Battlecraft (2006) s-3 Page 26

  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 go
vernment 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.

  .

  TAIMUR NAVAL BASE, OMAN

  18 N0VEMBER

  0530 HOURS LOCAL

  THE bugler marched out to the front of the headquarters building and came to a halt. He raised his instrument in a sharp military manner to his lips and blew reveille. He made a right-face and repeated the call, then an about-face to send the blaring notes out in that direction. Afterward, he brought the bugle down, performed a left-face, and marched back toward the edifice, his morning duty done.

  The sailors stationed in the barracks streamed out in their clean white uniforms, falling in formation to respond to the roll calls of their chief petty officers. The crews aboard the ships in the harbor were already doing the same; and that included the missile vessel Shams-min-Oman--Sun of Oman. This had once been the flagship of Commodore Muhammad Mahamat, but now had been claimed and renamed by the sultanate's navy. They had no record of the vessel ever being purchased by their government, but since it was in the possession of their armed forces, they made claim to it. So far no objection had been raised from any part of the international community.

  The Zauba Squadron, which had once occupied the base, was disbanded. The remaining officers were arrested and charged with treason, but its remaining well-trained sailors were forgiven after placing their hands on the Holy Koran and swearing loyalty to the nation's government. Two young mujahideen named Imran and Ayuub had been discovered living and working in the kitchen of the officers' mess. They were arrested, questioned, and found to be bewildered and frightened. The pair of ex-baker apprentices were then driven to the city of Salalah and dumped out on the streets to fend for themselves.

  Meanwhile, antismuggling operations along the Oman coast were brought back to normal--a half-ass program of patrolling the coast in a sporadic, careless manner, replete with bribes and other corruption. .

  .

  MANILA, THE PHILIPPINES

  THE national media had been filled with the news of the arrest of a respected police official on charges of selling contraband seized during raids on vessels at sea. A two-year investigation by a special anticorruption unit of the Federal Police had revealed that Inspector Francisco Reyes had been receiving goods his son-in-law, the late Commander Carlos Batanza, took from ships hauling illegal cargo within his jurisdiction. The goods included narcotics, liquor, and tobacco. Evidence indicated the practice had gone on for almost five years.

  The newspaper articles and television broadcasts noted that the son-in-law had been killed by persons unknown early the previous month. A few days after the murder, the wreckage of his previous ship along with bodies of the crew had been discovered by the United States Navy in the Indian Ocean. The cause of the disaster, which occurred under mysterious circumstances, had never been discovered.

  .

  KUPANG, TIMOR ISLAND

  ABDURUDDIN Suhanto, owner of the Greater Sunda Shipping Line, sat at the desk in his office studying the new prosthesis on his right wrist. It wasn't a very realistic-looking hand, but a leather glove had come with it. With the covering on it, people would assume his hand was crippled or scarred, not missing. In the Muslim world, that saved him from the embarrassment of having people assume the missing member had been lopped off for thievery. It also made it more acceptable that he had to eat with the same hand he wiped himself with after going to the toilet.

  With al-Mimkhalif collapsed and the loss of the SS Yogyakarta, Suhanto prepared himself for a long struggle to rebuild business dealings with his former clients. He was blissfully unaware that Western intelligence agencies knew all about him and his activities. They were keeping him under surveillance to see if he might lead them to other persons or organizations "of interest."

  Within a few days after he began his comeback program, he was contacted by no less a personage than Captain Bashar Bashir of the dhow Nijm Zarik. Bashir, also under clandestine observation, was in the middle of getting back to his old life. Things quickly looked up when a brother-in-law came to him with a job offer. This one did not involve terrorists. A highly placed Afghanistan political figure needed an unobtrusive way to ship opium poppy gum to the outside world. This type of smuggling was normally done by aircraft, but lately the authorities were having no trouble in locating the pilots and the airfields they used. Countless personnel, aircraft, and cargo were lost through raids by the police and military. It occurred to the Afghan dealer that one of the dilapidated old dhows that sailed that part of the world would be a great way to get the product to market. Since the range of such vessels would be limited, they needed an inconspicuous merchant ship of low value and performance to take on the cargo at sea and transport it to the final debarkation point in Saudi Arabia for Europe.

  Bashir remembered the Greater Sunda Shipping Line's SS Jakarta from the work done for al-Mimkhalif. He gave the name to his brother-in-law, who came to Kupang, Timor Island, to make a deal with Suhanto. A business arrangement was quickly formed and within forty-eight hours no less than three trips had been made to bring the politician's enterprise back up to speed.

  Suhanto earned a big payoff and was able to purchase the artificial hand. If things kept going as they were, he would be able to afford one of the fancy models with moving fingers.

  .

  DRESDEN, GERMANY

  HILDEGARD Keppler was returned to her native country through the courtesy of the United States Government. Before departing for Europe, she was rewarded with a payment of fifty thousand dollars, and she told Sam Paulsen and Mort Koenig that she planned on getting out of prostitution and opening a beauty salon with the funds when she got back home.

  But before leaving, Hildegard spent a week at Langley, Virginia, deep in the confines of the CIA. She provided them with an account of all she had seen and observed while working as a courtesan aboard the Royal Yacht Sayih. She dropped many names, mostly of Saudis, which gave American intelligence solid confirmation of which subjects of the kingdom could lead them dee
per into terrorist groups.

  She also told them about the other women on the yacht along with all the particulars she knew about them. This information was sent to their nations' intelligence services for further investigation. Unfortunately, the five had all disappeared. A thorough search of the royal yacht gave ample evidence of their having been aboard, but it was impossible to leam their fate from any members of the crew. It was assumed they had been killed to keep them from passing on any information on al-Mimkhalif. None of the survivors at Fortress Mikhbayi purported to have any knowledge of the harem.

  When Hildegard first arrived home, she was closely watched by the German Nachrichtendienst intelligence service to see if she had any more Arab contacts in Europe. The agents noted that at the first chance, she leased a fancy apartment in the well-to-do Uppigschaft section of Berlin, then began advertising herself as an escort service in several local pornographic publications.

  A month later she was broke, and looked up her former madam to go back to working ritzy hotels again.

  EPILOGUE:

  THE FOULED ANCHOR TAVERN

  CORONADO, CALIFORNIA

  THANKSGIVING DAY

  1515 HOURS LOCAL

  SALTY and Dixie Donovan closed the bar for the holiday and hired a caterer to come in and serve traditional turkey dinners to their special guests, Brannigan's Brigands and their families and girlfriends. Thanksgiving was going to be observed in a very special way with great emotion that year; the detachment had returned without a single casualty during their operation ashore and aboard the ACV Battlecraft. There was no better reason for a sincere celebration of gratitude.

  A total of forty adults and children attended the event, including the newlyweds Lieutenants (JG) Jim Cruiser and Veronica Rivers. Everyone at the dinner had also attended the small wedding in addition to the bride and groom's immediate families. It was a quietly happy occasion held in the base chapel. Lieutenant Bill Brannigan had been the best man and Veronica's sister had been the maid of honor. The new bride was already processing out of the United States Navy, and would be a civilian around the first of December. She was scheduled to start her job as an engineer with a San Diego electronics firm the first Monday after her discharge.