Undeclared War

by Dennis Chalker

  The booms of the infidel’s monster weapon up on the hillside still sounded out, but the deadly shells had stopped crashing through the building. Hadad lifted his head up as he crawled across the floor and looked through the open door out across the porch and to the woods beyond. The flash and spray of materials kicked up by the muzzle blast of the infidel marked his position clearly. He was sure that the AK-47 in his hands would do little to the emplacement.

  On the path a short way past the porch walls the body of Mibsam lay sprawled where it had landed after being thrown from the roof. Hadad could plainly see that his brother was dead. No one could survive having his head so flat from hitting the rock walkway. But lying across Mibsam’s body was his favored RPG-7v—and the round loaded into the launcher had survived the explosion on the roof. Allah was great and He would see to it that the weapon remained intact and functional, the young terrorist believed with surety. Why else would Allah, all blessing be upon Him, leave such a tool in his path?

  Darting forward, Hadad grabbed the RPG-7v and continued to move away from the house. He took cover behind one of the many decorative flower bushes in the huge garden that spread along the rear of the mansion. The fanatic looked over his weapon. Allah be praised! The weapon looked unbroken and functional.

  Pulling the pin from the nose of the grenade, Hadad stripped away the safety cap, completing the final preparation of the round for firing. Lifting the almost-twenty-pound launcher and rocket grenade to his shoulder, Hadad pushed the safety button behind the trigger in from the right, taking the firing mechanism off safe. As he brought the weapon to his shoulder, he thumbed back the hammer on the rear of the trigger group.

  Knowing he would have only one real chance to make his shot, the terrorist offered a short prayer to Allah, all blessings be upon Him, and then he stood up. Swinging the nose-heavy weapon around to the left, Hadad stuck his right eye firmly to the rubber cup on the back of the 2.5-power PGO-7 prismatic telescopic sight. Setting the two-hundred-meter stadia lines on the top of the grid of the sight reticule on the hillside where the muzzle flashes came from, he pulled the trigger on the firing mechanism.

  The huge blast of the propelling charge roared out the back of the launcher, canceling the recoil of the projectile ejected out of the muzzle. Four thin metal fins unfolded from the PG-7 rocket as it flew forward, the sustainer rocket motor firing up with a roar ten meters in front of the launcher. Hadad felt only a puff of warm air from the igniting of the sustainer motor. But the initial blast of launching had deafened him, and shattered several windows in the house behind him.

  Unfortunately for Hadad the big antitank rocket whooshed forward and impacted ten feet below and to the left of Bear’s position. The blast of the explosion rocked the big SEAL as he lay behind the Lahti. Steel shards from the rocket’s warhead and splinters from the log cover sprayed across his left side. Bleeding badly from a number of wounds, Bear was slammed against the Lahti from the force of the explosion and slumped down onto his weapon.

  A warm sensation spread along Bear’s left side as he tried to clear the spinning in his head. He knew that there was something very important that he had to do, something that couldn’t wait. But he just didn’t have the energy to act on it. Then he remembered his Teammates. The same force of will that pushed him through Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training, that kept him from quitting during that awful cold and strained exhaustion, that will pushed at him now.

  He lifted his head and tried to wipe away whatever had run into his eyes. To his shock Bear’s left arm wouldn’t obey him anymore. Letting go of the pistol grip, Bear wiped away enough of the blood that had sprayed across his face to see again. Blinking at his blurred vision, Bear could see through what looked like a tunnel. At the end of that tunnel somebody stood and waved something over his head. Bear didn’t know the identity of the person, but he knew he had to do something to him.

  Blood gushed from his wounds, the worst being at the left side of his neck. Bear didn’t know what had happened to him. And if he did, he wouldn’t have cared. As the tunnel vision got worse, Bear tried to swing the big cannon around and force the muzzle down and in line with the target. Blurred vision focused on the front sight blade as something in the back of Bear’s mind kept saying. “Shoot him in the ass.”

