Hail Warning

Philippine Sea — Aboard the Hail Nucleus

Three of the four flight simulators on the Hail Nucleus were currently in use. Lt. Commander Foster Nolan was in one of them. Hail’s top pilot, Alex Knox, was in another. Taylor Dart from his ship’s security unit was flying the third simulated F-35 Lightning.

Kara, Hail and Gage Renner were standing on the flight deck floor where the four massive simulators had been welded onto the iron deck of the Hail Nucleus. At the base of each simulator, they could watch the pilots on large video screens mounted underneath each mammoth machine. Inside their simulators, the two young adults and the seasoned jet fighter pilot twisted their controls wildly this way and that. On a second set of screens, the three observers oscillated between watching the pilots’ panicked expressions and watching the monitors that showed what the pilots saw. Currently, the F-35s that were being flown by Taylor and Alex were being pursued by the experienced Navy pilot. Unlike the two teens’ faces, which were pinched and twisted with determination and frustration, Foster Nolan was smiling as he yanked his control yoke, staying right behind Alex and Taylor. The speakers on the video monitors played not only the sounds of the jets, but also mixed into that cacophony of jet engines you could hear the voices of the pilots themselves.

Kara, Hail and Gage heard Foster yell, “I’m gonna getcha,” and then he laughed in a maniacal fashion.

“No, not this time,” Alex yelled back. All three of the simulators tilted nose down on gyroscopic mounts, as Taylor and Alex went into a vertical dive to avoid Foster getting a weapons lock on them. The three simulators rolled crazily, once, then twice, before leveling back into horizontal flight. The sharp sound of a weapons lock sounded, and Foster called out, “Gotcha,” as he squeezed the trigger on his stick.

Down below, the audience watched a simulated LOCO rocket leave the wing of Foster’s F-35, and a moment later, it sheered the wing off Taylor’s F-35. She let out a scream of frustration. Her simulator screens went black, and the hydraulic lift supporting her machine began to lower toward the deck below. But Alex was still in the fight. Or to be precise, at that precise moment, he was in the process of fleeing. He was running balls-out on full afterburner from the experienced pilot.

Alex pulled back on his control yoke and shot towards the blinding sun, trying his best to lose Nolan. The physical orientation of his simulator changed, and he

was now pointing straight up with the full weight of his body pressed back into his seat. The simulated sun was so bright on the monitors that the observers who were watching below had to look away and back toward the physical machines, as they mimicked their real-life F-35 counterparts.

Now, the lieutenant commander was lying back in his seat, his simulator pointed skyward. The back end of Alex’s jet was in plain view. Even though they were going straight up, the airspeed indicators were still climbing. Their altitude gauges were spinning up like possessed digital clocks, but Alex still refused to pull out of the vertical climb.

“Where are you going?” Foster called out. “To the moon?” he asked, laughing.

Then warning sounds began beeping in Alex’s F-35. Foster pulled out of the climb, flipped over and went into a steep dive. At first, Alex didn’t know what was happening. He checked the warnings and realized that his right engine had flamed out. He didn’t know why, and as he considered going through the engine restart routine, his other engine coughed, shuddered and died as well. The busy altimeter gauge came to a dead stop before it began rolling backwards, and Alex’s F-35 fell from the sky. Around and around his simulator rolled, as the electric motors and hydraulics simulated a jet in a flat fall from 60,000 feet. Alex tried going through the complex restart procedures, but the tumbling was too disorienting for him to operate his controls. Instead of trying to save his aircraft, and vomiting in the process, he reached down and pulled the ejection handle under his seat. Instantly, the simulated sound of wind, the computerized rolling of his aircraft, and the insistent blaring of fake alarms, came to a stop. His simulator leveled off and the thick hydraulic cylinders lowered his pod slowly to the ground.

