Chapter 26
Paul and Gamay learned they were the volunteers Kurt had in mind when Joe arrived with their coats and hats.
It made sense. Paul had become the resident expert on drone operations and a couple strolling arm in arm along the waterfront was far less likely to draw attention than Kurt and Joe in their NUMA fatigues.
With their civilian clothes on, Paul and Gamay took the gangway down to what was now a crowded dockside.
Thirty to forty people were milling around at the side of the ship, half of them the ship’s crew, the other half contractors from the harbor town.
They were grouped together in front of the damaged sections of the hull, inspecting what they could and talking about repairs.
Upon reaching the dock, the captain had transferred significant ballast to the opposite side of the ship, rolling it off an even keel in the opposite direction.
Tilted this way, the damaged hull sections were partially exposed.
The wounds were jagged scars. The repairs appearing little more than temporary bandages.
While the holes weren’t as large as Paul had imagined, the twisting action of the penetrators entering and then hydraulically forcing their way back out of the ship ripped the hull plating, bending it outward in a four-point, starlike pattern.
The ship would need to find a dry dock for permanent repairs, but to reach one they’d need something sturdier than what Joe and the repair teams had been able to cook up on board.
A shiver ran down Gamay’s spine and it wasn’t the cold air. “I’m glad I didn’t know how bad it was. It’s a wonder we didn’t sink.”
Paul nodded his agreement and turned away. He silently thanked the engineers for the strength of the ship and Kurt for his quick thinking. “We probably shouldn’t linger here,” he said. “In case we’re under surveillance, too.”
They left the dockside and made their way toward a row of small buildings, passing several taverns and other shops before beginning the long walk around the harbor to the far side.
It would take nearly thirty minutes to get in position, but the night was mild for a spot north of the Arctic Circle.
Cold to be sure, with several inches of fresh snow on the ground and piles of it where it had been plowed from the roads and shoveled from the paths.
But there wasn’t a breath of wind, and it felt good to be off the crowded ship.
Gamay put her arm through Paul’s and pulled him close. “I hate to say it, but Kurt was right again. There were a couple of people ready to get off the ship and walk around on dry land for a while.”
“Don’t tell him,” Paul said. “He’ll be volunteering us for things until the end of time.”
—
Back on the ship Kurt and Joe were now ensconced in the control room that had been home to Paul and Gamay for much of the past week.
Looking at a mapping system that was similar to those used on every smartphone, Kurt tracked Paul and Gamay as they made their way around the harbor.
After putting on a headset, he made a call to them.
“All right, lovebirds, we’re ready to launch the big noisemaker. How close are you to the Chinese ship?”
Gamay had the earbud in. She replied in a slightly muffled tone.
“We can see it from where we are, but we need to get a little closer. There’s a memorial garden for lost sailors up ahead.
It has several small monuments that are lit up and a gazebo and some trees.
We’ll wander that way and launch from there.
The Hawkeye Raptor should be airborne in about five minutes. ”
“Perfect,” Kurt said. “We’ll make sure they’re looking our way by the time your bird is in the air.”
Kurt turned to Joe, who had taken over Paul’s seat in front of the big screens. He had his own headset on and his hands on the controls. “Ready to launch Broken Mower One,” as he was now calling the loud drone.
“Take her up,” Kurt said. “Keep it over our deck for about a minute, as if you’re testing out the controls. I want the Chinese to know where it came from.”
Joe dialed up the controls and activated the rotors. Somewhere up above them the buzzard-sized drone roared to life and jumped off the deck. It rose vertically for a hundred feet, hovering over them as soon as it had cleared the highest point on the ship.
“Let’s see how she flies,” Joe said.
As he pushed the controls forward, Joe grinned at the instant response.
The craft handled like a dream. Modern drones were so light and powerful that they were shockingly quick.
There was no lag between throttle and response, no need to control or build energy like one had to in a helicopter or fixed-wing aircraft.
It was just point and shoot and the machine seemed to be already there.
Joe fiddled with it for a minute, as Kurt had requested, then moved it slowly forward as if inspecting his own ship. He put it back into hover mode as it reached the bow. “If the Chinese are watching they’ll have seen us by now.”
“Go rattle their windows and make certain of it.”
Joe moved the drone out of hover mode and took it slowly across the harbor.
Instead of going right for the Chinese ship, he took it toward a large fishing trawler that was flying a Russian flag.
It was the kind of ship the Russians used to gather intelligence, its bridge capped with an inordinate number of antennas and satellite dishes.
