.
USS DAN DALY
COMBAT DIRECTION CENTER
NOON
COMMANDER Tom Carey exchanged grins with the others in the center as Lieutenant Bill Brannigan's voice came over the commo speaker announcing the destruction of no less than six fast-attack boats.
"Well done, Lieutenant!" Carey exclaimed. "What about the big girl? Over."
"She didn't participate in the fight," Bannerman replied. "And she drew off while we were dealing with the final boat. We've expended our missiles. Request permission to pursue enemy vessel. Over."
"Permission denied," Carey said. "That's a fully armed attack ship and all you've got left is a chain gun. You'd never get close enough to her to put a single round into her hull. Over."
"Understood" Bannerman said. "We'll go about and search for survivors. Prisoners should be useful. Over."
"Roger. As soon as that task is done, set a course for the Dan Daly"
"Wilco. Out-
Carey put the microphone down and looked over at Paulsen and Koenig. "I would say that operation went rather well."
"I agree," Paulsen said. "It seemed they told us they were engaged and had destroyed the enemy in almost the same sentence."
Carey checked the printout of the commo log. "It was almost that fast. Bannerman said they were engaged at 1140 hours and reported the situation well in hand at noon. A victory in twenty minutes is sure as hell better than one in twenty hours or twenty days."
Koenig took a sip from his cup of coffee. 'This is not the end of the incident, gentlemen."
"Certainly not," Paulsen agreed. "The diplomacy boys are going to be busy for the next few weeks. I hope the Battlecraft manages to pluck some prisoners out of the water. That would make it easier all around."
"I can tell you who's going to be working their asses off in the wake of this event," Koenig said. 'The State Department's workday will be starting real early tomorrow morning."
Paulsen chuckled. "And that means our old pal Carl Joplin."
"Well, there's no better man for the job," Koenig opined.
.
TAIMUR NAVAL BASE, OMAN
1715 HOURS LOCAL
MIKE Assad stood on the second-floor balcony of the base officers' quarters looking out to sea. He had watched the entire Zauba Squadron sail out of the harbor the evening before, knowing they were on their way to attack a single American vessel. He wasn't familiar with air-cushion vehicles whether armed or unarmed, but the sight of the flagship and the six fast-attack boats was evidence enough that they would be a formidable task force. The impotent rage he'd felt kept him awake all that night, and he'd been unable to even enjoy brief naps as the day wore on.
Hafez Sabah stepped out of their shared room to join him. "We will have quite a celebration when the commodore returns with his victorious squadron." He checked his watch. "His estimated time of return is eight o'clock tonight."
Mike turned his face away from the Arab and only nodded at his remarks.
"Are you all right?" Sabah asked. "You seem ill."
Mike quickly turned to face him and smiled. "It is nothing, brother. I think the rich food in the officers' mess has upset my stomach. I have grown quite used to the simple fare of the mujahideen off in the mountains."
Sabah chuckled. "I too have felt as if my stomach is carrying a heavy load. Those thick sauces and all that meat! And the desserts! These Oman sailors live well, do they not?"
A siren suddenly sounded from the harbor area, the wail loud and steady. Mike and Sabah instinctively looked out to sea. A small dark smudge showed on the horizon.
"I wish we had some binoculars," Mike said, peering past the harbor at the distant open water.
The two continued to gaze into the distance for ten minutes before they were able to discern the shape of Commodore Mahamat's flagship. "Ah!" Sabah exclaimed. 'They have returned from their victory. Praise Allah!"
"I don't see the other ships," Mike said. "I wonder where they are."
"Perhaps they cannot go as fast as the flagship," Sabah suggested.
"Actually, they are able to go much faster," Mike reminded him.
A staff car sped from headquarters toward the officers' quarters and pulled up just below the balcony. The passenger, a chief petty officer, waved up at them. "The commodore has sent a message that you are to await his arrival in his office. Come at once, if you please."
The two went into the room, grabbed the naval caps to match their uniforms, and went out into the hall. Their bodyguards, Imran and Ayyub, were startled when they appeared unexpectedly. Sabah told them where they were going and the two youngsters insisted on coming along. When the four got downstairs, it was a struggle for all of them to get into the back of the vehicle.
.
THE COMMODORE'S OFFICE
1800 HOURS LOCAL
A commotion in the hall marked Commodore Muhammad Mahamat's arrival in the headquarters building. Petty officers yelled and enlisted men scurried about as their commanding officer bellowed orders at them, his words tumbling and jumbling into unintelligible shouts. When he charged into his office, both Mike and Sabah were alarmed at his appearance.
"Musibi--a disaster!" Mahamat yelled. "All is lost!"
"What happened?" Sabah asked.
"There was more than one of those cursed ACVs!" Mahamat said, close to weeping. 'There must have been a dozen! We were outnumbered and the infidels could go much faster than us. We were surrounded and the treacherous dogs loosed missiles at us from all sides! They would appear at one location and fire. Then another and fire! I think we must have destroyed eight or nine of them, but the remaining three or four were too much."
Mike glanced out the window at the undamaged flagship tied up at the dock. "How did you get away?"
"Only through the blessings of Allah and my skill as a combat leader," Mahamat said. "But they sank all my fast-attack boats. Those poor lads did not have a chance."
Sabah, visibly shaken, sat down. Between this disaster and having to deal with the ship owner Suhanto's treachery, he had stood about as much as he could. "What do we do now, Commodore?"
"I have radioed from the flagship for a helicopter at a heliport just north of here," Mahamat said. "I will have them fly us to Sheikh Omar's yacht for a council of war. I fear we are finished."
Mike fought a desire to cheer, making his voice somber and low. "I think we should go pack our things for the trip."
"Yes!" Mahamat exclaimed, glad to have something to do. "We must be prepared to stay with the sheikh for a good long spell."
"We better tell Imran and Ayyub to get ready," Mike said.
"No!" Mahamat ordered. "There may not be room for them on the helicopter."
Sabah grabbed Mike's arm. "Let us go, Mikael!"
The pair, with their faithful bodyguards following, did not send for a car. Instead, they ran all the way back to the officers' quarters. By the time they managed to throw a few things together, the sound of rapid honking could be heard out in the street. Mike looked through the window and saw the limousine with a chief petty officer behind the wheel. It was the same vehicle that had brought them to the naval base. Mahamat stood beside it, gesturing for them to come down.
Imran and Ayyub had grown frightened in the atmosphere of panic and trepidation. When Mike and Sabah emerged from their room, the two former baker apprentices followed them to the large automobile. As soon as Mike and Sabah joined the commodore inside, the driver took off.
Mike turned and looked out the back window at the two forlorn kids, standing alone and abandoned.
Chapter 14.
OIL COMPANY HELIPORT
23 OCTOBER
0900 HOURS LOCAL
MIKE and his two traveling companions, Commodore Muhammad Mahamat and Hafez Sabah, were driven across the desert to a lackluster oil-survey station that been scarred and marred by sun, sand, wind, and neglect. This was a far cry from the sleek, well-maintained naval helicopter base that Mike Assad expected to see.