Foster Nolan found a button that was not part of the F-35 flight controls labeled END SIMULATION and pressed it. His simulator capsule came to a stop and lowered to the ground. All three combatants unhooked their five-point harnesses, got out of their form-fitting flight chairs and left through the back door of their simulator capsules.

Foster was all smiles in direct contrast to the teens’ pouts. The young pilots were dressed in thin black flight suits, or coveralls, without the air bladders and pneumatics that real flight suits had. Those special features were designed to compress the pilot’s lower extremities to push blood back up to the brain. Other than flipping this way and that, there were no g forces induced in the simulator; hence, there was no need for g-force suits.

As the trio walked toward the group standing on the deck, Foster was yammering at Alex, “You have to watch your gauges and know the limitations of

your aircraft. Over 50,000 feet, and on full afterburner, there is not enough air at that altitude for your engines to breathe. That’s why they flamed out.”

Alex said nothing, but he looked equally pissed as he appeared embarrassed.

Hail gave the three pilots a fatherly smile as they came to a stop in front of him.

“So, how is it going up there in the clouds?” Hail asked.

Alex huffed, “Not so good. Flying an F-35 in a dogfight against the lieutenant commander is a lot different than flying against the computer or each other.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad,” Nolan told him. “I had years of training in flight tactics. Just a couple of days in the simulator and watching Top Gun a dozen times won’t make you a fighter pilot. But you guys have great skills. You’ll get there.”

“See,” Hail said. “the lieutenant commander will turn you into Navy pilots in no time. Then, I guess you’ll be off to join the Navy, right?” Hail asked.

Alex and Taylor knew that their boss was just messing with them, and Alex answered, “I think I will stick to drones. The downside of flying drones is there is no downside. And when I mean down — I mean a long way down — if you know what I mean?”

“Understood,” Hail laughed.

The two teens turned and began walking back toward the simulators.

Hail called out after the young pilots, “Are you going to fly jets some more?”

“Naa,” Alex said without looking back. “Taylor and I are going to play Call of Duty. It’s a lot more fun playing 3D in the simulator than in the game room.”

Alex turned and looked back at Hail. “Don’t forget, Skipper. We have a quarterly committee meeting today at 3:00 p.m.”

“I’ve got it on my calendar,” he told Knox.

Hail turned toward Nolan.

“Can I get a little of your time, Foster?” Hail asked. “We’ve been given a mission — no, make that two missions, and we would like you to be part of the planning team.”

“Sure,” the lieutenant commander smiled, grateful to be part of the team.

Renner, Ramey, Hail and Nolan began walking toward the thick metal door that led to the hallway outside the simulator room. As they walked toward the conference room, Hail began to fill Nolan in on the details.

“How this works with Washington is my crew doesn’t have the intelligence assets to track down the terrorists on the FBI’s Top Ten Terrorists list. Thus, the

CIA supplies my team with information, like the location of people that are not only on their list, but also have a considerable bounty on their heads.”

The Hail Team arrived at a stairwell leading to the upper decks. In single file, they began ascending the stairs to the deck above.

“Why doesn’t the CIA simply take out these bad apples?” Nolan asked, speaking loudly, so he could be heard over feet pounding on metal stairs.

Hail started to respond, but Kara jumped in and said, “There are advantages to having Marshall and his crew taking out these targets. For example, if something goes wrong, it’s not a United States military op discovered on foreign soil, conducting unsanctioned operations in countries it shouldn’t be in. It is Mr. Hail and his organization that gets busted.”

They reached the top of the stairs, turned right and began walking down a long white hallway.

Hail thought that Kara’s explanation required some refinement and added, “But when we go in, we do it without any feet on the ground. We use drones. And when we leave, we leave nothing behind that can be traced back to me or my organization.”

Nolan asked, “And the U.S. military can’t do the same thing?”

Renner responded, “It still comes back to a measure of deniability. The president and her staff would like to see these bad people disappear, but they also want to deny having anything to do with it. There is no paper trail because no U.S. funds are being spent to have these terrorists terminated.”

