“Wow,” Stiles said, growing wide-eyed.
“Didn’t think we’d sailed that far,” Hardy commented.
“The captain got this sub moving at a good clip,” Johnson spoke up, proudly.
“So, what are we positioning to do?” Hardy glanced over the map, noting the submarine would surface off the coast of North Korea, not far from the Russian border.
“Good question,” said Lieutenant Smith.
The commander cleared his throat and stepped up to the table. “Folks, we need to make clear… this is a very delicate operation. You are to go directly from this room to your launch-craft. Understood?”
Stiles nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Hardy looked at the commander. “We understand… This isn’t our first rodeo.”
The commander grimaced. “You have quite an impressive record,” he said. “That’s why you were chosen for this mission. But, I’m not sure you’ve ever had to do something of this magnitude.”
“So, what is the op?” Hardy shrugged.
“You’re both aware of the recent treaty at the UN, resolving to decommission all nuclear weapons at an accelerated pace?”
They both nodded, understanding.
“North Korea somehow got hold of an old Soviet mobile nuclear missile,” Johnson said. “And we believe the thing is armed with a warhead.”
“An OTR-21, Tochka,” Lieutenant Smith cut in. “We refer to it with NATO call numbers as an SS-21, Scarab B.”
“The missile was built back in 1989 and is a durable weapon,” Johnson continued. “It’s highly mobile and could be used for an initial strike.”
“Weighs just 4,400 pounds,” Lieutenant Smith added.
“Why not just send in a UN task force and take control of the situation?” Hardy pondered out loud. He looked around the room gravely at the Navy Intelligence officers, thinking he was ultimately responsible for the SEALs on his teams.
“Our intelligence reflects the missile is not heavily guarded,” Johnson replied. “Apparently, the North Koreans seek to avoid attracting attention. The thing was transported by truck with only a handful of guards.”
“Now, you are making sense,” Hardy said.
“We have ample opportunity to strike quick and immobilize the damn thing.”
“What’s the game plan?”
“Lieutenant, go ahead and take it from here.”
“You will launch from the Seawolf in a SEAL Delivery Vehicle and travel by stealth to the shoreline.” Smith pointed to the map. “Once ashore, you will track the missile to a location two clicks away where it is stored on a trailer awaiting further truck transport.”
“How are we going to catch a truck?” This from Stiles sounding dumbfounded.
“The truck hasn’t arrived yet. And the missile is strapped to a trailer, parked in an old warehouse,” Johnson replied.
Stiles nodded, registering the point.
Hardy looked the map over. The mission entailed traveling through the water for over three miles, then landing on shore and humping over hilly terrain for another couple miles. They’d likely encounter five to six trained soldiers if everything went right, but possibly many more. No chance of a helicopter extraction. He shook his head in disbelief.
“Something wrong, Chief?” Commander Johnson said.
“Think we’re kind of light on team members,” Hardy replied with another shake of his head.
“We don’t want to send in too many operators,” Johnson reasoned.
“The direct action should go off without a hitch,” said Smith.
“Don’t doubt that a bit,” Hardy said.
“What are you concerned about, then?” The commander’s tone suggested that he didn’t want to be questioned on the record.
“Once we strike at the missile,” Hardy said, “all of North Korea is going to be out searching for us.”
“Precisely why we need a small team,” Johnson explained.
Yeah, so they don’t find too many bodies to tie the operation to the United States, Hardy thought, but he didn’t say anything. He just glanced at them and held his tongue.
“So, are we all set,” Commander Johnson said, shutting down the discussion.
Hardy didn’t take the comment as an actual question.
“Sir, all set,” Stiles and Hardy replied in unison.
Lieutenant Smith pointed out a few more particulars. Then, the SEALs stepped out the hatch and made their way toward the launch vehicle. Every sailor they passed eyeballed them, as though understanding the two SEALs were the reason the submarine trolled through hostile waters in the Sea of Japan.
