Ben and Caesar had been escorted down to Canberra’s accommodation deck, between the hangar deck above, where the ship’s aircraft were stored, and the well deck below, which housed Canberra’s landing craft. The accommodation deck contained quarters for the ship’s crew plus up to 2000 troops when the ship was involved in a landing operation. There were large messes down here and a hospital with sixty beds. This was a floating city.
‘We’ve improvised quarters for your EDD on the well deck,’ the CPO told Ben, as he led him to a long room full of bunks. Here, other GRRR men were already unloading their equipment.
‘What sort of quarters?’ Ben asked.
‘A cage of sorts.’
Ben shook his head. ‘No cages. We won’t be aboard long. Caesar will stay with me.’
‘That’s right,’ said Baz. He was lying on a nearby bunk with his hands locked behind his head. ‘Caesar is one of us.’
‘Suit yourself,’ the CPO replied. ‘Find a bunk, Sergeant, stow your gear and lighten your load.’ He then turned on his heel and left Ben to it.
Ben patted the mattress of an empty bunk, and Caesar happily jumped up on it and lay full-length. With his tongue hanging out, Caesar watched Ben check the contents of his equipment bags. Caesar was happy as long as he was with Ben. The pair had been high in the clouds making HALO parachute jumps, in the back of Bushmasters under enemy fire, and under water in a cramped submarine. Yet, in every situation the labrador was always calm and ready to follow Ben’s instructions without hesitation. He trusted Ben implicitly, just as Ben trusted him with his life.
‘Get a bit wet, mate?’ said Charlie, coming to give Caesar a pat.
Caesar licked his hand in response and wagged his tail.
‘The swells out there were massive,’ said Ben. Looking around, he noticed that Major Jinko was missing. ‘Where’s the bear?’
‘Upstairs, getting a briefing from the ship’s captain.’
‘I think you’ll find that it’s actually “aloft” on a ship, Charlie, not “upstairs”,’ said Baz, sitting up and dangling his feet over the side of his bunk.
‘Same difference,’ Charlie returned good-naturedly.
Meanwhile, aloft in Canberra’s operations centre located in the island, Major Jinko was meeting with Captain Rixon and Air Division Commander Lockhart. The operations centre was a long, narrow windowless room bathed in a dull blue light. It was lined with dozens of operators sitting in front of keyboards, control panels and large LCD screens which spookily lit up their faces. From this room, all air, land and sea operations mounted from Canberra were controlled by Navy, Army and Air Force personnel.
Jinko joined the two senior naval officers standing behind the screens of two RAAF operators. Those screens displayed a variety of images of the ocean, taken from high in the sky. One of the operators was manipulating a joystick.
‘Not very interesting pictures at present, I’ll admit,’ said Lockhart.
‘Where are they coming from?’ asked Jinko.
‘From a Bluey out over the waters between Tanzania and Zanzibar, at 32,000 feet.’
‘And a Bluey is …?’
‘A drone, a Heron UAV from the RAAF’s Number 5 Flight,’ the naval officer replied. ‘The RAAF have given their Herons the nickname “Blueys”. Those babies have a 16.6-metre wingspan – almost the size of a regular fighter aircraft.’
Jinko nodded. ‘I know about Herons. We used them to support special ops in Afghanistan. So, what was this particular Heron doing aboard Canberra?’
‘We’ve been evaluating it for maritime cooperation use,’ Captain Rixon replied.
‘It was launched twenty-eight hours ago,’ said the air division commander. ‘But the weather has been so dirty down here we haven’t been able to land it again. We’ll have to keep it up there above the clouds until the weather clears.’
‘How long can it stay up for?’ Jinko asked, studying the two RAAF men in charge of the Heron. The operator using the joystick had an array of flying instruments in front of him. He was the UAV’s pilot and was actually flying the distant plane. The other man was in charge of the cameras and sensors aboard the Heron. If the aircraft had been armed with missiles, this man would also have had control of them, aiming, firing and directing them from his desk.
‘The Bluey carries enough fuel to stay aloft for fifty-two hours,’ said Lockhart.
Jinko gave a low whistle. ‘Impressive. And you think it can play a role in Operation Pink Elephant, Captain?’
