by Jack Terral
Mike turned away. The thought of watching American sailors being killed sickened him. For one wild, desperate moment he thought of getting the Webley revolver in his cabin and taking out key members of the flagship's crew. But he knew that would solve nothing except provide momentary relief before he was shot down himself. There was absolutely nothing he could do but observe the carnage to come. The worst part was that he was going to have to cheer when the American vessel was sunk by the super-fast missile attack vessel.
The Harbi-min-Islam sped across the Arabian Sea toward her objective.
.
ACV BATTLECRAFT
VICINITY OF 15deg NORTH AND 65deg EAST
THE flickering radar blip was a familiar signal to Lieutenant Veronica Rivers. She grinned, announcing, "The dhow is back, Captain. Three-five-zero at ten miles. She's heading due west."
"Right," Brannigan replied. "Okay, folks. Remember our orders when we caught her heading at two-seven-zero. General quarters! Did you get that course, Watkins?"
"Course three-five-zero, aye, sir!"
Lieutenant Veronica Rivers had her weapons system humming as per standing operational procedures even though they knew the dhow was unarmed. She checked her scopes for signs of aircraft. 'Three aircraft off to the northeast at five miles."
"That would be the Hornet Escort," Brannigan said. He turned to the patrol frequency. "Hornet Escort, this is Battlecraft. Over."
The voice of the F/A-18 flight leader came back. "This is Hornet Escort. Over."
"We've got the dhow on our scope and are moving in," Brannigan said. "How about a security sweep around the area? Over."
"Roger, wilco."
.
HORNET ESCORT
"DID you monitor that transmission from the Battlecraft? the flight leader radioed.
"Roger," his wingman replied. "Lead the way, Boss."
The wingman's RIO came on the air. "I've got a blip just about due east at maybe fourteen miles. Moving rapidly in a southern direction. She's got warship written all over her."
"Let check it out," the flight leader said. "It might be an awkward situation if some Middle East navy observes our activities up close."
The two F/A-18s moved toward the suspect blip, then went down from angels ten to angels two as they closed in. "We're almost there," the RIO reported.
"Okay," the flight leader said. "I've got a visual. She's a warship all right, but I can't make out the nationality. Let's make a close orbit around her."
The pair of aircraft began a flying a tight circle around the vessel that sped across the expanse of water below them.
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FLAGSHIP HARBI-MIN-ISLAM
THE officer of the watch stepped in from the signal deck. "The two aircraft are American," he reported. "Super Hornets."
"Alert the Exocet crew" Commodore Mahamat ordered. "Lock and fire on the aircraft."
Mike Assad's knuckles turned white from his hard grip on the bulkhead railing. He trembled with impotent rage, taking deep breaths to keep his emotions under tight control.
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HORNET ESCORT
"WE'RE locked on!" the RIO yelled. "Missile launch!"
Both the flight leader and his wingman reacted as quickly as possible, kicking out chaff and flares as the former broke left and the latter right in violent collective maneuvering.
It was too little too late.
The French MM-40 missiles had very little airspace to pass through and they found their targets easy marks. An American F/A-18E and F/A-18F were blown from the sky in instantaneous detonations of orange and red. Numerous pieces of the aircraft trailed smoke and flame, fluttering all the way down to the sea.
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ACV BATTLECRAFT
"JESUS Christ!" Lieutenant Veronica Rivers yelled out. "Those Hornet Escort guys disappeared off the scope. They were locked on and hit."
"Where the hell did the ordnance come from?" Brannigan asked. "Nothing was fired from the dhow."
"Ship approaching from zero-zero-three at a high rate of speed!" Veronica reported. "They gotta be the bad guys."
Brannigan flipped to the inter-ship nautical channel. "Unknown vessel, this is United States Navy ACV Battlecraft Identify yourself. Over."
"We're locked on," Veronica calmly informed the skipper. "Missile launch. Evade! I am launching chaff and flares!"
Paul Watkins, responding with instincts honed during their battle drills, went into a wide turn as he pushed the throttle to flank speed. Brannigan raised the Dan Daly's CDC. "This is Battlecraft We are under attack by an unknown naval vessel. Readings indicate this ship has blown away the two aircraft of the Hornet Escort. Over."
