Secret Justice

by James W. Huston

  Rat heard a helicopter and looked up. An SH-60 raced toward the Galli Maru from the port side. The side door was open and a sniper rifle protruded. Tick had told him he would try to get a sniper team airborne to support him. Rat switched the radio on his belt to encrypted UHF. “Team Two, you up?”

  “Two’s up. Rat, that you?”

  “Yeah. You see anything?”

  “Lot of activity on the bridge. They’re scrambling around in there. I expect they’ll be coming out any second.”

  “You got a good line on them?”

  “I do on this side.”

  “We’re going into the bridge. Anybody you see that isn’t Japanese, you’re cleared to hit.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Stay on this freq.”

  “Wilco.”

  Rat switched back to the intercommunication for his team. They were all waiting for his order. They were kneeling with their weapons facing outboard all around the top of the superstructure. The black stack loomed ominously behind him as exhaust poured out of it. Norfolk was two miles away to their left.

  “Let’s go,” Rat said as he trotted forward, followed immediately by a grimacing Groomer, Robby, Banger, and the others. Banger carried his M-25 sniper rifle. They reached the corner of the superstructure with twenty-five knots of wind in their faces. The ship had increased speed. The bridge had a flying bridge extension which was just below them to their left. Rat stole a quick glance at it and saw that no one was on the flying bridge. The door from the flying bridge to the bridge was closed. Rat nodded to Groomer and Robby, who quickly ran their thick belaying ropes around hard points on the top of the superstructure. They expertly looped them through their harnesses around their waists and prepared to belay down the side of the ship. Six other SEALs stood directly behind them. Rat gave Groomer and Robby a quick nod and they went over the side of the superstructure and walked down the vertical white steel to the level of the bridge. They held their MP5Ns in one hand and the belaying rope in the other to arrest their descent, covering the flying bridge area.

  Rat reattached his weapon to his chest, threw a rope around the base of an antenna, checked it for strength, and walked over the side of the superstructure down to the flying bridge. Three other SEALs joined him on the small flying bridge, covered by Groomer and Robby, who were still hanging over the side of the superstructure, their weapons leveled at the door to the bridge.

  The Galli Maru raced through the dark gray water throwing up a vigorous bow wave. The Coast Guard boats and Navy ships stayed near and around the ship, not sure what to do, whether to get in the way and cause a collision, or fire at the rudder and try to disable the ship. At least for now they had been told to stay close but do nothing. Every officer now knew why as dozens of sets of binoculars were trained on Rat and his men.

  The city of Norfolk was on the left of the ship. Cars were stopping on the road to Norfolk to watch what was now live on the news as the “developing situation.” A Norfolk traffic helicopter had abandoned its coverage of a car fire when it saw the Pave Low helicopter race up and drop men off on a civilian ship. The news helicopter had taken up a station one mile from the Galli Maru and was transmitting the live image of Rat and the other SEALs to Norfolk. The live feed had been offered to CNN, which had immediately snapped it up and was now showing it live nationwide.

  Rat looked carefully inside, staying low. “Four on the bridge. No hostages,” he transmitted to the team. He switched on his radio. “Team two, take the helicopter and your sniper to the front of the ship. See if you can get a shot in through the windows to the bridge. We’re going in in ten—”

  Suddenly the glass in the door between the bridge and the flying bridge where Rat stood shattered from the hail of bullets that came from the bridge, a steady stream of automatic fire. “Stay covered!” Rat yelled as he pressed his back against the white steel. He could feel bullets slamming into the other side of the steel. “Two, can you see inside?”