“The harbor is a little crowded today,” Joe said.
Kurt nodded. He wasn’t surprised to see the Russians here. But it wasn’t a welcome development. “Any activity on the deck?”
Joe saw nothing on camera. He toggled a few switches and then shook his head. “Just basic heat on the infrared scan. She’s running her engines at idle or using an APU. No one on deck.”
After a long slow pass over the trawler, Joe was ready to go buzz the icebreaker. He looked at Kurt.
Kurt tapped the radio switch, calling Gamay. “We’re about to get their attention. You guys ready?”
“Ready to launch,” Gamay said.
Kurt nodded to Joe. “Let’s go wake the neighbors.”
Joe turned the drone toward the Chinese ship, easing it along and keeping in on the bay side of the icebreaker. As he neared the bow, he turned the drone’s spotlight to full power.
—
At the memorial garden in town, Paul stood near a statue, pretending to admire it. He placed a set of glasses over his eyes and leaned in close to the placard describing the work of art, as if attempting to read what it said.
His right hand remained in the pocket of his overcoat, where it cradled a small controller.
At the press of a button, a heads-up display appeared on the glasses in front of him.
For now, it was only an artificial horizon and a few numbers showing the drone’s altitude at eleven feet above sea level, airspeed at zero, and heading at 090, or due east.
A second button activated the drone, which Gamay had hidden a few yards away behind another statue.
A tiny joystick on the controller handled pitch and direction.
A two-way rocker switch that his finger rested on controlled the altitude up or down, while squeezing the controller like the sprayer on a garden hose handled the speed.
Paul pushed the rocker switch upward, causing the drone to rise up behind them. Even at this range the machine was quiet. A slight rushing sound, like wind through the leaves, was all they heard.
Studying the drone’s view through the glasses, Paul maneuvered it over the garden, catching sight of himself and Gamay.
“What an attractive couple we make,” Paul said.
“I’ll say,” Gamay replied. “I could get used to you in those glasses. You look very studious.”
Paul grinned and maneuvered the drone. He took it back across the park, away from the waterfront, and then made it climb over the trees at the edge of the garden. When it was high enough, he turned it toward the Chinese ship, approaching slowly from the dockside.
—
Back on the Lyra, Joe was having so much fun flying the drone, he’d almost forgotten the plan. He made a few passes along the side of the icebreaker and then dropped down almost to the waterline, as if to inspect it closely.
When a group of crewmen appeared on the deck with flashlights and night vision goggles, he buzzed them and then turned back out over the sea.
The men ducked and scattered as the flying lawn mower raced at their heads.
Two of them turned to run in opposite directions, colliding like two members of the Three Stooges.
Kurt laughed.
“Too much?” Joe asked.
“They put three mechanical torpedoes into our side. No such thing as too much. Buzz them again.”
Joe did just that, though the men ducked in a more controlled and less comical style this time. As the drone passed, one man threw something at it, a wrench, or a pipe perhaps. The projectile sailed wide of the mark and vanished when it hit the sea.
“Let’s take a look in the bridge windows and see what’s happening behind the curtain,” Kurt suggested.
Joe took the drone out wide and then brought it back to the bridge, parking it loudly just off the starboard wing and moving it in tiny increments. There was no response.
“I was hoping for angry villagers with pitchforks and torches,” Kurt said.
“This is the twenty-first century,” Joe said. “For all you know, they might think we’re delivering pizza.”
Joe maneuvered to the side and brought it right up to the glass.
With a deft touch he tapped on the window using the drone’s nose.
A few baffled sailors stood inside. One took a picture with his phone.
The officer of the deck could be seen barking into a microphone, perhaps calling for an anti-drone weapon or some other defensive measure.
“Take it to the helipad next,” Kurt said. “Maybe we can make them think twice about flying that thing for a while.”
While Joe kept up the distraction, Kurt listened to the chatter from Paul and Gamay.
The Hawkeye Raptor was approaching the ship from the land side, moving slowly and silently across the trees.
With a flick of a switch, Kurt put the smaller drone’s view on his screen.
The icebreaker and the quay could be seen clearly in a wide-angle view.
At the same moment, the big drone was approaching the helipad. Joe parked it directly over the first of the two Chinese helicopters, hovering there until a door opened nearby and more angry crewmen came out. This time they carried guns.
Joe moved the controls to the side, peeling off and leaving the angry group behind.
“Good work,” Kurt said. “Bring the flying lawn mower home. It’s time to see what they do when they think they’re no longer being watched.”