“Ah, but I’m the topic of the moment, aren’t I?”
Jonas moves forward and Eric tenses.
“Ah, look,” Jonas says. “Lightning’s ready to strike. Always a flair for the dramatic.” He gives a tsk-tsk sort of look. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to scare her away from me.”
“What do you want?” Eric says.
“Just checking on Sara. I was worried when she didn’t return.”
“She’s fine. You can go now.”
I had always reserved the image of a taut rubber band, stretched to the breaking point, for Commander Claggett. Not anymore. I reach for Eric’s hand, which he cinches around mine as he takes a step back, pulling me closer to him in the process.
But then, all three of our heads move at once to look at the phones vibrating on our waist belts.
Unclipping mine, I see a straight row of 1s across the screen. Jonas shoots Eric a cold look, returns the phone to his belt strap, and sprints away.
“We need to go,” Eric says.
“So this is it? Right now?”
“This is it.”
His eyes are anxious.
“Eric, it’ll be okay. I just need to go tell Emily.”
“Okay.” He looks at his watch. “But here, take this.” He reaches into his pocket and produces … an earpiece?
“What’s this?”
“It’s a radio,” he explains, unfurling a thin wire. “For you. To wear during the mission.” He hands it to me—a tiny earbud, the wiring, and a push-to-talk switch.
I raise my eyebrows. “To talk to…?”
“Just me.”
“I see.” I turn the radio over in my fingers. “And why…?”
“Well … I’m sure everything’s going to be fine, but just in case, I’d feel better if we had direct communication. If you need anything, I’m just a click away.”
I hold the earbud and stretch the wiring until it goes taut, considering this.
“Okay,” I say finally, bunching the radio into my fist again.
He takes my hand. “Oh, and no one can know you’re wearing this,” he adds.
“But why—”
“You’ll know later … I think. I hope I’m wrong.”
“What—”
“Come on, we have to go.”
41
When I arrive on the flight deck, Animal is already here, perched on top of Sabercat 55 in the middle of his preflight inspection. He gives me a small salute before returning to the business of closing up an inspection panel.
I look across the hangar, not seeing any of our pilots, and I wonder who’s going to man the tower for flight quarters. Em and I returned from Pancho Villa’s together, but she’s sound asleep right now. I shift my gaze up to the tower, and lo and behold, I see Commander Claggett. Strange. He never stands tower duty. Our eyes meet, but only for a moment because I turn when Lego approaches.
Both he and Messy have emerged from the aircraft cabin. They’ve been carrying the sleek silver phones, too.
“Hey, ma’am,” Lego says. “Did you see who we’re flyin’ with?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound surprised,” he says, perplexed.
I shrug.
“So what’s goin’ on?”
“We’ll get the brief here in a second, but I’m pretty sure we’re fast roping tonight. It’s the real deal, too. That’s the reason for the phones and everything.”
“Fuck,” he says.
“Well, it shouldn’t be any different than the training flights, so just go with it and we’ll be in, out, and done.”
“I’m all for in, out, and done,” he says.
Although during the brief Lego and Messy realize immediately this isn’t your average flight. Their eyes grow to the size of watermelons when Animal hands me an M9 pistol.
And not just any M9. I run my fingers over the polished wood grip, the one with the carved initials, RP.
“Sir, is this…?”
“Captain Plank’s?” Animal answers. “He sends it with his regards.”
I stare at it, overwhelmed by the gesture. “Wow,” I mouth.
“It’s loaded, so handle with care,” Animal says. “You can wear it here, in this pocket on your survival vest.”
I unzip my pocket, slide the gun into place, and zip it closed, feeling unduly heavy on my left side. Animal tucks his gun away, but unlike me, he carries what most SEALs do, a Sig Sauer 9mm P226 model.
“And you two have the .50 cal ready like I asked, right?” he says, looking to Lego and Messy.
“Yes, sir, all set,” Lego says.
