“Preparations for the Embassy evac are essentially complete, Mr. Ambassador. We’ll be ready to go when the time comes.”
“And that will be …?”
“All I can say is soon. A flexible timeline has been established for the
operation, dependent on a number of variables. We’ll give you a warning when we get the word.”
Christine looked at the impassive Kediri. “Mr. President, in a related question, have your people been able to establish
the status of that Indonesian frigate currently holding off Jakarta?”
Kediri shook his head. “The Surabaya Fleet Base has been attempting to raise the Wiratno all day. They
do not reply.”
“That’s unfortunate, sir,” Christine replied carefully.
Kediri grimaced. “This entire situation is unfortunate, Commander.”
Christine could only agree. “When the time comes, you, Ambassador Goodyard and the other members of your
government will be evacuated on the first aircraft. By our estimation that
should be the safest flight out. You’ll be moved from here in the main building to the rallying point in the compound
gymnasium and from there to the Osprey. Just follow your escort’s instructions and you should be fine.”
“And where will we be evacuated to?” Kediri inquired with a degree of suspicion.
“To Bali, Mr. President.”
“Bali?”
“Yes sir,” Christine nodded. “To the ships of the Regional Intervention Force in Benoa Port. That way we can
provide you with both the personal security and the command-and-control
facilities you’ll need to maintain your government while keeping you within Indonesian
territory. It wouldn’t be politically sound to have you declared a government in exile.”
“I feel Surabaya Fleet Base would be more appropriate,” Kediri said stiffly.
“But more dangerous for you, sir. Not all of the rebel commanders within your
military may have declared yet. Aboard our ships, we know we can keep you
alive.”
Kediri subsided.
“Our embassy will be moving there as well, Mr. President,” Goodyard said, placating. “A temporary matter for both of our governments.” The Ambassador looked back to Christine. “Will you be joining us, Commander?”
Christine shook her head. “No, sir. My people and the Marines will be going elsewhere.”
“I see.” He rose from behind his desk and extended his hand. “In case we don’t have the opportunity again, I’d like to thank you for all you and your people have done. You’ve given me a considerable education on a number of subjects.”
Christine accepted the strong handclasp. “You’ve been a good student, sir. It’s been an honor serving with you.”
“I take that as a great compliment, Commander.”
MV Galaxy Shenandoah
The Jakarta Approaches
2305 Hours; Zone Time, October 31, 2008
The wheelhouse of the Galaxy Shenandoah resembled that of most other large modern merchantman. It ran the full width of the superstructure, watertight weather doors opening onto the bridge wings, a broad paned windscreen providing a superb overview of the main deck and beyond.
It would take an expert’s eye to note that the windscreen was made of bulletproof armored glass and an electric drill to prove that the steel plating was underset with a thick layer of polymer armor.
In its standard operating mode, the bridge was sparsely outfitted in comparison with that of a warship. There was a combined helm and lee helm station, equipped with a set of remote engine and steering thruster controls, and a combined chart table and navigation systems console with a radar hood. A pair of raised swivel chairs stood ready for the Captain and the Watch Officer and the ship’s interphones and the TBS radio flanked the hatchway leading aft to the chart and main communications rooms.
This night, with business at hand, the conventional bridge instrumentation had been augmented by half a dozen of the ubiquitous milspec laptops. Velcroed to the consoles and tabletops, and networked into the Shenandoah’s integrated combat system, they stood duty as battle management repeaters, uplinking the data stream from the CIC.
Beyond the bow, a thick band of a deeper darkness lay across the southern horizon, a thin scattering of dim sparks glowing across it: the island of Java and the few surviving lights of Jakarta.
With all standard running and deck lights switched back on, the Shenandoah nosed in toward the coast at an easy eight knots, tracking on the standard harbor approach channel like any other foolish but innocent merchant vessel.
Her electromagnetic signature was also innocent. Electronics and signal Intelligence systems would register only a single, standard Decca navigational radar. The powerful night-piercing optronic sensors and the frequency-hopping data links that bound her to the remote eyes of her vigilant drone net were also undetectable.
Amanda leaned forward and studied the tactical display on one of the laptop repeaters. The Combat Information Center was the usual battle station for the captain of the modern man of war. It was the informational nexus point where a commanding officer could best “see” the battle evolve through the medium of the ship’s sensors.
But tonight, Amanda had chosen to start this fight from the traditionalist’s post on the bridge. MacIntyre was managing things in the Command-and-Control block, and she wanted to be topside. She wanted see her new ship through her first battle with her own eyes.
There was only a single surface contact hack on the miniature Alpha screen, circling slowly beyond the shipping channel and glowing the yellow of an unverified target. Amanda called up the signal Intelligence sidebar, watching the register of a sweeping radar beam.
“We’re being painted,” the watch officer spoke from behind her shoulder. “He knows we’re out here.”
“It seems so, Mr. Carstairs. And likely he intends to do something about us.”
“Begging the captain’s pardon, ma’am, but do we know which side this guy is on yet?’
“Not exactly, but he’s had all the opportunities he’s going to have to come to Jesus.”
She tapped in her command code, accessing the targeting designations. Using the laptop’s touchpad, she boxed in the Indonesian warship, shifting its threat rating from yellow-unknown to red-hostile.
“Mr. Carstairs, notify the moon pool that they are cleared to flood and to open
the belly doors. Arm all drop collars and configure for surface engagement. We’ll use the Mark 48s.”
“Very good, ma’am.” She could hear the subdued tension in the young officer’s voice. Probably this would be the first live fire order he had ever relayed. The first blood chit to cash. It was a rite of passage for all in the profession of arms. Amanda lay awake at night remembering hers.
