“Perhaps,” said Morgan, “but they may have just come at you all the same. I put him up to it, Mum. I gave him a good nudge in the ribs about letting those destroyers get too close.”
“True enough,” MacRae agreed. “But the responsibility is still mine. I’m Captain of Argos Fire, and it was my decision.”
“Well what about the British?” said Elena. “They have battleships south of us in that detachment, correct? They can defend themselves?”
“Aye, they’ve Queen Elizabeth and Malaya south of us, with three cruisers, and all with damage. They’ll fight if it comes to it, but I think we owe them the benefit of anything we can do.”
“What do you propose?”
“A sheep dog isn’t worth the hair on his back if he’ll cut and run from the wolves, Elena. We started this, I started it, and there it is. I can’t see as though I’d do anything different, except perhaps ask the good Admiral if he’d mind assigning us a carrier. But it seems they deemed the air threat low on this heading. I suppose he was correct, until I stuck my thumb in it.”
“So now what? That doesn’t answer my question, Gordon.”
“So now we fight, Madame. It’s just that simple. A man in a bar got in my face and I gave him a good hard shove on the shoulder. Who knew he’d come at us with half of windy Wales?”
“How many missiles can we afford to use here?”
“I suppose that will depend on how much backbone they have out there. We might hit them, and back them off if we do it hard enough. Then again, they just might get their dander up and come at us with everything they have.”
“That’s what it looks like now,” said Morgan.
“Damn,” Elena swore. “Seventeen missiles? Alright, Gordon. You can use seven. Those missiles are all that stands between us and a re-commissioning of Argos Fire as a cruise liner.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be that bad, but I take your point.”
“What about the helicopters?”
“I was just going to get round to that. We can put Hellfires or Sea Skuas on the X-3s, These are smaller missiles that might hurt their lighter ships if we need them. And they’ve a mean chain gun.”
“Use them if necessary, but keep them safe. Those ships have flak guns, don’t they?”
“That they do, so the Hellfires may not be the best choice here, They range out only 5 kilometers.”
“What about my birthday present?” said Mack Morgan.
“Birthday present?”
“Elena purchased a pair of Hellfire AGM-114N Thermobaric missiles from the Americans. They call them MACs.” He smiled. “They’ll suck the bloody air right out of one of those destroyers.”
“Wonderful,” said MacRae. “Eight kilometer range. No, we’d better use the Sea Skuas. We’ve four for each helo, sixteen in all since we have missile stocks left over from the bird we lost in the Caspian Sea. They’ll range out to 25 kilometers, which will be well outside ship flak defense of this era.”
“Alright,” said Elena. “Two helicopters, with four missiles each. The rest stay in the hold.”
“And so then what’ll we do if the 15 odd missiles you’re giving me won’t turn that fleet around? This is war, Elena. When we fire people over there are going to die, and when they shoot back there’s a chance people will get hurt or killed on our side as well. You brought the ship here, What did you expect?”
“Have the British been warned?”
“Fifteen minutes ago.”
“Alright then… Seven missiles. Eight on the helos. That’s all we can do for them here. Understand?”
MacRae looked at Mack Morgan, then slowly nodded. “As you wish. I know what’s in your mind. It was a bloody long war, but if we beat these fellows now, we won’t have to face them again later. It takes three or four years to build another battleship.”
“I understand, but we have to be cautious. Signal the British that we will engage, but we’re just one ship, a good ship no doubt, but we can’t win the whole thing for them. They’ll have to understand that.”
Back on the bridge the crew was silent as the three came in. They had seen Miss Fairchild in this mood before, and knew she wasn’t happy. Yet the Captain took his seat and immediately issued orders.
“Mister Dean, send down to the helo deck. I’ll want two X-3s up with Sea Skuas in ten minutes. Ready on the GB-7 system. Two missiles please. One minute delay between shots. Target the center of their formation so the whole lot gets a good look at the results.”
“Aye sir. Ready on GB-7.”
“You may fire.”
Dean looked at his CIC officer and seconded the order. The warning claxon sounded, the missile fired, and the battle was joined at 15:40, with the enemy fleet at 35 kilometers range, not far over the grey horizon.
“Sir! Mainmast reports a plane on the horizon. Very fast, sir, and dead ahead!”
“Sound General quarters,” said Laborde, looking at his Captain. “A spotter plane? Are ours in the air yet?”
“We’ve only just launched, sir.”
“Shoot the enemy plane down.”
