Off the coast of Haifa Port, Eastern Mediterranean, Mexican Fleet flagship 'Independence'.
4 AM.
Admiral Morales hasn't closed his eyes for forty-eight hours. The lights on the ship's bridge are dimmed; only the radar screens and fire control system indicators are blinking in the darkness, like a cluster of sleepless eyes. He stands by the porthole, holding night-vision binoculars, gazing at the dark, distant expanse of the sea.
The Big Mao Fleet is still there.
Two cruisers, three destroyers, one nuclear submarine. They are arrayed in a defensive formation outside Tartus Port, bows facing west, gun barrels pointed toward the Mexican Fleet.
Twelve nautical miles away.
At this distance, missiles can reach in thirty seconds. Thirty seconds aren't enough to finish a cup of coffee.
"General, radar has detected new contact. Southeast direction, speed thirty-five knots, rapidly approaching."