  “We’ve got them,” he said. The helicopter accelerated ahead, turned to the right, and flew sideways in front of the ship. A SEAL sniper sat on the deck of the helicopter with his rifle pointed out the side door. His high-powered scope took him through the front windows of the ship’s bridge. He fired once, the window shattered, and one of the automatic rifles inside the bridge fell silent. Then a second. There was a pause in the shooting. Rat raced for the door, threw it open, and charged into the bridge screaming in Arabic for everyone to surrender and lay down their weapons. Groomer and Robby flew around the superstructure and hung in the air in front of the windows of the bridge. Duar’s two remaining men on the bridge were surprised by the sudden entry. They raised their weapons to fire but were too slow. The SEALs fired in short bursts. Each trigger pull by each SEAL sent three bullets into the chest of one of the men on the bridge. Only one of the men was able to return fire and his bullets went into the overhead. In seconds they were both dead. Blood ran toward the back of the bridge as the ship continued its twenty-knot pace and maintained its course without a helmsman.

  Rat’s breathing increased and his eyes darted around the bridge as he looked for an explanation. Something was wrong.

  “Cover the wings,” Rat said. He ran to the engine order telegraph and moved it to reverse one-third. Nothing happened. Rat went to the helm. He turned the wheel of the ship to the right, ordering a sharp starboard turn of the huge ship. The wheel spun in his hand. It was completely disconnected from the rudder; the ship began to turn the other way, southwest, parallel to downtown Norfolk and directly toward the Norfolk Naval Base on its own, as if on a rail.

  Rat glanced up to look out the window, past the bow of the ship. The sun had risen above the horizon and the chop in the Chesapeake had picked up. White spray hissed down the sides of the ship. Directly ahead of the ship, easily visible and not far away, was pier twelve of the Norfolk Naval base—one of the carrier piers. And moored at pier twelve was the USS Eisenhower, a nuclear-powered Nimitz-class aircraft carrier of 98,000 tons.

  “Holy shit,” Rat exclaimed. He switched his transmitters to the UHF radio. “Team Two, get on the guard frequency, whatever it takes. Notify Norfolk Naval base that this ship is inbound and I’m not sure we can stop it. Tell them to evacuate everybody, get every ship underway that they can move. I don’t care how many crewmen are aboard. I don’t care if they rip the lines off the pier and tear up their stanchions. Get every ship out of the Navy base now!”

  Rat headed off the bridge carefully, watching for booby traps and men. He hurried down the passageway behind the bridge. “They must be controlling the ship from after steering.”

  Groomer asked, “Should we evacuate Norfolk?”

  “No time. It would just jam up the roads and cause a panic. We’ve got to find Duar and stop this ship. Everybody remember the layout of the ship?”

  They nodded.

  “To the mess deck.”

  With Robby and Groomer, they covered each other as they went through one door after another, then down ladders to the heart of the ship. The other SEALs moved quickly behind them, covering every edge and ensuring no one was coming at them from side passageways or from behind them. They worked their way expertly down to the main deck, where the crew lived and ate.

  Rat knew Duar was waiting for him. He put up his hand. “Groomer, Robby, you remember where after steering is?”

  “Third deck, at the stern.”

  “Take two other men with you, get into after steering, and stop this ship. We’ve got like three minutes.”

  “On our way.” Groomer pointed to two of the SEALs in the back of the group and motioned for them to come with him and Robby. They ran down the passageway, took the first ladder, slid down it quickly, and hurried toward the stern and after steering, the emergency bridge buried deep in the ship from which the ship could be operated if the bridge became disabled. Most ships operated from after steering during drills at least once a month. Some ships did not have a specific after steering compartm
ent, but they all had some means of operating the rudder and engine far away from the bridge.

  “The rest of you come with me,” Rat said.

  They turned the corner and entered the mess deck and were greeted by a hailstorm of bullets. The noise of several automatic weapons was deafening. Duar’s men had been waiting with their guns trained on the entrances to the mess hall. Rat felt a bullet graze his right arm and the man behind him fell as a bullet hit him full in the neck. His MP5N clattered to the deck as he fell and cried out in pain. Blood spread on the deck from the arterial bleeding.