  The sights of the Lahti remained set for a much longer range than Bear would shoot at now. Only his subconscious mind maintained function well enough to tell him to aim low on his target.

  As he started to feel warm all over and the buzzing lessened in his ears, Bear pulled the trigger of the big cannon for the last time. He never even felt the recoil slam him back, or his head fall to the ground. He just lay there and let the warmth and softness finally sweep over him. Satisfied that he had done his job, that his mission was over, he gave up the fight. His last conscious thought was a pleasant one—that it had been a really good day.

  The young terrorist didn’t have any real thoughts after firing the RPG-7v. As his youthful exuberance caused him to jump up in joy at hitting the infidel’s weapon, he waved his arms, yelled, and never thought of the consequences. Turning back to the house, he started to walk back past the body of his brother. He stopped and looked down at the man and realized that he had been better than Mibsam. He could be better than any of them. What they hadn’t been able to do, he had done. Yes, him. Hadad. He was the best of them all.

  Hadad never felt the big 20mm slug smash into his upper back. As the high-explosive-filled steel projectile crushed into the young terrorist’s spine, the old Nazi German-made nose fuse initiated and detonated the filler. The PETN blast went off inside the chest of the terrorist—literally blowing him apart as the shock wave of the explosive combined with the kinetic energy of the projectile.

  The combined energies of Bear’s last shot blew Hadad’s chest open and shattered his torso—it tore him apart as if he had been drawn and quartered by four charging stallions. It was a suitably barbaric end for a barbarian.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Once the decision to move had been made, the team moved fast. Slipping quickly down the side of the small valley, Reaper, his family, and the rest of his men made their way back to the boat much faster than they had left it. With no need for silence, and very little for concealment, speed was what mattered most. As they approached the boat, a voice sounded from within the trees.

  “Four,” Enzo said.

  “Shit,” Reaper cursed, having forgotten the countersign for just a moment, “three, I mean three.”

  Stepping from the brush where he had concealed himself, Enzo held his M14 at high port as he looked at the group.

  “Where’s Bear?” he asked.

  “He had something to do,” Reaper said gruffly. Just then, they heard the first burst of machine-gun fire from the far side of the ridge.

  “Sounds like he’s doing it, too,” the SEAL said as he glanced back at the hillside.

  The look in everyone’s eyes told Enzo that this wouldn’t be the best time to ask what had happened. The bursts of fire in the distance were long ones. Whoever was shooting didn’t care a whole lot about what they were doing to his gun’s barrel. Enzo noticed that along with Bear, the Lahti and the Shrike weren’t in sight either. Bear’s Jackhammer shotgun was slung across Reaper’s back, but that was the only sign of the other SEAL.

  The thoughts took only an instant as Enzo started moving and within seconds they had the boat in the water and he was pulling Mary and Ricky on board. Then he moved into the coxswain’s position to operate the boat. The rest of the men moved through the water, pushing the SAV II back out into the lake. The little bay’s water was cold, but not nearly as bad as that out in the deeper lake. With the weight of the rest of the men off the boat it made the SAV II ride a little higher in the water and helped insure that the props didn’t drag on the bottom as Enzo fired up the outboards.

  In the background came the thundering booms of the 20mm rifle. After a few rounds had sounded out from the big gun,
a much louder blast reached them as something exploded. Reaper was climbing aboard as the roar thundered out. He almost turned and headed back to shore when nothing but silence followed the explosion. Then the thunder of the 20mm opened up again and Reaper knew his friend still played in the game. He climbed aboard the boat and joined his family.

  With everyone on board who was coming, Enzo pushed the throttles wide open. The agile boat leaped like a racehorse leaving the starting gates as the outboards roared, the boat dancing across the waves as it picked up speed. Now was not the time for niceties, Enzo thought. They had the precious cargo on board and they had better get a move on.

  Another large explosion boomed out from the island, the sound mostly drowned out by the roar of the outboards as the distance between the boat and the island increased. They did not slow down to see what had exploded. One of their own had just given his all so that they had a chance to get away—they were not going to squander that sacrifice.

