Seal Team Seven #20: Attack Mode (26 page)

“Doubt if they get far,” Murdock said. “Remember, we still have the F-18s, and the chopper pilots can put us in touch with the CIC on the carrier.”

They watched the sixty-foot boat work its way to the entrance and then out into the Pacific.

“Drop them off,” Jaybird commanded.

Instead the three Rongrik men were pushed to the deck and the boat surged ahead on full throttle.

“Damnit,” Murdock shouted. “Now we do have a problem. Not a chance I’ll sic the F-18s onto that boat, not with three civilian hostages on board. Let’s get to the chopper and talk with the boss back on the carrier.”

Murdock sent Jaybird to talk to the mayor of the village and tell him that more Navy people would be coming, to dismantle and remove the packages that were brought in by the terrorists. He said anyone who suffered damages could apply to the U.S. Navy for recovery. Jaybird told them that the Navy would take care of the dead bodies and see that everything was back to normal as soon as possible. Murdock gave the sheriff the two thousand dollars Lam had found. He said it should go to the family of the woman who was killed.

Murdock jogged to the chopper, which remained where they had left it. The pilot put him through to the CIC.

“Murdock here. We’ve negated the threat to the atoll, and the two crates of plutonium, untampered with, are waiting for retrieval by your radiation experts.”

“Good news, Murdock,” Don Stroh said. “Any problems?”

“Yes. Three of the terrs got away on the boat they arrived on. The trouble is they have three male hostages from the atoll, so we can’t just blast them out of the water.”

“That is a small hiccup in the deal. Any ideas?”

“Suggest that you tail them with a destroyer until it gets dark. Then five of us SEALs will drop out of the destroyer’s chopper three miles ahead of the boat, wait for it, grab it in the darkness, take down the three terrs, and bring home the three hostages.”

“Sounds good here. The CAG says it works for him. The three hostages might want to keep the boat and sail
it back to the atoll, so try not to damage it.”

“Good idea, Stroh. When did you get so smart?”

“I try not to let it show. The CAG here is working on sending in some radiation experts and a boat to bring back the plutonium. You say it’s still in the original crate?”

“That’s a roger. Two crates. They’ll need a forklift from the island to bring the crates out of an old Japanese tunnel about a half mile long.”

“There’s one on the atoll?”

“Right.”

“Why don’t you and your Marines come on home?”

“We’ll want medics on the flight deck. We have one Marine KIA and two wounded men, neither serious. We’ll wrap it here and move into the sky.”

They landed on the carrier ten minutes after taking off. The carrier had moved within five miles of the atoll, and they spent most of their time getting clearance to land. A Marine guard met them and took charge of the KIA Marine. Then the wounded Marine and Ching were taken down to the hospital. Murdock sent Jaybird to bring back a report on Ching, and then he headed directly to the combat information center. Stroh and Captain Olenowski were waiting for him.

“Murdock, good job.” The captain held out his hand and Murdock took it.

“Thank you, sir. The Marines came in handy. Sorry that one of their men caught those two slugs.”

“We’re in a dangerous profession, Commander. I just sent in two heavy lift choppers to bring out the two crates of plutonium. There are three radiation specialists on each bird to take care of the goods. It will be in our secure radiation-proof compartment soon.”

“About this boat,” Don Stroh said. “Too bad you let them get away with the hostages.”

“It was either that or they would have slaughtered twenty-three civilians on the atoll. As it was they killed one woman.”

“It’s over and done with, Commander. I’ve spoken with
the carrier’s captain. He says he can send a destroyer after the small boat. A Hawkeye will keep us informed of its position and at first dark you’ll start chasing them. What can they do, maybe twelve knots?”

“Good guess, Stroh.”

“The destroyer has on board an SH-60, which will come to the carrier, pick you up, and take you over to the DDG-61, the
Rampage
, an Admiral Burke-class ship. It will have an uninflated IBS you’ll use to approach the small boat.”

Murdock grinned. “Damn, Stroh, you’ve been working. You’re not used to this kind of detail. What happened?”

Stroh laughed. “I’m up for review. Besides I can catch more fish of any type than you can.”

The CAG frowned and stared at Stroh.