Nolan asked, “I thought you mentioned getting the bounties that are offered for these terrorists. Isn’t that a paper trail?”

Hail said, “There would be if I ever cashed the checks I was given. Currently, it is best to avoid leaving a paper trail, so I have not cashed the checks. Maybe in the future — once this is all over — I can give the money to charity. After all, it’s not as if I need the money.”

The group reached the conference room door, identical to all other doors on the ship. It was unlocked; Hail swung it open and his planning team followed him inside.

Nolan remembered this room. It was where they had first brought him when they had pulled him out of the ocean.

The meeting members pulled up rolling chairs to the large metal table and got comfortable.

Hail told Nolan, “This is an initial planning process for the mission. I’d like you to sit in on it so you know what we do — and get your feet wet. However, if

you notice something we are missing, have an idea or spot an error of any type, please let us know. Don’t be bashful.”

“I understand,” Nolan said, sounding impartial.

Hail pulled up some information from his laptop, and he gestured toward a large monitor on the wall.

Still photos from surveillance of a black man appeared on the screen. The man was sitting in a chair near a pool and appeared to be watching something in front of him. He was wearing nothing but a swimsuit. The setting looked casual, as if the man might be a father swimming in the pool with his family. However, the man was not smiling.

Kara began the meeting. “This is Afua Diambu. He is the new leader of the Boko Haram terrorist cell in Africa. He is also rumored to be the triggerman that downed the Boeing 737 in Caracas, Venezuela, killing 205 people.”

Hail pressed a key on the laptop and the image of Diambu changed. It was the same angle, but the camera had zoomed in closer to the jihadi’s face.

Kara continued, “These photos were taken at the Federal Palace Hotel in Lagos, Nigeria several months ago. Diambu’s entire family was staying at this hotel. At least we think it was his entire family, and we were extremely fortunate to have our undercover operative take a few photos of Diambu from his room on the second floor. These are the only known photos of him.”

“The head of the Boko Haram was the trigger man?” Nolan inquired. “I would think that they would use a soldier to do that dirty work.”

Kara responded, “He was a soldier at the time. Well, our intelligence indicates that he was a lieutenant, having been in the Boko Haram for more than a decade before given the assignment to take out United 1045, one of the elements of The Five.”

Nolan looked as though he understood, so Kara continued, “Since that time, Mohammad Mboso, the former leader died, and Diambu became the new leader of the terrorist cell.”

Renner said, “This makes him high on our list of targets, because he was not only just the trigger man, but also he is now their leader as well. Two great reasons to take this guy out.”

“Sounds good to me,” Nolan said.

Nolan was somewhat disappointed that this was not the man who had shot down the plane that his brother had been on, but he supposed that both Kara and Hail felt the same way. It didn’t change the fact that Diambu was still a rabid animal and needed to be put down.

Hail began clicking through photos of the same chair, same guy, different expressions, none smiling. Some showed him talking to someone out of frame. Then the photos began to change as the camera zoomed on different parts of Diambu’s body. All the photos were being shot of jihadi’s right side. There were several pockmarks on his face. It was a result of acne that had healed, but it had left damage in the way of pits. There was a closeup photo of Diambu’s right arm. There was nothing unique — it could have been anyone’s arm. But the next photo was compelling. It was a closeup of Diambu’s right ankle which showed a deep and viscous scar that hadn’t healed well and it ran horizontally across his lower calf muscle.

“What’s that?” Kara asked.

“A scar,” Hail replied.

“I know that; I mean that’s ugly. That’s not a gunshot scar. It’s like a laceration of some type.”

Renner said, “It looks even worse. The scar is wide and ragged, as if something tore open his leg, not simply cut it.”

Hail clicked to the next photo which showed his foot. More photos flashed on the monitor that showed Diambu’s hands and other body parts, but there was nothing of significance. He went back to the initial shot of Diambu’s face.

