“You tell me then, who’s elite?” he often asked young sailors who visited their shop inquiring about the EOD program.
BM2 Ball spent the night in the EOD workshop because he was responsible for the flight deck watch the previous night. In the early morning hours, the air boss told him he could retire to the shop, just two decks below the flight deck in the port aft corner of the USS George Washington, provided he monitored the radio for trouble.
Ball was standing by to render safe any explosive hazard on the deck of the aircraft carrier. George Washington’s aircrews were flying in the North Arabian Gulf, some even flying over Iraq, in support of Operation Southern Watch. This hostile zone required all of them, even the Search and Rescue helicopters, to be fully armed and ready for action. This made the always important EOD presence, imperative.
This was not his first deployment; it was in fact Ball’s second “float” away from his home and his young family. On his previous sojurn he fixed a 30 millimeter cannon that jammed, removed damaged fuzes from Mark 82 bombs, and even rendered safe a High Speed Anti-Radiation Missile (HARM) that careened across the deck just as the EA-6B Prowler it was connected to hit the four-wire. Ball was ready for any and all of these ordnance accidents to happen again. He was also ready in the event of a plane crash. As the EOD watch, he would be needed to render safe the explosive components of the ejection seats as well as any ordnance on the aircraft.
When any of the six-man EOD detachment on board George Washington stood the flight deck watch, he wore a red turtleneck and a red life vest identifying him as an ordnance handler. Each had a painted stencil of the EOD “crab,” on the back; an inverted bomb on a shield superimposed over a wreath and two lightning bolts. All EOD Techs are required to learn its meaning upon beginning Phase I of their training.
The wreath is symbolic of the achievements and laurels gained by minimizing accident potentials, through the ingenuity and devotion to duty of its members. It is in memory of the EOD personnel who have given their lives while performing EOD duties. The bomb was copied from the design of the World War II Bomb Disposal Badge; the bomb represents the historic and major objective of the EOD attack, the unexploded bomb. The three fins represent the major areas of nuclear, conventional, and chemical/biological warfare. The lightning bolts symbolize the potential destructive power of the bomb and the courage and professionalism of EOD personnel in their endeavors to reduce hazards as well as to render explosive ordnance harmless. The shield represents the EOD mission which is to protect personnel and property in the immediate area from an inadvertent detonation of hazardous ordnance.
The EOD students also learned that completing the course would not end their training. Each would continue to build upon their expertise, advancing from Basic to Senior, and finally Master EOD Technician.
Like all students, when Ball learned the meaning of the EOD crab it became more to him than military insignia, it was a source of pride; a symbol. Upon graduation from the EOD pipeline, Ball wore the Basic EOD crab, commonly called a ‘slick bomb’ because the bomb was naked. Now as a Senior EOD Technician his bomb had a star on it.
Ball pulled the poncho liner that served as his blanket up to his chin. He decided to go back to sleep, to find his wife Jeannie in a dream. Suddenly, the door opened throwing fluorescent light into the room. Then the overhead light of the shop was turned on.
“Get up, T-Ball!”
Ball grunted in response to hearing his moniker. An instructor gave him the nickname his first day at dive school in Panama City, Florida.
“Damn it, Johnny! It’s Sunday! I’m trying to get some holiday routine here!”
“Right, shipwreck... holiday for some... routine for others. Come on, we just got a short fuse on an op.”
“What?”
“Ship takedown with the frogs.”
Aviation Ordnanceman First Class Jonathon Hooke was the detachment’s leading petty officer, the senior enlisted man who was not yet a chief petty officer. Additionally, Hooke was at the pinnacle of an EOD career as a Master EOD Technician. His EOD crab had a star on the bomb, with an additional star and wreath above the shield.
Ball threw off his poncho liner and got up.
“What happened?”
“Sanctions violator made a run for it last night. We’re going to take it down.”
“Who’s going?”
“You and me. It’s our turn in the barrel. Get suited up with the basic stuff. We brief in fifteen minutes. We’ll come back here after the briefing if we need more shit.”