‘SOCOM thinks it can,’ Rixon replied. ‘We can position the Heron in the air above the area of operations, to let you and SOCOM see what’s happening on the ground.’
‘Our eye in the sky,’ said Jinko. ‘I like it. But you’ve first got to get it safely back aboard. Am I right?’
‘We will,’ Rixon said confidently. ‘The weather is forecast to clear overnight.’ He turned and walked a few metres to a vacant seat at the long metal desk that ran the length of the narrow room. ‘This will be your station for the operation, Major. You will control Operation Pink Elephant from this position.’ He patted the desktop. ‘And you’ll have the Heron’s operators right beside you.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Jinko returned with a smile. ‘What’s the timeline?’
‘We’re currently steaming toward the Tanzanian coast to rendezvous with an escort vessel of the Tanzanian Navy. Once we’re in position we’ll be able to launch the heelos carrying your team, and the Heron. But we need to know where to send them. Does SOCOM have any idea where the rebels are holding the hostages at this time?’
‘That, Captain Rixon, is the sixty-four million dollar question,’ Jinko said with a sigh. ‘Right now we don’t have a clue where they are. But SOCOM is working on it with the Tanzanian Government.’
‘Well, we can’t very well launch a rescue mission until we know where your targets are.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Jinko, easing into the swivel chair that would be his for the duration of the operation. ‘We’ll get a lucky break on the intel before long. Our job is to be ready to act as soon as that happens.’
As Captain Rixon had promised Major Jinko, the weather across the Indian Ocean had improved dramatically by the next morning.
Ben, who had slept in his bunk with Caesar lying beside him on top of the blanket, was up at the break of day with the rest of the GRRR team. After a shower and then breakfast in the ship’s mess, Ben was ready for some exercise. While the other team members did press-ups and sit-ups in a corner of the flight deck, Ben took Caesar for a jog around the edge of the deck, which was the size of a football field. Unlike the previous day, the sky was a stunning clear blue and the ocean was a smooth Sea State 1. Canberra cruised along without the slightest movement of the deck.
As Ben and Caesar ran, they passed an angled section of the flight deck on the ship’s port side which looked like a ski jump. In fact, that was what it was called and it was used to help launch fixed-wing aircraft into the air should the need arise. Canberra was officially only supposed to carry helicopters. One of those helicopters, a blue-grey Seahawk anti-submarine chopper, was on deck and preparing for take-off. Before long, with a roar from its noisy engines, it lifted into the air and buzzed away to the west.
Caesar, his tail wagging lazily, was enjoying the deck run. He took in the salty sea air and the faint aromas of sun-baked steel, aviation gasoline and the differing scents of the deck crew going about their daily duties. Caesar and Ben had completed two circuits of the deck and were near the stern when the ship began to turn into the wind. ‘Clear the flight deck!’ a voice blared over the loudspeakers. ‘Prepare to recover UAV. Clear the flight deck! Prepare to recover UAV.’
A sailor popped up from beside the flight deck. ‘You two can watch from down here,’ he suggested, and Ben and Caesar jumped down to a platform a metre and a half below deck level, where deck crew were taking up positions. The friendly sailor pointed astern to a small black dot in the sky. ‘There’s the Heron.’
‘He’s sitting up in the operations room, looking at a bank of screens that are giving a pilot’s eye view from cameras in the Heron,’ the sailor replied. ‘The marvels of modern technology, eh?’
Ben nodded. ‘I’ll say.’
As they watched, the elegant unmanned plane came angling down toward the deck, driven by a single propeller on its tail. As soon as its landing wheels touched deck, the engine went into reverse and revved madly, making a deafening racket. The Heron quickly ground to a halt and came to rest within a few metres of its touchdown point. Deck crew sprang from their watching places and ran to secure the UAV.
With the Heron soon being wheeled away to be taken down to the hangar deck, Ben and Caesar resumed their jog and completed a total of ten circuits by the time the Seahawk helicopter returned and landed. As the pair watched, a Tanzanian Navy officer stepped out from the chopper and was quickly escorted to the island. Ben squatted down and ruffled Caesar’s neck. ‘We can’t be far from Tanzania now, mate,’ he said. ‘We’ll soon be having some fun on dry land. Lots of interesting new smells for you where we’re going.’
