Read Battlecraft (2006) Online
Authors: Jack - Seals 03 Terral
Battlecraft (2006) (17 page)
Sabah indicated Mike with a nod of his head. "Allow me to introduce my companion, Mikael Assad."
Mahamat smiled at Mike. "You seem uneasy, my friend."
"Indeed," Mike said. "I was not expecting to be brought to such a place as this."
"Sit down," Mahamat invited. "Brother Sabah and I met on a couple of occasions in the past. Thus, I shall explain the situation to you." He waited until his guests were comfortable before continuing. "We are an isolated unit, far from our higher headquarters. As far as everyone is concerned, we are conducting normal routine coastal patrols. That is an impression we work hard to maintain."
"I see," Mike said. "Am I to understand the impression is not entirely accurate?"
Mahamat laughed. "Of course it is not!"
Mike's thought processes were going full-speed as he assessed the meaning behind the commodore's words. He was not surprised by the officer's next utterance.
"We are part of al-Mimkhalif."
Sabah turned to Mike. "And what do you think of that, Mikael?"
"I am flabbergasted," Mike said, not having to feign shock and surprise. "How clever of our leaders."
"I have been informed of you, Mikael," Mahamat said. "You are a hero to our brotherhood. Imagine! An escape from the American Embassy in Islamabad, then making a lone journey of evasion across Pakistan to rejoin your comrades."
"It was our righteous cause that gave me the courage and skills I needed," Mike replied.
"And you, old comrade," Mahamat said, looking at Sabah, "are as appreciated as ever. Your efforts in organizing weapons and supply deliveries have also been noted by our esteemed leader."
"I am humbled by the honor," Sabah said.
"I never thought about a leader," Mike said. "I assumed we were commanded by a group of dedicated Islamic brothers."
"We have but one leader," Mahamat said. "And you will meet him soon. But first we have to prepare you for future operations that will be both dangerous and complicated."
"We are eager to participate in such a phase of our jihad," Sabah assured their host. "It sounds like decisive actions are going to be taken."
"Most assuredly," Mahamat said. "And the first thing we must do is have you outfitted as officers with complete uniforms. We will also see to it that your bodyguards are disguised as sailors. You will be going out very soon aboard my flagship to observe the first part of al-Mimkhalif's struggle to establish a destiny of victory dedicated to the glory of Islam. Because of the clandestine nature of these activities, you must not look like outsiders."
Mike was now eager for more information. "What will we be doing?"
"There is a troublesome small craft," Mahamat said. "An air-cushion vehicle, to be exact, that must be destroyed before we can continue. This must be taken care of before our strategy can be advanced toward its final phases. Even now, our decoy is out like a baited hook to draw our victim into a trap."
"It sounds as if this is all going to happen very quickly," Sabah said.
"We expect action in the next couple of days or so," Mahamat said. He pressed the buzzer on his desk and their petty officer escort stepped into the office. "
Raqib
, take these men and their servants to the tailor shop for uniforms as previously directed."
"Aywa, Amid!"
the petty officer said with a salute. He gestured to Mike and Sabah to follow him as he walked toward the door.
.
DHOW
NIJM ZARK
ARABIAN SEA
VICINITY OF 15deg NORTH AND 70deg EAST
10 OCTOBER
1200 HOURS LOCAL
CAPTAIN
Bashar Bashir and his crew were bored into a state of numb lethargy. They had been tracking back and forth from east to west, then west to east since dropping off their passengers in Ras Alhad, Oman. To add to their frayed tempers, they were not being paid for the activity. But when one takes on jobs from al-Mimkhalif, one must expect certain disadvantages, such as unreasonable and unexplained demands. Once a vessel, even an old wooden one like the
Nijm Zark,
begins its association with a terrorist organization, she and the crew are at their client's mercy.
Bashir's mate, a surly individual named Bakhtiaar Ghanem, was standing wheel watch, working the spokes as he kept the compass as close to west as possible under the pressures of current and wind. Bashir stood beside him, glancing down at the quartet of crewmen dozing in the shade in front of the quarter deck. The fifth was up in the rigging on the mainmast, watching all points of the horizon.
Ghanem snarled. "
Shiyatin min jahannam
--the devils of hell! I hate being bait like this."
