Ancients (event group thriller)

by David L. Golemon

  "The Mudzoos will then try to cut the safe open and remove the item in question," Everett said, taking over the secure portion of the briefing. He looked at the schematic of the Arizona laid out before them. "Now, we will execute the dive through this gangway here," he said, pointing to a starboard stairwell. "That will lead us down to the second deck closest to the bridge. I'll carry the DET cord and two quarter-pound charges of C-4; if it's not enough we can always send up for more--let's just hope we don't have to use it down there. Now, Ranger Chavez, the length of the companionway isn't that far?"

  "Right," answered Chavez. "Thirty-five feet to the captain's stateroom."

  Everett was satisfied and he looked at his dive team. "Ready?" he asked, looking at his watch.

  Heads nodded around the large table. Everett then turned to Jack. "Hopefully, we'll be right back, boss."

  Collins nodded, accepting Carl's decision that, with his limited dive experience, he could cause more harm than good. Jack knew that he was right.

  Everett turned to Ranger Chavez. "Permission to board the Arizona?" he asked officially.

  "Permission granted, Captain."

  The SEALs and Mudzoos came to attention and then moved to the memorial's railing. For the first time in more than sixty years, American sailors would board the Arizona.

  Dahlia watched from across the harbor. The powerful night-vision binoculars she used allowed her to see clearly the eight navy SEALs, two National Park rangers, and eleven navy salvage divers slide over the side of the memorial. The SEALs were clearly identifiable by their plain black wet suits and the arms they carried. She adjusted her view and saw four men watching the divers from above, on the observation deck of the memorial.

  She lowered her binoculars and brought up a small electronic-file device. She hit Saved and several pictures started flicking across the small screen. She finally came to the image she wanted and looked closely at it, then looked at the lone figure standing in the open on the memorial.

  "Damn," she said, recognizing Colonel Jack Collins immediately.

  It was now obvious to her that he was responsible for the navy having beaten her team here. He must be in custody of the two Ancients, she thought. Regardless, she decided that the strike element she had assembled should be sufficient and was satisfied that they could retrieve the plate map, so she raised her radio.

  "Recovery One, you are go for incursion."

  She lowered the radio, raised her binoculars, and watched a fifty-man team slide away from the much smaller memorial for the USS Utah, a former battleship turned target ship used in the training of the newer, faster, Pennsylvania Class Battlewagons of the 1930s. The Utah, also sunk on December 7, 1941, was lying on her side on the bottom of Pearl not far from the Arizona. She provided the perfect location for the attacking force to enter the murky waters unseen.

  The fifty-man assault-and-recovery element were excellent divers. All were former naval men from various countries. Their pay for this mission would be quite enough to retire and live a life of luxury. They would earn it.

  As she trailed her team, she was happy to see no trace of them as they swam south from the Utah. They were using special rebreather units that allowed no telltale air bubbles to escape the completely closed-loop systems. Dahlia then moved her glasses to watch a special three-man team on Ford Island, not far from the Arizona. The image was in a sickly green ambient light, but she was clearly able to see one man as he reached for his radio. She smiled as she heard three distinct clicks transmitted. The three men had successfully severed the electrical cable that supplied power to the underwater sound and laser-fence security system guarding the Arizona from treasure hunters and souvenir seekers.

  "Now, bring me my retirement," she said as she adjusted her view to the memorial; she was satisfied as she watched the four men remaining on the observation deck.

  Except for the pain-in-the-ass Colonel Collins, whom she knew to be one of the most formidable men she had ever seen, the men did not look like much of a threat. She and her small five-man team should have no trouble removing them from the surface equation.

  Jack Collins looked at the names of the dead on the memorial and thought about how they had died. A surprise it had been, sudden and unexpected. Jack had always hoped never to lose anything as valuable as his men's lives in battle, but he was also wise enough to know that was one wish never granted to a leader. All one could do was be vigilant and try never to be surprised as the brave men on the Arizona had been. He turned away from the names and looked out on the harbor lights and Honolulu glimmering in the distance.