  Rat ducked back behind the steel bulkhead until the shooting died down. The other SEALs waited with him. He spoke to them over their radios, then attacked. They dashed into the room firing and spread out. They aimed with precision, hitting with each shot. Bullets flew between the two sides fifteen feet apart ricocheting off the steel flooring, bulkheads, and into the insulated overhead as men fell on both sides. Two SEALs lay on the deck, and four of Duar’s men. He saw one man jump and run out of the mess hall through a hatch in the back. Rat recognized him instantly. It was Duar. The SEALs increased their fire. They were accustomed to it and practiced shooting every day. They could hit a playing card with a five-round grouping of bullets from twenty-five yards every time. Their fire was deadly. Duar’s two remaining men fell, and the deafening echoing banging of automatic weapons died down. The pungent smell of gunpowder was everywhere. Rat jumped over two dead men and ran after Duar.

  He threw open a door, jumped back from the entrance, waited one second, then ran through the door. He saw Duar at the end of the long passageway just about to turn and head inboard. “You’re not going anywhere!” Rat yelled in Arabic. He stopped and fired at Duar’s legs, remembering Tick’s order to take him alive. Two bullets tore into Duar’s calf. He fell to the deck screaming. Rat stopped firing and ran to where Duar lay. He spoke to him loudly in Arabic, “How do we stop the ship?”

  Duar looked at him, but did not respond.

  “Where is the transmitter to detonate the explosives?”

  Duar looked at him with contempt, satisfaction.

  “Where is it?” Rat insisted, as he reached back with his fist in a tight ball as if he was about to punch Duar.

  “You can do nothing,” Duar hissed.

  Rat let his fist fly and punched Duar in the ear. His head snapped to the side. “Where is it?”

  “You will never stop this ship!” Duar said triumphantly.

  Rat felt the white anger returning. He felt it consuming his being. He wanted to choke Duar to death and watch the life drain from his eyes. He tossed his weapon to Banger.

  “Where are the Japanese crewmen?” he asked as he pulled a pair of needle nose pliers out of his vest.

  Duar didn’t respond.

  “You’re going to lead us to them.”

  Still nothing.

  The situation was dire. Rat looked at his watch. He could feel the deck of the ship vibrating from the maximum speed it was making. He knew he had little chance of getting the Japanese hostages off the ship. He also knew he had little chance of preventing the explosion. All he could do was minimize the damage. “I’m going to ask you this once, and only once. Where are the radioactive cores?”

  Duar grimaced, but acted confused, as if he didn’t know what Rat was talking about.

  Rat had taken the pliers out to squeeze the knuckles of Duar’s fingers one by one, to shatter them into so much bone dust and watch him go pale in pain and fear, to feel what he had done to so many others. If Duar stayed on the ship and died in the explosion no one would know what had happened . . .

  Rat took a thin steel cable and plastic tie handcuffs out of his vest. He bound Duar’s hands together behind his back, and ran the steel cable through the handcuffs. He threaded the cable through the handle on the hatch, and held the ends together, as if he was about to crimp them together, forever tying Duar to the ship.

  “Where are they?” Rat demanded through gritted teeth. He moved the pliers to Duar’s middle finger and began to squeeze. “Where?”

  Duar said nothing.

  Rat looked at Duar’s bleeding leg. He changed his mind “You might bleed to death. You need to get that bullet out. Let me help you.”

  Rat took the pliers and stuck the pointed ends into the oozing wound on Duar’s calf. Duar screamed out as Rat opened the mouth of the pliers and probed for the bullet. “Let me see if I can find . . . that . . . bullet for you . . .”

  “Stop!” Duar cried. “Stop!”

  “I know this hurts, but it’s for your own good,” Rat replied. “I had some corpsman training. I saw a video where they took a bullet out of a guy. I think I can do it. Where are those cores?” he yelled as he drove the points of the needle nose pliers deeper into Duar’s leg, probing, grabbing.

  “Ohhhggaaggh,” Duar said as sweat ran down his face. “Main deck,” he gasped. “Both sides.”

  “Let’s go,” Rat said. “On your feet!”

  “I can’t walk!”

  “Banger, drag this asshole topside. If he gives you any shit just smash him in the face.”

  “Pleasure,” Banger said as he pulled Duar to his feet and began dragging him down the passageway.

