David E. Meadows
Seawolf
To the Navy-Marine Corps Team “Forward… From the Sea “
Acknowledgments
My love and thanks to Felicity for her advice years ago that I should write what I know about. From her suggestion came the first manuscript for The Sixth Fleet.
I would like to thank Mr. Tom Colgan for his advice and encouragement. The ride for a new author in the world of publishing is exciting, and Tom took time from a most busy schedule to guide me through this new world. My thanks also to Ms. Samantha Mandor, his able assistant, for providing further insight to questions a new author has.
My gratitude to CDR Roger Herbert, U.S. Navy SEAL, and Maj. Andy Gillan, United States Marine Corps, for their expert technical advice. I would also like to acknowledge those in the Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense for Public Affairs whose advice and encouragement were appreciated: Ms. Sharon Reinke, Mr. Art Horn, and LTCOL David “Skull” Riedel, United States Marine Corps. And a special thanks to Capt. (ret.) Frank Reifsnyder, former commanding officer of the nuclear attack submarine USS Baltimore, who read the manuscript and provided in-depth technical advice and encouragement. Any technical errors in this novel are strictly those of the author and should not be attributed to the individuals above, for there were times when technical advice was overridden by literary considerations.
CHAPTER 1
The truck rolled into the dark Algerian village, its engine off, its lights out, and the tires crunching noisily on the loose gravel. The moon had set a few hours earlier, leaving a clear sky filled with stars as the only source of light. The smell of the sea was carried on the slight wind.
“This is the village of my relatives,” Bashir said softly to President Alneuf, the only freely elected president of an Algeria now in civil war, and Colonel Yosef. The overweight Bedouin’s eyes nervously glanced from one side of the street to the other. “But the lights are out. They may be asleep-very unusual, very very unusual. I think I would feel better if there was some noise or something …”
Bashir pulled the truck to one side, causing it to bounce several times as the left tires dropped a couple of inches when it moved off the road. Bashir pulled the hand brake. The metal-on-metal screech echoed through the silent streets. “There’s some noise.”
Yosef tightened his grip on the pistol in his lap and eased his finger onto the trigger. He shifted the barrel slightly so it pointed at the dashboard and away from President Alneuf, who sat between them. Yosef searched the shadows, expecting rebels — at any moment — to jump out and start firing. Bashir had better know what he’s doing. Yosef didn’t come this far to die at the hands of a bunch of smugglers. He was still wary of the overweight Bedouin, who just happened to be at the beach at the right time and who just happened to know how to get everyone to safety. But then, smugglers are supposed to know how to avoid the authorities — that is, successful smugglers.
“I think we should leave the truck here at the edge of the village until I have announced our presence, Colonel. It is possible my relatives are treating visitors with skepticism while the new government decides who are friends and who are enemies.”
Bashir opened the door. The rusty hinges sounded like fingernails down a chalkboard. No interior light came on-burned out years ago and never replaced.
He leaned into the cab. “Mr. President, Colonel. My nephews and I will do a quick check. You wait here until we return. Okay?”
Colonel Yosef nodded reluctantly. “Don’t be gone too long, Mr. Bashir.”
Bashir motioned for his nephews. He turned to Yosef as he walked by the cab. “Colonel, if you should hear anything”-he waved his hands—“out of the ordinary, you know, like gunfire, screams, bloodcurdling yells, grenades, or mortar fire, then I would strongly recommend you take whatever actions you deem appropriate to protect the president.”
Bashir touched his forehead and chin. Then he turned and, followed by his nephews, waddled off down the street. Yosef waited until the five men turned the corner and disappeared.
“Come on, President Alneuf,” Colonel Yosef said as he shoved the pistol back into its holster. He opened the protesting door, reached into the cab, and half-pulled the fatigued president out.
Yosef turned to the Guardsmen in the back. Some napped among the few remaining sleeping sheep. The woman slept deeply, leaning against the cab of the truck. Her hands rested lightly on the sleeping baby curled in her lap.
“Sergeant, wake the men and get them out of the truck,” Yosef whispered.
“What about the woman?” “Leave her. She’ll be safe,” Yosef said. “And whatever you do, don’t wake the baby.” The last thing they needed was a squalling baby. Leave well enough alone. The longer Bashir was gone, the more likely it was they were being led into a trap. If so, Yosef intended to be ready.
The men jumped from the truck and formed around Colonel Yosef.
“Listen up,” he said, his voice intentionally low. “Our driver and his nephews have gone into the village to find help. I don’t want us trapped if it’s a hostile crowd that returns.”
The truck was parked near the last building in the village. It was a low, white building with no windows. A continuous, screened, twelve-inch opening ran around the top of the walls to allow air to circulate inside. Alongside the building a small ten-foot man-made hill rose, created from discarded construction residue. Desert plants had long since covered it. Across the road, in the distance, the sound of the unseen sea, rolling languidly against a beach, mixed with the sounds of the desert night.
“Corporal Omar, take one man with you and position yourself at the corner of the street to watch for their return. When you see them, I want to know how many; if the driver and his nephews are with them; if the driver and nephews appear to be with them willingly or as prisoners; and what weapons you see. Don’t wait until they walk over you to get that information. As soon as you see them, make your impressions, and hurry back.”
Corporal Omar saluted, touched a nearby Palace Guard on the shoulder, and the two men, with weapons at the ready, ran to the end of the block and crouched at the corner of a building where they could watch the approach from the village center.
“Sergeant Boutrous, take four others and position yourself across the street.” Across from the man-made hill, a narrow ditch led downhill toward the sounds of the sea.
“The rest of you, come with me.” Yosef lead President Al neuf and the others behind the low man-made hill.
One of the Guardsmen climbed to the top where he could see the two point men at the end of the street. He waved at Sergeant Boutrous on the other side of the road, and Boutrous waved back.
Thirty minutes passed before the two point men appeared back at the truck. Yosef, who had crawled to the top with the lookout, hissed at the men. They scrambled over the top to him.
“Colonel, they’re coming. Bashir is with his nephews and has three other men with them. With the exception of those Kalashnikov rifles, I saw no other weapons.” “Colonel!” shouted Bashir in his deep bass voice when the group arrived a minute later to find the truck empty, with the exception of the woman and child. “You can come out now! Everything is all right.
These are my relatives! You are as safe as you can be in the new Algeria!”
The baby, awakened by Bashir’s shout, started crying.
The Bedouin’s ample stomach bounced as he laughed.
Yosef helped President Alneuf down the embankment. The Guardsmen followed. On the other side, Sergeant Boutrous waited motionless.
“Ah, Colonel, you did not trust Bashir? I, who have spent the last two days giving you my aid?” Bashir put his hands on his hips and roared with laughter.