“OK, what type of bio do you have on this guy?” Hail asked Kara.

Kara flipped through some screens on her iPad and reported, “Afua Diambu. Born in the Katsina, Nigeria area in the town of Batagarawa. Joined the Boko Haram when he was nineteen. He doesn’t have a wife or kids, and his mother his deceased. His father is unknown. He currently supports his brothers and sisters. We don’t know how many and have very little information about his siblings. We do know that a few of his brothers and sisters have children, and Diambu supports all of them. I would encourage you all to read the entire dossier on Diambu when we’re done here.”

Kara paused while she changed screens.

“As was already stated, these photos were taken at the Federal Palace Hotel in Lagos, but Diambu lives in a heavily guarded compound on Snake Island, which is on the outskirts of Lagos. His compound faces the Badagry Creek, which sounds small, but it is the intracoastal waterway of the Gulf of Guinea.”

She asked Hail, “Can you pull up the shots of the compound?”

Hail moved his mouse around and clicked the cursor a few times. An aerial shot of a building, surrounded by what looked like thick walls, appeared on the screen. He zoomed back a little, so the entire building appeared in the frame.

“Damn, you weren’t kidding when you said it was a well-guarded compound,” Nolan said. “It looks like a prison.”

“It looks more imposing directly above than it does from a side view,” Kara assured the lieutenant commander. She continued, “But to begin with, let’s go ahead and analyze what we are seeing from above. Marshall, can you zoom out a little more so we can see the entire island?”

Hail did as Kara requested.

“As you can see, Snake Island is called an island because Badagry Creek encircles the entire landmass. Snake Island is 14 kilometers long by 1.5-kilometers wide. It is located opposite the Tin Can Island Port located in the city of Apapa. Surprisingly, for an island of this size, there is only one small bridge that connects it to the mainland. There are many people who live on the island, and the Niger dock is right here,” Kara said, flashing a laser pointer on the screen, “as well as a small airfield here.” She moved her pointer to what looked like a runway. “And this airstrip gives Diambu the ability to come and go as he pleases.”

Hail zoomed in on the southern part of the island where Kara had been focusing her pointer. Kara added, “Snake Island is the perfect place of operations for Diambu. He controls the dock; therefore, he can smuggle just about anything in and out of Nigeria.”

“Are you thinking of making an ingress via those docks?” Nolan asked.

Renner fielded the question. “Well, at this point, we really don’t know how we want to get to him. Let’s let Kara finish with what she knows so we have all the facts.”

“Sounds good,” Nolan agreed.

Everyone in the room studied the port, airfield and surrounding buildings. Once Kara was certain they had been briefed on the pertinent details she asked Hail, “Marshall, can we focus back on a wide aerial of the main house?”

He made the adjustment until they could see the dense white compound in addition to a kilometer of jungle surrounding the residence.

Kara continued.

“As you can see, the compound itself is formidable. Solid concrete and rebar outer walls. And it would appear the building itself is made from the same materials. But even more important is what surrounds the compound.”

Kara focused her pen on a dark spot behind the building.

“This is all swampland. In front we have the creek. It is a deceiving term because it is easily deep and wide enough to allow mooring or passage of container ships and barges— it is 165-feet deep and 10.5-feet wide.”

Kara looked down at her iPad and read some notes she had made.

“Reconnaissance photos show there is only one small bridge that accesses the property across the swamp to the mainland right here,” she said, directing the laser on a tiny black line that ran over the top of the brown swamp. “Both sides of the bridge are guarded always by Boko Haram, who are equipped with assault rifles, and there is probably something more formidable hidden from view.”

“Damn.” It was all Hail could think to say.

“That’s not all,” Kara added. “You see these two boats in the intracoastal waterway, the creek, in front of the compound?” She highlighted the boats with her pointer. “Those are Diambu’s boats that patrol the waters in front of his house, day and night. They only come ashore once a day to refuel and change crews. Both boats are heavily armed, and each one has five or more men.”

