U.S.S. Seawolf am-4

by Patrick Robinson

  “We will attack suddenly and brutally. It is entirely likely that there will be no Chinese military survivors…but, gentlemen, there is one thought that must never leave your minds: Discovery is unacceptable. If you should be caught, the entire mission will be over…because the Chinese will instantly reinforce the island with helicopters, heavy ordnance, troops and maybe even warships standing offshore…and they will remove the prisoners to another jail, none of whom will ever see their homeland again.”

  The colonel paused. Allowed his words to hit home. And he walked back across the room before continuing, “I doubt that any of you will ever undertake any mission so carefully observed from the Oval Office…and your watchword must be ‘care’—because if you should be careless even for one split second, and you should be detected even by one guard, we will almost certainly have to abort the mission, because massive Chinese reinforcements will be there inside the hour. Should you kill the guard and get away yourselves, the result will be the same, because he’ll be missed.

  “I can only ask your indulgence when I say one more time…for Christ’s sake, be careful.”

  He walked to the table and selected a small sheaf of papers, which he first studied and then replaced.

  “In my capacity as mission controller, I will now give you our timetable. Each of you will be given a copy that you will memorize and then destroy…two hours from now you will embark in the helicopters and they will fly you with your gear out to the Los Angeles-class nuclear submarine USS Greenville, which is currently patrolling a couple of miles off our starboard beam,

  “Right now, we’re two hundred and ten miles south of the Chinese coast, and you will thus make the rest of the journey to Xiachuan in the submarine, running deep toward the mainland until we essentially run out of water, about thirty miles from shore. At that point, the eight underwater SEALs will board the ASDV, which you will see is in dry dock on the deck, and run in to about a half mile from the shore when it starts to get really shallow, only about fifty feet of depth — the ASDV is thirty feet high.

  “From there you will disembark and swim in. The water’s warm, sandy bottom, not rough, no sharks to speak of…the other four will make the journey in a small Zodiac inflatable, cutting the engine and paddling in the final thousand yards. The Chinese do have a fast-attack patrol boat moored alongside on the island, but we have not observed it leaving before midnight. We’ll be in by then.

  “We then establish our rendezvous point dragging the boat and its cargo up the beach into the cover of the trees. Inside the boat will be two machine guns, two trenching shovels, medical supplies, the radio, GPS, ammunition, a few hand grenades and three smoke grenades, compass, laptop, binoculars, camouflage nets, and two waterproof shelters. Plus, of course, cold water and food. As you all know, it can rain like hell out here in July — it’s doing it now, for Christ’s sake.

  “As SEALs you will all be responsible for your own weapons…and the observation party will leave the rendezvous point almost instantly…soon as you’re organized.”

  He pointed at the chart, tracing with his baton a line from the southwestern peninsula, where they were scheduled to make their landing, to the northeast where the jail was located. “There are a couple of mountains, both of which you go around…but this one here, north of the jail, has slopes that look to me as if they may give some vantage points right above the jail, and that is where you want to make your OP. Don’t take out the guards, because if you do, the game will be up. Try to find a nice quiet spot and mentally take the place to pieces, bring us back the information…and the Big Team will go in on Sunday night.

  “Basically I’d like you guys in position by around twenty-three hundred on Friday night…and on your way out by oh-two hundred on Sunday morning which should give you time to assess the guards, their numbers and patrols throughout the day and night…you will of course leave the island quickly, the same way you entered, via the RV, swimming out to the ASDV, which you locate with the GPS and its homing beep…but four men will remain on the island to help the guys get in on Sunday night.

  “The landing point for the main assault force will be different from the departure point right here…because we’re going to have a lot of people leaving, and we want a beach as close as possible to the jail, which will be subdued by then.

  “For the prisoner rescue, and the main force extraction, we may have some of our guys in bad shape…we’ll have eight big inflatables working, but it will probably take two, maybe three trips out to the deeper water where our submarines will be waiting. Now I’ll hand you over to your team leader, Lieutenant Commander Rusty Bennett, who will announce the detailed orders…Rusty?”

