Battlecraft (2006) (28 page)

INDIAN OCEAN

VICINITY OF 16deg NORTH AND 53deg EAST

2300 HOURS

THE
waves were not too steep, but the small motorized skiff rocked on top of them enough to make the two men in it uncomfortable. They had to struggle to maintain their balance after the motor had been cut. Five sewn canvas bags lay in the forward sheets of the boat, and the men were anxious to be rid of them. The sooner the loads were in the sea, the sooner the little boat could be turned around to get the bouncy ride back to port over with.

One by one, they picked up the long weighted containers and rolled them over the gunwales into the water. Each sank immediately, slipping into the depths. When the final one hit the sea, the senior boatman went back to the motor and kicked it to life. He sat down and grabbed the tiller, aiming the bow back toward Fortress Mikhbayi.

.

Adlaida from Russia

Blanche from France

Lucia from Italy

Olga from Russia

Teresa from Portugal

.

Requiescant In Pace

Chapter 19.

USS
DAN DALY

FLIGHT DECK

3 NOVEMBER

0100 HOURS LOCAL

THE
fifteen men of the raider party were chuted up, going through a jumpmaster inspection by Senior Chief Buford Dawkins as part of the prejump routine. Although he wasn't going in with them, it had become a detachment custom for him to do all the parachute inspections prior to missions and training exercises. The gruff old salt worked in the light coming off the island on the starboard side of the deck as he went through canopy-release assemblies, quick-release boxes, reserve parachutes, static lines, webbing, and other parts of the proud and proven T-10 main parachutes and reserve parachutes the Brigands had strapped around themselves.

The men were going in lean and mean. Aside from the CAR-15s, ammo bandoliers, and the SAWs for Puglisi and Miskoski, they would be bringing only night-vision goggles, LASH radio headsets, one canteen each, first-aid kits, personal knives, and holstered Sig Sauer 9-millimeter pistols with one fifteen-round magazine loaded and inserted. There would be no hand grenades or other pyrotechnics. Some communal equipment made up of grappling hooks and nylon line for climbing walls was divided among the group. Frank Gomez had the AN/PRC-148 radio to lug around in addition to the other goodies. That way, if things went wrong, Frank could call in air support for what would be politely termed a strategic withdrawal. Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, pragmatic and outspoken as always, referred to it as hauling their butts out of deep shit. As it was, the skipper had received strict orders not to request air cover unless the situation had deteriorated to almost hopeless. Once again Brannigan recalled the dramatic line from "The Charge of the Light Brigade":
Ours is but to do or die.

As the preparations continued, Lieutenant Veronica Rivers stood with Delta Fire Team watching the proceedings out on the deck. Her eyes were on Jim Cruiser, whose parachute had already been checked. He was next to Brannigan and the two fire team leaders, Chief Matt Gunnarson and Petty Officer Connie Concord, watching the senior chief as he attended to his tasks quickly and efficiently.

Veronica marveled at the calmness of the SEALs. They were not going into a controlled situation with consoles and cathode-ray tubes to fight with laser-and radar-guided missiles, and it didn't faze them a bit. They were completely blase about the fact they would be on the ground sneaking bodily into a heavily armed enemy stronghold, having to rely on skill, stealth, and trigger fingers to get the job done. From the look of them, one would think they were in the midst of preparing for a family barbecue.

An engine sound eased out of the distant darkness over the ocean, steadily growing louder until the Osprey appeared in the distance with blinking lights. This unique aircraft could fly either as a helicopter or a fixed-wing aircraft; depending on the angle at which its engine/rotor assemblies were tilted. It was capable of carrying up to twenty-four fully equipped troops and had a range of over 2400 miles. With a maximum speed of 345 miles an hour, it could get its various loads to their destinations in a timely fashion.

The aircraft came in toward the
Dan Daly,
and the ship's LSO went to his station to direct it in. The engine/rotors tilted smoothly, slowing it down, before coming in for a smooth vertical landing on the deck. The pilot throttled back the engines while the crew chief opened the rear ramp to allow the parachutists to enter the fuselage when they were ready to enplane.

