Reaper and Bear prepared to enter the water. They kept the weapons and equipment to a bare minimum: Their dry suits for protection, a nine-pound lead weight belt, a set of 3XL Turtle fins over the suit’s boots, and a black U.S. Divers Maui model face mask made up the bulk of the two SEALs’s wimming gear.
With a look to his partner, Reaper gave a ready signal and saw it returned. Then the two men slipped silently over the side of the boat and into the dark waters. The frigid water closed over their heads with barely a splash as they sank out of sight.
The USIA ballistic dry suits now proved their value. The hands of both men were red from the compression of the soft rubber wrist seals that kept out the water. But their hands still had their feeling and flexibility. Now those hands told them exactly how cold the water all around them was as they went numb within a minute of leaving the boat.
Discomfort in the water means little to a SEAL; it can’t mean much because they spend more than half of their operational lives in the water all over the world and Reaper and Bear were no different in this respect. They quickly sorted out their locations in relation to each other and the island ahead. Bubbles gushed out of the two and one-half-inch-diameter round black plastic valve on their upper left arms. The pressure of the water pushed at the suits, squeezing out the excess air. If they had lost too much buoyancy, a quick squirt of air from the gas bottle in a pocket on their upper left thigh would reinflate the suit.
The arms and legs of the dry suits clamped around their limbs as the water squeezed down. The armor panels on their chest and backs kept the suits stiff across the chest and back and they barely felt the effects of the water there. Slowly and carefully returning to the surface, the two swimmer-scouts headed toward the beach.
The strong legs of Reaper and Bear pushed the black Turtle power-fins toward the beach, the big neoprene blades of the flippers driving the SEALs effortlessly through the water. SEALs regularly swam for miles, and ran for even more miles, in order to build up their leg strength for just such an operation. The driving force of the fins allowed the two SEALs to keep their hands free to move them over the lake bottom as they approached the softly pounding surf on the beach.
Reaper and Bear crawled up to the edge of the surf zone and lay there as the cold waves swirled around them. Raising his AKMS-47, the same weapon that Bear had picked up at the Factory, Reaper prepared it for action.
During the years Reaper had been in the Teams, the SEALs had not found another weapon that worked as well in the surf zone as an AK-47. The sand, mud, and water just didn’t jam up the rugged Russian design. It wasn’t as accurate, long-ranged, or comfortable to shoot as one of the weapons from the M16 family, but it always worked. And it was the weapon of choice for scout-swimmers passing through the surf zone. But Reaper and Bear only had one of the rugged Soviet designs. As the primary point man, Reaper carried their AK.
Over his shoulder, Reaper wore a yellow canvas pouch holding four thirty-round magazines for the AK. From somewhere in the boxes and from the shelves of their shop, Deckert had come up with the Iraqi ammo pouch and magazines along with fresh ammo for the weapon itself. The experienced gunsmith had gone over every inch of the weapon, making sure that even its rugged design didn’t have any flaws. Reaper now held a weapon as dependable as anything mechanical ever could be.
The only thing Reaper had done to prepare his weapon for the swim in was to stretch a latex condom over the muzzle. The thin rubber could have been fired through if necessary without any damage to Reaper or the weapon. And the latex helped keep the water from entering the AK’s barrel.
Now Reaper stripped the latex condom from the muzzle of the AK, as he pulled the bolt back partway. While he prepped his weapon, Reaper also kept watch along the beach and the tree line just beyond. Even though the condom would have kept the bore of the weapon relatively clear of water, cracking open the breech would release the seal of the cartridge in the chamber insuring that any water in the barrel drained away.
For his weapon, Bear didn’t have to worry about water exposure. He was carrying Reaper’s preferred MP5K-PDW. With the Gemtech Raptor suppressor secured on the barrel, the compact submachine gun had been secured in a special small waterproof weapons container Enzo had brought. The MP5K-PDW fit snugly in the bag. The flexible weapon container even had an inflator tube that allowed air to be blown into the bag to make it buoyant. The feature of the bag that Bear liked best was the built-in glove. The glove allowed the shooter to fire his weapon if necessary without taking it from the bag, the reason Bear had carried it out in front of him during the insertion.
