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Sitting the Alert wasn’t new to Colt, and he understood what DCAG was asking. An Alert 30 meant that aircrew could be anywhere on the ship if they could dress in their flight gear, man up their aircraft, and launch within thirty minutes. An Alert 15 required them to be in the ready room, already dressed in their flight gear, and launch in half that time. But the Alert 5 was the highest level of readiness and the most cumbersome for the pilots tasked with it.

“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have asked for my best.”

On an Alert 5, Colt would strap into the aircraft with all his systems up and running except for the engines. There was nothing fun about sitting in a jet that wasn’t flying for hours on end, and Colt wasn’t looking forward to it. But the prospect of launching to support a real-world operation intrigued him.

“What can you tell me?”

“You’ll get the full briefing tomorrow.” He looked around, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. “But just between you and me, you might be interested in seeing what flies out here in a few hours.”

“What?”

Cutty just winked. “You’ll see. In the meantime, do yourself a favor and go talk to Bubba in CVIC.”

If anybody could clue Colt in on what was going on, Ensign Dan “Bubba” Gump could. He was the Mace’s intelligence officer and practically lived in the Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility known as the Carrier Intelligence Center, or CVIC.

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Good man,” Cutty said, before turning to leave through the door at the rear of the ready room.

After he had gone, Colt watched the first Super Hornet go into tension on the television, then decided his time was better spent preparing for whatever was coming. A few other squadron pilots sat in their respective chairs reading paperback novels or studying tactics and ignored him as he walked past the duty desk for the passageway on the starboard side of the ship. The door closed behind him, and he turned left toward the blue tile of Officers’ Country.

Approaching midships, Colt ducked into the alcove for CVIC and entered his code to unlock the door with an audible click. He walked through the large open room into the back where the squadron intelligence officers worked.

During combat operations, the rooms were full of charts depicting strategic and tactical targets, but where they were operating near Taiwan, identifying surface contacts seemed to be the most important task. He spotted Bubba bent over a table, poring over photos of what looked like a naval base. Colt stood behind him and peered over his shoulder, wondering what the spy found so interesting in the art of studying satellite imagery.

“What’s that, Bubba?”

“Huh?” The intelligence officer startled but relaxed when he saw Colt. “Oh, I didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah, you were pretty focused. Where is that?”

“Yulin Naval Base on Hainan Island. Fleet intelligence thinks the Chinese are growing their submarine presence here, but I think there’s something else going on. If you look right here…”

Colt cut him off, uninterested in the People’s Liberation Army Navy order of battle. “Yeah, so anyway, what’s up with CAG assigning us Alert Fives?”

Bubba grunted. “That’s a good question.”

“You mean you don’t know?”

Bubba looked around to see if anybody else was within earshot before leaning in close. Like many intelligence officers, Bubba was a prior-enlisted sailor and understood the importance of scuttlebutt better than most. Like the water cooler in a modern-day office, the scuttlebutt — a cask used to serve water aboard sailing ships of old — was a common gathering place for sailors and a hub for gossip. Over time, the two became synonymous.

“We’re seeing a tremendous increase in signal and electronic intelligence coming in from various sources all centered on Hainan Island. That’s why I’m looking at these photos. I’m trying to figure out what’s got everybody so worked up.”

“But we’re not planning some big operation?” Colt asked, looking for confirmation.

“Not that I know of,” Bubba replied. “But look, there is definitely something brewing. We’ve been operating with the America for several weeks, and they just departed station for the Philippines. Big Navy ships don’t do that without reason.”

“Port call?”

Bubba shook his head.

Colt looked at the imagery Bubba was studying and figured if he had to stand an Alert 5, he might as well prepare himself with as much intel as he could get. “Listen, can you get me a breakdown of any surface-to-air threats and an air order of battle for this area?”

Bubba nodded. “Sure thing. Give me about ten or fifteen minutes. Want me to bring it to the ready room?”

Colt had a bad feeling about this. “I’ll wait.”

* * *