Dan Headley was at a loss. But at that moment the phone rang. The CO grabbed it and handed it over immediately. “Sir”—Lt. Singer’s voice was almost as urgent as Commander Reid’s—“can you come back? The SEALs have a problem. Buster Townsend has been badly wounded. They’re being hunted down by helicopters, sir. It’s bad. Please come back up here.”
Dan Headley’s heart missed at least two beats, maybe three. “Sir, excuse me. We have a problem.”
“PROBLEM? PROBLEM? OF COURSE WE HAVE A PROBLEM! WE’RE IN RETROGRADE. AND WHICH PLANET IN THE GREAT SCHEME OF THE UNIVERSE DO YOU THINK CONTROLS ALL TRANSPORTATION AND COMMUNICATION ISSUES?…”
“Me? I’m not really sure about that, sir. But I gotta go.” And with that Dan Headley charged out of the door, and long after he had turned the corner for the companionway, he heard the CO shout, “MERCURY, SIR, MERCURY! AND WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK IT WAS ON AUGUST 14, 2000? ANSWER THAT, DAMN YOU.”
Dan heard that, all right. It was the day the Kursk hit the bottom of the Barents Sea. We got a problem okay. But it’s not some hunk of fucking rock flying backwards around outer space. It’s sitting right back there in that little room — Reid in Retrograde is a lot more like it.
Inside the control room, there was an atmosphere of extreme concern. Lieutenant Singer was on the line to comms. The satellite signal just in from the driver of the lead inflatable was brief and forbidding.
It read: “070410JUN07. 16.00N 94.19E — SEAL team delayed in escape from Haing Gyi. Townsend walking wounded. PLAN has helos up searching shoreline to Letpan Stream. Nine SF trapped in high woods unable to reach boats. Attempting new RV downstream. Inflatables not located. Chinese base history. Hunter.”
Master Chief Drew Fisher had the conn, and Lt. Commander Headley read the signal carefully. Lt. Singer handed him one of the 10-inch-wide scale maps on which Lt. Pearson had drawn in the details of the triangular island, and they assessed the situation.
There was a distance of 1,000 yards downstream of the rendezvous point along the edge of the marsh. Right there the map showed a wide inlet of water running right into the shore. Shawn’s map showed trees almost 40 feet high all the way. There was no doubt Rick would make his way along there and make a rush for the boats. Since the helos had plainly not yet located the inflatables, there was obviously high grass cover in the marsh. The problem was probably the inlet — everyone would have to break cover in there, and then attempt to charge out through the shallows across the Haing Gyi Shoal. Three miles.
“Mother of God,” whispered Lt. Singer. “They haven’t got a prayer on the open water.”
“You mean the helos?”
“Yessir.”
“Actually, they have two chances, Lieutenant. To break cover in secret, unseen by the helos. Or to shoot the fuckers down. They have three standard M-60s, right? One already in each boat, one with the team.”
“You need to be a bit lucky to down a helo with one of those, sir. But I know it’s been done plenty of times, and they do have six belts of ammunition in each boat.”
“Where would you rather be, Lieutenant? On the ground with the guys holding the ammunition belts, or in a helo being machine-gunned by Commander Hunter?”
“On the ground with the Commander, sir. No question…. But what are we going to do?”
“Tell comms to get a signal in. Tell the boat driver to let us know the moment they’re under way. We’re going in to get ’em.”
“Christ, sir. There’re only about thirty-five feet of water this side of the big shoal.”
“I don’t actually give a fuck if there’re only two feet. We’re not leaving them.”
“I’m afraid that decision will be made by me.” And all three men in the control room turned to see Commander Reid standing there, very calmly, in marked contrast to his demeanor of just a few moments ago.
“Debrief me, XO. I need to appreciate the precise situation if you are planning to endanger the lives of my entire crew, and indeed of USS Shark itself.”
Lieutenant Commander Headley walked over to him, and his tone was icy. “This is the map of the island, sir. The X there marks where the boats came in to embark the SEALs. This mark is where we anticipate the team will move, in order to embark farther downstream. There are PLAN helos up, but they have not yet discovered either the boats or Commander Hunter’s team.”
“I assume they will attempt to cross this wide shoal at high speed?”
“I agree, sir. And I’m proposing we come in on the surface and meet them. If we have to, I’ll take the helos out with Stingers.”
“Not on my watch, you won’t, XO. How dare you decide in my ship virtually to declare war on China? In the open sea, firing publicly on Chinese aircraft quite properly defending their own base. No, sir. For that, you will need not only my permission, but that of the flag, and probably CINCPACFLT. Do you have any idea of the consequences of what you are proposing?”
Dan Headley stared him hard in the eyes. There was total silence in the control room. Commander Reid shook his head and turned away, walking out through the door.
Lieutenant Commander Headley did not acknowledge what had been said. He just turned back to Lt. Singer and ordered, “Please carry out my last order, Matt. Get that signal in to the boat drivers. We must know immediately when they leave.”
“But what about the CO, sir? He plainly doesn’t think we should go in.”
“No,” replied Dan. “He doesn’t. Now get that signal away, and tell comms to stand by for the reply.”
The Boat Chief, MCPO Drew Fisher, looked at the XO, and said quietly, “We’re going in to get ’em, right, sir?”
“Do you want to leave Rick and the guys to die out there, Drew?”
“Nossir. No. I do not.”
It was just beginning to rain now, and Commander Hunter with his eight SEALs were struggling through the thick tropical forest. They’d made their course adjustment in radio contact with Lt. MacPherson, who was now helping to drag the big inflatables along the shore in about two feet of water, too shallow to paddle, under a canopy of insect-ridden grasses.
“Jesus,” he said, “I’m supposed to be a combat SEAL, not Humphrey fucking Bogart.” And he was right. It was like a scene from The African Queen. All they needed was Katharine Hepburn manning the machine gun.
However, the deadly nature of this night was brought into all of its terrible reality by the clattering of the helicopters overhead, searching, searching for the murderers who had infiltrated their base and very nearly destroyed it.
Back under the trees Rick could hear them coming in low, circling the area. But right now all nine of the SEALs had but one thing on their mind. It was just 0415 and the armor-piercing bomb should be on its way. They would not hear the blast, one mile away and 3,000 feet below the surface of the earth. But they should hear something in the next couple of minutes.
Rick told them to keep moving, and the sense of anticipation grew more intense with every stride they took. Then they did hear it…a dull, muffled rumble, more like a distant earthquake.
And then there was nothing. But quite suddenly in the weird silence of the night, an explosion shook the island to its foundations. A colossal crash, erupting out over the forest, as the roof of the power station was blasted a hundred feet into the air, followed by a shattering white light that lit up the area.