Designated Targets

“Sounds like we’re game-on, then, Mr. Howard. I’ll be there right away. Better set up a laser link connecting us to the Admiralty.”

She acknowledged the message and left her ops coordinator to carry on with the mission plot, although she suspected that circumstances might have just cut short their cruise to the Norwegian Sea.

It was a short walk to the CIC, which sat in the Trident’s central hull. Sailors and officers bustled through the companionway, already alerted to the possibility of action. Footsteps padded along the composite decking at double time. The rude, northern brogue of her boat chief Dave Waddington could be heard all the way over in the portside hull as he rousted a couple of slackers. The ship herself thrummed as the engine room spooled up in readiness. Halabi listened with approval to the whirr of Metal Storm pods and laser packs deploying from their recessed silos.

Unfortunately the increased tempo also served to remind her of how naked the ship felt. Her offensive capabilities were almost played out. She reminded herself again that she had only six ship-killers and four antisub missiles left. Every station was occupied in the cool blue cavern of the CIC when she arrived. The huge battlespace monitors on the wall at the far side of the room told her that the waiting was over, even before her executive officer arrived to confirm it. Dozens of e-tags on the computer map of Europe were in motion now. Data notes affixed to each tag scrolled through unit designations, capabilities, and the presumed role that unit would play in the coming invasion.

“They’re surging,” said the XO. “There’s a lot of activity on the coast, in the ports, but mostly it’s still inland, at least for now, as they’re moving into position for the jump-off.”

“Thank you, Mr. McTeale. Are we feeding this back to Admiralty?”

“Live and in color, without commercial breaks, ma’am.”

“Whom do we have there interpreting for them?”

“Lieutenant Williams, Captain. He just got into London this morning, but he’s had a few sessions up there already. They’ll listen to him.”

“Of course they will,” she said. “He took a blue in beer drinking at Eton. Speaking of which, best ping Major Windsor and get him up here. I suspect his little jaunt is about to go wobbly.”

“Aye, ma’am,” said McTeale. “About that, there’s this business of the data burst. I suggest you have a shufti in your ready room, Captain. It might be hot.”

Halabi knew better than to second-guess her exec. “Okay. I’ll make it quick.

“Mr. Howard,” she called out to her intel chief. “You’re with me. McTeale, I’ll leave you here to keep an eye on all this. Ping me if any more nasty surprises develop. Have Major Windsor join me in the ready room.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

She spun out of the CIC with Lieutenant Howard in tow. They found the SAS officer waiting at her door with Lieutenant Poulsson, the Norwegian commando.

“What is happening, Captain?” asked Poulsson. “Has the invasion begun?”

“Pretty much so, Lieutenant. You’d best join us, too, I suppose. Is that all right, Mr. Howard?”

“Actually, I think Lieutenant Poulsson needs to see this, ma’am. It partly concerns his mission.”

They squeezed into the small space, where a flat screen was already displaying some of the data burst that had arrived without warning. Halabi closed the sliding door behind them.

“So what am I looking at, Marc?”

“A rare bounty or a giant con, Skipper. It’s a file dump. A big one. There are hundreds of subpackets I still haven’t decompressed and decoded. Mostly they’re in German, but there was one attachment in English. Here.”

The intel boss brought up a simple text message:

Attention Trident. Attached you will find information detailing accelerated weapons programs of the Reich Armaments Ministry. Also, some details of Operation Sea Dragon, the early phases of which you will have now detected. Do not contact me. I shall contact you when possible.

“I see,” said Halabi. “What’s your first reaction Marc? Is it for real?”

Lieutenant Howard chewed his lip. “My gut feeling is yes, it’s real. It’s come in via a secure Fleetnet channel the Germans probably wouldn’t know about. I haven’t had time to check, but I think it’s one of the subroutines we authorized for the Sutanto.”

“Which the Japanese got.”

“Right. And they stripped her. This guy has access to a pad, too. He’s figured out how to use the secure links, or somebody’s told him. There’s no indication of who he is or why he’d do this, but anything’s possible. Maybe he was a Rommel fan.”

“They’re all dead,” said Harry.

“I am sorry,” Poulsson interjected, “but where do we come in? You said there was something of relevance to our mission.”

“My German isn’t up to much beyond getting into trouble at Oktoberfest,” said Howard, “but one of the highlighted files was this.”

A new window jumped to the front of the screen.

“Holy shit,” said Harry.

They all turned to him.

“My German is fine,” he said, “And that’s a document about the heavy water plant. Do you mind?”