by Frank Perry
defenseless, relying solely on stealth to survive.
As they lay motionless, suspended in darkness, the minister was reciting silent prayers. The pinging got nearer. Then there was an enormous explosion that rocked them violently, but caused no damage. It was unlikely that the Iranians would miss with a depth charge at close range, yet they were alive. Almost as quickly, they noticed the pinging had stopped. Connecticut had fired a MK48 homing torpedo at the attack boat, vaporizing it. The noise and secondary explosions and fire on the surface made the mini-sub motor undetectable.
When the SEALS reached the approximate pickup point, the coxswain fired one low-level “ping,” that Connecticut answered. This served as an invitation to dock with the larger ship, which was accomplished in less than five minutes. Immediately after securing the small sub and extracting personnel, Connecticut was moving at flank speed toward the deep water of the gulf.
Aboard Connecticut, Peter was taken to sickbay. A 7.62 millimeter rifle bullet had ripped laterally across his back between his shoulder blades. It would leave a long scar, but the ship’s doctor was an experienced surgeon who sutured the wound with stitches close together. Peter was given a local anesthetic and went into deep sleep for several hours, helped by antibiotics and pain killers.
Awakened, he found his duffle bag next to his bunk, so he dressed in fatigues for the first time since leaving Washington. It felt good to be back in uniform.
Freedom Flight
The return to Washington was uneventful. Peter stayed in sickbay on the submarine cruise to Al Dammam. From there, the SEALS carried his gear aboard a waiting HH-60 Blackhawk helicopter waiting on the pier and helped him aboard. He was in pain, but mobile, and in good spirits after the successful rescue. Minister Abu Qatada remained cordial and seemed appreciative of Peter’s effort. The antibiotics and sleep deprivation kept Peter from speaking a great deal, but the SEALS remained hyper through the flight to Prince Sultan Air Base. At Riyadh, they transferred to a CIA-chartered Boeing 767 aircraft, departing for Andrews. Some of the SEAL team remained behind to load the ASDS aboard another C17. All the team members involved in the beach rescue rode home in the relative comfort of the commercial jet. Commander Growley stayed with the ASDS.
In flight, Peter rested for a short time before the Minister sat down next to him saying, “You know, I know your name is Peter, but we’ve never been formally introduced. It would be my honor if you would accept my gratitude and tell me a bit about yourself. Incidentally, my name is Ali Abu Qatada, and I would like you to call me Ali.” The Minister extended his hand.
Peter was unable to twist toward the man, but he extended his hand a short distance saying, “Thank you, sir...Ali. My name is Peter Shields and I’m a Major in the Army National Guard, on loan to the CIA.”
“May I call you Peter?”
“Sure. Yes, of course!”
“Peter, you saved my life and I will forever be grateful. You risked your life in the process, which is overwhelming to me. So, thank you, and please accept me as a friend for life. I cannot repay you in kind, but if there is ever anything I can do for you, my indebtedness is limitless.”
The conversation ended as the CIA escorts moved the Minister away from the military personnel for further interrogation. Peter felt renewed. He walked to the front of the airplane where some of the CIA security personnel were stationed and asked if there was a radiophone he could use. The team was eager to help him any way possible and led him to the radio compartment, which contained sophisticated communications equipment. One of the men sat for a moment in front of a satellite terminal dialing some preliminary access numbers. When connection was made, he stood and invited Peter to sit at the terminal, which had an ordinary phone handset attached. He told Peter that it was all set to operate like a normal touch-tone phone and all he had to do was dial the number, starting with the country code. The CIA man exited, pulling the privacy curtain closed.
As Peter scanned the console, there was a global time clock and it was four o’clock in the morning in Washington. He dialed Rachael at home, knowing she was still asleep. After four rings, her voice sounded tenuous, “Hello.”
“Rachael, it’s me.”
“Peter! Oh Peter. Where are you---how are you?”
“I’m a little dinged up, but nothing life threatening. I’m in the air now coming home.”
“Oh sweetheart, when do you land? Where do you land?
“We’ll be at Andrews in about ten hours.”
“I’ll be there for you. Will you be all done? Can you come home with me?”