Caesar licked him on the cheek and then nuzzled playfully into his master. Caesar was ready to have some fun.
The Tanzanian officer was escorted up to the bridge, where he came to attention in front of Captain Rixon and gave a sloppy salute. ‘Lieutenant Commander Roadga Palla at your service, Captain,’ he announced. ‘I have the honour to captain the patrol vessel Julius Nyere, of the Tanzanian Navy’s 701 Flotilla.’
Rixon returned Palla’s salute, then reached out and shook his hand. ‘Welcome aboard, Commander. You’re with 701 Flotilla, you say? How many flotillas does the Tanzanian Navy possess?’
Lieutenant Commander Palla looked a little embarrassed. ‘Just two, Captain. The other is a training flotilla.’
‘Well, this joint operation with the Tanzanian Navy is a first for the Royal Australian Navy, Commander. We’re pleased to be working with you.’
‘Thank you, sir. My vessel is under orders to protect your ship at all costs, and I guarantee that it will do just that, sir, even if we go down fighting in the process!’
Rixon smiled. ‘I don’t imagine it will come to that, Commander. There are no maritime threats to Canberra in Tanzanian waters that I’ve been made aware of. Unless you have different information than I do?’
‘Pirates, Captain,’ Palla said earnestly.
Rixon raised an eyebrow. ‘Pirates?’
‘Somali pirates. Sudanese pirates.’
‘This far south?’
Palla smiled weakly. ‘One can never be too careful, sir.’
‘We are always vigilant, Commander.’
‘You can never be too vigilant, sir. At a distance, this fine vessel of yours would look like a juicy container ship to pirates. Rely on my crew and myself to protect you with our very lives while you are in Tanzanian waters.’
A faint smile creased Rixon’s lips. ‘Very good. Carry on, Commander. My XO will brief you on our joint sailing plan.’
The pair exchanged salutes.
Within an hour, the Tanzanian patrol boat Julius Nyere had sped across the western horizon and joined Canberra. A tiny vessel in comparison to the Australian warship, and armed with a single small cannon in a forward turret, the patrol boat coursed along beside Canberra with most of its crew of thirty-five lounging on deck and watching as their skipper was returned to them by one of Canberra’s inflatable boats.
Once Commander Palla was back aboard, the Julius Nyere pulled away and positioned itself 300 metres off Canberra’s port side. The two vessels would continue in company this way, like a lion and her cub padding along together, until Operation Pink Elephant came to an end.
Summoned urgently, the members of the GRRR team quickly assembled in a briefing room deep inside Canberra. All with notepads on their laps, they settled in comfortable high-backed leather chairs normally occupied by aircrew receiving their flight briefings. The six crew members from two of the ship’s Seahawk helicopters – all navy men – were also sitting in on the briefing, as were the two RAAF operators of the Heron UAV. Caesar lay at Ben’s feet, contentedly gnawing a bone given to him by a navy cook.
Major Jinko stood at the front of the briefing room. ‘This is the last known location we have for Zuba and the hostages,’ he said, pointing to a map of Tanzania on a large screen. ‘The intel is hot. At daybreak this morning they were in this village, Leboo, on the rim of the Kigosi Game Reserve in northwest Tanzania.’
A ripple of conversation ran around the room.
‘Are they still there?’ Charlie asked.
Jinko shook his head. ‘No. They pulled out when a Tanzanian Army patrol got to within thirty clicks of them. According to locals, they headed west.’
‘West?’ said Tim McHenry. ‘Where would that take them, Major?’
‘My guess is, they’re making a run for the border with Burundi,’ Jinko replied, gesturing to the neighbouring country of Burundi on the map. ‘They could reach it in a day. The Tanzanian military on the border has been alerted to be on the lookout for them.’
‘How many men did Zuba have with him?’ asked Jean-Claude Lyon.
‘Around twenty, plus seven new recruits from the district – just kids, apparently.’
‘Should be a piece of cake,’ said Duke Hazard, half to himself. ‘Once we locate ’em.’
