Weapons of choice

Smoke plumes from the older ships filled the sky as they drew closer. The beautiful, lilting prayers of his shipmates drifted up from below as they prepared to enter Paradise. The few Japanese on board had been banished below decks and he supposed they were making whatever arrangements their false god-emperor required of them. With so few of his former colleagues volunteering for this mission, the Japanese had been invaluable in keeping the ship running at a very basic level, and in coordinating arrangements with their own departed comrades on the three IJN vessels.

Out of respect for their help, Damiri had asked if any wished to surrender their will to Allah in the last hours of their life, but all had declined. He shrugged. There was no saving some people.

To still the drumbeat of his heart as the fatal moment drew closer, Damiri stepped out of the bridge into the fresh air and took inventory of the "damage" to the ship. Bullet holes, torn metal, scorch marks, shattered glass, broken masts and one particularly impressive shell burst had convincingly scarred the Sutanto. She looked like a veteran warship now-just the sort of thing to impress stupidly sentimental Westerners who, of course, could not know that Yamamoto's engineers had meticulously crafted every scratch and dent back at Hashirajima. Before packing the ship to the gunnels with high explosive.

He wondered how closely the Americans were reading the bogus ship's log he'd zapped over to them as soon as they drew into laser-link range. The answer came within a few minutes.

"Have you seen this, yet?" asked Commander Judge.

The lanky Texan was leafing through a printout of the Sutanto's log on the bridge of the supercarrier.

"Nope, not yet," Kolhammer said. "Something up?"

He watched on screen as the Sutanto passed the lead ship in the convoy, Halabi's stealth destroyer, HMS Trident. True to form, the Brits turned on a full salute. Just as typically, the Indonesians responded in a really half-assed manner, with almost nobody on deck to return the gesture. Although, given how badly shot up the boat looked, he could understand that.

"Ask the Sutanto to come around onto our heading," he said. "We don't need them threading their way through the convoy. They'll run into someone for certain."

As an ensign relayed the order, Judge walked over chewing his lip.

"It says here they only woke up five days ago, Admiral. Damiri has no idea how long they were out, but it couldn't have been that long, could it? They'd have died of starvation or thirst."

Kolhammer eased himself up out of a slight slouch. The Pacific stretched away forever under a diamond-hard sky. Not a single cloud floated over the dozens of ships beating their way back to Pearl.

"Well, what's the elapsed time on the ship's clock?"

Judge flipped over a couple of pages. He never looked happy dealing with hard copy.

"A hundred and thirty-three hours," he said. "Close enough to six days, which don't work for me, since we've been here for weeks now."

Admiral Spruance joined them from his perch by the lee helm.

"Is there a problem?"

Kolhammer chewed his lip.

"Ensign, why is the Sutanto still coming on? She should have changed her heading by now?"

"Sorry, sir, they have the orders."

Judge examined the printout as though he'd been handed a three-dollar note.

"I guess there could have been temporal as well spatial distortions," he conceded, without much enthusiasm. "If the Nuku ended up on top of that mountain, I guess these guys could have been thrown out of sync, you know, timewise."

"You don't sound confident, Commander," said Spruance. "Can I suggest we ask them to stop before they get even farther inside our lines?"

Kolhammer checked the screen again. The Indonesian ship was much closer than he'd expected.

"Have they increased speed?" he asked.

"Goddamn," spat Judge.

A small, perceptible jolt ran through everyone on the bridge who'd ever had to face a jihadi suicide run.

"What's happening?" asked Spruance, who couldn't help but notice the tension.

"Sound to general quarters," ordered Commander Judge. "We have a possible suicide run. All hands brace for impact."

"Comms," shouted Kolhammer, "patch me directly into the Sutanto right now."

Telltale static crackled over the loudspeakers as the Sutanto's obsolete communications net linked to the Clinton.

"Damiri, this is Admiral Kolhammer. Come to a full stop right now. Are you reading me? Come to a full stop right now or we will fire on you."

"Turn it off," said Damiri. "All ahead full. Allahu akbar!"

As the ship leapt forward he braced himself, imagining the eruption of white water at her stern. He was surprised to find himself a little scared, but he took solace in the confusion and fear that would now be gripping the Americans.

The Clinton rushed closer with every second. He smiled, at the wallowing buckets of iron around him. They seemed to groan at the seams as they poured on steam to escape.

"Look, my sheik, look!"