Cobra

by David E. Meadows

  “where is it?” duncan asked quietly, squatting beside HJ, Bud Helliwell, and Gibbons. They had traveled two hours since the fork in the sewers.

  He had decided to evacuate the sewer at the first opportunity, believing they had missed the rebels’ hideaway somewhere along their search.

  Monkey pressed his back to the slime, his eyes focused upward on the manhole cover above the ladder where the three officers and Gibbons squatted. Although he knew the dangers of firing the M-60 inside the tunnel, the machine gun pointed upward. If anyone opened that manhole, they’d better open it with a white flag flying.

  “Look here, Captain. Scuff marks continue along the floor, but look at the ladder.” He brushed his fingers on a rung. “Smooth. Scuff marks where someone has climbed up and down it a lot,” Gibbons whispered.

  “Gibbons is right, Captain,” Bud added. “Let me climb up and see if I can hear anything.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Be careful,” Duncan whispered.

  Bud strapped his carbine across his back, grabbed the rungs, and began to climb the twenty-foot-high ladder. The sides of the pipe leading up narrowed as the ladder approached the top. Bud touched the manhole cover and pushed. Too heavy for one person to move.

  Beau unstrapped his carbine and worked his way past Duncan, HJ, and Gibbons to the other side.

  Monkey lowered his M-60. He couldn’t use it now, even if someone opened the cover. He’d shoot Helliwell. Beau had a good angle past the climbing ensign. A narrow one, but even a limited angle of fire was better than none.

  They watched quietly. Bud flipped on his small helmet light and with his knife began to move it around the edges of the cover. Duncan shifted his stance slightly. He couldn’t tell what Bud was doing, but Duncan assumed the mustang was checking for trip wires. They had passed two others during the past two hours. One, they hadn’t even seen until after the first two in line had luckily stepped over it. He estimated they were five to six miles from where they started. Eight hours underground and only such a short distance. He tried to recall the buildings that lined the banks of the drainage ditch where they entered. He fought the urge to power up the computer on his arm to see if he could find the outlay instead of relying on his memory. From what he recalled, there were several huge warehouses toward the center of the capital, located inside barriers of barbed wire. The port wasn’t that much farther. He did not have a good feel for where they were. Maybe they were close enough to reestablish communications with the Marines. He pulled the eyepiece down that held the computer display. He might fail to recall how to search the onboard database, but all he had to do was hit the F7 key, and if they were in range, a data link would start to function with the Marines topside. The flashing red light at the bottom of the web page showed they were still out of range. He flipped the eyepiece down. How in the hell did anyone fight with all this techno-shit?

  Bud climbed down. When he reached the bottom, he turned to Duncan.

  “Captain, I don’t hear anyone on the other side, but I can tell the cover has been raised a few times. The lip is clean. It’s probably cast iron, but I need help to lift it and slide it aside. It’s a narrow fit up there, Captain. Monkey is going to have a problem getting his big butt through it. I need someone up there to help me lift it. I can slide it aside by myself.” “I’ll do it,” Monkey said.

  “What if someone is waiting inside?” Bud countered.

  Monkey shrugged. “Then I’ll have to kill him.” The huge Navy SEAL handed his M-60 to Chief Wilcox and, taking the steps two at a time, raced up the ladder. A minute later, the cover was up and aside. A faint light shone through the opening. Monkey stuck his head inside and gave the place a quick look. Then he spun around, spreading his legs apart and, holding on with his hands, slid down the ladder. “It’s opened, sir. No one up there.” He reached over and took his weapon back from Chief Wilcox.

  “Okay, Bud, you lead the way. Get up there and take a defensive position. HJ, you follow. Gibbons, you’re next. Monkey, you think you can get through that small opening?” Duncan asked.

  Monkey stared upward, biting his lower lip as if deep in thought. “I think so, Captain. I was able to shove the cover aside. If Gibbons can get through it, I can, sir,” he said confidently.

  “Okay, you’re fourth through the hatch. Mcdonald, you’re fifth, I’m sixth. Beau, you and Chief Wilcox bring up the rear. Stay back a ways.