  Off the eastern coast of the island, Ishmael did more than think about the attack; he screamed and cursed about it. Even Bear would have been impressed by the terrorist’s command of invective as he swore in Arabic and five other languages. His mission, Shaitan’s Blessing, had been destroyed before it was even launched. He cared little for the men he had lost, but the glory he would have reaped and the blow to the Americans was impossible now.

  They had been training out on their range at the smaller island, the same place where they practiced with their boats, and had come back to heavy fire—fire that came from near their own headquarters! It had been less than twenty-four hours before they would have launched the greatest operation of Ishmael’s career, his life’s crowning glory, and it was a shambles! What had happened? How had he brought down this retribution on himself and his men?

  As he took a breath and assessed the situation, Ishmael told Naphish at the helm to immediately head south and get them to the mainland as quickly as possible. Maybe whoever had raided the island, probably one of those accursed special operations groups of the American police or military, had missed the transportation that waited in the parking lot back at the harbor. If not, they still had enough arms and ammunition on board the speedboat to come close to wiping out that lakeshore city.

  As the 29 Fever sports boat passed the southernmost point of the island, Jetur shouted and pointed. Off to the southwest, skimming across the low waves not more than a few miles ahead, was some black watercraft. It had to be the boat that had been involved with the raid on the island. No helicopters or planes had been heard approaching and no parachutes had been seen dropping in. The only way the raiders could have come in was by boat.

  If the people on this boat off in the distance had nothing to do with the shattering of Ishmael’s plans, then that was too bad for them. The letting of their blood would help slake his thirst for vengeance for the destroyed Sons of Ishmael.

  Aboard the SAV II, a signal started beeping from the console of the marine radar. Looking at the panel and then studying the water to starboard, Enzo saw the approaching sports boat.

  “We’ve got company!” Enzo shouted to Reaper.

  Staring out to where Enzo was pointing, Reaper saw the long, pointed shape of the 29 Fever sports boat. It moved fast and headed in their direction. It looked like one of the boats from the island.

  “Can you outrun them?” Reaper asked.

  “Not if that’s the boat you had listed back at the farm,” Enzo said. “That craft can put on a third more speed than we can. And with the seas having gone down since this morning, we can’t outmaneuver them here in the open.”

  As the sports boat gradually drew closer, Enzo performed a dazzling display of seamanship as he put the SAV II through her paces. No matter how he twisted or turned, the other boat followed his every move. All he accomplished was to give the other boat some time to come a little closer. Finally, Enzo decided on a desperate trick.

  “What are you doing?” Reaper said as the boat turned hard to the east and remained on that heading.

  “I’m heading for the Wolverine Shoals,” Enzo shouted. “Maybe we can sucker these guys in a little too close. The lake’s gone down over the last couple of years and the charts don’t show the real water over those rocks. We only draw about a foot of water, but that long bastard needs three feet under her keel. With any luck, we can gut them on the rocks.”

  The idea sounded like something from an old pirate movie, and Enzo was as close to a pirate as they had right now. He had thought it a desperate action, and it was. As the 29 Fever drew closer to the SAV II, the crew aboard it started shooting at the smaller boat.

  Behind his beard, Enzo gritted his teeth as he headed for the buoys marking the shoals. Two buoys were anchored on the shallow shoals. Much deeper water lay between them. Enzo wanted to tease the bigger, faster boat around the buoys, draw them in as he made a pass through safe water. Cutting across the shoal would put the bigger boat in real danger.

  As he swept through the channel, Enzo wished the buoys indicating the underwater threat weren’t so obvious. It became plain to him that whoever drove the sports boat knew just where the dangerous waters were, and would not be suckered in by his risky stunt.

