Battlecraft (2006) (30 page)

THE FORTRESS

BRANNIGAN
led the way downstairs to the first floor of the facility. When they reached the landing, the group almost stumbled over a pile of dead Arabs. Jim Cruiser was standing by, his relief at seeing them evident on his face. "We were starting to get worried about you guys."

Brannigan surveyed the corpses. At least a dozen dead men were sprawled the distance of the hallway. "Who the hell are they?"

"Evidendy they live--
lived
--here," Jim explained. 'They came from someplace farther back in the facility, armed to the teeth and looking for a fight. We gave it to 'em."

Mike Assad glanced over the bodies, recognizing them. "These guys are officers who have quarters in the building. They were unit leaders in al-Mimkhalif."

"Whatever," Brannigan said dismissing what was obviously no longer a problem. "What's the situation, Jim?"

"We're under heavy attack, sir, and pinned down pretty bad" the lieutenant reported. "I estimate a hundred or so have us under their gun sights."

"My kingdom for a mortar" Brannigan said to himself under his breath. He raised his voice, "We're going to have to fight through the bastards and reach the docks."

"Yes, sir," Jim said. "Gomez has been in contact with the
Battlecraft
and she's standing off the coast waiting for the word to move in and pick us up. The senior chief wants to meet us by that fancy yacht." He quickly added, "Forget about requesting air cover. It's not going to happen. The senior chief said something about politics and diplomacy."

Brannigan understood. "Right now we're invading the sovereign territory of both Yemen and Oman. I figure our CIA friends Paulsen and Koenig have gotten the word to make our presence here as minor a disturbance as possible."

Jim patted two grenades he had attached to his vest. "We found these with those three guys that sprung the ambush on us."

"Hang on to 'em," Brannigan said. 'They may come in handy." He turned to the Odd Couple. "Leibowitz! Report back to your fire team. Assad! Stick by me. You're going to have to point out the best route to that fucking yacht."

Dave Leibowitz rushed off to join Connie Concord and A
rn
ie Bernardi of Bravo Fire Team. When he reached his mates, he found them behind cover of some vehicles just outside the door. They were busy returning fire at a point on the rag-head perimeter that continued to sweep the area with hasty, unaimed fire that was dangerous just the same.

Brannigan and Mike eased out of the building, rushing over to a point between the Alphas and Bravos. Mike pointed toward a gate fifty meters to the east. "That leads to the docks, sir. Once you're through there, you're out at the wharves and it's a short dash to where the royal yacht is tied up."

Brannigan looked at the door, his mind going flank speed. "All right!" he said through his LASH. "Listen up! Both SAW gunners and Charlie Fire Team are going to lay down some heavy covering fire. Jim, I want you to stay with them. The rest of us will make a run for that door in the wall: When we get there, Lieutenant Cruiser and his guys will join us while we provide cover for them. When we all join up, we'll go through the door. Assad will be in the lead, and we'll go directly down the dock where that big yacht is tied up. Hopefully, the
Battlecraft
will be there waiting. Get ready!"

Garth Redhawk and Chad Murchison, with Sheikh Omar Jambarah between them, joined Brannigan. Frank Gomez also showed up, knowing that the skipper would be needing him. He hadn't caught his breath before Brannigan ordered him to raise the
Battlecraft.

"Okay, Gomez, tell Lieutenant Rivers to come in for us." Gomez made the voice transmission as quickly as possible without waiting for a reply. Brannigan once again turned to his LASH. "Get ready! All right! Execute! Execute! Execute!"

The covering fire came on strong and heavy, the slugs from the weapons kicking up dust and slamming into the walls behind the garrison defenders. Mike Assad took off running with the Alphas behind him. Brannigan and Gomez along with Redhawk and Murchison, who were frogmarching the terrified sheikh, all headed for the gate at all possible speed. Because of the fire they attracted, not even the sheikh dragged his feet. His men would think that accidentally killing their leader would guarantee a spot for him in Paradise. Jambarah didn't have that much faith in the martyrdom principle.

The Bravos were the last of the desperately running men. Although it took only seconds to reach the door, it seemed like long minutes. As soon as Mike reached the portal and kicked it open, everyone stopped and began firing to provide cover for Jim Cruiser and his men.

Mike went through the door and immediately came under fire from a dozen guards. He jumped back inside the wall, rushing to Brannigan. "Sir, we're between a rock and a hard place. About a dozen of the garrison guard is out there, and they got us pinned in. We can't get through that fucking door more than one or two at a time."

Now the entire raider party was crowded around the door, returning fire desperately as their precious ammo supply dwindled like water going through a sieve. Brannigan reached over and grabbed the handset of the AN/PRC-148 off Gomez's harness. He spoke tersely into the device. "
Battlecraft
, move up to the end of the dock. We're getting incoming from out there. Spray the whole fucking area with that fucking chain gun. Do it for sixty seconds on my mark. Wait." He checked the sweep hand on his watch. "Now!"

Suddenly the area outside the wall turned into a roaring hell as heavy 30-millimeter armor-piercing slugs swept through the docks at over six hundred rounds a minute. The SEALs were now slamming their last magazines into the SAWs and CAR-15s as Brannigan monitored his watch. When the sixty seconds had passed, he jumped up and ran over to the door, kicking it open. "Haul ass!"

The SEALs and their prisoner rapidly slipped through the opening to the other side of the wall. Jim Cruiser stopped long enough to pull the two grenades off his harness, and throw them as far as he could at the enemy troops who had quickly begun to pursue them. The two explosions made them hesitate an instant, and Jim rushed through the door. Brannigan sent his last rounds at the rag-heads. Then he turned and joined the others running down the dock toward the
Battlecraft.