  If they drop a grenade down here, I don’t want it taking all of us out.”

  “Always a bridesmaid and never a bride,” Beau said.

  Bud reached the top. HJ swung around the ladder and crawled up parallel with the ensign. She wrapped her arm through the rung to keep from falling and with the free hand held the stock of her gun.

  “Okay, Bud, anytime you’re ready.”

  Bud stuck his right hand through the top rung. He positioned his left hand a foot and half from the other. Wrapping one of his legs around the ladder, Bud shoved himself up and through the opening.

  HJ scrambled up two more rungs and followed the mustang through the opening.

  HJ and Bud were in a small basement room. It was about ten by twelve feet, with a solid, lightweight metal door leading out of it. A wooden table with four chairs scattered haphazardly around it was pushed against the far wall, along with what looked like a small coffee table near the door. Several small Arabic coffee cups sat on the tables. Pipes from a central heating system installed across the back wall ran across the over head, up the walls, and out through the overhead. Paint peeled from where the walls met the unfinished ceiling.

  Bud squatted near the table, his carbine unstrapped. He nodded to H.J. before sprinting to the door at the end of the room. He put his ear to it, listened for a couple of seconds, and took a couple of steps back, glancing at HJ. Bud rotated his left shoulder, trying to ease the throbbing pain in the rotator cuff. He should have let Gibbons or Monkey take the lead.

  “Anybody?” she asked softly.

  Bud shook his head and gave her a thumbs-down. “Don’t hear anything,” he whispered.

  HJ spun around and stuck her head and arm back inside the hole. “Come on up,” she said, motioning to the others.

  Gibbons hurried through and rushed ahead of Bud to retake the point.

  Five minutes later, all the SEALs were in the small room. The single naked low-watt bulb hanging from the overhead seemed bright after over eight hours beneath the ground.

  Gibbons and Bud covered the door. Mcdonald and Monkey quietly moved the coffee cups off the small table and turned it over on its side. They carried it to the hole and turned it so the top faced the door. If they had to make a quick exit, the table would provide some cover but not much from the feel of the cheap wood.

  Duncan moved in front of Gibbons and put his ear to the door. Hearing nothing, he turned the knob. The door opened easily, revealing a dark hallway. Gibbons slid down to the floor and stuck his head out around the bottom of the door, did a quick 180 glance, and pulled back.

  “Nothing, Captain. Set of stairs to the right. Light coming down it.”

  Duncan motioned Beau to his side. “Take Gibbons, and secure the base of the stairs. Don’t go up until we get there.” He hit Beau on the shoulder. “Go!”

  Beau rolled out of the door, crossed the hall, and ran to the end of the stairs. Gibbons rolled around the door, keeping close to the near side of the narrow hallway wall. His eyes roved forward and back, expecting any moment to encounter resistance.

  Duncan watched the opposite direction from the open door. He had no way of knowing where they were in the building. In fact, he had no idea what building they were in or even if they were still in Algiers. For all he knew, they could be in the center of the rebel command post surrounded by thousands of religious fanatics waiting for their Al-Qaida paycheck.

  In which case, the gold crucifix he wore around his neck wouldn’t be much help.

  He motioned to HJ and Monkey. “Go!”

  HJ led as the two moved quickl
y into the hallway. At the same time, Beau and Gibbons arrived farther down the hall at the base of the stairs.

  Duncan motioned Chief Wilcox and Bud Helliwell forward. “Take position to protect the team at the base of the stairs. Mcdonald, come here. You remain inside the room in the event we have to make a quick exit. As we move forward, I want you three bringing up the rear in similar positions. Got it?”

  “Got it, boss,” Ensign Bud Helliwell replied, but he didn’t like being a rear echelon guard. He was used to being in the front lines, where the action was. He hoped it was not because of the slight wound he received in the firefight with the Algerian rebels yesterday morning, or maybe the captain had noticed the pain he was having with his shoulder. He never should have said what he did about the Purple Hearts.

  “What’s wrong, Bud? Am I forgetting something?” Duncan asked, seeing the look on the mustang’s face.