  Bullets snapped by overhead as Ishmael and his men fired their AKM-47s wildly at the SAV II. Pointed steel slugs cracked past, and bounced off the water all around the smaller boat. Inside the tiny booth, Mary and Ricky crouched down at Enzo’s feet. The rest of the men had covered them with the ballistic dry suits so that the armor panels gave them some small degree of protection. With the AKs puncturing the air around the SAV II, the inevitable finally happened.

  An AK slug fired by Jetur skipped off the water, went between the two laboring outboards, and passed through the frame of the seat supporting Enzo. The pointed spitzer slug smacked the big man square in the back, missing his spine by less than an inch. Enzo grunted and staggered, but stayed upright at his station.

  The armor panel in the back of his ballistic dry suit had never been intended to stop such a round. But the bounce off the water had taken much of the energy from the 123-grain bullet. The resistance of the armor panel slowed the steel-jacketed projectile and almost stopped it. Enzo wouldn’t die from that round, but he would have an incredibly sore back for a while with a spectacular bruise.

  Moving quickly up to the big man when he heard him get hit, Ben MacKenzie quickly checked his wound as best he could. When Ben saw that the slug stuck out from the armor in Enzo’s suit, he knew the big man was not in any danger from that wound.

  Max then opened fire at the sports boat with Enzo’s M14. The powerful rifle had the range to hit the other craft, but the bouncing and swerving on the SAV II made any kind of accuracy nearly impossible. The best Max hoped for was to keep the other crew’s heads down and reduce their fire. But his shooting had no apparent effect on the 29 Fever.

  When Reaper caught a nod from Ben that Enzo was all right, he realized that they had about reached the end of their run. They were being outrun, were outgunned and his family had to be protected. A very dangerous plan formed in his mind. When they had heeled over as Enzo made a turn across the shoal, he could see the rocks speed past no more than a foot or two beneath the surface. That formed the seed of an idea in Reaper’s mind. There would be a danger to the SAV II, which would be nothing compared to what the risk would be to him. But Reaper had never been one to consider the risks when the need was great.

  “Enzo,” Reaper said, “I want you to cut back and make another turn near that buoy. I want you to cut across the shallows back there and then turn her hard to starboard.”

  “But that will put us even closer to that boat, and they aren’t suckering in,” Enzo said.

  “They might if they think they could grab someone who had fallen overboard,” Reaper replied.

  “Overboard?” Enzo said. “Who in the hell would go overboard while…”

  As he asked the question, Enzo looked over at Reaper and saw the M72A3 LAW antitank ro
cket he had in his hand. His eyes lit up as Reaper’s plan became clear to him.

  “You got it, Chief,” Enzo said as he leaned the boat hard over in a tight turn back along the way they had come.

  The M72A3 LAW was a light antitank weapon contained in a green Fiberglas tube. The tube was sealed at both ends and only had to have the covers removed and the tube pulled open to be ready to fire. The 66mm high-explosive rocket in the tube burned all of its propellant while still inside the launcher, making a horrendous boom of a launch signature. But that launch put out a high-explosive warhead that held 304 grams, over half a pound, of the 60-40 HMX/TNT explosive known as Octal. The rocket packed a wallop. The shaped-charge warhead could put a hole in a foot of armor plate once the rocket had traveled past its arming point nine meters from the point of launch.

  The buoy flashed past and Enzo put the wheel over hard. Pushing off with his strong legs, Reaper sprang away and catapulted from the side of the boat. He landed and skipped out across the water like a flat, flung rock. Mary screamed and Ricky cried out as they both saw Reaper ejected from the boat as if shot from a cannon. Ishmael also saw the “accident,” and he indeed relished the idea of a prisoner. They had been firing back so these were the heathens responsible for his failure. This one could tell him how the Americans had known of Shaitan’s Blessing, and he would relish taking a long time finding this out.

  Directing Naphish to turn toward where the man had fallen in, Ishmael searched the waters to find a body, but he saw nothing. He hoped the American was just wounded. Having studied the charts of the area carefully as part of his preparations for Shaitan’s Blessing, Naphish was careful not to approach the shallows too closely.