Seal Team Seven #20: Attack Mode (13 page)

“Sure as hell did. And two planeloads of men. They came in two days ago and took over the island. Had nasty little Ingram submachine guns, and we didn’t argue.”

“Somebody met the freighter here?”

“Yep. Had a little fire fight to get on board, then some of them guys went up the sides of that freighter with magnetic shoes and gloves or something, went over the side and sprayed all sorts of fire from their Ingrams.”

“So they had to capture the ship?”

“Yep, these two Arab guys …”

Murdock held up his hand. “You say there were two Arabs?”

“Damn straight. Full beards, talked strange, the whole thing, with the Ingrams and knives. I mean we’re pretty laid-back folks around here. These guys were nasty.”

“What did they, do with the freighter?”

“Took out a ship they brought in here, an eighty-footer, the harbor guys told me. Went out to the freighter and off-loaded six of them big crates. Two they brought out here and loaded them on a plane. Crazy little crate called the Spartica. Built in Spain, I understand. Sturdy, short haul, but he had extra fuel tanks.”

Murdock’s face turned grim. His eyes half closed. “When did it take off?”

“Let’s see, about an hour, maybe an hour and a half ago. In the fucking rain and maybe a half hour before dawn. Headed east, almost due east.”

Murdock hurried inside the chopper and used the radio. He reported the aircraft and its heading. A job for the Hawkeyes. He came back. The SEALs stood around waiting.

“You guys are Navy, aren’t you?” Quartermier asked.

“Yes, sir, Navy SEALs,” Senior Chief Sadler said.

“Be damned. You guys look like commandos.”

Murdock came back. “What happened to the other four crates they unloaded?”

“Them? They kept them in that eighty-footer. Her name
was the
Albatross
, out of Majuro. I know the boat. Wasn’t the usual crew handling her. Had to use one of our locals to get in and out of the channel. Then they let him off and some others and the ship headed south, maybe southwest.”

“Any other planes involved?”

“Yep. Four of them flew in here in a four-place Piper Cub. It made two or three trips from Majuro. Lots of traffic for my little strip here.”

“I see your wings. You were Navy air?”

“Damn right, twenty-six years. Wound up in the F-14s.”

“Let me talk to the carrier again.” Murdock vanished into the chopper and used the radio to report the ship heading southwest out of Bikar.

He came back and motioned for the SEALs to board the choppers.

“Mr. Quartermier, any idea what was in the heavy crates?”

“Not a clue, and nobody talked about it. Damned tight-lipped bunch of men. Didn’t like the two Arabs.” He frowned. “Something illegal going on here?”

“Absolutely. So the men who attacked the freighter had control of her when she left?”

“Right, and they put six or eight more men on her. Looked like sailors from what I saw of them. They flew them in from Majuro.”

Murdock thanked the ex-pilot and ran for the lead bird. It took off at once and headed southwest. Murdock went back to the radio in the cockpit.

“Yes, sir, that’s what the ex–Navy pilot said. An eighty-footer with four crates on board. We’re heading that way to see if we can find her. Two hours at fourteen knots shouldn’t be hard to find. How long will this good weather hold?”

“My weather expert tells me the worst of it is over. From now on we should have only occasional showers, fast-moving ones. I’ll send a destroyer at flank in that direction. Let me know if you find the boat.”

“We’ll find it. We have plenty of fuel. When we find it, we’re going to engage. One of our choppers has rope-down capability. We’ll use that after our first attack.”

“Roger that, Commander, and good hunting.”

Murdock gave the mike back to the pilot.

“He shouldn’t be more than thirty to forty miles away from the atoll,” the pilot said. His name was Paulson and he was from Minneapolis.

“When we find him, there’s going to be some shooting. You ever been shot at before, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir. I guess it’s my turn. You just tell me where you want me to go, and I’ll put you there.”

Murdock went back and watched out the open doors, looking for the boat. They were at four thousand feet for a longer view, but after ten minutes and thirty-four miles, they hadn’t found the boat.

“The Hawkeyes must be scanning this area,” Paulson said. “Let me check with Home Base.” After the transmission, he had his crew chief call Murdock up.

“The Hawkeye found the boat. Only one in the area. They gave me some coordinates. We’ll be there in four minutes. They changed course and headed more to the south.”

