Sea and holding maneuvers, was the _Josef Dzugashvili_, a
hundred thousand tons of the finest aircraft carrier the Asiatic Combine
had produced, carrying close to a hundred Mig-72's and perhaps half a
dozen light bombers.

The _Josef_ had been operating there for nearly a week. The _Oahu_ had
been detached from the Atlantic Fleet only a few days ago, to combat the
possible threat. Maybe the ships were only acting as stake-outs for the
politicians, the Captain thought slowly. The tinder waiting for the
spark. And it wouldn't take much.

A curious pilot who might venture too close, a gunner with a nervous
temperament ...

And now, maybe, this was it. It had to come some day. You couldn't turn
the other cheek forever. And he, for one, was glad. He had spent almost
all his life waiting for this. A chance to get even ...

Davis opened the hatch to the wheelhouse and the Captain slipped in,
closing it tight behind him. It was pitch black and it took his eyes a
few moments to adjust to it. When they had, he could make out the
shadowed forms of the OD, the first class quartermaster at the wheel,
and the radarman hunched over the repeater, the scope a phosphorescent
blur in the darkness.

The ports were open in violation of GQ--it was a hot summer night--and
the slight breeze that blew off the swelling sea smelled clean and cool.
It was the only kind of air for a man to breathe, the Captain mused
abstractly.

He glanced sharply through the ports. There was nothing that bulked on
the dark horizon, and so far as he could tell, all the stars were
fixed--there were none of the tell-tale flashes of jet exhausts.

He walked over to where the OD stood by the radar scope, seemingly
fascinated by the picture on it. McCandless had the watch, a young
lieutenant of not more than twenty-five but one with good sense and
sound judgment nonetheless. A man who wasn't prone to panic, the Captain
thought.

"What's the situation, Lieutenant?"

McCandless' voice was nervous. "I'm not exactly sure, sir. Not ... yet."

A brief regret at an interrupted dream of Ohio flickered in the back of
the Captain's mind.

"What do you mean, you're not sure?" His voice was a little sharper
than he intended, a little more querulous than he had meant it to be. It
was, he thought, the voice of an old man, annoyed at having his sleep
disturbed.

[Illustration]

The younger man wasn't disturbed by the sharpness and the Captain's
estimation of McCandl