“Okay.”
T-Ball and Hooke began by donning flight suits and bulletproof vests. Each had a load-bearing vest fitted over the body armor that was designed to carry ammunition and a few select tools of the trade. It even had a bladder in the back for carrying water called a “Camelbak” to prevent dehydration in the hot Arabian sun.
Gunner’s Mate Second Class Tommy Ving, another teammate, entered the shop carrying two large bags.
“I drew weapons from the armory—what do you guys want?”
“Shotgun,” said Hooke.
“I’ll go with the CAR,” T-Ball replied referring to the M-16 variant used by SpecOps forces.
“You sure? Shotgun might be better on the ship.”
“Nah, I’m more comfortable with the 5.56.”
Each Tech wore a nine millimeter Beretta on his hip as a last line of defense.
T-Ball, Hooke, and their officer in charge, Lieutenant Guterson, were the last to arrive for the briefing. Gear and weapons were stowed neatly in the back of the briefing room. T- Ball and Hooke removed their packs and set them down, stowed their weapons, then took their seat next to Guterson.
One of the ship’s Intelligence Officers began the brief. If they were not on a military ship, T-Ball would have thought the man was hung over. He clearly had not slept in many days.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Yesterday afternoon USS Elliot encountered a suspected sanctions violator; motor vessel Green Leon. Elliot made several attempts to hail the ship with no response. She continued to track and report but could not pursue because she was involved in another boarding at the time. USS San Jacinto was directed to leave her station in plane guard in order to track and pursue the Leon. San Jac has remained beyond Leon’s visual and radar range.”
The officer clicked on a projector with a remote, displaying a photo of a container ship on the wall behind him.
“This is a file photo of the Leon. Note she has a large deckhouse aft and a small one forward. We believe that all living spaces are in the aft house; it is almost ten stories off the waterline. The forward one probably just houses storage for the ship, line lockers and the windlass machinery rooms.”
He clicked the remote again. Now there was a naval architecture drawing of the Leon depicting a view of the ship from the right side.
“This is the general layout of the Leon. It is a composite from the shipyard that built her ten years ago and intelligence gathered after she came under suspicion nine months ago for smuggling military parts into Iraq. The debrief from a SCI classified source noted that she had modifications from her original configuration. One of the most notable changes was that she might have received an upgrade to her communications suite that will enable her to provide early warning to Iraqi national assets without any effort. Keep an eye out for this suite. As always the codeword for a sophisticated comm suite is ‘Five Aces,’ the word for contraband weapons is ‘Thoroughbreds,’ and for illegal fuel oil is ‘Payback.’”
T-Ball only half paid attention to the intel brief. He was distracted thinking of Jeannie. He looked at his divewatch. She was probably sending the kids to bed right now, half a world away.
When he focused again, Ball realized that he was not the only one who was drifting off, almost half the SEALs returned to their Sunday slumber. Ball thought that at this point in the float, all the intel briefs sounded the same. After four months at sea, each of the Techs on the detachment had by now completed c
ountless boardings with the SEALs.
Despite living and working together, Ball did not know any of the SEALs very well. The SEALs usually treated the Techs like they were the junior varsity. On most missions the EOD Techs stayed in the rear, only coming forward if a booby trap was located or if explosives or some ordnance were found. It was only then that the Techs were treated like royalty.
Lieutenant Holt was the SEAL officer in charge for this operation. He was one of two SEAL Squad Leaders on the George Washington. The other was Lieutenant Junior Grade Barnes. Holt gave his standard brief reviewing the team assignments, their movements on the ship, and everyone’s call sign. T-Ball would be with the first SEAL squad and would use call sign “Echo One” on the radio. Hooke was “Echo Two.”
Holt always ended his brief the same way. “Okay, I want everyone fully geared up when you walk out this door. Balaclava hoods and Protec helmets on. Body armor, assault vests and packs on. All radios on but secured for the rope-in. Hoods over faces, lock and load weapons and secure them for the fast rope when you get the word that we are five minutes out. Questions?”
