"He's making a crude and simpleminded reference to the fact that I have Jewish heritage," commented Joe as the others chuckled.
"Simpleminded?" Dominic feigned offense. "No, c'mon, think about that, man. Not only is Joe the Jew one of God's Chosen People, he gets presents for eight days on Chanukah."
"Yeah, but we got a fat jolly guy for the Christmas P-R department who lets you sit on his lap and gives out candy canes," Hahn went on with a finger in the air.
"And he has flying reindeer," Sexton added.
"Yeah, that's true," Dominic agreed with a pensive nod. "And we don't have to pinch our pennies."
"Oh, good one, Dom…wow…" Joe chuckled. "I'm a Jew, so I must be cheap, right…ha-ha. Hey, speaking of fat jolly guys, did you know that Seputa spent the better part of boot camp in the elite 'Fat-Ass Division' of certified broke-dicks?"
"Yeah, isn't that the 'we-can't-finish-the-mile-run-so-we're-on-permanent-profile-brigade for women?" Schmidt chimed in.
They all begin laughing.
"Guess it's a good thing your mom helped me lose the pounds while I was on leave," Dominic tossed out at Joe.
Laughing overzealously, Joe suddenly lunged at Dominic.
"Now you're going down, bitch!"
The RADAR twins returned from the mess decks with plates of meatloaf and potatoes, with sides of ham and pineapple, left over from Christmas dinner for the troops. Toting large, Styrofoam cups of eggnog, they, they entered their duty station and made themselves comfortable in front of the monitor as the lieutenant looked up briefly to note the time they returned.
Before they could properly and neatly arrange their meals upon the desk, however, one of them noticed the dreaded sign of an incoming unit of hostile intent on the monitor.
"Oh, shit!" shouted Slider as he dropped his plate on the desk and plopped down the cup, splashing festive drink on the console. Pressing the headset to his mouth, the large sailor shouted over toward the TAO, "A-I-C, lieutenant!"
The young officer stood and rushed over toward them.
"Sir, I-F-F is showing a hostile contact at ten-thousand feet, heading zero-two-zero and closing in at Mach two!"
"Set general quarters!" the squeezed voice of the officer came back.
Joe and Dominic grappled with each other across the deck as Hahn moved his lounge chair away from the scuffle. Schmidt and Sexton cheered on the two combatants as they continued to wrestle. The pair were laughing hysterically when, out of nowhere, a crack sounded in the distant sky. Then, a moment later, the sound barrier was shattered. The entire crew looked up into the night skies.
"What the hell was that?" asked Dominic instantly.
"Was that ours?" came Joe's question a second later.
"General quarters, general quarters," the voice blared over the loud speaker. "All hands man your general quarters stations!"
"Wasn't ours!" yelped Hahn as he popped up from his lounge chair and bolted.
"Damn!" exclaimed Schmidt. "This is my favorite part of the movie." He ran off as Sexton looked worried. Dominic took an extended hand from Joe and climbed to his feet.
"No worries, Sexton," Dominic assured him. "Papa's comin'."
Joe and Hahn rand down the corridor quickly as their feet clapped the deck with every step. As they neared the Combat Information Center, they beheld a sight they absolutely didn't expect.
Striding deliberately in the other direction toward them was Captain Thompson, dressed only in a T-shirt and boxers. His be-socked feet padded softly as he looked every bit of pissed off as he could.
The two immediately halted and stood at attention outside the door to their office. The captain didn't even acknowledge them as the strode by them and opened the door.
"Just what the fuck is going on here?" he bellowed in anger. "Emerson, what just happened?"
The nervous and surprised TAO turned quickly, his mouth wide, and his eyes registering abject fear.
"Sir, the – uh – the –"
Rapidly snapping his fingers in front of the officer's face, the captain spoke.
"Focus, lieutenant!" he shouted. "What happened?"
Joe and Hahn slipped into the room and stood near their consoles without uttering a sound. Joe thought to himself, this must be what it's like to be the proverbial fly on the wall.
"Sir, we-we had an unidentified aircraft pass over the ship."
"An unidentified aircraft," he repeated dryly, but still with an underlying malice that none of the sailors who were present missed.
