Seal Team Seven 01 - Seal Team Seven

by Keith Douglass

  Murdock had to grip the rail to avoid showing the weakness that swept through him. Coburn and Doc were okay! Until that moment, he'd not realized how worried he'd been about his people. Turning, he strode back toward the Yuduki Maru's deckhouse.

  Fifteen minutes later, he stood on the freighter's bridge, peering out through paneless windows at the Blue/Green Team members ashore and on the forward deck. Smith glowered over his shoulder to his right, while a still-damp Jaybird stood behind the wheel and Holt manned the engine-room telegraph. Roselli had joined MacKenzie and several MSPF snipes below in the engine room, but Higgins had transferred his satellite gear to the freighter's bridge and was watching with professional interest. The other SEALS, less Doc, Chucker, and Captain Coburn, were scattered about the ship. The medevac chopper had lifted those three out several minutes earlier.

  Murdock picked up a microphone and pressed the switch. "Now hear this, now hear this," Murdock said, and the words boomed from loudspeakers all over the ship. "Make ready to get under way."

  A rifle shot popped from somewhere ashore, but he scarcely noticed it. The Marine perimeter now enclosed the entire shipyard, and the last report from the air contingent had placed the nearest organized Iranian forces just outside of Bandar Abbas proper, a good three miles down the coast.

  "Cast off forward," he ordered, and the Marines manning the forward line tossed it across to their fellows on the pier. A pair of SuperCobras thundered overhead, keeping watch.

  Murdock walked to the starboard bridge wing and checked aft. With the freighter tied port-side-to and bow-on to the shore, and with only one engine working, maneuvering in this tight harbor would be tricky. He was glad it was the starboard screw that was off-line, though, and not the port.

  It occurred to him that this was his first command--at least if you didn't count the little Beluga or the Boghammer patrol boat. He'd had classes in ship handling at Annapolis, of course, and during his senior year he'd conned a guided-missile destroyer out of Norfolk on a training exercise.

  This, however, was completely different.

  "All back," he said, and Holt moved the telegraph handles to reverse. "Back her down easy. Starboard helm ... just a touch."

  Yuduki Maru's engine rumbled through the deck beneath their feet. Slowly, slowly, the freighter moved astern. With the rudder to starboard, the ship's bow pressed in toward the pier, while her stern moved away. Moving to the port wing, Murdock checked aft. The ship's stern was now five feet from the pier, the stern line stretched nearly taut.

  He'd given the freighter room astern to maneuver. "Forward on the engine," he said, and Holt rammed the telegraph handle to the forward position. "Keep your helm starboard."

  The freighter's slow, backward drift halted, then reversed itself. Tugging on the stern line until the pier gave an ominous creak, the Yuduki Maru started to swing, her bow moving out from the pier now in a tight circle. When the still-smoldering ruin of the fuel pier lay dead ahead, Murdock gave his next order. "Cast off stern lines!"

  Free now of the shore, Yuduki Maru slid forward, barely making way. Slowly at first, then faster and with more confidence, the plutonium ship eased clear of the dock, gliding past the fuel dock and the wreckage of a half-sunken patrol boat. Reaching past the helm to the console, Murdock thumbed a large red button, giving a deafening blast from Yuduki Maru's air horns.

  And from the Marines watching ashore came a rising, answering growl of noise, a thunderous cheer as the Yuduki Maru put to sea once more.

  "Okay, gentlemen," Murdock said to the others with him on the bridge. "Let's go home."

  EPILOGUE

  0950 hours (Zulu -5) House offices The Capitol Building, Washington, D.C.

  Congressman Charles Fitzhugh Murdock read the paper, prominently stamped SECRET at top and bottom, for the third time, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. His boy was coming home.

  And the timing couldn't have been better. Every newspaper in the country was cheering the recovery of the Japanese plutonium ship, even though the whole story would probably never be made public.

  Iran was officially condemning the incursion, of course, but private channels between Tehran and Washington had already established that the entire hijacking incident had been the work of a dissident element within the Iranian military. The two ringleaders were already dead, Ramazani in front of a firing squad only hours ago, Admiral Sahman on the bridge of the Yuduki Maru during the raid. Iran was holding off its military forces; the last of the Marines ashore ought to be back aboard the ships of II MEF within the next several hours. The public story was that terrorists had taken the ship to Bandar Abbas, and that American Marines had liberated the vessel. That story didn't bear too much close scrutiny, but it would be good enough for now. The Administration wanted to play down America's involvement in what amounted to an invasion of another country, especially one that they were still trying to mend fences with. Perhaps the Iranians would be grateful, eventually, for the help rendered by the Americans in uncovering the coup.

  Japan was grateful, of course, for the recovery of their ship and its cargo, though whether that would translate as an advantage at the next round of trade talks remained to be seen. Murdock was well aware of the concept of naniwabushi, and expected that Tokyo would show its gratitude when the time came. Certainly, they'd already agreed to suspend the controversial plutonium shipments while security policies were reviewed and overhauled. Yuduki Maru was officially in Japanese custody again now. Captain Koga had reassumed command as soon as his vessel had passed the last of the Iranian-owned Gulf islands, cruising slowly past Silkworm missile batteries now in the hands of SEALs and U.S. Marines. Even the Greenpeace vessel Beluga had been recovered from where the SEALs had beached her on Qeeshm Island and was being towed by a Navy frigate to Dahran.

  So everyone had come up winners, except for the Ohtori terrorists.

  And, of course, the two civilians killed aboard the Beluga and their wives. The horrible thing about terrorism was its blind, terrible randomness.

  The upshot of it all was, though, that the country was being swept by a mad swell of flag-waving approval for the U.S. military. Though the public had a notoriously short memory, enthusiasm for the armed forces always crested in the wake of a fast, successful operation like this one, and Congressman Murdock was already planning on how to turn that to his political advantage. The House Military Affairs Committee's final debate and vote was set for tomorrow morning. Murdock had no doubt now that Farnum's attempt to kill the SEALs and the other Special Warfare units would be easily defeated.

  Until this week, Congressman Murdock himself had never realized how well, how smoothly the SEALs could work with other military units, units such as the Marines. While there was duplication among the services, it was impossible to select any one unit out from among all of the rest as less worthwhile, less useful, or less efficient than the others. And America needed those SPECWAROPs people. The pace, the scope, the very nature of modern warfare demanded their use, and their support. At this point, Murdock would have voted to dismantle the regular military services if it would have meant keeping the elite, professional warriors of the Special Warfare forces.

  Well, that was a bit extreme, perhaps, since the point of the SPECWAR people was that they could support and augment the regular forces. He sighed. Why was it America always axed her own military as soon as the current war was won, as though there were no possibility of there ever being another one?

  But the important consideration, the only consideration right now, was that Blake was safe, and that he was on his way home. Tensions had been so strained between them lately. The elder Murdock wanted desperately to close up that gulf between them, to make things right again.

  He knew now that the way to accomplish that was to stop trying to ride Blake about his career decision, to let him go his own way. That was the hard part about being a parent, of course, watching the kids go their own ways, watching them make mistakes.

  Or watchi
ng them do the right thing, even when Dad thought it was wrong. Murdock grinned. It was obvious that Blake Murdock had found his place with the SEALS.