“Oh, Captain, a small continuing contest between the commander here and me. He thinks he’s a hotshot ocean fisherman. We go fishing off the kelp bed outside of La Jolla when I can get to San Diego.”

“Captain, we might want to go a little later at night, when some of the terrs will be sleeping and the man on the wheel not in the best of condition. Be an easier takedown.”

“No problem. You have enough men?”

“Love to have three more, but we can do it with five.”

“Pickup?” the CAG asked.

“We’ll take a GPS to give your chopper pilot an exact location after the takeover. Then we’ll do a rope ladder pickup out of the water beside the boat.”

“A rope ladder pickup at night, Commander?”

“Done it many times, Captain. That’s why we get the big bucks.”

They all chuckled.

“What about Gardner’s boat?” Murdock asked.

“Our Hawkeye tells us that the boat has problems. Weather or engine, we’re not sure. But it’s moving toward Wotje Atoll at no more than five knots. Gardner should be there well before the boat is.”

“Good, maybe he’ll have an easy time of it. Right now
I think I better make a sick bay call. Half my squad is down there goofing off.”

“When will you want to push off for the destroyer?” the CAG asked.

“Let’s say twenty-two hundred. Then about an hour to catch the boat and go around it. Meet them about midnight.”

“You’ve got it, Commander. So you won’t want any Marines on this one?”

“No, sir. Five of us is plenty.”

In sick bay, Murdock checked in with the doctors on Ching.

“He took one round to his right leg,” a white-coated doctor said, reading off a chart. “The slug grazed the bone but didn’t break it. A basic in and out, Ching told me. Tore up the muscle quite a bit. He’ll need some therapy on the leg and won’t be ready for any regular SEAL duty for about two months.”

“Two months?” Ching shouted. “I can’t be out of action that long. They’ll give my spot to some rookie.”

Murdock stepped to the bed and grabbed Ching’s hand. “Yeah, probably should replace your shot-up hide, but I won’t. You just do what the doctor and the nurses tell you. We’re going for a swim tonight.”

Murdock told Ching about the final chapter on the Rongrik mission.

“Slit their throats and drop them into the Pacific for shark food,” Ching said. “That bastard really shot that woman?”

Murdock waved and checked on his other men. Sadler was in the worst condition. The slug had gone in his back and out his chest, but not all of it. His condition was still called “guarded.” Howard, with three rounds in his right leg, was chipper and ready to get back to work.

“A whole damn month, the medics tell me,” he blustered. “Hey, we’ll see what my buddies back at San Diego’s Balboa Hospital have to say.”

Jefferson was in the next bed, reading a paperback book. He scowled at Howard. “I never knew this guy
talked so much. I can’t get him to shut up so I can read.”

Murdock caught his hand and grinned.

“Yeah, the medics told me a month, but they’re blowing smoke. They don’t know how quick I mend and how hard I can train. I’d say three weeks tops.”

Murdock went back to the quarters his SEALs had been given and told the men the schedule. Next they went to a special chow and then hit their bunks.

“It’s a mandatory six-hour sleep period,” he told them. “We don’t want you guys falling asleep on the job tonight.”

They flew off the carrier deck promptly at 2200 and dropped onto the chopper pad on the end of the
Rampage
destroyer at 2210. Their pilot was Lieutenant Roscoe Utts. He was lean and tall and young. Murdock almost hated him.

“Commander. Good to be with you. Hear you guys do some amazing things. I’ve never done a night pickup with a rope ladder out the back door.”

“Just hold her steady at about ten feet and we do the rest, Lieutenant. Utts, an interesting name.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. My mother said it was old English but she wasn’t sure. We’re going to take off about twenty-three hundred?”

“Depending where the target boat is and how long it will take us to find it.”

“They’ll give me the coordinates and a heading, and we won’t miss it by more than fifty yards.”

“But we need to miss it by two miles,” Murdock said. “We go around it and into their heading a mile in front of them.”

“Let him come to you. Yeah. Good idea.”

They took off at 2316, and Jaybird figured it would take them twenty-two minutes to catch, pass, and get positioned a mile ahead of the boat. It took them twenty-four minutes. Then they inflated the IBS, positioned it at the rear ramp, and pushed it out when the chopper came down within fifteen feet of the blue-black Pacific Ocean. Murdock
and his four men ran out the rear ramp after the boat and caught it before it floated out of sight. There was no moon. A few stars sprinkled the clear sky. Low clouds scudded past in the distance.