Veronica Rivers could see them coming, happy to spot Jim Cruiser among them. She had to be careful with the chain gun now to avoid hitting any of the SEALs. Delta Fire Team along with Senior Chief Dawkins was on top of the ACV's cabin, firing over the heads of their rapidly approaching mates. As Brannigan and the others jumped aboard the side deck of the ACV, rag-heads appeared at the door of the wall.

Veronica lowered her aim directly at the narrow portal, turning the mujahideen into hunks of bloody humanity that were shaken and pummeled by the searing hot slugs that kicked them sprawling to the ground. When she spoke over the intercom to Watkins, her voice was low and calm.

"Back at flank speed!"

"Back at flank speed, aye, ma'am." "Full right rudder, forward at flank speed." "Full right rudder, forward at flank speed, aye, ma'am." The
Battlecraft
spun around and sped off across the Indian Ocean quickly working her speed up to a very respectable ninety-four miles an hour.

Chapter 20.

CUTIS FARM, VIRGINIA

17 NOVEMBER

1400 HOURS LOCAL

THE
facility was not a working farm. It was a three-hundred-acre government property that was far off the beaten track, surrounded by deep sections of forest and bog, and kept under rigid security. A two-lane dirt road that wound ten miles off the main county route was the only way to reach it overland. To discourage wandering tourists who might blunder onto the property, the two creeks on the acreage were not bridged. In order to cross them, it was necessary to enter up to two feet of water through what had been called "fords" back in the good old days of horse and buggies. However, a helicopter pad and a short airstrip capable of accommodating small aircraft were available in the center of the bucolic estate.

The farm's main building was a one-story, split-level rambling ranch house that looked as if belonged more in California than in the hinterlands of a Southern state. When Undersecretary of State Carl Joplin, Ph. D., had been assigned an office in the place, he was both mortified and elated. He felt bad because the change obviously meant he was as high up in the State Department as he was going to ascend in his diplomatic career. However, he was also happily excited because, this isolation was a strong indication that his duties would be channeled into the special clandestine situations he had mastered during his twenty years of public service. This was a career path he found challenging and stimulating.

At the moment, the African-American international relations specialist was taking a slow stroll out toward a wooded area in the company of the Saudi Arabian envoy Jaabit Hasidi. The extremely obese Arab gentleman was obviously not in the mood to go for a walk or take part in any other form of physical exertion. Getting him out of the building to do some unaccustomed exercise was more of the psychological pressure that Dr. Joplin was applying to the man. He did not want Hasidi to be comfortable and complacent; rather he desired him to be ill at ease both physically and emotionally. This would add to the distinct advantage the American diplomat had over him in the state of affairs they were currently discussing.

Joplin's facial expression was grim, close to angry, as he spoke in a firm voice. "We have learned much from Sheikh Omar Jambarah in these past two weeks. And I must emphasize that most of the information he has supplied is very embarrassing to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. The governments of both Yemen and Oman are even now taking over a facility he had erected without permission on their sovereign territories. A project, by the way, financed through certain Saudi channels. And I don't know if the two countries are willing to return the royal yacht to Saudi Arabia or not."

Hasidi, with sweat trickling down his wide face, tried to appear self-assured as he lit a cigar. "Any opinions the sheikh states are his own, and not that of the Saudi government, Dr. Joplin"

"He is not giving us
opinions
, Mr. Hasidi. He is providing us with
intelligence
" Joplin said. "In other words, the sheikh is passing useful information, names, dates, and other most precise data, to the U. S. A."

"The Saudi government can make no comments on what the sheikh has told you until we appraise the contents of his discourse."

"Of course," Joplin said. "But allow me to point out to you that it is obvious to the United States government that Saudi Arabia will be very disturbed by what has been revealed."

"I think this matter must be taken up to a higher level than you or me," Hasidi said. He nervously puffed on his cigar. "My government will also take under consideration that he is under duress as a prisoner."

"All his information has been researched and found to be accurate," Joplin said. "And more importantly, all of it is provable. For those reasons, my government prefers to let you and me work out the details." He let the words sink in for a moment before he spoke again. "As you Saudis know, the American public is most distrustful of your nation. In spite of the TV spots you have run giving them many reasons to have confidence in your friendship, the U. S. public is not buying it. In short, they do not like your nation. They do not trust your nation. As a matter of fact, Mr. Hasidi, much of the correspondence sent to our senators and representatives from their constituencies indicates that angry Americans are suggesting that Saudi Arabia be turned into a glassed-over parking lot that glows in the dark."

"Irrational words from zealots," Hasidi said, dismissing the seriousness of the reactions. "Such people toss nuclear bombs around as jugglers do balls."

"It is true that these people express extreme views," Joplin said. "But it reflects a serious attitude toward your country. The extent of the participation of Saudis in 9/11 has infuriated even the more cool-headed of our population."

"Are you going to make war on us?" the Saudi asked with a snort of laughter.

"I don't think so, Mr. Hasidi," Joplin said. "At this juncture we wish to make
deals
. If we keep all this out of the press and take no overt actions, we would expect concessions from the Saudis."

"What sorts of concessions, Doctor?"

"A sincere and flourishing program of moving against terrorists within your sovereign territory would be the primary one."

"But we are--"

Joplin cut him off. "As I stated, Mr. Hasidi. A
sincere
and
flourishing
program of moving against terrorists. Not just useless efforts that are no more than eyewash. We want to see obvious and positive results."

Hasidi said nothing, looking off over the Virginia countryside, now perspiring more as he took nervous drags off the cigar.

"You seem uncomfortable, Mr. Hasidi," Joplin said in a friendlier tone. "Would you like to return to the house? We should really discuss the final disposition of Sheikh Omar Jambarah, should we not?"

The Saudi nodded silently, and the two men retraced their steps.

.