Jinko then passed on another piece of information. ‘The Tanzanian Government has today broadcast a statement announcing that it has dismissed Zuba’s demands and called on him to set the hostages free.’
Tim McHenry scoffed. ‘Like he’d do that!’
‘It’s now up to you people to get those hostages out of Zuba’s hands,’ Jinko declared.
‘So, are we “go”, sir?’ Charlie asked.
‘We are “go”,’ Jinko acknowledged with a faint smile.
‘Yes!’ Baz exclaimed, slapping his fist into the palm of his other hand. Baz and Lucky Mertz had been especially close during the years they had served together in the SAS. Both had come out of some pretty tough scrapes together, and they had always had each other’s backs.
‘Codenames are as follows,’ Major Jinko advised, and each man prepared to write the details on his notepad. ‘The ground team is Oscar Zulu. The heelos are Sally One and Sally Two. The Heron UAV is Bluey. Mission Control here aboard Canberra is Papa. Canberra is Mama. Lucky Mertz is Game Boy. The other hostages are Oasis. Colonel Zuba is Bullseye. Any questions?’
‘How long do you figure we got to rescue Game Boy, Major?’ Duke Hazard asked. ‘Before Bullseye runs out of patience and lets his trigger finger do the talking for him?’
‘SOCOM has had its psychoanalysts collate all the data they have on Zuba. Their assessment is that the man is a psychopath, but not stupid. He’s cunning like a fox. He probably knows that his demands won’t be met. Maybe he’s just enjoying being able to call the shots for now. The man has an ego that would fill this room.’
‘So, his patience will run out, or this all stops being fun for him, and he could start bumping off hostages?’ said McHenry.
A grave expression came over Jinko’s face. ‘That is a possibility, yes.’
‘So, I say again, sir,’ Hazard called, ‘how long do we have before he starts shooting?’
Jinko screwed up his face. ‘Maybe forty-eight hours. Four or five days max. The man is unpredictable.’
Baz looked around at the other servicemen in the briefing room. ‘Then let’s do it, you blokes! There’s no time to lose.’
Josh dragged himself from the mat and stood, hunched, his white robes hanging loosely. His hands were raised and ready as he eyed off the larger boy who had just thrown him to the floor.
Josh had been taking unarmed combat lessons with Sergeant Brendan ‘Iron Fist’ Kasula at Holsworthy Barracks for a few months now. It was part of a deal that
his dad had made with his school principal and the mother of Kelvin Corbett. Up till then, Kelvin had pushed Josh around, online and in person. Kelvin and his father had been jealous of all the attention that Josh had received because of Caesar. But bullies often meet their match, and Kelvin and his stepfather had met their match in Sergeant Ben Fulton.
Ben had thought Sergeant Kasula’s lessons would be good for Josh as well as for Kelvin, but Josh hadn’t been so sure. Kelvin was a year older than him, several inches taller and a lot heavier. Just the same, Josh had gone along to the lessons because his dad wanted him to. Kelvin had had no choice after the school principal told his parents that he could be expelled if he failed to attend them.
Sergeant Kasula, also in loose white robes, stood between the pair. An Australian Army unarmed combat instructor, he was a massive, powerfully built man. He’d been born in Hawaii, and in his veins coursed the blood of the warrior chiefs of the Hawaiian Islands. Iron Fist Kasula could famously punch holes in a brick wall. He could also stand on one foot for a day without over-balancing. By his very size he was an intimidating figure. Yet, he had a surprisingly gentle nature when he was not practising martial arts.
‘What did I tell you boys about size?’ he asked Josh and Kelvin as they faced off for the tenth time this session.
‘That size doesn’t matter, Sergeant,’ Josh replied, his eyes on Kelvin.
‘And what did I tell you about weight?’
‘You said that weight doesn’t matter, Sergeant,’ Kelvin replied.
‘Very good. And what did I say was the most important thing of all?’
‘Balance is the most important thing of all, Sergeant,’ Josh and Kelvin replied together.
‘Balance in all things, not just physical balance. Emotional balance. Balance in your diet. Balance in work and play. Balance in your opinion of your fellow man. What are other important qualities for a warrior?’ He looked at Kelvin. ‘Well?’
Operation Pink Elephant Page 7