Shadow Flight

"Yeah," the shocked KA-6D pilot interjected, "we'd go for that."

"We're working them now," the controller responded. "Smoke flight, report to Captain Murchison in the ready room after you land. Switch to the tower."

"Wilco," Wellby replied, feeling the stress of the combat engagement. "Did Flannagan get out?"

A long pause followed before the stunned controller answered. "We don't know. The SAR helo is launching — it's airborne now."

THE BEACH

Steve Wickham released the trigger on his water tow, slowing to a halt forty yards from the gently sloping beach. He had worked his way cautiously through a narrow gap in the coral reef. Now he let his legs sink, feeling for the sandy bottom of the small inlet.

His swim fins touched bottom in what Wickham figured to be about four feet of water. The agent purged the saltwater from his nostrils and mouth, then listened for any sign of activity. He studied the beach carefully in both directions and spotted the point where he wanted to slip out of the water. Pulling the trigger again, he aimed for a wide stretch of sand leading to a large guava thicket.

When he felt his knees drag bottom, Wickham stopped, slipped off his fins, and walked ashore. He hurried across the beach, carrying his fins and tow vehicle, then slowed at the edge of the sand dunes adjacent to the guava thicket. He flinched as he walked through an area of salt grass and prickly pears. Swatting away a couple of sand fleas, he trotted the last few yards to the thicket.

The agent caught a whiff of eucalyptus as he settled into the thick foliage. The scent reminded him of Grenada. After catching his breath, he stripped off the wet suit, opened his sealed equipment bag, and changed into the dry peasant clothing. After tying his boots, he concealed his gear carefully, strapped his tactical knife to the calf of his right leg, then placed the 9mm Excam into the holster at the small of his back.

Wickham looked at his watch, unstrapped it, and placed it in his shirt pocket. He checked his small compass and dropped it in the pocket, too. He felt confident that he could traverse the distance to San Julian by 3 A. M.

He placed the small, lightweight satellite transmitter in a pocket of his baggy khaki trousers and donned his tattered straw hat. He slid the compact television camera into the specially sewn pocket in his pants, checked his camouflaged tow vehicle and wet suit, then set off for the Cuban air base.

THE SITUATION ROOM

The president, vice president, secretary of defense, security adviser, CIA director, and Joint Chiefs of Staff listened to the seasoned, articulate commanding officer of the Naval Strike Warfare Center, referred to as Strike University.

The rugged-looking captain, who had been initially taken aback by the disclosure of the B-2's whereabouts, explained the intricacies of the various missions the carrier groups could support. He outlined the latest improvements implemented to standardize air wing training, then explained their basic strategy.

"In this type of situation," the confident pilot said, "we would use two carrier battle groups. One group, augmented by shore-based forces, would be assigned the task of defending our southern coastline. The second group would support the type of operation selected to neutralize or recover the B-2. We can fly air strikes, or supply close air support if you elect to shell the airfield… or invade the island."

The captain hesitated, waiting for an indication of the preferred course of action.

"Captain," the president said in a friendly tone, "Secretary Kerchner and the Joint Chiefs have expressed their opinions in this matter. You're the current expert. What do you recommend?"

The captain paused a moment, seeking to formulate a politically astute answer.

"I apologize for putting you on the spot," Jarrett said when he saw the officer tense. "We recognize your splendid record, including combat duty, and I would appreciate your thoughts on the situation."

"Mister President," the captain replied, measuring his words carefully, "our naval and marine forces can provide three basic capabilities in this particular situation. One, we can use a battleship to shell San Julian… take the least number of casualties. However, we cannot predict the outcome if we don't have precise targeting coordinates. Even if we did know the exact location of the B-2, it might be fortified beyond our conventional capability." The pilot glanced at the chief of naval operations, who nodded in agreement.

"Second, we can fly heavy strike missions against the base. Again, we can't be sure of the results, and we run the risk of losing a lot of aircraft, and the crews. And there's an additional factor to consider with this type of operation — some of the pilots would undoubtedly become prisoners."

The captain concealed his uneasiness. "The third option, in my opinion, is the most desirable and provides the best chance for success."

"Please continue," the president said, seeing the officer hesitate again.