“Okay, the meat of the brief is this,” Animal says. “We’re flying to Nimitz first to pick up the SAS crew.” He points to the map spread on the maintenance officer’s desk. “Nimitz is three hundred miles from here, eighty miles to the northeast of Bahrain.”
“But, sir, I saw three members of the SAS team not even an hour ago in Dubai,” I say. “How are they on Nimitz?”
“They’re not yet. The Shadow Hunters are shuttling them there now. Mike’s squad is already onboard.” He turns to Lego. “We’ll need the aux tank for this.”
“Got it,” Lego says. “We’ll pull it on Nimitz then?”
“Yeah, we’ll drop it there before we load the teams, and then fill the main tanks.”
Our auxiliary fuel tank allows us to significantly extend our range, and it would definitely be needed if Nimitz is three hundred miles away.
“Then it’s a fifty-mile transit west-southwest to our first target—a submarine—right about here,” he says, moving his finger over the map. “No fast roping this one. We’ll do a low hover and deliver the guys via Zodiac instead. The Shadow Hunters will have the call.”
“Do they actually know where the sub is?” I ask.
“The intel guys know the approximate location of the rendezvous point. Due to time constraints, we’ll have to drop the SAS team at that location, whether we’ve confirmed the sub’s position or not. The Shadow Hunters will stay on site and direct the Zodiac from there.”
When an H-60 aircrew searches for a submarine, they drop sonobuoys in the water to listen for their target. But to accurately pinpoint its location takes time. They must spread a pattern of buoys and triangulate positions from there. No easy task.
“But what about Surface Unit Two?” I ask.
“The plan is to engage the sub before Surface Unit Two gets there. The timetable from the intel guys has them arriving separately. But if she shows, the Shadow Hunters will still be on scene to provide cover.”
“Got it.”
“We’ll then head back to Nimitz, refuel, pick up Mike’s squad, and fly to Surface Unit One. She’s a civilian superyacht, a nice one, complete with flight deck.”
“A superyacht?” Lego says. “Like how big are we talkin’?”
“Four hundred and fifty feet.”
Lego whistles.
“Her name’s Twister and she’s cruising about one hundred eighty miles northwest of Nimitz, right here.” He points to a spot about twenty miles off the southern coast of Kuwait.
“The targets are so far apart,” I say. “The sub is so far south.”
“Yeah, the distance between them makes it more difficult, but what are you gonna do? Anyhow, we’ll drop the team and we’ll be outta there.”
“What about Pete’s squad?” I ask.
“They’ll be standing by as backup on Nimitz,” Animal says.
“Twister, huh?” Messy says, his eyes still focused on the spot on the map indicating the coast of Kuwait.
“Long story, but that’s where the baddies are,” Animal says.
“Did they get any photos?” I ask.
“Not in time for us.”
“Great,” I say with a sigh. “Did they say where the flight deck was?”
“It should be aft.”
“Should be?”
“Hey, we barely got her name, let alone a description.”
“Oh, boy,” I say. “So what about refueling?”
If we’ve just flown 180 miles without an auxiliary fuel tank, we won’t have enough fuel to return to Nimitz, even if she closes our position.
“We’ll get fuel at Kuwait International,” Animal says. “Make sure you bring the freqs for that.”
“Will do,” I say.
Animal, Lego, and Messy walk out of the maintenance office, but I hang back after they leave, pulling Eric’s radio from my flight suit pocket. I insert the tiny earpiece, run the wire down my flight suit sleeve, slip the push-to-talk switch over my finger, and don my gloves. With my hair pulled across my ears, it’s hidden well.
Normally, I would do a radio check at this point, as with switching on any radio. I cast a quick glance outside the hangar. Lego and Messy are attaching their communication long cords for start-up and Animal is getting settled in the left seat. Another quick check around the hangar reveals it’s clear.
I’m about to push the button when I realize I have no idea what to call Eric. Shadow Hunter? Eric? Lightning? I shake my head. Secret radios and code names? It’s like being dropped into the middle of a Tom Clancy novel. Well, he said he would be the only one listening, but just in case, I leave the name out. “Radio check, over.”
