"Yeah, but I have a sneaky suspicion you'll find the bastard if you concentrate on the area around that Japanese freighter," Captain Whittier observed.
"I must stress again that Iranian involvement at this point is strictly hypothetical," Mason said. "We did not see the actual sinking of the Shikishima! and our tracking of the Yuduki Maru so far has been through strictly electronic means."
"Electronic means?" Captain Friedman, the helo squadron skipper, asked. "What, radar?"
"An electronic transponder built into her superstructure," Hadley said. His speech, the way he said "transpondah," had the nasal twang of upper-class Massachusetts. "We used the same trick back in the eighties, tracking a load of fifty-five-gallon drums of ether we thought might lead us to a secret cocaine cartel lab in the Colombian jungle. The transponder's small, the size of a book, but it puts out a steady signal that can be pinpointed by an ELINT satellite in orbit. It was the change in position registered by our satellite that first told us yesterday something was wrong."
"My God," Bainbridge said slowly. "Didn't we have any spy sats following that tub? We should have been watching that ship twenty-four hours a day!"
"Our technical assets are limited, Admiral," Hadley said. "More than most people realize. We never have been able to provide full twenty-four-hour coverage of any one potential target."
"But damn it, this is the Jap plutonium ship!"
"We can still only watch the thing when our satellites are above the horizon, Admiral, and frankly, there just aren't enough satellites to go around. For the past few days, most of our watch time had been allotted to southern Iraq, following up on the aftermath of Blue Sky.
"Now, on the direction of the President, the National Reconnaissance people have shifted the bulk of our observation time to the Yuduki Maru. I'd estimate that we have about forty percent coverage now."
"In other words, we can see her two hours out of five, is that it?"
"Essentially, Admiral, yes."
"Damn." Bainbridge glowered a moment more, then glanced up the table to where Mason was waiting. "Sorry, Captain," he said. "Please continue."
Shepherding one of these high-level briefings was always a challenge, Mason thought. The admirals were used to running their own shows ... while the SEAL commanders had less than the usual respect for rank, privilege, or decorum. It made for some lively sessions sometimes.
"Thank you, Admiral," he said. "Okay, judging from the Yuduki Maru's transponder track and where it departs her scheduled course, we believe that the raid took place at approximately noon yesterday, Zulu plus three, about 0400 hours our time. The National Security Council has been in almost constant session since we received news yesterday morning of Yuduki Maru's possible capture.
"This morning, the President gave the authorization to begin working on ways to get that ship back. Since it's a ship and it's at sea, gentlemen, it looks like this one's going to be a SEAL op."
There was a stir around the table at his words, though obviously the news was not a complete surprise. Mason saw a smile or two among the SEAL skippers. Only Kerrigan and some of his staff officers looked displeased. Kerrigan, Mason remembered, was not a fan of special-ops forces. Well, there were plenty in the military community who agreed with him--the usefulness of elite units like the SEALs and the Army Special Forces was still being hotly debated, as the ongoing Congressional hearings on SEAL funding proved--but there wasn't much choice this time around. Only the SEALs could reach Yuduki Maru before she got close to a populated coast. Sure, a submarine or an air-strike from a carrier would stop that freighter in her tracks. But at what terrible cost?
"All SEAL commands will be responsible for drawing up preliminary plans for the operation. Assume a ship-boarding action, aimed at securing the ship and holding it for the arrival of a NEST team." The Nuclear Emergency Search Team was one of America's most secret units. Operating under the Department of Energy, it had the sophisticated equipment necessary for finding, handling, and safing nuclear material.
"The code name assigned to the mission will be Sun Hammer," Mason continued. "My staff will provide you with whatever you need in the way of background intel. I also want your assessments, your honest assessments, of each of your Teams' readiness and capabilities. Some of you are stretched damned thin right now. Two, most of your people are in Germany right now, aren't they?"
"Hell, Captain," Whittier replied easily, "that just means they're halfway to the Indian Ocean already."