"Yes, sir."
"You mind explaining to me why that unidentified aircraft isn't floating in unidentified pieces in the sea right now?"
Hahn snickered, but not loud enough for the captain to hear.
"Slider and Crowley were hungry, sir, so I told them it was okay to get something to eat."
The RADAR twins gave sidelong glances to each other that translated perfectly to the words, "This asshole is trying to blame us." Hahn continued to nudge Joe's elbow as the latter got steadily more angry. If the captain saw Hahn laughing, they would both be dressed down.
"They were hungry," came the captain's response, low in tone, but high in threat. The TAO nodded, his hands trembling as he clutched the headset.
This guy's gonna pee his pants, Joe thought to himself.
"Seein' it was Christmas and all," he pushed his luck.
"I see," he answered as he turned toward the silent pair of RADAR techs. Looking down at their untouched plates and cups of eggnog, he queried, "Did they get some good food, Emerson?" He turned quickly back to the junior officer. "Was it yummy, lieutenant?"
Hahn couldn't take it. He snorted through his nose. Joe's heart dropped. Without a flinch, as the lieutenant's eyes darted venomously toward the insubordinate sailor, the captain stared into the TAO's eyes.
"I-I-don't know, sir," the officer stumbled.
"You don't know much of anything, do you, lieutenant?" Thompson put out his hand toward the headset that clutched in the junior officer's hands. Hesitantly, he surrendered the equipment. Putting one of the earphones to his ear, the captain listened intently for a moment, consulting the screen.
"Do you know, perhaps, the ramifications of your carelessness?" the captain went on as he handed back the headset. "Or is that beyond your network of understanding, too."
"Sir, I swear I didn't –"
"Would you like me to rattle off all the officer's U-C-M-J articles of conduct that you just violated by your actions?"
The lieutenant stood silent, wavering slightly in place. Joe watched the young officer's face and actually began to feel sorry for him.
"Because you're fresh out of the academy, I'll excuse your indiscretion this once," the captain continued. The TAO breathed imperceptibly. "I'm still a bit perplexed why a green officer right out of tactics training wouldn't know about this little show of psychological gotcha that the enemy tends to display, especially on the holidays." He paused to gaze at the shaking officer. "Be that as it may, you're damned lucky they were just screwing with us."
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant answered quietly.
"I won't write you up," the captain went on in a less threatening tone. "You're doubly lucky that it was me, and not Chief Simms or Burkowski, who came down here tonight, 'cause you can bet your ass they wouldn't be so in the giving spirit."
"Thank you, sir."
"No one…" he began again with a raised finger. Then, whirling about toward the others, he continued. "And I mean no one…leaves their watch stations for any reason right now. The President has just declared war. If another incident like this occurs again, I will hold 'captain's mast' right here on the spot…in my fucking boxers if need be…and someone will be on the shitty end of a court martial proceedings." Then, he barked his next words to everyone in the room. "Got that?"
"Yes, sir!" they answered in unison.
Thompson pivoted to leave and then faced the young lieutenant one last time.
"You get anymore U-F-Os on your monitors, don't wait for my
order. You shoot 'em down. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant answered as he met the stern gaze of the captain. After another long, uncomfortable moment of the senior officer's stare, Thompson turned and left.
A collective sigh was breathed. The TAO peered around at his four subordinates and suddenly straightened.
"You heard the captain," he barked in an attempt to save face. Toward Hahn, he directed his next comment. "Let's stay sharp!"
Hahn gave a half-hearted salute as he sat down at his console. Joe sat next to him. Hahn leaned over and murmured, "Looks like it's gonna be a looong night."
"You got something on your mind, recruit?" came a rapid strike from the junior officer.
"No, sir," Hahn replied with a half-smirk. "Nothing at all."
After a quarter of an hour, the TAO rose and addressed the four sailors.
"I'm gonna hit the head," he announced. "Be right back."
The others took the opportunity to relax a little and chit chat. Hahn began chuckling after a few moments.
"What's so funny?" Joe asked.
"You actually let Dominic fuck your mom so he could lose weight?"
Joe began laughing. "Shut the fuck up!"
