“Duncan, back to you and your question. No, we don’t know where President Alneuf is, but we know where he’s going to be. Have you ever heard about General Mark Clark’s covert trip to French Algeria during World War II?” the Commodore asked, and before Duncan or Beau could answer, he continued. “Prior to Operation Thunder — the American invasion of North Africa — a British submarine sneaked General Mark Clark, who was Eisenhower’s right hand man, onto a beach near the French villa of a man named Tessler, located west of Algiers. The general met with the Vichy French military leaders in an attempt to convince them to allow the upcoming Allied invasion of Algeria to go unopposed. Wasn’t too successful. The Vichy French fought the invasion, killing a bunch of Americans before they finally surrendered.” The commodore took his glasses off and waved them at Duncan as he shouted, “They opposed the landing so they could say they fought with honor! That bullshit cost American lives. Should have shot the lot of them.” He put his bifocals back on.
“Anyway, Duncan, President Alneuf is going to meet you at the same villa.”
The commodore picked up a pencil and placed the tip on the coastline west of Algiers. “Right here is where President Alneuf and his party will meet you.”
“How many are in his party?”
“Don’t know. Could be just him or could be a slew of them.” Ellison waved the message in front of them. “This damn thing doesn’t tell us anything other than where and when to meet him. So, all we know is that President Alneuf will be waiting there, beginning tonight.”
“Transport, sir?” Duncan asked as he scrutinized the chart.
“Submarine.” Duncan looked up at the commodore. “I thought you said the Miami had been dispatched to rescue the survivors of the USS Gearing!”
“It has been, but the USS Albany arrives within the next six hours to transfer Admiral Cameron and his staff to the Nassau. At that time, you and your crew will embark. I have already discussed this with the Sixth Fleet chief of staff, Captain Clive Bowen. We both agree. We need the SEALs to bring him out, and because it’s President Alneuf, they want a senior officer to represent the United States. You fit both criteria, Duncan. Therefore, the Albany will transport you and your team to the rendezvous.” He pointed to the operations officer.
“Commander Naismith has the details you’ll need to work out your CON OP How you will contact President Alneuf and his party is anyone’s guess.
Commander Mulligan will provide the latest imagery of the area and an intelligence brief on what you can expect. Work with Pete on getting you and your team out after you locate President Alneuf.”
“That’s seems simple, Commodore. We’ll come out like we go in,” Duncan said, thinking out loud.
“Captain James, that’s easy to say, but I’m sure we’ve both seen enough operations to know that nothing goes as smooth as planned. Let’s have some backup in the event, like Clark, you find yourself stranded for a couple of days. We need alternatives to other than just the Albany.”
“Clark was stranded?” Beau whispered.
Commander Naismith handed Duncan a thick brown envelope.
“There are some additional factors to consider, Captain James,” said Commander Mulligan, stepping into the faint light over the table. “The two Algerian Kilo submarines are still unaccounted for. The primary threat to the Albany during this mission will be those two submarines.
That is, if they have, like most of the Algerian Navy, gone over to the insurgents. When the Albany surfaces to disembark you and your teams is when she’ll be most vulnerable. The commanding officer of the USS Albany has already expressed reservations on taking you in close, and is less than enthusiastic about waiting in shallow water for you.
You’ll need to disembark fast, complete the rescue, and get back on board as soon as possible.”
“Thanks, Intell. As for the Albany, submariners are as congenial and sociable as we SEALs are. If he has to stay, he will. He’ll be like the rest of us. He’ll bitch and moan, but he and his crew will be there. I’d trust my life to any submariner.”
“Well, good, because we’re going to have to,” Beau mumbled.
“I agree, Duncan. Now about the CON OP
“Commodore,” Duncan interrupted. “What we need is more information. I need to know how many we are going to bring out, the shoreline terrain, what is the population in the area, the weather, and what kind of opposition we can expect.”
“My orders to the Albany are to be careful and avoid contact with Algerian forces. We don’t want another Gearing,” Commodore Ellison emphasized. He looked at the intelligence officer. “Commander Mulligan, what are the chances of the Albany encountering those two Algerian Kilos, the Al Solomon and the Al Nasser?”