Renner repeated Hail’s last words. “Damn.”

“That’s not all,” Kara warned. “See right here on the beach,” she highlighted what appeared to be white sun umbrellas on the beach. The umbrellas had been planted in the area where sand turned into green jungle.

Kara continued, “I know those look like umbrellas, but they aren’t. They are the tops of round cement bunkers. We were able to do a flyby in an innocent- looking Cessna to snap some photos from the beach.”

She asked Hail, “Could you pull up the photos that say Cessna on them?” Hail found the files Ramey was referring to. He clicked on the first one.

The photo showed both bunkers from about 300 yards and taken from a plane flying low to the water.

“Zoom in, please,” Kara requested.

Hail zoomed. Sticking out of the wide slot in the bunker was the business end of what appeared to be a .50 caliber machine gun. In the same long slot, next to it was the barrel of something wider. It looked like a grenade launcher or the mouth of a mortar tube.

Nolan said, “Damn.”

“In addition to everything I showed you, Diambu has armed men that patrol the beach on foot and by Jeep on the perimeter of the property. See these little four-wheeler trails on the sides of the property? These paths are patrolled by men in four-wheelers, and the guards are armed to the teeth.

Hail said, “Looks like Diambu is one paranoid individual.”

“I don’t think he wants what happened to his predecessor to happen to him,” Kara suggested.

“And what was that?” Renner asked.

“Apparently, Mohammad Mboso is not alive any longer,” Kara stated.

Hail laughed.

Renner asked the obvious, “Do you know what happened to him?”

Kara said, “No, not exactly. One day, he was no longer making the jihadi propaganda videos he had been making during the last decade. The new videos that were being posted to the Boko Haram Dark Net sites had Diambu as the star. For all we know, Mohammad Mboso could have possibly died by natural causes. But that would be a rare occurrence. Most of these leaders don’t tend to live that long. Many of their deaths occur by spontaneous lead poisoning, if you know what I mean?”

“Or Diambu could have killed him,” Hail suggested.

“No telling,” Kara replied. “There is no honor amongst thieves.”

“Or jihadis,” Nolan added.

Hail took in a deep breath and let it out in a big puff, letting his lips flap together.

“That looks like one tough nut to crack,” Hail stated.

There was a moment of silence as the group pondered the challenges that had been laid out before them.

“Is there any more intel that could be of any use to us?” Hail asked Kara. “Like, does Diambu go into town or visit anyone or have any type of schedule he keeps?”

“There is only one thing that we can focus on,” Kara replied with a note of optimism in her voice. “Marshall, can you please bring up the photo named Sat-Aerial-21?”

Hail searched for the file and clicked on it.

It showed the compound taken from a CIA satellite. Unlike any of the previous photos, this image showed several black dots on the strip of the beach in front of the compound.

Kara told them, “Every morning, Diambu goes for a swim in the intracoastal waterway in front of his house. You see that man there on the trail leading from the compound to the beach?”

She placed the laser on the spot. “That’s Diambu walking towards the water.”

“I also see guards both behind and in front of with what I assume are guns,” Renner commented.

Kara said, “Yes, those are guns. That is the only schedule that Diambu keeps. Other than that, there is no set time when he comes and goes. And whenever he does leave the compound, he has decoy cars that leave at the same time. He can also fly in by helicopter and leave by boat. Trying to get to this guy is a logistics nightmare. But, the swim in the creek is a constant. Every morning around 8:00 a.m., Nigerian time.”

Using the aerial shot that was looking directly down at the compound, the group studied the terrain surrounding it.

Renner asked, “Is that as close as we can get?”

Hail tried to zoom in, but the photo pixelated, becoming even less defined.

“That’s it,” Hail said. “That’s as good as it gets.”

The members of Hail’s team looked at what they had and remained quiet, each lost in their own thoughts.