  He raised his radio and depressed the Send button three times. Then he heard a return three clicks and was satisfied that his own surprise was ready.

  Everett was the fifth in line as they passed over the Arizona's forward number-one turret. Although he had expected to see it, the scene was still something out of a ghostly dream as the handheld lights they used played over the rifled barrels. Marine growth had done nothing to diminish the menacing opening where at one time, long ago, one-and-a-half-ton shells had exploded out of the massive guns.

  As they approached the starboard gangway next to the old bridge tower that navy salvagers had cut away almost sixty-five years before, the water seemed to become even blacker, giving every man on the excursion the chills.

  The eight SEALs relieved the UDT element and Everett watched as they slowly made their way to the surface. The SEALs, armed with UPPs (underwater-pressurized projectiles) took up station patrolling the waters outside the great warship. The weapons they carried were multibarreled spear guns that could rapid-fire fifteen ten-inch-long darts at anything threatening the team.

  Even in her deteriorating condition, the Arizona was still something to behold. Her dark skin was alive with marine life, and as he slid a hand along her starboard railing, Carl knew that she was truly still alive in more ways than one. With well over three-quarters of her crew still inside, how could she be anything else.

  In the blackness of the harbor waters, a gaping maw slowly came into view in the dim lights ahead, and the gangway quickly followed that. The steel steps that led belowdecks were still intact and, if it had not been for the rust, looked as if men had used them just that morning.

  The lead ranger went in first after attaching a nylon cord to the railing. The others followed slowly at five-foot intervals. Everett felt the minute pressure build as they descended into the darkness that led to the second deck of one of the most famous ships in history.

  As they traveled down the passage, Ranger Chavez dropped a small dive marker about fifteen feet in and then turned to face the men following him. The Mudzoos knew what was happening, but Carl was curious as the yellow-green dye marker rose into the water of the passageway as if it were a ghost. Someone tapped Everett from behind. A navy salvage man had seen the questioning look on his face, so he had written something on his plastic board with grease pencil.

  "Arizona crewman in the silt," it said.

  Everett personally could have gone all night without knowing that, but he knew that they had to be warned, so as not to disturb the area. He knew why diving on the Arizona was limited to personnel of the U.S. Navy and the National Parks Service only.

  As he passed over the yellow-green marker, out of respect, he looked straight ahead and not down at the thick bed of silt where one of the Arizona's boys lay. Carl was then startled when he looked ahead of him and saw at least twenty more of the markers rising like small ghostly signals. He realized then that they were inside a most hallowed place.

  Ahead, Everett knew, the rest of the Arizona crew lay where they had fallen at battle stations and awaited the arrival of their brothers of the modern U.S. Navy.

  A thousand yards from the stern of the Arizona, the Coalition assault team split into two groups. They would strike the old ship from two sides. One team of twenty-five would follow the Americans inside and strike there, and the other element would hit the SEAL security team in the waters sur
rounding the dead battleship. Then they would wait and take anyone who might escape the bowels of the vessel. The few men left on the memorial were not their concern. They would hit and hit hard and be away before the Pearl Harbor U.S. Marine contingent could react.

  Everett watched as the captain's cabin finally came into view. It had seemed like a mile when it had been only thirty-five feet of dark passageway. The door to the cabin was wide open, and as they watched, a small blue-finned fish swam out as if curious at his nighttime company.

  As the only diver who new approximately what it was they were searching for, Carl would be one of only six allowed into the cabin of Franklin Van Valkenburg, who had been the commander of the USS Arizona.

  As the initial team entered the cabin, Everett was shocked to see that the closet with the remains of uniforms still hanging. The sea had not eaten them as it had so many of the other things onboard. Carl hoped that the sea life had left them in respect to the ship's captain.

