Dex
USS Cape Cod
Dex said nothing as Admiral Whitehurst considered his options with Harry Olmstead and Captain Danvers.
“How long to get a CH-53 and Dragonfish to the target coordinates?” said Whitehurst.
Danvers didn’t hesitate. “We’re closing the gap with every minute. Less than twenty, I’m sure.”
Whitehurst looked at Olmstead. “What’re you thinking, Harry?”
The Counter Terror Group Director tilted his head and grinned. “I’m thinking we’re wasting time. We take out the rogue vessel. ASAP.”
“What about the hostages?” said Danvers.
Olmstead waved off the question. “They’re not on board.”
“He’s right,” said Whitehurst. “They’re already under the ice shelf. They’re using Bruckner—to disarm the device.”
Danvers nodded. “So we neutralize the freighter, which forces the team inside the station to deal with us.”
Whitehurst nodded. “It’s risky, but it’s all we’ve got. Time isn’t with us on this one. If the enemy has a warship or a submarine on the way, it won’t matter if we take out the freighter.”
Olmstead crossed him arms as if suddenly chilled. “What’s the ETA on our Virginia Class?”
Danvers shrugged. “Almost four hours. Best case.”
“We can’t fuck around that long,” said Whitehurst. “Get Drabek up here. On the double.”
As Dex waited for the next phase of the mission to kick in, he tried to construct a way to get himself included in the action. He knew he had to just keep his silence and wait for the right moment. His instincts for protocol and military leverage had always been pretty good.
When Commander Drabek arrived on the bridge, they briefed him in lightning-round mode. “Just get us there, Admiral. We’ll do the rest.”
Whitehurst nodded. Then to Danvers: “Now about that rogue, Captain—take the bastards out.”
Danvers looked at the Admiral with a smile he made no effort to hide. It emphasized his strong jawline and high cheekbones. He had that classic Annapolis-look that hadn’t deserted him as he slid into his forties. Dex had known plenty of officers like Danvers over the years, and in general they were a decent bunch.
And like all officers, he’d been itching for a chance to fight a real fight ever since the day he threw his midshipmen’s hat in the air.
Not that Dex could blame him. Whoever these guys were, they deserved to be hammered for killing everyone on the Sea Dog. All those years in the Navy had taught him there was only one way to handle the death of your brothers, and that was keep a lid on it until the distraction couldn’t make you just as dead.
* * *
“Forward SSM battery,” said Captain Danvers. “Confirm target coordinates lock.”
“Target locked.”
“You may fire, gentlemen.”
Everyone on the bridge, including Dex, had turned to look through the glass at the forward missile battery as it rotated slowly into optimum position. There was a loud whoosh! as two SeaHawk surface-to-surface missiles leapt in tandem into the cold gray sky. For an instant, they seemed to hang as if suspended by unseen wires before the thrust of their rockets reached full throttle and they disappeared in a burst of eyeblinking speed.
“Birds away. ETA three minutes four seconds.”
Despite his experience with weaponry and how quickly it evolved and changed, Dex was still knocked out by the SeaHawks’ capabilities. Homing in on the target at four times the speed of sound, the two missiles would chew up the hundred-plus miles so fast, the enemy would never see it coming. And even if they did, they wouldn’t have the time or technology to do anything about it—except explode.
Which is exactly what they did.
“Impact,” said the ensign as Dex watched the digitized target on one of the LCDs blink red several times before vanishing from the screen. The Isabel Marie was gone.
The usual round of cheering filled the bridge, and Dex knew what would be next. Time was running out for him, especially since Whitehurst had taken no notice of him whatsoever.
The loudspeaker interrupted his thoughts. “Seal Unit ready for launch in five.”
Whitehurst smiled as he heard the update, then spoke into his mic. “Get in there and get them, gentlemen.”
That was his last chance, thought Dex. Now or not at all.
Moving away from the bulkhead, advancing to the group of men by the array of command consoles, Dex moved to face Admiral Parker Whitehurst.
“Sir.” Dex tried to look resolute and somehow nonchalant. “I need a favor.”