Ambush
( Seal Team Seven - 15 )
Keith Douglass
On a Philippine bus tour, sixty tourists are taken hostage by separatist rebels. After a failed rescue attempt by the Philippine army, the government is ready for a new strategy… in a word, the SEALs.
Keith Douglass
Ambush
This SEALs book
is gratefully dedicated to
those grunts, those drafted GIs,
who froze and roasted in Korea and
who put up with the trauma
of combat and came
home without a
deluge of self-pity and
harangue about how shabbily
they had been
treated by
the rest of the country.
FOREWORD
Dear Reader,
Hey, help me out here, could you? I’m having a long-range fight with my editor about who reads the SEAL Team Seven books. I keep telling her we have a sizable number of women readers. She says it can’t be true. These are men’s action books. Why would a woman want to read them?
I’m not winning my argument. I know there are a lot of women readers who dig into the SEAL books. Maybe they are second-hand readers, getting it after their husbands or boyfriends read it. So? A woman reader is a woman reader.
I’d really like to get about a hundred letters or cards from you women readers out there. You guys write too. Let my good old editor know that you’re out there and alive and reading. Thanks, I’d appreciate it. Send those cards and letters right here to:
Keith Douglass
SEAL TEAM SEVEN
8431 Beaver Lake Drive
San Diego, CA 92119
Thanks a lot, and I’ll answer every letter I get. So, see if we can swamp my editor. Yeah!
Keith Douglass
SEAL TEAM SEVEN
THIRD PLATOON[1]
CORONADO, CALIFORNIA
Rear Admiral (L) Richard Kenner. Commander of all SEALs.
Commander Dean Masciareli. 47, 5'11", 220 pounds. Annapolis graduate. Commanding officer of Navy Special Warfare Group One in Coronado, including SEAL Teams One, Three, Five, and Seven, and its 965 men.
Master Chief Petty Officer Gordon MacKenzie. 47, 5'10", 180 pounds. Administrator and head enlisted man of all of SEAL Team Seven.
Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock. Platoon Leader. 32, 6'2", 210 pounds. Annapolis graduate. Six years in SEALs. Father important congressman from Virginia. Single. Apartment in Coronado. Has a car and a motorcycle, loves to fish. Weapon: Alliant Bull Pup duo 5.56mm & 20mm explosive round. Alternate: H & K MP-5SD submachine gun.
ALPHA SQUAD
Timothy F. Sadler. Senior Chief Petty Officer. Top EM in platoon. Third in command. 32, 6'2", 220 pounds. Married to Sylvia, no children. Been in the Navy for fifteen years, a SEAL for last eight. Expert fisherman. Plays trumpet in any Dixieland combo he can find. Weapon: Alliant Bull Pup duo 5.56mm & 20mm explosive round. Good with the men.
David “Jaybird” Sterling. Machinist’s Mate Second Class, Lead petty officer. 24, 5'10", 170 pounds. Quick mind, fine tactician. Single. Drinks too much sometimes. Crack shot with all arms. Grew up in Oregon. Helps plan attack operations. Weapon: H & K MP-5SD submachine gun.
Luke “Mountain” Howard. Gunner’s Mate Second Class. 28, 6'4", 250 pounds. Black man. Football at Oregon State. Tryout with Oakland Raiders six years ago. In Navy six years, SEAL for four. Single. Rides a motorcycle. A skiing and wind-surfing nut. Squad sniper. Weapon: H & K PSG1 7.62 NATO sniper rifle. Or McMillan M-87R .50-caliber long-range gun.
Bill Bradford. Quartermaster’s Mate First Class. 24, 6'2", 215 pounds. An artist in spare time. Paints oils. He sells his marine paintings. Single. Quiet. Reads a lot. Has two years of college. Platoon radio operator. Carries a SATCOM on most missions. Weapon: Alliant Bull Pup duo 5.56mm & 20mm explosive round.
Joe “Ricochet” Lampedusa. Operations Specialist Third Class. 21, 5'11", 175 pounds. Good tracker, quick thinker. Had a year of college. Loves motorcycles. Wants a Hog. Pot smoker on the sly. Picks up plain girls. Platoon scout. Weapon: Colt M-4A1 rifle with grenade launcher. Alternate: Alliant Bull Pup duo 5.56mm & 20mm explosive round.
