Battlecraft (2006) s-3

by Jack Terral

  "How far do we go, Mike?"

  "I got no idea, honeybunch," he said. "But I'll be back for you tonight. I'll have to take care of the guard at the gangplank, then we'll be able to get down to the boats." He kissed her. "I'll see you later."

  Mike left her and went back to the stem deck, going around to where Taa still stood watch. He nodded politely to the bodyguard, then went down the gangplank turning toward the wharf area. He walked along slowly, stopping now and then to give the impression he was wandering among the boats for no particular reason. It took nearly twenty minutes of seemingly aimless strolling, but he finally spotted something that interested him.

  A naval whaler boat was tied up at a dock in the center of the waterfront. He hadn't been able to see it right away, but a closer inspection showed it was exacdy what he was looking for. When he walked up, he noticed a couple of sailors refueling it while another was checking out the motor.

  Mike nodded to them. "You take boat out?" he asked in his stumbling Arabic.

  "No, brother," one answered. "We keep all boats prepared in case they are needed for emergencies."

  That's real handy, Mike thought, thanks a lot, you assholes. He smiled at the guy. "May I get on boat for to look at it?"

  "Of course, brother," the man replied.

  Mike went aboard and gave the whaler a close inspection. He noted she was about twenty-five feet long and was powered by an inboard diesel engine. He also quickly caught sight of a radio that was available at the wheel console. From his own naval experience, Mike knew that normally there would be a crew of three, a coxswain, bowman, and radio operator. However, he would be able to handle her alone without any trouble.

  Mike walked down to check out the radio, noting it was a standard marine model, quite easy to operate. There was also a GPS mounted just above the instrument panel. He made sure the sailors weren't watching him, then he switched it on. The device informed him that he was at sixteen degrees north latitude and fifty-three degrees east longitude. Now he had a starting place to navigate from.

  He jumped back up on the dock, waved good-bye to the crewmen, then continued walking around so no one would get the impression he had any interest in that particular craft.

  .

  HILDEGARD'S CABIN

  ROYAL YACHT SAYIH

  2300 HOURS LOCAL

  MIKE Assad turned off the cabin light, then went to the porthole and pushed the curtain aside. He peered out at the wharves, noting that there were no guard posts, either stationary or walking, within the area. He swung his gaze slightly forward and sighted the bodyguard Baa at the gangplank on the main deck. He closed the curtain, then looked over at Hildegard. "Are you ready to go?"

  "Ja" she said. "Ready I am." The woman was dressed in a long-sleeved blouse that buttoned up to the neck. She wore slacks and sandals with socks. The beach hat was looped around her neck. She would slip it on her head to keep the sun off during the hottest part of the day.

  Mike picked up the tote bag from the bunk. It was heavily loaded with plastic bottles of Evian water taken from the women's lounge. Another lighter canvas container was filled with sandwiches that Hildegard had made in the galley. She was so excited about the coming adventure that the impetuous, reckless woman had unwisely told the Frenchwoman Blanche that she and Mike were going to sneak out for a picnic and not return until the next evening when it was dark. Hildegard knew all the women were jealous of her romance with Mike, and used the fib to rub it in.

  "Now or never," Mike said, opening the door. "Let's go, baby!"

  He carried the tote bag while Hildegard took responsibility for the sandwiches. They went slowly and silently down the passageway to the door leading out to the main deck. Mike slowly pulled the heavy metal portal open and peered out. He saw Baa, bored to distraction, leaning against the rail.

  The bastard's evening was about to get more exciting.

  Hildegard waited while Mike stepped out onto the deck. He staggered slightly as if drunk as he approached the gangplank. He hummed an out-of-tune rendition of the old rock standard "Getting Through the Night"--which he thought was an appropriate choice--as he drew closer to Baa. "Kaefae haelik?" he politely inquired.

  "Biher," Baa replied.

  Mike drove the heel of his hand straight into Baa's chin with such force that he felt the jawbone break and slip out of joint as several teeth shattered. The Arab dropped to the deck without as much as a whimper. Mike turned back and motioned to Hildegard to join him. She hurried out, going to Mike's side while looking down at the unconscious bodyguard. All the women had been so intimidated by Alif, Baa, and Taa, they thought them invincible. Evidently, that was a mistaken assumption on their part. But witnessing violence against one of the men still unnerved her to some extent.