"This isn't a competition. I know all of you want to participate, but the final decision will be based on who is best able to handle this. Let me have a preliminary work-up by 0900 tomorrow.
"Now, we have one potential wild card in the picture," Mason continued. Opening the folder again, he extracted another photograph. It was a file photo of a battered-looking vessel, rust-streaked and decrepit, tied up to a crumbling pier. Her forward well deck was so low it seemed a fair-sized wave might swamp her. The number 43 was painted on her bow beneath her high forecastle deck.
"Looks like one of our old yard oilers," Admiral Bainbridge observed.
"She is," Mason said. "She used to be the YO-247. Launched in 1956, and turned over to Iran under the old U.S. Military Air Program. I'm not sure of the year, but pre-1979 obviously. Not really a seagoing vessel at all, but the Iranians have modified her heavily. She's the Hormuz now. One hundred seventy-four feet long. Top speed nine or ten knots. Cargo capacity of about nine hundred tons."
"Modified her for what?"
"Under the Shah she was a fleet oiler. Since the Iranian Revolution, she's been laid up at Bandar Abbas most of the time, but there's evidence they've been upgrading her for long-range work. Possibly as a Milchekuh." The word, German for "milk cow," was drawn from the Germans' use of disguised ships for at-sea replenishment of their submarines in World War II.
"Which is how that Kilo could operate so far out of Iranian waters," a staff officer observed.
"Exactly," Mason agreed. "And it could be coincidence, but the Hormuz left Bandar Abbas late last month. We haven't found her yet."
"We're looking, of course," Bainbridge said, turning to the CIA man.
"Of course," Hadley replied. "Although in her case, we don't have the advantage of a transponder. But if we find the Hormuz anywhere between Socotra and Madagascar, we'll have a pretty good idea of what happened to the Shikishima. And we'll know that Iran is behind the hijacking."
"We are also concerned," Mason added, "about whether or not the Yuduki Maru could rendezvous with the Hormuz. Right now, we're probably dealing with a relatively small number of terrorists, presumably members of the freighter's crew. If she meets up with the Hormuz, though, the terrorists could be reinforced by troops. Worse, all or some of Yuduki Maru's cargo could be transferred to the ship."
"Is that likely, Captain?" Admiral Kerrigan asked. "The Japanese freighter has twice the speed of the Hormuz and is a hell of a lot more seaworthy to boot. The Iranians wouldn't be crazy enough to put the cargo in ..." He let the thought trail off as he considered the possibilities.
"As you've just guessed, Admiral," Mason said with a grim smile, "we don't have the faintest idea what the Iranians are going to do. Maybe they wouldn't care if the plutonium was scattered across half the Indian Ocean. Maybe that's the whole point of this operation, to call attention to some political grievance they'll announce over the course of the next few days. Or maybe they figure we won't dare attack because any damage to the vessel would cause the very eco-disaster we're trying to prevent. The surface currents in that part of the Indian Ocean all run east to west, toward the East African coast, then down the Mozambique Channel. Huge areas of the coast, from Mogadishu to Cape Town, could be contaminated if the Yuduki Maru sank or caught fire.
"As you SEAL Team COs work up your operations drafts, keep in mind that we may have to deal with both the Yuduki Maru and the Hormuz, as well as the possible presence of an Iranian Kilo.
"But--and I can't stress this enough--
we still don't have any hard proof that the Iranians are behind this incident. That's strictly a worst-case scenario. Shikishima could have been blown up by a bomb somehow planted on board in Japan. The absence of both Hormuz and Enghelab-i Eslami from Bandar Abbas could be coincidence. If the Iranians are not involved, we're probably looking at a strictly terrorist act, probably by something like the old Japanese Red Army."
"They've been out of the picture for a good many years now," Hadley pointed out.
"One of their leaders formally renounced the use of force in 1981," Mason said. "But they maintained a headquarters in a PFLP camp outside of Beirut throughout the eighties. They could have decided to become active again. Or we could be dealing with another Japanese terrorist organization, an offshoot, or some group we haven't heard of yet."
