End Game by Dale Brown Page A

voice neutral. “I don’t like those limits myself, but we’re stuck with them at the moment. Do you want me to follow the plane or to look for the submarine?”
    Storm, apparently interrupted, glanced at someone else on the bridge.
    â€œWe can continue to track him with our radar,” added Dog. “Out to about three hundred miles or so, maybe more depending on his altitude.”
    Storm turned back to the screen and raised his hand. “Hold on Bastian, hold on.”
    â€œHey, Colonel, I have the aircraft on the viewscreen,” said T-Bone over Wisconsin ’s interphone. “Computer can’t ID it, but it’s about the size of a Cessna. Two engines.”
    â€œYou think there’s a possibility that plane launched a torpedo?”
    â€œDoesn’t look big enough. Hard to tell from here, but guessing from the size of the engines and given his speed, I doubt he could have taken off with it. You might have a better idea.”
    â€œDoesn’t look likely,” said Jazz, who’d brought up some of the data on his screen. “If it’s a smuggler, he might have been working with that tanker. Might be a seaplane.”
    â€œI’m not positive it’s a seaplane,” said T-Bone.
    â€œThanks. Stand by.”
    He glanced at the video screen at the lower left of his control panel. Storm was still busy, so Dog used the circuit to talk to Starship. “ Wisconsin to Werewolf One . Starship, this is Colonel Bastian. How are you?”
    â€œBusy, Colonel; just coming up to the Indian destroyer now. But OK, sir.”
    â€œCan you give us anything else on that aircraft? Was he aboard that tanker? Next to him? Had he been in the air and en route south?”
    â€œDon’t know on any of that, Colonel. I’m sorry.”
    Starship broke to answer a communication from the destroyer; Dog heard him being directed to the starboard side of the ship, where the destroyer had several men in the water.
    â€œAll right, Werewolf One ,” said Dog. “Contact us when you get a chance.”
    â€œWerewolf,” said Starship quickly.
    â€œBastian?”
    â€œYes, Storm. Go ahead.”
    â€œConcentrate on the submarine. Where’s the Piranha?”
    â€œThe aircraft carrying it will be taking off in about an hour.”
    â€œHurry it up. Get it over there ASAP.”
    â€œRoger that.” Dog switched over to the interphone. “T-Bone, continue to track that aircraft Werewolf was after. Update me every few minutes.”
    Aboard the Abner Read,
off the coast of Somalia
2018
    S TARSHIP COULD SEE THE I NDIAN DESTROYER LISTING HEAVILY to its starboard side as he approached. The torpedo had exploded close to the hull, but either by deft maneuvering or good luck, the Indian warship had sustained only a glancing blow. That was still enough to do heavy damage, however, and the crew was working feverishly to block off sections of the ship that were being flooded.
    The Werewolf’s searchlights made small circles on the foaming waves near the crippled ship. A small boat had disembarked from the destroyer and was approaching the area. Starship dropped the robot aircraft into a hover, concentrating on illuminating the area near the boat.
    The Indian ship radioed to ask that he move toward the bow of the destroyer. It took a few seconds for Starship to understand what the radioman was saying through his accent.
    â€œRoger that. Moving toward bow.”
    Large bits of debris floated near the ship. The Werewolf’s search lamps caught a twisted pipe sticking out from the side of the ship, an obscene gesture directed back at whoever had attacked it.
    Something bobbed at the far right of his screen, just outside the area he was illuminating. He nudged the stick, moving the robot helo toward it and zooming his optical video feed to full magnification.
    A head bobbed in his screen.
    â€œ Calcutta , I have something,” he told the destroyer.