Battlecraft (2006) s-3

by Jack Terral

  Sabah walked up to stand beside him, speaking in English. "That is the ship we meet to pick up our arms shipments. She is the Jakarta from the Greater Sunda Shipping Company. The owner is a miserable sinner by the name of Suhanto. He tried to cheat us a while back. Since he was a thief, we cut off his right hand as dictated in the Koran."

  Mike made a mental note of the names Suhanto and the Greater Sunda Shipping Company for his next dispatch. "How do you know when and where to meet this ship?"

  "That is information you need not know at this point," Sabah said. "But not to worry. Much will be revealed to you when the time is right."

  "I understand," Mike replied.

  As the two ships maneuvered for the exchange, Imran and Ayyub took their AK-47s and positioned themselves to cover Mike and Sabah in case of treachery. It took three quarters of an hour before everything was in position and lines held the dhow and freighter close together. Captain Bacharahman Muhamo of the Jakarta stood at the rail of his ship looking down at the Arabian vessel.

  "Marhaba!" he called in greeting to Captain Bashir. "How do you fare, old friend?"

  "I am well, shukhar," Bashir yelled back. "What do you bring us today?"

  "Automatic grenade launchers," Muharno said. "From Spain."

  "Did the cowardly Spaniards give them to us out of fear more of their trains would be blown up?" Bashir asked with a cackle.

  Muharno shook his head. "La! These were stolen from their garrison in Gibraltar. At least that is what I am told."

  "They'll do nothing about this theft," Sabah yelled out as he joined in the conversation. "The Spanish government's fear of the mujahideen is now unlimited."

  Mike was familiar with the weapons that were about to be turned over to the terrorist group. During his SEAL career, he'd been introduced to the LAG-40 automatic launchers that fired 40-millimeter high-velocity grenades at a rate of 215 per minute. The deadly missiles were pulled into the receiver for firing on linked belts that could hold up to thirty-two rounds. With a range of 1500 meters, they were a perfect ambush weapon. He glanced up at the freighter captain. "How many launchers you got?"

  "A dozen, my friend," Muhamo said. "Who are you? I do not believe I have seen you before."

  Sabah interjected, "He is one of our greatest heroes who must remain nameless for the present. We do not wish his presence to be known."

  "I understand," the captain said. He turned to check his crew's activity on the deck. "Ah! We are ready to transfer the cargo."

  The net holding two crates was pulled from the hold by the crane, and swung over above the deck of the dhow. Mike watched as the transfer of the deadly cargo began.

  Chapter 11.

  DHOW NIJM ZARK

  PAKISTANI COAST

  VICINITY OF 23deg NORTH AND 07deg EAST

  16 OCTOBER

  1000 HOURS LOCAL

  MIKE Assad had been surprised that their all-night voyage from the rendezvous site with the SS Jakarta back to Pakistan had not been discovered by U. S. Navy aircraft. He had mixed feelings about the possibility of being spotted; on the one hand it would keep the lethal automatic grenade launchers out of the hands of terrorists, but his effectiveness as a mole would be ended then and there. He still had plenty to learn about the new operational procedures al-Mimkhalif planned to use for supply deliveries. A second arrest would make any additional "escapes" incredulous to the enemy. That would be a disaster since it was vital that the SEAL find out who the real leaders were behind the organization. When that was discovered, the right people with the right attitudes could eliminate the rag-heads with extreme prejudice.

  Now the crates of grenade launchers were being wrestled onto rafts by the dhow's crew. Several men from Camp Talata had brought the floating devices through the gentle surf that washed up almost languidly on the Pakistani beach, rowing them to the side of the dhow. When the cargo was transferred, it would be taken back to the shore for the final trip to the al-Mimkhalif stronghold.

  Mike was impressed with the skill of the mujahideen as they deftly handled even the heavy crates, putting them properly aboard the rafts to distribute the weight evenly across the plank decks. This was the first time he had witnessed this phase of the operation. As soon as the job was done, Mike and Hafez Sabah, along with the two former apprentice bakers, jumped aboard one of the rafts for the short voyage to the shoreline.

