The third missile plunged into the command center; completely devastating the building and spreading fire to the adjacent buildings. The command center and all communications to the outside were gone.
The last missile flew down the center of the flight line of the small airfield. The bomblets buried themselves in the runway and then detonated, cratering the field down its entire length. No conventional aircraft would be using that field in the near future. At the end of its pass, the missile turned and plunged into the only building near the field. The building exploded into flames as the jet fuel stored inside ignited.
23 Jun 2000, 0107LT (22 Jun, 1807Z)
Wood and Tagamond retraced their torturous snakelike approach and were once again just outside the cave mouth. They lay in the underbrush for several hours, their positions so close that they could easily overhear the guards’ conversations. Arrayed beside each of them were two flash-bang grenades and two extra clips for their H&K MP-5 9mm machine pistols.
At the sound of the first missile exploding, they each lobbed a flash-bang grenade into the cave entrance. The excruciatingly loud noise and brilliant light momentarily stunned the guards. This fleeting second was all the two SEALs needed. All ten guards fell to carefully aimed three shot bursts from the H&K’s.
As the two SEALs rushed into the cave, they heard the unmistakable bark of the 50-caliber sniper rifle from somewhere behind them. It was repeated almost instantly.
Stuart and Heigle had set up their hide holes about 500 yards above the trail where it crossed the knife-edge of the ridge between the two valleys. This gave them a clear field of fire for anyone attempting to use the trail from either direction. They could hear the short firefight at the cave, but the screening over-growth prevented them from lending their teammates any support.
As the sounds of the firefight died down, a squad of defenders came down the trail from the compound at a dead run, determined to help their friends in the cave. Stuart placed the cross hairs of his night vision scope on the head of the squad leader and while Heigle targeted the last man. Raising the aim point about six inches to allow for drop in the 500 yards to the target, they gently squeezed the triggers of the giant rifles. At two pounds of trigger pull, the hammer snapped forward, activating the 360-grain powder charge. The 265-grain match grade bullets began their journeys at 2600 feet per second. Each bullet found its mark in 0.6 seconds. The heads of the targets literally exploded and disappeared in a red mist.
The rest of the squad stopped where they were, bewildered by what had transpired. Their comrades lay dead at their feet, their heads exploded from no apparent cause. An additional 3.5 seconds elapsed before the sound of the shots reached the squad. They began to react, diving for what cover they could find. By this time the two snipers had each slammed another round into their rifles, selected targets, aimed and sent two more rounds down the mountain. Two more heads disappeared from the bodies. The survivors tried to return fire, but had no idea where the attack was coming from. They were pinned down, with no escape route in any direction.
The two snipers waited patiently. The desultory return fire wasn’t coming anywhere near their holes. The squad survivors were uncovering themselves for only a split second to fire a random burst before diving back for cover. There was not enough time for an aimed, accurate return shot.
After several minutes, one of the squad was brave enough to aim a burst up the mountain slope. Unfortunately for him, his time exposed from cover was a half-second too long. A .50-caliber slug tore through his chest and kicked him backward ten yards.
All of the fight was gone from the squad. They simply cowered behind the meager cover, waiting for the snipers to go away.
The first burst of gunfire jerked Tom Clark awake. He jumped up from his meager pallet and rushed toward the prison door. Maybe, just maybe, someone had finally come to rescue them.
The shooting and explosions increased in intensity. The blasts nearly deafened him, but he couldn’t see anything outside. Did the rescuers know that they were in here? Would they blast down the doors and come in shooting? Were they even winning, driving away the terrorists? Or would the terrorists come back and kill them all?
Tom’s mind raced. He had to let someone know where they were. He had to protect his little flock. He had to find Nan and protect her.
Tom pounded on the heavy steel door and shouted at the top of his lungs, “We’re in here! Help us! We’re in here.”
