Retribution

“He’s been running the Werewolf and training the Abner Read’s crew to handle it themselves. We were hoping you could take him back to the Lincoln and fly him down to Diego Garcia. We can arrange refuels.”

Dancer turned to Major Behrens. Danny stared at her face. She was a serious, serious temptation, even for a married man.

Especially for a married man.

He just barely managed to look away as Dancer turned back.

“I think the general can persuade the captain of the Lincoln to spare an airplane,” said Behrens. “Or we can arrange something with Ospreys. We’ll work it out.”

“Good,” said Danny. He sensed that Dancer was staring at him and kept his own eyes focused on the table. “How soon can you get people on the ground, and what’s the game plan?”

“Major, Lieutenant, I’m sorry I was busy when you arrived,” said Storm, striding into the room unannounced. “Welcome aboard.”

Danny stepped to the side, thankful for the interruption. He was married, he reminded himself. And this was work.

But damn, Dancer looked even more gorgeous than he remembered. The Marine camo uniform somehow accented her dusky rose face, and it didn’t hide her trim hips. She wore her black hair in a tight braid that looked part Amazon warrior, part beauty queen.

“We’re happy to host you,” continued Storm. “Make us your operations center.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” said Major Behrens, “but we’ve already set up temporary ops on the carrier. Our ship is on her way; she should be close enough to handle full operations in fifty-six hours.”

“You’ll be done by then,” said Storm gruffly.

Danny kept his smile to himself. Storm liked to be in the middle of the action.

“Hopefully,” agreed Dancer. “In the meantime, Captain, we’d be grateful of any support you can give. This is one of the best ships in the Navy,” she added, turning to Behrens. “It’s the future. I’ve seen the crew in the action. They’re very good.”

“What about you, Captain Freah?” Storm asked, pretending to ignore the compliment — though he’d shaded slightly. “Where are you going to be?”

“You’re coming with me and the assault team, aren’t you, Captain?” asked Dancer.

“Wherever we’re needed,” said Danny, holding her gaze for the first time since she’d come on board.

It felt good — too good, he knew. But he didn’t break it, and neither did she.

* * *

Dancer’s unsolicited compliment about the Abner Read didn’t lift Storm’s mood. Having shot off all his missiles in combat, he found himself nearly impotent just when things were going to turn hot again. True, he had torpedoes, but they were intended primarily for use against submarines and had nowhere near the range of Harpoons. Nor would they be much good against airplanes.

And the more he thought about it, the more he was sure he was going to face airplanes very soon. Not from the Indians, but from the Khan.

The master of the Chinese ship resented the fact that they had picked up his pilot. Storm could tell from the brief communication he’d sent, almost a blowoff, when they’d shipped the man out in the Sharkboat. And the Khan was still north, clearly planning something.

“Captain, you have a minute?” asked Eyes as he started for the bridge.

“Sure,” he told his exec.

“In private?”

Storm nodded, then followed Eyes forward to the galley, a short distance away.

“Coffee, sir?”

“No, I’ve had my fill,” said Storm. “What’s up?”

“I’m wondering if we’re going to have an option on what port we put into, and if so, I’d like to make some suggestions,” said Eyes.

“Port?” sputtered Storm.

“Aren’t we going to get—”

Storm didn’t let him finish. “We’re not going into port. Not now. Do you understand what we’re in the middle of?”

“We’ve done our part,” said Eyes. “Between the action earlier—”

“What’s gotten into you, Eyes?”

“What do you mean, Storm?”

“You don’t want to quit, do you?”

“Quit?”

“You’re talking about going home.”

“Captain, we have no more weapons. We have to replenish.”

“We have plenty of fuel.”

Eyes frowned. “I’m just trying to get the men the best place for R and R.”

“You’re talking about shore leave at a time when we should be fighting,” said Storm. He felt his whole body growing warm. “You need to be coming up with a plan to deal with the Khan. Their captain is up to something.”

Eyes put his coffee down on the table. “We have no more Harpoons, Storm. Or Standard missiles. We have no fresh vegetables. The ship has been at sea for over a month. That’s twice as long as we’d planned.”

“Don’t be a defeatist. We’ll get resupplied once we meet the Lincoln.”

Eyes frowned. “Yes, sir.” The lieutenant commander picked up his coffee and started to leave.

“Were are you going, mister?” snapped Storm.

“I was just going back to my duty station, sir.”

Storm wondered if he should relieve Eyes. He couldn’t have someone with a negative attitude as his number two.

No, he thought. His exec was just tired. He hadn’t been to sleep for a day and a half, at least.

“Go get yourself some rest, Eyes,” Storm told him. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

“I feel fine, Captain.”

“That was an order, mister.”

Eyes stared at him for a moment. “Aye aye, Captain,” he said finally. “Aye aye.”

Aboard the Bennett, near the Pakistan-India border

0400

“Colonel, if I can make a suggestion?”

“Absolutely, Mike,” Dog told Englehardt.

“If I drop the Megafortress to five hundred feet and walk her as slow she’ll go, the low-light video camera in the nose will get us an excellent picture.”

Ordinarily, Dog would have readily agreed — the jagged terrain was making it hard for the radar to “see” what was on the ground. But they had spotted a Pakistani ground unit to the north just as he came back from his brief nap.

“How close are the Pakistanis?” Dog asked.

“Two miles almost directly north,” replied the pilot. “They’re on that east-west road just over the rise, right on their side of the border. We can get down and then away before they even know what’s going on.

“There are just two deuce-and-a-half troop trucks,” he added, using the American slang for a multipurpose six-by-six troop truck. “Worst they’re going to have is a shoulder-launched missile. It’s not going to be much of a threat.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Dog said. “I don’t want them coming over to see what we’re interested in. Or radioing for help.”

“Wouldn’t their radios have been fried by the T-Rays?” the copilot, Kevin Sullivan, asked. “We haven’t heard any transmissions.”

“Maybe, maybe not. The EEMWB that knocked out the missile was detonated farther south,” said Dog, who had helped design and implement the detonation plan. “They may have driven into the area afterward. We can’t