CARRIER 10: ARSENAL By: Keith Douglass

some ways they can hurt us slow us down, at least. What if they get in

our way? We have to avoid them, don’t we? Especially given this

morning’s events. Add the fact that they can carry Stingers on board,

and we’ve got a real problem.”

“How much trouble is one Stinger? They’ve got a range of less than two

miles.” The TAO frowned.

“Maybe, maybe not. Remember the speculation on the TWA downing, that

it was done by a longer-range Stinger, an improved version of the one

we’re familiar with. Those little puppies are manufactured all over

the world now, and who’s to say there haven’t been some radical

improvements in them? Besides, what can you tell me about our hangar

doors right now?”

The question caught the TAO off guard. “The hangar doors?” He

shrugged. “Not much, I guess. They’re open right now, I imagine. I

have them open in this heat.”

“Exactly my point. What’s one Stinger shot into the hangar bay going

to do to us? How many aircraft will be set on fire and I assume it’s

still crowded down there before we get it put out? How much fuel will

go up in flames? And how many missiles are down there? Any? I know

that they’re not supposed to be, but” “I get your point.” The

operations officer looked thoughtful. “We may need to shut the doors

anytime small boats come around.”

“Then we end up with heat exhaustion. The temperature in that space is

gonna climb like a bat out of hell.” Batman looked grim. “Not many

good choices, are there?”

There were, he thought as he watched the operations officer stride out

of the room, hardly any good choices left in the world at all. Not

down here, not for the USS Jefferson, And not for one Admiral Edward

Everett Wayne, in command of Carrier Group Fourteen.

1400 Local (+5 GMT) Fuentes Naval Base Leyta looked skeptical. “You’re

sure about this?”

Santana nodded. “Completely. I’ve got four people who saw that

aircraft returning to the carrier, and there were no empty spots on its

wings. It hadn’t fired a weapon.”

“How could they tell? In foul weather, at some distance?”

Leyta looked doubtful.

“They could tell.” The quiet confidence in the man’s voice lent weight

to his statement. “The background you don’t want to know, but they

could tell.”

Leyta tossed the folder he’d been studying across the desk, wincing as

it collided with a pencil holder and spilled its contents all over the

floor. “It’s almost like the way we fight a war, isn’t it? Tossing

things around, wondering what they’ll knock over? Never really any

planning? So now what?”

Santana bent over and started to gather pencils up from the floor,

leaving the report facedown where it lay. “It depends. We can

continue to blame it on the Americans or we can use it against the

current regime. Either option poses problems.” He looked up at Leyta

and lifted one quizzical eyebrow.

“Starting with dividing our own movement,” Leyta said, finishing the

other man’s thought. “Regardless of how much we disagree about

methodology, Aguillar and I want the same thing a free Cuba. He just

wants it to be free under the United States’ protection and I want it

to be a part of the world. No more insularity; no more being a farm

plantation for the United States, either. A free Cuba, our Cuba. What

we always dreamed it could be.” He paused for a moment, staring down

at the report on the floor without seeing it.

“But you don’t care about that, do you? Not really.”

Santana shrugged. “You might be surprised what I care about. If I had

to pick sides, I’d be on yours, not Aguillar’s.

Although in this scenario ” Again, the shrug that resigned all their

fates to an indifferent god. “I’m not really sure what’s the right

course. Maybe we wait. The Libyans are only a means to an

end securing our freedom with superior firepower. Outside of that, it

makes very little difference to me who runs the government. As long as

it’s not Castro.”

“We wait,” Leyta echoed. It was something they were good at they’d

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