CARRIER 10: ARSENAL By: Keith Douglass

“Shore,” Sikes said finally. He pointed forward in the fog.

Barely discernible was the dark outline of land. The SEALs made their

final preparations for disembarking, careful to keep metal from

hammering against metal and alerting a randomly patrolling sentry.

The boat ground ashore with a harsh rasp, small pebbles and rocks

digging into the thick rubber bottom. Minutes later, the boat was

dragged out of the water and safely concealed under a clump of brush in

a small grove of trees.

The eight SEALs broke into two teams of four, the first headed for what

satellite imagery showed as the new construction area. The second

group slanted away from them toward the highly fortified encampment

that intelligence specialists suspected contained the captive pilot.

They would meet back here in two hours, with or without the pilot and

with or without the information they were after.

0320 Local (+5 GMT) Fifty Miles North of Cuba The insistent beeping of

the ALR-45 radar warning and control system shattered the silence of

the cockpit. Gator moved quickly to silence the alarm, then called out

the identification. “MiG just watching.”

Bird Dog swore quietly. At this range, the MiG could be on top of them

in ten minutes. His orders were to avoid an actual confrontation with

any Cuban aircraft. It ate at his gut to have to run, but if he

allowed the Cuban to approach them, the other pilot would quickly see

through their deception. Still, to let the Cubans think that the mere

presence of this MiG could make the Americans turn and run was

distinctly distasteful.

“Bird Dog, get us the hell out of here,” Gator ordered.

“We could have some fun with him,” Bird Dog suggested. He held the

Tomcat steady and level.

“I mean it. You know what our orders are.” The RIO’s voice notched up

two notes on the octave. “There’s no point in being a diversion if we

blow it the second they come out to take a look.”

“But what would be a more realistic deception than to go toward the

MiG? The rest of the flight can turn tail and run, but the presence of

one aircraft lingering around here is bound to get ’em interested.

Besides, there’s only one launching, right?”

“As far as I can tell,” the RIO admitted grudgingly. “This is one of

your worst ideas ever.”

Bird Dog reached forward and flipped off the radios.

“Jefferson will see what we’re doing,” he continued blithely.

“If they want us to RTB return to base they’ll let us know.”

“Not with the radios off.”

“Who says the radios are off? Communications problems are not unknown

in the Tomcat, you know.” He could hear the RIO’s disgusted sigh over

the ICS-the interior communications system.

“You’re going to do this no matter what I say, aren’t you?” Gator said

finally. “To hell with your career, my career let’s give it all up so

you can play grab-ass with the Cubans. You’ve been missing that ever

since we were on patrol in the Spratlys.”

“Think of it as a diversion within a diversion,” Bird Dog suggested.

“The rest of the flight turns away, and I’m the diversion that lets

them go. It makes sense perfect sense.”

“There’s only one thing wrong with this plan. A really critical

factor.” The RIO’s voice was harsh.

“What’s that?”

“Somebody forgot to tell the Cubans it’s just a diversion.

What if they take it a little more seriously than that?”

0325 Local (+5 GMT) Fuentes Naval Base The SEALs slipped silently

through the vegetation, invisible in their woodland-patterned cammies

and face paint.

They moved slowly, brushing vegetation aside carefully to prevent

inadvertent rustling of leaves, watching where they placed their feet

in order to avoid twigs and branches underfoot. Not that the woodland

debris would have cracked under their feet the entire area was as

sodden, and as dark, as a rain forest.

Ahead of them, the wire-mesh perimeter fence barely reflected the

ambient light in a regular pattern. The SEALs crept up to within six

feet of it, still hidden by the underbrush.

The SEAL leader motioned to his second in command, using only hand

signals to convey his intentions. The other SEAL nodded, reached into

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