  Rat put the steel cable and the pliers back into his vest, grabbed his weapon, and ran to the ladder leading to the deck. Rat spoke into his microphone, “Groomer, what you got?”

  Rat heard the reply immediately in his headphones. “We’re in after steering. Nobody here. The engine controls and the helm are frozen. I think they got underneath the deck plates and locked the cables. We were going to get under the deck, but the whole place is rigged with C4. If we touch anything, we’re all going to go up. We’re willing . . .”

  “You think that would stop the ship?”

  “Can’t tell—it’s possible . . .” Groomer said, understanding the implications.

  “Forget it. The radioactive cores are up on the deck. If this ship goes up we can’t let it send radioactivity with it. You start aft, we’ll start forward. Find them and chuck them over the side. Divers can get them later, but we can’t let them go up with the ship.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  Rat dashed up one ladder after another, breathing heavily. The other SEALs were right behind him. Banger dragged Duar, who was crying out from pain. He begged Banger to stop. Banger threw him over his shoulder like a sack of grain and carried him up the ladders, not caring that his bleeding leg was smacking against the railings and bulkheads.

  As Rat broke into the daylight he switched his transmitter to UHF. “Kujo, you up?” he asked, speaking directly to the Pave Low pilot.

  “Kujo’s up. That you, Rat?”

  Rat looked at the Eisenhower. It was less than a thousand yards away. “We need to get out of here. Prepare for SPIE Rig extraction.”

  “Same place we dropped you off?”

  “Affirmative.”

  Rat dashed forward to the bow of the ship. On his way he looked for anything out of place. He quickly spotted the sinister metal containers, the radioactive cores. They were taped to the deck with ordinary duct tape. He ran past several of them as he went forward, pointing them out to the SEALs behind him. They broke up and kneeled near each one individually. Rat ran to the bow, pulled out his switchblade, pressed the blade into service, and cut the tape on the core closest to the bow. He quickly tossed it over the side and watched it splash into the sea as the Galli Maru raced toward the nuclear-powered Eisenhower at twenty knots. The carrier looked huge in front of them, its flight deck much higher than the deck on which Rat stood.

  Rat turned to run back to the next container on the port side. He stopped. The ship was turning—no, he quickly realized—the Eisenhower was backing away from pier twelve. A huge rooster tail kicked up behind the carrier as the four enormous propellers dug into the dark water and pulled the massive ship away. He could hear the taut mooring lines snap as the Eisenhower broke free. He could see faces of sailors peering over the
side of the flight deck as they watched the Galli Maru in morbid fascination. Rat looked back and saw the other SEALs throwing their radioactive cylinders over the side. “How many? How many cylinders?”

  Each SEAL who had thrown a cylinder over raised his hand. He looked back at the pier, then back at the second cylinder he had been heading for. He ran to it, cut it free, and tossed it as far as he could. He looked up at the carrier. They were going to hit the Eisenhower. “Emergency extraction! Everybody to the insertion point!”

  The SEALs cut at the cylinders and threw them. They looked madly for more but didn’t see any.

  “Go!” Rat yelled.

  They ran down the deck and up the ladders to the superstructure. The Pave Low hovered over the superstructure as the crew chief kicked the SPIE Rig (Special Purpose Insertion/Extraction) onto the deck. The SEALs rushed to the two large ropes with attachment points and hooked their harnesses up. Using two ropes simultaneously from the same helicopter was only done in an emergency. But everyone involved realized they had to get off on the first extraction—there wouldn’t be a second. Banger was on his knees next to a visibly suffering and weakened Duar. Rat crossed to them and looked at Duar with fury. “You’re going up with this ship,” Rat said to Duar in Arabic as he quickly pulled the cable back out of his vest. He glanced up to make sure the rest of his men were hooked up to the SPIE Rig, ready to go. He looked ahead at the Eisenhower as they approached the pier. He ran his cable under Duar’s arms. His hands were still bound behind him. As Rat reached down for an anchor point, he suddenly thought better of it. He ran the cable through his harness, grabbed Duar, and picked him up.