"Lovely evening for a boat ride, huh?"
Chapter 16.
USS DAN DALY
INDIAN OCEAN
VICINITY IF 5deg NORTH AND 65deg EAST
28 OCTOBER
0503 HOURS LOCAL
PETTY Officer Paul Watkins had slipped the stern fans into reverse, moving out of the docking well egress at back slow with water spraying up on the steel bulkheads of the Dan Daly. The lift fan's RPM was just enough to hold the Battlecraft a scant two feet above the water's surface as it eased out into the open ocean. The entire SEAL detachment was aboard along with the crew, and the vessel was as crowded as it had been on the night of the coastal raid.
The weapons wings bristled with Penguin antiship, and both laser and radar antiaircraft missiles. Extra ordnance for those sophisticated systems was stowed in the now unusable wardroom along with extra ammo for the SEALs' CAR-15 rifles and SAWs. Rather than pack along bulky foodstuffs for the microwave, MREs were kept above and inside the cabinetry of the small galley. In following the KISS principle, Lieutenant Bill Brannigan decided everyone would use FRHs to heat their meals. That meant the food could rapidly and easily be prepared anywhere on the ACV.
When the ACV cleared the mother ship, Brannigan took a final sip of coffee from his cup. "Due north at two-thirds speed."
"Due north at two-thirds speed, aye, sir," Watkins said, working the piloting instrumentation.
"Use the automatic pilot," Brannigan said to the helmsman. "We're going to be following this course for a while."
"Aye, sir," Watkins said, setting the instrument to read the preprogrammed waypoints. "On automatic pilot, sir."
Brannigan looked out the front windshield at the bleached sky blazing down on the deep blue of the Indian Ocean. 'Those crazy DuBose brothers should have put air-conditioning in this vehicle."
"They did, sir," Lieutenant Veronica Rivers said. "I had it taken out to make room for the weapons systems."
"You are heartless," Brannigan said, half-joking.
Veronica smiled. "I'm just like Hard-Hearted Hannah the Vamp of Savannah in that old song. I'd throw water on a drowning man."
Brannigan chuckled. "I do believe you would, Lieutenant."
The First Assault Section was sprawled across the topside of the cabin, well coated with sunscreen and wearing wide-brimmed boonie hats to keep the sun off their faces. Normally, a canvas covering would have been rigged across the area to provide some shade, but the super speeds of the Battlecraft would have blown it off in an instant if Watkins kicked the throtde over to flank speed.
Down below in the crowded wardroom, Senior Chief Buford Dawkins's Second Assault Section had arranged themselves as comfortably as possible among the piles of ammo and other gear. They were not as comfortable as Jim Cruiser's guys above, but at least they didn't have to worry about sunburn at the moment. That problem would have to be dealt with when it was their turn to move topside.
Bobby Lee Atwill baked in the engine compartment as he monitored the true love of his life; the gas-turbine power plant that kept the ACV flying over water, ground, swamp, beach, or any other reasonably flat surface. Bobby Lee didn't have to swelter in the company of the engine, but it was his habit of staying close beside her during the first few hours of a cruise. She might get nervous and develop hiccups, and he wanted to be there to calm her down for the job ahead.
A certain grimness gripped the mood of SEALs and crew alike. All sensed that the next few days would bring about the wrap-up of their mission, and that was always the most dangerous part.
.
FORTRESS MIKNBAYI
0600 HOURS LOCAL
THE mujahideen guard had just come on duty after relieving the man on the third watch, and he began his rounds slowly, still feeling the need for sleep after leaving his wife and bed less than a half hour before. He strolled up and down the wharves, gazing with disinterest at the boats, coming to a stop at an empty mooring place. One of the whaler boats used to fetch in passengers and cargo from freighters was usually docked there. He glanced out into the deepwater anchorage to see if a crew was tending to one of the merchant ships, but there was no activity out in that area. He yawned, then continued his circuit of the wharves.
Twenty minutes later he had worked his way back to the guardhouse up at the entrance gate, and stepped inside. He was happy to see a pot of coffee on the hot plate by the guard sergeant's desk. The guard poured himself a cup, sitting down beside the door. After a couple of swallows, he murmured, "Somebody has taken a whaler out." * The sergeant looked up from the roster he was updating. "Mmm? What did you say?"
"I said one of the whalers has been taken out from Wharf Three."
"It is probably being used to unload a freighter" the sergeant said.
"There is not a ship out at the anchorage."
The sergeant was thoughtful for a moment, then pulled out the previous day's journal. "No one signed it out for use. At least its departure has not been noted down."
"Some of the fellows are very careless about making entries into the journal," the guard remarked. "They get sleepy at night and miss things."
"Well, I don't want the guard captain to think it was us," the sergeant said. He reached for the ancient field telephone and cranked it. "This is Sergeant Aboud," he said when the call was answered. "Somebody has taken a whaler out and the guard sergeant last night did not make note of it. Yes. It is missing from Wharf Three. My man noticed it first thing this morning. Thank you. Good-bye."
The guard chuckled. "You just watch. There are a couple of careless fellows who are going to be sent out to a mujahideen camp to shape them up, eh?"
The sergeant grinned. "A bit of danger and hardship will serve them right."
.
THE bodyguards Alif and Taa walked down to the docks, turning toward the Royal Yacht Sayih. Since Baa had been on duty all night, he would have the whole day off, and the other two would split the watch until he came back at eight o'clock that evening. Alif glanced up toward the head of the gangplank.
"Where is he?"
Taa shrugged. "He must have gone to the toilet. I always dislike that all-night shift. All I think about is having to urinate. And as soon as I try, something interrupts me."
They reached the gangplank and hurried up, coming to an abrupt stop when they reached the deck. Their pal Baa was sprawled on his side, groaning softly. The two thugs rushed to him, kneeling down and roughly rolling him over on his back. Baa's jaw was at a peculiar angle, and his face was swollen all the way up to the bridge of his nose.
"What happened?" Taa asked.
Baa couldn't speak. He groaned, his eyes silently pleading for help. Alif got to his feet. "I'll go to the bridge and put in a call to the dispensary."
Taa stayed with Baa, looking impassively at the man, who was obviously in a great deal of pain.
.
SHEIKH Omar Jambarah toweled himself off after stepping from the large walk-in shower in his quarters. He had washed his thinning hair for the first time with a special brand of American shampoo that was supposed to thicken up fading locks of men suffering from male-pattern baldness. He stood in front of the mirror, running the drier from the front of his head all the way to back, wincing at the heat. After a couple of dozen swipes, he checked his reflection and noticed that his hair did look a bit thicker. Satisfied, he walked from the bathroom into his bedroom, where a valet had laid out a fresh tank top, shorts, briefs, and sandals. After changing, he took another door to reach his dining area, and settled at the table.