When all hope is lost, keep fighting.
The rebel coup in Algeria has crippled the U.S. military position and taken fifty Americans hostage. A botched rescue mission had trapped a team of American soldiers far behind enemy lines to face a group of desert nomads armed to the teeth and ready for war.
And if the U.S. continues the rescue attempts, the hostages die. One at a time.
There's only one thing the Sixth Fleet can do in a situation like this:
THE SIXTH FLEET... is America's first defense -- and last hope. Written by a captain in the U.S. Navy who has served in both the Pentagon and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, this electrifying new series offers and insider's view of international conflict and naval combat as you've never read before.
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February 05, 2002
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Excerpt from The Sixth Fleet: Tomcat: Book # 3 by David E. Meadows
GUNNERY SERGEANT STAPLER peered over the oil barrels in front of him, ready to jump down if the shooting started again. Five minutes of quiet didn't necessarily mean the end of a battle. His heart pounded against his flak jacket. Sweat poured between the T-shirt under the jacket and his chest, spreading around the belt line, soaking his skivvies. The ringing in his ears, caused by the clanging and ricochets of bullets hitting the empty oil barrels around him, was slowly disappearing.
Two hundred yards away, rolling black smoke from two burning CH-53 helicopters rose straight into the hot, dry, Sahara sky. The air above the ground simmered from the midday heat and seemed to leap around the scarlet flames roaring over the fuselages. The burning silhouette of the pilots appeared and disappeared as clouds of black, oily smoke whipped around the broken cockpit windows. "Damn," he said under his breath through gritted teeth.
Three Marine Corps Cobra gunships had escorted the Super Stallions across the Moroccan hills and a hundred miles farther inside Algeria before turning back because of low fuel. Homeplate knew it was taking a chance sending large troop transports into hostile territory without escort, but Intel argued this far south into Algeria was clear and safe. Well, hell . . . it wasn't, it ain't, and what the hell were they going to do now? G2 screwed up. Ain't the first time, either. He'd bet his ass the colonel in G2 would shrug his shoulders and say something about the "fog of war." Hell, this hadn't been fog; it had been a goddamn thunderstorm. Dead Marines . . .