Battlecraft (2006) (18 page)

USS
DAN DALY

INDIAN OCEAN

VICINITY OF 5deg NORTH AND 65deg EAST

21 OCTOBER

0800 HOURS LOCAL

THE
ACV
Battlecraft
had been pulled from the water and hauled up into the loading bay of the ship for its first scheduled overhaul. Bobby Lee Atwill, the gas-turbine system technician, was able to handle the work on the Poder-Ventaja engine without help. He was very much aware that at that time, he was the only sailor in the entire United States Navy who knew the power plant inside and out. After spreading tarpaulins around the small wardroom, he began dismantling the engine to give each separate part a thorough inspection and cleaning. Within a quarter of an hour of beginning the task, he was happily lost in the greasy work, performing his version of exploratory surgery on the machine he loved more than any of his human shipmates.

The radar, weapons, and navigational systems were a different story. Lieutenant Veronica Rivers kept ahead of that game by a continuous self-imposed program of monitoring and adjustments. However, she and Jim Cruiser were both tasked with all the paperwork regarding the overhaul procedures and results. This consisted of two booklets of forms that had to be filled out and signed by them; countersigned by Lieutenant Bill Brannigan; then counter-countersigned by the skipper of the USS
Dan Daly.

They also had to use all previous maintenance and repair procedures listed in the electronic, weapon, and engine logs as references. Not even a yeoman who could type a hundred words a minute would be able to lend a hand in this ponderous administrative procedure. It was a matter of filling out lengthy forms requiring signatures on each one. Jim and Veronica loaded all the documents into a couple of boxes, then lugged the weighty load of data from the docking well, across the flight deck to the island, and up three decks to an unused small wardroom on the aft end. After dumping it all on a table, they sat down next to each other to begin.

"Okay," Jim said, pulling a pen from his shirt pocket. "The first form is for the navigational system. Box one: name and number of vessel." He filled in uss
dan daly, lhx-i
, then went the rest of the way through the heading as Veronica laid out the maintenance sheets for reference.

"I hope we can get this done quickly," she said. "Everyone is anxious to revenge those Hornet guys who were blown out of the sky."

"You don't have to worry about that," Jim said. "The skipper says if anything big starts going down, the
Battlecraft
will charge straight into the fight even if we have to bolt it back together as we fly out of the docking well."

"Great!" Veronica said. "Now. What's the first thing on this rather complicated agenda?"

"The brand-new automatic pilot," Jim said. "Let's start with the first page of the AP maintenance log."

She pulled it out, and as he read the questions on the form aloud, she carefully perused the dates and actions taken. As they went through the routine, they looked up now and then, their eyes locking. Both would avert their gazes, but at one point when Jim asked her about the replacement of a cathode-ray tube, they continued to gaze at each other without looking away. There are some things that adults of opposite genders can instinctively recognize in each other. And the most remarkable is mutual attraction. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips, and she pressed back. They embraced and exchanged a sexier, deeper lip-lock.

"Oh, God," Jim said as they reluctantly drew apart. "What the hell are we doing?"

Veronica smiled. "That's kind of obvious, isn't it? I think we both knew something was building up between us."

"That isn't what I mean exactly," he said, gently touching her face with his hand. "I was thinking more along the lines of where this romance is going to go."

"It's completely futile, of course," she said. "Hopeless, really."

"And against regulations."

"Anything between us has the chance of that proverbial snowball in hell," Veronica commented.

"Doomed from the start," Jim said, sighing sadly.

"Not a ghost of a chance."

"But from this point on we're going to pursue these feelings straight into a full-blown romance, aren't we?" Jim asked.

"Damn right," Veronica said.

They kissed again, this time longer and with more feeling.

.

CARRIER BATTLE GROUP

1030 HOURS LOCAL

THE
SH-60 Seahawk helicopter rose off the deck of the carrier a little over two miles off the starboard beam of the
Dan Daly.
The nose of the aircraft tipped downward with the pilot's pressure on the cyclic, making it move forward toward its destination.

