War Cry sts-9

by Keith Douglass

  "Crews on the RIBs. Keep all three men on board. We'll only have fifteen SEALs."

  Murdock and DeWitt stood.

  "Thanks, Captain. We'll try to get this NK frigate out of your hair."

  After noon chow, Murdock told Jaybird to put the men down for a rest period. They had their personal gear ready, regular loads of ammo, and room for explosives and mines. Murdock and Jaybird went to the ordnance officer and laid out their plans.

  Lieutenant Commander Morton smiled when they told him their mission.

  "Yeah, more like it," he growled. "What the hell would do the best job the quickest? A frigate, you say. That's about three hundred feet long. Blow her stern off, she'd sink like a bulldozer in heat. We've got some new limpets that really pack a wallop. Only trouble is they weigh about fifty pounds each."

  "Flotation collars?" Jaybird asked.

  "Yeah, make them neutral buoyancy," the commander said, his eyes sparkling. "Yeah, we've got some of those. Want four of them beauties? If you can get them going off within twenty seconds of each other, they should just about tear that old frigate to pieces. What is she, an old Russian tub?"

  "My guess," Murdock said.

  They picked out the flotation devices, made sure they would hold the big limpets, then asked the commander to have them on the flight deck in half an hour. Murdock left Jaybird to shepherd the mines upstairs and to make sure where they were when the SEALs arrived later.

  By 1430 Murdock had his platoon moving up the ladders toward the flight deck.

  Topside, they found the two RIBs and the limpet mines with their flotation gear. The SEALs brought ten pounds of the TNAZ and timer/detonators.

  A destroyer steamed alongside the carrier a quarter of a mile off. A flight deck officer checked with Murdock, and shortly two Sea Knights rolled on scene. One rigged the two RIBs on slings, and lifted away with the cargo. The limpets and their flotation collars and the SEALs loaded into the second chopper, and it took off chasing the first one.

  Two hours later, Murdock and his SEALs hunkered down in the sleek ten-meter RIBs as they motored at five miles an hour toward the just-visible North Korean shore through the dusk. They were twenty minutes behind schedule, but it wasn't the SEALs' fault. There had been a small mix-up by the destroyer on its speed to the ten-mile-limit line.

  Close enough. Just so the raider didn't slip out of the cave before they got there. All they needed were three or four minutes in the water under the ship. Then five minutes more to get out of the immediate vicinity so the underwater concussion didn't knock them unconscious like a school of flopping fish.

  Murdock checked his watch. It was 1750 and they were nearing the mile mark. In a half hour it would be dark. The seals wore full black neoprene wet suits, caps, boots, and gloves. The neoprene traps water inside the suit, which is warmed by the body to help insulate the diver. Each man had a face mask and LAR V Draeger rebreather unit, which allowed the reuse of oxygen and emitted no telltale bubble line to give away the diver.

  They had the insulated jungle boots and flippers ready in hand to slip on just before diving. Each SEAL had his individual weapons strapped to his back. This time they didn't bring the heavy .50-caliber sniper rifle.

  "We about there?" Ed DeWitt asked Murdock on the Motorola. The rest of the men had already put their personal radios away in waterproof pouches on their combat vests.

  "Looks like it," Murdock said. "You ready for a swim?" Both the motors cut off and the sleek RIB boats coasted to a stop. The men were paired and tied together with buddy cords, eight to ten feet of thin nylon line to help them stay together. The line also was a good communication tool underwater.

  By pairs, the SEALs went overboard. They swam down fifteen feet, leveled out, and moved toward the coast. Murdock had the attack board, a piece of molded plastic with two hand grips and a bubble compass in the center. It also held a depth gauge and a Cyalume ch emical tube to twist to turn on and regulate the amount of light needed to read the instruments. Murdock moved until he had the right compass heading, and stroked out underwater at the normal rate of travel.

  Each man in the platoon knew exactly how many strokes it took him to swim underwater a half mile. They had practiced it so much it came as second nature. They were totally at home in the water.