After waiting a few minutes in the surf zone to be sure they hadn’t been spotted, or that anyone else might be around, Reaper and Bear quickly moved inland to conduct a recon of the area. The aerial views of the island they had all studied had shown a small valley along the side of the ridge line where Reaper wanted to establish their observation post.
What the views hadn’t shown was a wide inlet of water extending into the tree line along the floor of that valley. This would be their beach landing site and would be a safe place to cache their gear and secure the boat.
Going back to the shore, Reaper pulled a flashlight from a pocket of his ammunition pouch. The operators had devised a system to ensure that the operation hadn’t been compromised on insertion. The man on shore would use a series of flashes to signal the men in the boat. The returned countersign had to add up to seven flashes. Any other result would mean that the men had to break off contact. Holding out his flashlight, Reaper squeezed off four slow flashes.
Three flashes returned from the boat. As Reaper watched, the SAV II emerged from the mist that had come up from the water. As it approached the shore, Reaper could see Ben and Max on either side of the bow, their weapons at the ready. Following his arm signals, Enzo spotted the opening in the beach that led into the valley. Slowly guiding the boat along, Enzo entered the crevasse with just one outboard engaged, cutting off the other motor in case he ran aground in the unknown waters and lost his propeller. The water in the gorge ran deep enough that he managed to scrape by and come in under the cover of the trees.
Not a word had been spoken since they left the boat.
Every member of the team had studied the maps and photos of the island. The routes they would take had been committed to memory. The whole operation had been originally planned to take place under the cover of darkness. Circumstances now denied them that option.
The men would only have to patrol about four hundred meters to reach the top of the ridge line at the point Reaper had selected. While travelling only a short distance, their patrol needed to go through an unknown area with the possibility of discovery a very real one. They would stay off any paths they might find along the route and proceed as silently as ghosts through the woods and brush.
Returning to the water, Ben and Max helped Enzo turn the boat around so that its bow pointed toward open water only fifty meters away, preparing the group for a fast extraction. Then all except Enzo stripped off their ballistic dry suits. He would stay and secure the boat, their only sure means of extraction from the island.
If the men got separated or forced apart by heavy combat, the emergency rally point was at the tree line overlooking the old lighthouse. If everything went completely to hell, Enzo would call in the Coast Guard and the men would have to trust that they could hold off any forces until help arrived. The Motorola Talkabout radios they each had in their uniform pockets had a two-mile range. These would have to do as a final backup in case the boat’s radio became unavailable.
It might be a loose plan, but that also made it flexible. Though they preferred stacking the deck in their favor at every opportunity, all of the men had long operated right out on the edge. One took chances only when he had to and prepared for as many contingencies as possible, and saved his luck for when he really needed it by training constantly.
Taking the lead as the point man in the patrol, Reaper moved out with his favored
MP5K-PDW back in his hands. Now that he was on dry land, the suppressed MP5K-PDW would be the best choice in case he had to fire a shot. So Reaper had taken the MP5K from Bear and given the AK and ammo pouch to Ben.
Reaper’s Chalker sling again spanned his chest and shoulders. Too bad that he would never be able to tell the retired command master chief just how well the sling had worked for him. Somehow, Reaper figured that this operation wouldn’t be a story that got a lot of public release.
The gear Reaper had strapped on was almost a mirror of what he had carried at the Factory only the day before. That thought gave him pause. Had it only been a day?
