Sea Strike

by James H. Cobb

  "Negative, Chris. Go on back to your ball game. I'll take it from here."

  "Okay, Captain." Christine's voice grew intent again. "I trust that I didn't interrupt anything too critical?"

  "No." Amanda suddenly became aware of Arkady's body warmth pressing close. "Not yet."

  She signed off. At her side, her Air Division leader rocked back on his heels

  "Well, what's the word. Captain?"

  "Nothing,' she replied thoughtfully "We re going to let it ride for tonight'

  Noting his raised eyebrow, she continued "Even if we did start pulling the crew back aboard now, we probably couldn't get all that much done before morning If the Duke is due for a crash deployment within the next couple of days, the best thing we can do is to let our people get a little shore time It might be their last for a while "

  ' Makes sense to me ' Arkady nodded "Right " Amanda crisply snapped the phone shut and re turned it to her purse "Damn, damn, damn! We had a deployment preparations schedule all roughed out, but that's shot to pieces now I'm sorry, Arkady, but I'd better get back to the ship and see what I can start piecing together"

  "Okay, babe But before you do, can you do me one fa or "

  "Of course What0' She looked at him inquiringly He was still kneeling beside her chair, meeting her gaze levelly with a spark of affectionate humor dancing in those damnably blue eyes

  "Would you please repeat all that stuff you said about shore time for the crew and everything Only this time around, just for fun, substitute

  ' Garrett' for ' ' I'd just like to hear how it sounds In her moment of distracted confusion, she almost started to do it Then she found herself dissolving into something close to a giggle She collapsed back into her chair and reached out to caress his cheek "Vincent Arkady, you are a sin My sin " "Like you said, babe It might be the last time for a while "

  "So it might"

  HONOLULU, HAWAII 0745 HOURS ZONE TIME; JULY 16, 2006

  Again the trilling of Amanda's phone registered on Vince Arkady's consciousness, this time piercing through layers of sleep There was a silky slithering on the bed beside him, and the pleasant pool of warmth that had been curled against his back was gone By the time he had rolled over and opened his eyes, Amanda was up and across the room to answer the call "Garret! "

  Last night she had drawn open the drapes and the glass balcony door to allow the sea breeze and moonlight into their hotel room Now she stood backdropped by the morning blue of the bay and the sky, totally unself conscious in her nudity, completely intent on whomever she was speaking with To Arkady, just then, she was all things desirable and beautiful She stood posed, one hand on her hip, one long dancer's leg carrying her weight, the other relaxed with her knee slightly bent Her tousled auburn hair flowed down around her tanned shoulders, making the scar across the top of her left collarbone stand out What had hurt her there? he wondered That was another one of those things that he hadn't had a chance to ask about yet It took him a few moments to focus on her conversation

  ' ', Ken Have they given us a fixed sortie time yet7 How about a destination7"

  He watched as she nodded slowly "Okay Anything else7 Ten hundred hours?

  Damn, what time is it now7"

  He watched Amanda look around the room for the time Her old Pusser's Lady Admiral wnstwatch, along with her earrings and panty hose, had ended up on the floor beside Arkady's side of the bed Scooping up the watch, he took it across to her, receiving a quick smile of thanks in return As she checked the time, he ran his hand down her bare spine in a good-morning caress, receiving a quick brush of her lips in thanks.

  "Okay, Ken," she said into the phone. "It's eight-fifteen now. This is how we'll work it. Schedule an Operations Group for all division heads for oh one hundred hours this afternoon. I should be done with the Admiral by then. I'll pass the full word at that time. In the interim, you know the drill. Recall all hands and inform them we are deploying

  ... sometime in the near future. Then initiate a full stores and spares replenishment. Get us refueled and commence taking aboard our warloads.

  Also, set a priority list on whatever in port maintenance we may still need."

  "I presume all officers have been notified? Lieutenant Arkady?

  Haven't you been able to locate him?"

  Amanda glanced over her shoulder. "Don't worry about it," she deadpanned perfectly, leaning back against him. "I think I know where he can be located. Is Chris aboard yet?

