Connor carefully walked toward the third man, keeping his pistol trained until he was sure the man had no weapon. Faisal was lying on his back, alive, his legs covered with blood. “Get the medical kit,” Stark said to one of his sailors as he knelt beside the injured man. When their eyes met, Stark found himself momentarily unable to speak to the man responsible for the blood on this deck and in the wardroom of the Bennington; the blood of many others was on his hands as well—the Kirkwall’s crew among them.
“Faisal. I didn’t want it to be you. Your father is my friend. How could you do this?”
Faisal said nothing. He neither turned away nor closed his eyes. He simply stared into Stark’s damp eyes, his own eyes blazing with hatred.
“How many people have you killed? And Ali. Why did you take him? For what?”
“For my country! We must free ourselves from Americans and Ali’s ideas of progress. We will live by sharia law and grow strong and righteous.” His strength ebbing, Faisal whispered, “I have failed. I will die now.”
“No, Faisal,” Stark said steadily. “I am going to return you to your family. Your father will know what you have done and will decide your fate.” Out of the corner of his eye, Stark saw Bobby Fisk enter the bridge, pistol ready, his arm close to his body and arm bent at a forty-five-degree angle.
“No!” Faisal said, showing the first sign of fear. “You cannot do that. Give me my gun, let me . . .” he tried to reach for a nearby AK-47, but Stark shifted the weapon beyond his reach.
“We are not finished yet. Who were you working with? Tell me.”
Faisal refused to answer.
Stark shrugged. “You will tell me—now or later.” As Stark began to rise, Faisal’s right arm swung upward. Stark saw a glint of metal. Just before the knife plunged into his abdomen, a shot rang out. Faisal’s hand was blown backward as the knife flew across the bridge and fell harmlessly in a corner.
Stark turned to find Bobby Fisk in the classic pose of a marksman, left arm extended, his right hand wrapped around and supporting his left. The pistol was still pointing at Faisal.
“Pistol team at the Academy, huh?” Stark asked with a sigh of relief. “Just how good were you?”
Bobby didn’t take his eyes off Faisal. “I was okay, sir.”
“How okay?”
His eyes still on Faisal and his pistol unwavering, Bobby answered, “Standard Pistol intercollegiate champion two years in a row.”
“Nice shot. Thanks,” Stark said. “Tie him up,” he said to another VBSS member, who pulled plastic cuffs from his belt.
Faisal propped himself up on one elbow. “I have failed. But they will not,” he taunted.
“What do you mean? Who?” Stark shook him roughly. “What do you have planned?”
Faisal said only, “My family will not succeed,” before closing his eyes and sinking back on the floor.
“Faisal,” Stark came close enough to whisper in his ear, still wary that the handcuffed Yemeni might try something. “What your family will do to you is far worse than anything I could do.”
“No. They are weak, like their American friends.”
“You’re wrong.” Stark turned to Ali, still tied up in the corner and trying manfully to control his shaking. “It’s okay now, son,” he said as he untied the boy’s bonds. “Your father will be overjoyed to see you.” He helped Ali to stand and turned back toward his team. “Invite the Yemeni admiral to come aboard. Both will go back with him.”
With one arm still around Ali, Stark made his way to the deck to greet the admiral, who returned his salute with respectful gravity. When he had finished telling the Yemeni the details of the last half hour, he motioned toward Faisal and Ali. “Please take them both to their father, Admiral. I’ll follow later. Bobby,” he said to the young ensign, who had holstered his weapon, “have you ever scuttled a ship before?”
“Intentionally, sir?” he asked with a grin.
“Once everyone is safely off the ship, scuttle her.”
“Aye, sir.”
Stark looked back from the RHIB returning him and his team to the Bennington in time to see the admiral leaving the ship with Faisal, Ali, and the surviving Somali pirates. A strip of duct tape blocked Faisal’s mouth; another strip covered his eyes.