"Aywa"
Bashir agreed. "But there is nothing we can do about it."
"What if those cursed American airplanes come around?" Ghanem said. "They'll make short work of us."
"I think if we are bait, there will be other planes nearby to attack the Americans," Bashir suggested.
"Are you crazy? What makes you think al-Mimkhalif has airplanes?"
"Then maybe a ship," Bashir said. "I don't think they would set us out here to be sunk."
"Maybe we are to keep the Americans away from somewhere else," Ghanem commented sourly. "What a cheap sacrifice for al-Mimkhalif,
la?"
"You are forgetting the tracking mechanism they put aboard," Bashir said, pointing to the electronic instrument lashed to the after mast. "Our instructions are to turn it on if we see that funny boat that stopped us before."
"Ah!" Ghanem said hopefully. "Maybe nothing will happen. We have only enough fuel and provisions for another forty hours."
"Dir balak!"
the lookout on the main mast called down. "The American boat is off the port side."
Bashir yelled back, "Are you sure it is the strange one that stopped us and its crew came aboard?"
"It is the same," the lookout assured him. "I can easily see the spray all around it, and it moves fast toward us."
"Binnihay
--at last!" Bashir exclaimed. He walked over to the after mast and flipped on the tracking machine to broadcast its homing signal.
"Bait!" Ghanem said fearfully. "We are just bait!"
.
FLAGSHIP
HARBI-MIN-ISLAM
ARABIAN SEA
VICINITY OF 17deg NORTH AND 65deg EAST
"A
homing signal from the dhow has been picked up,
Amidl
" the excited young communication officer reported, looking over at Commodore Muhammad Mahamat.
Mahamat grinned with delight. "
Haida taiyib
--excellent! What is the course?"
"One-seven-seven,
Amid.
Approximately one hundred kilometers."
Mahamat turned to the helmsman. "Course one-seven-seven! Flank speed!"
Mike Assad and Hafez Sabah stood on the bridge with the commodore as the flagship began the maneuver, keeling with a quick response of rudder to wheel. Mike had been doing his best to make mental notes of actual locales and courses, but without access to navigational instruments, the more he observed the more confused he became about their location on the watery wilderness. Sabah, on the other hand, was content to merely make casual observations of what was going on.
"What is happening, Commodore?" he asked.
"A signal from our decoy has indicated that the American vessel we seek is approaching her," Mahamat said. He looked to the officer of deck standing nearby. "Sound general quarters!"
Mike felt a surge of nervous dread. "Are you speaking of the air-cushion vehicle, Commodore?"
"The same!" Mahamat replied. "She comes from an amphibious assault ship assigned to an American carrier battle group, and has been doing vigorous patrolling in this area for close to a month."
"Is she a threat, Commodore?" Sabah asked.
"Her potential to harm us must be neutralized at all costs," Mahamat replied. "Our contacts inform us she is called
Battlecraft
and is extremely fast and well armed. This day's task is to destroy her."
Mike turned away. The thought of watching American sailors being killed sickened him. For one wild, desperate moment he thought of getting the Webley revolver in his cabin and taking out key members of the flagship's crew. But he knew that would solve nothing except provide momentary relief before he was shot down himself. There was absolutely nothing he could do but observe the carnage to come. The worst part was that he was going to have to cheer when the American vessel was sunk by the super-fast missile attack vessel.
The
Harbi-min-Islam
sped across the Arabian Sea toward her objective.
.
ACV
BATTLECRAFT
VICINITY OF 15deg NORTH AND 65deg EAST
THE
flickering radar blip was a familiar signal to Lieutenant Veronica Rivers. She grinned, announcing, "The dhow is back, Captain. Three-five-zero at ten miles. She's heading due west."
"Right," Brannigan replied. "Okay, folks. Remember our orders when we caught her heading at two-seven-zero. General quarters! Did you get that course, Watkins?"
"Course three-five-zero, aye, sir!"
Lieutenant Veronica Rivers had her weapons system humming as per standing operational procedures even though they knew the dhow was unarmed. She checked her scopes for signs of aircraft. 'Three aircraft off to the northeast at five miles."
