OUTCAST Ops: African Firestorm

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Narsai checked the radar again. The aircraft approaching from the north were close now. For a second, he thought about ordering evasive maneuvers, then discarded the idea as fast as it had materialized. The ship was too slow, too large and too unwieldy to make any such maneuver feasible. No, there was nothing else they could do other than to fire the Baburs.

"I'm going to go talk to Dr. Masood," he said to Musa. "Alert me immediately if any of those aircraft make an aggressive move." He tapped the radio on his belt. Musa nodded and Narsai left the bridge.

By the time he reached the main deck, he could hear the sounds of men moving and shouting ahead of him. He strode purposefully toward the commotion.

He found Masood and his entire team at work on the first missile. Several ICA solders were standing around, watching the team work.

Masood turned toward Narsai. The captain motioned at the direction of the second missile’s location. "Why aren't you working on both of them?"

"I told you, I can't get both ready in time! But I can get one — maybe!" Masood snapped. Sweat was flowing down his now red face, and Narsai could see anger and fear in his eyes. "The second missile has a damaged circuit board that will take half an hour to replace!" He motioned to the missile in front of them. "This one I can get ready."

"How long?"

"Ten minutes, fifteen at most!"

Narsai wanted to scream at Masood, but instead held his tongue. The doctor was right. Better to have one missile to fire instead of none. He handed Masood a sheet of paper.

“The coordinates for the missile's target."

Masood glanced at the paper, then nodded. "I'll program the targeting computer right away."

"There is no time to waste."

Narsai turned away as his radio come to life.

"Sir, the aircraft coming from the north have swung to the west. I think they're going to attack us broadside."

"Bring us about!" Narsai started running fast for the superstructure.

"Head due east now!"

The four F-18s dropped until they were a thousand feet over the Indian Ocean. As Drummond turned his aircraft toward the target, Welborn called out, "Target is turning east!"

Drummond scowled. "Bulldog to all elements. Cyber, Gabby, stay at thirty angels. Me and Jocko will make the first run, from the stern. I'm going to pop them in the ass with a couple of Harpoons and see if that slows them down. Don't get too close — spooks say the tangos are armed with Grails."

"Bummer," Jocko said. "I wanted to see how many of the ship's windows I could shatter with a sonic boom."

"Not enough to explain to Uncle Sam why you allowed a sixty million dollar airplane to be shot out of the sky by a fanatic with a five thousand dollar missile. They'll take it out of your pay and the pay of your descendants for a century or two."

"You're assuming they'll allow Jocko to breed," Cyber said, eliciting a few chuckles from the squad.

A smile twitched on Drummond's face, but his tone was business-like. "Cut the chatter, people. Let's get this show on the road."

Narsai made it to the bridge just as Musa yelled into the radio, "Two fighters are coming at us!"

"Which direction?"

The helmsman turned toward him. 'From astern!"

Narsai snatched up his radio. "All AA teams: Keep an eye out for aircraft!"

"They’re going to fire missiles at us!" Musa shouted.

"Bring us onto a heading of fifty degrees." Narsai’s voice was level, but he felt the cold certainty that the plan had failed.

"We need to buy Dr. Masood time to get that missile ready."

"This is not an easily maneuverable ship!" Musa snapped as he made the course adjustments.

"I know that!" Narsai’s voice rose in anger. "We just need a few more minutes!"