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Yang turned to her. “I already have a target lock on the other vehicle. Upon your command, we can fire one of theDú-yátorpedoes.”
He was plainly eager to test the weapon—as was she.
But not yet.
“Patience,” Daiyu warned him. “Let them face any threat first. They continue to serve us well—as canaries in this dark coal mine.”
Yang acknowledged her with a grunt, but he was clearly not happy.
“There is no need for haste,” Daiyu assured him and stared up. “We are plenty protected.”
2:35P.M.
Struck by another deafening ping, Monk spun in the water. Trapped in the open, he knew he could never make it back to theTitan X. He searched for some refuge. He knew he had moments before the hunter judged him to be a threat and attacked.
The darkness added to his terror.
Then a small glow bloomed in the blackness, a fiery red eye. At first,he thought it was some feverish delusion. Then he heard an engine. A steady thrumming through the water.
He twisted that way, fearing the worst. As it drew closer, it revealed itself to be a small sub-shaped vessel. It sped along the surface, its underside lit by a blinking red light. A long stalk protruded into the water, ending in a football-shaped shadow.
Monk kicked toward it, putting himself in its trajectory. As it sailed toward him, another loud ping hit him. He was certain—or mostly so—that it hadn’t come from the vehicle sweeping toward him, but from below.
He kicked faster.
The blinking red eye sped toward him.
As the vessel swept overhead, Monk hooked his arms around its long stalk, just above the football-shaped sonar device. It was going fast enough that he almost lost his grip, but he hugged tighter. The vehicle dragged him along as it continued its pre-set course.
He stared up, wanting to pat the underside of the DriX. It was one of the two support vessels for theCormorant’s dive. In all the tumult, with the seas buzzing with similar autonomous crafts, no one had bothered to recall them.
He allowed the DriX to sweep him out to sea.
As it did, another ping struck him. He hoped that the patrols in the waters had already identified the two DriX as noncombatants and had learned to ignore them.
Keep doing that.
He held his breath and counted. The prior pings had come at regular intervals as the hunter investigated the anomalous shape in the water, trying to judge whether to attack or not. It was likely programmed to be judicious with its limited onboard armaments, not to shoot haphazardly at any moving target.
Like me.
Monk waited a full minute. When no follow-up ping struck him, he finally felt safe enough to shift his position. He got his fins under him and balanced atop the sonar buoy. He leaned out and pushed his head above water.
The LCAC loomed fifty yards away. Unfortunately, DriX would not circle that far out, but its path should brush close enough. Monk waited until the vehicle swept near the boat’s stern—then shoved off underwater.
Kicking hard, he swam the last twenty yards.
He safely reached the stern. Cables hung into the water, dropping down from an A-frame above. The launch-and-recovery system awaited the return of Captain Tse’s submersible.
Monk ripped off his mask and grabbed hold of a cable’s hook. Hauling himself up, he shed his fins, tank, and vest—but not before securing his pistol in his waistband. The boat’s idling water jets helped cover any noise. Overhead, two tall fans flanked either side, but their blades were not moving.
Monk shifted the shoulder strap of his rifle higher and set about climbing the cable. Once close enough, he swung back and forth, then leaped to a perch behind one of the giant fan assemblies. He crouched there to catch his breath and peered between the blades.
The long deck spread ahead of him. He searched for any movement among the scatter of equipment and drones. A large battle tank loomed next to the pilothouse. He waited five full breaths, squinting for any shift of shadows, listening for any whispers.
The deck appeared eerily deserted.
Then movement above forced him lower.