After a few seconds, the other missionary men joined in the chorus. Suddenly a deep growling voice penetrated the door. “Get back from the door. Get on the floor with your hands on your head. We are going to blow the door. Anyone standing when we come in will be shot. Do you understand?”
Tom dropped to the floor and waved everyone else to do the same. He called out, “We understand. We’re on the floor. Praise God you’re here.”
The door blasted off its hinges and fell in as two heavily armed men charged through the opening, their rifles dancing around the room like cobras ready to strike. The leader pointed at Tom. “Who are you? Are there any more?”
Tom looked up and smiled. “I’m Tom Clark. This is my missionary group. Are we ever thankful to see you!”
He waved toward the next steel door. “The women are locked up there. Please get them out. Can we get up now?”
25
23 Jun 2000, 0108LT (22 Jun, 1808Z)
Roland had just finished assembling his strike teams when the TLAM attack began. He could see the flames and hear the explosions atop Mount Giushiu. The command post a hundred meters to his right suddenly disappeared in a blinding flash. He could easily see troops running from the burning structure. A scant few attempted to fight the fires.
It was time to start the attack on the factory. Roland pointed a small laser designator at one of the machine cannon emplacements. The tiny red dot appeared on the slide mechanism. One of the SEALs manning a SAW fired a grenade from the integral M-203 grenade launcher into the sandbagged emplacement. The other SAW followed suit, almost instantly. He aimed at the other emplacement. The near simultaneous blasts knocked them both out. The 23mm cannons lay, blackened and silent, in the smoldering ruins on the emplacements.
The two M-60 machine-gunners raked 7.62mm NATO rounds across the few guards who were standing around. The covering fire protected the rest of the SEALs as they worked their way toward the entrance of the factory cave. The murderously accurate crossfire knocked any fight out of the remaining terrorists. They fled into the jungle.
Three guards stationed inside the cave entrance came running. The sounds of the firefight drew them out to help their comrades. They ran, pell-mell, down the trail only to fall in a hail of 9mm rounds from the approaching SEALs’ H&K machine pistols.
Rushing into the cave entrance, the SEALs were confronted with a heavy steel door firmly implanted in a reinforced concrete wall. Roland shouted, "Jankowski, get up here."
The big SEAL breacher ran up, removing three small charges from his pack as he ran. He taped one over the lock and the other two on the hinges. After turning the timers to give him thirty seconds, he took cover with his teammates, yelling “Fire in the hole!”
The small packets of C-4 plastic explosive left the door hanging loosely open.
As the smoke cleared, the SEALs could see a laboratory facility that had been spotlessly clean, but was now covered with a cloud of settling dust and plaster. A half-dozen white smocked workers picked themselves up off the floor, dazed from the explosion. Confronted with very menacing looking blackened faced SEALs brandishing H&K machine pistols, they raised their hands high over their heads and babbled surrender in several different languages.
One of the scientists, obviously the leader from the manner in which the others deferred to him, approached LT Roland. In a heavy Eastern European accent, he said, “You American fools. You’ll kill us all. Don’t you have any idea of what this place is?”
“Suppose you tell us,” Roland retorted. “Looks to me lik
e we’ve found a terrorist lab making biological warfare agents. My guess is that you’re in charge. That makes you a terrorist. How close am I?”
“You arrogant idiot! Of course this is a laboratory!” the enraged scientist shouted, his face burning crimson. He pointed to a large glass and steel enclosure in which several people dressed in containment suits were standing and said, “In that isolation booth is the most virulent form of smallpox ever produced. It will kill you in three days and there is no cure. Have you ever seen anyone die from pox? A most painful way to die. I suggest that you leave now so that you don’t inadvertently expose yourselves.”
Lieutenant Roland replied, “Oh, we’ll leave all right, but we need to leave a few things here first. You will order those people in the booth to leave immediately and accompany my men outside the cave. You have five minutes to get them out and to evacuate. If you choose to stay, it’s OK with me.”
