Lab Rat nodded. "A few estimates, but they're not any more confident about it than we are."
I should have known he would have tried it. When it comes to intelligence estimates, Lab Rat is the least likely officer I know to invoke parochial interests. You've got something to say, something to make sense to him, then he'll listen. With ground weapons positions, of course he would have sought out the senior Marine on board and asked his opinion.
"So what do you suggest?" I asked finally. "We can send in another strike, but…"
Lab Rat sighed, then looked up at me. "It's time for Special Forces, sir. We could use them one of two ways. Send them in, send them after the SAM sites, or target the revetments." He grimaced, indicating that neither of those were particularly attractive alternatives. "Or we can just try what we've done before."
"And lose more aircraft probably," I said.
"Probably."
I stood up and started pacing the length of my office. It helps me to be moving while I'm trying to think. It would help even better if I were in the cockpit of an aircraft, but that's a luxury not often allowed to me as a flag officer. I barely make it out on the flight deck once a week just to get a whiff of fresh JP-5.
"What do the SEALs say?" I asked. We have a platoon on board, with a lieutenant commander in charge of them. Brandon Sykes was one of the smarter SEAL officers I'd met in my time, and he'd proved his tactical savvy to my satisfaction before. If he had an idea, I wanted to hear it.
"Lieutenant Commander Sykes wants to go for the mobile SAMs, but he thinks the revetments are the better targets," Lab Rat replied immediately. "He says you can always use the HARMS against the SAMs, but that the revetment is the real problem."
"He's right, of course," I answered. "Did you ask him when he could be ready to go?"
Lab Rat smiled. "He knew you'd ask that ― he told me so. And he said to tell you that they were ready to move out at your very earliest convenience."
"So what does that mean?"
Lab Rat thought for a moment, then said, "I think he'd like about twelve hours, Admiral, but I'm sure he could pull it off right now. If Brandon Sykes says he's ready, he's ready."
I nodded. "Twelve hours would put us into the nighttime ― he wants to go in with the RHIBs ― the Rigid Hulled Inflatable Boats?"
"Or maybe helos ― he hasn't decided yet," Lab Rat said.
We'd rendezvoused with the underway replenishment ammunition ship earlier, and I'd on-loaded a ration of heavy-duty bombs designed to penetrate concrete bunkers. They'd worked well in Desert Storm and Desert Shield, and I thought that probably they'd do the job against the Vietnamese revetments as well. Still, I didn't have all that many of them ― it would make them a better target if I could have the SEALs soften them up a little beforehand.
"Tell Brandon to get ready," I decided. "I want to see him as soon as he's ready to talk."
They make bigger SEALS, they make stronger ones, but they don't make them any tougher than Brandon Sykes. He'd been pulling aviators' asses out of the fire his last twelve years in the Navy, along with conducting the other types of covert-insertion missions for which his community was justly famous. You look at him, you see a guy who looks like he's in pretty good shape. Not the bulging arms and forearms you get with Marines, but just a guy who works out a lot.
You'd be making a mistake. What's more, he's smart as he is tough. That makes Brandon Sykes a very deadly combination.
"Admiral, I'd like to go in by helo to the two-mile point, then drop and inflate RHIBs and proceed by boat. From what Commander Busby says about their surveillance assets in the area, I figure that gives us the best chance of getting in undetected." Brandon was soft-spoken and polite.
I started to ask some technical questions about the insertion, but looking at Lab Rat and Brandon, at the united front they were presenting, I knew there was not much point in it. We hire the best talent we can, then turn them loose. "You cleared this with CAG?" I asked.
Brandon nodded. "He's good to go with it, sir."
"When do you want to leave?" I asked.
Brandon looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "With your permission, I'd like to get underway about zero one hundred. That'll put us on the beach by two, and in the area of the revetments by three. A little while to sneak and peek, do some damage, then we haul ass out of there. We'll be using timed explosives ― a little bit risky, but I want to make sure we're clear of the area before they know they're fucked."
I nodded. "Let's make it happen, gentlemen. You go boom in the early hours, then I'll follow with an early morning air strike. How's that?"
Both men nodded. "Of course, we thought that might be what you wanted to do," Lab Rat added. "Strike's already signed off on it as well."
I grunted. "Not much point in having an admiral around, is there? Seems to me like between you two and Strike, you've got it all figured out."
Brandon stood, a slow and easy smile on his face. "Oh, there's plenty of reason to have an admiral around, sir. We can come up with the plans okay ― but you're the only one who can say yes."
I threw the two of them out of my office so they could get some work done, then turned back to the unending pile of paper that continually seeped into my in basket.
J-TARPS wasn't the only innovation in virtual reality that had entered the fleet. Even though I'd seen them discussed in newspapers, and on television, I'd never actually worked with the new visual-link helmet that the SEAL community now owned. As Lab Rat switched on the monitors, I sat quiet and stunned.
Sykes had shown me the headset. It looked more like a helmet built out of steel than anything else. Mounted along his left temple was a very tiny pinpoint camera. The usual whisper communications giving satellite voice comms with units in the field had been improved to allow for an open-mike capability. Now, Brandon could leave it turned on and transmit everything he heard straight to me. He also had a control switch to prevent me from transmitting, so that he could be certain that no questions from higher authority would echo while he was in the field and give him away. I didn't intend to put him in danger that way.
We'd agreed that Brandon would not activate his headset until after the helicopter drop and when they were safely en route to the beach. Lab Rat had been keeping track of the time, and woke me from a quick nap when they were under way.
At first, all I could see on the monitor was black. Vague shapes and forms, shifting shadows, but that was it.
Then Sykes turned his head. I could see the other SEALs in the boat, a little bit fuzzy, but their faces clearly discernible. They were communicating in hand signals, even this far out from the shore. A good habit to be in when you're making a quick foray into enemy territory.
The small boat engine was a muffled puttering sound in the background, hardly even audible over the link. The silenced engine also cooled the exhaust, another small innovation courtesy of Stealth technology, so the boat itself produced no discernible heat signature. The men inside it were another matter ― even clad in wet suits, I knew they would soon be radiating visible signatures.
"Any sign they've been detected?" I asked Lab Rat.
He shook his head. "I just checked the TAO, and there's no indication of any unusual activity ashore. Not there, or on our other assets," he said, glancing back at the array of sophisticated electromagnetic listening equipment that terminated here. "Not a peep."
"Let's hope it stays that way." Watching the boat move in to the shore quickly became boring, unless you kept in mind what they were actually doing. It was like watching OJ drive down the freeway at thirty miles an hour in a white Bronco ― meaningless, unless you knew the context.