The Aden Effect

by Claude G. Berube

  As he reached the hilltop, all his senses switched to full receive mode—vision, hearing, touch, smell—every bit of information he could gather was important.

  Two of the Somalis popped their heads above the SUV. Golzari came around the left side of the vehicle, raised both weapons, and fired eight rounds, felling the two before they could respond.

  The only man standing was Asha himself, who raised his hands to show that he had no weapon. Apparently he had left the fighting to the others. Golzari pounced on him and swung the butt of his pistol across Asha’s forehead. Asha tried to throw a punch, but Golzari deflected it with one arm as he brought the butt down again, closer this time to the center of Asha’s head. The unmistakable crack of a skull being split echoed in the air. Asha fell, helpless but still conscious.

  The mercs had closed in behind him now. Golzari holstered one pistol and reached into his pocket for his digital voice recorder. He spoke to Asha in Arabic. “Did you kill John Dunner?”

  Asha said nothing.

  “Abdi Mohammed Asha, listen to me carefully,” Golzari said, pointing his pistol at Asha’s temple. “Answer me truthfully and live. Did you kill John Dunner in Antioch, Maine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I have an agreement.”

  “An agreement with who?”

  “I am to return to Somalia and take control,” Asha said.

  “Who is the agreement with?” Golzari said, shaking his prisoner.

  Asha grinned. “There was an American. A very powerful American. I never met him.”

  “That’s not good enough. Who did you meet? Who did you work with?”

  A mile away, a party of Chinese observers had watched the entire battle and shipboard explosion unfold through high-powered binoculars. Mr. Hu, wearing his usual black pants and a pastel green shirt, ordered his men to deal with the situation, then got into a black Land Rover and was driven away from the scene.

  Golzari grabbed Asha’s shirt collar and lifted him to his feet, already planning the best way to get the Somali back to Washington to extract more information from him. As Golzari turned toward the security personnel to issue recovery orders, Asha’s head exploded, spraying the agent’s face with blood, pieces of bone, and brain matter.

  “Down, down, down,” one of the mercs screamed.

  Golzari released Asha’s body and dropped to the ground, trying to determine if any of the blood was his own.

  “Sniper,” Golzari realized. “Where is he? Did anyone get a make?”

  “I’ve got him,” one of the security personnel called out. “He’s about three hundred yards to the west and just got in an SUV heading back over the hill.”

  Back to Chinatown, thought Golzari.

  USS Bennington, off Socotra, 0813 (GMT)

  “Bridge, TAO.”

  “Go ahead,” Stark said.

  “Inbound ship and slow-moving aircraft that we’re still trying to identify. Coming in from zero-one-zero degrees.”

  Stark looked at the navigational chart. “Air Boss, where was that cluster of ships?”

  “Right here. It would be coming from zero-one-zero.”

  “Bobby, are our SM-2s ready?”

  “Sir, we’re empty.”

  “What do you mean we’re empty?”

  “We don’t have any missiles. No SM-2s. No Tomahawks. No Harpoons. When Fifth Fleet disapproved us for Persian Gulf escort duty with the carrier, they had us transfer all our missiles to other ships.”

  “That’s just great,” Stark said. Then, thinking quickly, “Boss, does Five-Eight have the same number of Hellfires as Five-Seven?”

  “Same load. I made sure of it.”

  “Does Five-Eight have enough fuel to intercept that aircraft?”

  “They’re still twenty minutes out, but they can push it to twelve. It’ll burn more of their fuel and they’ll be riding fumes, but I think they can do it—at least before I can get Five-Seven fueled back up.”

  “Direct them to intercept that aircraft. I’m pretty sure it’s the helo we saw spinning up on the OSV’s deck. I want Five-Eight to see if there are small boats ahead of it as well. The night I went in the water I heard a helo, and it wasn’t one of ours. I couldn’t figure out how they were running remote-controlled boats when no other ships were in sight, but it makes sense if they were running them from a helo.”

  Hadiboh, 0817 (GMT)

  Golzari and the others returned to the operations site carrying the wounded Highland security officer. “Gunny, SitRep,” he said, suddenly tired as the adrenaline that had pushed him up the hill toward Asha left his system.