  Okay, as soon as she's in, get her working on one of her patented situation briefings on the current Chinese conflict. I want to know what we're going to be facing ... Very good, then. I'll be back aboard as soon as I'm finished with Macintyre ."

  Amanda flipped the phone shut, staring unseeing across the room.

  "Arkady," she said, "Chris was right. It is China.

  How scon will Aviation Section be ready to load?"

  "Whenever you want it, Captain. We're caught up on all shoreside maintenance. I'm scheduled to run both helos through the RAM calibration range up at Schofield this afternoon.

  We're set to go."

  The conversion was beginning. Naked, with the scent of last night's passion still on their skin, they were already slipping back into their professional personas. Aboard the Cunningham there would be room enough only for the Captain and the Lieutenant. It was a reasonable requirement of the careers that they had chosen, but the man and the woman had the right to regret the necessity.

  "Time to ride," Amanda said. "I have to be back at the base in about two hours."

  "Will you be able to grab some breakfast before you get back to the ship?"

  "I think so."

  They sank down on the end of the bed. Amanda nestled against him, neither of them quite willing to come back into the real world for another few moments.

  "Thank you, Arkady," she murmured.

  He slipped his arm around her and gently nuzzled her hair, kissing her forehead just at the part in her soft bangs. ' ' you. It's just till next time, babe."

  " ''ll next time."

  NAVSPECFORCE Headquarters reeked of fresh paint. Naval Special Forces Command was the new kid on the Pearl Harbor block. Accordingly, it had inherited one of the oldest base administration complexes, a sprawling set of single story cinder-block buildings that dated back to the Vietnam construction boom. A major renovation and rebuild job had been required; civilian contractors could still be found puttering in odd corners of the complex, leisurely applying the finishing touches.

  NAVSPECFORCE was a new kid in more ways than one.

  The successor to the U.S. Navy's old Special Warfare Command, it was an effort to bind all of the Fleet's diverse unconventional warfare and intelligence-gathering assets under one roof: SEALs Marine Force Recon, commando carrier and raven submarines, and the Special Boat, Aviation, Submersible, and Patrol Craft Squadrons.

  Thanks to the insistent and effective politicking of Vice Admiral Elliot Macintyre, the newly appointed CICNAVSPECFORCE, the new command had also acquired all of the Navy's stealth hulls, including the USS Cunningham.

  It was a controversial move, the controversy emanating from without, as the other Fleet Flags screamed over the loss of ships and assets, and from within, as Special Forces commanders brooded over their loss of independence.

  As for Amanda, she was ambivalent. The Annapolis-bred conservative in her was leery of overspecialized cloak-and dagger outfits. On the other hand, there was a potential challenge about special operations, one that she found very intriguing.

  "Morning, Captain," Christine Rendino sang, falling into step beside Amanda as she walked down the entry corridor.

  "Good morning, Chris. What are you doing here?"

  Like Amanda, Christine was wearing a set of summer Navy whites. Unlike Amanda, however, some minute aspect of attitude and posture downscaled them from a uniform into mere clothing.

  This was part of a faint and indefinable air that always seemed to hang around the Duke's intel, one that
tended to make some more conventional personnel vaguely uneasy. It was the sensation that hallowed traditions and standards were being acceded to only out of amused indulgence.

  "I was called in to be briefed on some totally radical new toys we're going to get to play with," Christine replied.

  "Such as?"

  "A tactical remote sensor net for littoral operations."

  "The hydrophone buoy system?" Amanda had read some of the literature on the system.

  "Exactly. A fast SOSUS barrier to go with a side of fries.

  This will be the first actual tactical deployment. We're getting a whole lot of other neat stuff, too."

  "Anything special I should know about?"

  "Hmm, just that it means that we're going to be working up close, Boss Ma'am. Up close and personal."

  Precisely at ten hundred hours, Maclntyre's aide ushered Amanda into the Admiral's office.

