“What do I see? Just a tent showing a door and a Star of David over the door. Damn, that’s Jewish. They must be Israelis.”
How to get close enough to yell at them? There were no gullies, no ditches, no cover. Nothing but sand and rocks. The hell of it was, the SEALs’ uniforms looked almost like the Syrians’.
“Murdock, can you get up here and take a gander?”
“Be right there.”
Murdock checked the tent, saw the Star of David, and agreed.
“Israeli, but how do we let them know who we are without getting our heads blown off?”
“I was about to ask you the same question,” DeWitt said.
“White flag?” Ostercamp suggested.
“Who has anything white?” DeWitt asked.
“Curiosity,” Murdock said. “We pique their curiosity into getting them to come to us.”
“How?” DeWitt asked.
“Range to subjects?” Murdock asked.
“Two hundred yards.”
“Bad spot for a border guard unit, wouldn’t you think? With the bad guys on a reverse slope right in your backyard where they could shoot the hell out of you.”
“Tremendously bad planning,” DeWitt agreed.
“Unless we’re not on the border, but a mile or two inside Israeli territory.”
“A WP grenade,” Ostercamp suggested. “Roll it down about halfway and stay out of sight. They will have to send out a patrol.”
Murdock had a WP in his vest. He agreed, pulled the pin, and tossed it twenty yards down the slope. They edged back so only their eyes and tops of their floppies showed over the ridge as the WP exploded in a Fourth of July shower of furiously burning white phosphorus.
Nothing happened for ten seconds. Then a whistle shrilled and six troopers came out of a tent in battle gear and stared at the grenade’s smoke pall.
An officer barked out an order, and the six men split fifteen yards apart and charged up the hill, holding their weapons at port arms.
“Everyone move up within a few feet of the crest of this ridge,” DeWitt said on the radio. “We have some Israeli visitors, so no shooting.”
The run by the troopers below slowed to a slogging walk as they advanced up the sharp slope with their weapons now aimed forward and fingers on triggers.
When they were twenty feet down the hill, the SEALs all began to shout and yell that they were Americans and not to shoot. The SEALs kept yelling up a storm.
The Israeli soldiers stopped, and one of them held up his hand. The SEALs quieted.
“Who the hell is Beavis’s buddy?” one of the Israelis shouted.
“Butthead.” The word came back from all along the line.
“Hey, you must be Yanks,” the Israeli noncom said. “Come on out, we won’t shoot. Where the hell did you guys come from?”
After that it was a short ride in American-made armored personnel carriers to a group headquarters. Ostercamp warmed up the SATCOM, and DeWitt reported to Admiral Tanning in Athens. The admiral said there would be air transport for them from Haifa. Next came a truck ride to Haifa. A U.S. Airforce Gulfstream business jet, the VC-11, met them at Haifa. The SEALs swarmed on board the VIP plane, usually reserved for generals and admirals, and an hour and a half later landed back in Athens.
Murdock took Kat to the medics to check her shoulder and her leg. The doctor admitted her to watch her leg, which had become infected.
“I’m fit for duty,” Kat kept telling him. The doctor pretended that he didn’t speak English, and pampered her and kissed her hand, and the nurse said the doctor would come by and see her the next day.
“Get me out of here,” Kat hissed at Murdock. He grinned, kissed her hand, and told her he’d see her the next day. He had an after-action report to make to Admiral Tanning.
Before he left the hospital, he stopped by to check on Ron Holt. The doctor told him the chest wound was better. They had dug out most of the shattered bullet from his chest. Now the left shoulder was not responding well. He would be out of any physical action for at least two months. Murdock and DeWitt talked to the radio operator and longtime SEAL. He asked about the mission. Murdock asked him if he’d like a ride home.
“Oh, God, yes. Give a month’s pay to be back in Coronado where they at least speak English.”
Murdock made arrangements to have Holt sent to Balboa Navy Hospital in San Diego.
Murdock and DeWitt’s next stop was the admiral’s office. The tanned ex-ship driver already knew the good news about the mission being accomplished. Murdock told him about the CIA agent and how she’d saved Kat’s life but was shot down for her trouble.
“We don’t know if she’ll make it or not. The Syrian doctor didn’t know. He said he would do his best.”
“Yes, we’ve heard from the Company about her. They will get her off her station as soon as she’s able to travel. We’re counting on her beating that chest shot.”
The admiral paused and shook his head. “Now our next job is to take care of that damned Chinese destroyer disguised as a freighter. She’s still anchored off that uninhabited Greek island. We have all sorts of plans, but nobody is satisfied. I suggested we wait for your input on the problem. What do you suggest we do about the rest of those forty-seven nuclear warheads in that destroyer?”
32
Admiral Tanning had coffee brought in for the SEALs, then got down to business.
“Some updating for you since you blew three holes in the hull of that Chinese destroyer masquerading as a freighter. We’ve had a picket fence around her for the past four days. She’s still anchored near a small Greek island about a hundred miles southeast of us. The AWACS boys have spotted two different helicopters making a run for the ship, but our gunship choppers outflew them and turned them back with a pair of missiles across their bows.
“Our guess is the Chinese tried to sell some more of the warheads with chopper pickup. If that was the plan, it didn’t work. Since then, nothing. No exceptional radio transmissions. We’re monitoring their frequencies, but their messages are encrypted.
“That’s it up to date. We have no grand strategy. There are five or six attack plans set up, but nobody will say that we should simply blow the ship out of the water and sink her with the missiles and the warheads on board. That would raise a stink. Now, do you have any ideas for us?”
Murdock took the lead. “I had some time flying back to think on this, Admiral. I knew the work wasn’t done. A vertical assault on the ship would result in at least fifty-percent casualties. Not practical.
“One of our smaller Navy missiles into the ship would probably be too much for her to stay afloat. The Chinese would probably meet any missile attack with return fire on the ship.
“Any kind of a military attack on the ship, by missile, aircraft, or surface ship, is going to result in large Chinese casualties. A destroyer of that class has from two hundred and sixty to three hundred men on board.
“The longer we wait, the more time the Chinese have to dismantle the missiles, remove the warheads, and dispose of the missile bodies themselves. Then it would be fairly simple to seal off a compartment and hide the warheads there. Forty-seven of them, even with their rockets and guidance systems attached, would not take up a lot of room in a destroyer.”
“You’ve just shot down three generals, two admirals, and a captain, Commander. So what is your suggestion about what we can do?”
“Wait,” Murdock said.
“Wait? Give the terrorists time to dismantle the missiles and hide the warheads?”
“Yes, sir. I began thinking what I would do if I had command of a ship like that in the same situation. It was quickly evident what I couldn’t do, steam home making five knots with three big holes in my hull. I also could not choggie into Athens for repair work on my hull with all of NATO and the rest of the world gunning for me.