  “All accounted for. Our teams are still in position in the buildings,” said the gruff Marine.

  “Ambassador, Abdi Mohammed Asha was there. He’s dead.”

  “He was going to attack our operation?” she said. “Thank-you isn’t enough.”

  “That isn’t all of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Asha confirmed that he killed John Dunner and said an American was involved, too.”

  “Who?”

  “He died before I could find out,” said Golzari. “Right now, though, we have to find out what happened on the Bennington and figure out how to get our people out of here.”

  Golzari turned on his handheld radio, checked his watch, and looked in the direction of the ship. Wispy smoke was still trickling from the wardroom portholes.

  “DATT, RSO.” No response. Maddox and Sumner waited anxiously for Stark to respond.

  “DATT, RSO,” Golzari repeated.

  He tried one more time. “DATT, RSO.”

  “RSO, CO. Message heard. Out.” It was Stark’s voice. He did not respond as the defense attaché. He responded as the ship’s commanding officer.

  What the hell is going on out there? Golzari tried to piece together the little bits of information he had. The “local dignitaries” carried by one of the ship’s RHIBs had been allowed to board even though he had told the officer on the bridge to turn them back. There had been an explosion on the ship. Asha had placed a small force on a nearby hilltop, almost certainly as part of an attack on the humanitarian operation. The Chinese seemed to be involved. And now this cryptic message from Stark. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

  “What is it?” C. J. asked. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  “It’s worse than I thought, ma’am. Commander Stark has apparently taken command of the Bennington. He would do that only if the command and senior staff were unable to perform their duties. By his message, he’s informing us that that has happened, and that things are so serious that he doesn’t want to violate any op-sec—operational security—over an open radio. He also doesn’t want us asking more questions at this point. The entire command structure of the ship must have been taken out in the explosion. This is getting more and more serious.”

  “How much more serious could it be?” Bill Maddox asked.

  “Mr. Maddox, if you and your senior staff were suddenly gone, would your organization be in a position to respond quickly to a new crisis?”

  Maddox and Sumner finally grasped the gravity of the situation. The Bennington had been effectively decapitated. It was now both far more vulnerable to another attack and completely unable to protect the people ashore. Only a few untried Yemeni Navy ships stood between them and whatever was coming next.

  USS Bennington, off Socotra, 0820 (GMT)

  “Bobby, I want open comms with the TAO at all times from here—no phone, understood?”

  “Understood, sir. Five-Eight is now ten miles out and reporting fifteen minutes left of fuel.”

  “TAO, where’s that incoming aircraft?”

  “Still coming in slow at less than thirty knots.”

  The time was fast approaching for Stark to make his first two command decisions. “Boss?”

  The lieutenant commander anticipated the new CO’s question. “Five-Eight can get there. She can’t make it back.”

  “Ho
w much fuel time does Five-Seven have?”

  “We landed with twenty-five minutes remaining.”

  “I want you up now.”

  “Sir, with only twenty-five minutes of fuel I’ll have one pass at best.”

  “Boss, I give you my word that Five-Seven and all souls on board will return with a few gallons to spare. What I’m planning will have you up and back within fifteen minutes. I know that’s cutting it closer than the books say. I need to know if you can do it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “As soon as you’re up, we’ll bring in Five-Eight. Five-Seven will intercept that incoming aircraft, determine intent, and then contact me for instructions. Got it?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Go. Bobby, I’m a little out of practice on this stuff so I’m going to rely on you. How long would it take for us to pull up the chains and get under way?”

  “Twenty, sir.”

  “How long if I gave the command right now to cut the chain?”

  “Five.”

  “Cut the chain.”

  Connor stood by the 1MC, cleared his throat, and looked at his watch.

  “All hands, this is Commander John Connor Stark. Effective twelve twenty-two hours, I assumed command of the USS Bennington. The ship has temporarily lost most of its command staff, but it hasn’t lost you. Damage control teams are to continue rescue and recovery efforts in officers’ country. I know we’re shorthanded. Civilian medical personnel are now aboard and rendering assistance to our wounded. Everyone must step into the roles of your chiefs and officers. We have incoming platforms over the horizon. We will not run except forward into battle.”