"You just pimp out your own mom to pay the nursing home bills?"
Joe and Hahn continued to laugh. Imitating an old woman's voice, Hahn pressed on with the joke. The RADAR twins remained quiet, dreading the premature return of the TAO.
"Oh, dear! It appears that I've got tapioca pudding smeared all over my bloomers!"
Joe lost his composure and couldn't get a breath. Suddenly, Hahn tried his hand at Joe's Brooklyn accent.
"No, ma! Dat ain't puddin'! Don'tcha 'memba my friend, Dominic?"
Joe and Hahn became hysterical when a call broke into their frivolity.
"Leyte Gulf, this is Thor. Over," came the voice through the headset.
Joe suddenly stopped laughing, breathless, and motioned to Hahn with a finger to his lips.
"Shush, shush!" Hahn stopped laughing and retrieved his own headset, fumbling to don it. "Thor, this is Leyte Gulf. Roger. Over."
"Leyte Gulf, this is Thor. Execute Mission four-one-three-thee-zero-two. Time of launch, zero-two-one-five-Zulu. Over."
Joe frantically wrote down the numbers as he answered.
"Thor, this is Leyte Gulf. Roger. Copy."
The TAO entered from the bathroom and, upon hearing Joe hailing another ship, suddenly panicked.
"Oh, shit! Don't tell me I missed something else!" he whined as he raced to the console at Joe's side.
"Execute Mission four-one-three-three-zero-two. Time of launch, zero-two-one-five-Zulu. Over."
"Launch?" the lieutenant burst out as his eyes widened. "I was only gone for three minutes!"
Joe removed the headset awkwardly and tossed it down on the console.
"What's going on?" the TAO requested in nervousness.
Grabbing the phone receiver, Joe held up a finger toward the clueless officer.
"Set condition two strike!"
"Strike?" the officer yelped as he looked at Hahn with his mouth opened wide. Immediately, an alarm blared on board the ship. Looking up, the lieutenant was terrified. "It was only three minutes!"
Hahn shook his head and smirked.
"Putz," he muttered.
The speaker system came to life as red lights began flashing.
"Now set condition two strike! Now set condition two strike!"
Suddenly, the clatter of running feet began to build, sounding more like a herd of stampeding rhinos within minutes.
Without any pretense, the captain and some of his senior staff poured into the small office in the span of only five minutes.
"What's the report?" Thompson said quickly, this time fully dressed.
Joe looked at the TAO, who appeared absolutely speechless, and decided to save his hide.
"Sir, we've just been tasked to spin up one bird with an oh-two-fifteen-Zulu time of launch."
"Do we have a target?"
The weapons officer moved up and bent down toward the console.
"Looks like a Taliban base in Kabul, sir," he threw out at the captain, "…based on the mission identification." The captain nodded in response.
"That sounds right." He turned toward Joe, while the TAO, in dumbfounded silence, watched the situation unfold. "Is the over-water flight ready for my approval?"
"Yes, sir," Joe replied. "Plan one-three-nine awaiting your approval."
Turning to his senior staff, the captain addressed the room.
"Time to put warheads on foreheads, people." Facing Joe again, he placed a hand on his shoulder and paused dramatically. "Ready?" Joe nodded as he stared at the console and poised his hands on the controls. "Plan one-three-nine approved for launch," Thompson ordered with authority.
"Yes, sir." Joe put one hand to his voice piece and adjusted it as he watched the clock. "Launch in three…"
The room was quiet and anticipatory.
"Two…"
The TAO wiped his brow, thankful that he wasn't in trouble again.
"One…"
Joe pressed the button marked, "Execute." A sudden tremor began to rattle the room as clipboards swayed on the walls like pendulums and pens, paperclips, and paraphernalia jostled in their cups on desktops. Hahn leaned in and vised his eyes to peer at the console before him. The trembling ceased.
"Missile away," Joe announced. "Time, zero-two-one-five."
The lieutenant backed up a few steps and discreetly performed the Sign of the Cross with his right hand. Joe caught the action out of the corner of his eye and, when he peered in the junior officer's direction, noticed he was grasping a small necklaced crucifix in the other while murmuring a prayer, eyes tightly shut.