Commander Mulligan shrugged his shoulders. “Without locating data, we are unable to give any reliable estimates, sir.”
Commander Naismith added, “If the Albany detects them before they detect her, then the Algerians won’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.
Knowing your enemy’s location is sufficient to turn the tide of battle.”
“Most times, Commander,” Duncan corrected. “Sometimes it just allows you to avoid them.”
Commander Mulligan stepped in. “Captain James, the Algerians are conducting helicopter patrols during the daytime along the coast. If you should be there when the sun comes up, keep an eye on the sky.”
The commodore grunted. “There is a lot we still don’t know, Duncan.
Unfortunately, we never know enough. Commander Mulligan will brief your team in an hour in Intel!. By then, I expect you to have a rough CON OP to my staff for my review.”
“Commodore, I won’t be doing a written CON OP said Duncan, his voice low but firm. He looked directly at Ellison and paused, for he wanted no misunderstanding. It wasn’t that Duncan objected to a Concept of Operations; it was just that with only six hours to prepare, he didn’t have the time to sit down and do the bullshit, tedious administrative paperwork Ellison wanted. “A rescue mission is just that, a rescue; and a rescue mission in hostile territory is a time-sensitive operation with a lot of danger. What we need is more than six hours to properly plan, but we don’t have it. When we leave the submarine, there is a good chance that events ashore will determine our actions. About all we can do is coordinate with the Albany for pickup and with your communications people for com ms After that … Well, let’s hope we find Alneuf waiting on the beach.”
Surprised when Commodore Ellison failed to object, Dun can continued.
“What you need to know, Commodore, is when to pick us up. What I need to know is what I’ve already asked.”
“But, Duncan,” the Commodore argued. “Without a CON OP I won’t know the sequence of events or be able to plan effectively if something happens to you and we have to come in.”
“Yes, sir. I understand the battle staff concerns. When we have all the information together, I’ll pass it to your staff. Have them write the CON OP Commodore, and pass me a copy, if you would. We have too much to do in the next six hours to burden ourselves with a lot of administrative crap,” Duncan replied, and then added politely. “Sir.”
Commodore Ellison’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and instead turned to Commander Naismith. “Pete, have one of your junior officers start a CON OP for Captain James. Duncan’s right. They have too much to do in too short of a time to write a CON OP
“Yes, sir,” replied the Operations Officer.
“Commodore,” Duncan said. “I appreciate your concerns about us while we’re in-country, but we both know you don’t have the forces to rescue us if something does go wrong. You’re going to be hard-pressed to evacuate our citizens at the embassy. Especially if it’s opposed. That being said, Commodore, if you should have to come in to get us, I recommend you come in shooting because we’ll either be fighting or dead.”
Beau cocked his head toward Duncan. “Fighting is my preference,” he said. He pursed his li
ps together. Usually Duncan agreed with orders and then went on and did it his way anyway. Beau put his hand over his mouth, as if to stifle a yawn, but mainly to stop himself from saying anything else.
Duncan turned toward the door. “Come on, Pettigrew. We’ve got lots to do before Albany shows up. Commodore, we’ll be in the Spec War spaces if you need us; otherwise we’ll be at the gangway when the Albany arrives.”
“Lieutenant Commander,” Beau said once outside the compartment.
“Lieutenant Commander what?”
“Lieutenant Commander Pettigrew. You called me Petti grew. I don’t like being called by my last name without a Lieutenant Commander or Commander in front of it. Especially in front of others.”
“How about a Lieutenant in front of it?”
“How about remembering that I’m always behind you?”
They both laughed as they hurried down the passageway, ducking through the hatches and turning sideways when they encountered others, acting more like two high school boys who had pulled a fast one on their teacher or gotten a glimpse of the head cheerleader’s panties than two deadly Navy SEALs.
“Damn, Duncan, kind of proud of you,” Beau said as they slowed their gait near the SEAL spaces. “Surprised, but proud. Now, if you’ll listen to me, I’ll teach you some nice words to sprinkle your speech with the next time you want to tell a commodore to ‘go to hell’ or ‘go fuck yourself.” You’ll find it’ll save you a lot of time as you ruin your career. Personally, I prefer to ruin mind gradually, without a heartrending race to a cliff, only to tumble off it without a line or parachute.”
