Carrier

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"Two bogies, Captain! Airborne, bearing two-five-niner, speed five hundred knots, closing."

Captain Gerald K. Gilmore leaned across the shoulder of the young radarman first class, his frown lengthening as he studied the radar screen. "Altitude?"

"Right on the deck, sir. I keep losing them in the wave clutter."

Chimera's exec edged closer, studying the hash of glowing fuzz scattered across the screen. "Damn, skipper. They're coming straight across the line!"

Gilmore nodded. "Sound general quarters, Will. Let's not take any chances."

"Aye, Captain." The exec's finger was already coming down on the panic button. A raucous clamor shrilled through the ship. He brought a microphone to his lips. "Now General Quarters, General Quarters! All hands, man your battle stations."

"Helm, come to zero-niner-five and bring her up to full throttle."

Through the deck, Gilmore felt the steady chug-chug-chug of Chimera's diesels increase in tempo, felt the heel to port as she went into her turn. Chimera was ancient even by Navy standards, built on an LST hull first laid down nearly fifty years before. She was weathered and sea-battered, and only small bits of white relieved her steel-gray monotony: the shallow, sky-staring dish of a satellite downlink and the designation RL 42 picked out in fresh paint at bow and stern. She was a lot newer inside, packed keel to masthead with the latest generation of advanced electronics. Chimera was a spy ship, designed to eavesdrop on conversations beyond the horizon. If this was an attack, she wouldn't stand a chance.

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