Rogue Fortress

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Jake Slate stood beside the Philippine naval commander, his arm shielding his face from the pelting rain. As he watched the fantail of the Gregorio del Pilar jerk and shake the helicopter, he balanced himself by extending his free hand towards a handrail welded to the converted frigate’s superstructure.

“Let’s do this,” he said.

“This is the limit of safety for helicopter operations,” the commander said in accented English.

“That doesn’t bother me,” Jake said. “I’m sort of an adrenaline junkie.”

The commander remained silent, and as Jake glanced at him, he shrugged his shoulders.

“That means I like adventure.”

“Every man likes adventure. Your plans appear to be of an entirely different category.”

“Let’s just say I’m fearless, as long as I don’t think about what I’m doing.”

“I was warned about your demeanor,” the commander said. “From what I understand, you rarely think about what you’re doing.”

“You have a point.”

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