"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Doc asked.
"Wouldn't be one bit surprised." Coburn fished into his black gear and pulled out a hand grenade. Doc too produced a grenade, holding the arming lever shut as he worked the cotter pin free.
"Those POL tanks look good," Coburn said. POL petroleum, oil, and lubricants, in this case diesel fuel an ideal target.
"A SEAL's wet dream," Doc said. "On my mark now, three... two... one... go!"
Together, they let fly, sending the grenades arcing high above the pier, then bouncing with a stony clatter on the concrete among the fuel pipes. "Bepaweed!" someone screamed, and then the night dissolved in thunder. Diesel fuel gushed across the concrete from ruptured lines and tanks.
Coburn pulled out a second grenade, a canister this time, with AN-M14 and INCEN TH3 stenciled on the side. The AN-M14 was an incendiary grenade, packed with thermite and given a two-second fuse delay. He exchanged glances with Doc, pulled the pin, and let fly.
The thermite burst amid the pooling fuel oil at 2200 degrees, hot enough to burn through steel. Thunder rolled again, and this time the sky turned to flame.
0127 hours (Zulu +3)
Bridge
Freighter Yuduki Maru
They'd waited outside the bridge until they heard gunfire rather than bursting in at once, figuring that the battle might offer a diversion for the bridge assault team. Taking up positions on either side of the door, Murdock and MacKenzie counted down silently as the gunfire built to a crescendo of thundering noise. There was a deck-jolting concussion what were the guys playing at out there? and then Murdock went through the bridge door first, his H&K stuttering softly as he tracked its muzzle across a startled Iranian soldier, punching the man back against a bank of computer consoles. MacKenzie was right behind him, swinging the deadly gray bulk of his M-60 as lightly as Murdock's H&K, and when his finger closed on the trigger, the bridge rang with the hammering, rapid-fire detonations of that machine gun.
Half glimpsed as he swept the bridge were flames lighting the night outside one blaze on Yuduki Maru's own forward deck, other greater, brighter fires erupting two hundred yards to starboard, lighting the night in an unfolding glory of yellow and orange that caught a large patrol boat in silhouette.
Murdock didn't pause to admire the view, however. He tracked left and killed another man by the teletype machines, then pivoted back to cover Mac. Three Iranian naval officers, one with ornate gold braid on his white uniform, tried to scatter for cover as MacKenzie's searing fusillade scythed through them. One down... two... three... Another man, an army officer, grabbed for his holstered pistol, then seemed to dissolve in red mist and fragments as MacKenzie's weapon cut him down as well.
"Wheeoo! Rock and roll!" MacKenzie yelled into the sudden silence as his finger came off the trigger. "Just a-playin' in the band!"
"Yeah, you left 'em dead in the aisles," Murdock replied, stepping closer to the dead naval officers, probing them with his foot. "Watch it with that thing, huh? We still have to get this ship out of... uh-oh."
Murdock froze, his H&K aimed at the figure standing alone on the Yuduki Maru's starboard bridge wing. The man was holding a pistol, but the muzzle was pointed uselessly at the overhead. Possibly the guy hadn't had time to aim... or maybe he was trying to surrender. He was Japanese, which meant Ohtori. Another Ohtori prisoner would be a real bonus for the intel boys. "Easy there, guy," Murdock called. "Drop the weapon. Ah... buki o sutero! Drop your weapons!"
"Put it down!" MacKenzie added, his voice sounding as loud as the full-auto mayhem of a moment earlier. "Now!"
The Japanese terrorist wavered for a moment, the pistol aimed at the sky in a trembling, uncertain hand. Suddenly, he snapped the muzzle down against his right temple and jerked the trigger. There was a crash and the man's head snapped over against his shoulder, the left side of his skull suddenly gone soft beneath a wet mat of disarrayed hair. The pistol fell over the railing; the terrorist dropped to his knees, then fell full-length on the deck.
"Son of a bitch!" Jaybird said, coming up behind Murdock. "Was he crazy?"
"Worse," Murdock said. "He wanted to die for his cause. Hard to fight people like that."
"Well, better them than us," MacKenzie said. "Let's make sure the rest of them do the same. C'mon, Jaybird. Help me set up this pig over there."
Together Jaybird and MacKenzie braced the M-60 on a smashed-open section of the bridge window.
There were bodies all over the freighter's forward deck, visible now as the flames dwindled. It looked like someone had touched off some propane tanks; the only fire now was from burning scraps of wooden crates, but it was bright enough to give MacKenzie a perfect view of the deck. A soldier took aim at the bridge and fired, the bullet going wide. MacKenzie answered with a burst that sent the man toppling sideways into the water. Wild shots were coming from the shore, but nothing coordinated or effective.
For the second time, Murdock approached the bridge computer console, tapping in memorized commands. The computer was giving readouts in Japanese again; obviously someone had been working with it recently, trying to access the cargo locks. Switching it back to English, Murdock scrolled rapidly through various user logs and menus. Good. His password was still in place... and the cargo hold had not been breached.
He let go a low, heartfelt sigh of relief. This op would have been immeasurably more complicated if the bastards had managed to break into the hold. He keyed his Motorola. "Prof! This is Murdock!"
"Copy, L-T," Higgins's voice replied. "We're set up and ready to go."
"Call 'em in," Murdock told him. "Tell 'em the package is safe!"
"Roger! I'm on it!"
The lieutenant glanced across the bridge to where Wilson was lying on a fire blanket on the deck. He looked unconscious. "Also tell 'em we need medevac for a casualty."
"Right, L-T."
"Razor?"
"Here, L-T."
"Where's 'here?'"
"On the fantail, L-T. With Prof."
"Head on down to the engine room. I'll have Mac meet you there. I want you two to go over the engines of this tub. Find out if we can get her under way again."
"Roger that, L-T. On my way."
"Mac, you hear that?"
"Sure did, Skipper." The big Texan somewhat reluctantly yielded his M-60 to Holt, who'd done all he could for the wounded Chucker. Roselli's original rating before he'd joined the SEALs had been a machinist's mate, while MacKenzie was a master chief engineman. He wanted his two best snipes in the freighter's engine room before he even thought about backing off from the Bandar Abbas dock. "Jaybird?"
"Yeah, L-T."
"You take Mac's pig for him. Holt, you're with me. I want to check out the ship's con before we try moving her."
"Aye, aye, Skipper."
"Right, L-T."
They had a busy several minutes ahead of them now.
0130 hours (Zulu +3)
Fuel-dock
Bandar Abbas shipyard
Cautiously, Doc peered past a stack of crates toward a vast and well-lit expanse of concrete fronting a row of machine shops and storage buildings. Coburn knelt beside him, his face still a nightmarish mix of blood and greasepaint. "What's the word, Doc?"
"I don't like it, Captain. Too open."
Another explosion boomed in the night at their backs. The fueling dock was still burning furiously, the livid orange flames adding to the light bathing the waterfront strip. Hundreds of Iranians had descended on the area and were fighting the blaze now. Doc and Coburn had hidden behind a pile of concrete pipe sections as the fire trucks and soldiers hurried past, then slipped deeper into the shipyard, putting as much distance between themselves and their handiwork as they could.