  Everett continued looking around as the others went to the main bulkhead that separated the cabin from the next space. As he looked over the stateroom, he saw the phone off its hook, and then before he knew it two more yellow dye markers rose from the deck; two more bodies here. Who were they? It was a known fact that the captain had made it to his command bridge, had been seen there moments before the destruction of his ship. Therefore, who these men could have been was a mystery.

  The rest of the captain's cabin was losing its fight with the waters of the harbor. The rich paneling that had covered the steel-encased room was all but gone.

  Everett recalled that Martha and Carmichael had said that Van Valkenburg had been one of them. However, unlike Martha and Carmichael, he had done his duty to the human race, as well as to Keeler's brother.

  A bright light suddenly filled the dark cabin. Carl had to turn away as the cutting torch flared brightly as the Mudzoos went to work on the small safe.

  As he looked away, he saw the round porthole, one of the only ones he had observed not covered by a protective steel hatching. A form suddenly crossed the murky glass. It was only momentary, but he was sure that it was someone in the water outside the hull. He turned back to the cutting, unnerved by the dark figure he had seen outside the porthole. Then he reassured himself that it must have been one of the SEALs in the water. However, he could not help but have a momentary SEAL-trained reaction that something was not right about the blurry figure he had seen, and that something kept playing on the fringes of his mind.

  The battle outside the Arizona started before SEAL Team Four knew it was upon them. The black-suited and -helmeted assault element of the Coalition fired their first volley from thirty yards away through the darkness of the harbor. Before the SEALs could respond, three of their team were down. There had been no warning from above by the rangers monitoring the laser fence that guarded the site.

  The team leader, a chief petty officer named "Breeches" Jones, was a wily veteran of many Persian Gulf excursions. The one thing that no SEAL team had ever done in their storied history was fight an actual undersea battle. He quickly saw the dark figures ahead of him branch out as his remaining four men returned fire at the advancing group. He raised his M1A1-56 dart rifle and rapidly fired six of the tungsten steel projectiles at the closest of the attackers. Two of the darts struck home and the dark-suited figures became still and started to sink.

  The chief then saw at least twenty more bad guys swim out of the murk toward the outnumbered SEALs. The attackers were armed with the same weapons the SEALs had, and Jones saw that his only choice was to make for the superstructure of the Arizona and swim over to the protection of the far side. He saw two of his men break over the top. Then they quickly returned and were waving him back. The route was cut off by more attackers.

  Suddenly, the routine security operation had turned into a life-or-death struggle and Jones's team was losing.

  Inside the captain's cabin, Everett was still thinking about the figure he had seen through the porthole. Then what he had seen finally dawned on him. No, not what he had seen, but what he had failed to see. He would regret not acting fast enough for years afterward. There had not been any air bubbles trailing behind the blurred figure he had briefly viewed. Everyone on the dive was using standard diving equipment because when you were diving on a dangerous wreck, air bubbles could be used to let a team member know that you were in trouble. Just as he started to move and warn his companions, the safe door popped free of its hinges.

  As Everett moved forward quickly to let the salvage divers know they were not alone, two of the deadly darts struck one of the navy divers from the companionway. Carl made it to the four other men and started pushing them in the opposite direction; he was gesturing and waving them away when three more darts sliced their way through the water and struck three of the salvage divers.

  The remaining team members needed no more coaxing to turn and swim to the passage opposite the main companionway. Everett, thinking about what he was there for, quickly reached into the open safe and felt around until he pulled out an old plastic-covered map and chart case. He hurriedly dropped them into the silt and then felt around the safe again. He felt something spongy at first and then underneath it was hard and rectangular. He pulled it free just as a steel dart pinged off the door frame of the safe. He did not stop to see who had almost killed him; instead, he kicked out with his fins and made to follow the rest.

  The attackers charged the captain's cabin in pursuit. One diver saw the map case lying half buried in the silt. He reached down, claimed the case, and then kicked his fins to follow his team.

