The fire on Nimitz was out within an hour. With no aircraft aboard, there were few combustibles about, and the ship's firefighting abilities equaled that of a large city. Toland brought her back to an easterly course. Saratoga was recovering aircraft, refueling them, and sending all but the fighters to the beach. Three frigates and a destroyer lingered to recover survivors, as the large ships turned back toward Europe.
"All ahead full," Svenson ordered from his seat on the bridge. "Toland, you all right?"
"No complaints." No point in it, the ship's hospital was more than full with hundreds of major injury cases. h hundreds of major injury cases. There was no count of the dead yet, and Toland didn't want to think about that.
"You were right," the captain said, his voice angry and subdued. "You were right. They made it too easy and we fell for it."
"There'll be another day, Captain.,,
"You're Goddamned right there will! We're heading for Southampton.
See if the Brits can fix anything this big. My regulars are still busy aft. Think you can handle the conn a little longer?"
"Yes, sir. "
Nimitz and her nuclear escorts bent on full speed, nearly forty knots, and rapidly left the formation behind. A reckless move, racing too fast for antisubmarine patrols, but a submarine would have to move quickly indeed to catch them.
"I know that was a fighter, and there had to be more than one," Edwards said. It was raining again, probably for the last time. The clouds to the southwest were breaking up, and there was a hint of clear sky on the horizon. Edwards just sat there in his helmet and poncho, staring into the distance.
"I suppose you're right, sir," Smith replied. The sergeant was nervous. They'd been on this hilltop for almost twenty-four hours, a long time to be stationary in hostile country. The best time to move out would have been during the rain showers, when visibility was cut to a few hundred yards. Soon the sky might be clear again, and it wouldn't get dark again for quite a while. As it was, they sat on their hilltop in camouflage ponchos that kept them partly dry and wholly miserable.
There was a heavy shower north of them that prevented their seeing Reykjavik, and they could barely make out Hafnarfjordur to the west, which worried the sergeant, who wanted to know what Ivan was up to. What if they detected Edwards's satellite radio and began to triangulate on it? What if there were patrols out?
"Lieutenant?"
"Yeah, Sarge?"
"We got those phone lines on one side of us, and those power lines on the other-"
"You want to blow some up?" Edwards smiled.
"No, sir, but Ivan is going to start patrolling them soon, and this ain't a very good place for us to make contact."
"We're supposed to observe and report, Sarge," Edwards said without conviction.
"Yes, sir."
Edwards checked his watch. It was 1955Z. Doghouse might want to talk with them, though they hadn't called in to him yet. Edwards broke the radio out of the pack again, assembled the pistol-grip antenna, and donned his headset. At 1959 he switched on and tracked in on the satellite carrier wave.
"Doghouse calling Beagle. Doghouse calling Beagle. Do you copy? Over."
"Well, how about that." He toggled the Transmit switch. "Roger we're here, Doghouse."
"Anything new to report?"
"Negative, unless you want to know about the rain. Visibility is down. We can't see very much."
The communications watch officer at Doghouse looked at a weather map. So it really was raining there. He hadn't been able to convince his boss that Beagle could be trusted. Edwards had answered the questions that the counterintelligence guys had come up with. They'd even had a voice-stress analyzer handy to check the tapes of his answers. The needle had pegged on the last answer about his girlfriend. That hadn't been faked. Copies of the relevant parts of his personnel package had been faxed to them. Upper fifth of his class at Colorado Springs. Good in math and engineering studies, did extremely well in his post-graduation studies in meteorology. His eyesight had worsened slightly during his tenure at Colorado Springs, becoming just bad enough to keep him from flying. Regarded as quiet and shy, but evidently well liked by his classmates. Not a warrior type, the psychological profile said. How long would the kid last?
