Weapons of choice

Halabi threw a glance at the two monitors that normally pumped out CNN and BBC World News. The screens were blue, with only two words displayed in plain white type.

NO SIGNAL.

"I suppose GPS is gone, too, then," she said, without emotion.

"That's correct, ma'am."

"Captain Halabi," an ensign called out. "We've acquired significant and increasing volumes of naval gunfire. Some of it incoming. Basic munitions, nothing augmented. It hardly seems directed at all. Laser packs are cycling through the priority targets, but there's a lot of it, ma'am. They just neutralized a very large volley from two platforms. Posh determines that Siranui was the target. Metal Storm will be coming online soon."

As if to punctuate this statement, they heard the first clip from the Trident's secondary Close-In Weapons System tear into the night. Even though the CIC was sheltered deep in the central hull, there was a quick metallic ripping noise as 734 projectiles were vomited from two concentric, counter-rotating muzzle rings. This was caseless ammunition, fired electronically rather than by percussion, using a square-shaped combustible propellant wrapped around a fifty-grain bullet. The propellant burned bright yellow so that the effect, when viewed with the naked eye, suggested a small comet leaving the stubby gun mount and streaking away on a thin stream of light, to explode upon contact with its designated target.

After the first clip, further loads were triggered every five to fifteen seconds. Halabi and Howard exchanged a look. Metal Storm was meant to deal with missile swarms, which very rarely consisted of more than twenty or thirty targets. There seemed to be hundreds of warheads assaulting their protective cocoon at that moment. If they allowed this to continue, they would quickly deplete their defensive stocks.

Halabi nodded at the holobloc.

"I want you to pull in close on that ship, Commander, the one that seems to have tangled with Leyte Gulf. Best we know what we're dealing with before we deal with it."

Howard quickly adjusted the magnification, zooming in to a virtual height of only sixty meters above the heavily damaged bridge of the vessel before panning down her length to the stern, where the drones' low-light amplification lenses had no trouble rendering a crisp, clear monochrome view of the Stars and Stripes.

As more than a dozen pairs of eyes focused on the scene, Captain Halabi drew in her breath with a hiss. The Leyte Gulf had, indeed, become entangled with a vintage warship of some sort, and as they watched the rear turret of the old-time cruiser tracked around to bear on the stern of the Gulf.

"Weapons!" Halabi barked out.

"Aye, Captain," replied a brusque Glaswegian voice.

"Can we get a laser pod to lock on that rear gun turret?"

The chief weapons sysop, Lieutenant Guy Wodrow, frantically worked his laser station, but the grim set of his mouth gave the answer away.

"Sorry, Captain, but we're directly blocked by the Leyte Gulf herself. The Moreton Bay, too. Ipswich has a clear shot, but her laser packs are fully engaged for the next five to six seconds."

At that moment, weapons fire erupted in the holobloc image. Halabi spoke in a flat, monotone. "It doesn't matter now."

She watched without registering any emotion as the smoke cleared from the rear deck of the Leyte Gulf. Or what was left of it.

HMAS HAVOC, 2245 HOURS, 2 JUNE 1942

He found Captain Willet hovering over the holobloc, chewing on her bottom lip, which Harry recognized as a definite warning sign. In fact, the submarine captain looked ill. Her features were taut. Dark smudges stood out under her eyes, and her face had an unhealthy, malarial, tint. He knew he didn't look much better. Nobody he'd passed on his way up from the mess did.

Willet was deeply engaged in a conversation with the boat's chief petty officer, an Old Navy man with faded tattoos covering most of his forearms and the backs of both hands. The Havoc's CO waved the English warrior prince over to the impromptu O Group. Harry caught the last part of a question Willet had directed to her intel boss, Lieutenant Amanda Lohrey.

"What have we got then, Amanda? Lost Chinese. Javanese pirates?"

But there was only an embarrassed silence to answer her. Nobody seemed able to find the words to explain what the holobloc-and their own eyes-were telling them.

"Well?" pressed the Havoc's captain, who could see the display as well as anyone. She looked from one person to the next.

Her chief petty officer coughed, almost apologetically, but still said nothing.

"C'mon, Chief," she coaxed. "Give it up for your old lady."