Seawolf Mask of Command (65 page)

Hamilton ducked back down in the horseshoe and shouted, “Last mag!”

She looked at the SEAL as he inserted his last magazine, and she saw at least one tear in his body armor where he’d been hit, but there was nothing in his appearance that made her think he was close to giving up. Just the opposite in fact.

“The Chief….” she mumbled numbly.

Hamilton hardly glanced at—who she assumed—had been a close friend. “He’s gone.”

Kristen knew she needed to move. She looked at the radio and then at her rifle.

Hamilton grabbed her and brutishly shook her. “Wake the fuck up, lady,” he barked. “Either move or die!”

His words dragged her out of her shock, and she keyed the radio trying to remember the call signs. “Delta Six, Delta Six, this is Jackhammer,” she called to the
Seawolf,
not sure if they would respond.

Less than three seconds later, she heard a voice over the radio,
“Jackhammer, this is Delta-Six. What’s your situation, over?”

“We’re under heavy fire and pinned on the beach,” she replied. “Multiple casualties,” she added, trying to think about what she should say. But before she could say more, Hamilton thrust her into the waves, and she was instantly underwater. She heard a muffled explosion and came up sputtering. She had lost the radio in the surf, but saw Hamilton back on his feet. He was over Grogan’s body and she saw the level-headed SEAL destroy Grogan’s emergency beacon and second radio.

He then turned toward her. Kristen was searching for the second radio she’d lost in the surf. “Let’s move, lady!” Hamilton barked.

“I lost the radio,” she argued.

“Fuck it,” he answered. “Get out of here, I’ll cover you!”

Kristen, taking his advice waded back into the surf as Hamilton fired the last few rounds he had in his rifle. She was in waist deep water as he discarded his rifle and drew his pistol. It was then she realized he was sacrificing himself so she might get clear.

Kristen wasn’t a commando. She had no business questioning anything Hamilton told her to do. But without thought, she moved back toward him, raising her rifle. As she moved toward him, she fumbled with her rifle’s harness. On reaching him, she handed the rifle to him, “Take it!” she insisted, “I’m worthless with it.”

“I said get the fuck out of here!” he growled as he took the rifle and resumed firing short controlled bursts.

“Not without you!” she replied and grabbed his armor and began pulling the husky commando back into the surf.

Once they were back in water nearly chest deep, she released him. He ejected another spent magazine and she handed him a fresh one. He took it and reloaded as he barked, “Mask on!”

Kristen pulled on her mask with trembling hands. She could see the shadows of North Korean soldiers dancing in the light of the flares and vehicle headlights.

“Fall back!” he shouted as he moved between her and the incoming bullets. Kristen had regained some of her composure, and once more grabbed Hamilton by the back of his armor and pulled the hard-hitting SEAL into deeper water.

“Not without you!” she reminded him, refusing to leave anyone else behind.

She again saw Alvarez’s body floating on the waves and she felt bitter bile rising in her gut. “We shouldn’t leave him,” she protested, knowing they had no choice.

Hamilton probably knew both Grogan and Alvarez better than most, but the SEAL swallowed his grief at the loss of his two comrades and pushed her toward deeper water. “Keep moving,” he ordered grimly. Leaving the bodies of their comrades behind went against everything she’d ever been taught. But Hoover was gone under the waves with Choi and heading for the mini-sub. There was no way they could evacuate the bodies, and if she and Hamilton didn’t join Hoover soon, they would die beside their comrades.

Hamilton spun and she saw what could only be called a snarl appear on his face. She pulled him to her. “Where are you hit?!”

He ignored her, and she saw a grenade appear in his meaty hand. “Frag out!” he shouted and hurled the grenade.

Kristen was turning to get into deeper water when she felt something strike her. It hit with the force of a sledgehammer. The wind was knocked out of her, and she was slammed backward into the water. The pain was intense but she managed to right herself and look down at her chest. There was a pair of neat holes in the front of her rebreather.