"Roger, Battlecraftthe tactical action officer responded. "Wait."
Brannigan yelled over at Watkins. "Continue to take evasion action!"
"Continue to take evasion action," Watkins replied in a businesslike tone. "Aye, sir." He abruptly steered the ACV onto another heading as Veronica kicked out more chaff and flares.
"Battlecraft" came the voice of the tactical action officer. "You are to immediately break off all contact and return to the home ship at flank speed. Over."
"This is Battlecraft," Brannigan said. 'That vessel destroyed two American fighter aircraft. We have the capability of making a deadly response to that unprovoked action."
"I say again," the tactical action officer said firmly. "You are to immediately break off all contact and return to the home ship at flank speed. Over."
"Roger, wilco," Brannigan said through clenched teeth. "Rivers, what's the course back to the Dan Daly?"
"One-eight-seven," Veronica replied.
"Watkins," Brannigan said. "Steer to course one-eight-seven at flank speed."
"Course one-eight-seven at flank speed, aye, sir."
Veronica Rivers gave Brannigan a startled look. "What the hell is going on? I have a solid lock on that damn warship!"
"We're turning tail," he replied.
Chapter 12.
USS DAN DALY
INDIAN OCEAN
VICINITY OF 5deg NORTH AND 65deg EAST
21 OCTOBER
0800 HOURS LOCAL
THE ACV Battlecraft had been pulled from the water and hauled up into the loading bay of the ship for its first scheduled overhaul. Bobby Lee Atwill, the gas-turbine system technician, was able to handle the work on the Poder-Ventaja engine without help. He was very much aware that at that time, he was the only sailor in the entire United States Navy who knew the power plant inside and out. After spreading tarpaulins around the small wardroom, he began dismantling the engine to give each separate part a thorough inspection and cleaning. Within a quarter of an hour of beginning the task, he was happily lost in the greasy work, performing his version of exploratory surgery on the machine he loved more than any of his human shipmates.
The radar, weapons, and navigational systems were a different story. Lieutenant Veronica Rivers kept ahead of that game by a continuous self-imposed program of monitoring and adjustments. However, she and Jim Cruiser were both tasked with all the paperwork regarding the overhaul procedures and results. This consisted of two booklets of forms that had to be filled out and signed by them; countersigned by Lieutenant Bill Brannigan; then counter-countersigned by the skipper of the USS Dan Daly.
They also had to use all previous maintenance and repair procedures listed in the electronic, weapon, and engine logs as references. Not even a yeoman who could type a hundred words a minute would be able to lend a hand in this ponderous administrative procedure. It was a matter of filling out lengthy forms requiring signatures on each one. Jim and Veronica loaded all the documents into a couple of boxes, then lugged the weighty load of data from the docking well, across the flight deck to the island, and up three decks to an unused small wardroom on the aft end. After dumping it all on a table, they sat down next to each other to begin.
"Okay," Jim said, pulling a pen from his shirt pocket. "The first form is for the navigational system. Box one: name and num
ber of vessel." He filled in uss dan daly, lhx-i , then went the rest of the way through the heading as Veronica laid out the maintenance sheets for reference.
"I hope we can get this done quickly," she said. "Everyone is anxious to revenge those Hornet guys who were blown out of the sky."
"You don't have to worry about that," Jim said. "The skipper says if anything big starts going down, the Battlecraft will charge straight into the fight even if we have to bolt it back together as we fly out of the docking well."
"Great!" Veronica said. "Now. What's the first thing on this rather complicated agenda?"
"The brand-new automatic pilot," Jim said. "Let's start with the first page of the AP maintenance log."
She pulled it out, and as he read the questions on the form aloud, she carefully perused the dates and actions taken. As they went through the routine, they looked up now and then, their eyes locking. Both would avert their gazes, but at one point when Jim asked her about the replacement of a cathode-ray tube, they continued to gaze at each other without looking away. There are some things that adults of opposite genders can instinctively recognize in each other. And the most remarkable is mutual attraction. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips, and she pressed back. They embraced and exchanged a sexier, deeper lip-lock.