Kenneth Ching. Quartermaster’s Mate First Class. 25, 6' even, 180 pounds. Full-blooded Chinese. Platoon translator. Speaks Mandarin Chinese, Japanese, Russian, and Spanish. Bicycling nut. Paid $1,200 for off-road bike. Is trying for Officer Candidate School. Weapon: Colt M-4A1 rifle with grenade launcher.
Vincent “Vinnie” Van Dyke. Electrician’s Mate Second Class. 24, 6'2", 220 pounds. Enlisted out of high school. Played varsity basketball. Wants to be a commercial fisherman after his current hitch. Good with his hands. Squad machine gunner. Weapon: H & K 21-E 7.62 NATO round machine gun.
BRAVO SQUAD
Lieutenant (j.g.) Ed DeWitt. Leader Bravo Squad. Second in command of the platoon. 30, 6'1", 175 pounds. Wiry. SEAL for four years. From Seattle. Married to Milly. Annapolis graduate. A career man. Plays a good game of chess on traveling board. Weapon: Alliant Bull Pup duo 5.56mm & 20mm explosive round. Alternate: H & K G-11 submachine gun.
George Canzoneri. Torpedoman’s Mate First Class. 27, 5'11", 190 pounds. Married to Navy wife, Phyllis. No kids. Nine years in Navy. Expert on explosives. Nicknamed “Petard” for almost hoisting himself one time. Top pick in platoon for explosive work. Weapon: Alliant Bull Pup duo 5.56mm & 20mm explosive round.
Miguel Fernandez. Gunner’s Mate First Class. 26, 6'1", 180 pounds. Wife, Maria; daughter, Linda, 7, in Coronado. Spends his off time with them. Highly family-oriented. He has relatives in San Diego. Speaks Spanish and Portuguese. Squad sniper. Weapon: H & K PSG1 7.62 NATO sniper rifle.
Colt “Guns” Franklin. Yeoman Second Class. 24, 5'10", 175 pounds. A former gymnast. Powerful arms and shoulders. Expert mountain climber. Has a motorcycle and does hang gliding. Speaks Farsi and Arabic. Weapon: Colt M-4A1 with grenade launcher.
Tran “Train” Khai. Torpedoman Second Class. 23, 6'1", 180 pounds. U.S.-born Vietnamese. A whiz at languages and computers. Speaks Vietnamese, French, German, Spanish, and Arabic. Specialist in electronics. Understands the new 20mm Bull Pup weapon. Can repair the electronics in it. Plans on becoming an electronics engineer. Joined the Navy for $40,000 college funding. Entranced by SEALs. First hitch up in four months. Weapon: H & K G-11 with caseless rounds, 4.7mm submachine gun with 50-round magazine.
Jack Mahanani. Hospital Corpsman First Class. 25, 6'4", 240 pounds. Platoon medic. Tahitian/Hawaiian. Expert swimmer. Bench-presses 400 pounds. Once married, divorced. Top surfer. Weapon: Alliant Bull Pup duo 5.56 & 20mm explosive round. Alternate: Colt M-4A1 rifle with grenade launcher.
Anthony “Tony” Ostercamp. Machinist’s Mate First Class. 24, 6'1", 210 pounds. Races stock cars in nearby El Cajon weekends. Top auto mechanic. Platoon driver. Weapon: H & K 21-E 7.62 NATO round machine gun. Second radio operator.
Paul “Jeff” Jefferson. Engineman Second Class. 23, 6'1", 200 pounds. Black man. Expert in small arms. Can tear apart most weapons and reassemble, repair, and innovate them. A chess player to match Ed DeWitt. Weapon: Alliant Bull Pup duo 5.56mm & 20mm explosive round.
1
The Mediterranean Sea
Near the Libyan coast
Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock stared into blackness of night as rain wind-whipped into his face. He had been uneasy about this mission from the start. First, it had taken them ten minutes longer than planned to launch the two rubber ducks from the submarine deck. Now, as the two small craft powered toward the Libyan coast three miles away, his unease grew.
All sixteen SEALs from Third Platoon of SEAL Team Seven were crouched in the two fifteen-foot-long Zodiac-type IBSs (Inflatable Boat Small), each IBS powere
d by a fifty-five-horsepower outboard. In decent weather they could make eighteen knots. Not with the current four-foot seas and gusting wind.