CHAPTER SIX
The Arabian Knight
The Ben Hissar Compound in Kabul, Afghanistan seemed a lifetime's travel to the beaches of the Persian Gulf, especially in light of the fact that most of the indigenous people of this cruel, harsh, unforgiving, and mostly dead region were often trekking from place to place on either horseback or by camel.
For a U.S.-manufactured Tomahawk missile, weighing nearly 3,000 lbs. and measuring nearly 20 ft. in length, and armed with 1,000 lbs. of Combined Effect explosives, the 1,000-mile trip was less than a two-hour flight. At 550 mph, the Tomahawk missile was one of the longest ranged, fastest moving warheads known to man.
The training camp compounds that dotted the Afghan landscape, some heavily financed by outside interests, including those whose deep coffers were well-stocked by radical Pakistani and Iranian organizations, were often located in such remote and difficult-to-reach areas as to appear nearly invisible. This self-ostracization frequently fostered complacency in the inhabitants, where local warlords or training camp leaders considered themselves untouchable. With the advent of global mapping technology via satellite imaging, camps such as these went from the "invisible menace" to just another viable military target. So advanced were the photographic and video capabilities of these systems that it was virtually impossible to hide any sort of nefarious illegal activity from the Intel services of various powerful nations.
Such was the case with the Benni Hissar Compound on the outskirts of Kabul. Hidden in the foothills of this storied city, the current leader of Harkat-ul-Jehad al-Islamiyah (or "Islamic Struggle Movement") Abdulrahman Aziz, was in the process of assisting his Afghani brothers in its anti-U.S. resistance, first by supplying cannon fodder from his many training camps. Secondly, he provided support by running small raids through both the northern and southern regions of the country, all designed to pilfer and consolidate small arms and anti-personnel and anti-aircraft weaponry for the struggle. Finally, thirdly, he nominated himself to personally oversee the vast smuggling network which would allow the Afghan resistance to obtain Weapons of Mass Destruction.
The particular cell of Aziz's Harkat-ul-Jehad al-Islamiyah organization was based in Bangladesh. It was begun with the express intention o
f converting the entire Bangladesh region into an Islamic State, by waging war and assassinating progressive intellectuals who defied such thought. His mission here in Afghanistan at the moment, however, revolved around the tunnel vision focus of supplying "freedom fighters" with nuclear weapons and advanced weapons systems. Obviously, this was not an easy task, especially when one viewed the enemies with which one had to contend. The U.S. may have been deemed a pushover in the early going of the Clinton Administration, mostly in view of the fact that the head of Osama bin Laden had been reportedly handed over to the White House on a silver platter in the early nineties and was rejected out-of-hand.
Recent political changes in the government of the United States, paired with the election of George W. Bush, revealed a much more aggressive military stance toward terrorism in general and this did not bode well for its enemies, as was evident with the strange, almost eerie silence that followed the successful 9-11 terror attacks in September, to be followed with a swift retaliatory strike in the heartland of Afghanistan in late October.
Aziz knew that the next hammer would be falling…and falling fast. Bin Laden had been his guest in the Benni Hissar compound tonight, intending on a two-night stay, but then inexplicably rose at five in the morning, said his prayers, and was off again with his large cadre of bodyguards, including a few of his now-famous "blue-eyed boys". When no explanation was forthcoming as to the al-Qaeda leader's quick departure, Aziz realized with strange acuity that he must have been tipped off as to another strike. With that epiphany, he immediately began the arduous task of securing and moving the warhead to another safe location, if there was such a thing.
The lone rider, who had been successful in providing Calen Wakefield with an early out due to his shoulder wound, was waiting near an antiquated cargo truck while his guards secured the very important payload into the rear of the vehicle. During his stint as the head of the HuJI-B, Aziz was instrumental in orchestrating some of the largest transports ever of illegal weapons into the Gulf region from various foreign locations. The caches that ranged the spectrum of types of firepower were impressive; yet nothing in recent memory compared to this latest acquisition.
A SEA STORY: THE UNTOLD STORY OF THE U.S. NAVY RESPONSE TO 9/11. Page 12