This time, Reaper had loaded the Serbu Super-Shorty shotgun in the holster on his thigh with Winchester 00 buckshot. Every person on the island could be considered an armed enemy except for the hostages—Reaper’s family. There would be little need for less lethal ammunition. Also, the nasty little shotgun would be useful for blasting locks or hinges if they had to open secured doors. In case he encountered a larger group of hostiles, Reaper had one of Enzo’s M26A1 fragmentation grenades in the flash-crash pocket of his ammunition pouch. The deadly little green ovoid would spray out hundreds of steel fragments when detonated—enough to wreck anyone’s day.
Immediately behind Reaper in the patrol came Max, who filled the position of automatic weapons man. He carried the Shrike belt-fed conversion unit mounted on the receiver of the M4. Slung across his back was the TTR-700 sniper rifle in its compact case. Max could place a single round exactly where he wanted with the bolt-action rifle. But he could also practically write his name with an automatic weapon when he wanted to—Bear had been right in nicknaming the young man “War.”
Coming next in the patrol line was Bear. The stout SEAL now had the Jackhammer shotgun he liked so much hanging from a sling. Across his shoulders, Bear held the massive 20mm Lahti rifle. Ahead of them lay a long downhill, potential field of fire they would have to cross before they reached the lodge. Bear had accepted the responsibility of dragging the big gun along in order to give them the best base of fire they could have to cover that crossing.
The brochure for the lodge had pictures that showed the castlelike walls to be made of light brown stone. The 20mm cannon could make large, precise holes through that stone. The weight of the gun had become Bear’s burden. The bipod and heavy ammunition magazines had been spread out among the rest of the patrol.
Bringing up rear security came Ben, armed with the AKMS-47. He watched their backs, “covering their six,” in militaryspeak. While he made sure that no one came up from behind them, Ben also tried to wipe out the marks of the patrol’s passage as much as he could. He walked backward much of the time, scanning behind them as well as to either side.
Reaper led the patrol along the sides of the ridge to the north of the valley. The group climbed higher as they continued to move generally eastward. Coming up to a saddle, a depression in the middle of the ridge, Reaper silently called a halt by raising his clenched fist. As the men settled down into a diamond formation, their weapons pointing outward into the brush, Bear breathed heavily, even his great stamina sapped by carrying the huge 20mm weapon.
Getting down low on his hands and knees, Reaper crawled forward to approach the edge of the saddle. As the ground started to open up and fall away to the east, he dropped down even flatter. Finally, he slithered on his belly. Reaper pulled up to a huge fallen tree and slowly peered over it, his head partly blocked and hidden by a big branch forking out from the fallen trunk.
The lodge was standing only a few hundred meters away. It stood in the open surrounded only by flower gardens. Though the gardens hadn’t been kept up, they seemed almost out of place in what Reaper perceived as a hostile environment.
No one moved down at the lodge. The huge mansion had the appearance of an old castle with its rock walls and crenelated roof line. Bear had the right idea in struggling up here with the big Lahti.
A further hundred meters along the ridge, as it slanted down to the east, the tree line came to within a hundred meters of the lodge. That would be the most secure approach Reaper and Bear could take to reach the big house and penetrate inside. Withdrawing from the log, Reaper spoke into his radio headset.
“Come up, stay low,” he said.
Going back up to peer down at the lodge, Reaper maintained a watch as the balance of his small patrol moved up to where he lay. Max came up and placed his Shrike down after looking over the fallen tree. Snuggling down next to the log, Max pulled up his case, opened it, and pulled out the parts to his sniper rifle. His skilled fingers almost assembled the rifle solely by touch as Max leaned his head against the log and looked over at Reaper.
As the sniper prepared his hardware, Bear crawled up, pulling the Lahti along by its barrel. Placing the big antitank rifle alongside the log, Bear then pulled up the rest of the components—taking a magazine box from Max as he handed it over. Finally, Ben came up and lay next to Max, lifting up the Shrike from where it lay.