“Shut up, Beau,” Duncan said good-naturedly, rubbing the stubble he called hair on the top of his head. “You tell me how a Navy captain, who has been ordered to retire in less than sixty days, is going to ruin his career? Or a Navy captain, who has …” He stopped.
“There is always a chance that they may change their mind, Duncan.”
“When pigs fly. Besides, look at this!” He opened his pocket and handed the “personal for” message to Beau. “You tell me why I should be grateful to Admiral Hodges for sending us on this vacation.”
“Hey! Slow up! You’re walking too fast.”
Beau read the message as he tried to keep up with Duncan. Duncan slid down the ladder that ended at the door to the SEAL spaces. Beau tripped on the bottom step.
“Took everything?” Beau asked, slapping the paper. “She took everything in the house while you’re over here in the middle of a war?
What type of bitch is she?”
Duncan stopped at the door leading into the NSW spaces, his hand on the metal doorknob. “She’s a former-wife bitch. That’s the type she is.
She not only has a battery-less dildo, but now she has everything we ever bought, collected or kept. God knows where she took it. I mean, Beau, she took everything, including the car and the mantelpiece that we bought at an auction in Frederick, Maryland! I mean, what type of woman goes into a house and rips out the mantelpiece?”
“But how do you get into a house without anyone knowing and load up all the furniture, take down overhead fans and mantelpieces, and no one calls the police?”
Duncan’s shoulders slumped. He leaned his head on the door. “Beau, she lived there for six years,” he said softly. “Neighbors know her.
You don’t call the police when someone who lives in the place decides to move everything out.” He looked up and grinned at Beau. “If she took the old steamer trunk in the garage, she’s going to get one hell of a surprise when she opens it.”
“How’s that?”
“That’s where I stuck the bag with Sammy’s body. I forgot to bury the damn dog before we left. Shit, Beau, there may be justice in this world after all.”
“And don’t forget, Duncan. Your car don’t work, so if she took it, she towed it.”
Duncan shook Beau by the neck. “Screw you, shipmate.” He laughed.
Duncan opened the door to the SEAL offices and walked in. The arguing between Lieutenant H.J. Mcdaniels and Ensign Helliwell spilled out into the passageway before it ceased abruptly at the sight of Captain James.
“OK, what the hell is going on?” Duncan asked. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but storms had no tempest like a wronged man’s frustration.
Lieutenant Sunney appeared behind Duncan and Beau and followed them into the room.
Beau folded the message and handed it to Duncan, who slipped it into his left shirt pocket. Duncan rubbed his temples. Damn, a headache!
Just what I need on top of everything else.
“Listen up,” he said, ignoring the fact that neither of the two had answered his question. “There has been a change of plans. Beau and I are taking the two four-man teams organized to go on the CH-46 and are embarking with them on the Albany in six hours. Mike, we’ll need to change the load out from a force-protection operation to a hostile rescue.” “I’ll be going, right?” H.J. asked.
“With all due respect, sir,” Ensign Helliwell interrupted. “This is her first SEAL operation and we don’t need to endanger our situation with a rookie. Nothing against her being a woman, Captain, even though she thinks it is, but the other team members have at least some experience.” “Screw you, Ensign,” said H. J.” with her finger poking him in the chest. She leaned over him from her full six-foot height and brought her face six inches from his. “How the hell did you get experience?
Did it come in some midnight wet dream where you woke and lo and behold”—she waved her hands above her head—“Ensign Helliwell is blessed with experience? No, you went and earned your battle scars, and I’m not, I repeat, not going to be kept back because you’re afraid that the big man”—she patted him on the head—“is going to have to rescue the fair maiden. Well, for your information I’m anything but a fair maiden. And—”
“Cut it out, you two. We’re going into a combat, so can the crap.