“Yeah, I’ll come home with you. Can I make a special request?”
“Sure, what?”
“I’d like a big steak!”
“You got it soldier! Now, how badly injured are you?”
“Well, I’ve got a new interstate across my back, but it could have been worse. I’ll be checking into the hospital tonight, but it’s just to control infection and watch out for blood clots. We can have a few hours together.”
“How long will you be there?”
“Probably just a few days.”
“Can you take some time off after that? I can take some vacation!”
“I’ll have to debrief with the team, which could take a few days. You’ll be part of that. Then we can go over to the Eastern Shore to some quiet B&B. How does that sound?”
“Great! Oh, Peter, I love you! I was so worried about you. I felt awful about some of the things I said when you volunteered to go. Please forgive me.”
He suddenly felt tired. Hearing her voice relaxed him for the first time in days. He wanted to savor the moment, but also felt ready to collapse.
“Sweetheart, all I thought about was loving you. It sustained me.”
She was quiet for a few moments, and he imagined her crying. He said, “Rachael, I love you and I want to spend some time with you to talk about our future. Is that all right with you?”
“Yes, Peter. Yes.” She couldn’t say more.
“Okay, honey, I need to rest now, but I’ll see you at Andrews. I love you more than anything.”
“I love you, Peter.”
They said goodbye and he hung up the phone. His body was collapsing and was loaded with drugs. He needed sleep. As he exited the communications space, the CIA personnel tried not to stare at him, but his exploits of the last few days had engendered admiration that was hard to conceal. One of them asked if he would be more comfortable at the very front of the compartment in one of the sleeper beds. Peter could not refuse.
He slept soundly in spite of the severe throbbing in his back. He had taken several pills as prescribed. One of the CIA agents woke him as gently as she could when it was time to prepare for landing.
He felt dirty and unshaven, so the team requested the pilot to do a “fly around” while Peter refreshed himself. It was difficult with the bandage constraints, but he managed to look presentable before the plane made its landing approach to Andrews. He knew the treatment was extraordinary for the crew to alter a flight plan in the Washington area, and it was appreciated.
Rachael was waiting at the parking lot near the CIA hangers when the plane touched down. She could not pass through the gate to go to the plane, but Peter could see her as they parked. Before the door was opened, one of the CIA men asked him to remain aboard until the Minister was removed, and that the SEALS had asked to talk with him while still on board.
As the Minister walked forward with the CIA escorts, he stopped to see Peter saying, “Major. Peter. Thank you, and I can assure you we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”
They shook hands and the group deplaned down a stair to several dark Chevy Suburbans. He was watching the caravan drive away, when the SEALS came up to his seat. Chief Johnson said, “Major, the Commander wanted us to give you this,” handing Peter a SEAL Team 2 shoulder patch.
Peter took it with pride. The Navy SEALS are a tight fraternity and he responded shaking Johnson’s hand, “Chief, it was an honor to work with
you guys. I would be dead right now if your team had taken the safe way out. Your man risked his life to save me. I will value this patch forever.”
“We’re honored to have you as a brother, sir.” After extending his hand again, the Chief departed and each man said farewell. As the last man stepped through the door, the Chief hollered back, “Come see us in Little Creek when you can!”
Peter yelled back, “You know it!” He was the last passenger to leave. One of the SEALS had carried his duffle bag off the plane and over to the gate by the parking lot. Peter just needed to walk down the stairs to be with Rachael. He felt like he was leaving another world, one that had been his for years. As he stepped carefully down the stairs, Rachael was waving from a hundred feet away. The senior CIA agent had stayed at the bottom of the ladder to say goodbye, “Major, it was a pleasure to know you. Director Lawrence wanted me to express his personal thanks and to tell you that he would meet with you as soon as you’re well enough.” They shook hands and the agent walked away.
Peter looked at Rachael and attempted to run toward her, but stumbled. He had been immobile for so long that he had not realized how severe his wound was. They were expecting him at the hospital that afternoon, but he planned to spend time with her first. Regaining his balance, he walked erect toward the gate. She looked radiant.
The gate opened and she rushed to him throwing her arms around him as they embraced