****
Stepping into the launch zone, Hardy and Stiles were dressed in black one-piece utilities and carried scuba gear. They’d packed to the hilt for the mission with machineguns, grenades, pistols, and combat knives.
The SEALs climbed a ladder inside the submarine.
Hardy took the lead. Twisting open a hatch in the roof of the sub, he climbed into a compartment near the back of the boat.
Hardy slipped inside the tight space and Stiles followed him.
Both SEALs donned their scuba tanks and masks, put on their fins, and then got into the two-man SEAL Delivery Vehicle. Sailors filled the compartment with water, and a hatch opened at the rear of the cargo unit. Then, Hardy piloted the SDV out into the open sea while Stiles handled navigation.
The stealth delivery vehicle serves a two-man open submersible with a propeller on the back. Hardy and Stiles were tucked into a cockpit space near the front and drove the vehicle through the open water. Occupants of a two-man SDV remain exposed to the elements, unlike a SEAL Pod, which holds a six-member team and operates like an enclosed mini-submarine.
The SDV shifted sideways and Hardy fought to correct its course. A storm brewing topside was more severe than the weather forecast. Hardy shivered from the cold water.
He thought about what they’d encounter on the mission. A SEAL Pod was more suitable for the rough waters. A bigger delivery vehicle would have withstood the currents better and held a larger team. The two-man team was much too small for this assignment.
Military Intelligence wanted to avoid drawing any attention to this clandestine operation. They weren’t taking any risk with an insertion by helicopter, or even chancing the use of a larger delivery vehicle.
Hardy shook his head again. The measures taken to conceal the mission drastically reduced its chances of success. Leave it to the bureaucrats to stack the deck against them. And if the SEALs on the ground somehow pulled off the operation, everyone in Washington would think the idea was planned well from the get-go.
The SDV moved along swiftly, traveling thirty meters below the surface, occasionally drifting from side to side by the turbulent currents. Utilizing the SDV’s compressed air system, they conserved the air supply in their scuba tanks.
Hardy was prepared in case they ran into trouble and needed reserves later.
Four
Rear Admiral Keyes sat on a posh sofa in the ship’s command center. He held a cup and saucer made of bone china. As Keyes sipped coffee, he glanced at the Navy logo on the cup, thinking about the comment he’d just heard.
Keyes had come a long way from the rough neighborhood where he’d grown up in Atlanta. Now, he found himself surrounded by middle-class white males. Many of them had little common sense, and some were educated beyond their intelligence.
Afloat on the USS Ronald Regan, the aircraft carrier was known to members of the fleet simply as the Gipper. The ship took part in a task force located mid-point between Pearl Harbor and Tokyo. Keyes commanded the massive 7th Fleet, with a span of control encompassing Japan, South Korea, and Okinawa.
Keyes was simply the most powerful person in the western Pacific.
Sitting across from Keyes, a diplomat attached to the ship stared at him in earnest, and his executive officer, Commander Maxwell James, sat wide-eyed, with an amused look of disbelief.
Keyes glanced down at the coffee, whi
ch he took without cream or sugar, and avoided prolonged eye contact with either of them, lest someone might get the impression that Keyes supported either viewpoint.
He hadn’t made up his mind on the issue facing them and didn’t want to weigh in until he considered it further, or received supporting intelligence.
Clearing his throat, Keyes turned to the young lieutenant commander seated beside him. Susan Williams was from Navy Intelligence and reported directly to Keyes.
“Tell me the status of our SEAL operation,” Keyes said.
“Chief Petty Officer Hardy and Petty Officer Stiles have disembarked from the Seawolf, located in the Sea of Japan, near the coast of North Korea.”
Keyes shook his head, dismayed at the formality that young officers always employed when addressing someone with the title admiral. “So, they got off the boat?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered. “They detached their SDV without incident. Now, they are making their way toward shore. We believe the mission is progressing without any complications.”