A few minutes later, Nolan asked, “What are all those little clearings right there?” Nolan used his own laser to highlight spots on the image. His laser made little circles near the side of the house and near the trail that led to the water.

Nolan added, “It’s hard to tell, but it’s as if the brush has been cut back a few feet. The outskirts of the property are pockmarked with these little clearings. Why would they do that? What could it be?”

“Cameras?” Renner suggested.

“No,” Kara said. “There is no pole or anything in the ground. They certainly wouldn’t mount a camera in the sand. They would have it on a pole.”

They inspected the small clearings that Nolan had pointed out.

“I don’t know,” Hail finally said.

Another minute passed.

“I think I do,” Renner said. “I think they are land mines.”

“You mean like explosive mines, like Claymore mines,” Nolan asked.

“Yeah, like that,” Renner said softly.

No one said anything.

“Look at the spacing,” Renner said. “I can’t think of what else that would be. And it would kind of fit, you know? Considering all the lethal surprises that Diambu has set up for anyone that is out to get him, I wouldn’t put it past him to plant dozens of land mines around his property. They probably keep those areas cleared just so they know where they are located.”

“Check this out,” Marshall said, pointing at some large pitted areas around the property. “Do these look like pits that exploded land mines could have made?”

Hail began to count all the pits he could see.

“Looks like maybe five of these deep pits in this vicinity.”

“That would make sense,” said Nolan. “It’s not uncommon for wild animals to trigger land mines. It happened all the time to the Navy SEALs. They would be sitting out there in the jungle and BOOM; some poor monkey had bought it. The animals are just as susceptible to being blown up as a human stepping on one. I wouldn’t be surprised if they hear a land mine go off in the middle of the night every so often. I don’t know what type of animals they have on the island, but it doesn’t take much to set them off.”

Hail asked, “Can one land mine set off another one like a chain reaction?”

“Not if they are spaced correctly,” Nolan said. “But if those are land mines on the photo, they have them planted pretty close to one another.”

“Um,” Hail said, still trying to put a plan together in his mind.

Renner commented, “I wish we could see more. You know, get closer. It’s the details that make something like this work.”

Hail asked Kara, “Is it possible to get closer shots from your satellites?”

“It would take some doing,” Kara responded. “How much time do you have?”

Hail waved off his request and said, “We could probably do it faster.”

Hail asked Renner, “Gage, do we have any assets near Lagos?”

Renner thought about it for a minute. “Don’t we have the Hail Proton delivering railroad ties and steel in Lomé, Togo?”

Hail replied, “Yeah, I think we do. How far away is Nigeria from Togo?”

“Not far,” said Renner.

Kara was already Googling it.

“It’s 275 kilometers,” Kara said.

“Beautiful,” Hail said.

“Why is that beautiful?” Nolan asked.

“It’s beautiful because they have just completed work on a new project in their drone lab. The Hail Proton’s captain, Mitch Nichols, e-mailed me about it the other day. He wanted me to fly over to look at the project,” Hail said.

“And what would that be?” Nolan inquired.

“Just a seagull,” Marshall said, with a note of deviousness in his voice.

Unlike Marshall Hail, Mitch Nichols was the real captain of the Hail Proton. Many of Marshall Hail’s crew referred to Hail as captain, but Hail did not pilot the Hail Nucleus. Their ship did have a real captain. He remained in the wheelhouse much of the time, unless he requested to be relieved by one of his other officers on board.

It had taken the group in the conference room less than five minutes to get Captain Mitch Nichols connected to a video conference. On the screen, Captain Nichols of the Hail Proton even looked like a captain. He wore a white button-up uniform that had the Hail logo embroidered onto the breast pocket. On his head was a white captain’s hat. A golden rope rested on the black shiny brim. Golden leaves were stitched into the visor, and the Hail insignia was stitched into the front of the hat.

When the Hail Proton’s captain appeared on the screen, Hail greeted him, “Hi, Mitch.”

