The sheikh invited his guests to sit down after sending the women away. He lit a Turkish cigarette and expelled the smoke, as he looked at Mahamat. "Introduce your colleagues to me."
"Of course, Sheikh Omar," Mahamat said. "You already know Brother Hafez Sabah "
"Indeed I do," the sheikh said. "You are doing a superlative job as you continue to direct our program of transport and supply."
"I am most honored by your kind compliment, Sheikh Omar," Sabah said.
"And this," Mahamat said, pointing to Mike, "is Mikael Assad from America."
The sheikh laughed loudly. "So! You are the clever fellow who escaped from the Americans in Pakistan, are you?"
"I come back for to fight," Mike said.
Mahamat switched languages. "It might be better if we spoke in English. Brother Assad is still in the process of improving his grasp of Arabic."
"Of course," the sheikh said. "In what part of America did you live?"
"Buffalo, New York," Mike replied, falling back on his cover story. "I was not happy there."
Sabah interjected, "When Brother Mikael joined us, he knew very little Arabic and had no serious instruction in the tenets of Islam. However, he has proven to be an apt student and his growing faith inspires all of us as does his bravery and resourcefulness "
"Ajib--wonderful!" the sheikh exclaimed. "You have returned to the bosom of your culture and are now winning glory, Mikael."
"Yes, sir," Mike replied.
"You must address the exalted one as Sheikh Omar," Mahamat instructed.
"Yes, Sheikh Omar," Mike said, correcting himself.
"Now, Commodore," the sheikh said. "I understand that you had contact with the American air-cushion vehicle. How did it go?"
"In one way it was a glorious victory," Mahamat said. "We destroyed two American planes by blasting them from the sky."
"Mmm," the sheikh said. "And in what way was it disappointing?"
"The air-cushion vehicle was better armed than we anticipated," Mahamat admitted. "However, this is not an insurmountable problem. The next time I go out to do battle with the infidel vessel, I shall bring along all six of my fast-attack craft. They are heavily armed and capable of hitting speeds of one hundred twenty kilometers an hour."
"I see," said the sheikh. He reached down and picked up a folder on the table next to him. He opened it and studied a paper it contained. "According to Saudi intelligence, the American air-cushion vehicle can travel faster than one hundred forty kilometers an hour."
"From what I saw of it, I believe that to be true," Mahamat said. "But there is only one of them. When it meets with my squadron, it will cease to exist within a quarter of an hour. It cannot be in all places at once, in spite of how fast it skims the ocean."
"Do you have any special tactics in mind?" the sheikh asked.
As Mahamat began explaining his battle plans, Mike Assad's mind went into an analytical and evaluative mode. He now realized he was in the presence of the supreme leader of the al-Mimkhalif terrorist group. And the son of a bitch was a Saudi Arabian. Actually, that was no great surprise.
That vital information, combined with knowledge of the Zauba Fast Attack Squadron, had to be sent back to Paulsen, or the entire operation was doomed to a catastrophic failure that could affect the entire campaign against Middle Eastern terrorism.
Man! Mike mused in his mind. This is some heavy shit\
Mahamat finished his report, and the sheikh seemed pleased with his plans for confronting the ACV. He looked over at Hafez Sabah. "And how is our old friend Harry Turpin?"
"His cooperation is assured as long as he makes money off us," Sabah answered. "He betrayed Abduruddin Suhanto's treachery to us, but only because al-Mimkhalif is the better customer."
"Sometimes I feel a bit like the Communist Lenin," the sheikh said. "He took advantage of the capitalists' greed as much as we take advantage of the infidels' particularly materialistic tendencies."
Mike spoke up. 'That is what I hated the most about America, Sheikh Omar."
The sheikh smiled. "You are a true son of Islam, Mikael."
"I pray your trust in me remains strong," Mike said sincerely since his mission success depended on the man's absolute confidence in him. You smoke-blowing son of a bitch!
.
USS DAN DALY
INDIAN OCEAN
1900 HOURS
AN atmosphere of tension, crackling like electricity among the attendees, filled the briefing room. The late hour of the impromptu session added to the edginess of the four members of the ACV Battlecraft's operational crew, Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, Lieutenant (JG) Veronica Rivers, Petty Officer First Class Paul Watkins, and Petty Officer Second Class Bobby Lee Atwill. The two assault sections were conspicuous by their absence from this meeting.
Commander Tom Carey opened the session with the terse announcement that this was a combat briefing plain and simple. "You are going into harm's way," he said. "This is strictly a sea attack, and your mission is to hunt and destroy that unknown warship that destroyed the two F/A-18s and fired at you."
Everyone instinctively sat up straighter, and glances were directed at Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, who had his notebook out and pen poised.
Carey continued. "You will not have air cover. The reason for this is that we want only one American blip showing up on radars whether they be friendly or hostile. This is not sound battle procedure; it is, instead, a political necessity because of pressures involving international diplomacy."
" 'Ours is but to do or die,'" Brannigan said, quoting from the poem "The Charge of the Light Brigade" by the Englishman Lord Tennyson.
"I'm afraid so," Carey said. "But don't think it means you are expendable. But as members of a volunteer professional military establishment, you must realize that from the first moment you put on that uniform, you volunteered to obey the orders of your superiors. That means first you follow those orders without hesitation, then bring forth your personal observations during debriefings afterward. And I emphasize that this session today is a briefing, not a debriefing. Thus, no expression of opinions is invited." He looked at Brannigan. "Poetic or not."
"In other words," Brannigan remarked dryly, "we lock our heels and follow orders."
"If a gust of wind blows those orders out a porthole, you follow after 'em right into the sea," Carey said, passing out charts to Brannigan and his crew. "Here is your operational area. Nothing new there. You've been out there dozens of times. Now, let's talk ordnance. Your missile load will be six AGM-one-nineteen-B Penguin missiles. These fire-and-forget goodies are usually launched from Seahawk helicopters, so now you know why weapons wings were placed on each side of Battlecraft's cabin."
"I designed them that way, sir," Veronica emphatically stated.
"A point well taken, Lieutenant," Carey said with an apologetic smile. "At any rate, the Penguins' semi-armor-piercing, HE warheads are more than adequate to handle that warship. Of course Lieutenant Rivers will also have her thirty-millimeter chain gun. You will not have an antiaircraft capability for two reasons. The first is that our intelligence assessments conclude there will be no aerial attacks directed at you." He grinned wryly. "And the second is that you don't have room for all those Penguins and any sea-to-air weaponry too."
"Sir," Brannigan said. "Do we have any idea of the nationality of that warship?"
"Not the slightest, Lieutenant," Carey replied. "And here's the real hang-up for you. While I described this as a hunt-and-destroy mission, you are not to attack until you are fired on. Another disadvantage forced on you by the conditions out here."