  When the rafts were beached, the Toyota pickups arrived from concealment on a hill that looked down on the scene. Once more it took pure muscle as the weaponry was wrestled up onto the vehicles. When Mike turned to look outward from the beach, he could see that the dhow was already well on its way out to sea. The SEAL was fascinated by the ancient vessel, realizing this type of ship had sailed that area of the world for centuries. It was possible that his own ancestors may have once used the vessels in their long-ago lifetimes.

  The sound of shouts broke into his reverie, and he saw it was time to begin the trip up to the camp. He was honored to see that, like Sabah, they had left a place for him in one of the cabs. Imran and Ayyub jumped into the back of a truck with other mujahideen.

  .

  CAMP TALATA

  1445 HOURS LOCAL

  KUMANDAN sat cross-legged on the carpet in his tent, contentedly smoking his hookah water pipe. Mike Assad and Hafez Sabah, similarly seated, faced him. The field commander took a drag and exhaled, then passed the mouthpiece over to Sabah. After his turn, Sabah gave the device to Mike, who treated himself to a shallow drag. As a nonsmoker, he did not inhale, merely taking a mouthful and blowing it out. Kumandan could tell that Mike was not enjoying the pipe, so he politely set the mouthpiece down when the American passed it over to him.

  "I have called both of you here for a very pressing matter," Kumandan said. Since the politeness of greetings, a snack and the hookah water pipe had been observed, it was time to get down to business. "Important orders concerning you both have come down from al-Mimkhalif's high command."

  "We are honored," Sabah said.

  "As well you should be," Kumandan said. "It has been decided that you will be sent on a very special and dangerous assignment. This will involve you in the deepest secrecies of our brotherhood. You are going to visit the heart and soul of al-Mimkhalif."

  "Our honor is tripled," Sabah said, deeply moved.

  Mike leaned forward in anticipation. He hoped he would have enough time to send the information through his dead-letter drop before being shipped out.

  "As of now we are going to place you and your bodyguards away from the others in camp," Kumandan informed them. "You are to move all your belongings into a tent that is even now being erected for your use. Guards will be placed around it on a twenty-four-hour basis, allowing no one but me to speak to you. Your food and water will be brought to you, and a portable latrine will be placed just behind your quarters. Do you have any questions?"

  Mike felt a deep stab of disappointment. This situation was exactly like the premission isolation phase of SEAL operations. Now there was no way that he could get word out through the dead-letter drop. He cleared his throat and spoke in his crude Arabic. "Can you tell us where we go?"

  "You will not know your destination until you arrive,"

  Kumandan said. "Now you must get your things. Do not forget your bodyguards. I shall call upon you at the tent later with more instructions."

  Mike and Sabah got to their feet, salaamed, and left the tent.

  .

  TAIMUR NAVAL BASE, OMAN

  18 OCTOBER

  1345 HOURS LOCAL

  THE dusty limousine drew nearer to the distant front gate of the base after a monotonous but high-speed nine-hundred-kilometer trip down from the port city of Ras Alhad. The vehicle had been made available from them upon their midnight arrival at the port in the dhow. During the journey, the four passengers in the spacious back of the vehicle--Mike Assad and Hafez Sabah along with bodyguards Imran and Ayyub--had enjoyed air-conditioned comfort. The scenery may have been no more than bleak dese
rt terrain, but the refreshments provided the travelers more than made up for the wearisome countryside. Between restless napping, Mike and Sabah consumed fruit juices, sodas, candy, and pastries. Imran and Ayyub snacked too, but took their bodyguard duties serious enough for both to remain alert and awake at all times.

  However, there was one disturbing aspect of the long ride. The quartet of travelers did not know their exact destination when the trip began, and this unexpected arrival at an Oman naval base unnerved Mike to a great extent. The thought occurred to him that he might have been compromised. Perhaps the mysterious entity who picked up his messages at the letter drop had rolled over for al-Mimkhalif. He glanced over at Imran and Ayyub, who sat with their AK-47 assault rifles nearby. Those weapons might end up being used to protect him; or perhaps kill him in a violent act of revenge. Mike turned to Sabah, speaking in English. "Have you been here before?"