Once back aboard the Bennington, Stark went immediately to the bridge to meet with what remained of the senior personnel—Fisk, WEPS, six pilots from the Lost Boys detachment, and the first-class petty officers who were now the senior officers in their respective divisions.
“Welcome back, sir!” WEPS said.
Stark nodded. “Thanks. Conn, make a course for Hadiboh, and please don’t put us on a sandbar.”
“Aye, sir!”
Then he looked around the bridge. “Congratulations, everyone. You all did a first-rate job. Please extend my appreciation to your divisions. It was their professionalism that allowed us to get the pirates responsible for this attack. Ladies and gentlemen, I need a status. WEPS, damage report?”
“Most of the damage was contained in officers’ country. Thirty-two officers and chiefs are dead, including the two culinary specialists who were in the galley. We have thirteen wounded, including the CO. The civilian doctors have stabilized most of them, but two have more serious injuries. The docs said we should at least get those two off the ship to Hadiboh. Power and water are out in that section. We’ve secured officers’ country.”
“Did we get a response from Fifth Fleet?”
“They acknowledged our initial message about the attack, sir. We’re standing by.”
“All right. I’ll draft the after action report. Air Boss?”
“Both helos are on the deck. Some damage to the hangar from the explosion, but the fuel lines are secure. We should have both fueled up and ready to go in about six hours. Five-Eight did see something to the west they need to report.”
One of the pilots stepped forward with a photograph. “It’s a supertanker, sir. We’ve confirmed that it’s the Katya P., the one taken by pirates several weeks ago. According to our intelligence specialist the ship never made contact with its owners.”
“I’m listening.”
The intelligence specialist stepped forward. “Sir, the photo shows six dhows accompanying the tanker, three on each side, in a clear formation.”
“Where? Show me.” Stark took him by the arm to the chart table.
“Right here, sir.” The specialist pointed to a spot just west of Socotra. “They were headed at eleven knots on a course east by southeast.”
Stark didn’t need someone to explain the implications of that course and the unusual formation.
“I need a navigator.” A quartermaster first class cautiously stepped forward.
“No need to hesitate, QM1. The job’s yours.” She turned immediately to the charts. “Sir, are we going back to Hadiboh?”
“Not yet.” He looked around the bridge. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have another unexpected task ahead of us. Conn, make course zero-nine-zero. The new NAV here and I will provide a longer-term track later. For now I want the crew to take some time to themselves. Was the chaplain among those killed?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Bobby.
“Tell your men and women we’ll grieve later, but we will honor our casualties by the actions we take now. By my estimate, we’ll be in action again tomorrow morning. Air Boss, I need you to deliver a couple of messages when you evacuate the two seriously wounded crewmembers to Hadiboh. Then I want you to rejoin us east of the island.”
Hadiboh, 0924 (GMT)
Golzari read the message from the Bennington’s new commander aloud, finishing with: “ . . . therefore, I am taking the ship to protect U.S. assets and lives. XOXOXO, Stark.”
“Is that last bit code, ma’am?” the British-educated Golzari asked the ambassador innocently.
She snorted. “Yes, it means that despite what’s happened he’s still maintaining his sense of humor—and still being a pain in the ass.”
; DAY 16
USS Bennington, South of Socotra, 0200 (GMT)
As the sun rose behind the ship, Stark sipped at a fresh cup of coffee and decided he ought to nominate the new NAV for a commendation. The timing was exactly as he had hoped. The ship was proceeding at full speed and the second helicopter was just lifting off the deck. The ship had slowed just long enough to launch the helicopters and the two RHIBs, which were now well ahead of them. The oil platforms were within sight. Twenty nautical miles astern of the Bennington was a new friend.
He reread the note from C. J. that had come back on the helo. Golzari had stopped the attack and taken Asha, but a Chinese marksman had assassinated the Somali pirate before Golzari had finished questioning him. So it was indeed the Chinese who were behind this.
The radio suddenly crackled with a desperate voice. “This is Maddox Oil Platform 3 to anyone. We are being approached by seven ships approximately twenty nautical miles from our position, heading two-six-five degrees. Is anyone out there, over?”