  She had served under Vice Admiral Elliot Edward "Eddie Mac" Maclntyre's command a few months prior. He had been Commander in Chief Atlantic Fleet when she had taken the Cunningham into the Antarctic campaign.

  Since then, and since being assigned to NAVSPECFORCE, she had met with Macintyre aboard ship and on the neutral ground of official functions a number of times.

  This, however, was her first meeting with the Admiral on his home turf.

  As Amanda crossed the dozen steps to his desk, she made a quick, discreet survey of the room, seeking to learn more about the man by his personal environment.

  A bold, abstract seascape hung on the inside wall, along with a collection of pen-and-ink prints of American warships.

  The ones he had served aboard? Possibly.

  A stereo cabinet sat in the corner, the hide of some exotic looking animal, maybe a tree kangaroo, mounted above it.

  Its music rack was loaded with an eclectic-looking assort merit of CDs, cassettes, and even a few frayed LP jackets.

  There was also a well-filled bookcase, a wooden model of an Arab sailing dhou placed on its upper shelf. Amanda recognized it as genuine Red Sea craftwork.

  Then there were the photographs displayed prominently on one corner of the desk. The two college-age boys and a younger girl, and an older picture of a lovely raven-haired woman.

  As for the man himself, Elliot Macintyre was somewhat more than average height, had broad, square-set shoulders, and a craggy solidity. His brown hair was graying and his face had weathered with long years at sea. Nonetheless, Amanda noted a younger man's vitality in the way he moved, and a youthful intensity in his dark eyes.

  "Captain Garrett reporting as ordered, sir," she said, her fingertips snapping to her brow.

  "Good morning, Captain," Macintyre replied, returning her salute.

  "Please, sit down. Coffee?"

  His voice was good as well, steady and deep with no hint of condescension.

  "Yes, sir. Thank you," she answered, sinking into one of the chairs facing the desk.

  Macintyre gave his aide a nod, then settled back into his own chair.

  "First of all, Captain," he continued, "I'd like to mention that your requal scores came across my desk this morning."

  Amanda straightened slightly. "Our observer team leader indicated to me that he was satisfied with our performance.

  I hope that you are as well, sir."

  Macintyre nodded. "To say the least, Captain. The Cunningham is hanging on to her E. You hit the upper ten percent in all divisions. Actually, closer to the upper two in most. Exceedingly well done. But then, that's what I've come to expect from the Duke."

  Amanda felt herself begin to flush. "Thank you, sir."

  "You may not want to thank me after this briefing is over.

  How soon can the Duke be ready to sortie?" Oh, Lord, here it comes, Amanda thought feverishly. They needed to get the ship pulled back together again after the conflag exercise. They needed to fully replenish. They needed to deal with at least some of their in-port maintenance

  backlog. Those of her crew who had dependents in Hawaii needed some kind of time to get them squared away.

  But there was also only one answer she could give for the Duke.

  "If we can get some help with our loading, sir, we can be under way by sixteen hundred this afternoon."

  Macintyre nodded again and smiled slightly. Amanda guessed that a check had just been made on a positive side of a column.

  "Very good, Captain, but things aren't quite that bad. I can give you a little less than forty-eight hours. We need you out of here by oh six hundred the day after tomorrow."

  Amanda released a mental sigh of relief. "No problem, sir."

  "Good enough. Here's the package. You're being deployed into the East China Sea to act as an independent intelligence-gathering platform. Once on station, you will monitor the developing aspects of the Chinese civil war, via both your ship's systems and the tactical sensor net you will be setting up.

  "Specific tasking orders will be issued to you through this command from the Defense Intelligence Agency, as the situation develops." The Admiral paused as his aide reappeared with a tray bearing two steaming mugs and the appropriate accoutrements, unobtrusively placing it on the desk sideboard.

  "Thanks, Simons," he said. "Cream and sugar, Captain?"

  "Yes, sir. Both."

  Macintyre served her himself. Amanda noted the touch of courtliness as he did so. It matched the way he had come to his feet when she had entered his office. Amanda, in turn, accepted it as her just due.

