“The target is here,” he used a telestrator, visible via computer links. Everyone saw a small rugged island, twelve kilometers from the target. “The purpose is two-fold. We’re going to light up the sky in the distance and draw their eye while the SEALs come in from their blind side. And we’re going to use the noise to mask the incursion. The window of opportunity is twelve minutes. We’ll start with a heavy bombing run that will shake them all out of bed. They’ll see missiles launched to the South, they’ll feel the shock. And they’ll drop their defenses. Psych Ops says that they’ll be drawn to the lightshow feeling pretty good about themselves. That’s when the SEALs strike. Then phase two of EAGLE CLUTCH.”
“I suppose you’ve blown up your fair share of things, Lieutenant Nolt,” Zimmer gathered. Nolt laughed.
“Yes, sir, I have.”
“And you’ve trained for hundreds of hours, and for virtually any contingency.”
“Yes, sir. The same is true for all my men.”
“But this is one hell of an assignment.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do your men know the nature of the mission?”
“They understand that we are to infiltrate a terrorist camp and secure the release of a group of kidnapped VIPs, sir.” As instructed, Nolt had not explained the actual identity of the number-one VIP.
“And your men are ready?” Zimmer asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Nolt’s team listened intently, so far unfazed by what seemed like a typical pre-mission pep talk.
“I’m sorry you were not informed earlier. However, there is an extraordinary aspect to this operation,” Zimmer continued.
A few of the men chuckled. They’d heard this kind of thing before.
“The operation has only come together in the last few hours. We believe there are only a few hours left to act. VIPs were taken. I stress, very important persons. You were called together minutes after the Navy reported that the hostages were taken. The details are known by a handful of people, for good reason. You’re about to join the short list.”
The SEALs began to feel a greater sense of urgency.
“Approvals have gone up the chain of command faster than any action in American history. Any. You have trained for this, without ever knowing who you were training to free. And now the time has come.”
The SEALs looked at Nolt. He kept a poker face.
“Gentlemen, you are about to rescue the President of the United States.”
Nolt watched as surprise registered on everyone: man by man. They shot hard stares at one another.
“He was captured following the ditching of Air Force One. We believe that was an act of sabotage. It is unknown if the capture of the commander in chief is related. But now it’s your job to get the president and the other hostages out. Eight SEALs against hundreds of guerillas. You must succeed. You will succeed.”
Heightened fervor spread through the briefing room aboard the Essex. Pintar immediately checked his handgun; Lopez felt for his knife. The others found their own way to toughen up.
“That is your mission. Are you ready?” Zimmer asked.
“We’re SEALs,” offered Showalter, without regard to rank. “God help anybody who gets in our way.”
Lamden heard exactly what he needed. “EAGLE CLUTCH is go.”
The Essex came dead in the water and a series of ballast tanks in the stem flooded down. A rear gate lowered and the two Mark VIII Swimmer Delivery Vehicles, essentially sub-surface “wet” submarines, floated out of the well deck. The SEALs were all on board.
“Ready, Nolt,” called out to the members of the Alpha Detachment.
“Ready,” reported Shaughnessy, Pintar, and Lopez. Nolt would take the lead submersible with them. He received a similar acknowledgment from Bravo Detachment — Harold Chaskes, Todd Roberts, Mark Polonsky, and Brian Showalter. Four men in each SDV, along with the pilot and navigator.
The Mark VIII’s computerized mixed-gas on-board breathing systems were already fired up, and the canopies were closed. The crew reviewed their checklists, engaged the Doppler navigation systems (DNS), the obstacle-avoidance sonar subsystem (OAS), and tested the ballast and trim systems and the horizontal and vertical planes. These were controlled through a manual stick to the rudder, elevator, and bow planes.
All of the electronics of the SDVs were housed in airtight, dry canisters, designed to withstand seawater pressure to a depth of 500 feet. Today, they’d shuttle to Haruku at a maximum depth of thirty feet, less for the last 100 yards.
With the signal from the pilot of Alpha, all was set. The first Mark VHI’s five-bladed propeller began turning. The 254-inch-long craft moved forward. The pilot flooded all of the compartments and began a slight descent. The Bravo SDV followed.
The sea was still rising to swells of fifteen feet, but below the surface, all was calm. The eight SEALs got into a relaxed breathing pattern. This was the last time for private thoughts and personal prayers. In another few minutes they’d be on the clock.
He relaxed in the hotel’s luxurious bathtub, clearing his mind and thinking through the details. Success always depended on the right state of mind.
Except for the crowd, there wasn’t anything especially difficult about the job. People might see him move about, but they’d take little notice. Their attention would be elsewhere — to the podium or the TV projection screens placed at intervals down the Mall.
Once he accomplished his assignment, he’d simply become one in a million of confused, perhaps riotous marchers, hiding in plain sight.
He rarely liked to be told exactly where, how, and when to perform an assignment, but the instructions had been specific.
In another two hours, he would leave Washington a far richer man than when he arrived. He slid his torso under the bath water and held his breath. He kept his eyes open. It was a comforting sensation. He saw everything through a slowly shifting, thick, out-of-focus lens. So peaceful. It cleansed him, not that he needed it. He felt no guilt.
Lt. Commander James Nolt knew very little about the enemy. More time, more recon would have been extremely helpful. For now, he had only his intuition and textbook analysis.
Guerilla fighters. They had weaknesses, he thought. The SEALs would have to take advantage of them. They have a loose organization and possibly a poorly trained command. Next, he put himself in their position. Arrogant. Self-deluded. Fanatical. Strong belief in their political and religious cause. Willing to become martyrs. Capable of taking the hostages with them.
To successfully complete the mission, Nolt and his men needed to remain stealth, maintain the offensive, and operate in a limited-visibility environment. Raid, kill, gain ground. The team leader ran the playbook in his head. He was 100 percent certain that each of his SEALs was doing exactly the same.
The two jet-black SDVs slowed and finally came to a stop. The navigator delivered them to the precise coordinates, about 900 yards off the rocky shore.
Nolt’s squad unhooked from the Mark VIII’s breathing apparatus and engaged their own tanks. They opened the canopies and silently floated above the submersibles. When they were at a depth of fifteen feet they swam toward land.
The SDVs would stay in place until 0700 hours, or later, if ordered by C2. They were the backup means of exfiltration, should EAGLE CLUTCH go wrong. But like the trip out, the Mark VIIIs could only transport the SEALs. A lot had to go right before they’d be safely on their way home.
The SEALs swam in pairs. One diver-buddy held a board, which included a compass, as well as depth and watch gauges. The basic equipment kept the teams on course. Meanwhile, the other partner held onto his arm just below the triceps. He served as the lookout and counted kicks calculated to get them to the shore. The pairs communicated in non-verbal codes, consisting of squeezes and alternating pauses. The swim represented the fundamental of SEALs training: Teamwork is everything. Seemingly impossible tasks are made possible by working together.