36

65 MILES WEST OF KUME SHIMA ISLAND
1921 HOURS ZONE TIME; AUGUST 19, 2006

The Captain of the Nationalist frigate was the last man aboard the final medevac helo out to the Enterprise. The injuries he had suffered during the sinking had been minor. They would heal within a few days. However, the hole blown in his soul and spirit would linger for a far longer time. This morning, Amanda might have guessed that the Chinese officer was close to her own age. Tonight, he looked like an old man.

“I thank you again, Captain Garrett,” he said in carefully precise English, “for the rescue of my crew and for the kindness you have shown us. Also, for avenging the loss of my ship.”

“I’m just glad we were there. Captain Kuo,” Amanda replied, shaking his hand gently. “I hope we can meet again someday, when times are better.”

“Perhaps. When times are better.” He drew himself up in the borrowed khakis he wore and gave Amanda a parade ground sharp salute. Then he turned and started for the waiting Oceanhawk. A few minutes later, the helo was off the deck and climbing into the evening sky.

Amanda followed the aircraft with her eyes for a few moments, then headed inboard.

The battle tensions had dissipated in the Combat Information Center. The watch had changed and the new duty crew had settled in at their stations. Dix Beltrain was still on hand, though, shifting his attention between the chart table, the Alpha screen, and a sandwich snatched from a sack of battle rations.

“What’s the dope, Mr. Beltrain?”

Dix took a second to force a swallow and to stuff the sandwich back into its bag. “Currently steering two nine oh, Captain. Making turns for eight knots. Helm control is on the bridge. We are continuing to work a quartering search within the initial search zone. No contacts or possibles noted, or on the board.”

“Let’s see the tactical.”

She joined him at the chart table and looked on as the younger officer’s fingertips brushed over the computer graphics on the horizontal screen.

“Seventh is working on the assumption that the sub we killed was covering the boomer, and that it and the other escort are somewhere in this immediate neighborhood. The Enterprise group has crossed over to the west of the Ryukyu island chain below us. They’ve established an ASW line and are sweeping slowly north. Range is about thirty-five miles now.”

“Who are these guys up north?”

“A Japanese SDF force built around the helicopter cruiser Shirain. They’ve crossed over the island line as well and are working down toward us along the Ryukyu trench. We’ve got about a fifty-mile separation with them.”

Beltrain traced a curve across the screen. “From here to the east, all the deepwater channels through the Ryukyus are being covered by attack subs. The Takashio … the Asheville … and the Jefferson City. The shallow channels are being covered by Orion sweeps. The Reds are stuck in a bucket and we’re right in there with!”

“What kind of direct support do we have?”

“The big E has two Vikings working the area and we’ve got two of their SH-60s using us as a control node.”

“Any nibbles anywhere?”

“Quiet as a graveyard.”

Amanda nodded. “Well, Dix. What do you think the bad guys are up to?”

“They’re down to two options, ma’am. One, they’ve gone deep and are sitting powered down on a thermocline, hoping that we’ll just run over the top of them and go away. Two, they’re retreating toward the Chinese coast.”

Amanda was tired. The postconflict letdown was under way and she was beginning to feel it. Automatically, she took an extra couple of seconds in her decision making to compensate, carefully turning the problem over in her mind, seeking any overlooked facet.

“If they’re lying doggo,” she said finally, “we’ll let the guys with the towed arrays go after them. We’re going to work on the assumption that they’re running west.” Amanda gauged distances on the screen hex grid. “Let’s say they’ve been moving out at their best good quiet speed ever since the engagement. Six knots?”

“Let’s make it eight, ma’am.”

“Okay, eight. That would put them out here about sixty miles to the west of us. How are we looking on fuel?”

Beltrain reached up to an overhead repeater and tapped in a data access. “Sixty-four percent remaining on bunkerage.”

“Good enough. We’ll steer two seven zero at thirty knots until twenty-four hundred hours. Then we’ll come about, reduce speed, and start sweeping back. With any luck, we’ll sprint right past these guys and turn this bucket into a box.”

“Sounds real good to me, Captain.”

“Okay. Contact the hunt boss aboard the Enterprise. Advise him of our intentions and see if it meets his approval. If so, then advise the bridge and execute.”

“How about our helos, Captain? What do you want to do with them?”

Amanda hesitated for another moment. “Keep them on the deck. As long as the carrier’s helicopters are covering us, we’ll give our people a rest. Hold one of the Retainers on five-minute alert and the other on fifteen.

“Well, and one other thing, Dix. Once all of this gets set up, turn things over to the duty officer. I want you to get some sleep and a real meal. I can’t have my best tactical officer burning out on me.”

“Okay, Mom … I mean ma’am.”

Beltrain’s grin saved him from a backlash. Amanda joined in the joke with a weary smile of her own.

“Just you see to it, young man.”

She left the CIC again, heading for the deck ladders in the passageway aft.

That space was deserted for the moment, filled only with the perennial rumble of air through the ductwork and a wisp of burnt kerosene leaking upward from the power rooms. It was safe here to briefly let herself stand down. Sinking onto one of the ladder treads, Amanda closed her eyes.

Throughout that afternoon, she had maintained her own personal “Condition Zebra,” keeping her emotions carefully compartmentalized and away from her decision-making processes. Now those compartment doors were opening, allowing a backwash of terror, despair, and panic to flow into her consciousness.

They were all secondhand by now: ghost emotions, the lingering record of battle being replayed in her mind. It would pass eventually, leaving just another layer of scar tissue on her warrior’s psyche. But for now, there was the sudden reknotting of her stomach, the sheen of cold sweat, and the sensation of treading on the edge of an abyss.

Amanda gritted her teeth and hugged herself against her internal chill, striving to ride through it. She had not managed completely before she heard voices and the clatter of footsteps coming from below.

Swiftly, she got to her feet and scrambled up one level to officers’ country. A long-standing sophistry within the armed forces was that commanders were not allowed to exhibit human vulnerability in front of those they led.

There were exceptions, though.

Without conscious decision, Amanda found that she was moving down the passageway toward Vince Arkady’s cabin, cursing herself for the weakness and the luxury of what she was about to do.

“Come in.” The response came swiftly to her knock.

Arkady was stretched out on his bunk, and now, as she entered, he rolled to his feet in the balanced and coordinated flow of movement that she had come to recognize as part of him.

“What’s up?” he asked, alert and concerned. Her coming here was not a usual thing.

Amanda went to him, slipping her arms around his waist.

She rested her head on his flight-suited shoulder, listening to the strong beat of his heart as an affirmation of life.

“I almost lost her today, Arkady,” she whispered. “I almost lost her today.”

“But you didn’t.” His embrace closed around her, locking out the rest of the world.

Out in the passageway, another figure silently approached the door to Arkady’s cabin. As alert and as wary as a snow fox, she paused and listened for a moment, and then moved on.

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