"Oh, God," Jim said as they reluctantly drew apart. "What the hell are we doing?"
Veronica smiled. "That's kind of obvious, isn't it? I think we both knew something was building up between us."
"That isn't what I mean exactly," he said, gently touching her face with his hand. "I was thinking more along the lines of where this romance is going to go."
"It's completely futile, of course," she said. "Hopeless, really."
"And against regulations."
"Anything between us has the chance of that proverbial snowball in hell," Veronica commented.
"Doomed from the start," Jim said, sighing sadly.
"Not a ghost of a chance."
"But from this point on we're going to pursue these feelings straight into a full-blown romance, aren't we?" Jim asked.
"Damn right," Veronica said.
They kissed again, this time longer and with more feeling.
.
CARRIER BATTLE GROUP
1030 HOURS LOCAL
THE SH-60 Seahawk helicopter rose off the deck of the carrier a little over two miles off the starboard beam of the Dan Daly. The nose of the aircraft tipped downward with the pilot's pressure on the cyclic, making it move forward toward its destination.
Within three minutes, the chopper reached the flight deck of the amphibious assault ship and went into another hover before lowering to a gentle landing. Immediately CIA field supervisor Sam Paulsen stepped from the aircraft followed by his assistant, Mort Koenig. They hurried over to the island, where Commander Tom Carey waited for them. After brisk greetings and handshakes, he led them into the interior of the structure and up three decks to the ready room assigned to the crew of the ACV Battlecraft.
The moment they entered the ready room, Lieutenant Bill Brannigan bellowed, "Atten-HUT!" He and Lieutenants Jim Cruiser and Veronica Rivers snapped into rigid positions of attention.
"Stand at ease!" Carey said, surprised at the military formality of the officers. He went to the front of the room while his visitors took seats off to the side. "Please sit down." He indicated the CIA men with a nod of his head. "This is Mr. Paulsen and Mr. Koenig. That's all you need to know about them right now. The first thing I want to do is take the rap for the order directing the Battlecraft to break off contact at the start of the confrontation yesterday. I know you are all anxious to avenge the loss of those three aviators, and I am also fully aware that Lieutenant Brannigan was getting ready to kick ass properly and effectively. But the fact the attacking vessel was obviously a warship belonging to a sovereign nation threw me for a loop. This could have been what might be classified as a friendly fire incident and I didn't want the foreign vessel blown out of the water even if her skipper was a stupid bastard sailing the seven seas with his head up his ass." He nodded to Brannigan. "Did you get a good look at her?"
"Yes, sir," Brannigan replied. "She was a fast-attack ship; British Province-Class to be exact. I looked her up in the Jane's Warships of the World"
"Well, shit," Paulsen said. "That could cover more than one navy in this part of the world. Did you see her ensign?"
"She showed no national colors," Brannigan said. "We caught a fleeting glimpse of a scarlet flag with a white device of some sort. It didn't look like any national colors that I recognized." He glanced at Veronica Rivers. "What about your observations, Lieutenant?"
"I just saw blips on my weapons scopes, sir," Veronica reported. "I read the launch against the Hornets; then they turned on us. They brought us under fire and we went into a quick evasion mode waiting for orders. However, I was locked on solid on the attacker when the order to disengage was received." She paused, almost glaring at Carey. "We could've blown the son of a bitch out of the water in less that a half minute, sir."
"I realize that, Lieutenant," Carey conceded. He turned his eyes on Paulsen. "Do you have any comments?"
"Well," Paulsen said, "only that we're keeping a tight lid on this until the State Department can sort through the mess. Meanwhile, we're not going to be sitting on our asses. I have official permission to inform you folks you're authorized to go out armed and angry. Therefore, in the future you are to retaliate against any hostile action with extreme prejudice-- I say again--extreme prejudice no matter the attacker. Losses of American lives will not be tolerated no matter the circumstances."
The two SEAL officers and Veronica exchanged looks of grim satisfaction.