  Returning to his chair, Macintyre tilted it back to a comfortable angle.

  "The basic mission premise is pretty simple," he continued, following his first sip of coffee. "The tricky aspect is going to be setting up your remote sensors. The Duke will have to work inshore, inside Chinese coastal waters. Just how far inside will be left to your judgment and the tactical situation.

  "However, the very bright and very expensive people who designed this paraphernalia seem to indicate the closer the better. Your intelligence officer will be able to outline the exact parameters of the sensor-deployment envelope for you."

  Macintyre set his cup on the desktop. "Your mission profile may also include having to fly projection missions over the mainland with your helos. There will be some National Security tie-ins on this aspect of the deployment. Your intel will be able to fill you in on this as well."

  Her cooling coffee forgotten, Amanda frowned lightly and considered the mission outline he had just given her.

  "Once I'm on station, who will I be answering to in theater?"

  she inquired.

  "You'll be working inside Task Force 7.1's modified local operating area. You'll be drawing replenishment from them and, should this thing go to guns for any reason, you'll be under their tactical command.

  Beyond that eventuality, however, you'll be operating on your own recognizance."

  An independent command. The chance to cut loose from a carrier's apron strings and be a captain-under-God again.

  "The thing is," Macintyre continued levelly, "you'll have to develop a good operational relationship out there with Admiral Tall man. I know Jake. He's a good man. But we Flag types can be somewhat short when it comes to having an outsider rambling around in what we perceive as our territory.

  "Technically, you may not be under his command, but you sure as hell are going to have to work with him."

  "I understand, sir." Amanda nodded. "I'll do my best."

  "I'm certain you will, Commander. That's why I'm writing a comparatively junior officer such a massive blank check. Because I think she'll know all the right places to cash it."

  It wasn't necessary for him to mention that he was drawing that check on his personal reputation and that of his new command.

  Amanda knew that Elliot Macintyre had antagonized more than a few people in setting NAVSPECFORCE up the way he wanted it. Those people would be more than pleased to see this operation fall flat on its face first crack out of the box.

  "The Cunningham will
not let you down, sir."

  "I can't conceive of her doing so, Captain."

  "Does this operation have a designation yet?" Macintyre gave another nod. "Yes, it has. I chose it myself.

  Operation Uriah. Remember your Bible?" She did, and smiled as she made the connection. "Very appropriate, sir. Uriah the Hittite, sent to the forefront of battle. And I fully expect the Cunningham to be far more fortunate in danger than he was, sir."

  Amanda gave Christine Rendino a lift back to the ship following their briefing sessions. Lord! She'd have to find time to turn her car in at the leasing agency before they sailed.

  Just something else to have to worry about.

  At least they had forty-eight--no, make that forty-two now--hours to work with. A month's worth of preparation to complete in less than two days. But with her people, just maybe she could make it.

  "Interesting night?"

  "It certainly was, Chris. Who would have figured the Taiwanese would pull an off-the-wall stunt like this?"

  "Ahem, that was a query, not a statement. As in ' it an ...' "

  "It was all right," Amanda replied, striving to keep her voice carefully casual. "I just went out to dinner."

  "Now, why do I find that hard to believe?" Christine turned in the passenger seat to face Amanda. "Word is that you were wearing your blue China dress last night. You've shown me that outfit, Skipper, and that is not something you'd wear to ' a dinner.' "

  The blond Intel had her large gray-blue eyes locked on Amanda with the fixed intensity she reserved for an exceptionally interesting intelligence challenge.

  "Chris, what's this all about?"

  "It's not about anything, other than the fact that I'm an incorrigible snoop. Why do you think I chose this career path, anyway? Now, who's the new guy?"

  Amanda just managed to keep from squirming uncomfortably behind the steering wheel.

  "Chris, you know how I am. My affairs are my affair."

  Not exactly true. She and Chris had shared more than one port-of-call story over the years of their acquaintance. But, God, what was she supposed to say now?