“I’ve been shot?” she asked in disbelief.

She then felt a strong hand grab her by her armor and pull her under the waves.

Control Center, USS Seawolf

T
ense. Anxious. On edge. All of these rang somewhat hollow as Graves considered the mood in the control center.

A combination of Emergency Action Messages ordering the
Seawolf
to load one of the nuclear-tipped cruise missiles and stand by for a launch order that was considered imminent; what looked like the entire North Korean Eastern fleet heading right for the
Seawolf
in response to the SEALs being discovered ashore; and—not the least of their worries—the fact that it had been three hours since they’d heard the cryptic message from Kristen informing them that the mission had gone bad.

All combined to create a mood of impending disaster that felt inevitable.

The first indication that Kristen and the SEALs were in trouble had occurred three hours earlier, when the
Seawolf’s
reed-like ESM antenna had picked up a sharp increase in the North Korean military communications of all types. Many of these transmissions had been in the clear, indicating an emergency. Then they’d received the message from Kristen. Since then, they’d heard nothing from Grogan or the others.

The team was now an hour overdue.

An underwater shockwave hit the hull, sending a tremor through the entire submarine. Every eye turned anxiously toward Brodie while Graves and COB looked at the status board to make certain the
Seawolf
was unharmed. Once they saw that the sub was okay, they too looked toward Brodie as if he might know what had caused the shockwave. Over the past three hours, sonar had reported smaller explosions in the direction of the minefield, indicating the North Koreans were pursuing the retreating SDV and surviving SEALs as they tried to withdraw through the narrow channel. Sonar had classified the small explosions as regular hand grenades dropped into the water like makeshift depth charges trying to disable the SDV.

“A mine,” Brodie said calmly. They were the first words he’d said in nearly three hours.

Everyone exchanged nervous expressions, uncertain whether or not Brodie was guessing or knew this for certain. Graves studied his friend. Normally, the more pressure he was under the calmer Brodie appeared. But not this time. Now Brodie’s usual steady and controlled persona was missing. Instead, he appeared almost Sphinx-like as he stared at the tactical display while more and more North Korean search assets entered the area.

Thirty seconds later, the sonar shack verified the detonation of a mine in or near the channel.
“The explosion occurred on the same bearing we were tracking a patrol boat in the channel,”
Chief Miller explained via the squawk box.

“Bastards ran into their own mine,” COB offered with a malicious grin. “Serves the fuckers right.”

Graves didn’t like to consider the possible reasons the SEALs were so late. None of the probable explanations were particularly good, and he didn’t need to describe them to Brodie. But he felt they couldn’t afford to sit and wait much longer. The tactical display showed an ever-tightening noose of North Korean aircraft and ships approaching. The longer they waited, the more perilous their situation became.

Graves thought he understood Brodie well—or at least better than anyone else. Brodie was a risk taker and—at times—reckless, whereas Graves was more conservative. They got along so well because Brodie wanted an XO who spoke his mind, and Graves always presented Brodie with a difference of opinion that often worked to temper Brodie’s tendency to take risks. The combination had proved itself quite successful over the years.

“What do you wanna do, Captain?” Graves asked softly, nearly whispering in Brodie’s ear. “We should have picked up something on sonar by now.” They still hadn’t heard any sound from the SDV.

“We wait,” Brodie said coolly, offering Graves nothing else.

“Sir, they’re an hour overdue…. they could have been hit by one of those underwater explosions, the SDV could have broken down, the survivors might be on the surface trying to evade capture….” he inhaled deeply, not liking any of the scenarios. “If they can’t make it to us, there’s no way we can get to them. The longer we wait, the greater danger we’re all in.”

Graves studied his friend’s face for any hint of a reaction, but Brodie appeared to have totally shut down. His face was completely unreadable, except for the stern jaw and the look of deep concentration in his eyes. “Sir?” Graves was about to resume his argument, but Brodie glanced at him briefly. His eyes were like two chips of ice.

