by Jack Terral
"La" Mahamat said, shaking his head. "We left our personal arms aboard the flagship."
Mike stepped off to one side and gave Alif and Baa a close professional scrutiny. Not too bright; highly dedicated; willing to die to protect the sheikh; fully trained; physically fit; and extremely aggressive with guard-dog personalities well imbedded within limited human intellects. To sum it up: They would be the deadliest of adversaries. That would be something to keep in mind.
Moments later Taa reappeared, going up to Alif and whispering in his ear. The head bodyguard lowered his weapon and Baa followed the example in a monkey-see-monkey-do reaction. Alif said, "The sheikh gives your bodyguards his kind permission to keep their weapons. Please come with us."
The four visitors followed their surly escorts aft to where the sheikh held court while ogling his consorts between periods of inflicting sexual battery on them. When the visitors stepped onto the stern deck, both Imran and Ayyub let out gasps of astonishment. The sight of bare-breasted European women wearing only thongs was almost more than the two country boys could endure. To them this was a situation expressly forbidden by the Holy Koran, and they looked away, then back, then away, back, and finally turned to stare across the water at the flagship Harbi-min-Islam, fearful that having gazed upon the naked temptresses, they would be banished to the fiery depths of Hell forever. Sabah, amused by their discomfiture, laughed at them.
"All right, boys," he said jokingly. "Go forward and take up posts on each side of the yacht. Make sure no submarines surface to fire at us."
The two apprentice bakers, both red-faced with shame and fear, rushed off to their posts.
The sheikh invited his guests to sit down after sending the women away. He lit a Turkish cigarette and expelled the smoke, as he looked at Mahamat. "Introduce your colleagues to me."
"Of course, Sheikh Omar," Mahamat said. "You already know Brother Hafez Sabah "
"Indeed I do," the sheikh said. "You are doing a superlative job as you continue to direct our program of transport and supply."
"I am most honored by your kind compliment, Sheikh Omar," Sabah said.
"And this," Mahamat said, pointing to Mike, "is Mikael Assad from America."
The sheikh laughed loudly. "So! You are the clever fellow who escaped from the Americans in Pakistan, are you?"
"I come back for to fight," Mike said.
Mahamat switched languages. "It might be better if we spoke in English. Brother Assad is still in the process of improving his grasp of Arabic."
"Of course," the sheikh said. "In what part of America did you live?"
"Buffalo, New York," Mike replied, falling back on his cover story. "I was not happy there."
Sabah interjected, "When Brother Mikael joined us, he knew very little Arabic and had no serious instruction in the tenets of Islam. However, he has proven to be an apt student and his growing faith inspires all of us as does his bravery and resourcefulness "
"Ajib--wonderful!" the sheikh exclaimed. "You have returned to the bosom of your culture and are now winning glory, Mikael."
"Yes, sir," Mike replied.
"You must address the exalted one as Sheikh Omar," Mahamat instructed.
"Yes, Sheikh Omar," Mike said, correcting himself.
"Now, Commodore," the sheikh said. "I understand that you had contact with the American air-cushion vehicle. How did it go?"
"In one way it was a glorious victory," Mahamat said. "We destroyed two American planes by blasting them from the sky."
"Mmm," the sheikh said. "And in what way was it disappointing?"
"The air-cushion vehicle was better armed than we anticipated," Mahamat admitted. "However, this is not an insurmountable problem. The next time I go out to do battle with the infidel vessel, I shall bring along all six of my fast-attack craft. They are heavily armed and capable of hitting speeds of one hundred twenty kilometers an hour."
"I see," said the sheikh. He reached down and picked up a folder on the table next to him. He opened it and studied a paper it contained. "According to Saudi intelligence, the American air-cushion vehicle can travel faster than one hundred forty kilometers an hour."
"From what I saw of it, I believe that to be true," Mahamat said. "But there is only one of them. When it meets with my squadron, it will cease to exist within a quarter of an hour. It cannot be in all places at once, in spite of how fast it skims the ocean."
"Do you have any special tactics in mind?" the sheikh asked.