“Believe?” Keyes snapped. He put the cup and saucer down on the coffee table and shifted to face her.
Lieutenant Commander Williams looked back at him, aghast.
“Believe,” Keyes repeated. “You are with Navy Intelligence, the finest intelligence gathering body in the world. And you believe that the mission is tracking according to plan. You should know whether it is on target.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Williams responded. “I stand corrected. We are certain that the SDV disembarked without incident, and the SEAL team is on target. Hardy and Stiles are en route to their touchdown location… and their timing is within mission parameters.”
Keyes glanced around the room and let out a sigh. He didn’t particularly enjoy lambasting a young officer, but the potential seriousness of various issues at hand caused him to pound on her. He meant to use her as an example to others who might question his authority. “Within parameters,” Keyes repeated. “Sounds like they are barely making progress within the allotted schedule. Am I right?”
She nodded in agreement. “We expect the storm conditions are slowing them down.”
“But they are still progressing toward shore,” Keyes said. “Correct?”
“That is correct, sir.” Williams wiggled and adjusted her skirt.
“What is the status of this storm?” Keyes said to his executive officer.
“The storm has been upgraded to a hurricane,” Commander James answered. “Changed from a tropical storm to a category three… fairly quick.”
“How bad are we talking?” Keyes shook his head.
“The eye of the storm is headed directly towards Tokyo. It is expected to touch down within the hour. Our reports indicate the winds exceed 130 mph, making the hurricane on the verge of a category four.”
Keyes grumbled, understanding the gravity of the situation. He picked up his coffee cup, took a long sip, and nodded for James to continue.
“The hurricane is expected to tear through Japan. Then the remnants will cross the Sea of Japan and touch down in South Korean.”
“What types of winds will hit the Korean shore?” Keyes sought information about the readiness of the American fleet, located in Japan and South Korea. He didn’t like what he was hearing so far.
“Not exactly sure,” Commander James said. “But it will likely be a category one, or a severe tropical storm.”
Keyes shook his head. More undefined intelligence that made planning difficult. Nobody seemed to want to take a position on anything these days for fear of being relieved of command. Whatever area of the military he dealt with in trying to make tough decisions, everything was couched with qualifications nowadays. You couldn’t pin people down. He wasn’t looking to hang someone from a yardarm, but rather needed their best hunch.
“Why can’t I get a simple answer out of anyone?” Keyes snapped.
“That’s the best we’ve got from the weather bureau right now.”
“Understood. You’re giving me what you’ve been told,” Keyes barked. “I’m not putting the blame on you. You’re a sailor like me and are just reporting the information, but I need better intelligence all around, considering what we may be facing.”
Keyes pounded his fist on the coffee table. Cups and saucers rattled. He glanced at the diplomatic attaché and wondered when the man planned to cut into the conversation and interfere with Navy operations.
The suit obviously mistook the eye contact as a welcomed opportunity to speak.
“Admiral Keyes,” Mr. Hopkins said. “If you don’t mind me saying… we’ve got far more important things to attend to than a small-scale SEAL operation and the weather.”
Keyes wanted to thrash the bastard. This paper-pushing weasel had no clue about what’s involved in commanding a Pacific fleet. The pressure was building and Keyes needed to relieve it. He wanted to get up and kick a trashcan or pound the table again. Instead, he ground his teeth together, and his consternation and intensity wasn’t lost on the suit.
The man sat back and waited for Keyes to reply.
“We’re in the process of taking in much-needed intelligence.” Keyes looked directly at the suit. “You have to obtain and consider all of the details, even the minutiae, before making major decisions.”
“Understood, sir,” Mr. Hopkins replied. “Not trying to step on your toes. Just can’t see what the weather has to do with our problem.”
“You can’t see it… because you haven’t a clue!” Keyes bellowed. He pounded the table and a cup tipped out of the saucer, spilling coffee all over. Lieutenant Commander Williams reached for a napkin and started to clean up.