Within three minutes, the chopper reached the flight deck of the amphibious assault ship and went into another hover before lowering to a gentle landing. Immediately CIA field supervisor Sam Paulsen stepped from the aircraft followed by his assistant, Mort Koenig. They hurried over to the island, where Commander Tom Carey waited for them. After brisk greetings and handshakes, he led them into the interior of the structure and up three decks to the ready room assigned to the crew of the ACV
Battlecraft.

The moment they entered the ready room, Lieutenant Bill Brannigan bellowed, "Atten
-HUT!"
He and Lieutenants Jim Cruiser and Veronica Rivers snapped into rigid positions of attention.

"Stand at ease!" Carey said, surprised at the military formality of the officers. He went to the front of the room while his visitors took seats off to the side. "Please sit down." He indicated the CIA men with a nod of his head. "This is Mr. Paulsen and Mr. Koenig. That's all you need to know about them right now. The first thing I want to do is take the rap for the order directing the
Battlecraft
to break off contact at the start of the confrontation yesterday. I know you are all anxious to avenge the loss of those three aviators, and I am also fully aware that Lieutenant Brannigan was getting ready to kick ass properly and effectively. But the fact the attacking vessel was obviously a warship belonging to a sovereign nation threw me for a loop. This could have been what might be classified as a friendly fire incident and I didn't want the foreign vessel blown out of the water even if her skipper was a stupid bastard sailing the seven seas with his head up his ass." He nodded to Brannigan. "Did you get a good look at her?"

"Yes, sir," Brannigan replied. "She was a fast-attack ship; British
Province-
Class to be exact. I looked her up in the
Jane's Warships of the World"

"Well, shit," Paulsen said. "That could cover more than one navy in this part of the world. Did you see her ensign?"

"She showed no national colors," Brannigan said. "We caught a fleeting glimpse of a scarlet flag with a white device of some sort. It didn't look like any national colors that I recognized." He glanced at Veronica Rivers. "What about your observations, Lieutenant?"

"I just saw blips on my weapons scopes, sir," Veronica reported. "I read the launch against the Hornets; then they turned on us. They brought us under fire and we went into a quick evasion mode waiting for orders. However, I was locked on solid on the attacker when the order to disengage was received." She paused, almost glaring at Carey. "We could've blown the son of a bitch out of the water in less that a half minute, sir."

"I realize that, Lieutenant," Carey conceded. He turned his eyes on Paulsen. "Do you have any comments?"

"Well," Paulsen said, "only that we're keeping a tight lid on this until the State Department can sort through the mess. Meanwhile, we're not going to be sitting on our asses. I have official permission to inform you folks you're authorized to go out armed and angry. Therefore, in the future you are to retaliate against any hostile action with extreme prejudice-- I say again--
extreme
prejudice no matter the attacker. Losses of American lives will not be tolerated no matter the circumstances."

The two SEAL officers and Veronica exchanged looks of grim satisfaction.

"All right then," Carey said. "Now I have some highly classified matters to discuss with Mr. Paulsen and Mr. Koenig. Since this a need-to-know situation at this point in time, you are all dismissed. Sorry if I don't give you more information on their backgrounds, but
I'm
sure you appreciate the situation as it now stands. My two colleagues and I are staying aboard the
Dan Daly
until this operation is brought to completion."

Brannigan gestured to his lieutenants. "Care to have some coffee in the wardroom before you go back to work?"

"Sounds like a winner, sir," Veronica commented.

Paulsen waited until the three left the room, then turned his attention to Carey and Koenig. "I haven't mentioned our secondary mission here to anyone yet. But I think you guys probably already know what it is."

"I would say finding out about Mike Assad's location and health," Carey said.

"That may be a real problem," Koenig said. "He's disappeared off the face of the earth."

Paulsen pulled a packet of papers from his briefcase. "Here's the latest poop we have on him, and it ain't much, guys. He made his so-called escape in Rawalpindi on sixteen October as planned. He must have been delayed somewhat, because he didn't turn up anywhere until twenty October, when he was picked up by the local cops in the Northwest Frontier Province."

"How did you get the word on that?" Carey asked.