  "No," Sabah said. "But I know about this place and the man that is supposed to be in command." He suddenly pointed ahead over the driver's shoulder. 'There is the entrance."

  The two young naval sentries on duty gave the vehicle and passengers a careful scrutiny, then allowed the limo to continue onto the base. The driver went down a well-paved road for another ten minutes before buildings and dockside structures came into view through the hazy desert air. The ride ended in front of a two-story building where a petty officer opened the door to allow Mike and his companions to disembark.

  "Min karib " the petty officer said, turning and walking toward the building.

  The quartet of visitors followed closely, and Mike was more than a little relieved that their escort was not a firing squad. The two bodyguards slung their weapons over their shoulders as the group was led into the edifice and upstairs to an outer office. Evidently they were expected, for a door was being held open for them. Imran and Ayyub stayed outside while Mike and Sabah stepped into an office where an officer, bearing the large gold band of a commodore on his epaulets, stood up.

  "Welcome to the Zauba Fast Attack Squadron," the officer said in perfect English, beaming a smile at Sabah. "It is good to see you again, brother."

  "The feeling is mutual," Sabah replied. "I did not know whether it would be you greeting us or some other officer."

  "You and your friend have been deemed important enough to be brought to me personally."

  Sabah indicated Mike with a nod of his head. "Allow me to introduce my companion, Mikael Assad."

  Mahamat smiled at Mike. "You seem uneasy, my friend."

  "Indeed," Mike said. "I was not expecting to be brought to such a place as this."

  "Sit down," Mahamat invited. "Brother Sabah and I met on a couple of occasions in the past. Thus, I shall explain the situation to you." He waited until his guests were comfortable before continuing. "We are an isolated unit, far from our higher headquarters. As far as everyone is concerned, we are conducting normal routine coastal patrols. That is an impression we work hard to maintain."

  "I see," Mike said. "Am I to understand the impression is not entirely accurate?"

  Mahamat laughed. "Of course it is not!"

  Mike's thought processes were going full-speed as he assessed the meaning behind the commodore's words. He was not surprised by the officer's next utterance.

  "We are part of al-Mimkhalif."

  Sabah turned to Mike. "And what do you think of that, Mikael?"

  "I am flabbergasted," Mike said, not having to feign shock and surprise. "How clever of our leaders."

  "I have been informed of you, Mikael," Mahamat said. "You are a hero to our brotherhood. Imagine! An escape from the American Embassy in Islamabad, then making a lone journey of evasion across Pakistan to rejoin your comrades."

  "It was our righteous cause that gave me the courage and skills I needed," Mike replied.

  "And you, old comrade," Mahamat said, looking at Sabah, "are as appreciated as ever. Your efforts in organizing weapons and supply deliveries have also been noted by our esteemed leader."

  "I am humbled by the honor," Sabah said.

  "I never thought about a leader," Mike said. "I assumed we were commanded by a group of dedicated Islamic brothers."

  "We have but one leader," Mahamat said. "And you will meet him soon. But first we have to prepare you for future operations that will be both dangerous and complicated."

  "We are eager to participate in such a phase of our jihad," Sabah assured their host. "It sounds like decisive actions are going to be taken."

  "Most assuredly," Mahamat said. "And the first thing we must do is have you outfitted as officers with complete uniforms. We will also see to it that your bodyguards are disguised as sailors. You will be going out very soon aboard my flagship to observe the first part of al-Mimkhalif's struggle to establish a destiny of victory dedicated to the glory of Islam. Because of the clandestine nature of these activities, you must not look like outsiders."

  Mike was now eager for more information. "What will we be doing?"

  "There is a troublesome small craft," Mahamat said. "An air-cushion vehicle, to be exact, that must be destroyed before we can continue. This must be taken care of before our strategy can be advanced toward its final phases. Even now, our decoy is out like a baited hook to draw our victim into a trap."

  "It sounds as if this is all going to happen very quickly," Sabah said.

  "We expect action in the next couple of days or so," Mahamat said. He pressed the buzzer on his desk and their petty officer escort stepped into the office. "Raqib, take these men and their servants to the tailor shop for uniforms as previously directed."

  "Aywa, Amid!" the petty officer said with a salute. He gestured to Mike and Sabah to follow him as he walked toward the door.

