CARRIER 10: ARSENAL By: Keith Douglass

if they intended to approach from that direction, they would not have

been seen. Is that it?”

He nodded. “Perhaps you understand more than I believe.

I will have to remember that.” He turned back to his soldiers and

rattled out a harsh stream of commands, the words barely understandable

for the speed. She saw men move quickly in response, unpacking an

array of equipment from the back of a deuce-and-a-half that had

followed them down the rutted road. Metal stanchions, a bar of lights,

she realized suddenly. They were an older, less sophisticated version

of the very setup she used when reporting from the field. But surely

they wouldn’t “I think you will be able to get some exceptional footage

of this encroachment on Cuba’s sovereign soil,” he said, motioning to

his aide. “Now let’s get you in position. After all, what do they say

in America? The show must go on.”

2315 Local (+5 GMT) SEAL Team KHIB “Hurry up and get back before I run

out of gas,” the SEAL at the aft end of the boat grumbled.

Sikes glanced up at him from his position in the water, clinging to the

side of the RHIB. “You know what the plan is. If we’re not back in

three hours, you scoot back to the carrier. You got that?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The assent was perfunctory. Both men knew that, despite

his orders, the SEAL would no more leave his station before the team

returned than any one of them would leave a comrade ashore. Giving

orders was one thing making sure they were obeyed was another. And

Sikes wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

“Let’s go, then.” Sikes slipped his mouthpiece into his mouth and let

himself slip below the surface of the water. As the sea rushed up over

his mask, he saw the dim forms of the rest of his squad forming around

him. The only light was from dim stars overhead and the glowing

combination watch and compass on each wrist.

They formed up quickly, each man conducting a last-minute check for

safety on his partner, then broke into a single-file line to make their

approach to shore. After the first few minutes, Sikes settled into the

gentle rhythm. It was barely two miles inland, an easy swim in these

waters with flippers and masks. The oxygen tank on his back would be

more than enough. Getting in wasn’t the problem getting out was.

2345 Local (+5 GMT) Fuentes Naval Base “Colonel, I have them.” The

Cuban enlisted specialist spoke quietly, a note of excitement in his

voice. He motioned toward his screen. “A heat spot.”

Pamela followed the colonel over to the equipment mounted on the

ancient jeep. “What are we looking at?” she asked.

“One of the latest advances in technology, my dear.” He pointed to the

small screen, which displayed various shades of gray. “It’s a thermal

imaging sensor. Superb for noting differences in the heat surface of

the water.”

“You can see swimmers?” She hated herself for asking the question as

soon as she asked it. Of course they could that was the purpose of

this whole evolution.

The colonel reached out and gently touched four white spots on the

screen. They almost looked like background noise, and it was only

after extended observation that one became aware that they were

consistently moving across the screen in a pattern and weren’t part of

the random noise generated in the moonless night by the cooling

ocean.

“Just one squad more than enough for what they wished to accomplish.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked calmly, dread trickling into her

heart. She’d seen war, she’d seen conflict, and she’d seen death and

would again, if she ever survived this venture. But she’d never been

on the other side, watching her countrymen cold-bloodedly murdered.

“You’ll see.” The Cuban colonel smirked. “It will not involve

casualties not unless they provoke us by coming ashore. A peaceful,

yet highly effective demonstration of Cuban military capabilities, one

they will not forget quickly.”

2355 Local (+5 GMT) 500 Yards off the Coast of Cuba As the gentle

swells turned to chop nearer to shore, the SEALs closed up again,