The captain responded, “Hi, Marshall, Gage and Kara.” He didn’t address the person he did not know.

Hail said, “This is Lt. Commander Foster Nolan. He’s a Navy jet pilot on loan to us from Gen. Ford.”

“Nice to have big friends in high places,” Captain Nichols said.

As was Hail’s way, he got right to the point.

“I know that your lab was working on a prototype of the reconnaissance drone, Seagulls?”

“Yes,” the captain said.

“Have you tested the drone? Is it prime time?”

“From what I understand, we had some problems with the lift, because Seagulls’ wings are smaller than Eagles’ and the falcon’s wings. But I think, between your engineers on the Hail Nucleus and ours on the Hail Proton, they figured it all out. It’s my understanding that the drone is ready to fly.”

“That’s great news,” Hail remarked.

Mitch looked at the group on the Hail Nucleus for a moment and then asked, “Do you want us to deploy the bird somewhere?”

“Yeah, I think we do,” Hail said. “How much flight time does the bird have?”

“Continually on station, not as long as drones Bad Company or Eagles. My best guess would be about twenty-four hours.”

Hail looked at the team assembled around the table in his conference room. It was an inquisitive look.

Renner nodded his head and said, “That should be enough.”

Hail, still talking among his own people, made a statement that could be interpreted as a question, “Then it’s just a question of when and how?”

Renner asked Captain Nichols, “What do you have that is ready to fly that can drop Seagulls near Snake Island in Lagos, Nigeria? It’s about 200 miles from your current location.”

The captain of the Hail Proton thought about it for a moment before responding, “We’ve got Foghat. It has the range and is submersible. It could also wait on station and retrieve Seagulls when the mission is over.”

Hail knew exactly what type of drone he was talking about. They had two identical drones on the Hail Nucleus, with the code names Prince and Queen. Both drones had performed flawlessly in their previous mission — the task the CIA had dubbed Operation Hail Storm. Since those drones were already battle-tested, there was no reason to assume that Foghat would have any problem completing the mission.

“How soon can you get both drones airborne?” Hail asked.

“When do you need them airborne?” Nichols responded.

Hail looked at his crew and said, “I’m thinking we drop Foghat at night, maybe an hour or two before the sun comes up. That would give us the entire day to shoot video with Seagulls, before it runs out of rocket pellets. Does that sound reasonable to everyone?”

Renner reminded the group, “There’s a seven-hour difference between Lagos, Nigeria, where it would be 5:00 a.m. and it would be 12:00 p.m. at our current location.”

Hail readdressed Captain Nichols over the video link. “Mitch, once you get Foghat in the air with Seagulls attached to its belly, can you hand off both drones to my crew in the mission center on the Hail Nucleus?”

The captain looked disappointed, but said, “Yes, no problem.”

“OK, let’s shoot for tomorrow morning. I would like to have Foghat in the air no later than 3:30 a.m., your time, just to be on the safe side.”

“Understood,” Captain Nichols said. “Just keep in mind that one of these days, my crew would like to get into the mix as well. I have a lot of young pilots that are itching to fly these drones.”

Hail smiled and felt a wave a guilt.

“Yeah, I know you guys work hard, and your staff built some amazing drones. Your pilots will get a chance to fly them, I promise.”

The captain looked less than thrilled with Hail’s words. Nonetheless, he was a team player, and he understood that he had little choice in the matter.

“Sounds good,” he said.

Hail asked his own group, “Am I missing anything, or are we good to go?”

Kara, Gage and Foster looked at one another and shrugged.

“OK, then,” Hail said. “Thanks again, Mitch. We’ll talk tomorrow. As soon as you guys get Seagulls back on board, dump the video and get it uploaded to my NAS as soon as possible.”

Hail used the words as soon as possible instead of ASAP, because he thought that sounded crass.

“Roger that,” Captain Nichols responded.

“Good luck,” Hail said, and he ended the video connection.