As one older mujahideen said; "Perhaps Allah in his wisdom and mercy will reward our brother Assad with a flash of intelligence and comprehension. If he is not brought deeper into the faith, he will not be martyred when he dies in battle."
.
0930 H0URS LOCAL
WHEN the overloaded Toyota pickup truck arrived at the camp with a load of crates, Mikael Assad dropped his Arabic lesson book and rushed over to help unload the vehicle. It was tough work, since each of the crates weighed in excess of forty-five kilos. Most of the men teamed up with another and made only one trip from the truck to the supply shack. But Assad took a total of three muscle-cramping turns toting the weapons by himself. When he put the final one on the stack, he went back to the truck and spoke to the driver.
"What in crates?" he asked in his stumbling Arabic.
"French mortars, Mikael," the driver replied. "Now we'll be able to rain shells down on the infidels and blow them to Hell."
'That good," Assad commented. "Where you get mortars?"
"They came by dhow from a ship it met at sea," the driver explained. "This is a new method we have for getting supplies to use here and in Afghanistan."
"Awa!" Assad exclaimed. "Yes! That very good! Infidels find our old way to bring in guns, and ruin everything, right?"
"Right," the driver said. "And may Allah punish them for three eternities."
"Yes. That a long time," Assad said.
He went back to his lessons, grabbing up his books and notebook to stride out of the camp to his favorite study place.
This was in the open country on the side of a hill where a lone tree grew in the scrub brush.
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WHAT the other terrorists in Camp Talata didn't know was that Mike Assad was a U. S. Navy SEAL. He had been secretly assigned to a CIA mission called Operation Deep Thrust in which specially chosen operatives were sent to infiltrate various terrorist groups throughout the Middle East.
His buddies in Brannigan's Brigands wouldn't recognize him now. His hair had grown out and he sported a beard that was well on its way to becoming heavy and full. He also wore the traditional Afghanistan pakol wool cap along with baggy peasant jackets and trousers. With ammunition bandolier and an AK-47 assault rifle, he looked like a typical mujahideen fighter.
This new adventure started after Mike had been plucked out of that human resources class at the Naval Amphibious Base in Coronado, California. From there he was whisked off to a short but intense special orientation and training at the CIA center in Langley, Virginia. This was an accelerated class for specially qualified personnel like Petty Officer Mike Assad, who had unknowingly been given a complete security evaluation far beyond the norm due to his ethnicity. When he successfully completed the course, and impressed his mentors and instructors enough with his intelligence, physical conditioning, and raw guts, they had a doozy of a job waiting for him. He was assigned to penetrate the Islamic terrorist organization al-Mimkhalif; not in America, but over in a hot spot in Pakistan.
He went to Buffalo, New York, in the guise of being an underachieving, angry young Arab-American with little education. He began attending services at a mosque known to be a recruiting center for al-Mimkhalif. A Saudi clergyman invited Mike and other young men to attend some special classes at the mosque. It was at these so-called sessions in Middle Eastern culture and philosophy that he was recruited into the fanatical organization and sent to Camp Talata in Pakistan.
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NOW, out in the open country around the terrorist center, Mike Assad sat feigning study of the Arabic lessons under the tree. After an hour passed, he stood up and casually stretched. He took a steady but subtle look around to make sure he was unobserved. After sitting back down, he pulled a sheet of paper from his notebook. He wrote a quick note regarding the new method of delivering arms and supplies, then wrapped it up tightly and stuck it into an empty aluminum tube. Mike stood up again for another survey of the nearby countryside before placing the tube into a hollowed-out area beneath the tree roots.
With that done, he gathered up his lessons and walked back to the camp.
Chapter 3.
TIE ZAUBA FAST ATTACK SQUADRON
THE most elite unit of the Oman Navy was the crack Zauba Fast Attack Squadron stationed at the clandestine Taimur Naval Base along a lonely part of the coast between the city of Salalah and the Yemen border. This outfit, whose name meant "Storm" in Arabic, was operating far outside normal SOPs of the Oman armed forces. Outwardly, it seemed to be a run-of-the-mill antismuggling unit, but in reality its sole purpose was to conduct quick-reaction missions. The squadron was bullied through its duties by its egotistical and hard-driving commanding officer, Commodore Muhammad Mahamat.
The officers and sailors were handpicked, superbly trained, and blindly loyal to Islam and Mahamat in that order. All officers were required to be fluent in the English language before assignment to the squadron. The enlisted sailors had to pass I. Q. tests and have superlative service records. They were immediately put into English classes to develop a strong working knowledge of the language. All personnel were sent to facilities of the United States Navy or Britain's Royal Navy for advanced studies in technical and tactical subjects.
Because of these special qualifications, all personnel received extra pay, rations, and perks not enjoyed by the rest of the Navy ; earning all this through a demanding and continuing program of training exercises that kept them away from their homes most of the time. Morale was high among the men and their families due to their excellent living conditions and opportunities to purchase and enjoy luxury goods from the West.
The commodore ran his squadron using a Province-class British fast-missile vessel as his flagship. She was named the Harbi-min-Islam, which translated into English as "Spear of Islam." She carried a generous supply of French-built Exocet MM-40 missiles loosed from two quadruple launchers situated amidships. The main gun located on the bow was an Italian OTO compact gun that could kick out 6.3-kilogram shells at a rate of eighty-five rounds a minute. A Swedish Bofors twin-barrel 40-millimeter cannon on the stern was capable of delivering a combined rate of six hundred rounds per minute at enemy targets. The Harbi-min-Islam moved at a maximum speed of forty-five miles an hour with a range of three thousand miles when fully fueled. It was not a warship to be trifled with.
The remainder of this deadly squadron consisted of a half-dozen Swedish Spica-class attack boats well equipped with a mix of antiship and antiaircraft guns, torpedoes, and missiles. These boats, with lengths of 143 feet, could skim across the waves at seventy-five miles an hour.
The most surprising aspect of the Zauba Squadron was the fact that the perks, specialized training, and pay were not furnished by the Sultanate of Oman. The official naval budget did not indicate these extra expenses. In fact, the national government was unaware of all this power that Commodore Mahamat had at his fingertips. If anyone bothered to investigate the situation, they would find that most Oman officials did not know the Zauba Fast Attack Squadron even existed. This ignorance was shared with the world's intelligence agencies, who blissfully paid no attention at all to what was assumed to be an unremarkable, poorly equipped coastal patrol operation.
According to Oman's naval organization charts and logistic records, the squadron was operating with some aged surplus British 7bn-class coastal patrol boats doing routine duties looking for miserable smugglers using old wooden dhows. The extra pay received by the officers and sailors, all the additional finances, equipment, and vessels were provided to Mahamat's outfit through the courtesy of Saudi Sheikh Omar Jambarah.