  “Nothing, boss.” He gripped his carbine tighter. “Well, maybe one. You aren’t putting me in the rear because of that slight wound yesterday, are you?”

  Duncan grinned. “Bud, I had forgotten all about it until you mentioned it. Now, don’t go sensitive on me; I don’t have time to give you a hug and a pat on the back. You got the rear because if we have to withdraw, then you three are going to have to provide covering fire. Your experience comes in handy if we are pinned or something up ahead happens where we need a quick reserve force. I am depending on you to do the right thing, even if it means leaving us and escaping with your life and the lives of the hostages.” He reached over and patted the side of Bud’s head. “There. That will have to do instead of a hug.”

  “Okay, Captain,” Bud replied, grateful for the shadows that hid his embarrassment.

  Duncan slapped him on the shoulder, failing to notice the mustang wince.

  “Go!”

  Bud and Chief Wilcox eased out the door and moved down the hall several feet. Bud stopped halfway to the stairs and motioned the chief ahead.

  Duncan stepped out from behind them and walked carefully down the center of the hall to where the others had the base of the stairways secured.

  A muffled scream, easily recognized as a woman’s, from above, startled them. Duncan heard the safety clicks going off the rifles like a garden full of crickets. “Let’s go,” he said softly, tapping Gibbons and Beau on the shoulders.

  The two SEALs moved quietly up the stairs. From above, further cries in English and what sounded like a struggle urged them forward. The three moved slowly and carefully. It would not do whoever was above any good if they hurried right into an ambush. Duncan caught the words “don’t”

  and “kill,” and the frightened crying of begging. Anger poured over him as he recalled the massacre they had stumbled upon in a small Algerian village west of Algiers during the rescue of President Hawaii Alneuf. It had been at this village where the rebels had overrun HJ Mcdaniels’s position. He glanced back at the female officer following and briefly wondered if the cries above brought back thoughts of her own experience.

  HJ’s head was down.

  At the top of the stairway, another set of stairs led up and away in the opposite direction. A door blocked the exit to it. The screams gave way to a low, mournful continuum of whimpers surrounded by periodic outbursts of masculine laughter. Beau held up one finger and motioned up the stairs. He and Gibbons hurried to the door. Duncan walked up the stairs as softly as possible, thankful for the railing along the side.

  His left knee ached. He touched it gently and felt the swelling. Just get through this mission, and he could retire. Go home, bury the dog, divorce the wife, and maybe lay a little whup ass on that Safeway lover.

  Beau squatted, braced his carbine against the wall, and pulled a two-foot-long electronic cord from a waist-mounted power pack. On the end was a small camera. A small video screen on top of the power pack allowed the viewer to see what the camera saw. He pushed the thin fiber-optic camera and cord into the small space between the bottom of the door and the cement floor.

  Duncan leaned over Beau’s shoulder and watched the small screen with him. Gibbons moved back slightly so if anyone opened the door, they’d be dead before they could shut it.

  On the other side of the door was a small hallway about five feet wide, running north to south. Multiple doors opened off it, but only two in the northern direction sixty to seventy feet ahead showed light coming from beneath them. Small, unshielded lightbulbs, similar to the one in the basement room where they had exited the Algiers sewer, hung from three frayed cords providing faint illumination to the hall.

  Beau twisted the cord, and the camera rolled to face the other direction. A door at the end of the hallway with an opaque glass facade marked the way out of this one.

  Behind them, HJ and Monkey moved up to flank Gibbons. At the top of the stairs, Mcdonald unlimbered his M-60, pointing it up and away from those in front of him. Chief Wilcox stayed near the machine gunner while Bud creeped up beside HJ. Chief Wilcox pulled his fluorescent crayon and made an X on the floor beside the stairway, followed by an arrow. HJ saw the chief do this and raised her eyebrows at Bud.

  “If we have to make a hurried exit, we don’t need to be trying to reach a consensus on which way is out.”

  Beau looked at Duncan. “Looks clear.”