As Mahamat began explaining his battle plans, Mike Assad's mind went into an analytical and evaluative mode. He now realized he was in the presence of the supreme leader of the al-Mimkhalif terrorist group. And the son of a bitch was a Saudi Arabian. Actually, that was no great surprise.
That vital information, combined with knowledge of the Zauba Fast Attack Squadron, had to be sent back to Paulsen, or the entire operation was doomed to a catastrophic failure that could affect the entire campaign against Middle Eastern terrorism.
Man! Mike mused in his mind. This is some heavy shit
Mahamat finished his report, and the sheikh seemed pleased with his plans for confronting the ACV. He looked over at Hafez Sabah. "And how is our old friend Harry Turpin?"
"His cooperation is assured as long as he makes money off us," Sabah answered. "He betrayed Abduruddin Suhanto's treachery to us, but only because al-Mimkhalif is the better customer."
"Sometimes I feel a bit like the Communist Lenin," the sheikh said. "He took advantage of the capitalists' greed as much as we take advantage of the infidels' particularly materialistic tendencies."
Mike spoke up. 'That is what I hated the most about America, Sheikh Omar."
The sheikh smiled. "You are a true son of Islam, Mikael."
"I pray your trust in me remains strong," Mike said sincerely since his mission success depended on the man's absolute confidence in him. You smoke-blowing son of a bitch!
.
USS DAN DALY
INDIAN OCEAN
1900 HOURS
AN atmosphere of tension, crackling like electricity among the attendees, filled the briefing room. The late hour of the impromptu session added to the edginess of the four members of the ACV Battlecraft's operational crew, Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, Lieutenant (JG) Veronica Rivers, Petty Officer First Class Paul Watkins, and Petty Officer Second Class Bobby Lee Atwill. The two assault sections were conspicuous by their absence from this meeting.
Commander Tom Carey opened the session with the terse announcement that this was a combat briefing plain and simple. "You are going into harm's way," he said. "This is strictly a sea attack, and your mission is to hunt and destroy that unknown warship that destroyed the two F/A-18s and fired at you."
Everyone instinctively sat up straighter, and glances were directed at Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, who had his notebook out and pen poised.
Carey continued. "You will not have air cover. The reason for this is that we want only one American blip showing up on radars whether they be friendly or hostile. This is not sound battle procedure; it is, instead, a political necessity because of pressures involving international diplomacy."
" 'Ours is but to do or die,'" Brannigan said, quoting from the poem "The Charge of the Light Brigade" by the Englishman Lord Tennyson.
"I'm afraid so," Carey said. "But don't think it means you are expendable. But as members of a volunteer professional military establishment, you must realize that from the first moment you put on that uniform, you volunteered to obey the orders of your superiors. That means first you follow those orders without hesitation, then bring forth your personal observations during debriefings afterward. And I emphasize that this session today is a briefing, not a debriefing. Thus, no expression of opinions is invited." He looked at Brannigan. "Poetic or not."
"In other words," Brannigan remarked dryly, "we lock our heels and follow orders."
"If a gust of wind blows those orders out a porthole, you follow after 'em right into the sea," Carey said, pas
sing out charts to Brannigan and his crew. "Here is your operational area. Nothing new there. You've been out there dozens of times. Now, let's talk ordnance. Your missile load will be six AGM-one-nineteen-B Penguin missiles. These fire-and-forget goodies are usually launched from Seahawk helicopters, so now you know why weapons wings were placed on each side of Battlecraft's cabin."
"I designed them that way, sir," Veronica emphatically stated.
"A point well taken, Lieutenant," Carey said with an apologetic smile. "At any rate, the Penguins' semi-armor-piercing, HE warheads are more than adequate to handle that warship. Of course Lieutenant Rivers will also have her thirty-millimeter chain gun. You will not have an antiaircraft capability for two reasons. The first is that our intelligence assessments conclude there will be no aerial attacks directed at you." He grinned wryly. "And the second is that you don't have room for all those Penguins and any sea-to-air weaponry too."
"Sir," Brannigan said. "Do we have any idea of the nationality of that warship?"
"Not the slightest, Lieutenant," Carey replied. "And here's the real hang-up for you. While I described this as a hunt-and-destroy mission, you are not to attack until you are fired on. Another disadvantage forced on you by the conditions out here."