Dawkins double-timed across the deck to the aircraft and went aboard to check the preparations for the jump. As soon as he got aboard he came face-to-face with a Force Recon Marine gunnery sergeant. Dawkins looked at him intently, speaking out of the side of his mouth. "What can I do for you, Gunny?"

"Nothing, Senior Chief," the Marine NCO said. "Ever'thing is well in hand."

"Oh, yeah?" Dawkins said. "I'm assigned as jumpmaster for this operation."

"Oh, yeah? Well as it just so happens,
I'm
assigned as jumpmaster for this operation."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!" the Marine retorted. "This here's a United States Marine fucking aircraft, see? Tonight I'm the guy what's responsible to see that it's properly rigged for T-10 exits. And that includes the guys unassing the aircraft. I'm in charge back here from start to finish. Understood?"

Dawkins knew the guy was right. He looked around the interior of the Osprey, quickly eyeballing the anchor line and seating arrangements, then said, "All right. It seems to be shipshape." He turned and stepped back on the deck, taking a couple of strides before stopping to make an impromptu about-face. "Hey, Gunny. Take care of my guys, huh?"

The gunnery sergeant gave him a thumbs-up. "I promise you that, Senior Chief."

Dawkins hurried over to Brannigan, stopping and snapping a salute. "Sir, the aircraft is prepared proper for the jump. A jarhead is aboard as jumpmaster."

"It's their airplane, Senior Chief," Brannigan said. He turned to the men. "All right! Board the aircraft in reverse stick order! Snap it up!"

The men formed up and headed for the Osprey.

.

OVER THE YEMEN-OMAN DESERT

500 FEET ALTITUDE

0200 HOURS

LIEUTENANT
Bill Brannigan stood at the head of the fifteen-man stick, looking down at the dark desert floor below. It was a hot cloudless night and the illumination of moon and stars was bright enough that he could pick out terrain features in the short distance between the aircraft and the ground. Over to his left, the Marine gunnery sergeant, wearing an intercom headset, was speaking to the pilot. He raised his hand, and Brannigan nodded to him. When the arm dropped, the SEAL skipper jumped off the ramp into empty space.

He could feel the static line piaying out of the stowage loops; then the deployment bag whipped off his back as the skirt of the canopy played out. The wind filled the air channel and the parachute blossomed and Brannigan's feet hit the ground. He twisted into a perfect PLF, hitting calf, thigh, and push-up muscles before letting his legs go over his head as he twisted onto the opposite push-up muscle.

It was that quick.

He was on his feet in an instant, pulling the safety fork out of the quick-release box and hitting it. The harness slipped off, falling to the ground, and he pulled the CAR-15 off his shoulder. He turned to see the others also on their feet, ready to rock and roll. Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz trotted up grinning.

Brannigan nodded them a greeting. "How'd it go, guys?"

"I gotta tell you something, sir," Mike said. "We really have to use more altitude."

"Yeah," Dave agreed. "I just started my count and I was on the ground."

Lieutenant Jim Cruiser joined them. "What'll we do with the chutes, sir?"

"Mmm," Brannigan mused. "Roll 'em up and put 'em in the kit bags. They belong to the Marines, so they'll probably come out here to retrieve everything after all this is said and done."

Chief Matt Gunnarson heard the exchange and turned to the men. "Roll up the chutes and put 'em in the kit bags. Bring 'em over here and we'll stack 'em neatly to be picked up.

"Right," Bruno Puglisi said. "Make sure they're dressed right and covered down. The gyrenes are real sticklers about that shit."

Garth Redhawk reached down and grabbed the apex of his chute, whipping the canopy around for daisy-chaining. "Maybe we oughta spit-shine the zippers on the kit bags before we move out."

"Just do what the chief says," Connie Concord, leader of Bravo Fire Team, ordered testily. "And be damn quick about it!"

Within five minutes all the kit bags were stacked in one spot. Brannigan turned to the men. "Column of twos! Assad and Leibowitz, take the point. The line of march will be the Odd Couple, Alpha Fire Team, then Gomez, Miskoski, and me. After us comes the Bravo Fire Team, Lieutenant Cruiser and Puglisi, then Charlie Fire Team. Move out!"

