Lieutenant John Nathan and Commander Hunter took care of this task, and Rusty Bennett checked off the matériel being reloaded into a much smaller aircraft for that afternoon’s flight up to the carrier.
They were escorted to specially prepared quarters, 15 small rooms set aside for the men who were going to work in Iran, 14 more for those who were waiting in Diego Garcia for their orders to embark for the Bassein River.
The SEALs hung around for only a half hour, during which time they demolished ham, cheese and chicken sandwiches and several gallons of sweet decaffeinated coffee. By 0600 they were all asleep, and would remain so until 1300, when they would eat a major lunch of New York sirloin steak, eggs and spinach, as much protein as they could pile in, before boarding the aircraft for the northern Arabian Sea.
That journey was of almost seven hours’ duration, and the Navy pilot put down on the Truman’s deck in a light subtropical sou’wester just before 2200 on that same Monday night.
The carrier was busy that evening, and the howling Tomcats were coming in, in clusters every two minutes. The Admiral had ordered a separate crew to disembark the Special Forces fast and then move their gear down to the hangar for storage, before it would be ferried with the SEALs by helicopter to USS Shark, which would be waiting a half mile off their port beam at 1600 the next day, Tuesday, May 15.
Their ranks were thinned out now. Commander Bennett and Lt. Commander Ray Schaeffer supervised the opening of the crates and removing of the personal kit each SEAL would require before the short 30-mile submarine run up to the rendezvous point. Lieutenant John Nathan took care of the separate interior boxes that contained the weapons, breathing apparatus and attack boards, before carefully marking the containers of high explosives that would take down the Chinese oil refinery.
Forty minutes later, the three officers joined their colleagues in a corner of the huge ship’s dining room for what carrier men call MIDRATS (midwatch rations). Tonight they ate specially prepared Spanish omelettes, french fries and salad, and they all ate together, no separation of officers and men. SEALs always ignore this distinction, particularly on the eve of a truly lethal operation, such as this one might very well become.
They retired to bed soon after midnight, but for most of them it was a fitful night. The first four hours of sleep were easy because of general tiredness after the endless journey. But by 0400 the SEALs were awake, each man wondering what the next 24 hours would hold for him. The younger first-mission SEALs would not sleep again this night, and even the veteran Lt. Commander Ray Schaeffer was anxious. He climbed out of bed and walked around his room, flexing his muscles, as if taking comfort from his enormous strength. But the mission weighed heavily upon him, and he could not take his mind off the warm shallows through which he must lead his men in the darkness of the following night.
Commander Bennett was sharing a bigger cabin with Lt. John Nathan, and the younger man was unable to sleep. Three times he stood up and walked over to the door, finally pulling on a sweater, waking Rusty and leaving to find a cup of coffee. Fortunately a big carrier never sleeps, and the dining room was full, mostly of Navy fliers. By some bush telegraph they seemed to know that the broad-shouldered young stranger in the corner nursing coffee in a plastic cup was one of the SEALs going in later that day.
None of them were strangers to fear and daring, but there is a certain aura surrounding a combat SEAL on the brink of a mission, and no one approached him. No one, that is, until a cheerful 24-year-old pilot from Florida, still in his flying jacket, showed up. He collected a tall glass of ice-cold milk and walked straight over to Lt. Nathan’s table, stuck out his hand and announced, “Hey, how you doin’? I’m Steve Ghutzman.”
The SEAL explosives chief looked up and nodded. He shook hands and said, “Hi, Clouds Nathan.”
He felt awkward, sitting there in the middle of the night with this robust stranger, but in truth he was glad of the company. Steve swiftly regaled him with details of the hot, gusting southwest wind out there. “You don’t wanna take your eye off the ball tonight, I’m telling you. The air’s like a goddamned switchback coming in…it wouldn’t be no trouble to slam one of them Tomcats bang into the ass of this fucking airfield. Gotta stay right on top of it, yessir.”
Steve was unable to distinguish the rank and station of his new companion, and he was talking fast, in the slightly high-adrenaline way Navy pilots do after a tense landing on a flight deck. But he was a nice guy, born a mile from the runway at the Navy air base in Pensacola, a flier all his career, just like his father before him.
He inhaled the milk, got up to get another glass and brought back another cup of coffee for his new buddy. Winding down a little, he asked finally, “What’s that first name of yours? I didn’t quite catch it.”
“Oh it’s just a nickname. The guys all call me Clouds because I’m interested in astronomy. I used to be a navigator. I got kinda used to it.”
“Hey, that’s cool. Clouds…I love it. You just arrived? Didn’t see you around before.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty new. Got in a while before midnight. And we’ll be gone by fifteen hundred.”
Steve Ghutzman hesitated. Then he dropped his lower jaw in mock astonishment. “H-O-L-E-E-E SHIT!” he said. “You’re one of ’em, right?”
“Guess so,” said Lt. Nathan, smiling. “Guess I’m one of ’em.”
The pilot knew better than to ask details of a classified SEAL mission, but like most of the 6,000-strong crew of the gigantic Nimitz-Class carrier, he knew there was a SEAL team on board for less than 24 hours, and that they were going into Iran later that day. He knew nothing of the mission, the objective or when they were due to return — just that they were “going in,” God help them.
Throughout every corner of the U.S. Navy the SEALs were regarded as men apart. And, Jesus Christ, I’m sitting here with one of ’em, right now. Steve Ghutzman was hugely impressed, and he did not know quite what to say. This was a condition to which he was utterly unused, and he just muttered, “You having a little trouble sleeping tonight?”
The SEAL nodded. “Some,” he said. “This is my first mission. Guess it’s on my mind.”
“You been in the platoon awhile?”
“Oh, yeah. Five years now. And I’ve done a lot of training…but you always think of this day…the day you’re going in. And for me that’s today…right now…and I can’t sleep worth a damn.”
Steve nodded. “They tell you a lot about it before you go?”
“Everything there is to know. I’ve never even been to the Middle East, but I know what I’m headed for. I know every hill, and every rock. I know how warm the water is and where to be careful. But it doesn’t stop you from thinking about it. Can’t get it off your mind, really.”
“You think it takes courage, or is it just the training?”
“Well, I guess it’s mostly the training. But in my case it’s gonna take courage. I don’t really know about the others.”
“Shit, Clouds, you scared?”
“Damn right, I’m scared. Wouldn’t you be?”
“Damn straight I would. But you guys are the best. What do they say, one SEAL, five enemy, that’s fair odds, right?”
“Seven.”
Steve laughed. “Hey, you guys are indestructible.”