Veronica asked, "Are you going to issue us an OPORD, sir?"
"I just have, Lieutenant," Carey said. "You will go immediately to the Battlecraft after this briefing for a final inspection of the ACV's condition. You will begin your mission tomorrow from the Daly's docking well at 0530."
"Oh-dark-thirty," Brannigan remarked. "The regular ol' SOP."
"Right," Carey said. "Good luck and Godspeed, Battlecraft:'
Everyone stood to attention as the commander left the room.
Chapter 13.
ACV BATTLECRAFT
ARABIAN SEA
VICINITY OF 15deg NORTH AND 65deg EAST
22 OCTOBER
1100 NOONS
PALI L Watkins had programmed the way point data into the automatic pilot, and the ACV ran the proper azimuths at a steady sixty-two miles per hour on two-thirds speed. Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, sitting in his captain's chair, ordered the fuel-consuming velocity for the dual purposes of attracting attention and making the ACV easy to identify by any unfriendlies who might be looking for her.
Over to Watkins's sight, Lieutenant Veronica Rivers maintained an electronic surveillance of their environment while keeping her weapons systems ready for a violent response to any aggressive actions directed toward the Battlecraft Bobby Lee Atwill sat in the doorway to his engine room, sipping hot coffee from a grease-stained cup.
Lieutenant Rivers spoke tersely into the intercom. "I've got a target at three-two-one, twenty-miles. Estimate it's moving at forty-plus miles per hour. That's got to be our bad boy."
"I agree," Bannerman replied. "Helmsman, steer three-two-one. Maintain speed."
"Steer three-two-one, maintain speed, aye, sir!" Watkins said.
The autopilot automatically disengaged when Watkins manipulated sticks and rudder for the change in course. This was one of the times when the SOP and common sense called for manual control.
Veronica checked her instruments. "We're in their radar," she reported. "I'm locked onto it."
"Roger," Bannerman said.
"I've picked up six more signals, Captain," Veronica said. "Jesus! The little bastards are moving fast as hell. Seventy-plus miles per hour."
"Concentrate on the faster blips," Brannigan ordered.
"Aye, sir," Veronica replied. "They're spreading out now, getting into positions all around us."
"Roger," Bannerman acknowledged. He picked up the radio microphone and raised the Combat Direction Center on the USS Dan Daly, where Commander Tom Carey stood by with the two CIA men, Paulsen and Koenig. When Bannerman's initial contact was recognized by a reply from the CDC radioman, the SEAL delivered a short meaningful transmission:
"We are engaged. Out."
.
THE BATTLE
1140 HOURS LOCAL
THE half-dozen speedier enemy craft were the Zauba Squadron's Spica-Class fast-attack boats. Commodore Muhammad Mahamat knew that the ACV had an estimated speed advantage over the vessels of twenty kilometers per hour. He directed his battle plan from his flagship Harbi-min-Islam, and he ordered the smaller craft to spread out and come in at the ACV from various directions to neutralize that plus in the Americans' favor. Proper positioning would be the key to victory that day.
The Number One Attack Boat swung over to the outside, faking an envelopment maneuver, then quickly cut straight in at the ACV. This was the Battlecraft's first target, and a fire-and-forget Penguin antiship missile kicked off the weapons wing. Its Mach-1.2 speed carried it with merciless swiftness to the target, and the warhead hit the attack boat less than a foot above the waterline. The hull split open as the upper structure bent and twisted in the blinding detonation. In less than five seconds there was no sign of the boat on the sea except for bits of debris and boiling water.
"Incoming!" Veronica reported.
"Evasive action!" Bannerman ordered.
Watkins kicked the ACV up to flank speed, quickly closing in on ninety miles an hour as he made several sharp turns, alternating port and starboard directions. Meanwhile, Veronica released chaff and flares to draw off the enemy missile. It sped straight to some flares floating down toward the ocean and went through them. Then, unable to match the ACV's erratic maneuvering, the deadly rocket continued harmlessly away until it hit the waves and exploded.
"Incoming neutralized," Veronica said.