“We wait.”

“Aye, Captain,” Graves answered, wishing Brodie would tell him what he was thinking.

There was a lengthy pause as Graves watched his friend. Then Brodie, as if reading Graves’ mind, spoke in explanation, “If they were captured or dead, the Koreans wouldn’t still be throwing hand grenades in the water,” Brodie said reasonably. “And if the SDV was damaged and they had to leave it behind, it could take them hours to reach us. Their LAR-7s can provide breathable air for several more hours yet. And, if they were on the surface and hoping for rescue because they can’t reach us, we would hear their distress beacons.”

It was calm, level-headed, and the kind of reasoning Brodie had always demonstrated in high-stress situations. But even as Graves nodded in agreement, he felt he saw something different about his friend; something making this particular situation more difficult for him. This was hardly the first time Brodie and Graves had sent a team of SEALs onto a hostile beach and then waited hours for them to return. In the past, during such stress-filled times, Brodie had been as cool as if tied up pier side back in Bremerton.

But now, on this operation, Graves could see that Brodie had become all steel eyes and hard angles. Graves knew the EAMs ordering a nuclear attack on Musudan-ri was part of it. But there was more than that. He could see worry in Brodie’s face, something Graves had seldom seen in his friend.

“
Con, sonar,”
they heard Chief Miller’s voice.
“The
Tral
is pinging with active sonar and is coming awful close, sir.”

The
Seawolf
was normally exceptionally stealthy. Her hull, with the thick hard rubber anechoic tiles, absorbed sound waves quite well and prevented a good hard return when struck by an active sonar ping. Unfortunately, this stealthiness was somewhat disrupted by the Dry Deck Shelter which was not as well protected against sonar pings as the
Seawolf
. Plus, with the rear of the DDS open to allow the SDV to enter, the stealthy characteristics of the
Seawolf
were negated during an active sonar search because the interior of the DDS was in no way designed to prevent active sonar detection.

Graves glanced at Brodie who’d again assumed his statue-like posture and was burning a hole through the tactical display with his eyes. The
Tral
would soon be close enough to detect them. If that happened, they’d be forced to run for it. Graves thought it prudent to button up the DDS and move away quietly until they detected the approaching SDV. “Skipper,” he said softly. “The
Tral
is barely two miles distant and coming on awful hard,” Graves reminded him.

Brodie nodded his understanding but made no comment.

“Con, sonar,”
Miller’s voice announced.
“We’re picking up a submerged contact bearing one-four-eight.”
The bearing indicated the contact was in the minefield’s narrow channel.
“Very faint, definitely propeller noises. But we’re also picking up other transients.”

Brodie pulled down the microphone. “What kind of transients, Chief?”

“Sounds like metal banging against metal, Skipper.”

“Are you picking up the SDV’s obstacle avoidance sonar?” Brodie asked calmly as everyone was again watching him anxiously.

“Negative, over. Just the propeller and the transients.”
Miller then added
, “It’s got to be them though, unless the DPRK is sending a mini sub out after us.”

Brodie replaced the microphone and had the Type-18 periscope raised above the sail. He turned to look down the bearing where Chief Miller had reported the contact. Everyone crowded around the single television monitor showing what Brodie was seeing through the periscope. The underwater picture was not good, but as he flipped to an active infrared view, the image showed the rear of the
Seawolf
with the open Dry Deck Shelter waiting for the SDV to return. “Inform the SEALs in the DDS to prepare to receive the mini sub, and tell them to expedite,” Brodie told Graves. “Also, have Doc Reed standing by to receive casualties.”

“Aye, sir,” Graves answered. He then considered the TLAM-N that was, by order of the National Command Authority, supposed to be loaded in a tube and ready for launch. But, thus far, Brodie hadn’t given such an order. “And the EAMs?” Graves asked.