  Murdock watched Holt, who shepherded one of the fifty pound limpet mines on its zero-buoyancy collar. It slowed Holt, just as Murdock figured the big mines would be slowing the other three teams that were responsible for the limpets.

  Murdock slowed his stroke to match Holt's.

  After a quarter of a mile he tugged on the buddy line and took over the mine, giving the attack board to Holt. The problem was more one of bulk than weight, but still, the blunt collar had to be pushed through the water.

  At the half-mile point, they traded off again.

  Murdock expected no guards, sentries, or even patrol boats in this area. The South had taken no offensive action against the North's Navy, so they would be snug and feel secure.

  Less than a half a mile from the shore, Murdock heard an engine sound coming at them fast. He gave three quick jerks on the buddy cord and he and Ron Holt moved upward to sneak a peak.

  Murdock's face came out of the water only enough so he could see. To the left he spotted the boat, one of the larger patrol craft that North Korea had. Their Navy was miniscule. The frigate they were going for tonight was the largest boat in the NK fleet.

  As Murdock watched, the patrol craft continued on its way toward shore. This could have been the farthest it ventured off the home country. Murdock concentrated on the landfall. From there they would parallel the shore for about one more klick; then the town and the caves should show.

  Murdock didn't worry about losing any of his platoon. Ed DeWitt had an attack board as well. By previous arrangement the swimmers began to surface after every half mile. Murdock counted his four teams, which came up within twenty yards. He saw DeWitt break out of the water and wave.

  He had his six men. All accounted for.

  Murdock swam over to Ed.

  "Another klick or so along this point of land and we should have it. Any trouble with the mines?" DeWitt shook his head. "Good, stay alert."

  Murdock put the mouthpiece from the rebreather back in his mouth and kicked underwater.

  They surfaced the next time at the edge of the small inlet. It was about a hundred feet wide, and ended with a huge cliff and the darkness of what must be the cave. The inlet grew larger as they worked slowly into the tiny port. They surfaced for a moment, took their bearings, and saw the gaping black hole in the side of the mountain that came down to the water's edge.

  At this point the swimmers stayed just below the surface, and Lampedusa and Jack Mahanani swam forward on a scouting mission. They couldn't go in blind. Were there surface guards? Were there divers in the water? How about a closing gate across the cave or a net of some kind? All were questions that needed answering.

  When the scouts didn't come back after five minutes, Murdock waved his platoon to shore, where they rested sitting on rocks under a half-completed dock.

  Lam tracked them down five minutes later. He came out of the water and nodded.

  "Oh, yeah, she's there. Big and ugly. No gate in front of the bow. No net. Four guards we could see along the dock on each side. Her mast barely clears the top of the cave, which looks like it was chipped away to make room.

  "Doesn't seem to be much activity, not like they were ready to get under way any time soon."

  "Bow or stern for the mines?" Murdock asked. "Oh, the bow. They backed her in, so she can come out quickly. But if we drop the bow into the mud, they won't be able to drag her out of there. It'll be like a big long grave for her."

  "Let's do it."

  Eight men moved out at once, two to each of the four large limpet mines. The teams swam forward and worked underwater down the bow of the 335-foot-long frigate. They moved fifty feet along the side and stopped. The big mines were edged away from t
heir flotation gear enough so they could be gently attached by their magnetic backings to the steel hull of the ship. Each set of two mines was ten feet under the waterline and three feet apart.

  When the mines were in place, one of the sappers swam to the front of the hull. A SEAL from the other side was there waiting. They signaled that they should set the timers. The men swam back to the mines on both sides, set the timers for three minutes, activated them, and swam quickly away toward the mouth of the huge cave. Once free of the cave, they stroked faster toward the half-completed pier, which was two hundred yards from the ship. They came to the pier and surfaced quietly.

  Lampedusa nodded at Murdock. The mines were in place and the detonator/timers started.

  All the SEALs had their heads out of the water. To be this close to a heavy blast such as was coming could damage or kill a diver with his head underwater.

  "About now," Mahanani whispered.

  The words were barely spoken when a rumble filled the air around them, then a muted roar, and a wave of water two feet tall rushed toward them. Almost at once, two more blasts went off underwater in the cave, which brought another surge of sound and racing water.