Mike and Dave trotted to a point twenty meters ahead of the others. They had been known as the Odd Couple ever since the activation of Brannigan's Brigands. The idea of an Arab-American and a Jewish-American ending up as best buddies struck the other SEALs as a peculiar arrangement, thus the appellation.

The column began moving through the night, heading toward Fortress Mikhbayi.

.

USS
DAN DALY

DOCKING WELL

THE
ACV
Battlecraft
, under the skilled hands of Petty Officer Paul Watkins, eased sternward from the well out into the expanse of the Indian Ocean. It seemed strange that not only was Lieutenant Bill Brannigan not aboard, but Senior Chief Buford Dawkins was in the skipper's seat. He was not there to command since the acting captain was Lieutenant (JG) Veronica Rivers. Dawkins was in the position to be able to use the radio. Veronica was the only one capable of operating the ACV's weapons and navigation systems, so she was wearing two hats for the mission.

Delta Fire Team--Gutsy Olson, Andy Malachenko, and Guy Devereaux--were glumly sitting in the small wardroom area drinking coffee. When the Osprey took off with the raiding party, the Deltas had looked on in frustration from the flight deck. It was a hard thing to bear, watching the majority of the detachment head off to a combat parachute jump while they were assigned to be Johnny-Come-Latelies, riding onto the scene after the real fighting was done.

Veronica spoke to Watkins after plotting the course. "Two-eight-seven, half-speed."

"Two-eight-seven, half-speed, aye, ma'am," Watkins replied as he worked throttle and steering levers.

The
Battlecraft
turned away from the
Dan Daly
; rising up on her lift fan to head for the operational area.

.

FORTRESS MIKNBAYI

OFFICER'S COMPOUND

AZAM
Marbuk aka Kumandan sat in his quarters with the lights out, staring across the compound at the eastern wall as he leisurely smoked some of the Turkish cigarettes that Sheikh Omar Jambarah had given him. He rarely slept more than three hours a night, and knew this e
xc
ess energy had been the driving force of all his life's successes. A lot of that inner strength came from a devotion to celibacy. The ex-Jordanian Army officer could focus a hundred percent on his life's goals without the distraction of lusting after women. Only an occasional involuntary wet dream distracted him.

Not long after arriving at Fortress Mikhbayi, he had informed the sheikh that he no longer wanted to be known by the nom de guerre of Kumandan. It goaded his large ego that his real name wasn't out there to be recognized. Of course, this temporary setback for al-Mimkhalif was something he didn't want to be linked to, so perhaps he was the beneficiary of timing. That could have been something arranged by Allah to recognize his faith and devotion to Islam.

Marbuk particularly wanted his former fellow officers of the old regiment to hear about him directing a large insurgency that was bringing down the infidels' invasion of the Middle East. After a few smashing victories, the jealous wretches would forget their pettiness and demand that he be brought back into the Royal Army at a high rank. Marbuk saw himself toppling the young King Abdullah IPs monarchy and being crowned to rule in his place. But before that happened, he would have to see that the sheikh was incapacitated somehow so that he could take over the whole show. A field commander could be easily shunted aside by an ungrateful leader, as had happened to him in his old regimental officers' mess. At the present time, however, eliminating the sheikh was completely out of the question since without the money from the sheikhdom and wealthy Saudi supporters, al-Mimkhalif would be as crippled as a Baghdad beggar.

Allah's blessings on his ambitions were something Marbuk truly expected. His bold chastisement of the sheikh for his wanton fornicating must have been noted in the Great Benefactor's Book of Behavior and Deeds, as was his criticism of the late King Hussein and Queen Noor. Marbuk fully expected the sheikh to go back to his evil ways at the first opportunity, and this would ensure that the Jordanian would be the real leader of al-Mimkhalif. After his death and the two angels examined him as he lay freshly buried in his grave, Marbuk would ascend to Paradise to exist for an eternity with seventy beautiful houris. This holy reward would make his time on earth seem less than a snap of one's fingers.

Contented and optimistic, Marbuk enjoyed the cigarette as he contemplated the moon above the desert.

.