Commander James leaned forward and helped her tidy things. He glanced up at Keyes with a twinkle in his eye, as though amused at the lashing Keyes handed out to the suit. Keyes took a deep breath and leaned back in the sofa.
“Now, I might not have gone to George Washington University… like XO, James here, or Annapolis like Lieutenant Commander Williams, or Harvard like you, sir—”
“Actually, I went to Bates College,” Mr. Hopkins corrected. “Harvard is where I got my Masters in Government, but please continue…”
This guy really is an ass, Keyes thought.
“What is the status of our forces in Japan?” Keyes said to James. He’d quit trying to explain strategy to a man who didn’t have a clue how things worked in the field.
“All of the ships that aren’t at sea as part of this task force,” Commander James said, “are secured at deep-water docks.”
“What about flight capabilities?”
“Everything is grounded.”
“South Korea?”
“Same.”
Keyes pondered the situation. “How about Okinawa?”
“Everything is shut down and fairly secure there. However, the base is outside the severe storm center and won’t get hit as hard.”
Keyes turned to Williams, the intelligence officer. “What is the status of Japan’s Self-Defense Forces?”
“The Maritime Self-Defense Force and Air-Self Defense Force are shut down, pretty much the same as our forces.”
“And the Ground Self-Defense Force?”
“They have been mobilized as a force in ready to address the storm… in a disaster relief role. Their Ground Forces are not currently mobilized for combat.”
“The Seawolf remains off the coast of North Korea?”
“Yes, sir,” Williams responded.
“Anything else you want to add to your report?”
“Despite the storm,” Williams said, “we have a landing helicopter platform moving through the straight… between South Korea and Japan. The ship has a full contingency of 2,000 Marines, tanks, amphibious personnel carriers, and several helicopters below deck.”
“The LHP is on the wrong side of Japan.” Keyes shook his head. “Any fighters aboard?”
“Unfortunately, the ship was being used for a helicopter training exercise and got packed without jets.”
>
“Have we had any direct communications with Japan’s Self-Defense Forces about the situation he described?” Keyes said to her, while pointing at the suit.
“We got an informal report of the activity, but haven’t been able to confirm.”
“Why the hell not?” Keyes bellowed.
“There is a problem with their communications system.”
“We’re the United States Navy…” Keyes grew weary from the insufficient reporting. “You can keep tabs on a couple of SEALs below water, but cannot speak to commanders on a major land mass.”
“The communication problem is not with us…”
Keyes felt better that the incompetence lay elsewhere. But he wasn’t entirely relieved. The Japanese forces had always been highly professional, reliable, and dependable. He couldn’t imagine they’d allow communications to falter for any period of time, unless they had a serious issue brewing.
An ominous feeling gripped him. Keyes looked towards the suit and figured something momentous was about to happen, or had already begun.
Five
Penton drove his Jeep toward the senior barracks. Rain blew across the road, whipping sideways from the heavy wind. An ominous malaise crept over him. The usual comfort from pattering of raindrops on the soft-top evaded him. A thunderous deluge pelted the hood, and monsoon conditions swirled around him.
He thought about how bad it might get. The most recent weather report wasn’t merely an upgrade from a tropical storm to a category one, a change from 55 mph winds to 75 mph, but rather an extreme shift in storm conditions. This hurricane was going to reach a category three or four, with winds exceeding 130 mph and severe flooding caused by storm surges.
Penton pulled up to the barracks, hopped out of the Jeep, and ran towards his quarters, occupying the last unit. Reaching the door, he was already drenched. Penton worried the wind might tip the Jeep over during the night.
Stepping inside, he wondered if the Harriers left on the flight line would get damaged. Then, he thought about who’d get the blame. Maybe we should have brought all the jets inside and left a few Ospreys on the flight line.
Pacific Rising Page 3