Watkins was given a new course, and he slowed down to eighty miles an hour as Veronica chose the Number Two Attack Boat as the next target. The young skipper of the Oman boat took a couple of seconds too long to order a launch. Battlecraft's second Penguin slammed into the small ship just aft of the bridge. Both the hull and stem whipped inward as the explosion violently split the port amidships frame.
"Incoming!" Veronica reported again.
"Evasive action!" Bannerman responded.
"Incoming!" Veronica repeated.
With two missiles streaking toward the Battlecraft, Watkins first threw the ACV into a series of powerful tacking maneuvers while kicking her back up to flank speed. The first missile was drawn off by the chaff while the second, coming in from a different angle, was not affected by it or the flares. Watkins made a sharp turn to starboard, waited a couple of beats, then whipped around again in the same direction. The second projectile was unable to match the swift maneuvering and flew toward the distant horizon.
Veronica was not distracted by the violent turns. She managed to get a solid lock on Number Three Attack Boat and kicked off the third Penguin. It hit the bow of the enemy vessel at a three-quarters angle, sending the force of the warhead's explosion down the entire length of the boat. In one terrifying millisecond, bolts popped, welds split, and flesh charred in the total destruction that was blown across two square miles of ocean.
Bannerman jumped down from his chair to stand behind the female weapons officer. He noted the blips of the remaining three attack boats. "Watkins," he yelled out leaning toward the helmsman. "One-quarter left rudder! Two-thirds speed."
"One-quarter left rudder, two-thirds speed, aye, sir," Watkins said as calmly as if he were making ready to move into the Daly's docking well.
Veronica needed no orders. She picked out two of the remaining fast attack boats, locked on, and launched. In short seconds they disappeared from the screen. She glanced up toward Bannerman, her face lit with a fierce surge of happiness.
"Fish in a barrel."
.
FLAGSHIP HARBI-MIN-ISLAM
1155 HOURS LOCAL
COMMODORE Muhammad Mahamat's face was blanched with fear. His mighty Zauba Fast Attack Squadron was down to his flagship and a single, solitary surviving attack boat. He looked at his watch, shocked to note that in some fifteen minutes he had been roundly and solidly defeated by a cursed infidel air-cushion
vehicle.
He jumped on his command frequency and raised the Number Six Attack Boat. "What is your situation? Over."
"I am fully armed," the young skipper answered. He tried to put a tone of bravado in his voice, but a slight tremble was detectable. He had seen his five sister ships disappear off the radar one by one.
"Then with the blessings of Allah," Mahamat said, speaking rapidly, "you will make an immediate attack on the enemy vessel. Over."
"I obey, Amid" the young skipper replied in the full realization that he and his crew were about to be martyred.
Mahamat turned toward the deck officer. "Set a course for Taimur Naval Base. Flank speed."
The deck officer turned away and breathed a surreptitious sigh of relief, then gave the orders to the helmsman.
.
USS DAN DALY
COMBAT DIRECTION CENTER
NOON
COMMANDER Tom Carey exchanged grins with the others in the center as Lieutenant Bill Brannigan's voice came over the commo speaker announcing the destruction of no less than six fast-attack boats.
"Well done, Lieutenant!" Carey exclaimed. "What about the big girl? Over."
"She didn't participate in the fight," Bannerman replied. "And she drew off while we were dealing with the final boat. We've expended our missiles. Request permission to pursue enemy vessel. Over."
"Permission denied," Carey said. "That's a fully armed attack ship and all you've got left is a chain gun. You'd never get close enough to her to put a single round into her hull. Over."
"Understood" Bannerman said. "We'll go about and search for survivors. Prisoners should be useful. Over."
"Roger. As soon as that task is done, set a course for the Dan Daly"
"Wilco. Out-
Carey put the microphone down and looked over at Paulsen and Koenig. "I would say that operation went rather well."
"I agree," Paulsen said. "It seemed they told us they were engaged and had destroyed the enemy in almost the same sentence."
Carey checked the printout of the commo log. "It was almost that fast. Bannerman said they were engaged at 1140 hours and reported the situation well in hand at noon. A victory in twenty minutes is sure as hell better than one in twenty hours or twenty days."