“I’ve got you loud and clear, Sara,” Eric says.
Oh, does it feel good to hear his voice. And I guess we don’t need call signs.
“Eric, I have you loud and clear. We’re taking off in about five minutes.”
“Copy. We’re already en route.”
I don my helmet and walk to the bird, surprisingly feeling okay about having Eric in my ear. I suspect I’ll hear him over the aircraft radio, too, but having him with me personally isn’t as off-putting as I thought it would be.
Although, as I walk to the aircraft, I wonder again why he wouldn’t want anyone to know I was wearing this. Is he worried Animal and the guys would give him grief for being too overprotective? Of course, this would be completely true, and normally, just based on principle, I wouldn’t have agreed to something like this. I mean, would he have given a hidden radio to a male pilot … just in case? Probably not. But given the lengths Eric pursued to keep me off the mission in the name of keeping me safe, this is actually a pretty small thing. But yeah, probably best to keep it to myself. They’d give him all sorts of hell if they knew.
* * *
It’s a two-and-a-half-hour flight to Nimitz. By the time we arrive, at 0230, Eric has already landed his aircraft, the number “67” painted in bold white on the tail boom. Behind the aircraft, which sits at the far aft end of the flight deck, the Special Forces teams wait by the island superstructure.
“I’m headin’ over to get the pax, sir,” Messy says.
Animal unbuckles his harness. “I’m coming with you.”
The group standing at the island is an agitated one. I recognize Eric, Brian, Mike, Pete, the Australian trio, and now Animal is there, too. There’s an awful lot of finger pointing going on. Something’s not right.
It’s at least twenty minutes before Messy finally breaks away, leading a team of eight men to our bird. It looks like Mike’s squad. Animal is still arguing in the distance. At least that’s what it looks like.
“Hey, Sara, this is Mike,” he says, now plugged in.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Man, cluster from the word go. My squad was supposed to go with you on the second launch to Twister and the Aussies were supposed to do the sub boarding. But it got switched at the last minute.”
“That’s kind of a big change in plans.”
“No shit. The Aussies were the only ones who knew about it, too, so it makes us look like fucking idiots. But we’re on the clock now, so we just have to go.”
“But what was the reasoning for the change?”
“It’s totally political. Since we’re using Aussie intelligence and the primary target of the two is the yacht, the SAS gets first dibs. Fucking bragging rights.”
“That’s strange.”
“Actually, it’s not. Shit like this happens more often than you think.”
When Animal returns, he is fuming. Eric walks with Brian back to their bird, and he’s not happy either.
“Fuckin’ politics,” Animal grunts once seated. “All right, let’s get this show on the road.”
Eric gives us a heading that takes us almost due west, and I’m thankful for the half-moon that shines tonight. It sits just above the horizon, so for now, the sky is bright enough to give a reference to the water, yet dark enough to conceal our presence initially. I also add calm seas to the thank-you list. Most helpful for the precision work needed tonight.
As Eric takes off behind us, I think about how much he’s going to have to juggle coordinating this part of the operation. First, he has to find a submarine. Intel has given him coordinates, but even so, he’ll probably have to do some searching. But at least the odds are in his favor. Submarines have a distinct disadvantage when operating in the Gulf. It’s a shallow body of water, relatively speaking, so subs can’t dive deep to hide. Eric will also have help from Leftwich, whose sonar has a far greater range than the sonobuoys Eric would drop. And then, while prosecuting the submarine, he may or may not have to engage Surface Unit 2.
While we’re en route to the first drop, Animal gives a quick review of what’s about to go down. “… and Mike, you guys are supposed to be on the Zodiac before the sub surfaces, right?” he asks.
“That’s the plan,” Mike says, albeit a bit sarcastically. I even hear a small chuckle on the radio.
Animal responds with a small snicker of his own. “Yeah, and if it does go as planned, this should be a quiet drop. But be ready for anything.”
“Roger that, sir,” Lego says.