Murdock surfaced and kicked fifteen feet ahead to the boat. He heaved on board and found Lam, Jaybird, and Bradford already there. Splashing to the rear produced Vinnie Van Dyke, and they pulled him in. Jaybird checked the engine, cleared it, and got it started. It purred like a tabby cat. “Figure we should have him in about twenty minutes,” Jaybird said. “Unless there are some unfriendly surface currents or sudden windstorms.”

“Or if he suddenly changes course and heads for another atoll,” Van Dyke said.

They sat there trying to dry out a little. They wore their cammies over their wet suits, not sure how long they might be in the water. Weapons choice had favored the short guns. They all carried the MP-5 with sound suppressor.

“That boat has a diving platform off the stern,” Jaybird said. “I noticed it when they were fueling it. An easy boarding spot. Now if the guy at the wheel just doesn’t check out the back, we’ll be in clover.”

“Why would he check?” Bradford asked. “He’ll have trouble enough staying awake this late at night and trying to stay on course. Didn’t look like any of those three were what you’d call experienced sailors.”

They were quiet then. Jaybird had out his 6 × 40 field glasses, watching to the rear. He grunted and then pushed the glasses tighter against his eyes.

“Oh yeah, I have running lights coming up on our port rear. Looks like he could be our baby.”

“All quiet,” Murdock said. “Engine at idle. Jaybird, how far off his course line are we?”

“Maybe three hundred yards.”

“Let’s stay out here and then come at him from his stern. Just the way we planned it.”

They sat there, and soon all could see the running lights of the small boat. It looked even smaller now in the open
sea. It came closer to them than they had figured, and Murdock told Jaybird to move them off another hundred yards.

Then the low growl of the diesel engines came through the water, and they saw the craft slipping along, riding high with no cargo. When it was past, Murdock waved at Jaybird, and he turned the small rubber boat and pushed up the throttle, and they fell into the wake of the larger craft and steadily gained on it.

When they came up to the stern, Van Dyke threw a line around a brace and tied the boat fast, then scrambled on board followed by the rest of the SEALs. Each man had his assignment. Murdock took the stairs to the small pilot house forward. He stopped at the door and looked through the glass: one man, leaning over the wheel, staring at the compass. Murdock jerked the door open and charged in, putting his KA-BAR against the man’s throat before he knew he had company.

“You speak English?” Murdock asked.

The man shook his head and chattered in Arabic.

Murdock understood enough of it. He spoke back in Arabic, and the man’s head jerked around in surprise.

“Move that way again and you’re dead,” Murdock said. He tied the wheel in position, left the throttle where it was, and secured the man with riot cuffs hands and feet, then put a gag around his mouth.

Murdock eased out the door and down the steps. A shadow came out from the lower cabin and lit a cigarette. He noticed Murdock and said in Arabic, “Why have you left the wheel?”

“So I could kill you,” Murdock said in Arabic and triggered the MP-5, with three silenced shots hitting the man’s chest. He wavered on the rail for a moment, then plunged overboard to add to the top feeders’ menu on the food chain.

Below, Jaybird had opened the door marked “crew” and found one terrorist waiting for him. The Arab fired a pistol and Jaybird countered with six rounds from the MP-5. When the noise in the small room faded, Jaybird found a
light in a ceiling fixture and turned it on. The terrorist lay against a bunk holding his belly where all six rounds must have entered.

“You killed me,” he said in English, then his head rolled to one side and he was singing his petition to Allah.

“Jaybird, I have one down.”

“Murdock, I have two down or tied.”

“Bradford, I found the three hostages. They were tied up, but I figured out the knots and they are free and yelling and screaming. They want to go home.”

“Vinnie here. Nobody in the galley or engine compartment. Sounds like the fun is all over.”

“Lam here. Nothing in the rest of the hold or second crew quarters.”

They assembled in the galley, where the three native Polynesians put out a spread of food from the stores and set out beers all around.

“How would you men like to own a boat?” Murdock asked the largest of the three, who it turned out could speak good English.

“One like this one? Never in my life I have enough money. Cash hard to come by on our atoll.”