"We've got informants scattered hither and thither within Pakistani police organizations," Paulsen explained. "Their reports filtered in from different points and the one from the Northwest Frontier rang a bell. The prisoner picked up from a routine bus inspection matched Mike's description."

"As I recall, Mike looked pretty nondescript in his duty costume," Koenig said. "That could have been just about anybody."

"Well, this prisoner managed to escape from the local lockup," Paulsen said. "And he took along some field gear, ammunition, and a pistol that belonged to the cops."

Carey laughed loudly. "Oh, man! That's Mike Assad all right! Only a SEAL could pull off that caper."

'The problem is that we don't know if he made it back to his al-Mimkhalif buddies or not," Paulsen said. "That Northwest Frontier is dangerous as hell. Along with all the natural perils of snakes, scorpions, and hyenas, there're bandits to boot. And let's take the Pathans or the Pashtuns or whatever the hell they call themselves into account. Those are some real bad asses. They'd slit a guy's throat just to listen to him gurgle."

"If he's dead, then Operation Deep Thrust is over and done," Carey remarked.

"I'm afraid so," Koenig agreed, "and I'll take that kind of personally."

"Koenig has been the guy picking up Mike's intel reports from the dead-letter drop," Paulsen explained. "He's been playing the role of a UN agricultural advisor in the area. But Mike hasn't been sending anything lately, so we pulled Koenig out. There was a lingering chance everyone and everything was compromised."

"I don't see that we can do a lot from where we sit," Koenig remarked.

"I've arranged it so that the instant he makes any kind of contact, we will be notified here on the
Dan Daly"
Paulsen said. "If the circumstances warrant,
I'm
authorized to get him the hell out of any mess he might be in."

"How the hell are you going to do that?" Carey asked.

"Commander," Paulsen said with shrug, "I don't have the slightest fucking idea."

.

ROYAL YACHT
SAYIH

GOLF OF ADEN

VICINITY OF 13deg NORTH AND 48deg EAST

1345 H0URS

COMMODORE
Muhammad Mahamat led the way as he stepped from his gig onto the platform of the yacht's accommodation ladder. He was closely followed by Hafez Sabah, Mike Assad, and their two young companions, Imran and Ayyub. The sheikh's trio of bodyguards--Alif, Baa, and
Taa
--stood at the apex, looking down at the visitors to the ship as they came aboard.

As soon as Imran and Ayyub were aboard, the bodyguards whipped out their pistols and aimed dead at the ex-baker apprentices who carried AK-47s. Alif growled, "Haram-forbidden! No one may bring weapons aboard the yacht!"

Sabah was angry about the discourtesy. 'These two young men are mujahideen! As soldiers of Islam they are expected to be armed at all times. And they are
our
bodyguards."

Alif, with his eyes peering intently at the two armed boys, nodded his head toward Taa. "See Sheikh Omar about this." He scowled at Mike and Sabah as Taa hurried away. "Are you carrying weapons?"

"La"
Mahamat said, shaking his head. "We left our personal arms aboard the flagship."

Mike stepped off to one side and gave Alif and Baa a close professional scrutiny. Not too bright; highly dedicated; willing to die to protect the sheikh; fully trained; physically fit; and extremely aggressive with guard-dog personalities well imbedded within limited human intellects. To sum it up: They would be the deadliest of adversaries. That would be something to keep in mind.

Moments later Taa reappeared, going up to Alif and whispering in his ear. The head bodyguard lowered his weapon and Baa followed the example in a monkey-see-monkey-do reaction. Alif said, "The sheikh gives your bodyguards his kind permission to keep their weapons. Please come with us."

The four visitors followed their surly escorts aft to where the sheikh held court while ogling his consorts between periods of inflicting sexual battery on them. When the visitors stepped onto the stern deck, both Imran and Ayyub let out gasps of astonishment. The sight of bare-breasted European women wearing only thongs was almost more than the two country boys could endure. To them this was a situation expressly forbidden by the Holy Koran, and they looked away, then back, then away, back, and finally turned to stare across the water at the flagship
Harbi-min-Islam,
fearful that having gazed upon the naked temptresses, they would be banished to the fiery depths of Hell forever. Sabah, amused by their discomfiture, laughed at them.

