0002 Hours; Zone Time, November 21, 2008
This was another of those things you could only practice in the simulator, the glowing blue dots of the runway and approach lights reaching out for the airplane that wasn’t really an airplane.
“Easy Vince,” Pinkerton chanted over the radio. “Easy … Easy … Easy …” Pink’s SPEED Cobra held off his starboard side, monitoring the approach.
Perhaps it would have been more sensible to have simply hit the chicken switch and bail out – but Vince Arkady was the stubborn, unsensible kind of aviator who fought for the aircraft.
They were over the approach lights. Over the tarmac.
The emergency vehicles parked along the edge of the runway flashed past, their blue blinker lights pulsing.
“Down to ten, Vince! Down to five! Keep the damn wings level!”
Of course, I’m keeping the damn wings level! Arkady snapped back mentally. The undercarriage on this thing is about as wide as a goddamn rollerskate!
Narrow-set wheels buffed the runway. Let her settle! Feel the load coming off the wings. Come back on the stick!
Remember she’s a tail dragger! Get her ass down! Down on three points. Power back! Brakes on!
Good girl, Jeannie!
That wasn’t so bad.
The tower ground controller interjected, “On behalf of the Singapore Defense Forces, welcome to Singapore, Commander
Arkady. We have a hangar and a security team standing by. Do you require a tow
vehicle?”
“Thank you, tower. Negative on the tow vehicle. I can taxi in. Standing by for
the follow-me truck.”
“Star Child reports they have a utility bird launched and inbound for you,” Pinkerton said, hovering down beside the taxiway. “I’m taking departure and returning to base.”
Arkady popped the canopy, swinging it aside. Humid or not, it felt good. “Roger that, Pink. Tell the ladies I’ll be home for breakfast.”
Sebangka Strait
0034 Hours; Zone Time, November 21, 2008
At anchor with their decks now brightly lit, the two PELNI ferries lay off the island. The sole survivors of the ill-fated transport force, they had now become floating prison camps for the Muslim militia they carried.
“Targets registered,” the Ranger NCO reported. “Ready to engage if we have to.”
“Good enough.” Stone Quillain leaned back in his tree crotch and propped his boondockers on a
convenient branch. “Looks like we got this thing just about wrapped up.”
“Yeah, maybe.” The ranger sounded dubious. “But we still have about five thousand hostiles just off the beach. Mind if I
worry about them a little?”
“Sure, if you fancy.” Stone removed a John Wayne bar from a MOLLE harness pouch and began to unwrap
it. “But this sort of reminds me of a situation General Pendleton had to handle once …”
The MV Galaxy Shenandoah
Off the western approaches to the Lingga Archipelago
0512 Hours, Zone Time, November 21, 2008
There was a hint of a coming sunrise and the dark of Lingga Island could barely be differentiated from the dark of the sea. The squall line had passed and the day promised to be a beautiful one.
The Shenandoah lay hove to, allowing the AAAV platoon to snort and growl its way back into the amphibious vehicle bay. With the approach of the Indonesian Government squadron, the commando carrier had hauled up the strait to the northwest. Neither the surviving rebels, nor the arriving government ships, would ever get a clear look at her.
“Captain Quillain reports recovery complete and the bay secured for sea. All
members of the mortar detail are aboard, present and accounted for.”
“Very good, Mr. Carstairs.” Amanda lifted off her helmet, relieving the strain on her aching neck. “What’s the latest sitrep on the Rebel transport force?”
“The ferries and the Teluk Surabaya have all been boarded and secured by the
Indonesians, ma’am. Survivor rescue operations are continuing.”
“Very good.” It was time for the Shenandoah to don her civilian identity and get herself elsewhere. “Lee helm, all engines ahead standard, civil power. Make turns for fourteen knots. Helm, steer three double zero.
“Mr. Carstairs, stand down from general quarters and flight stations. Strike all
secondary mounts below decks and reconfigure for covert cruise mode. Resume
running and deck lighting as soon we’re secure.”
“Very good, ma’am.”
Amanda unpinned her hair and shook it down around her shoulders. The helmsman
kicked up the binnacle and control lights to standard setting and, in the green
glow, she could make out Harconan leaning back against the chart table, his
arms crossed. He was smiling at her. “It was a privilege to see a master at work, Amanda. Thank you.”
“It’s what I do, Makara, and I am rather good at it, I suppose.” She shrugged out of her flak & flotation vest and stacked it on the chart table.
He shook his head. “I can’t help but think of what you and I could do with a ship like this. Consider the
possibilities! We could make Captain Kidd look like a Sunday school teacher.”
Amanda smiled, rather sadly. Nothing would change Makara Harconan, short of a
firing squad. “There’s no sense in starting that again, Makara.” She extended her hand to him. “Thank you for your piloting assistance back there.”
The king of the sea straightened and bowed over her hand. “My pleasure, my dear Amanda. And both Lo and I thank you for your assistance. We
may both rest now.”
“Admiral on the bridge!”
Footsteps sounded in the access passageway and Admiral MacIntyre pushed through the bridge light curtain. Christine Rendino followed him, as did a Marine security team.
“Well, you got to see your sea battle,” MacIntyre said ruefully.
