Veronica marveled at the calmness of the SEALs. They were not going into a controlled situation with consoles and cathode-ray tubes to fight with laser-and radar-guided missiles, and it didn't faze them a bit. They were completely blase about the fact they would be on the ground sneaking bodily into a heavily armed enemy stronghold, having to rely on skill, stealth, and trigger fingers to get the job done. From the look of them, one would think they were in the midst of preparing for a family barbecue.
An engine sound eased out of the distant darkness over the ocean, steadily growing louder until the Osprey appeared in the distance with blinking lights. This unique aircraft could fly either as a helicopter or a fixed-wing aircraft; depending on the angle at which its engine/rotor assemblies were tilted. It was capable of carrying up to twenty-four fully equipped troops and had a range of over 2400 miles. With a maximum speed of 345 miles an hour, it could get its various loads to their destinations in a timely fashion.
The aircraft came in toward the Dan Daly, and the ship's LSO went to his station to direct it in. The engine/rotors tilted smoothly, slowing it down, before coming in for a smooth vertical landing on the deck. The pilot throttled back the engines while the crew chief opened the rear ramp to allow the parachutists to enter the fuselage when they were ready to enplane.
Dawkins double-timed across the deck to the aircraft and went aboard to check the preparations for the jump. As soon as he got aboard he came face-to-face with a Force Recon Marine gunnery sergeant. Dawkins looked at him intently, speaking out of the side of his mouth. "What can I do for you, Gunny?"
"Nothing, Senior Chief," the Marine NCO said. "Ever'thing is well in hand."
"Oh, yeah?" Dawkins said. "I'm assigned as jumpmaster for this operation."
"Oh, yeah? Well as it just so happens, I'm assigned as jumpmaster for this operation."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah!" the Marine retorted. "This here's a United States Marine fucking aircraft, see? Tonight I'm the guy what's responsible to see that it's properly rigged for T-10 exits. And that includes the guys unassing the aircraft. I'm in charge back here from start to finish. Understood?"
Dawkins knew the guy was right. He looked around the interior of the Osprey, quickly eyeballing the anchor line and seating arrangements, then said, "All right. It seems to be shipshape." He turned and stepped back on the deck, taking a couple of strides before stopping to make an impromptu about-face. "Hey, Gunny. Take care of my guys, huh?"
The gunnery sergeant gave him a thumbs-up. "I promise you that, Senior Chief."
Dawkins hurried over to Brannigan, stopping and snapping a salute. "Sir, the aircraft is prepared proper for the jump. A jarhead is aboard as jumpmaster."
"It's their airplane, Senior Chief," Brannigan said. He turned to the men. "All right! Board the aircraft in reverse stick order! Snap it up!"
The men formed up and headed for the Osprey.
.
OVER THE YEMEN-OMAN DESERT
500 FEET ALTITUDE
0200 HOURS
LIEUTENANT Bill Brannigan stood at the head of the fifteen-man stick, looking down at the dark desert floor below. It was a hot cloudless night and the illumination of moon and stars was bright enough that he could pick out terrain features in the short distance between the aircraft and the ground. Over to his left, the Marine gunnery sergeant, wearing an intercom headset, was speaking to the pilot. He raised his hand, and Brannigan nodded to him. When the arm dropped, the SEAL skipper jumped off the ramp into empty space.
He could feel the static line piaying out of the stowage loops; then the deployment bag whipped off his back as the skirt of the canopy played out. The wind filled the air channel and the parachute blossomed and Brannigan's feet hit the ground. He twisted into a perfect PLF, hitting calf, thigh, and push-up muscles before letting his legs go over his head as he twisted onto the opposite push-up muscle.
It was that quick.
He was on his feet in an instant, pulling the safety fork out of the quick-release box and hitting it. The harness slipped off, falling to the ground, and he pulled the CAR-15 off his shoulder. He turned to see the others also on their feet, ready to rock and roll. Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz trotted up grinning.
Brannigan nodded them a greeting. "How'd it go, guys?"
"I gotta tell you something, sir," Mike said. "We really have to use more altitude."
"Yeah," Dave agreed. "I just started my count and I was on the ground."
Lieutenant Jim Cruiser joined them. "What'll we do with the chutes, sir?"
"Mmm," Brannigan mused. "Roll 'em up and put 'em in the kit bags. They belong to the Marines, so they'll probably come out here to retrieve everything after all this is said and done."
Chief Matt Gunnarson heard the exchange and turned to the men. "Roll up the chutes and put 'em in the kit bags. Bring 'em over here and we'll stack 'em neatly to be picked up.
"Right," Bruno Puglisi said. "Make sure they're dressed right and covered down. The gyrenes are real sticklers about that shit."
Garth Redhawk reached down and grabbed the apex of his chute, whipping the canopy around for daisy-chaining. "Maybe we oughta spit-shine the zippers on the kit bags before we move out."
"Just do what the chief says," Connie Concord, leader of Bravo Fire Team, ordered testily. "And be damn quick about it!"
Within five minutes all the kit bags were stacked in one spot. Brannigan turned to the men. "Column of twos! Assad and Leibowitz, take the point. The line of march will be the Odd Couple, Alpha Fire Team, then Gomez, Miskoski, and me. After us comes the Bravo Fire Team, Lieutenant Cruiser and Puglisi, then Charlie Fire Team. Move out!"
Mike and Dave trotted to a point twenty meters ahead of the others. They had been known as the Odd Couple ever since the activation of Brannigan's Brigands. The idea of an Arab-American and a Jewish-American ending up as best buddies struck the other SEALs as a peculiar arrangement, thus the appellation.
The column began moving through the night, heading toward Fortress Mikhbayi.
.
USS DAN DALY
DOCKING WELL
THE ACV Battlecraft, under the skilled hands of Petty Officer Paul Watkins, eased sternward from the well out into the expanse of the Indian Ocean. It seemed strange that not only was Lieutenant Bill Brannigan not aboard, but Senior Chief Buford Dawkins was in the skipper's seat. He was not there to command since the acting captain was Lieutenant (JG) Veronica Rivers. Dawkins was in the position to be able to use the radio. Veronica was the only one capable of operating the ACV's weapons and navigation systems, so she was wearing two hats for the mission.
Delta Fire Team--Gutsy Olson, Andy Malachenko, and Guy Devereaux--were glumly sitting in the small wardroom area drinking coffee. When the Osprey took off with the raiding party, the Deltas had looked on in frustration from the flight deck. It was a hard thing to bear, watching the majority of the detachment head off to a combat parachute jump while they were assigned to be Johnny-Come-Latelies, riding onto the scene after the real fighting was done.
Veronica spoke to Watkins after plotting the course. "Two-eight-seven, half-speed."
"Two-eight-seven, half-speed, aye, ma'am," Watkins replied as he worked throttle and steering levers.
The Battlecraft turned away from the Dan Daly; rising up on her lift fan to head for the operational area.