Tiger's Claw

U.S. COAST GUARD CUTTER MOHAWK

A SHORT TIME LATER

“Bridge, Tactical,” Fells radioed, “Mohawk Zero-One reports he is retrieving what appears to be a victim. He will RTB immediately after hoist is completed.”

“Thank God they found one,” Sheridan muttered to himself. “Very well,” he replied. “Is the airspace still all clear?”

“Affirmative, sir. We can see into the original southern search box, and we have radar contact with the Eagle Eye. It appears the Chinese helicopters have departed the area.”

“Excellent,” Sheridan said. He was glad they departed, but he immediately became suspicious. Why would aircraft from an aircraft carrier pay any attention to orders from a foreigner aboard a ship a fraction of its size, not even a true warship? “Comm, Bridge, any response from our hails?”

“None from the Chinese, sir,” the communications officer replied. “Commercial vessels and a Filipino frigate responded and said they will remain clear but stand by in case they’re needed.”

Finally, Sheridan thought, some cooperation and a friendly warship to help out. He would’ve preferred it to be an American frigate, but any friendly help would be appreciated. “Very good. What’s the frigate’s position?”

“Thirty miles southeast of the southern search box. About two hours’ steaming time.”

“Request that they move closer to the box but remain clear for the time being, and pass along my . . .”

“Bridge, Tactical, lost contact with the Eagle Eye!” Fells interjected, using the direct “CALL” function of the intercom to interrupt all other communications.

Sheridan swore aloud. “Shit! What the hell happened, Ed?”

“Don’t know, sir. No malfunction annunciations. The thing just went dark.”

“Crap,” Sheridan muttered. All they had in the southern search box was the Global Hawk now. On the radio, he spoke, “Mohawk Zero-One, how’s it going?”

“Swimmer’s in the water,” Coffey replied. A moment later: “Sir, swimmer says the person in the water is alive! He’s busted up very badly and may not survive the return flight, but right now he’s breathing!”

“Sweet Jesus, that’s incredible!” Sheridan said. “Head back to the barn at best speed as soon as your swimmer’s aboard.”

“About five more minutes, sir.”

“Call sick bay, tell them we have a survivor inbound, ETE about an hour,” Sheridan said to the officer of the deck. “I want this guy alive.” He switched channels on the telephone. “Tactical, Bridge, Ed, any ideas on what the hell happened to the Eagle Eye?”

“None, sir,” Fells replied. “But from the initial reports I read about the P-8 incident, they reported the same thing: sudden loss of contact, no indications of a malfunction. It’s possible that whatever hit the Poseidon hit the Eagle Eye too.”

“Hit it? Like what? A missile, fired from a sub?”

“Possible, but unless the missile was some kind of a magical silver bullet, the aircraft would have reported multiple malfunctions before losing contact—engine fire, electrical, hydraulics, so on,” Fells said. “Whatever hit the P-8 and the Eagle Eye shut them down in the blink of an eye, before any malfunctions could be reported.”

“Mohawk One, Zero-One is RTB,” Coffey radioed.

Thank God, Sheridan breathed. With first the Poseidon gone and now the Eagle Eye gone but hopefully automatically on its way back, the South China Sea suddenly felt like a very dangerous place, and the quicker he got his last air asset back on the deck, the better. “You got the Jayhawk on radar, Ed?”

“Affirmative, sir,” Fells reported. “He’s doing a hundred knots, and his fuel reserves look good.”