Target Lock

Landing Force Operations Center, USS Carlson 0121 Hours, Zone Time: August 17, 2008

“How do you want to work it with the microforce now, Skipper?” Quillain inquired. “Have ’em go into hide as per the old ops plan?”

“Yes… no, hold on that.” Amanda was suddenly finding it very hard to think as she tipped back over the edge of the combat adrenaline rush. “Tell them to go stealth and to clear the area, avoiding contact with Indonesian surface traffic. Then bring them home. Tell Steamer to proceed directly to Benoa Harbor for recovery. He has enough fuel remaining for a direct transit.”

The Marine nodded. “Might as well. The bad guys sure know they’re out there now.”

“Exactly: We’re not going to gain any advantage in holding them out there. When Steamer shows up tomorrow morning, we’ll tell the harbor master they’ve been conducting training exercises in international waters. We’ll let the Indonesians worry about just what that may mean.”

The operations team in the LFOC were standing down, securing systems and preparing to hand things over to the skeleton duty watch. Standard white lighting snapped on, replacing blue battle illumination.

Amanda rubbed her burning eyes with her palms, a sense of unreality washing over her. Had Palau Piri been just that afternoon? It seemed like a different world altogether, a different reality, some incredible fantasy spun in a half dream state.

It had been real though, something to be confronted and lived with.

God, but she was so tired.

She sensed someone standing beside her. Admiral MacIntyre, stolid and impervious as always. Remembering the way she had spoken to him during the engagement made her suddenly feel like a very awkward little girl.

“I’m sorry, sir, for getting a bit emphatic back there. I apologize for getting out of line.”

“You were running a combat engagement, Captain, and at that moment you didn’t have the time to worry about the formalities. Getting the job done has the priority. I need to apologize for lagging on you for a second there. You were correct in your assessment. This was a good mission save and an acceptable calculated risk for the return.”

“I hope so, sir.”

He smiled at her. It was a good smile, sure and safe and approving. “Midrats?” he inquired.

“That sounds good. Last time, you were telling me about Judy.”