  The iron man from the Maine coast stood up and began immediately. “If it’s at all possible I want the twelve of us inside that submarine very fast. Our gear has already been transferred and the inflatable’s on board. But the Chinese have their own satellites and I don’t want them to get a shot of us making a transfer two hundred miles off the coast. So that means we’re gonna fast-rope it, soon as the chopper gets over the deck, it’s gloves on and down, then straight inside. Anyone not comfortable with that?” The SEALs stayed silent.

  “Right, when we exit the submarine, into the ASDV, there will be eight of us. Lieutenant Commander Davidson will be in charge of the exit from the dry dock in company with Petty Officer Catfish, Hank, and Al. Inside the ASDV with me will be Lieutenant Merloni, Lieutenant Conway, Chief McCarthy, Rattlesnake Davies, Buster Townsend, John and Bill.

  “The submarine will give us a fifty-five-minute start, while we run in at eighteen knots. Then it will surface while Lieutenant Commander Davidson, Petty Officer Jones, John and Bill very carefully lower the Zodiac into the water with all the stuff. And don’t for Christ’s sake let it tip over. The submarine will then disappear and you guys will run in at high speed going straight for the landing beach, located at GPS 21.36N 112.315E. You will find that the Zodiac, which is only a twenty-footer, has an especially big engine, a Johnson Two-fifty, and it will go like a bat out of hell. It also carries a lot of extra gas. We expect the seas to be calm inshore, under rainy skies, and you should knock the journey off in under the hour, even paddling in the last thousand. Don’t, by the way, run over the fucking swimmers!

  “I’ve timed it so that we should be on the beach fifteen minutes before the Zodiac. That way we gotta lot of muscle to carry the boat fast, up into the undergrowth, and establish our RV. We will then dust off our tracks on the beach, pick our spot, get the waterproof shelter up under camouflage nets, establish one of the machine guns and split up.

  “The RV group commander will be Lieutenant Commander Davidson, and he will be accompanied by Catfish, Hank and Al. These four men will not leave the island when the swimmers return to the submarines. Instead they will remain on station at the RV point before moving to the assault beach where the Big Team comes in. That’s located on the east side of the island, south-facing, a fraction less than a mile southwesterly from the jail, GPS 21.39N 112.38E. The small Zodiac will eventually join the four boats ferrying the guys out early Sunday morning.

  “Is all that clear?”

  “Sir.” Everyone nodded.

  “Meanwhile, the eight of us, Paul Merloni, Chief McCarthy, Rattlesnake, Buster, Dan, John and Bill, will get our wet suits off and get into jungle gear, with camouflage. We’ll travel as light as we can, but since it’s always fucking raining, we’ll want stuff to keep us dry, and we’ll have to take a machine gun in case we get into real trouble and have to fight our way out. Likewise a radio and a few smoke grenades to help the rescue helicopters should we have to whistle ’em up. But I really hope that will not be necessary.

  “Our walk into the observation area will be six miles through uninhabited primary forest. The colonel here has already supervised the loading of each man’s pack, distributing the gear equally among us. We don’t have to think about that. We just saddle up and leave the RV point, right? Unhappily, we do have to take a co
uple of shovels to get rid of any waste, and we will need machetes because we have to stay on bearing and we may meet impenetrable forest. We also want a coupla pairs of heavy pruning shears in case we have to cut silently. But we don’t need explosives. Remember, we are a reconnaissance party and our aim is to remain totally undetected…now, how about questions…address them to Colonel Hart.”

  “Sir, do we know how many guards and Chinese personnel are in the jail?” asked Dan Conway.

  “Not really,” replied the colonel. “I was rather hoping you guys would find that out.”

  “Do they have any heavy guns, choppers or missile ships around?”

  “The guns are, again, up to you to find. We have observed two helicopters parked right outside the jail. There is a patrol ship, a small fast-attack craft, but it’s quite far from the jail. Shouldn’t worry us, but the boys’ll probably have to get rid of it on Sunday.”