  Mike took her hand and led her onto the gangplank and down to the dock. The couple stayed in the shadows as they made their way across the wharves to where the whaler boat sat. Hildegard got aboard as the SEAL loosed the bow and stem lines. He joined her, grabbing the boat hook and giving the vessel a push away from the dock. He winced at the whiny noise when he hit the starter. As soon as the engine caught, he throttled back to just enough power to get under way. Mike piloted the boat for open water, glancing back at the wharf area. He was relieved to note that no alarm had been raised. He looked over at Hildegard, who showed a nervous smile. Mike grinned at her, hoping to put the woman more at ease.

  "Lovely evening for a boat ride, huh?"

  Chapter 16.

  USS DAN DALY

  INDIAN OCEAN

  VICINITY IF 5deg NORTH AND 65deg EAST

  28 OCTOBER

  0503 HOURS LOCAL

  PETTY Officer Paul Watkins had slipped the stern fans into reverse, moving out of the docking well egress at back slow with water spraying up on the steel bulkheads of the Dan Daly. The lift fan's RPM was just enough to hold the Battlecraft a scant two feet above the water's surface as it eased out into the open ocean. The entire SEAL detachment was aboard along with the crew, and the vessel was as crowded as it had been on the night of the coastal raid.

  The weapons wings bristled with Penguin antiship, and both laser and radar antiaircraft missiles. Extra ordnance for those sophisticated systems was stowed in the now unusable wardroom along with extra ammo for the SEALs' CAR-15 rifles and SAWs. Rather than pack along bulky foodstuffs for the microwave, MREs were kept above and inside the cabinetry of the small galley. In following the KISS principle, Lieutenant Bill Brannigan decided everyone would use FRHs to heat their meals. That meant the food could rapidly and easily be prepared anywhere on the ACV.

  When the ACV cleared the mother ship, Brannigan took a final sip of coffee from his cup. "Due north at two-thirds speed."

  "Due north at two-thirds speed, aye, sir," Watkins said, working the piloting instrumentation.

  "Use the automatic pilot," Brannigan said to the helmsman. "We're going to be following this course for a while."

  "Aye, sir," Watkins said, setting the instrument to read the preprogrammed waypoints. "On automatic pilot, sir."

  Brannigan looked out the front windshield at the bleached sky blazing down on the deep blue of the Indian Ocean. 'Those crazy DuBose brothers should have put air-conditioning in this vehicle."

  "They did, sir," Lieutenant Veronica Rivers said. "I had it taken out to make room for the weapons systems."

  "You are heartless," Brannigan said, half-joking.

  Veronica smiled. "I'm just like Hard-Hearted Hannah the Vamp of Savannah in that old song. I'd throw water on a drowning man."

  Brannigan chuckled. "I do believe you would, Lieutenant."

  The First Assault Section was sprawled across the topside of the cabin, well coated with sunscreen and wearing wide-brimmed boonie hats to keep the sun off their faces. Normally, a canvas covering would have been rigged across the area to provide some shade, but the super speeds of the Battlecraft would have blown it off in an instant if Watkins kicked the throtde over to flank speed.

&nbs
p; Down below in the crowded wardroom, Senior Chief Buford Dawkins's Second Assault Section had arranged themselves as comfortably as possible among the piles of ammo and other gear. They were not as comfortable as Jim Cruiser's guys above, but at least they didn't have to worry about sunburn at the moment. That problem would have to be dealt with when it was their turn to move topside.

  Bobby Lee Atwill baked in the engine compartment as he monitored the true love of his life; the gas-turbine power plant that kept the ACV flying over water, ground, swamp, beach, or any other reasonably flat surface. Bobby Lee didn't have to swelter in the company of the engine, but it was his habit of staying close beside her during the first few hours of a cruise. She might get nervous and develop hiccups, and he wanted to be there to calm her down for the job ahead.

  A certain grimness gripped the mood of SEALs and crew alike. All sensed that the next few days would bring about the wrap-up of their mission, and that was always the most dangerous part.