The two craft were tied together by a thirty-foot line, and they had trouble staying that close to each other. Murdock, in his boat, and Lieutenant (j.g.) Ed DeWitt, in his, both had their Motorola personal radios out. The rest of the platoon kept their radios in the usual watertight compartments.
Murdock’s radio sputtered.
“Skipper, we’ve got some trouble coming up on the port side. Sounds like a coastal patrol craft. No idea how big. He might miss us. He has a searchlight probing around.”
“Roger that, Ed. Keep watching him. Yeah, I see him now. Unless he turns, we should be okay.”
As soon as Murdock said it, the ghostly lighted craft, not more than seventy-five yards off, turned and headed directly toward them.
“Lam, get the EAR out now,” Murdock whispered just loud enough so his lead scout could hear. Joe Lampedusa, Operations Specialist Third Class, lifted a strange-looking weapon from under his poncho.
“Fully charged, Skipper,” Lam said. He raised the Enhanced Audio Rifle, and aimed it at the oncoming patrol craft.
“If he spots us, give him two shots,” Murdock whispered.
Lam nodded in the darkness.
They watched the sweep of the powerful searchlight as it skipped across the whitecaps of the Mediterranean Sea. It almost touched them once, then rotated back the other way. The next time it came around, the craft itself was not more than twenty-five yards shoreward, and the light touched DeWitt’s boat first.
“Fire,” Murdock said. Lam aimed and pulled the trigger. The sound that came from the EAR was not an explosion; it was more like a whooshing of air. Half a second later the audio blast hit the patrol boat and the three crewmen on the small bridge had no time to react. They slumped over and fell to the deck. The craft’s engines kept going at the set speed, but with no one on the wheel, it cut a slow-arc course away from land.
Lam spotted two more sailors rushing toward the bridge. He fired again. The EAR weapon had had the required ten seconds between shots to recharge itself. The second blast hit the patrol ship and the last two men on board fell as if sleeping. They would be unconscious for four to six hours, and wake up with no physical harm. Their only problem would be explaining to their commanding officer what had happened.
“Good shooting, Lam,” Murdock said. He stared toward the shore now, and could see that the lights they had been keying on were closer. “Steady as she goes, Mr. DeWitt. We should still be on course. Let’s move the throttles up so we can make ten knots. Nobody is going to hear us in this storm.”
Murdock mulled over the mission. Every man in the platoon knew the details. That was the way the SEALs operated. They were to land on what was supposed to be a deserted stretch of beach near the small town of Al Hamim, which was west of Tubruq. If matters went to the worst scenario, the friendly border of Egypt was only sixty miles to the east.
First they would land, then hide the boats and move seven miles inland to a village called Bani Qatrun. Murdock watched the lights. They appeared to be closer. The small boats fought an outgoing tide as well as the weather. The rain kept falling. It would help shield their entry and, hopefully, their exit. The submarine would hold just off the east coast of Libya, and surface for a five A.M. pickup. If all went well.
Murdock had argued about this mission. He felt that risking the lives of sixteen men to recover one man was not good strategy. Then they’d explained who the one man was, a top CIA field agent who had been compromised and captured. He had been in custody only two days, and might not have leaked any of the vast amounts of special knowledge that he had. Clive Ambrose Cullhagen was not an ordinary CIA agent. He’d been instrumental in establishing the CIA’s newest world-events-evaluation center. He was a living storehouse of U.S. plans and secrets and those of half of our allies who used the center.
He had to come out.
The CIA director had emphasized that Cullhagen had to come out dead or alive. A top-security phone call had involved four men on a conference call. Murdock had been one; the CIA director, the Secretary of State, and the President of the United States had been the others. They had talked it over for almost an hour; then the CIA director had called the Chief of Naval Operations and the wheels had turned.
“I can hear the surf ahead,” the Motorola speaker in Murdock’s ear reported.
“Yes, I’ve got it,” Murdock said. “With the first breaker we cut the tie rope.”
“Roger that, Skipper,” DeWitt said.
Murdock took the tiller then and directed the small craft exactly where he wanted it, angling the motor, adjusting the direction. The breakers were not as severe as they could be. He heard the crash of the water against sand. Then they were there. Jaybird cut the tie line, and Murdock rammed the throttle forward to catch the surge of water that would develop into a breaker. He wanted to surf along the top and at the last minute race down the slope of the wall of water.
It didn’t happen that way.
