Stephen Coonts - Jake Grafton 2 - Final Flight

by Final Flight (lit)

  And he had properly remembered the magnesium flare, which would ignite thirty seconds after the main explosion. Satisfactory. "What the fuck?" The exclamation came from the office, the first compartment they had come through. Jamail heard it too and charged in that direction, his Uzi ready. Qazi was right behind.

  The officer in khakis went down under Jamail's bullets. As he ell, the security curtains fluttered and Qazi heard the sound of the passageway door being jerked open. Jamail pumped a short burst into the curtains.

  "Intruders in the comm spaces! Intruders..." The door clicked shut and the rest of the shout was lost.

  "Quick! Let's finish. Arm the fuses and let's go." Fifteen seconds later the three men stood by the door and arranged the straps of their gym bags over their shoulders. Jamail and Haddad put new magazines into their Uzis. "Jamail, you will lead us out. Clear the passageway left. Hadad, clear it right. Then I will lead you forward-that's to the flight-to the first passageway turning left, which will take us out of the ship onto the catwalk and up to the flight deck. Let's go. azi nodded and Haddad pulled the curtains aside and opened the door. Jamail went through low. He opened fire as Haddad and azi followed him.

  In the red-lit corridor a small knot of men were gathered fifty feet aft, most of them facing in this direction. As the Uzi sprayed men dove into open doorways or collapsed onto the deck.

  Qazi covered the twenty feet to the outboard passageway and turned the corner when the muffled bursts finally ceased. "The bastard," he swore viciously as he ran. Jamail used a whole mage on them-unarmed men. He enjoys this!

  The passageway turned left, then right, and ended at a doggeddown watertight door. Qazi grabbed the one handle that was mechanically linked to all eight of the dogs and lifted. Each of the eight dogs rotated ninety degrees. Haddad pushed at the door. All three men were through the opening and Jamail was closing the door when the concussion from the explosions in the communications spaces hammered the deck and bulkheads. The heavy door flew out on its hinges and smacked ag/jamail. He picked himself up and, with Haddad, dogged it shut.

  The wind was fierce here under the catwalk.

  Through the grid, Qazi could see the streaks in the black sea from the foaming whitecaps. He waited as his eyes adjusted fully to the darkness. So far so good.

  Phase one almost complete.

  The ship's public-address system came to life. A speaker was located on the catwalk just above them. They heard the hum and hiss, then a Klaxon began to wail. The volume was deafening, probably so the announcements could be heard all over the flight deck. Qazi inserted his fingers in his ears. When the Klaxon stopped, a voice came on, equally loud: "General quarters, general quarters. All hands man your battle stations. This is not a drill.

  General quarters, general quarters. Go up and forward on the starboard side and down and aft on the port side. This is not a drill." The Klaxon resumed its wail, then died abruptly. Even here on the catwalk, Qazi could feel the steel grid under his feet vibrate from the harmonics induced by thousands of running feet.

  Time was running out. In three minutes every watertight door and hatch on the ship would be ordered shut. And even now the ship's quick-reaction team-a squad of armed marines-would be on its way to the bridge to protect the captain. He had to get there first.

  Qazi led the way up the ladder to the catwalk and up the next ladder onto the flight deck.

  Jake Grafton, Rear Admiral Parker, and Captain James were huddled around the captain's chair on the bridge when they felt the shock of the explosion in the communications compartment. High up here in the island it was just a dull thud that jolted the steel deck. A man was on the phone reporting intruders in the comm spaces when the explosion occurred.

  "Sound general quarters. Then call away the nucleus fire party and set Circle William," the captain told the OOD, who repeated he order to the bosun's mate of the watch, who announced it on he ship's loudspeaker. The nucleus fire party was a group of damage-control specialists who normally responded to fire reorts when the ship's watertight hatches were not closed. They were the most highly trained firemen on the ship, so the captain anted to use them if possible. The Circle William order was ritical to containing the smoke and fumes from a fire.

  Closure of hatches labeled with a W inside a red circle-Circle Williamould seal off the ship's air-circulating system, preventing smoke and poisonous fumes generated by a fire from being pumped hroughout the ship.

  "Sir," the OOD reported, "No one answers the squawk box or elephone in the comm spaces.

  Laird James reached for the microphone of the ship's public ddress system. "What are you going to say?" Parker asked. "I'm going to tell the crew what's going on." "Remember, the intruders can hear you.

  James nodded and keyed the mike. "This is the captain. We ave just had an explosion in the communications spaces on the com3 level.

  Apparently we have at least one group of intruders board this ship. Perhaps more that one group. They are armed. ome of your shipmates have apparently already died." He released the mike button and looked at Parker. "My men on't have guns.

  Parker's lips tightened into a grim line.

  "Don't let them die for othing." James keyed the mike again. "Avoid direct confrontation with he terrorists, yet resist the best way you can. Keep the bridge and C Central informed." He paused again and stared for a moment nto the blackness of the night sea. "You men are American ailors. I expect each of you to do his duty. That is all." James punched the button on a squawk box, an intercom system, labeled "CDC." "This is the captain. You people manned up own there?" "Yes sir." "Get off a voice transmission, scrambled if possible, on your ircuits.

