“Message from Captain Halabi, sir,” the communications officer announced. “Two potentially hostile aircraft have changed course, and are moving in our direction.”

“Acknowledged,” said Sheehan.

Lieutenant Nguyen stretched her neck and back muscles. Her seat was comfortable, but she’d been sitting in it for hours.

She watched her main screen as the two contemporary destroyers piled on speed and hove to. The ships were visible in four separate windows.

“They’re placing themselves between the threat and the convoy,” said Sheehan.

“What’s the point?” asked Nguyen.

Sheehan patted her on the shoulder.

“You really don’t have salt water in your veins do you, Lieutenant?”

HMS TRIDENT, 2143 HOURS, 20 JUNE 1942

“What are those ships doing?” Halabi demanded.

She was in the CIC, below the waterline, but she could see the destroyers on any number of screens through the center.

“Their job, Captain,” said Rear Admiral Sir Leslie Murray.

“No, they’re not. Tell them to resume position. I can’t have your bloody ships tearing all over the ocean. Everybody holds position and everybody gets to go home in one piece.”

The mood in the CIC was thoroughly unpleasant. Sir Leslie was entirely to blame for that. He’d insisted on coming, even produced a cable from Winston Churchill ordering him aboard the Trident. Halabi had relented, against her better judgment, and had been regretting it every day since.

A Welsh voice rang out. “Contacts will be within visual range of the convoy within five minutes, ma’am.”

“Targets acquired and missiles on the rack, Captain.”

Halabi was disinclined to waste two perfectly good antiair missiles to bring down a couple of canvas-and-balsa-wood kites. She ignored Murray’s irritating presence to her left and thought it through. They were deep in Japanese-controlled waters. The aircraft had probably been vectored onto them after coast watchers had spotted the convoy. They were passing through one of the most populated archipelagos in the world. This wasn’t really a stealth operation.

Halabi checked the mission clock on the main screen.

The advance teams were already on the ground in Singapore. They’d been there for nearly a day.

“What’s going on, Halabi,” said Rear Admiral Murray. “Are you going to see off these Japs or what?”

“Tell your ships to resume their position and please sit down where I told you, Sir Leslie. We’re about to get busy.”

She returned to her command seat and took one last look at the disposition of her forces. Sir Leslie was, with much bad grace, speaking into a microphone, telling the captains of the Rockingham and the Sherwood to resume their previous stations.

“Four minutes until they see us, Captain.”

“Weapons,” she called out.

“Aye, ma’am!”

“Power up the autocannon, high-explosive antiaircraft ordnance, and slave to the Nemesis arrays. Sensors!”

“Aye, ma’am!”

“Try get a lock with the long-range mast-cams. Let’s get a peek at them.”