Morton was damned glad that he didn't have Garrett's job right now.
And now that he thought about it, the Chinese sub had jolted as if she'd hit something just before swinging back to port to collide with the freighter. Had she hit something unseen beneath the surface?
God above, had she hit the Pittsburgh?
He searched the surface, lit in black and silver by the light of the slowly descending flare, but couldn't see anything that was obviously a sign of another sub.
There were men in the water now…crewmen from the sinking freighter. Crewmen on the sub were throwing them lines, helping them scramble aboard.
"Hammerhead One-one, this is One-five." That was TM2 Ciotti.
"One-five, One-one. Go ahead."
"Bad news, Skipper. Our CRRC is gone. I think it got torn free in the collision."
"Roger that. Muster on the port side. We'll go out with Hammerhead Two."
"Aye, sir. Moving!"
"Hammerhead One, this is Hammerhead Two."
"Go ahead, Two."
"Can't make it to the engine room, Jack," Conyers said. "Too many hostiles, and it sounds like the engines are dead anyway."
Conyers's team had been tasked by Op Plan Bravo with taking the freighter's engine room and securing it, with the optional possibility of planting explosives to wreck the propeller shaft.
"Change of plan, Brad," Morton said. "She's done for. Fall back to your rubber duck and wait for the rest of us. The other duck is out of action. We'll go out with you."
"Aye aye, sir!"
"Hammerhead One-one, this is One-two!"
"Go ahead, Schiff."
"Can't get to the goodies, Skipper. The aft hold is flooding, and pretty fast. It's suicide to go down there now!"
"Okay. Pull out and fall back to the port side access. We're going out with Hammerhead Two."
"Roger that, Skipper. See you there."
"I'm on my way." There was nothing more to be done here.
But before he left the bridge, Morton took a last look at the Chinese sub, crowded up against the freighter's hull. A lone man stood in the sub's cockpit, less than twenty yards away and a few feet below Morton's position on the bridge. He wore a dark greatcoat and was close enough that, by the light of the dying flare, Morton could see his face, see his expression. The man was staring directly at him, a scowl on his flat features.
Morton was still wearing his starlight goggles, but he wasn't worried about being seen. It was too late to hide the presence of invaders on board the Kuei Mei; there would be enough survivors from the freighter to tell of the battle with mysterious boarders.
Casually, almost nonchalantly, Morton raised his hand to his brow, saluting the other officer. The salute was not returned, but Morton could have sworn the man was muttering something, whether to himself or to someone unseen on the sub's sail, it was impossible to tell.
Morton turned away and left by way of the port-side bridge entryway.
They would have to move fast for all of the SEALs to get safely off the stricken ship.
"The freighter has definitely collided with Sierra One-two, Captain," Chief Schuster said. "We're getting hull-breaking noises and sporadic gunfire. Sounds like our boys are raising hell over there, sir."
Which, of course, was what SEALs were paid to do.
Still, to use the precise military terminology for this sort of affair, this whole operation had devolved into a class-A cluster fuck. The best special ops were those where not a shot was fired. The white hats went in, did their thing silent and unobserved, and slipped out again without anyone knowing they'd been there.
Judging from the sounds they were picking up in the sonar shack, Morton and his people were raising one hell of a ruckus topside, too much of a ruckus for a classically stealthy in-and-out. The question now was how to help them extricate themselves… and to preserve both Pittsburgh's safety and anonymity.
"Helm! What's our bearing?"
"Bearing now zero-four-two, Captain."
"Very well. Hard right rudder, and hold her there all the way around to zero-zero-zero."
"Come right to zero-zero-zero, aye aye, sir."
"Sonar, Conn. We're doing an almost-three-sixty. Clear our baffles."
"Conn, Sonar. Clear our baffles, aye."
First and foremost, he wanted to turn the boat clear of the pile-up to port. It wouldn't help anyone if he managed to foul the Pittsburgh on the Kilo or the freighter.
Next, the Chinese Kilo had provided one unexpected and unpleasant surprise so far. He wanted to be sure there were no other surprises lurking out there, masked by the sounds of Pittsburgh's own screw.
And finally, by turning around in an almost complete circle, he would bring the 'Burgh onto a northerly course, but about a couple of thousand yards farther to the west, with the freighter between the American sub and the Kilo.
As for the SEALs, they'd have to take care of their own extraction.
Garrett knew their rep. If any men on the planet could pull it off, it was the Navy SEALs.
Morton bounded down the port-side companion-way ladder and dropped to the main deck. Conyers and his men were already there, holding a perimeter around the spot where the remaining CRRC was tied to the ship's side. The rain was coming down harder now, and the steel deck was slippery. Gunfire crackled from the forward deck, where several Chinese with automatic weapons were trying to get close enough to hit the crouching SEALs. Bullets sang and chirped off metal or snapped through the air overhead.
He did a quick count of goggle-faced SEALs. Twelve… two missing.
"All Hammerheads!" he snapped into his mike. "Who's missing muster?"
"One-one, this is One-six." That was Hanson. "I'm pinned down, port side forward! They've got me pretty well zeroed in!"
"One-one, this is One-three!" That was Young. "I'm port side, midships, on the main deck. Pinned down by bad guys forward!"
"Okay, boys, I copy. Watch for your chance and get the hell over here."
"Whattaya gonna do, Skipper?" Conyers asked. He was crouched behind a fifty-five gallon drum, loosing three-round bursts into the fire-streaked darkness.
"I'm leaving you in charge, Two-IC, that's what.
Whatever happens, get everyone you can over the side and out to sea."
"But—"
"Just do it, damn it! I'll be along in a minute!" Slinging his weapon, Morton reached into his combat vest and pulled out both of the blocks of plastic explosive he was carrying. "C'mon," he added, holding the explosives out in his hands. "Let's have 'em!"
The other SEALs contributed their explosives loads, enough to pile into a bundle the size of four loaves of bread.
"Now cover me!"
The SEALs opened up in full-auto mayhem then, spraying the forward deck. Flash-bang grenades detonated, their flashes strobing brilliantly against the night and casting wildly moving shadows across the deck house. Under that fusillade of lead and pyrotechnics, Morton crawled rapidly across the water-slick deck, his progress aided by the fact that the Kuei Mei was listing forward and to port now, which meant he was slide-crawling downhill.
He was baffled momentarily by the tangle of the fallen crane, which blocked his way, but was able to wiggle between two fallen yards, pushing his deadly package ahead of him.
The barrage from the SEAL position continued, keeping the oppositions' heads down, but the SEALs had come with only a normal VBSS load of ammo, not enough to carry on a sustained battle. They would have to start conserving their ammunition, and picking their shots, very soon now.