  Jack had seen the UDT team away for a well-deserved rest and was walking along the memorial deck when he suddenly saw emergency flares start to glow below the waterline. Bright yellow dye markers then started reaching the surface. He did not hesitate as he reached for his radio and depressed the Talk key; this time the signal was two short and one long. At that moment, he heard sharp cracks start peppering the concrete memorial. Small-caliber silenced rounds started chewing up the radio, map table, and other equipment. Two bullets struck the assistant interior secretary and he fell dead three feet from Jack as he hit the wooden deck.

  "Are you armed?" he called out to two prone park rangers.

  "No!" one said as he covered his head.

  "Great!" Collins said under his breath as he pulled a 9-millimeter automatic from his coat. Only five minutes before, the UDT had left the memorial for to take a break.

  Before they knew what was happening, a rubber Zodiac assault boat with its loud outboard motor bumped the memorial and three men poked their heads through the slats, giving them a good view of the interior. One of these smashed the tinted glass and started to climb in. Collins took quick aim and fired one round. His aim was true and the attacker's head jerked back, then the man fell backward through the slatted opening.

  "You two, get to the far end and into the water and get the hell out!"

  The two park rangers rose. One fell immediately as five bullets stitched his backside. He fell into the other man and they both went down. Jack started to crawl in the prone position toward the fallen men as twenty more rounds plunked into the wooden flooring beside his head. He rolled quickly and on instinct let loose three rounds in the direction of the gunfire, and an attacker in black Nomex clothing fell from the side of the memorial.

  Just as Collins turned back to the rangers, he saw three of the attackers rise from the opposite side and step onto the platform. He aimed and fired, striking the first man in the groin, doubling him over. Then one of the other two emptied a magazine of bullets into the ranger who was lying helpless at their feet.

  "Damn," Jack said as he started to roll on the hard deck, turning over and over, giving very little for anyone to aim at until his body slammed against the harbor-side wall of the white-painted memorial. He turned and fired five times into the thirty-foot-high window and watched as the tinted glass exploded inward. Then, with three shots over his shoulder, J
ack rolled into the oil-laced water of the harbor.

  The memorial had been lost to the enemy just as the upper deck of the Arizona had been quickly overwhelmed.

  The five remaining SEALs dived into the first opening they could, the empty barbette of number-three gun mount. The gaping hole was where one of the fourteen-inch mounts had been located. It had been removed shortly after the attack on December 7, then relocated to the coastal defense battery on Oahu. As the five SEALs dived quickly into the interior, twenty of the deadly darts pierced the dark waters behind them, striking the rusting steel of the number-three barbette.

  Everett and the navy salvage team swam quickly down the emergency passageway of number-two deck. At every opening they passed there had been at least a two-man team waiting for them with deadly and accurate fire from the outside. It was clear to the trailing Everett that there were far more bad guys than good. They had lost three of the navy salvage men and Ranger Chavez in the first of these unexpected assaults without any return fire. Everett concluded that the SEALs outside were either dead or fighting for their lives just as he and his men were.

  Carl used his dive knife to bang on the steel bulkhead until the men ahead of him stopped and turned. They had been heading for the stern companionway that led to the open water of the harbor, where he knew that attackers were waiting to ambush them. To punctuate this thought, four men in the same-style wet suits as Everett's team were wearing came bursting into the hatchway from above. The men started to scatter until they realized that this was what was left of the SEALs' security element.

  Everett waved everyone over to the open hatch, which had been frozen in that position since 1941. The chief and the remaining SEALs turned and started pumping darts into the massive barbette opening of number-three gun mount to cover the salvage team as they entered the hatch.

  Carl was the last to enter the hatch following the SEALs. He stuffed the plate map into the back of his weight belt so that he could pull himself into the hatch. Just as his fins disappeared through the opening, ten darts ricocheted off the steel around the hatchway. One of the deadly projectiles hit his right fin and pierced it, knocking him sideways. Everett's luck was holding as he went deeper into the darkness of the Arizona.