"Lovely thought," one of Bainbridge's staff officers muttered.
"My people will provide all of you with everything we know about the JRA and other terrorist groups that could be involved. And of course, if we have any communication with the hijackers--demands, threats, whatever--we'll set up an intel conduit to keep all pertinent material flowing your way."
"So," Eight's Captain Harrison said thoughtfully. "We're basing out of Diego Garcia, I suppose."
Diego Garcia was the tiny coral atoll, some one thousand miles south of the southern tip of India, which was the United States Navy's sole outpost in the vastness of the Indian Ocean.
"We're already putting our transport assets together toward that end," Bainbridge said. "Air Force C-5s will carry your helicopters and whatever other gear you need to the island. The State Department is also in touch with the Sultan of Oman, trying to get permission to use Masirah as a staging area."
An island located just off the Omani coast, Masirah was close to the southern approaches to the Strait of Hormuz. Though the traditionally touchy Arab sensibilities objected to American troops on their territory, Masirah had been used in the past, beginning with the Iranian hostage-rescue attempt in 1980. Obtaining permission to use the former British base there would probably not be difficult, so long as the Americans kept a low profile.
Which SEALs were very good at doing.
"That's all I have at this time, gentlemen," Mason concluded. "Other questions?"
There were none.
"Okay." He scanned the faces of the group until his eyes met those of Captain Coburn, of SEAL Seven. "Phil?" he said. "Don't leave."
In small groups, already discussing the operation, the others filed from the room. Phillip Coburn remained.
"What do you think, Phil?" Mason asked.
"Could be hot, Paul." Alone, they reverted to first names. "If those terrorists planted explosives around the ship, there may not be any way to get at them with any kind of reasonable chance of success."
"Gambling on the odds will be up to the politicians," Mason said. "How's Seven fixed right now?"
"Second and Fourth Platoons are in the Caribbean," Coburn said. "Training deployment to Vieques with the Marines. One and Three are here. They could be ready to leave on twenty-four hours' notice."
Unlike the other SEAL Teams, SEAL Seven, brand-new and still growing, had only four platoons.
"How would you handle the deployment? Just in rough."
"Two platoons," Coburn said without hesitation. "I'd put Third Platoon in the lead, with one squad for the Yuduki Maru, a second for the Hormuz. They're my most experienced people, with the most actual combat experience. They'd go in and secure both vessels at once, then hold 'em for the NEST guys. First Platoon in reserve, probably at Masirah. As backup to Three in case something goes wrong."
"Third Platoon just got back from Iraq."
"Right. And they just got kicked in the gut too. I need to put them back in ASAR."
"This is too damned important a mission for you to use it to build up your people's morale, Phil."
"They can handle it, Paul. They're the best people I have. There was fire in his eyes and in his voice as he said the words, and Mason could feel his excitement.
"Well, the final decision hasn't come through yet, but there's a good chance we're going to have to use Seven on this one. I had to go through the motions with the others, but Two, Four, and Eight are all pretty well committed elsewhere right now."
"What about Six?"
Mason smiled as he shook his head. "That's USSOC territory, and outside my bailiwick. But Six is under a cloud right now, and I have a feeling the Joint Chiefs aren't going to want to use them. The size of the appropriations for their toys are part of the reason Congress is looking so hard at the SEALS just now.
"In any case, we're still looking at the Seven concept of a unit that can deploy outside of established operational areas. And Seven's pre-positioned gear is still handy at Bahrain. Unlike SEAL Six."
"That's right," Coburn said eagerly. "Like I said, twenty-four hours. All you have to ship are my boys."
"Draw up your plan, Phil. Have it on my desk tomorrow morning."
"Aye, aye, Captain!" He looked as delighted as a kid at Christmas.
Mason sighed. He just wished that he could be going along.
Friday, 20 May
1330 hours (Zulu -5) NAVSPECWARGRU-Two Training Center Little Creek, Virginia
Lieutenant Murdock stood with the men of Blue Squad, Third Platoon. "Okay, people," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Hit it again. Four-man entry, door center, buttonhook."