“Sir, do we respond?” asked Fisk.
“No.”
Bobby was confused by Stark’s terse—and callous—response. Someone calling in with an emergency should at least know that help was on the way, shouldn’t they?
A minute later the platform called for help again. Still no response from the captain. Several more calls, increasingly plaintive, came in over the next ten minutes.
“Sir?” Bobby couldn’t stand it anymore.
“It’s okay, Bobby. This is all a ruse. I sent a message yesterday to Mr. Maddox, and he spoke to his people on the platforms. They’re following our instructions right now.”
“Ambush, sir?” Bobby said hopefully.
“Just a little payback. No need for the pirates to know that help is nearby. They think they took out the ship’s command yesterday and that we can’t respond. Let’s prove them wrong, okay? Maybe it’ll be one for the Academy’s history books.”
“If that happens, I hope they spell our names right.”
“I don’t think Bobby Fisk will be a problem. But everyone misspells Connor.”
Bobby grinned and relaxed a bit. “I’m glad you’re on our side, sir.”
When the Bennington negotiated the waters between the platforms and Socotra twenty minutes later, the massive ship was clearly visible on the horizon. Its dhow escorts were still too distant to be seen by the naked eye.
Stark squared his shoulders. “It’s showtime, folks. Bobby, order the RHIBs to proceed and execute Foxtrot Tango. TAO, CO. Advise Batwing 58 to move to Battle Position One. Advise Batwing 57 to move to Battle Position Two.”
At his order Batwing 58 descended from nine thousand feet to five hundred in a dizzying spiral, fired a Hellfire at each of the first four dhows, and raked the other two with its machine-guns.
Batwing 57, half a nautical mile ahead of the Katya P., likewise descended and hovered above the ship, facing the superstructure while flying in reverse, a testament to Air Boss’s flying skills.
Saddiq and the pirates looking out the bridge windows at the helicopter had taken the Katya P. as a trophy. It was about to become their grave.
“Say hello to the night,” Air Boss said, quoting from the 1980s movie Lost Boys, the namesake of the Bennington’s helicopter detachment. He fired one Hellfire directly into the pilothouse, then rejoined Batwing 58 to help reduce the remaining dhows to splinters.
“U.S. Navy warship, U.S. Navy warship, this is the People’s Republic of China Navy destroyers Harbin and Shenzen responding to distress calls from a supertanker and the oil platforms. We are fifteen nautical miles from the tanker and will be landing forces on the oil platforms to protect them. Do not interfere with our assistance.”
“We’re in a shit-storm now, aren’t we, sir?” Bobby asked, his eyes as big as saucers in his round face.
“At least we created this one. Hand me that ship-to-ship.” Stark took the mike and sipped more coffee before speaking. “Chinese Navy ships, this is USS Bennington. Thank you, but we require no assistance from you. India Navy ship Talwar, we respectfully request your battle group’s assistance in protecting American and Indian citizens on the oil platforms, over.”
“USS Bennington, this is Capt. Jayendra Dasgupta in INS Talwar, currently closing your position. We are available to assist you as requested.”
“Talwar, this is Bennington. I thank you very much for your assistance. Chinese Navy ships Harbin and Shenzen, we have indicated our ability to restore security to the area. We respectfully request that you move off and return to your convoy duties, over.”
“Bennington, this is Harbin. To avoid a U.S.-initiated incident, move away immediately while we secure the platforms. This is your only warning, over.”
The bridge was silent as its occupants awaited Stark’s response. Stark shook his head to clear it. He, like most of the crew, had been awake for more than a full day. He felt momentarily faint and put his hand on Bobby’s shoulder for support as the five other sailors on the bridge watched.
“I hope you don’t mind helping an old man, Ensign Fisk.”
“Not at all, sir. We’re all in this together . . . Captain.”
Stark smiled at him. “If I have this right, we have about half a minute. Give me your assessment, Ensign.”