"All right then," Carey said. "Now I have some highly classified matters to discuss with Mr. Paulsen and Mr. Koenig. Since this a need-to-know situation at this point in time, you are all dismissed. Sorry if I don't give you more information on their backgrounds, but I'm sure you appreciate the situation as it now stands. My two colleagues and I are staying aboard the Dan Daly until this operation is brought to completion."
Brannigan gestured to his lieutenants. "Care to have some coffee in the wardroom before you go back to work?"
"Sounds like a winner, sir," Veronica commented.
Paulsen waited until the three left the room, then turned his attention to Carey and Koenig. "I haven't mentioned our secondary mission here to anyone yet. But I think you guys probably already know what it is."
"I would say finding out about Mike Assad's location and health," Carey said.
"That may be a real problem," Koenig said. "He's disappeared off the face of the earth."
Paulsen pulled a packet of papers from his briefcase. "Here's the latest poop we have on him, and it ain't much, guys. He made his so-called escape in Rawalpindi on sixteen October as planned. He must have been delayed somewhat, because he didn't turn up anywhere until twenty October, when he was picked up by the local cops in the Northwest Frontier Province."
"How did you get the word on that?" Carey asked.
"We've got informants scattered hither and thither within Pakistani police organizations," Paulsen explained. "Their reports filtered in from different points and the one from the Northwest Frontier rang a bell. The prisoner picked up from a routine bus inspection matched Mike's description."
"As I recall, Mike looked pretty nondescript in his duty costume," Koenig said. "That could have been just about anybody."
"Well, this prisoner managed to escape from the local lockup," Paulsen said. "And he took along some field gear, ammunition, and a pistol that belonged to the cops."
Carey laughed loudly. "Oh, man! That's Mike Assad all right! Only a SEAL could pull off that caper."
'The problem is that we don't know if he made it back to his al-Mimkhalif buddies or not," Paulsen said. "That Northwest Frontier is dangerous as hell. Along with all the natural perils of snakes, scorpions, and hyenas, there're bandits to boot. And let's take the Pathans o
r the Pashtuns or whatever the hell they call themselves into account. Those are some real bad asses. They'd slit a guy's throat just to listen to him gurgle."
"If he's dead, then Operation Deep Thrust is over and done," Carey remarked.
"I'm afraid so," Koenig agreed, "and I'll take that kind of personally."
"Koenig has been the guy picking up Mike's intel reports from the dead-letter drop," Paulsen explained. "He's been playing the role of a UN agricultural advisor in the area. But Mike hasn't been sending anything lately, so we pulled Koenig out. There was a lingering chance everyone and everything was compromised."
"I don't see that we can do a lot from where we sit," Koenig remarked.
"I've arranged it so that the instant he makes any kind of contact, we will be notified here on the Dan Daly" Paulsen said. "If the circumstances warrant, I'm authorized to get him the hell out of any mess he might be in."
"How the hell are you going to do that?" Carey asked.
"Commander," Paulsen said with shrug, "I don't have the slightest fucking idea."
.
ROYAL YACHT SAYIH
GOLF OF ADEN
VICINITY OF 13deg NORTH AND 48deg EAST
1345 H0URS
COMMODORE Muhammad Mahamat led the way as he stepped from his gig onto the platform of the yacht's accommodation ladder. He was closely followed by Hafez Sabah, Mike Assad, and their two young companions, Imran and Ayyub. The sheikh's trio of bodyguards--Alif, Baa, and Taa--stood at the apex, looking down at the visitors to the ship as they came aboard.
As soon as Imran and Ayyub were aboard, the bodyguards whipped out their pistols and aimed dead at the ex-baker apprentices who carried AK-47s. Alif growled, "Haram-forbidden! No one may bring weapons aboard the yacht!"
Sabah was angry about the discourtesy. 'These two young men are mujahideen! As soldiers of Islam they are expected to be armed at all times. And they are our bodyguards."
Alif, with his eyes peering intently at the two armed boys, nodded his head toward Taa. "See Sheikh Omar about this." He scowled at Mike and Sabah as Taa hurried away. "Are you carrying weapons?"
