CARRIER 10: ARSENAL By: Keith Douglass

her senior-most guard.

The Cuban officer appeared startled, and his face contorted in a flash

of fury. “This was not part of” From off camera, Pamela persisted.

“Isn’t that correct?

You’re leaving me here as a hostage or as the first civilian collateral

damage. How can you justify that, given your party’s consistent

insistence on human rights policies in Cuba? Doesn’t using foreign

nationals as hostage shields, as was done in Desert Storm, cast doubts

on the legitimacy of your claims to represent the real Cuban

interests?”

The colonel covered the distance to the cameraman in five quick

steps.

He yanked the video cam out of the man’s hands and threw it to the

ground, then stomped on it. Pamela could hear delicate mechanical

structures twisting, cracking, and snapping.

As though nothing had happened, she held the microphone back up to her

mouth. “This is Pamela Drake, no longer reporting live from Cuba.”

“Come!” The colonel walked over to her, grabbed her roughly by the

upper arm, and started steering her back toward the battered jeep.

“What? You’re not leaving me here?”

He smirked. “And this is why women should not be involved in military

planning. There is no further need for that. Your live report

convinced them that you were here, and the satellite undoubtedly

confirmed it. They may see us move you, but they won’t take the chance

that it’s permanent. If they shoot now, they must do so believing that

they will kill you.”

1800 Local (+5 GMT) USS Jefferson The ocean churned against the

carrier, disrupted in its orderly sea state two march toward the coast

by the presence of the massive gray hull. While the carrier barely

deigned to acknowledge the long, slow swells, the SEALs Special Forces

boat tethered to the aft landing platform was another matter.

“Catch.” Sikes heaved his backpack down into the boat, flexed his

knees, and leaped lightly from the stable carrier into the pitching

boat. He took the impact mostly in his knees, consciously keeping his

body loose and relaxed as he hit, sticking the landing like an Olympic

gymnast.

“Catch, yourself,” Huerta snapped, thrusting the pack out toward him.

“Back in the old days” “I know, I know you weren’t sissies back then,”

Sikes interrupted, taking the pack. He slipped his arms through the

strap, buckled the waistbelt, then turned back up to face the admiral

on the platform. “We’re ready. Admiral.”

Batman nodded. “Get some good pictures. I want to be able to send

something home besides postcards from the ship’s store.”

“You’ve got it, sir.” Sikes turned to the rest of the boat crew and

assessed their readiness one last time. Everything was on board it had

to be. There was no running back to camp during the middle of a

mission to retrieve forgotten batteries or repair parts for neglected

equipment. Satisfied with the still, taut readiness he saw in his

teammates, he made a sharp hand motion to the coxswain.

The low thrum of the engine increased slightly, but not much, since

every orifice was sound-muffled. The engine noise was barely audible

over the sound of water slapping against the carrier, but that would

change all too soon. As soon as they put some distance between

themselves and the massive mother ship, every decibel of noise would

increase the possibility that they would be detected.

Sikes turned back toward the carrier, snapped off a last sharp salute

at the admiral, then settled into his seat. There was no need for

further orders. The mission had been thoroughly briefed, just as

thoroughly talked through and committed to memory. The team was

working like a well-oiled machine.

Twenty minutes later, they were four thousand yards off the coast of

Cuba. The sky was just starting to darken in the east, and shadows

were creeping away from the buildings he saw ashore. A few guards

walked the pier, and there was little chance that they hadn’t seen the

gunboat. Would they do anything about it? That was the key

question.

Their best estimate had been no. The Cubans weren’t likely to want to

provoke an incident just then.

Fine. So much the better. As soon as he established for certain that

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