“Thanks, Paulson. We’re ready.” Murdock used his Motorola and told all the SEALs in both choppers that the ship was coming up. “Gardner, you’ll go in first and use your long guns on it, then sweep in for the short guns. When you have them beaten down, we’ll go in and rope down. You ride shotgun for us. If you see any fire during the roping, use your snipers to silence them.”

“That’s a roger, Cap. Subguns and snipers. Take it easy down there. These guys are playing for big stakes. It could have been over a billion dollars in sales.”

“We’ll watch out front; you cover our backs.”

“There she is,” Jaybird yelled. The SEALs looked out the left-hand door. The boat was making good time in the still choppy sea with six-foot swells.

“Bouncing around like a cork,” Lam said. “We going to rope down on that?”

“Piece of cake,” Howard said.

“Save me the frosting,” Jaybird chirped.

“Long guns on the door,” Gardner said on the Motorola. “Tell the pilot to circle her at two hundred yards. That should out-range their Ingrams. Put a dozen rounds into her pilothouse and take out any men you see. Let’s do it.”

The Sixty came in fast, then slowed as it established a circle pattern, with its left door facing the target. As soon as they were in the pattern, Canzoneri and Prescott drilled the ship with a dozen shots. Then on the other chopper Murdock took his Bull Pup and put a contact 20mm round into the pilothouse. The ship slowed. Gardner’s chopper moved into a fifty-yard circle and the MP-5s sprayed the small boat with two hundred rounds.

“Let’s go down,” Murdock told the crew chief. The chopper came in on the stern of the boat that was barely making headway through the seas. Murdock was thirty feet above the deck. He saw one man lift up and fire at the chopper, then take four rounds from the other chopper, flop on the deck, and not move again.

The bird hovered over the stern, then crept forward ten feet, and Murdock and Jaybird kicked out the ropes. The SEALS had put on their special gloves, and they slid down the ropes with the gloves doing the braking. All eight men made it to the deck in record time, and the chopper pulled away.

Murdock was first on deck. He came down face to face with the dead man and his Ingram. He darted ahead toward the pilothouse. An Ingram chattered for a moment, but the six rounds went over Murdock’s head. He sent a three-round burst from the Bull Pup’s 5.56 into the pilothouse doorway and then flattened against the bulkhead just outside. “Anybody in there who wants to stay alive, sing out,” Murdock bellowed. Nobody answered. Murdock pulled a fragger grenade off his webbing and jerked out the safety pin. He let the handle fly, counted to two, and then tossed the bomb into the pilothouse. The thundering
explosion rocked the ship for a moment. Then all was quiet.

Jaybird and Tim Sadler took the cabin as planned. Jaybird skidded to a stop outside the steps that led down. He risked a quick look and jerked back. Six rounds from a stuttering Ingram blasted past his head, barely missing him. Sadler threw in a stun grenade, and as soon as it stopped flashing and sounding off, he and Jaybird charged inside.

They found two men on couches, holding their ears and their eyes tightly shut. Jaybird bound their hands behind their backs with riot cuffs and went back on deck. “Cabin clear,” he called on his Motorola.

Murdock darted around the hatch on the pilothouse as soon as the shrapnel quit flying. He found two men, one draped over the wheel, dead where he lay. A second man had blood all over his face and neck. One arm had been blown off. He glared at Murdock through half-open eyes.

“I the for Allah,” he shouted.

“Like hell, you sonofabitch. You the for the almighty dollar. Don’t flatter yourself.”

The Arab man, with full black beard and hard eyes, stabbed a glance at Murdock filled with hatred. Then he gasped once, and shook over his whole body. He tried to lift his good arm and the Ingram came up partway. Murdock aimed his Bull Pup, but before the man could lift his weapon high enough, his eyes fluttered and his breathing stopped. His head turned slowly to the left, his unsighted eyes wide open, now staring at his dead hijacker buddy.

“Pilothouse clear,” Murdock radioed.

Luke Howard slid around the back of the first heavy crate and looked where he thought he saw movement. He pushed his head out and jolted it back. An Ingram slammed hot lead past him. He reached around with his MP-5 and kicked out six rounds, then paused. He heard a moan. He looked again, and this time he saw a man sprawled next to the second heavy crate, an Ingram in his hands, but pointing down.

