End Game by Dale Brown Page B

“Have the boat follow my beam.”
    He waited anxiously, lights trained on the seaman. The boat reacted in slow motion. Starship lost sight of the man for a second and started shouting. “Get over there, damn it! Get over there! Get him before he drowns! Come on! Come on! ”
    As the prow of the rescue boat came into view, the headbobbed back up. Starship saw someone in the boat reaching with a pole, but the man in the water didn’t take it. The boat got closer; one of the sailors leaned out toward the stricken man. Starship kept the Werewolf steady, trying to stay close enough to give them plenty of light but not wipe them out with the wash of the rotors.
    The man in the boat grabbed the stricken sailor by the back of the shoulders. He hauled him into the boat.
    Starship’s eyes were glued to the screen. He saw the head coming out of the water, and then the arms and the top of the man’s back—and nothing else.
    The man had been severed in two by the explosion.
    Bile ran up Starship’s throat. He threw his hand over his mouth but it was too late; some of the acid spurted out over his shirt. Eyes tearing, he tried choking it back down, struggling with his other hand to control the Werewolf.
    Â 
    S TORM PACED THE BRIDGE , ANXIOUS TO GET HIS SHIP SOUTH . The Abner Read was built for stealth, not speed; still, she could touch forty knots, a good speed for a small craft.
    Right now she was doing 38 knots. Even if they held that speed, it would take roughly five hours to reach the destroyer.
    â€œI’m going out for some air,” he told the others. Then he walked out onto the flying bridge at the side.
    No more than a platform that could be folded into the superstructure, the design of the flying bridge had been carefully calculated to have minimal impact on the Abner Read ’s radar signature. Not only was it the highest point on the low-slung ship, but it was one of the few dry and flat surfaces outside. The main deck sloped down and was often lapped with waves.
    The salty breeze bit Storm’s cheeks. The wind was coming up and he felt a chill. But it was a good chill, the sort of wind that reminded him why he’d wanted to join the Navy in the first place.
    The aircraft the Werewolf had seen near the oil tanker bothered him. It seemed similar to the ones they’d spottedthe night Port Somalia was struck. If it had been a little bigger, he supposed, it might have launched the torpedo itself.
    Maybe it was working with the submarine that made the actual attack. Or maybe the tanker.
    There’d been a tanker nearby when he lost the other submarine as well. This was a different ship, but the parallels had to be more than a coincidence.
    Didn’t they?
    The submarine might be the same vessel he had chased the other night, able to hide along the coast because its clever captain knew the waters so well. A Chinese Kilo, maybe.
    But then what was the aircraft doing? Was it Chinese as well?
    Storm decided the submarine was the key to the mystery. He would find it and then—since he couldn’t attack—he’d give the exact location to the captain of the Indian destroyer, who no doubt would be anxious for revenge.
    Assuming his ship didn’t sink before then.
    Storm allowed himself one more deep, luxurious breath of air, then went back inside.
    Aboard the Wisconsin ,
over the Gulf of Aden
2045
    D OG NUDGED THE M EGAFORTRESS INTO POSITION TO LAUNCH the first sonar buoy twenty miles north of the stricken destroyer. The Megafortress would set a large underwater fence around the area, waiting for the sub to make its move.
    â€œWhat’s the destroyer’s situation?” Dog asked Jazz.
    â€œNothing new,” said the copilot. “Still fighting the damage. They’ve had a couple of sonar contacts but they seem to have been false alarms.”
    As Dog and Jazz launched the buoys, Dish searched for the submarine’s periscope. A half hour later they