  They could see the dark outline of the big ship, and watched as it tilted and then sank heavily forward to the bottom of the inside of the cave.

  "How deep is it?" Murdock asked.

  "Maybe twenty feet," Mahanani said. "Her deck won't be in water, but she sure as hell ain't going nowhere." Sirens wailed. Lights flashed inside the tunnel. Murdock took a moment to watch the chaos they had started. More lights flashed; then the entire cave blazed with lights. The bow of the frigate had nosed deep into the water. Her deck slanted twenty degrees forward.

  More sirens flashed. Truckloads of troops arrived at the front of the cave and in the lights, Murdock could see the soldiers start to work along the side of the inlet.

  "Moving time," Murdock said. The SEALs slid into the water, gripped the rebreather mouthpieces, and swam under the surface to their comfortable fifteen feet. Murdock looked upward, and through the water could see bright flares. He checked again a few minutes later, and saw more flares. But no gunfire sounded or showed below the surface. The SEALs swam forward using their regular strokes to eat up the ocean between them and their pickup boat.

  After stroking a half mile, the SEALs surfaced. They were still close to the point of land that extended south from the cave. Murdock counted his men; then Ed DeWitt came to the top of the Yellow Sea and indicated he had all of his men.

  Behind them they could still see flashing lights and flares that went off high in the sky and floated down on parachutes. Far off they heard gunfire. None of the rounds came their way.

  "Let's go a mile on the same compass heading before we surface this time," Murdock said. The men nodded and dove below the water, where many of them felt more at home than above, or on some enemy land mass.

  When they surfaced the third time, Murdock knew they were in the approximate area where they had been dropped off. He couldn't see any boat, but the RIBs were small and painted black, which made them harder than ever to see.

  They waited.

  Far behind them, Murdock heard a growling sound of an engine.

  "Patrol craft," Lampedusa said. Soon they saw a searchlight sweeping the ocean in front of the craft as it came closer.

  "Could be one of their large patrol crafts," Ed DeWitt said from nearby. "They have a batch of them. Some are a hundred and forty feet long with one three-inch gun and some thirty seven millimeter guns and MGs. These guys could give us a bad time. Only good thing is they can't do over eighteen to nineteen knots."

  "That's a lot of help," Jaybird said. "Where the hell is our RIB?"

  "These patrol craft have radar?" Murdock asked.

  "Far as I know they have surface-search only. Something called the Skin Head with an I-band. Whatever the hell that means."

  "It means we're gonna have company in about five minutes," Murdock said. "Check your buddy lines. When he comes this way we go down to twenty feet and wait. We don't want anybody getting chewed up by a propeller."

  "We don't even have the SATCOM," Holt said. "Why didn't we bring it, Cap?"

  "Piece of cake like this, we didn't need it. Up to now, that is."

  Ron Holt growled and got ready to dive. After this, wherever he went the fucking SATCOM was on his back.

  "Here he comes," Murdock said. "Let's go down deep and hold."

  The SEALs dove into the Yellow Sea as the North Korean Chodo-class patrol craft raced toward them.

  9

  The Yellow Sea

  Off North Korea

  Murdock felt the patrol craft go past them. It was twenty or thirty yards to one side. He surfaced slowly, then took a peek. The large-looking craft did a slow turn to the left and headed back the way it had come, missing the SEALs this time by two hundred yards.

  The SEALs surfaced and moved together within talking range.

  "So?" Ed DeWitt asked.

  "Fucking long swim out another nine miles to that destroyer, then we probably couldn't find her," Jaybird said.

  "We left the SATCOM back on the carrier," Holt said. "Sorry. Never do that again."

  "Any ideas?" Murdock asked.

  "Sonobuoy-type gadget," Ching said. "One of them little sonar balls we carry sometimes."

  "Don't have one," Doc Ellsworth said. "Besides, we don't have a sub listening for us."

  "Big fucking ocean out here," Fernandez said.

  Murdock unzipped the waterproof compartment on his vest and took out his Motorola. He keyed it and spoke.