A larger swell came in at a forty-five-degree angle and ate up Murdock’s surge. It battered the rubber duck, threatened to flip it over, then slammed it sideways toward the beach and the sand that came up suddenly. The rubber duck danced on the second surge for a moment, then righted itself and slid down the front of the breaker like a surfer avoiding the crashing water.
When the small craft nosed inward and then glided on shallow water toward the beach, Luke Howard, Gunner’s Mate Second Class, and Machinist’s Mate Second Class Jaybird Sterling jumped out, grabbed the pull ropes, and tugged the rubber craft higher on the beach on the thin flow of the receding breaker.
Four SEALs ran up the twenty yards of sand to the dry area and dropped to a prone position with their weapons covering the shoreline ahead of them. The rest of the SEALs crouched in the boats until they saw a signal from the scouts onshore. Then they left the rubber ducks and charged inland forty yards to a brushy area. They quickly secured the spot, posted lookouts; then men picked up the 265-pound rubber boats and ran with them to the brush, where the boats were hidden and camouflaged with branches.
Murdock stared out of the copse of stunted juniper and lentisk trees. They were growing only because of the moist influences of the Mediterranean Sea. He knew that the rest of Libya was dry; ninety-nine percent of the nation was classified as a desert with less than six inches of rainfall a year.
Murdock went over the images in his mind of the maps he had memorized. The village they needed was inland about seven miles, in a desert resort where water percolated up through the sand to create a true oasis. He checked his watch: ten minutes after midnight. If they stole a truck, they could be discovered. They had to stay as silent and unseen as possible until the attack on the house. The decision had been made to hike through the desert to the site. The men were traveling comparatively light with about sixty pounds of gear, weapons, ammo, and explosives. They wore their desert cammies and most had floppy hats, kerchiefs, or watch caps for headgear.
The men quickly took out their Motorolas and attached them with the lip mikes. Murdock called for a platoon radio check, and the seven men in his squad reported in the correct order. Then Bravo Squad came on. All accounted for.
“We have a fringe of developed land along the coast, maybe three miles deep,” Murdock said into his mike. “We get through that into the increasingly dry desert, until within five miles we’re in the heart of the Sahara with sand built on sand. We find a highway to the site and follow it. This time we hike. We don’t want to ring an alarm by stealing a vehicle. Maybe on the way back. It’s only seven miles. About an hour out. Let’s chogie.”
Joe “Ricochet” Lampedusa took the point as scout as usual, moving out fifty yards as the others waited in the brush. Lam crossed a blacktopped road and scurried to a ditch on the other side as two cars whipped past. Ahead lay the outskirts of the coastal village. Two houses and a pair of sheds. Lam wor
ked around them, saw no lights on, and waved the platoon forward.
Murdock took his Alpha Squad out first. Here they were in a single-file combat mode, five yards apart. They jogged across the road when it was clear, and then moved silently past the houses into an irrigated field. It had been harvested, and Murdock figured the crop was a grain of some kind. The coastal plain here was irrigated from wells and some small oasis spots where water bubbled up from the underground water table. His intelligence reports said that at this spot along the coast the arable land extended only three miles inland.
Once across the irrigated field, Lam angled to the west, where he heard traffic. The reports said there would be little vehicular use of the roadway into the maximum-security facility.
For once Murdock had been given exacting information about their target. It was a former European-owned estate house, with a fenced compound, guards outside and in the main house. There were two other buildings on the site, one a barracks for the military guards, and another that was formerly a garage, now used for supply and storage. No dogs were reported inside the wire. The SEALs had worked out an attack plan, but situations often changed when the platoon came to the actual target.
The irrigated fields lasted for three miles inland, with an occasional house and a few buildings where the owner of the land lived. Background on the area advised Murdock that most of the parcels were small, some only five or six acres, and they were highly prized because of the shortage of arable land.
Sand and clumps of saltwort and spurge flax began to invade the area as the SEALs moved south toward the desert. The clump grasses would soon take over the land in the area that couldn’t be irrigated.
Up front, Lam had located the roadway south and had paralleled it three hundred yards off. There had been some truck traffic, and now there was a sedan or two, all painted military dull-green. Once past the cultivated fields, Lam found what he figured were off-road vehicle trails. Some had metal tracks; others had low-pressure tires to bigfoot on the softer sandy areas. He stopped and listened, but heard only one sedan on the highway. He moved ahead.
Ambush sts-15 Page 1