  A new series of screams sent chills up Duncan’s back. Screams of pain quickly subsided as laughter echoed over the moans that followed.

  “She’s in this hallway somewhere,” Duncan said.

  Beau reached up and tried the knob. The door opened easily. Duncan and Beau braced themselves against the sides of the wall, expecting gunfire, although a few seconds ago, the camera showed the hallway empty.

  Gibbons dodged past, accepting the verdict of the spy system. There was only so much a petty officer could take, having the senior officers jumping out in front of him. Point was his job this mission and, by God, the captain and the commander could follow.

  Beau waited a couple of seconds, watching the opposite direction from where Gibbons moved.

  Duncan motioned to the others to follow before he stepped into the hallway and leaned against the far side of the wall. The woman’s cries and the men’s laughter blocked what little noise the Navy SEALs made as they leapfrogged each other down the hallway. Gibbons dodged ahead toward the door leading out of the confined space. Beau tiptoed down the other way, checking the lighted rooms. He bent down and looked through the keyhole, shook his head, and moved to the second one. Monkey passed the officer, stopping opposite Gibbons, and nodding to his shipmate.

  “Oh, my God!” the voice screamed. “Not again. No, don’t, please. Oh, my God! I beg you, don’t! Argggg!”

  Beau pointed at the second door. Duncan touched him on the shoulder and whispered, “No weapons, if possible. The longer we keep our presence a secret, the longer we have to find the hostages. Use your knife.”

  HJ and Bud heard his warning as they appeared beside the two crouching officers.

  Beau propped his carbine against the wall and began threading the spy camera under the small opening. Bud leaned against the doorknob side of the door. Monkey crept up and took a spread-legged position above Beau, reminding Duncan briefly of a scene out of a Rambo movie he saw years ago. All the man needed was a bandana.

  Chief Wilcox stayed at the door, guarding their rear and keeping a backup watch on Gibbons. Mcdonald eased himself into the center of the hallway, ready to bring his M-60 to bear in either direction if the rebels suddenly appeared.

  Duncan gently pushed Monkey to the side so he could see the small screen of the spy camera. A chair a few feet from the door blocked the small camera’s view. Laughter from within complemented the three sets of legs the camera showed.

  Duncan looked around at the team, ready to make his decision to rush the room. HJ’s fingers curled and uncurled around the carbine, her finger already on the trigger. Her eyes blazed along with a heaving chest as HJ’s anger threatened to overcome SEAL training. Duncan reached over and
tapped her shoulder twice, causing her to shake her head. He pointed at her carbine and raised his eyebrows. She stared for a couple of seconds at Duncan before curtly nodding her head and removing her finger from the trigger. The spell was broken.

  Duncan didn’t know what she would do once inside the room. The camera failed to twist sufficiently to show what was happening to the woman; they all had different ideas, none of them good.

  Beau twisted the camera. As it spun around to a new position, Beau caught a good glimpse of three pairs of combat boots. He pulled the camera out and looked up at Duncan. He held up three fingers and then four. He figured if they were doing what he thought they were doing in that room, then three of them were watching while the fourth was … well, doing what he thought was going on.

  Duncan pulled his knife.

  Bud put his free hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly. It was unlocked. He nodded at Duncan. Duncan gave a thumbs up to everyone and then, nodding to Bud, he held up one finger, then two …

  ELEVEN

  The Aegis cruiser, USS Hue City, and the aging destroyer, USS Spruance, were built from the same Spruance class hull, with the Hue City being four feet longer and displacing six hundred tons more than the Spruance.

  Weapons systems and mission focus truly determined whether these warships were designated a cruiser or destroyer. Cruisers focused on antiair warfare as the primary mission, while destroyers historically were allocated the antisubmarine missions of-the surface fleet. As the number of United States Navy warships declined, along with retention of critical manpower, warships began to incorporate multiple-mission capabilities along with a theory that a smaller crew could do the same work as a larger crew. The USS Gearing, sunk by the Libyans at the beginning of the North African crisis, was one of the first DD-21-class warships capable of fighting a multidimensional war with two thirds less crew.