"That would be the Hornet Escort," Brannigan said. He turned to the patrol frequency. "Hornet Escort, this is
Battlecraft.
Over."
The voice of the F/A-18 flight leader came back. "This is Hornet Escort. Over."
"We've got the dhow on our scope and are moving in," Brannigan said. "How about a security sweep around the area? Over."
"Roger, wilco."
.
HORNET ESCORT
"DID
you monitor that transmission from the
Battlecraft?
the flight leader radioed.
"Roger," his wingman replied. "Lead the way, Boss."
The wingman's RIO came on the air. "I've got a blip just about due east at maybe fourteen miles. Moving rapidly in a southern direction. She's got warship written all over her."
"Let check it out," the flight leader said. "It might be an awkward situation if some Middle East navy observes our activities up close."
The two F/A-18s moved toward the suspect blip, then went down from angels ten to angels two as they closed in. "We're almost there," the RIO reported.
"Okay," the flight leader said. "I've got a visual. She's a warship all right, but I can't make out the nationality. Let's make a close orbit around her."
The pair of aircraft began a flying a tight circle around the vessel that sped across the expanse of water below them.
.
FLAGSHIP
HARBI-MIN-ISLAM
THE
officer of the watch stepped in from the signal deck. "The two aircraft are American," he reported. "Super Hornets."
"Alert the Exocet crew" Commodore Mahamat ordered. "Lock and fire on the aircraft."
Mike Assad's knuckles turned white from his hard grip on the bulkhead railing. He trembled with impotent rage, taking deep breaths to keep his emotions under tight control.
.
HORNET ESCORT
"WE'RE
locked on!" the RIO yelled. "Missile launch!"
Both the flight leader and his wingman reacted as quickly as possible, kicking out chaff and flares as the former broke left and the latter right in violent collective maneuvering.
It was too little too late.
The French MM-40 missiles had very little airspace to pass through and they found their targets easy marks. An American F/A-18E and F/A-18F were blown from the sky in instantaneous detonations of orange and red. Numerous pieces of the aircraft trailed smoke and flame, fluttering all the way down to the sea.
.
ACV
BATTLECRAFT
"JESUS
Christ!" Lieutenant Veronica Rivers yelled out. "Those Hornet Escort guys disappeared off the scope. They were locked on and hit."
"Where the hell did the ordnance come from?" Brannigan asked. "Nothing was fired from the dhow."
"Ship approaching from zero-zero-three at a high rate of speed!" Veronica reported. "They gotta be the bad guys."
Brannigan flipped to the inter-ship nautical channel. "Unknown vessel, this is United States Navy ACV
Battlecraft
Identify yourself. Over."
"We're locked on," Veronica calmly informed the skipper. "Missile launch. Evade! I am launching chaff and flares!"
Paul Watkins, responding with instincts honed during their battle drills, went into a wide turn as he pushed the throttle to flank speed. Brannigan raised the
Dan Daly's
CDC. "This is
Battlecraft
We are under attack by an unknown naval vessel. Readings indicate this ship has blown away the two aircraft of the Hornet Escort. Over."
"Roger,
Battlecraft
the tactical action officer responded. "Wait."
Brannigan yelled over at Watkins. "Continue to take evasion action!"
"Continue to take evasion action," Watkins replied in a businesslike tone. "Aye, sir." He abruptly steered the ACV onto another heading as Veronica kicked out more chaff and flares.
"Battlecraft"
came the voice of the tactical action officer. "You are to immediately break off all contact and return to the home ship at flank speed. Over."
"This is
Battlecraft
," Brannigan said. 'That vessel destroyed two American fighter aircraft. We have the capability of making a deadly response to that unprovoked action."
"I say again," the tactical action officer said firmly. "You are to immediately break off all contact and return to the home ship at flank speed. Over."
"Roger, wilco," Brannigan said through clenched teeth. "Rivers, what's the course back to the
Dan Daly?"
"One-eight-seven," Veronica replied.
"Watkins," Brannigan said. "Steer to course one-eight-seven at flank speed."
"Course one-eight-seven at flank speed, aye, sir."
Veronica Rivers gave Brannigan a startled look. "What the hell is going on? I have a solid lock on that damn warship!"
"We're turning tail," he replied.
Chapter 12.