Operation Barracuda (2005) (35 page)

“Sure.” I sit up and rub my eyes. “What’s up?”

Lambert sits on the end of the bunk and replies, “I’ve come to eat crow. And apologize.”

I wait for him to go on.

“One of our Navy SEALS . . . he . . . well, hell, he’s got goddamned
food poisoning
. Or something. He’s throwing up every half hour and is running a temperature. Doc says it’s either food poisoning or a stomach virus. That, uh, leaves a vacant seat on one of the CHARCs.”

I’m suddenly wide awake. “Are you telling me . . . ?”

“The job’s yours if you still want it, Sam.”

“Of course I still want it!”

“Get dressed and meet me on the same deck where we were earlier. You’ll suit up in diving gear and we’ll run you through the basics on how to operate the CHARC. We’re an hour outside of Los Angeles so we’ll be launching as soon as we can.” He stands and goes for the door. “I just hope I don’t regret this.”

“Don’t worry, Colonel,” I say. “And thanks.”

THE
two Navy SEALS are young guys—well, young compared to me—named Lieutenant Junior Grade Max Carlson and Ensign Ben Stanley. When I walk onto the deck I can feel the skepticism oozing from them. They look at me as if to say, “Who the hell is this old guy?” I introduce myself and shake hands with both of them and they reply politely, but I can tell they are not happy about me joining the team.

Colonel Lambert stands on the sidelines trying to be as unobtrusive as possible while the commanding officer, Lieutenant Don Van Fleet, welcomes me and then addresses the three of us.

“Men, we don’t have much time. I just received word that Taiwan has been attacked. Our forces are holding back until we find that nuke and neutralize it. So for every minute that goes by, more Taiwanese are dying. I understand that General Tun’s forces bombed Taipei with a warning volley to get the Taiwan government to surrender. Of course they refused. A sea assault followed and now Tun’s armies are storming the island’s beaches. It’s not pretty, especially with our navy sitting there with thumbs up their asses. Lieutenant Carlson, I’m giving you five minutes to teach Mr. Fisher everything he needs to know about the CHARC. We launch two minutes after that. Before I turn over the floor to Colonel Lambert, are there any questions?”

We shake our heads. Lambert steps forward and says, “You’ve been supplied with schematics of the MRUUVs. The CHARCs’ reconnaissance capabilities have been set for picking up metal that measures the approximate size of what we believe the MRUUVs to be. In addition, the Geiger range depth has been set to fifty feet below the surface. Hopefully the damned things aren’t swimming deeper than that because we lose effectiveness beyond fifty feet. Your best tool will be the sonar, which will give a return of any object of that size. Unfortunately you’ll probably also pick up sea life—sharks, maybe some dolphins, but hopefully no whales. The NSA is monitoring three suspect areas of the coast. According to some initial readings from some of our intelligence buoys we’ve narrowed the logical points of interest to Santa Monica and Venice, Marina Del Rey, and Playa Del Rey. From a tactical standpoint, we believe these three areas make the most sense for targets. Lieutenant Carlson, you’ll patrol Playa Del Rey. Ensign Stanley, you’ll cover Marina Del Rey. Fisher, you’ve got Santa Monica and Venice.

“Once you’ve located a possible MRUUV, you’ll have to put the CHARC on automatic standby and take a dive to confirm. Make sure your homing beacons are working. Once you’ve confirmed you have an MRUUV, you report in and we’ll give you further instructions. Any questions?”

Carlson speaks up. “Sir, is it possible this bomb will go off while we’re there?”

Lambert replies, “General Tun has said that he’ll detonate the nuke only if his forces are attacked by anyone outside of Taiwan. But you never know. There’s always that risk.”

Stanley asks, “Will we have to disarm the bomb?”

“My team in Washington is working on that. What we do when we find the bomb will depend on a number of factors. Just report in when you’ve found it.”