There were none.
“Right, then let’s go get ‘em!”
The ship was still quiet as the team traversed the passageways to the flight deck. Because it was Sunday and a “no fly” day most of the crew was allowed to sleep in. T-Ball felt the stares of the few Washington crewmembers that did see the takedown team. It was not common to see sailors wearing black rappelling helmets, body armor, tactical vests, and carrying assault weapons, striding down the ship’s passageway. In fact, most of the ship would never hear of their exploits.
A pair of SH-60 Seahawk helicopters was already turning on deck. Their blades pushed a high volume of air, causing them to jump slightly against the tie-down chains that secured them to the ship. T-Ball was the first to enter the aircraft. He sat down on the canvas seat, placed his weapon between his legs with the barrel pointed down, and watched the horizon move slowly up and down with the movement of the ship.
When both aircraft were full, a pair of blue-shirted flight deck crewmen slid under the rotors and removed the tie-down chains. T-Ball looked forward through the cockpit window and watched the yellow shirt signal the pilot to takeoff. In seconds they were flying.
The ocean sliding by at over a hundred knots mesmerized T-Ball and he lost track of time. He thought of home, daydreaming again about seeing Jeannie, Ted junior, and his daughter Kathryn. In a few days the ship would pull into Jebel Ali and he would be able to call them. He reminded himself to send Jeannie an email before the day was through.
One of the SEALs, the one they called Digger, tapped him. He looked over. Digger pointed outside. T-Ball looked out the open door to see San Jacinto. Ball always thought the silhouette of an Aegis cruiser, with its tall superstructure and five inch guns both fore and aft, emanated Navy.
Ball remembered that San Jac would be following the Leon, so the target ship would not be far away.
T-Ball felt someone tap him again. He looked away from San Jac toward the front left side of the cabin. Senior Chief Daranchak who was the Helo-Rope Suspension Team (HRST) Master held up both hands, fingers spread and mouthed, “Ten minutes.”
T-Ball double-checked his gear. He collapsed the stock on his weapon so that he could move with it easier through the close quarters of the merchant ship. His vest carried five magazines of 5.56 ammunition for the M-16, and one magazine was loaded in the weapon. He had two magazines of nine millimeter rounds on his belt and one already in his sidearm. The front of his vest also had pouches carrying dikes, crimpers, electrical tape, leather gloves for the rope, and paracord—the basic tools of the trade. On his back was a specially tailored pack for EOD Technicians.
Several of the SEALs now pulled on leather gloves over their flight gloves, so T-Ball did the same. Then he double-checked that the strap from his M-16 was fed through the carabineer on his vest and that the carabineer was locked shut.
He looked up to see Daranchak with one hand up, fingers splayed, signaling, “Five minutes.”
Now T-Ball pulled the hood up over his mouth so that only his eyes were visible under his flight goggles. Then he pulled back the charging handle on his M-16, chambering a round. He checked to ensure the safety was still on and wrapped a bungee cord around it, securing it close to his body for the descent. He heard the clicks of several SEALs doing the same. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Leon through the open left door. Daranchak held up his index finger. “One minute.”
His heart began to race now. Fast-roping was a simple evolution that could go badly when done incorrectly. Done right, he would simply slide to the deck like a fireman on a firehouse pole; done wrong, he would freefall until steel converted him from a sailor into a carcass for a trauma course.
The helo shuddered and its blades thwapped louder in the air as it came into a hover over the main deck in front of Leon’s pilothouse. The aircrew kept the helicopter moving forward slightly, matching the speed of the ship, while maintaining a position seventy feet off the deck.
Daranchak kicked out the heavy line and tapped the first SEAL. T-Ball watched as one after another, each of the SEALs stepped over to the line, grabbed it and slid down toward the deck. They were so fast that four would be on the line at one time.