Turning to his squad, Roland ordered them to place the explosives that they had lugged up from the RHIBs. The placement was precise, designed to destroy the cave’s contents milliseconds before collapsing the roof onto the remnants. The facility would be buried under tons of volcanic rock; sealed forever from the outside.
The agitated Dr. Aswal ordered his workers to exit. He gathered his team at the cave exit. They huddled under the watchful scrutiny of two heavily armed SEALs.
As the last of the charges were being placed, automatic weapons fire erupted outside the cave. The staccato rattle of M-60s was interspersed with the louder, lower rumble of a heavy machine gun.
Several grenades exploded as the SEALs exited the cave. A fierce firefight was underway. An armored personnel carrier and a squad of infantry were trying to force their way up the main road. They had the SEAL gunners pinned down under a fusillade of fire from the 23-mm automatic cannon and light machine gun fire. The SEALs were returning fire at a furious rate. Several of the attacking infantry lay sprawled on the ground and a grenade explosion blackened the side of the APC.
With no time to waste before the explosive charges brought down the mountain, Roland surveyed the situation from behind the cover of a large rock.
Boats yelled, "Lieutenant, we got to get moving! Can't hold them much longer. We're running out of ammo."
The added firepower from the SEALs at the cave entrance stalled the assault. The terrorists scrambled to find cover and return fire. The fight was approaching a standoff. Tracer fire from the APC stitched across the rock face. The SEALs had to get out, but the way they came was blocked.
Boats, shooting from behind a tree five feet to Roland's left, signaled that there was an escape route in that direction. Roland rallied his troops and began a covered withdrawal down a narrow footpath.
There was no time to herd the prisoners away. The scientists were on their own. Aswal and his cronies skittered off to the right, away from the escaping SEALs.
The squad leapfrogged down the mountain, away from the entrance. Roland and Boats were the last two to leave. "Get movin', Lieutenant, I'll cover!" Boats yelled. He turned and opened fire. As Roland started to slither across the ten feet of open ground to the next cover, he saw Boats fall. "You okay?" he yelled.
No answer. Roland crouched low and ran back to Boats. He lay sprawled behind the tree, holding his blood-soaked side and vainly trying to reach for his weapon.
Roland threw the Chief over his shoulder and ran toward his retreating squad. They were using the last of their precious ammo to give him cover.
Crossing the open ground took an eternity. Bullets kicked up dust around him and showered leaves and debris on him. Roland's lungs burned like they were afire. His knees felt like rubber. He ran down the trail past the rest of the SEALs until he reached a protected clearing.
He could hear the firefight continuing as the rest of the SEALs executed their covered withdrawal. All but the last person provided covering fire while he rushed several feet ahead of the squad. This process was rapidly repeated several times, until they were all clear of the cave area.
A sudden blast and cloud of dark gray smoke billowed from the cave. The cave roof collapsed on the remnants of the factory, entombing everything under tons of rock. The massive shock loosened a rocky outcropping above the cavern. The rockslide buried the entrance and upended the armored personnel carrier.
Left without their heavy weapons and badly out-maneuvered, the terrorists ran back toward the compound.
Roland checked the wounded Chief. The bullet had passed through his side, leaving a neat little entrance hole an inch below and outside his right nipple. The exit hole, just below Boat's right clavicle, was not so tiny or neat. His blouse was saturated with blood.
"Boats, you alright? Stay with us now!"
A pair of pressure bandages staunched most of the bleeding. A shot of morphine took the edge off the pain. Better medical attention would have to wait until they were back on ESSEX.
Boats groaned, "Damn it, Lieutenant. That was a damn fool thing to do. I've told you a hundred times, you run like a duck."