  “Do we know how many of our guys are being held prisoner?”

  “More than a hundred.”

  “How about Seawolf? What’s happening about that?”

  “I’m afraid we’re going to scuttle her. Sunday night. Coupla hours before the guys go into Xiachuan.”

  “How, sir?”

  “I’m not sure. But I know it’s organized to have them think their own scientists simply screwed up the temperature of the nuclear reactor. The explosion will frighten them half to death, and that will provide a terrific diversion for us. Canton’s only an hour away in a chopper. I’m hoping they won’t have an American attack on their minds. They’ll be too busy.”

  “Sir, are all the guys from Seawolf in there?”

  “We think so. But we have no information whether they have killed anyone.”

  “Why do they want them, sir? They’re not hostages, are they?”

  “No, they’re not hostages. But the Chinese have spent years trying to build a big nuclear attack submarine, stealing or buying the technology wherever they can. And now they have such a submarine captive, which they can copy — and they’ll do that ten times faster if they can persuade key members of the crew to help them…”

  “Sir, does our government have an attitude about all this?”

  “Very much. But the Chinese have taken a very devious line. They’re saying Seawolf was damaged in a minor collision with one of their destroyers. All they did was answer a call for help from its commanding officer, and now — surprise, surprise — it’s developed a possible nuclear leak, and they can’t release it till it’s fixed, which they say won’t be for another two or three weeks.”

  “Give ’em time to copy it, right, sir?”

  “Not hardly. They’d want a lot longer than that, even if they have real help from the top technicians in the crew.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Do you think they would try to torture them? Force the information out of them?”

  “Yes. Yes I do. Don’t you?”

  “Guess so,” replied Lieutenant Merloni. “We better get ’em out. In a big hurry.”

  1050. Friday, July 14.

  Flight Deck. USS Ronald Reagan.

  210 miles off the Chinese Coast.

  The Sea King lifted off the portside diagonal runway, its howling rotor slashing through the rain. Forty feet up, almost level with the plantation of electronic aerials at the top of the island, its nose tilted forward and it rocketed away, over the raging white wake from the bow wave, straight out toward USS Greenville, which could be seen on the surface two miles off the carrier’s port bow.

  The journey took less than a couple of minutes. They never even bothered to shut the main door before it was time to drop the two-inch-thick line out, directly down to the foredeck, right in front of the great round dry dock recently fitted to the Los Angeles-class 7,000-tonner.

  All six of the SEALs wore heavy leather welder’s gloves, and they lined up behind Lt. Commander Bennett as the Sea King hovered. He grabbed the rope and stepped out through the doorway, dropped like a stone for 20 feet, the line racing through his hands, then tightened his grip, applying the brakes hard, and came to a near-perfect halt two feet above the deck. By the time he touched down, Lieutenant Conway was already on the rope and on his way down, followed in quick succession by Rattlesnake, Buster, Catfish and Chief McCarthy. Three and a half minutes after the takeoff from the flight deck of the carrier, the helicopter was on its way back for the other six. That’s fast-roping.

  At 1104 all hatches were shut and clipped, masts were lowered, and seawater was thundering into the ballast tanks as Commander Tom Wheaton took USS Greenville deep and aimed her straight at the southern approach to Xiachuan Dao, seven hours away.

  “Bow down ten…four hundred. Steer course three-zero-zero…flank speed.”

  All 12 of the SEALs were given bunks to rest on during the journey, and most of them slept. Catfish Jones and Olaf Davidson did not do so. They stayed up the whole time, poring over the map of the island, selecting the assault beach for Sunday night. They tried to watch a video, but lost interest almost immediately and returned to the charts. The two strongest men in the reconnaissance team had a lot on their minds.

  At 1400 they were served an excellent lunch/dinner: thick, perfectly grilled New York sirloin steak, baked potatoes and salad. Afterward they all charged into Goliath-sized wedges of apple and blueberry pie with ice cream. It would be their last proper meal for two days.

