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SPACE SHUTTLE GETTYSBURG HAS DEPARTED STATION AND ORBITING IN
PREPARATION FOR REENTRY ALL CONTACT LOST
. YOUR TARGET'S ELECTRONICS
HAVE PENETRATED GUIDANCE COMPUTERS AND TAKEN COMMAND. EXPECT
COURSE DEVIATION TO SET CRAFT DOWN IN CUBA AT 0340. SPEED CRITICAL. DIRE
CRISIS IF COMPOUND NOT DESTROYED IN TIME. LUCK.
"Nice of them to warn us at the last minute," said Pitt grimly. "0340 is less than two hours away."
Quintana looked at Kleist severely. "Can the Soviets actually do this thing and get away with it?"
Kleist wasn't listening. His gaze returned to the chart and he made a little pencil line that marked a course to the southern shore of Cayo Santa Maria. "Where approximately do you put the antenna?"
Pitt took the pencil and made a tiny dot on the sperm-shaped island at the base of the tail. "A wild guess at best."
"All right. We'll equip you with a small waterproof radio sender and receiver. I'll convert the position on the chart and program it into the Navstar computer, then maintain a fix on your signal and guide you in."
"You won't be the only one who can put a fix on us."
"A small gamble, but one that will save valuable time. You should be able to blow the antenna and cut off their radio command of the Gettysburg much faster than fighting your way inside the compound and destroying its brain center."
"Makes sense."
"Since you agree," said Kleist quietly, "I suggest you gentlemen shove off."
The special-purpose underwater transporter looked nothing like any submarine Pitt had ever seen. The craft was slightly over three hundred feet long and shaped like a chisel turned sideways. The horizontal wedgelike bow tapered quickly to an almost square hull that ended abruptly at a boxed-off stern. Her upper deck was completely smooth without any projections.
No man stood at her helm. She was totally automated with nuclear power that turned twin propellers or, when required, soundless pumps that took in water from the forward momentum and thrust it silently through vents along the sides.
The SPUT was specifically designed for the CIA to support covert arms smuggling, undercover agent infiltration, and hit-and-run raids. She could travel as deep as eight hundred feet at fifty knots, but also had the capability of running onto a beach, spreading her bows, and disgorging a two-hundred-man landing force with several vehicles.
The ship broke the surface, her flat deck only two feet above the black water. Quintana's team of Cuban exiles scrambled from the hatches and quickly began lifting the water Dashers that were passed up from below.
Pitt had ridden a Dasher at a resort in Mexico. A water-propulsion vehicle, it was manufactured in France for seaside recreation. Called the sports car of the sea, the sleek little machine had the look of two torpedoes attached side by side. The operator lay back with each leg stretched out in one of the twin hulls and controlled the movement with an automobile-type steering wheel. Power came from a high-performance battery that could propel the craft by means of water jets over smooth seas at twenty knots for three hours before recharging.
After Pitt proposed using them to cruise under the Cuban radar network, Kleist hurriedly negotiated a special purchase from the factory and arranged to have them flown by Air Force transport to San Salvador within fifteen hours.
The early morning air was warm and a light rain squall passed over. As each man slipped into his Dasher, he was shoved across the wet deck, over the low freeboard, and into the sea. Shaded blue lights had been mounted in the sterns so each man could follow the one in front.
Pitt took a few moments and stared into the darkness toward Cayo Santa Maria, desperately hoping he wasn't too late to save his friends. An early gull wheeled crying over his head, invisible in the murky sky.
Quintana gripped him by the arm. "You're next." He paused and stared through the gloom. "What in hell is that?"
Pitt held up a wooden shaft in one hand. "A baseball bat."
"What do you need that for? You were issued an AK-74."
"It's a gift for a friend."
Quintana shook his head in bewilderment. "Let's get going. You'll lead off. I'll bring up the rear and catch stragglers."
Pitt nodded and eased into his Dasher and adjusted a tiny receiver in one ear. Just before the SPUT
crew pushed him over the side Colonel Kleist bent down and shook Pitt's hand. "Get them to the target,"