23 Jun 2000, 0115LT (22 Jun, 1815Z)
SAN FRANCISCO raced at flank speed to return from the Tomahawk launch basket to Nusa Funata. Hunter was worried about the FFG that they encountered on the outbound journey. He had an uneasy feeling about it. Nothing that he could really put his finger on, but…
If it was aiding the terrorists, it could lend supporting fire against the SEALs or, more importantly, prevent the OSPREYs from reaching their landing zone. These birds were easy targets for the AAW systems on the FFG-7, which were designed to attack supersonic jets and low flying cruise missiles. Without the OSPREYs, the SEALs and hostages were stranded on Nusa Funata, to share the fate of the terrorists there.
The empty missile canisters remaining in the torpedo tubes from the launch were jettisoned. The torpedomen rushed to reload tube one with an ADCAP torpedo and reload the other three tubes with more Tomahawks.
The torpedo room was starting to look empty. Out of the twenty-six stowage positions available in the room and tubes; with the KILO attack, the SEAL equipment and the Tomahawk strike, they had ten empty spaces. They still had two Harpoon anti-ship missiles, six ADCAP torpedoes and eight Tomahawk missiles. When the tubes were loaded, the torpedo gang rearranged the rack-stowed weapons so that there was a torpedo ready to be rapidly loaded behind tube one and a Tomahawk ready behind each of the other tubes. They were betting that these would be the needed weapons. Loading a Harpoon would require moving several of the two-ton behemoths around the room to get one in line to load.
The mission planners were back at work in the wardroom, planning re-strikes on all the missions that had been flown just in case they were needed. This time the launch basket would be much closer to the coast of Nusa Funata to shorten the flight time. There was no need for surprise or simultaneous arrival of several missiles. If the SEALs needed a re-strike, they would need it now. There would be no time for fancy maneuvers.
Hunter looked at the digital time display on the bulkhead behind the periscope stand. The B-2 was airborne by now and 1500 miles into its 9000-mile journey. Could he and the SAN FRANCISCO/SEAL platoon finish the task in time to turn the bomber around before it delivered its awful load?
26
23 Jun 2000, 0930LT (0130Z)
The FFG was steaming away from Nusa Funata. Hunter could see the bow wake it was kicking up. He estimated that it was doing at least twenty-five knots. Hunter lowered the scope.
Chief Holmstad confirmed his guess. "Conn, sonar. Sierra two-five-one has increased speed. Turn count for twenty-seven knots of one five-bladed screw."
Hunter spoke into the open microphone to sonar, "Chief, that equates to the frigate. Agree with the speed increase. His bow wave is half way back his side. Real bone in the teeth. Probably doing flank."
"Conn, sonar, aye.
Hunter turned to Fagan, standing on the starboard side of control with the rest of the fire control party. "Still nothing we can do. He hasn't done anything t
hat constitutes a hostile act. I don't know if he is helping the terrorists or just out on patrol. We'll continue to track him until we know his intentions or we have to help the SEALs."
Fagan nodded. "Yes, sir."
Hunter watched Fagan closely. He appeared to be acting normally. No sign of breaking. Yet.
Time for another check on the frigate. Hunter ordered, "Raising number two scope for a look around."
The flight of four F-14s came roaring over the horizon. The OSPREYs air cover had arrived.
“Conn, ESM. The frigate’s fire control radar has shifted to targeting mode. Looks like they are getting ready to fire on the F-14s.”
Hunter quickly lowered the scope and turned to the fire control party, “That pretty much answers the question of the frigate’s intentions. They’ve locked onto the F-14’s with fire control radar. That constitutes a hostile act. We’ll attack the frigate and we need to be quick, before they get a bird in the air."
Hunter shouted, “Observation, number two scope, on the frigate.”
The litany signaled to everyone in control the Captain was going to be looking at the frigate using the periscope. It was time for absolute silence. The whole cycle of raising the scope from its well, making the observation and lowering the scope back to the well would take less than ten seconds. The scope would be exposed above the water for only about three seconds. It was vital to gather all the available information from that three-second-mind picture without any distraction.
“Up scope,” he ordered as he squatted at the base of the stainless steel ring guarding the hole in the deck that was the scope well.
Operation Golden Dawn Page 25