  Tell our escorts to relay it to Sixth Fleet and GINLANT." CINCLANT was the Commander in Chief of the U.s. Atlantic Fleet.

  "Yes sir. What do we send?" "Goddammit, man," James thundered. "Send the substance of the announcement I just made over the I-MC." The l-MC circuit was the ship's public-address system. "Tell them we have armed intruders aboard. More info to follow as we get it." "Aye aye, sir." Chief Terry Reed stared in disbelief at the padlock on the door to the after hangar-deck repair locker. The men behind him peered over his shoulder, curious about the delay. Why the hell was this door padlocked? The doorknob had an integral lock, and every man in the chief's repair party had a key. This locker was their battle station.

  Chief Reed took a closer look at the doorknob. It had been forced.

  "Somebody get a fire ax and pry this damn lock off." The chief scanned the hangar bay while he waited. Intruders? Aboard this ship?

  Captain James didn't throw words around lightly. He must know what's going on.

  The chief looked at the doorknob lock again.

  Someone had pried it until it broke. And this padlock-it wasn't navy-issue. Damn. Could the intruders have been here?

  A man came running with a fire ax. The chief moved back away from the door. He looked again around the hangar bay, still puzzled. Why would anyone want to get in the repair-party locker? There was nothing in there but damage control gear. The valuable assets were the airplanes, out here in the bay. He stared at them, wings folded and chained to the deck. Some of the machines had access panels and nose domes open, exposing radars and black boxes and bundles of cables. They looked naked.

  Had they been sabotaged?

  Even as the thought occurred to the chief, the paint locker on the opposite side of the bay exploded.

  In an instant the flammable chemicals stored there were burning fiercely.

  The chief looked wildly about for the nearest fire alarm. He saw it against the wall right by the fire-fighting station and lunged for it. His motion galvanized his men into action. They energized the pumps and began dragging the hose out. They had the nozzle half way across the hangar when two more paint lockers exploded.

  0 0 0 Qazi and his men huddled under an aircraft wing immediately forward of the island. He counted them. Seven plus himself. 'Who's not here?" "Mohammed. Apparently he only wounded one
of the marines in the machine guns and they fought. He may have gone overoard." "Did you set his charges on the antenna leads?" "Mine and his both." So all the radio-antenna leads of which azi was aware had been severed. The damage could be repaired fairly quickly as soon as the Americans discovered where the reaks were, but the search would take time, and time for the Americans was running out.

  Qazi looked up at the dark windows of the bridge, eight decks above him in the island superstructure. The glare of the red ood-lights around the top of the island made it impossible to see zf any lights were illuminated on the bridge. Of course, the ship's senior officers were there. They had to be. The quick-reaction team couldn't have made it to the bridge yet, but they were undoubtedly on their way.

  Qazi had to reach the bridge before the marines did or he might not be able to get there at all. Time was running out for him too.

  He gestured to two of his men, pointing out the positions he wished them to assume on the flight deck, positions from which they could command the helicopter landing area on the angle, abeam the island. Since the ship's rescue helicopter was airborne, most of the helo landing area was empty and the whip antennas that surrounded the flight deck had been lowered to their horizontal position. Qazi wanted to ensure everything remained that way.

  The rest of his men he led across the deck through the wind and rain toward the hatch that opened into Flight Deck Control, the empire of the aircraft handler.

  E-2 Hawkeye radar reconnaissance planes were parked beside the island, their tails almost against the steel and their noses pointed across the deck at the helicopter landing area. The wet metal skin of the airplanes glistened in the weak red light. The colonel went under the tails and glanced through the porthole into Flight Deck Control. The compartment was full of men. He stopped in front of the entrance door and motioned for two of his men to grab the handle that would rotate the locking lugs.

  Reports were arriving on the bridge over the telephones, the squawk boxes, and the sound-powered circuits. Damage-Control Central reported fires in the comm spaces and on the hangar deck.

  The airborne helicopter had been unable to find the second 1 man overboard. Fully 20 percent of the ship's company was still ashore. Most of the ship's radios seemed to be off the air with suspected antenna problems. As Captain James tried to sort it 1 out, Jake and the admiral stood in the corner and listened to the reports coming in.

  Jake looked at his watch. Two minutes had passed since general quarters had sounded.

  "What are they after?" the admiral asked, more to himself than Jake. "And where are they?" The door to Flight Deck Control swung open and Qazi followed two of his men into the space. They had their Uzis in front 1 of them.

  The rest followed him into the compartment. "Silence.

  Hands up," Qazi shouted in English. A sea of stunned faces stared at Qazi. He waved at the area behind the scale model of the flight and hangar deck. "Over 1 there. Everyone. Over there!" No one moved. Qazi pointed the Browning Hi-Power, with its silencer sticking out like an evil finger, at the chiefs and talkers 1 near the maintenance status boards. "Move. Headsets off." They stood frozen, staring. The silenced pistol swung toward the status board and popped, but the smack of the bullet punching its way through the plexiglas and splat ting into the bulkhead was louder.

