“I could use thirty mike for relief,” Chris Wohl, stationed on the port rail scanning the north for any signs of danger, radioed. That was no exaggeration, either—Patrick had seen Wohl go for hours after taking only a twenty-minute combat catnap. He seemed able to go indefinitely with virtually no sleep.

“I’ll be right up, Chris,” Patrick responded. He turned to David and said, “Ask Commander Farouk to get a party together to unload the barge.”

“Okay,” David replied. He paused for a moment, then added, “Sorry, Patrick. But I feel I had to tell you how I feel—I’m responsible to you and the entire team. I love Wendy. But I know what I’m talking about.”

“I know, Texas,” Patrick said. He unplugged himself from the wall outlet, reattached his exoskeleton, and put on his helmet. “We’ll find her, and then we’ll all go home—together.”

“Absolutely.” Patrick nodded, then went up on deck to relieve Wohl.

Chris gave him a quick rundown on the Egyptian Navy’s deployment around them. Directly in front of the El Arish about five kilometers away was the Damyat, a Knox-class frigate, turned head-on to the El Arish so both its 127- millimeter cannon and four fixed torpedo tubes were trained on the captured vessel. Flanking the Damyat were two British-built fast missile attack craft, the Ramadan and the Badr, each with one 76-millimeter gun, a twin 40-millimeter gun, and two Otomat antiship missiles trained on them. Patrick called up the tactical picture transmitted from the El Arish's Combat Information Center on his electronic visor to study the rest of the deployment. A mixture of exRussian and ex-Chinese patrol and fast attack boats surrounded them on all sides, with the heaviest concentration of ships between them and the base. Chris also briefed him on some of the crew’s activities—routine maintenance, systems checks, and cleanup details.

Patrick held out his hands. Chris Wohl deactivated the power on the hypervelocity rail gun he was holding, unplugged the datalink from the gun to his battle armor, opened the chamber to make sure none of the depleted uranium projectiles were loaded, then placed the weapon in Patrick’s hands. The electromagnetic rail gun fired nonexplosive projectiles at almost fifty thousand feet per second, powerful enough to drive the projectile through several feet of steel after flying more than three miles. Coupled with the sensors built into the Tin Man battle armor, the gun was deadly and effective to machines of all sizes, from ships to main battle tanks to aircraft.

Patrick plugged the datalink into his suit, chambered a round into the rail gun, made sure the safety was on, then reactivated it. It immediately reported “READY” on his electronic visor. “I relieve you, Sergeant,” he said, knowing the ex-Marine would like a formal guard post changeover.

“I stand relieved, sir,” Wohl replied. Even with the exoskeleton, he managed a salute.

“Looks pretty shitty, huh, Sarge?” he said to Chris Wohl, motioning to the Egyptian ships around them.