  Stark looked down at the deck and the ship’s crest before continuing. “Crew of the Bennington, our motto is Vigilant and Victorious. If we have been short on vigilance, we will not be short on victory. All hands, battle stations. CO out.”

  “All ahead two-thirds, steer course zero-one-zero,” commanded Stark.

  “All ahead two-thirds, aye, steer course zero-one-zero,” Bobby relayed to the helm.

  “RSO, CO, over,” Stark called through the handheld radio.

  “RSO, go ahead, over.”

  “I’ll lose you in a minute. I just wanted to let you know we have something to take care of, over.”

  “RSO, understood. Godspeed CO. Out.”

  Stark nodded. He could trust Golzari to take care of the embassy staff and aid workers while the Bennington was out of the area.

  “Sir, Five-Seven is requesting green deck.”

  “Green deck is authorized.”

  Five-Seven emerged from the aft superstructure and paralleled the ship on the starboard side. Air Boss saluted the bridge, then accelerated ahead. Two of the Yemeni 134-ton Bay-class patrol boats came up to the damaged cruiser on either side. The ship to port carried the Yemeni admiral.

  “All stations report manned and ready,” Fisk told the CO.

  Stark focused his attention on the horizon, where he could now see the ship headed toward them, still twenty-five nautical miles away.

  “Ensign Fisk, request our Yemeni escorts maintain course and speed abreast of us.” Stark could only hope the escorts would remain, if only as a show of united force against the unknown enemy.

  Stark picked up the ship-to-ship radio microphone. “This is the USS Bennington to the three ships thirty nautical miles north of Hadiboh, Socotra. You are on course to a security area. You are directed to reverse your direction immediately, over.”

  When the speaker returned nothing but static, Stark repeated the hail. This time there was a response.

  “This is the merchant ship Suleiman to U.S. Navy warship,” came a voice in broken English. “We do not recognize your authority in this region.”

  “Suleiman, this is Bennington. If you do not reverse course immediately, we will be forced to fire on you,” Stark responded.

  Silence.

  “Bridge, TAO,” WEPS called from the Combat Information Center. “Five-Seven reports twelve small inbound boats, six manned, six unmanned. Distance ten nautical miles and closing rapidly.”

  “Understood.” Stark’s face showed grim determination. It was the Kirkwall sinking all over again. Well, not this time. He didn’t intend to let another ship and crew sink beneath him. And he was damned if he was going to allow terrorists, pirates, or whatever they were to be victorious against a U.S. Navy ship and all it represented.

  “Suleiman, this is your final warning.” He replaced the ship-to-ship mike.

  “Conn, steer course zero-eight-zero. Report—are both 5-inch guns manned and ready?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “TAO, this is the captain. Advise the gun crews to commence firing at the small boats.”

  “Aye, sir . . . message relayed. Fire will commence now.”

  The aft 5-inch fifty-four came alive first, then the forward mount, both firing sixteen rounds a minute, shaking the 10,000-ton ship with each recoil. Only a lucky shot would take out one of the fast boats directly, but if shells landed close enough they’d capsize.

  “This is Suleiman. Stop firing.”

  “Tell me why, over.”

  “We have women and children.”

  “Then tell your boats to turn around.”

  “Bridge, TAO. Five-Seven is in proximity to the unidentified helicopter. No response from it despite repeated hails.”

  Stark saw one of the small boats explode from a good shot. Seven more were still inbound.

  “TAO, CO. Direct Five-Seven to take out the helicopter with their Hellfire” Stark and Bobby watched a moment later as Batwing 57 went in for the kill. A smoke trail flew from its side toward the Suleiman’s helicopter, and a micro sunburst appeared in the sky to their port quarter. The helo fell from the sky in flames.

  “TAO, CO. Convey to Five-Seven, BRAVO ZULU. Return to ship immediately.”

  The four unmanned remote-controlled boats veered off wildly without direction from the master controller in the helicopter.