  "This is SEAL Seven. RIB, do you copy?"

  "Sonofabitch!" somebody growled.

  "You ha d it planned all along," Bradford yelped.

  The speaker came alive. "SEAL Seven. This is RIB, we copy. You have a light stick? Give us a pink one and we'll come fetch."

  There was a small cheer. Murdock broke out a Cyalume light stick, twisted it, and held it up as high as he could. He put the radio back in the zippered wet-proof pouch.

  "How the hell did you guys think those RIBs were going to find us, with a Ouija board?"

  "A what?" Quinley asked.

  "That's a fake game from the fifties that you ask questions and then shove a little pointer around to the answer you want," Mahanani said.

  "I knew they'd find us all the time," Fernandez said.

  "Like shit you did. You sounded dumb-assed scared," Douglas snapped.

  "Can it you two, or you'll both swim back to the destroyer," DeWitt barked. "I want to see both of you as soon as we get to the carrier."

  Three hours later, Ed DeWitt had the two SEALs from his squad braced at attention in front of him in the assembly room. The rest of the platoon had finished putting gear away and headed for their compartments.

  "Now, we have this place to ourselves. I want to know what the fuck is going on. You two have been at each other's throats for half of this mission. Who wants to tell me what it's all about?"

  Neither SEAL said a word or moved.

  "Fine. Fernandez, go down to the far corner of the compartment and sit down."

  "Sir…"

  "Move it, sailor."

  Fernandez looked back as he walked to the far end of the Ready Room. When he was sitting down, DeWitt stepped up so his face was an inch from Douglas's.

  "Talk," he roared. "Sir. Just a minor disagreement. Nothing more."

  "Go on."

  "That's it, sir. Stupid little argument. It's nothing."

  "It's enough that it could get one of you killed on a mission, that's what it is. You act like you hate his guts, and Fernandez looks like he'd like to make mincemeat out of your heart."

  "Yeah, well, maybe."

  "No maybe. What happened?"

  "Couple of months ago at a party. Little disagreement. I'll forget about it if Fernandez will."

  "Just a little disagreement?"

  "Right. Bet Fernandez will tell you the same thing."


  "Anything else, sailor, before I bust your butt back to the regular Navy and ship you out to Adak, Alaska?"

  "No, sir."

  "Move it down to the other end of the compartment and sit on it." DeWitt waited until Douglas sat down; then he bellowed at Fernandez. The SEAL ran up to DeWitt the way they did in BUD/S.

  He braced in front of the JG and stared straight ahead.

  The officer took a softer tone with Fernandez. "Miguel, I want you to tell me exactly what the friction is between you and Douglas. I don't care whose fault it is, just lay it out for me."

  Fernandez took a deep breath, kept staring straight ahead.

  "No big problem, sir. Just a small thing. I can work it out."

  "Before or after you get yourself and one or two of the other members of this squad killed on a mission?"

  "No worry about that, JG. I'll do my job."

  "Douglas said the whole thing was just a little disagreement, is that right?"

  "Yes, sir. Just a minor disagreement."

  "Happened a couple of months ago?"

  Fernandez took a quick look at his lieutenant, then nodded. "Yes, sir, couple of months back."

  "What kind of a disagreement, Miguel?"

  "Personal kind, sir." "Kind you can't talk about?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Anything more to say about it?"

  "No, sir."

  DeWitt scowled. If it was personal, he could go no farther. He had to, but he couldn't.

  "Douglas, get your ass up here," DeWitt called. When Douglas stood beside Fernandez, both stared straight ahead. DeWitt paced back and forth in front of them. He stopped and stared hard at each one.

  "I've about had it with both of you. Anymore jawing at each other, any physical confrontation of any kind, and you're both out of SEALs, you read me?"

  "Yes, sir, Lieutenant, sir," both shouted in unison as if they were back in BUD/S. "Fernandez, you'll walk third in the platoon lineup. On fieldwork, Douglas is next to last in the line. I don't want you to talk to each other, never tie yourselves together with a buddy line, and just the fuck stay away from each other. Maybe I should ship both your asses up to Adak and let you freeze your balls off."