her revival.
Bison had told Danny about the change in their orders, but the captain hadn’t had time to think about the implications until he reached the medical tent. There were Navy people all over the place, off-loading equipment from transports, revving up bulldozers, and staking out building sites.
Ordinarily, Danny Freah didn’t put too much stock in interservice rivalry. In the modern military, the Joint Service Command structure meant Air Force people and Army people and Navy people often mixed in together. Danny had worked with Marines several times since coming to Dreamland; before that, he had drawn assignments with several Army Special Forces teams, including one from Delta.
However, besides heading the Whiplash ground team, he was responsible for Dreamland security, and this many people running around presented a serious problem, no matter what uniform they wore. Even the observation post and its displays were classified. While allowances had to be made for “live” operations, he had to make sure everyone up and down the command chain understood there were fences.
“Okay, sergeant,” he told Liu. “Keep me posted on the girl while I sort the security stuff out.”
“Gotcha, Cap.”
Danny’s ear bud vibrated with a page.
“Colonel’s looking for you,” said Bison. “He’s headed your way.”
“Good. What’s our status with the Megafortresses?”
“Our guys’ll watch ’em after they come in,” said Bison. “Marines know they’re out of bounds. Colonel Bastian kicked the admiral’s staff out of the trailer.”
“What staff?” said Danny. “What the hell were they doing in the trailer?”
“Uh, Captain, did you want Pretty Boy to shoot them?”
“Damn straight,” said Danny, who wasn’t kidding. “Shit. Why hell didn’t you tell me, Bison?”
“I told you the admiral was going there.”
“Just the admiral, you said.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I thought you meant the whole staff could wait there.”
“Bison. Shit.”
Danny’s anger was temporary diverted by a moan from the stretcher.
“Girl’s waking up,” said Liu.
“I’ll get back to you.” Danny told his sergeant.
The Filipino jerked straight upright on the cot, disoriented and angry. Liu put his hand on her shoulder. She pushed forward, and his grip tightened just enough to stop her from moving any further. The anger on her face changed to fear, then something like curiosity, then back to anger.
“Are you okay?” Danny asked her.
She frowned. Her reaction convinced Danny she spoke English, like most, though not all, of her countrymen.
“You’re okay,” he said. “Does your head hurt? You may have a concussion.”
“Captain Freah?”
Danny turned toward the door of the tent. A Marine captain and two of his men had come in.
“I’m Freah.”
“Name’s Petersin. Justin Peterson.” He held out his hand, which Danny shook professionally. “Prisoner?”
“Not exactly,” said Danny. He gestured toward the door and they wen out to talk. The wind was whipping up with a fresh storm; Danny could taste moisture on his lips and his breaths were heavy with the approaching rain.
“I’m in charge of securing the base area,” said Peterson. “I understand you guys have some high-tech gizmos set up.”
“The sensors themselves aren’t that high-tech,” said Danny. “Camera, some IR gear. But what we have controlling them — that’s classified.”
“Oh?” Peterson’s tone was somewhere between a challenge and genuine puzzlement.
“Yeah, I know. It’s a pain in the ass, but I’d like to get some compartmentalization,” said Danny. “I’m thinking my guys work the gear. We feed information to your guys. I don’t know what personnel you’ll have.”