“Drop it and stay alive,” Howard shouted. He came around the crate slowly, his MP-5 trained on the man. The bearded man screamed, pulled up the Ingram, and fired before he had it trained on Howard. Howard fired a three-round burst, but not before the Ingram had tracked to him and put three rounds into his right leg. He saw his own rounds hit the hijacker in the throat and head and jolt him over backward. He sprawled against the plutonium crate and remained deadly quiet.

“I’m hit,” Howard said on the Motorola.

“Is the boat clear?” Murdock asked on the net.

“Clear port side,” Bradford said.

“Clear starboard,” Ching said.

“Clear in the engine room and the fish hold,” Van Dyke said.

“Ship clear,” Murdock said. “Jaybird, see what you can do for Howard.”

Murdock reported to JG Gardner on the Motorola that they had secured the ship, had two prisoners and four dead hijackers. Gardner had his pilot relay the message to the carrier.

Two hours later a destroyer charged up to their position and circled them. A small boat launched over the fantail and came alongside. A chief coxswain called out.

“Commander, my skipper gives you his greetings and asks you and your men and prisoners to come aboard. You’ll be flown back to the carrier by our Sixty.”

A half hour later, Murdock and his men were back on the carrier. He, the JG, Jaybird, and Lam met with the CAG, the carrier’s boss Captain Walton, and Don Stroh.

“No good news about that plane that got away,” Captain Olenowski, the CAG, told them. “It had a three-hour head start on us, which could put it about seven to eight hundred miles out there somewhere.”

“We have any resources in that area?” Murdock asked.

“Not that I know of. I have a man checking now. That’s out in the middle of Micronesia, the Carolines, lots of places a plane could set down.”

Jaybird shook his head. “Sir, I don’t think that bird is going to light until he runs out of fuel. We’ve seen Arabs. That plane has to be headed for the Arab world. Which means almost due east. What major landmass is first up, the Philippines?”

Stroh stood and walked around the table in the conference room. “Yeah, makes sense, Captain. This has been well planned out, all the contingencies figured in. Plans and alternates and backup all the way. I’d say the plane is heading for the Philippines then on east. What do we have in that area?”

“Guam,” JG Gardner said. “Lots of assets on Guam. Must be an AWACS there.”

The CAG looked up, his eyes flashing. “From here Guam is about fifteen hundred miles. We could put up a group of AWACS to watch for that plane.”

“If we find it, we can’t just shoot it down,” Murdock said. “We need the plutonium back. What we can do is track it to its first fueling stop and hope it’s a friendly country where we can confiscate the plane and arrest the pilots.”

“We could do it in the Philippines,” Stroh said. “They owe us for helping them get rid of their guerrillas.”

Murdock looked at Stroh. “Talk to your people and have them brief the Philippines.” He turned to the carrier commander. “Captain, can you alert Guam to get some AWACS up and watch for that plane?”

“We have any description?”

“A stubby wing prop jet called a Spartica, made in Spain,” Murdock said.

“Should be enough. I’ll make some radio contacts. I’ll have to go through COMPAC.”

Stroh shook his head. “Not on this one, Captain. You had orders from the CNO. You can do anything out here you and Murdock need done.”

The captain smiled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. My boss will razz me about it, but it’ll be worth it. Let me get on it.”

The captain stood. Everyone else in the room jolted to
attention as the captain left the conference room. When the door closed, they sat down.

“Now the good news,” the CAG said. “We have the
Willowwind.
She’s about fifty miles ahead of us and heading directly for Utrik Atoll. The ship is about thirty miles from Utrik. We have two planes in the air checking out the atoll. We don’t know how big it is or what facilities they have. We should know in about ten minutes.”

“If we take her down now, it would save any more island hopping for her where she could dump out more of the plut,” Murdock said.

“Not a good idea to rope down on her in the daylight,” Lam said. “We’d be fat fish in a shooting barrel. They must have all the weapons on board that they want, maybe even some machine guns. Certainly sub guns and Kalashnikovs.”

“If they have any rocket-propelled grenades, our choppers would be sitting ducks,” the CAG said.

“But if we wait until dark, the ship will have had seven or eight hours at the atoll,” Murdock said. “They could unload half the crates.”

“She’s a U.S. flagship,” Captain Olenowski said. “I can send in three F-18s and strafe her with twenty-millimeter, and order her to go dead in the water well off the atoll. We’ll use the international hailing frequency and demand that she stop and prepare to be boarded.”