  The crew manning the portside M-2 .50-caliber machine guns now took their turn as the three manned boats pulled within a mile of the ship. One by one the small boats fell victim to the firepower of the Bennington and the Yemeni ships.

  “Conn, all engines ahead two-thirds. Steer course,” Stark paused to read the compass heading, “three-five-five. Make your heading for that ship. Ensign, what do you call your VBSS teams?”

  “Hessian 1 and Hessian 2, sir.”

  Stark took the ship-to-ship radio back and switched to channel 46, the prearranged channel to communicate with the Yemenis.

  “Admiral, this is Stark. We intend to board the main ship. Request that you and your ships stop and search the other two.”

  “Commander Stark, I copy. We will begin searching. I was just informed that Ali may be on one of the ships.” The Yemeni ships picked up speed to intercept the two smaller OSVs. Stark prayed that Ali was not on the Suleiman.

  “Ensign Fisk, order both VBSS teams to prepare for a noncompliant boarding. I’ll join the Hessian 1 boat. Make sure one of them brings my Beretta.” He offered an encouraging smile and pat on the shoulder to the young ensign who represented the future of his navy and his country. In the midst of battle, Connor Stark realized that they had indeed again become his navy and his country.

  “Aye, sir!”

  “TAO, CO. Order forward mount to fire three shots across the bow of the Suleiman.”

  Stark waited a few seconds for the first shell to hit the water before returning to the open mike. “Suleiman, this is Bennington. Heave to and prepare to be boarded.”

  “Bennington, stop your attack or you will all die.” The voice, with an Arabic accent, not a Somali one, spoke with slow and deliberate coldness.

  “Bridge, TAO. Suleiman is increasing range, but she can’t do any better than she’s doing, according to our recognition books.”

  “TAO, CO. Forward mount is authorized to fire one shot at the Suleiman’s stern. I will buy all of them a beer at the
next port if the first shot takes out her propulsion.” The first shot landed near the stern, but still close enough to damage the propellers. The ship slowed.

  “Bobby, the bridge is yours.”

  Bobby looked oddly disappointed for a junior officer who was receiving command of a U.S. Navy warship. “S-sir,” he stuttered, “I haven’t completed my surface warfare quals yet.”

  Stark had seen nothing to make him doubt Bobby’s ability to take over the bridge. Had he perhaps hoped for something else? Then he realized what it was. “TAO, CO. Report to the bridge to assume temporary command. Bobby, I seem to have forgotten that the VBSS teams don’t have officers. You are to take the Hessian 2 team and follow up on Hessian 1.”

  “Aye, sir.” Bobby’s grin went from ear to ear. “We’ll see you there!”

  With Five-Seven having returned to Bennington to refuel, Hessian 1 and Hessian 2 lacked air cover and were far more vulnerable to gunfire. Stark called to the target over the radio. “Suleiman, prepare to be boarded. Drop your weapons and gather on the stern of your ship, over.”

  “Go to hell, Americans,” came the sharp reply.

  Both RHIBs were still two hundred yards away when Stark ordered them to hold up. The Suleiman’s deck suddenly swarmed with men, many of them armed. The sharpshooters on the RHIBs methodically shot down every one of them who was carrying a gun. Stark commanded the boats to proceed. More men emerged as the boats got nearer. Some leapt into the water while others went aft holding their hands behind their heads.

  When Hessian 1 arrived alongside, two of the team members threw a rope ladder over the transom of the Suleiman and climbed aboard, paving the way for their new CO. Stark joined them, his 9-mm pistol in his right hand.

  Stark called for four men to follow him as he made his way to the bridge. They met brief resistance as they rounded one corner, but a Hessian with a Remington 870 shotgun easily cleared the way. When they reached the wooden door to the bridge, Stark motioned for his men to stand back and fire through it. Afterward, Stark pushed the shattered frame through and carefully looked around the bridge, his pistol still at the ready. There were three bodies lying on the deck. One was a Somali who must have been standing in front of the door when the volley came through. A second Somali seemed to have been shot at close range, possibly prevented from escaping. Stark recognized the third man, a Yemeni. And in the corner lay Ali, bound but unhurt.