Bobby brought up his binoculars and saw the two Chinese destroyers veering to port to block the Bennington.
“They must have been listening to our bridge-to-bridge and other transmissions. They’ve watched us and waited for the right time to outnumber us. The Indian ships are still out of range, so that time is now.”
“Very good, Ensign. So what do we need?”
“A carrier strike group would be good right about now, but all of our ships are in the Gulf or off Korea.”
“You’re right. And the Chinese probably know that.”
The TAO called up to the bridge. “CO, we now have several aircraft behind us, approximately ten nautical miles and closing fast.”
“Sir,” Bobby said. “The Talwar class only has one helo. Who else is out there?”
Rather than answering, Stark clicked on the bridge-to-bridge radio. “Indian Navy Ship Talwar, this is USS Bennington. On behalf of the Indian citizens working there, we formally require immediate assistance from your strike group in securing the oil platforms from foreign incursion.”
“USS Bennington, this is Talwar. We have transmitted this incident to the Viraat Carrier Group, which is operating east of us and should arrive shortly to assert India’s protection of its citizens and to assist you, over.”
Stark looked at Bobby and smiled. “One carrier group made to order, Ensign.”
He clicked on the mike again. “Harbin, we assume you are aware of the very kind offer from the Indian Navy. I ask you again to return to your convoy duties. This is your final warning, over.”
After a long pause, the radio crackled. “This is People’s Republic of China Navy ships Harbin and Shenzen. We are returning to antipiracy patrol in the Gulf of Aden, out.”
Stark grinned at the others on the bridge. “Well, wasn’t it nice of them to offer to help?” Then he turned serious again. “Okay, everyone, we still have a problem. According to this radar, the Katya P. is still on course for the platforms, and it’s almost certainly carrying a load of explosives. If it hits a platform, an environmental catastrophe on the scale of BP’s oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico will result. It’s up to us to stop it. There’s an auxiliary steering station aft in that ship. Ensign Fisk, get a team ready to board and work with us.”
“Sir, we don’t have any bomb experts on board.”
“Bobby, Batwing took out their bridge, and I hope most of their people. It’s up to your team to take out anyone left. Just get to the aft steering compartment, swing the rudder hard to starboard and secure it, then get out of there.”
“Sir, she’s only fifteen miles away from the platforms. Even a rudder shift might not be enough.”
“Do it, then get back here
ASAP for the next step.”
“Aye, sir.” The ship’s phone rang before he could leave the bridge. Bobby hung up the phone and looked at Stark in consternation.
“What is it, Ensign?”
“That was Engineering, sir. We’ve been burning fuel fast. We’re almost out.”
“How much do we have?”
“About thirty minutes at this speed.”
Stark pressed his fingers to his temples. In the chaos of the past day he had neglected to ask the most basic of ship operation questions—one that even the Bennington’s CO knew to ask—how much fuel did they have?
Within a few minutes of the RHIBs coming alongside the Katya P., their VBSS teams had rappelled up each side and retaken the ship. They found a few dead Somali pirates in the ruins on the bridge, but otherwise the ship was deserted. They increased the ship’s speed and turned it hard to starboard as ordered.
As the Bennington approached the tanker a nautical mile away in a port-to-port passing, Stark turned the ship 180 degrees to allow the VBSS teams to reboard. Bobby was out of breath when he got back to the bridge.
“Mission accomplished, sir. Ready for whatever’s next.”
“Ensign Fisk has the conn,” Stark announced. “You ever hit anything, Bobby?”
“Uh, only a channel marker, sir. But this is my first deployment. Why do you ask? Uh-oh,” he exclaimed when he realized his CO’s intent.
“All hands,” Stark called over the 1MC, “proceed immediately to the port side of the ship and stand by for collision to starboard.” The collision bell sounded as the crew complied.
The Bennington pulled up even with the oil tanker, then moved closer and closer as the few people remaining on the bridge watched in fascination.
The Aden Effect Page 28