There aren’t any more questions, so we go to it. Carlson reluctantly takes me through the CHARC’s controls and it seems pretty straightforward. Anyone who has operated a wet bike should be able to handle it. I’m also issued standard SEAL diving equipment. Along with a military wet suit, I have an upgraded LAR-V (Mod 2) rebreather with a large oxygen gas cylinder, a military diver broad that integrates with a compact depth gauge, a G-shock watch, an underwater compass, and a built-in adjustable chem-light holder. I try on a new Aqua Sphere SEAL diving mask that is supposedly leak-free and surprisingly comfortable; AMPHIB boots, which are all-terrain multifunctional boots that work well in and out of water; Rocket II fins that are designed to be worn over the boots; and HellStorm NaviGunner water ops gloves. We each have a single tank of air and a tool belt containing various items we might need when we encounter an MRUUV.

The CHARCs are lowered into the water with each of us sitting in our respective vehicle. Like the MRUUVs, a CHARC uses SWATH technology to propel it. SWATH gives a craft the ability to deliver big-ship platform steadiness and ride quality in a smaller vessel and the capability to sustain a high proportion of its normal cruising speed in rough head seas. The waterplane is the horizontal-plane cross-section of a ship’s hull at the water surface. Thus, the CHARC has two submarinelike lower hulls completely submerged below the surface; above the surface the CHARC resembles a catamaran with a wet bike on top of it. Ship motions are caused by the waves on the ocean surface, which produce forces on the hull that decrease rapidly as the hull is moved farther below the surface, as with a submarine. Wave-exciting forces can also be made smaller if the amount of waterplane area at the design waterline is decreased. However, the objective of SWATH is not to minimize ship motions at the expense of speed/ power or payload capabilities. Instead, the relative proportions for the strut waterplane area and submerged hulls are selected to reduce motions and accelerations well below accepted criteria for seasickness or onset of degraded performance of personnel or equipment. All SWATH crafts will have less than 50 percent as much waterplane area as a monohull of equal displacement.

We never had cool toys like these when I was a SEAL!

The weather is typical southern California—breezy, sunny, scattered clouds. The sun hasn’t been up too long and it’s still winter, so riding at a fast speed would be quite chilly if I wasn’t protected from the elements. The driver’s seat is inside a bulletproofed canopy so there’s a bit of a jet cockpit feel to it. It’s soundproofed, too, so all you hear is a pleasant
whir
that could easily lull you to sleep if you were so inclined. The controls are brightly lit and intuitive; a monkey could pilot the thing. And best of all it smells like the interior of a new car. I love it!

The CHARC handles so smoothly that it’s hard to believe I’m on the surface of the Pacific. The water is choppy but the CHARC seems to glide right over it. Before long I’m within a mile of the Santa Monica Pier and I can see the Ferris wheel and other amusements glistening in the early dawn. I reduce speed and concentrate on what the instruments are telling me. There are schools of fish moving underneath me. A large stationary metal object lies at the bottom, most likely a sunken speedboat.

“I’m in position,” I say into the intercom. The two SEALS and I are hooked up to a ComLink originating at the
Fisher
. Lambert and the Third Echelon team in Washington are also monitoring the mission through my implants. I guess I’d better watch my language.

“Roger that,” Carlson says. “I’ll be in my position in about twenty seconds.”

“Same here,” echoes Stanley.

And so it begins. The search is tedious and painstaking. After thirty minutes all three of us comment on how the job is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Each of our sections encompasses thirty or forty square miles of ocean.

“Colonel, is there any chance of getting more men and CHARCs to help with the search?” I ask.

“We’ve already tried, Sam,” he says. “More are on the way but by the time they get here it will be noon.”

“I’m afraid it’s going to take us longer than that just to locate something worth diving for.”

“Just keep looking.”

Anna Grimsdottir comes on the line and says, “Our intel buoys have picked up a total of sixteen objects that might be MRUUVs in the three sectors. I’ll give each of you the coordinates for your respective sector. At this point it’s difficult for us to tell if they’re moving or not. You’ll have to determine that.”

She gives the three of us separate coordinates to check out. It takes me three minutes to guide the CHARC to my first one only to find that the object is stationary. Another sunken wreck. Grimsdottir calls out the next location, which turns out to be a mile closer to shore. I reach it in forty seconds and once again am disappointed by the discovery.

This process continues for the next hour until finally Stanley calls out, “Hey! I think I have one.” Grimsdottir quizzes him on some of the instrument readings and he answers promisingly. The object is moving with the speed of a barracuda and is the correct size and shape. “I’m going for a dive,” he says. Carlson and I continue our search as we wait with anticipation for good news. Six minutes pass and finally Stanley’s voice rings in our ears.