"All right, boys," he said jokingly. "Go forward and take up posts on each side of the yacht. Make sure no submarines surface to fire at us."

The two apprentice bakers, both red-faced with shame and fear, rushed off to their posts.

The sheikh invited his guests to sit down after sending the women away. He lit a Turkish cigarette and expelled the smoke, as he looked at Mahamat. "Introduce your colleagues to me."

"Of course, Sheikh Omar," Mahamat said. "You already know Brother Hafez Sabah "

"Indeed I do," the sheikh said. "You are doing a superlative job as you continue to direct our program of transport and supply."

"I am most honored by your kind compliment, Sheikh Omar," Sabah said.

"And this," Mahamat said, pointing to Mike, "is Mikael Assad from America."

The sheikh laughed loudly. "So! You are the clever fellow who escaped from the Americans in Pakistan, are you?"

"I come back for to fight," Mike said.

Mahamat switched languages. "It might be better if we spoke in English. Brother Assad is still in the process of improving his grasp of Arabic."

"Of course," the sheikh said. "In what part of America did you live?"

"Buffalo, New York," Mike replied, falling back on his cover story. "I was not happy there."

Sabah interjected, "When Brother Mikael joined us, he knew very little Arabic and had no serious instruction in the tenets of Islam. However, he has proven to be an apt student and his growing faith inspires all of us as does his bravery and resourcefulness "

"Ajib
--wonderful!" the sheikh exclaimed. "You have returned to the bosom of your culture and are now winning glory, Mikael."

"Yes, sir," Mike replied.

"You must address the exalted one as Sheikh Omar," Mahamat instructed.

"Yes, Sheikh Omar," Mike said, correcting himself.

"Now, Commodore," the sheikh said. "I understand that you had contact with the American air-cushion vehicle. How did it go?"

"In one way it was a glorious victory," Mahamat said. "We destroyed two American planes by blasting them from the sky."

"Mmm," the sheikh said. "And in what way was it disappointing?"

"The air-cushion vehicle was better armed than we anticipated," Mahamat admitted. "However, this is not an insurmountable problem. The next time I go out to do battle with the infidel vessel, I shall bring along all six of my fast-attack craft. They are heavily armed and capable of hitting speeds of one hundred twenty kilometers an hour."

"I see," said the sheikh. He reached down and picked up a folder on the table next to him. He opened it and studied a paper it contained. "According to Saudi intelligence, the American air-cushion vehicle can travel faster than one hundred forty kilometers an hour."

"From what I saw of it, I believe that to be true," Mahamat said. "But there is only one of them. When it meets with my squadron, it will cease to exist within a quarter of an hour. It cannot be in all places at once, in spite of how fast it skims the ocean."

"Do you have any special tactics in mind?" the sheikh asked.

As Mahamat began explaining his battle plans, Mike Assad's mind went into an analytical and evaluative mode. He now realized he was in the presence of the supreme leader of the al-Mimkhalif terrorist group. And the son of a bitch was a Saudi Arabian. Actually, that was no great surprise.

That vital information, combined with knowledge of the Zauba Fast Attack Squadron, had to be sent back to Paulsen, or the entire operation was doomed to a catastrophic failure that could affect the entire campaign against Middle Eastern terrorism.

Man!
Mike mused in his mind.
This is some heavy shit\

Mahamat finished his report, and the sheikh seemed pleased with his plans for confronting the ACV. He looked over at Hafez Sabah. "And how is our old friend Harry Turpin?"

"His cooperation is assured as long as he makes money off us," Sabah answered. "He betrayed Abduruddin Suhanto's treachery to us, but only because al-Mimkhalif is the better customer."

"Sometimes I feel a bit like the Communist Lenin," the sheikh said. "He took advantage of the capitalists' greed as much as we take advantage of the infidels' particularly materialistic tendencies."

Mike spoke up. 'That is what I hated the most about America, Sheikh Omar."

The sheikh smiled. "You are a true son of Islam, Mikael."

"I pray your trust in me remains strong," Mike said sincerely since his mission success depended on the man's absolute confidence in him.
You smoke-blowing son of a bitch!

.