“Got anything else, Mike?” Animal asks.
“Nope. We’re all set back here.”
When we arrive at the drop point, now approaching 0330, there’s nothing to see—no sail, no wake, no phosphorescence, no telltale sign of a submarine. Just as planned, I guess. So I fly an approach to arrive at a low hover with just a few knots of forward airspeed so the teams can push the Zodiac off the aft ramp.
As the SEALs exit out the back, we’re inundated with water that has been kicked up from the rotor wash. I swallow what feels like acid in my throat.
Lego calls the last man out, and I lift and breathe a heavy sigh. Turning a small circle to check on our group in the water before departing, Mike gives a small salute.
“Shadow Hunter six seven, Sabercat five five, ops normal, four souls, one plus two zero fuel,” I say, just able to make out the receding silhouette of Eric’s helicopter as I fly away.
“Copy, ops normal,” Eric says.
The return flight to Nimitz proceeds without event, and once we’re on deck, Animal leaves the aircraft and jogs to the superstructure, where the SAS squad awaits. More heated discussion. Animal throws up his hands and turns, motioning to Lego and Messy to join him.
“What the hell?” Lego says.
“It’s okay, Lego,” I say. “Just go.”
“All right. Disconnecting.”
Once Lego and Messy join the group, Jonas sends out two of his men, rope in hand. As they get closer, I recognize Collin and Bartholomew. They walk toward the rear of the aircraft and will attach everything while this spur-of-the-moment conference continues near the superstructure.
Five minutes later, Lego and Messy return, Animal right behind them. They’re shaking their heads.
“What’s up?” I ask, once they’re connected again.
“Just stupid shit,” Lego says. “We just need to get outta here and get on with this.”
“No doubt,” Messy agrees.
The SAS squad, dressed in camouflage just like their SEAL counterparts, marches under the rotor arc, crossing in front of the cockpit. Jonas looks directly at Animal, who has just seated himself, and delivers an insolent wink.
“Fucking Australian psychopath�
��,” Animal mutters under his breath. But then again, he did just key his mic switch, so the whole aircrew just heard his sentiment.
Lego and Messy do a good job of hiding it, but I still detect the unease in their voices, and in Animal’s, too, which serves to fuel my own trepidation. I breathe in deeply, trying in earnest to quell the sudden feeling that I’m in over my head.
42
By the time we finally refuel and everyone is seated, it’s close to 0400. We have almost one and a half hours of flying time to get to Twister, but we should still arrive under cover of night.
My thoughts spin in circles for the next hour, about a number of things. The wink Animal received from Jonas, for one. Jonas’s expression? Confident. Cocky. In a far better mood than Eric or Animal. All I know is that I’ll be happy to get him off this aircraft and on his way.
I also think about the fact that I haven’t spoken with Eric once through the radio he gave me. But then, there really hasn’t been a need. We’ve been speaking as we normally would through our discreet aircraft frequency.
And right now, I don’t know where his aircraft is physically. There’s every chance he’s still back at the first drop point, searching for a submarine, or even engaging Surface Unit 2. Amazing. He’s coordinating two hostile boarding missions and handling all the complexities involved with prosecuting a submarine at the same time. This is multitasking in the extreme.
But you wouldn’t know it based on Eric’s voice. He continues to calmly supply our headings and this, in turn, calms me. I’m already envisioning the return to Jebel Ali and a visit on the quarterdeck from a different person this time.
“What are you smiling about?” Animal asks.
“Oh, nothing, sir. I’m just ready to have this night over with.”
“You got that right.”
Naturally, because I’m ready to be done with this flight, the transit proceeds as if we’re trapped in molasses. Worse, it’s dark now. Really dark. The half-moon that lighted our way since we departed Jebel Ali has just dropped below the horizon. There is absolutely nothing to see or refer to that gives any indication we are moving forward. For the SAS squad, the cover from a moonless night is exactly what they want. For the pilot—one without night vision goggles—it’s not so great.
Hover Page 26