  .

  DHOW NIJM ZARK

  ARABIAN SEA

  VICINITY OF 15deg NORTH AND 70deg EAST

  10 OCTOBER

  1200 HOURS LOCAL

  CAPTAIN Bashar Bashir and his crew were bored into a state of numb lethargy. They had been tracking back and forth from east to west, then west to east since dropping off their passengers in Ras Alhad, Oman. To add to their frayed tempers, they were not being paid for the activity. But when one takes on jobs from al-Mimkhalif, one must expect certain disadvantages, such as unreasonable and unexplained demands. Once a vessel, even an old wooden one like the Nijm Zark, begins its association with a terrorist organization, she and the crew are at their client's mercy.

  Bashir's mate, a surly individual named Bakhtiaar Ghanem, was standing wheel watch, working the spokes as he kept the compass as close to west as possible under the pressures of current and wind. Bashir stood beside him, glancing down at the quartet of crewmen dozing in the shade in front of the quarter deck. The fifth was up in the rigging on the mainmast, watching all points of the horizon.

  Ghanem snarled. "Shiyatin min jahannam--the devils of hell! I hate being bait like this."

  "Aywa" Bashir agreed. "But there is nothing we can do about it."

  "What if those cursed American airplanes come around?" Ghanem said. "They'll make short work of us."

  "I think if we are bait, there will be other planes nearby to attack the Americans," Bashir suggested.

  "Are you crazy? What makes you think al-Mimkhalif has airplanes?"

  "Then maybe a ship," Bashir said. "I don't think they would set us out here to be sunk."

  "Maybe we are to keep the Americans away from somewhere else," Ghanem commented sourly. "What a cheap sacrifice for al-Mimkhalif, la?"

  "You are forgetting the tracking mechanism they put aboard," Bashir said, pointing to the electronic instrument lashed to the after mast. "Our instructions are to turn it on if we see that funny boat that stopped us before."

  "Ah!" Ghanem said hopefully. "Maybe nothing will happen. We have only enough fuel and provisions for another forty hours."

  "Dir balak!" the lookout on the main mast called down. "The American boat is off the port side."

  Bashir yelled back, "Are you sure it is the
strange one that stopped us and its crew came aboard?"

  "It is the same," the lookout assured him. "I can easily see the spray all around it, and it moves fast toward us."

  "Binnihay--at last!" Bashir exclaimed. He walked over to the after mast and flipped on the tracking machine to broadcast its homing signal.

  "Bait!" Ghanem said fearfully. "We are just bait!"

  .

  FLAGSHIP HARBI-MIN-ISLAM

  ARABIAN SEA

  VICINITY OF 17deg NORTH AND 65deg EAST

  "A homing signal from the dhow has been picked up, Amidl" the excited young communication officer reported, looking over at Commodore Muhammad Mahamat.

  Mahamat grinned with delight. "Haida taiyib--excellent! What is the course?"

  "One-seven-seven, Amid. Approximately one hundred kilometers."

  Mahamat turned to the helmsman. "Course one-seven-seven! Flank speed!"

  Mike Assad and Hafez Sabah stood on the bridge with the commodore as the flagship began the maneuver, keeling with a quick response of rudder to wheel. Mike had been doing his best to make mental notes of actual locales and courses, but without access to navigational instruments, the more he observed the more confused he became about their location on the watery wilderness. Sabah, on the other hand, was content to merely make casual observations of what was going on.

  "What is happening, Commodore?" he asked.

  "A signal from our decoy has indicated that the American vessel we seek is approaching her," Mahamat said. He looked to the officer of deck standing nearby. "Sound general quarters!"

  Mike felt a surge of nervous dread. "Are you speaking of the air-cushion vehicle, Commodore?"

  "The same!" Mahamat replied. "She comes from an amphibious assault ship assigned to an American carrier battle group, and has been doing vigorous patrolling in this area for close to a month."

  "Is she a threat, Commodore?" Sabah asked.

  "Her potential to harm us must be neutralized at all costs," Mahamat replied. "Our contacts inform us she is called Battlecraft and is extremely fast and well armed. This day's task is to destroy her."