  At 1700 they changed into their wet suits, all 12 of them, including the four men who would work under the water, manhandling the ASDV out of its tunnel and then bringing in the Zodiac inflatable. They would also need wet suits in case of an accident or an attack that might put them in the water. SEALs by nature cherish the ability to go deep, where their training gives them inestimable advantage.

  At 1730, Rusty Bennett and his seven colleagues, faces blackened by water-resistant oil, began to embark in the ASDV. They climbed up through the first dry hatch, which is sealed into the dry dock, and then boarded with slick expertise the 65-foot-long miniature submarine, through the hatch on its keel. The two men from Greenville’s crew who would drive and navigate the quiet electric boat inshore were already in position in the two bow seats.

  Lt. Commander Davidson and his team waited by another exit hatch for the moment when they were informed that the USS Greenville could go no farther, because the water was becoming too shallow.

  The final four heard the call at 1752: “Captain-Sonar — I’m showing one-twenty feet on the sounder…”

  “Captain-Navigator…right now we’re at position 21.16N 112.315E…thirty miles due south of the target beach.”

  Commander Wheaton said quietly, “Okay, guys, this is it…just about as far as we can go. You wouldn’t want to get back here for breakfast on Sunday morning and find us stuck in the mud, eh?”

  The ship was now silent with anticipation. Anyone within range was watching the massive Olaf Davidson, who stood quietly below the hatch to the flooding compartment through which he would exit the ship. His face blackened, the veteran SEAL commander was holding his left forearm with his right hand, as if trying to take confidence from his enormous strength.

  Finally he disappeared up through the hatch, followed by his three colleagues, and those working below the casing could hear the muffled bumps as they wrestled the ASDV away from the dock, out into the vastness of the South China Sea.

  With Olaf’s SEAL team back on board, the engines of the ASDV finally kicked into life and it moved forward, its course steady on three-six-zero, making a fast 18 knots through the warm, sandy water, 50 feet below the surface, leaving hardly any wake in the rainswept, desolate seascape.

  The eight SEALs could speak to each other if they wished, but no one said anything. Their talking was done, their plans perfectly memorized. Their training had taught them that noise, any form of noise, is magnified under the water. And the silence was all-enveloping as each man dealt with the pressure in his own way.

  Up front, the CO and navigator could see noth
ing. The entire journey was made on instruments, and it drew to its conclusion precisely where they knew it would, 120 minutes later, a little over a half mile off the southern peninsula of Xiachuan Dao.

  The CO spoke tersely. “This is about it, guys, sounder’s showing we have around ten feet under the keel, but it’ll shelve up quite rapidly. Time to go.”

  Unlike most previous SEAL delivery vehicles, which flood up completely for the swimmers to exit, this new advanced version allowed pairs of SEALs to clip on their Draeger breathing gear, and enter a small compartment that then floods. Then they just drop straight through and exit feet-first under the keel, same way they came in, leaving the rest of the submarine dry.

  At this point the first pair leaves, wasting no time around the submarine, and using their precious air strictly for the swim-in. And now Lieutenant Commander Bennett dropped through the hatch, his huge flippers on, his attack board held tight in both hands. Right behind him came young Buster Townsend, on his first mission, and as he swam forward, he reached out for his leader both mentally and physically.

  Buster was afraid, here in this deep water with, for all he knew, several thousand Chinese lying in wait for him on the beach. But he had been trained for this, or something very like it, for years, and he knew what to do, and he placed his right hand on the broad left shoulder of his leader, and together the two Americans kicked hard toward the prisoners of Admiral Zhang Yushu.

  Rusty quickly found his course, due north as planned, and he and Buster got their kicks synchronized…KICK…one…two…three…four…KICK…one…two…three…four. Each one took them 10 feet closer, and they would need 300 kicks, one every five seconds, a 25-minute swim.

  It sounds simple, but it is only simple to those who have hammered their bodies into shape on the anvil of U.S. Navy SEAL training and discipline. And now, as Rusty and Buster knifed their way through the water, they were both asking big questions of their bodies, and they were both getting all the right answers.