  Eyes shifted hypnotically toward the neat, round hole in the transparent plexiglas.

  In the silence Qazi could hear the tinkle of the spent cartridge case as it caromed off a folding chair and struck the metal bulkhead.

  "Do as he says. Get over here, people." The speaker was an officer in khakis, a lieutenant commander sitting in a raised padded chair.

  The men moved with alacrity, shedding the sound-powered telephone headsets.

  When everyone was crammed thigh to thigh in the indicated space with their hands on the back of their necks, Colonel Qazi spoke again. "You will stand silently, without moving. My men ill kill every man who moves or opens his mouth. They understand no English. And they know how to kill." He added, almost 5 an afterthought, "They enjoy it." He turned and went through the doorway that led to the ladder up into the island. He would have to hurry. were the marines head of him?

  Qazi went past the door to the down ladder, a standard on watertight aluminum door, and opened the door to the ladder going up. Although Qazi didn't know it, this was the only place on the ship where the ladderwells were sealed with doors and aluminum bulkheads. This feature prevented fumes and noise from the flight deck from penetrating deeper into the ship.

  He heard a thundering noise immediately beneath him. Men running up the ladder beneath his feet! Marines on the way to the bridge! He gestured frantically to the men following him. Just then the door from below burst open and one of Qazi's men triggered an Uzi burst full into the chest of the marine coming through. He fell backward onto the man behind him. The door sagged shut on his ankle.

  On the ladder below the marine who had been shot, someone fired his MI 6 upward, through the thin aluminum bulkhead. Once, twice, then an automatic burst.

  "A grenade," Qazi whispered hoarsely.

  The man nearest the colonel pulled the pin and tossed it over the booted ankle trapped in the door as everyone else fell flat on the deck.

  The explosion was muffled. "Another," Qazi ordered. This time the explosion was loud and shrapnel sprayed through the aluminum ladderwell wall.

  The grenades would merely delay the marines below.

  They would seek an alternate route upward, and they knew the ship. He had purchased himself mere seconds. Maybe that would be enough. "Quickly now, let's go.

  Two of his men failed to rise. Someone turned them over. One was dead, a rifle bullet through the heart, and the other had a piece of shrapnel in his abdomen. No time to waste. Qazi charged up the ladder two steps at a time with those of his men who were still on their feet right behind. More gunfire. Qazi paused at the top and glanced back. The last man was down holding his leg. The marines had fired through the aluminum sheeting under the ladder. Even as he looked, another burst came through the aluminum and the wounded man lost his balance and fell. But he still had two men on their feet behind him. Qazi circled the open turnaround and leaped onto the next ladder.

  0-5 level, 0-6 level, 0-go... On the 0-8 level he passed the flag bridge. No marines in sight. Maybe, just maybe.

  As he came up the ladder to the 0-9 level he saw a marine wearing a pistol belt standing in front of the door to the navigation bridge. The marine had his pistol in his hand and looked apprehensively at Qazi as he took the steps two at a time.

  Qazi glanced over his shoulder as his head reached the landing coaming-no more marines-and leveled his pistol as he topped the ladder. He shot the surprised sentry point-blank. The body was still falling as Qazijerked open the door to the navigation bridge and hurtled through.

  WHEN GUNNERY SERGEANT Tony Garcia reached the ottom of the island ladderwell on the 0-3 level, he stood stock till and looked at the carnage, stunned. He had eaten dinner onight in Naples with two friends and had been sound asleep hen general quarters was called away. He had pulled on trouers, shirt, and shoes and raced for the armory, where the corpoal on duty had tossed him an MI 6 and duty belt. Then he had un for the bridge. Normally he led the squad that guarded the ridge during G tilde but Sergeant Vehmeier had tonight's duty ection. Now he stood looking at the five marines lying amid lood and shrapnel. One of them was conscious. "Grenades, Gunny," the wounded man whispered. His back and side were covered in blood and blood oozed out his left sleeve.

  Sergeant Vehmeier lay face down in a pool of gore. Garcia turned him over. The man's hands were gone, only red meat and hite bones remained, and his abdomen was ripped open. He had fallen on one of the grenades, probably the first one.

  Miraculously, he still had a pulse in his neck. Garcia used both hands to scoop Vehmeier's intestines back into his abdominal cavity. He rolled Vehmeier over, then stripped off his shirt and used that as a bandage to protect the wound. />
  "Quick," the sergeant whispered at a knot of gawking sailors. "Get these men to sick bay, right fucking now! This man first." 1 The sailors leaped to obey.

  Garcia wiped his bloody hands on his trousers.

  Get tourniquets on these men," he directed.

  He stepped over the casualties and climbed the ladder, his MI 6 at the ready.

  The man at the top, with his foot caught in the door and sprawled on his back down the ladder, had taken a half dozen 1 rounds in the chest. He was beyond help. When Garcia eased the door open to peer out, the body slipped, making noise. Just below the sailors were making a hell of a racket carrying the casualties away, but Garcia froze anyway.