They were standing outside the NSWG building variously called the "fun house" and the "killing house," part of the SEALS' Little Creek training facilities. They were tired, all of them, and their faces were coated with greasepaint and gunpowder. Their bodies seemed bent beneath the weight of their gear, combat blacks and full harness, Kevlar vests, safety helmets, and tactical radios. Murdock had been running the platoon since daybreak, literally and figuratively. Gunfire banged and crackled in the distance--First Platoon practicing on the outdoor firing range. It had been a long day already, and it would not be ending at five o'clock.
"First four up," Murdock continued. "Let's have Roselli, Garcia, Higgins, and Brown."
"Aw, man, Lieutenant," Brown said. "I'm a sniper, not a God damned door kicker."
"You heard the lieutenant," MacKenzie said softly. There was no threat or anger in his voice, but the men complied immediately, filing into place beside the fun house South wall, where a couple of construction ratings were hammering the wooden framework of another practice door into place.
The subtleties of MacKenzie's line had not escaped Murdock. He'd noted that the men, when they referred to Cotter, called him "L-T," while Murdock was still "the lieutenant." The distinction spoke volumes of the gulf between him and his men.
Or am I just being paranoid? Murdock wondered. He'd not yet worked up the courage to actually discuss the situation with MacKenzie.
He was in a hell of a tough position. In the SEAL Teams especially, the differences between enlisted and officer were almost nonexistent. The men followed the officer not so much because of his rank, but because they knew he'd been through everything they'd been through, Hell Week included, and that he was as good a man as they were. He had to earn their respect, not demand it as a right.
There was an almost overwhelming tendency for new lieutenants joining a platoon to try winning that respect by familiarity, by being "one of the guys," but that approach was dead wrong from the start. The platoon's survival could hinge on whether or not the unit had one absolute leader; he had to be obeyed instantly, without argument or discussion. "Respect" in this context did not mean "like."
He'd held inspection on Sunday, as promised, and been pleased to see the barracks had been cleaned up, as ordered. He'd also noted the fading bruises on the faces of Holt and Roselli but refrained from commenting on them. Keeping order in the ranks was MacKenzie's job, and Murdock had already decided to let the master chief keep running the platoon his own way. If any serious deficiencies cropped up, well, that would be the time to pounce. Not now ...
/> He knew they didn't like him, and after five days he still felt like he was wrestling with Cotter's ghost. But if he drilled them hard enough, by God, the respect would come. If it didn't, they'd never survive as a team.
The workers had finished with the door and stepped back out of the way. The killing house, constructed of plywood, Kevlar, and concrete blocks, was designed to allow rapid reconfiguration for any desired room layout, with or without windows, with one or multiple doors in any location, with or without interior partitions. Except for Higgins, who was carrying a shotgun, all of the men carried Beretta 92M pistols loaded with Glaser safety slugs, frangible rounds that would not punch through walls and kill someone half a mile away ... or ricochet from concrete and kill someone in the room.
Safety rounds or not, SEALs took their training with deadly seriousness. Men had died in this exercise. MacKenzie had told them all about the time he'd actually seen a kid shot and killed in the fun house when the guy behind him tripped going through the door.
"Right," Murdock said. He held up his clipboard and read the notes he'd scrawled there. "The situation is three suspected terrorists and at least one hostage. Nothing known about position or disposition. Go in, take 'em down, and try not to shoot the hostages or each other. Ready?"
There were some murmured assents.
"I said, 'Ready?'"
"Hoo yah!" The old SEAL battle cry seemed to draw the tired men together, to focus them. But God, Murdock thought, they're still operating at the ragged edge. Are they going to be ready in time?
He'd learned about Operation Sun Hammer only that morning, when he'd first seen the wall-sized blueprints and detailed scale models of the Yuduki Maru that the team would be using for their briefings. He was at once excited by the prospect, and scared. Was the platoon ready so soon after Cotter's death? Could it be made ready? He still didn't know.
Seal Team Seven 01 - Seal Team Seven Page 13