Hellfire

Tombstone glanced at Greene. The Tomcat they’d flown out to the carrier was equipped with the latest in spoofing gear as well. It could not only deceive incoming missiles and aircraft, but it could also project additional images to trick the radar into thinking there were twenty aircraft there instead of one. By manipulating the incoming radar signals, he could even give the impression that the twenty aircraft were maneuvering independently. Flying in a precision formation was an immediate dead giveaway.

Worst case, the additional images would make targeting difficult. And best case, the enemy would believe he faced a lot larger force.

“If they can do that, what else can they do?” Tombstone asked.

“That’s what worries us. We don’t know.” Lab Rat extracted the next set of photographs and spread them out on the table in front of him. “The rest of it should be familiar territory. The Russian amphibious transport is the newest hull of its class. Packed with electronics, capable handling vertical takeoff fighters and helos. They’ve made some progress on deploying traditional catapults, but the word is that they’re still pretty unreliable.”

“Wonder why it’s taking them so long to get ahead on that,” Tombstone mused. “They’ve seen enough of our ships that they should have a good idea how it works.”

“It’s part of their mind-set,” Lab Rat said. “Despite their power as a blue water navy, the Russians have always thought like brown water sailors. Coastal defense, supported by land-based aircraft. Amphibious forces — now, that’s right up their alley. But a truly moderate floating aircraft fortress like ours? They can do it, technologically. But they don’t have the fire in the belly for it the way we do.”

Tombstone studied the last photo, worry evident on his face. “This part seems pretty routine, but those landing craft worry me now. We’re going to have to get close enough in to use the guns on them.”

“That’s the recommendation from Top Gun,” Lab Rat said.

“Okay, then.” Tombstone yawned. “I’m going to go find my stateroom and rack out for a while. Jeremy, let’s meet back here after evening chow, okay?”

As the two men started to leave, Lab Rat said, “Admiral? I wonder if I could speak to you privately for a moment?” He held his breath, hoping Greene would not cop an attitude. But the younger pilot simply flipped a hand at them. “You guys go ahead and catch up on the gossip. Me, I’m getting some sleep.”

Tombstone turned back to face him. “So, what’s up?” Clearly, the last thing the pilot wanted to do was sit down and talk.

“In my office, Admiral. Please.”

Tombstone drew back slightly at Lab Rat’s tone of voice, firm and professional. There was a spark of interest in his eyes, and some of the weariness seemed to drop away. “Like that, huh? Okay, you’re on. Surprise me.”

He just had to say that. Lab Rat led the way back to his office.

“Sit down, Admiral.” Again, that odd tone of voice seemed to come out of him automatically. Now Tombstone’s curiosity was definitely aroused.

“Spit it out, Commander.” The shift to formal titles indicated that Tombstone understood this was not a routine matter. And yet Tombstone was no longer an admiral. He was a civilian and Lab Rat was the senior officer present. Some said that admirals never gave up their rank when they retired — with Tombstone, his command presence permeated every atom of his being. Try as he might, he would never be anything other than what he was.

“Sir, I have some news.” Lab Rat groped for words for a moment then extracted a photograph and passed it to Tombstone. It had been digitally enhanced, and one corner held a blowup of a small section of the overall photo. Tombstone took it, smiling slightly, and then stared. The color drained from his face. For a moment, Lab Rat thought he would faint.

“When?” Tombstone asked, his voice hard and quiet. “When and where?”

“Yesterday morning,” Lab Rat said gently. “And yes, that is the amphibious transport twenty miles off our beam.”

Tombstone stared at the photo, his mouth working silently as he tried to force the words out through his throat. Finally, he simply looked up at Lab Rat with that cold, impassive face that had earned him his nickname.

“Yes, sir,” Lab Rat said, answering the question he knew Tombstone wanted to ask. “We’re certain. It’s her.”

Tombstone dropped his gaze down to the photo and held the picture with trembling fingers. “Tomboy,” he said, his voice unbelievably steady. “You’re alive.”

Just then, the door opened. Pamela Drake, escorted by Chief Abbyssian, walked in. She held out a sheaf of papers with sketches on them, then a roll of film. “I think you’re going to want to see this.”

EIGHTEEN

Sunday, July 6

CVIC

1400 local (GMT-9)

Drake looked at the hastily constructed mock-up. Where the Russian laser had been all sleek lines and gleaming metal, this training model was composed of cardboard and tinfoil. It was a caricature of the deadly system she had seen.

“Over here,” Lab Rat said, tapping on one end, “is the emitter. The crystal on the other end collects the light, focuses it into a coherent beam, and shoots it out. Everything else is just alignment and targeting. It’s actually pretty simple.”

“It’s actually pretty ugly,” Pamela observed.

Don’t let my chief hear you say that. He’d be heartbroken.” Lab Rat shot her one of his rare grins, and she was surprised to see how it transformed his face.

Commander Busby had been one of the most underestimated officers on board Jefferson. Physically, he was unimpressive, and his slight build encouraged people to dismiss him. But as she had learned in the past, there was nothing small about the intellect housed in that unimpressive body.

Perhaps to compensate for his physical shortcomings, Commander Busby had always adopted a stern, cool manner with her. Even after she had tumbled to the fact that he was deserving of a good deal of respect, she had never managed to penetrate his reserve. Long after the others had forgiven her for her conduct, Lab Rat remembered.

She studied him with renewed respect. He holds a grudge, does he? But what about? I haven’t offended him in particular, have I? No, no more than anyone else. Maybe it’s because we’re both in the same business — gathering information and getting it to the people who need it. But in my case, the people who need it are just average citizens. I wonder if you resent that, that your very best work will never be seen by anyone other than high-ranking officials and military personnel?

“As you can see,” Lab Rat continued, apparently oblivious to her scrutiny — but not, she suspected, as oblivious as he would like her to think—“getting the crystal out will be fairly easy. Once you have access and a little time, it should be a piece of cake.” He shot her a sharp look, as though confirming that she understood these two qualifications.

“Access shouldn’t be a problem,” she said. “Based on what they showed me last time, I was right up next to it. It’s the opportunity I’m worried about. I’m not sure about putting my cameraman in this position.”

“We could substitute one of our people,” Lab Rat offered.

She shook her head. “No, we’ve been over that again and again. Even if I can get one of your stiffs to relax enough to look like a civilian, the haircut would give him away immediately. They’ve seen my cameraman — they know what he looks like. And there’s no way any of you could ever pass for him.”

Her cameraman spoke up then, an annoyed tone in his voice. “What am I, chopped liver? I already told you I would do it, didn’t I?”

Lab Rat turned his cool, analytical gaze on the cameraman. He studied him for a moment, his face expressionless. “Yes, my apologies. You did say you would do it, and I have no reason to doubt your capabilities.