The seven SEALs from First Platoon of SEAL Team Seven grinned around their face masks and stroked toward the luxury liner. If the side hatch wasn’t open, they would simply turn and swim the three miles to the beach. Socha shrugged as he swam. Three miles in the Pacific Ocean wouldn’t even be a warm-up for his in-condition SEALs.
On board the Royal Princess, Lieutenant Ed DeWitt heard the blasts from the north where the Korean ship was anchored. Socha had done his job. Now DeWitt had to finish his. He peered around the corner of the passageway where the engineering section was located. A Korean guard still stood at the door. De Witt pushed his MP-5 around the corner, aimed carefully on single-shot, and drove a 5.56 slug through the Korean’s skull. The dead sailor slammed to the left away from the door.
“C-5,” DeWitt said. Franklin and Fernandez were close behind him. Both dug into pockets on their combat vests and pulled out quarter-pound sticks of the highly powerful plastic explosive.
“About an inch square on the door lock,” DeWitt said. “Set the timer for ten seconds and get back here.”
Franklin ran ahead with a chunk of C-5, pushing the detonator/timer into the puttylike explosive as he ran. He stopped at the door, ducked down, and moved forward to press the explosive against the door lock near the handle. He set the timer for fifteen seconds, pushed it to the “on” position, and scurried back around the corner. A moment later the blast shattered the silence and pounded into the ears of the SEALs. All had covered their ears with their hands, and they could still hear when the sound jolted down the corridor each way. They charged the door and found it blown inward. Two Koreans lay on the floor holding their heads. One tried to lift a pistol. Fernandez shot him twice with silenced rounds, and the other man saw them and lifted his hands. Franklin quickly bound his wrists and feet with plastic riot cuffs.
“Where’s the operators?” DeWitt asked. They found them in a small adjoining room tied hand and foot. Fernandez cut them loose, and they talked rapidly in Dutch. None of the SEALs could understand them. DeWitt pointed to the equipment, the computers and screens.
“Okay?” he asked.
The most universal word in the world worked.
“Okay,” one said after he checked over the equipment. Fernandez dragged the dead man and the tied-up sailor into the small room where the others had been, and left them. DeWitt used the Motorola.
“DeWitt here. We have engineering. The two operators here say all of the equipment is A-okay.”
“Roger that, DeWitt. Leave one man there and see if you can find out what’s going on in the engine room.”
DeWitt had no idea where it was. He made motions and signs to one of the crew, until the man understood where they wanted to go.
“Okay,” he said, and motioned for them to follow him.
At the communications center, First Platoon SEALs Parson and Underhill checked out the situation. There were two armed men inside and the door was locked. Parson told Underhill to wait, and he ran back down the corridor until he found a crewman. The Filipino said he was a steward and knew nothing about the communications room.
“Hey, man, I want you to knock on the door and ask these guys if they want any food to eat. Make motions, get them to understand. You speak English. One of them might. Give it a try. You won’t get hurt, we promise. Look, we’re trying to take back your ship and get rid of these murdering bastards.”
The steward had been surprised to see the armed men who were not Korean. Now he thought it over. He shrugged. “Might as well. Got to get them out of there. Let me get a tray with some stuff on it under a napkin. Fool the fuckers.”
He came back a moment later with a tray and walked up to the door. He knocked, then knocked again. The SEALs couldn’t see the Koreans through the glass in the door, but they could see the steward. He motioned to the tray and then made motions as if he was eating. He nodded and started away, then came back. He made more motions to the men inside and then to the tray.
The steward said something the SEALs couldn’t understand, then started away again. The door opened a crack, then more. Parson had been crawling along the side of the corridor out of sight of the Koreans. As soon as the door cracked open, the steward pushed it farther open so he could hand in the tray, Parson came to his feet, jolted forward the last six feet, and sent a dozen rounds into the belly of the Korean reaching for the tray. He went down to the left and gave Parson a clear shot at the second Korean, who had brought up a submachine gun. Parson’s three-round burst hit the hijacker in the throat and drove him backward into a set of monitor screens before he slid to the floor dead on impact.
The steward had turned and raced away as soon as he heard the gunfire. Underhill stormed into the room, saw it was under control, and reached for his Motorola.
“Lieutenant, Underhill in communications. We have captured this section, but haven’t found any civilian operators. Will hold it until we get further orders.”
“Well done, Underhill,” Murdock said. “Lock the door and hold the fort.” Murdock stared around the captain’s cabin. “Where could they have taken your captain?”
“The cap was a coffee nut,” the officer said. “Maybe they went to the kitchen for some late-night latte.”
“Wasn’t Captain Kim upset about the fireworks off his bow?”
“He said he couldn’t figure it out. We had a good view of the whole thing. Looks like it’s about over now.”
“So where is Captain Kim and the rest of his hijackers?”
Two Koreans came around the corner of the companionway and stared in surprise at Murdock. Before they could swing up their submachine guns, Murdock and Jaybird drilled them with six rounds each. They flopped onto the deck. One tried to fire, but Jaybird shot him with three more rounds and he died on the floor.
Verbort stared down at the Koreans.
He shook his head. “You guys don’t fool around, do you? Damn, I have seen four men killed in the past fifteen minutes.”
“Our job,” Murdock said. “Now where could the captain be?”
Verbort nodded. “Oh, yeah, he could be down at the doctor’s office. He was concerned about the wounded. The medical area now looks like a battlefield hospital. Down this way.”
Murdock, Lam, and Ching followed the ship’s officer to an elevator, and down several decks. They got off and Murdock cleared the area, saw no Koreans, and let Verbort leave the car and head down a corridor.
Six people sat in the doctor’s office. Murdock and his men went through a door into a small clinic that was now filled wall to wall with wounded. Twelve victims lay in the beds. Some were sleeping, others crying. One man moaned with every breath he took.
A harried-looking man in a white lab coat came in, stared around, and lifted his brows.
“Dr. Hanson, have you seen Captain Van Derhorn?” Verbort asked.
“Not for an hour. He’s recruiting passengers who are doctors or nurses. So far we have five helping. We could use a dozen more. I’ve taken over the next four storage areas and need more room. If you see him, get him back down here. We’ve had two more pass away. I hate this. I had enough of this in Vietnam.”