"Seahawk One, this is Bravo Command. Come up with anything yet?" It was
the radio beside Delta Captain Philip Sexton, who was flying copilot in
the Seahawk. Lieutenant Manny Jackson was pilot, while the airborne
tactical officer was Lieutenant James Palmer II and the sensor operator
was Lieutenant Andrew McLeod. "Any hint of unintelligent life down
there?"
"Andy says the damned radar's picking up too much chop, Yankee Bravo.
Don't think we're going to find these bastards. It's the proverbial
needle in the you-know-what. This baby finds subs, not dinghies. Looks
like all we're getting so far is fish scatter. Just noise."
"Then you might want to see if the IR will give you anything," came
Nichols's voice. "The fuckers have clamped down, total radio silence,
but they've got to be there somewhere."
"Roger, we copy. Don't know if we've got the sensitivity to pick up a
thermal, though. Not with this weather and sea."
"Copy that. So try everything you've got, even sonar. Or the mag
anomaly detector. Hell, try all your toys. These bastards are close to
slipping through, and no way can that be allowed to happen."
"You've got a rog, sir," Sexton replied. "I'll have Andy give the IR a
shot and see what we get."