  .

  FORTRESS MIKNBAYI

  0600 HOURS LOCAL

  THE mujahideen guard had just come on duty after relieving the man on the third watch, and he began his rounds slowly, still feeling the need for sleep after leaving his wife and bed less than a half hour before. He strolled up and down the wharves, gazing with disinterest at the boats, coming to a stop at an empty mooring place. One of the whaler boats used to fetch in passengers and cargo from freighters was usually docked there. He glanced out into the deepwater anchorage to see if a crew was tending to one of the merchant ships, but there was no activity out in that area. He yawned, then continued his circuit of the wharves.

  Twenty minutes later he had worked his way back to the guardhouse up at the entrance gate, and stepped inside. He was happy to see a pot of coffee on the hot plate by the guard sergeant's desk. The guard poured himself a cup, sitting down beside the door. After a couple of swallows, he murmured, "Somebody has taken a whaler out." * The sergeant looked up from the roster he was updating. "Mmm? What did you say?"

  "I said one of the whalers has been taken out from Wharf Three."

  "It is probably being used to unload a freighter" the sergeant said.

  "There is not a ship out at the anchorage."

  The sergeant was thoughtful for a moment, then pulled out the previous day's journal. "No one signed it out for use. At least its departure has not been noted down."

  "Some of the fellows are very careless about making entries into the journal," the guard remarked. "They get sleepy at night and miss things."

  "Well, I don't want the guard captain to think it was us," the sergeant said. He reached for the ancient field telephone and cranked it. "This is Sergeant Aboud," he said when the call was answered. "Somebody has taken a whaler out and the guard sergeant last night did not make note of it. Yes. It is missing from Wharf Three. My man noticed it first thing this morning. Thank you. Good-bye."

  The guard chuckled. "You just watch. There are a couple of careless fellows who are going to be sent out to a mujahideen camp to shape them up, eh?"

  The sergeant grinned. "A bit of danger and hardship will serve them right."

  .

  THE bodyguards Alif and Taa walked down to the docks, turning toward the Royal Yacht Sayih. Since Baa had been on duty all night, he would have the whole day off, and the other two would split the watch until he came back at eight o'clock that evening. Alif glanced up toward the head of the gangplank.

  "Where is he?"

  Taa shrugged. "He must have gone to the toilet. I always dislike that all-night shift. All I think about is having to urinate. And as soon as I try, something interrupts me."

  They reached the gangplank and hurried up, coming to an abrupt stop when they reached the deck. Their pal Baa was sprawled on his side, groaning softly. The two thugs rushed to him, kneeling down and roughly rolling him over on his back. Baa's jaw was at a peculiar angle, and his face was swollen all the way up to the bridge of his nose.

  "What happened?" Taa asked.

  Baa couldn't speak. He groaned, his eyes silently pleading for help. Alif got to his feet. "I'll go to the bridge and put in a call to the dispensary."

  Taa stayed with Baa, looking impassively at the man, who was obviously in a great deal of pain.

  .

  SHEIKH Omar Jambarah toweled himself off after stepping from the large walk-in shower in his quarters. He had washed his thinning hair for the first time with a special brand of American shampoo that was supposed to thicken up fading locks of men suffering from male-pattern baldness. He stood in front of the mirror, running the drier from the front of his head all the way to back, wincing at the heat. After a couple of dozen swipes, he checked his reflection and noticed that his hair did look a bit thicker. Satisfied, he walked from the bathroom into his bedroom, where a valet had laid out a fresh tank top, shorts, briefs, and sandals. After changing, he took another door to reach his dining area, and settled at the table.

  A steward poured his coffee, then prepared a plate of scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, and biscuits. After a decade and a half as a schoolboy in England, he swore he would never have another kipper for breakfast. The sheikh preferred the American style except for bacon and sausage. The meat of pigs was one prohibition of the Koran he believed in.

  The steward set the plate in front of the sheikh, then stepped back to the serving table to await his master's next summons. Jambarah swept up some scrambled egg on his fork and shoved it in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, then said, "Go fetch Mikael Assad for me. I would like to have his company while I eat."