Lieutenant Mcdaniels goes. She’s a SEAL and already assigned by the Navy to my team. Ensign Helliwell, you’re coming, too. I need your experience and your expertise. Forget she’s a woman. Hell, forget that you’re a man. You’re both SEALs and I expect both of you to act like Navy SEALs. If either of you get shot, we’ll treat you just like any other wounded SEAL.” “How’s that?” H.J. asked, standing back from Bud Helliwell, her voice curious and her eyes questioning.
“We shoot them in the head,” replied Beau, cocking his finger and putting it against his head. “And bang, don’t have to worry about them spilling their guts to the enemy about the mission or the team. I don’t mind telling you that the first time I had—” “Stow it,” Duncan said. “Get your kits together and be prepared to embark on Albany when she arrives.” Duncan went on to explain the purpose of the mission and the specifics he expected.
“Sir, request permission to accompany the operation?” Mike Sunney asked.
“Sorry, Mike. You know the only reason I am here was Washington sending me out to lead that combined exercise with Spanish special forces. Too bad the events in North Africa caused the exercise to fall apart. If not for them sending me, then you would be the one going in.
But I need you here for backup and to support the Marines on what is looking more and more like an oppose evacuation by hostile forces. If we have to pull a
“John Wayne’ and go into Algiers, with guns blazing, to bring out the American citizens, then the battle group is going to need the remainder of the SEALs to support that effort.”
“Yes, sir. I realize that, but you’re a captain and, with all due respect, sir, captains don’t usually go on SEAL operations.”
“This particular SEAL operation the captain does go on,” Duncan replied. “Our mission is to bring out the Algerian President, Hawaii Alneuf, who is hiding from the insurgents. Since he’s a bigwig, they figure a captain should meet him.”
“Yeah, meet him, greet him, do some high-fives, maybe dance a few steps with him, and when we’ve amused him sufficiently, scurry him out of his g
one-to-shit country,” Beau added.
Duncan held up his hand to stop the laughter, and added, “Commander Mulligan will brief everyone in about an hour in the Intell spaces.
Mike, have the teams assembled and there on time.”
“Yes, sir,” Mike Sunney responded dejectedly.
“H. J.” hand me the chart you keep in your shirt,” said Dun can.
She unbuttoned the top two buttons and reached inside to extract the chart, which she passed to Beau, who stood between her and Duncan.
“Nice chart,” said Beau. “Lucky chart,” he whispered to himself.
H. J.“s eyes narrowed as she stared at Beau. “You were saying something, Commander?”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Just thinking out loud.”
Duncan took the papers from the envelope Pete Naismith had given him, and scanned them rapidly as he looked for how they were to make contact with President Alneuf. Satisfied they had nothing to offer other than telling him to go to the location of the villa, he laid them on top of the chart Beau was unfolding on the table.
Duncan pulled a stool up and sat down. He picked up a pencil and leaned forward across the chart. “Here is our destination,” he said, indicating a point along the coast near a small fishing village about twenty kilometers west of Algiers. “We will conduct a submarine debarkation around midnight. Mike, we’ll need two rafts for the Albany, and make sure we have pressure bottles to inflate them. Don’t want to get aboard and discover they lack the capability to inflate them except inside the submarine. Won’t do us much good if we can’t get them outside of the submarine.
“We won’t do the normal approach to shore operations. We’ll still form a boat pool about five hundred yards from shore, but instead of sending in swimmers, we’ll take a boat all the way to the beach. Beau,” he said, “I want you in that boat. If Alneuf is there, put him in the raft and return. If not, then conduct a normal recon when you hit and be prepared to fight a retreat if necessary. When the recon team completes its search, we’ll join them ashore. I would prefer to do a normal op, keep the boat pool off shore and swim them out, but President Alneuf is in his late sixties, early seventies, and I doubt he can swim five hundred yards. My intentions are to load him immediately and return to the submarine. If everything goes right, entire operation will be completed within three hours. Any questions?” Every hand went up. He paused before replying, “Well, write them down for the commodore to answer in the CO NOR I have questions, too, and since we don’t know the answers, let’s busy ourselves getting ready and we’ll answer the questions the way Navy SEALs answer them best: with bullets and brawn. Mike, scrub the snipers, but I want those mini-MGs included — at least two. Have the team outfit themselves with their weapons of choice for close-in combat, and I want stun grenades used.
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