Max and Ben would provide cover fire as needed. Ben could handle his gun well enough to allow Max to concentrate on precision shooting to cut down opposing numbers. When he saw everything was in hand and his two men set up and in position, Reaper signaled for Bear to come with him. The red-faced, shorter SEAL looked up and gave an okay signal by circling his thumb and forefinger. Bear was a little short of breath, but anyone would have been after dragging that big gun through the woods.
“Did you hear that?” Hadeed said in a loud whisper.
“Hear what?” Joseph replied. “I didn’t hear anything. You’ve been jumpy about everything ever since you got here. You hear shit that no one else does.”
“Hey, I didn’t join up with this mob to wander in the woods,” Hadeed said. “I grew up in Dearborn, not the forest, just like you did. Arzee told me that I would have to drive the van, and I’ve been driving that thing up and down from here to Detroit for weeks now. It’s not like you or I are one of those Afghan chosen ones.”
“Yeah, well now you’ve been told to walk the property line,” Joseph said as he hitched the sling of the AK-47 rifle on his shoulder up to a more comfortable position. Turning to his partner in misery, he continued. “Or do you want to tell one of the chosen brethren that you are too good to watch trees? You do that and Paxtun will let them eat you when they get back from the other island.”
“I don’t give a shit about those better-than-us sand-soldiers. All they do is think they’re better than we are and run around on the other island firing their guns. Put them in the street and I’ll do just fine keeping up with them,” Hadeed said. “It’s only these damned woods. There are critters all over around here—and none of them are people. It’s cold and windy, there’s nothing to guard against but some trees and birds—I’m going back inside.”
As the street tough turned, his eyes grew large as a shadow from the trees suddenly stood up in front of him. He saw no face on the black apparition, only a pair of piercing eyes that looked out from a blank, black-painted face. The AK-47 in his hands went unremembered as Hadeed never even noticed the slight cough and flash on the muzzle of the weapon in the spirit’s hands.
Joseph had even less time to react to Reaper’s appearance. As he turned, Bear simply said “War,” into his radio’s headset. A solid “thunk” rang out a moment later as a subsonic 220-grain 7.62mm EBR Thumper put the other thug’s lights out.
Though he would never know it, the initial kills of the island assault had been the two men who had actually kidnapped Reaper’s family. He and Bear then ran to the lodge not quite a football field away. They had been watching to see if any other guards appeared. The lodge remained silent as they approached. The two SEALs knew they were exposed and at risk during the rush across the open field—but the eyes and muzzles of their teammates up on the ridge covered them.
With a swift dart across the terrace at the south end of the main building, Reaper and Bear immediately went through the big doors in front of them. If they had
been spotted from inside the house, the faster they could get to cover the better.
No one responded to their rapid entry.
The two SEALs didn’t know they had entered the old music room, only that they didn’t find any threats immediately visible. Instead of their normal shout of “clear,” the two partners remained silent as they moved through the richly paneled room. Dark woods and paintings looked down on the two black-clad and heavily armed SEALs as they penetrated deeper into the lodge.
They passed through what had been the billiard room, the muzzles of their weapons sweeping across the stone fireplace and wall like lethal extensions of their arms. The living room was next, and another sweep turned up nothing. Only after they moved into the next hallway did they find a target—an unexpected one.
Hassan Akrit had been a kitchen helper at the Factory. Arzee had given him a bonus to come to the island and cook for a large group of men. The cook didn’t know what Paxtun did with the extra food tray he had Hassan bring him twice a day. He only knew that the boss ate in his office upstairs. And Paxtun didn’t look like someone who ate double meals, yet that’s the amount of food he packed away. Sometime after being served, the second tray always came back, brought to the kitchen for Hassan to clean.
The young man froze in place as a tall, black-clothed ninja suddenly jumped out in front of him, waving a big, black gun under his nose. The trays he had stacked on top of one another shook in his hands, but they didn’t fall—which boded well for him, Hassan reasoned, because the noise might have caused that awful gun to make some horrible noise itself.
“Where are they?” the tall ninja growled.
Undeclared War Page 27