“Affirmative,” he says. “It’s an MRUUV.” Grimsdottir asks him about Geiger readings, but this time his answers are negative. There’s no indication that this is the one with the bomb.

“Blow it out of the water,” Lieutenant Van Fleet commands. Stanley confirms the order and tells us that he’s activating the drop-mines. They’re powerful explosives but nothing so serious that he’d be in danger by being on top of them.

“Mines released,” he says, and we wait for the sound of fireworks.

But the tremendous noise we hear in our headsets is shocking, overamplified, and distorted. After a few seconds we hear nothing but static. Then everyone talks at once.

“Stanley? Ensign Stanley?”

“Oh, my God!”

“What happened?”

“Did you see that?”

“That geyser was sixty feet high!”

Lieutenant Van Fleet quiets everyone down and says, “I’m afraid the MRUUV was booby-trapped with a powerful explosive. When Stanley’s mines hit it, the MRUUV blew the CHARC to pieces.”

Well. I guess that’s going to change our strategy.

“
I
just received word from the White House,” Colonel Lambert announces to me through the implants. The other SEAL can’t hear him. “The president is going to issue the go command in thirty minutes whether or not we find the nuke. People in Taiwan are dying and General Tun’s forces are on the outskirts of Taipei. The president is going to call Tun’s bluff.”

“Won’t China protect their general?” I ask.

“That we don’t know. The vice president is in seclusion with China’s president in Beijing. We’re not privy to what communications are going back and forth between Beijing and Washington. The bottom line is we have thirty minutes.”

“Then get Anna to give me and Carlson something to work with.”

“I’m working on it, Sam,” Grimsdottir cuts in. “I’m tracking two possibilities in your sector and one in Lieutenant Carlson’s sector. Give me five minutes to narrow them down to the best choice.” She sounds calm and collected in a stressful situation that would have anyone else at the breaking point.

The CHARC purrs closer to Santa Monica Pier as I study the sonar screen for anything unusual. Fish set off minor readings every few seconds. There’s a lot of junk down there that causes the metal detector to jump continuously. I’m beginning to understand the various meter levels and what they might mean so I don’t spend too much time looking at something that turns out to be nothing.

“Sam, I have coordinates for you.” Grimsdottir reads them out and says, “Something’s in motion there and it’s bigger than what you’ve seen so far.”

“I’m on my way.”

I guide the CHARC about four hundred yards to the south and watch the screens for any blips. Sure enough, there’s something down there. It’s metal, it’s moving at a slow speed, it’s about six feet long and approximately three feet wide. More promising is the fact that the Geiger counter is going nuts. I snap some sonar pictures of it and transmit them to Third Echelon, all the while staying above the thing. I reckon the speed to be about fifteen knots and at that rate it’ll be very near the shore in less than a half hour.

“Take a dive, Sam,” Lambert says. “Anna thinks that’s it.”

“Roger that.”

I put the CHARC on idle, lower the face mask, and insert the rebreather into my mouth. The backward dive off the vehicle pulls on my abdomen, which delivers a jolt of pain through the sore spots, but I ignore it and allow myself to descend. It’s been a while since I’ve been diving. It’s a lot like riding a bike, though—you never forget how.

The water here is murky and not very clean. L.A. must have one of the most polluted shorelines in the world, yet people swim in it all the time. This far out I would have expected it to be a little clearer but no such luck.

I switch on my lamp and shine the beam across the ocean floor until it finds the object. Sure enough, it’s an MRUUV, just like the one I saw in the submarine pen in China. It’s an odd thing to see down here. The device is shiny silver with several indicator lights burning brightly along the side. My earlier thought that it looks similar to a giant cigar tube is even more apropos down here.

I quickly surface, climb aboard the CHARC, and transmit my message. “You’re right, Anna. I’ve got one. And the Geiger is about to jump out of its skin.”

“Excellent,” Lambert says. “Stay on top of it, Sam. Stand by until we figure out what we want to do about the damned thing.”

“Well, hurry up. I’m not very fond of nuclear enemas.”