The two shots from the ship brought a yell from a ranger on the deck below near the frigate's torpedo tubes. Vuylsteke aimed the shotgun at him and fired. The load of double-aught buck didn't spread as much as smaller pellets, and six of the thirteen slugs hit the ranger in the chest and slammed him halfway over the rail, where he hung like a ripped rag doll.
They saw no one else on deck. They had the high ground. The only way anyone could get above them would be to climb the mast.
"We just started the shit hitting the fan," Perez said. "Now the fun begins."
They saw a line of men come out of the shadows where the truck had stalled and walk forward.
"Two more rounds in the radiator to kill the truck," Vuylsteke said. "Then nail some of those troops coming up the pier."
The men in green were out of range of the short guns, but they wouldn't be long. The three sailors also had the bag of hand grenades. Perez had counted them the night before, twenty-one in all. They could do a lot of damage.
The sailors began taking return fire from the troops on the pier. They edged back so the superstructure would protect them. Tretter moved up now and then to send off a pair of shots into the growing line of men.
"Close enough yet?" Vuylsteke asked.
"Not for the sub-gun, the shotgun, or the grenades. But we can all use our long guns."
"How far can you throw one of them bombs?" Vuylsteke asked.
"I used to play some baseball, outfield. Hell, guess I can get it out there sixty yards."
"Give one a try," Vuylsteke said. "Remember, you'll get a bounce on that concrete."
Perez grinned and pulled the pin from the smooth round M-67 grenade, then lifted up and threw it like a baseball with plenty of body in it. He dropped down at once.
Vuylsteke lifted up to watch the bomb. It went about thirty yards down the pier, bounced another ten yards, and went off while it was still in the air.
"An air burst," Vuylsteke yelped. "Must have cut down half a dozen of them bad guys down there."
"Take a shot," Perez said, tossing two grenades to Vuylsteke. He pitched one, not as far as Perez's had gone, but the troops had moved up ten yards and he saw them scatter when they heard the bomb hit the concrete. It came down before it exploded, and he heard a dozen men yell in pain and confusion.
"Aft," Tretter bellowed.
Perez turned, holding the sub-gun, and hit the trigger. Two green-clad Kenyan rangers had just come past the 76mm gun mount. Perez squeezed the trigger on the little jammer and spewed out ten rounds before he let up. One of the rangers went down, the other dove the other way. Tretter nailed him with a round from the AK-47.
"Get their weapons and ammo," Vuylsteke said.
"Good idea," Perez said, and ran bent over to the two dead men and brought back their two AK-47s and six magazines of rounds.
"Tretter, keep watch fore and aft. We'll entertain the troops below."
Each one threw a hand grenade, and before it exploded they had the AK-47s up laying down a deadly field of fire at the string of rangers who had stopped moving forward. They were still less than halfway down the side of the frigate.
Murdock and his SEALs were three hundred yards away from the softly lit Roy Turner when they heard firing. Jaybird looked at his commander, who held up his hands in an I-don't-know gesture. They kept moving at five knots.
"Hand grenades," Murdock said. "Somebody's got a shooting gallery going up there."
A few minutes later, they heard the flat crack of rifle fire.
"AK-47s, you can bet your bippy," Holt said.
They all huddled low in the black rubber boats. The motors had been muffled down to a quiet rumble. Now the firing onshore blocked out any sound the motors made.
They had worked out the debarking earlier. DeWitt would power them up to the port side of the frigate midships. They would throw up their grappling hooks, and get four men up ropes quickly to the weather deck. Those would cover the other four coming up.
DeWitt would take his powered IBS to the stern, send his men up grapple-hook ropes there, and work forward.
"Who is shooting at who?" Jaybird asked.
Murdock shook his head. "Whoever it is is doing us one hell of a big favor. All eyes will be on the dock, leaving us home free."
They were thirty yards from the ship when two dark-clad men ran out the quarterdeck door. They didn't look into the harbor; rather they looked up at the superstructure and fired shotguns that way.
"Take them," Murdock whispered. Two men with silenced M-4A1 carbines rose up and fired three-round bursts almost at the same time. The two Kenyan shotgunners slammed against the bulkhead and dropped. One began to crawl away. Another three-round burst stopped him.
On the aft deck of the superstructure, Vuylsteke saw they were running short on hand grenades. They had kept the Kenyan troopers back so they couldn't get on board the Turner.
"Check the port side," Vuylsteke told Tretter. Tretter edged across the flat deck, and looked down on the water side.
"Jesus H. Kerist." He rolled back, and couldn't talk for a minute. "Hey, coming on the port side, not twenty yards off, two black rubber boats. One's towing the other. Sure as hell they're SEALS. I've seen them suckers train. They'll be on board in two or three minutes."
"Good, let's beat back these green guys a little more," Vuylsteke said. "Maybe we'll get our asses saved after all without a swim."
They used the AK-47s, with hand grenades thrown in to mix things up. There was no heavy-weapons response. Vuylsteke thought that strange, but they kept up the fire for another three minutes.
Tretter took another look to port.
"Yeah, four of them up ropes, and more down on the fantail. Damn, we got SEALS moving all over."
"Let them know we're here so we don't get shot," Perez said.
Then they heard the soft chuffs of the silenced weapons. A minute later, all three sailors were on the port side watching the SEALS. One looked up at the superstructure.
"Hey, you SEALS," Vuylsteke bellowed. "Look up here."
They waited a minute. The SEALs hosed down three Kenyan rangers who ran out of the quarterdeck door.
"SEALS, damnit, you've got some help up here," Perez screamed. "Three Americans up here."
One of the SEALS swung his weapon upward and looked that way.
"Don't shoot, we're Americans. We're crew on here who were on liberty when she was taken," Tretter brayed.
The SEAL hesitated. "Yeah? Who is Beavis's buddy?" the SEAL asked.
"Butthead, who else?" Vuylsteke yelled. "Now, don't shoot us. There's about two hundred troops out front on the dock. We've been trying to hold them off."
"Stay low and keep the topside free of any rangers," Jaybird Sterling called. "We'll mop up down here." He touched the mike at his throat. "L-T, we've got three friendlies on the top of the superstructure just aft of the stack. Evidently crewmen who got back on board. They say there are about two hundred more troops out front near the pier."
"Roger that. We'll clean up on board. Get two men topside and harass those troops with some fire."
Jaybird motioned to Lampedusa, and they scurried up a steel ladder that clung to the side of the ship below the 76mm gun mount.
Topside they found the three sailors, and kept low to the deck.
"Fucking glad to see you guys," Vuylsteke called.
Jaybird slid to the deck beside him. "Glad we're here. Where are those troops?"
Vuylsteke pointed them out. About half of them had rushed into the shadows of the warehouse adjacent to the pier. More crowded around the pier just down from the bow of the ship.