T-Ball was second to last. He jumped almost without thinking. He looked down at his feet wrapped tightly on the line, but focused more on the man on the line just below him. The EOD Tech squeezed his hands together slightly to break his fall before crunching his fellow sailor. Once he was off the line and clear, T-Ball reached the deck and stepped away, making room for Daranchak coming down behind him. He unclipped his weapon from his side and assumed a position in the tight circle that the SEALs formed for security. He felt like he was in a tornado with the downwash of the helo pushing him toward the deck.
In seconds another helo came into a hover over the deck and the rest of the team descended in perfect rhythm.
T-Ball scanned the ship in front of him for any movement. In his earpiece he heard Holt’s voice.
“Rebel, this is Kermit. All hands on deck safe. Starting takedown.”
FIVE
Takedown
T-Ball stayed right behind Digger as they entered the superstructure. Their objective was the bridge. The staircase seemed never-ending. T-Ball lost count at seven stories. As the last man in line, he kept swiveling his head, looking behind them to prevent ambush and listened for the sounds of alarm.
The group stopped just outside the door to the bridge. Lieutenant Holt was in front. He surveyed the team to ensure everyone was there and knew what he was about to do. No words passed. He pushed on the door to open it. It was locked.
Again, without commands, from just behind the lieutenant, the first class boatswain’s mate SEAL called Pops sprang into action. He slung his MP-5 over his shoulder and opened Holt’s pack. Pops pulled out a mini-battering ram and slammed it into the door. With the first impact, yelling began in the pilothouse. It was in Arabic. T-Ball had no idea what the crew was saying. He quietly hoped they were not armed. Pops’ third try knocked the door open. Lieutenant Holt and the other SEALs burst into the room with their guns up. Each one quickly put his sights on one of the Leon’s bridge crew.
T-Ball set up a position at the door with his weapon pointed down the stairwell, providing rear security. The screaming in Arabic continued. One by one the SEALs forced the seamen to lie face down on the deck.
“Echo!” Kermit called out.
T-Ball stepped in the door.
“Zip them.”
The SEALs kept the crew covered while T-Ball began zip-tying their hands behind their backs.
“Who’s the fucking Master?” Holt said out loud.
Just then one of the men called out. T-Ball looked to the starboard side of the bridge and saw a seaman in coveralls get up and run.
“We got a runner!” his guard yelled as he chased after him.
“Six, go with him
!” commanded the lieutenant.
T-Ball heard the squelch of the radio and Holt’s voice again. “All in Kilo, this is Kermit. We have a runner from the bridge, Kilo Two and Six in pursuit.”
A calm answer came from one of the helicopters circling the Leon. “Roger, Kermit this is Viper Nine. We got him, heading down an external ladder behind the wheelhouse. Looks like your element is following.”
“Fozzy, Kermit. Runner coming your way down pilothouse aft ladder.”
“Roger, Kermit, we’ll find ‘em.”
“DAMNIT!” Holt yelled to nobody in particular.
All of the men seemed to distance themselves from their leader for a second. This was probably a minor setback, but allowing a runner was shoddy. After a quick moment, the lieutenant regained his composure.
“Who is the Master?” Holt now said with ice in his voice. “Who is the Captain?” The Master knew it would not be long before he was identified. One of the men made a noise.
“You?”
He nodded.
“Get up. Get up motherfucker! I am pissed now! Where did that guy go?”
“He’s scared, sir, we all scared.”
“Yeah, you ought to be! I’m gonna cut you loose now, Captain. Don’t run. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the Master replied with steely arrogance.
T-Ball thought it strange that while the Master claimed to be frightened, his voice did not seem concerned.
Holt pulled out a knife and held it front of the Master for effect. He swiveled the man and cut the zip tie binding his hands.
“Take the helm.”
The man walked over and took the ship’s wheel. Holt looked in front of the ship. The sea was clear for miles in front of the Leon.
“Slow to just one knot.”
The captain slowed the ship’s speed.
“See, not so bad, huh? Now listen, I’m Lieutenant Kermit De Frog of the United States Navy. We are boarding your vessel to conduct an inspection...”
Just then a report interrupted Holt.
Proximity: A Novel of the Navy's Elite Bomb Squad Page 3