  "I am sorry, Sheikh Omar," the steward said. "I went to his cabin earlier and he was not there. It appears the American brother did not sleep in his bed."

  Jambarah laughed. "He was on the yacht, that's where he was! I think he has become quite infatuated with that German woman. Ah, well! I shall just have to speak to him later."

  A knock on the door sounded, and the steward responded. Alif the bodyguard stepped into the room. "A thousand pardons, Sheikh Omar. A disturbing event has occurred."

  The sheikh stopped eating, frowning at the bodyguard. 'This had better be important."

  "Somebody attacked Baa during the night on the yacht," Alif said. "He is badly injured and is in the dispensary being treated. Taa is staying with him."

  The sheikh put his fork down. "Now how could such a thing happen? Is the ship damaged?"

  "No," Alif said. "Everything is fine. I checked with the watch officer. The crew knew nothing of Baa's predicament."

  Jambarah started to speak again, but was interrupted by yet another knock on the door. The chief of security came into the suite with the usual report he personally delivered to the sheikh each morning. The sheikh turned his attention to him. "Did you know one of my bodyguards was attacked on the yacht during the night?"

  "No, Sheikh Omar," the man said, then quickly added, 'The yacht is not included in our area of responsibility."

  "I know it is not!" Jambarah snapped. "But perhaps one of your men heard a noise or something. Surely they are able to see and hear beyond that area of responsibility."

  "Of course, Sheikh Omar," the security chief said. "But nothing was reported except that someone took a whaler boat out."

  The sheikh leaned back in his chair. "Now why would anybody need a whaler boat?"

  "I thought to tend to a freighter" the chief of security said. "But there has not been one here since the Liberian tanker a week ago."

  The sheikh got to his feet. "Something strange is going on, and I intend to get to the bottom of it."

  .

  WHALER BOAT

  INDIAN OCEAN

  VICINITY OF 5deg NORTH AND 55deg EAST

  0900 HOURS LOCAL

  MIKE Assad stood at the wheel maintaining a course of due east on the compass. Three things were irritating the hell out of him. The first was that the radio in the boat was not hooked into the vessel's power. Instead, it ran on its own battery, which seemed to be quite low. That mea
nt he could not maintain a continuous attempt to contact American warships. From the way things looked, the commo gear could possibly be completely dead within three or four hours.

  The second vexing problem was navigation. Without a chart he could not plot a course to any particular point in the watery world he moved across. The GPS gave him accurate readings on his longitude and latitude, but he did not know the exact coordinates of the nearest landfall or where he might run into a U. S. carrier battle group. As it was, he hadn't seen so much as a single aircraft in the sky to give evidence of a nearby task force.

  The third and most aggravating and exasperating part of this escape was his companion. Hildegard Keppler had begun the trip in a high frame of mind in spite of some preliminary nervousness. She'd thought it exciting to run away from the sheikh's fortress, but now her attitude had evolved into a petulant, demanding mood. Mike now realized she was an immature woman who demanded instant gratification for her wants and needs. The temperature was relatively temperate when the sun was on the other side of the world, but now it had been steadily climbing. The heat had increased markedly and without a bimini over the cockpit, the rays beat down on them in perceptible waves of stinging heat.

  And it was only nine o'clock in the morning.

  Hildegard reached into the tote bag for a bottle of the Evian water. Mike snapped at her. "Hey! Let's take it easy with that stuff, okay? We don't know how long it will have to last us."

  She pouted. "But thirsty I am."

  "I don't give a shit if thirsty you are," Mike said, mocking her in his anger. "If we drink up all our water in one day, then pretty damn quick it'll be dead we are. Understand?"

  "Why you want to bring the water if drink it we are not?"

  "We came with a case of that stuff, all right?" Mike said, forcing himself to calm down. "That's twenty-four half-liter bottles, see? Each of 'em is a little over a pint."

  "A pint I don't know what it is."

  "Look at the godamn bottles!" he growled. "You can see how big they are, right? Okay. Now we got to each drink no more than one of them a day, see? That gives us twelve frigging days. After that, we better find somebody within sixty to seventy hours or we're gonna die from thirst."