“Is all that clear?”
“Sir.” Everyone nodded.
“Meanwhile, the eight of us, Paul Merloni, Chief McCarthy, Rattlesnake, Buster, Dan, John and Bill, will get our wet suits off and get into jungle gear, with camouflage. We’ll travel as light as we can, but since it’s always fucking raining, we’ll want stuff to keep us dry, and we’ll have to take a machine gun in case we get into real trouble and have to fight our way out. Likewise a radio and a few smoke grenades to help the rescue helicopters should we have to whistle ’em up. But I really hope that will not be necessary.
“Our walk into the observation area will be six miles through uninhabited primary forest. The colonel here has already supervised the loading of each man’s pack, distributing the gear equally among us. We don’t have to think about that. We just saddle up and leave the RV point, right? Unhappily, we do have to take a couple of shovels to get rid of any waste, and we will need machetes because we have to stay on bearing and we may meet impenetrable forest. We also want a coupla pairs of heavy pruning shears in case we have to cut silently. But we don’t need explosives. Remember, we are a reconnaissance party and our aim is to remain totally undetected…now, how about questions…address them to Colonel Hart.”
“Sir, do we know how many guards and Chinese personnel are in the jail?” asked Dan Conway.
“Not really,” replied the colonel. “I was rather hoping you guys would find that out.”
“Do they have any heavy guns, choppers or missile ships around?”
“The guns are, again, up to you to find. We have observed two helicopters parked right outside the jail. There is a patrol ship, a small fast-attack craft, but it’s quite far from the jail. Shouldn’t worry us, but the boys’ll probably have to get rid of it on Sunday.”
“Do we know how many of our guys are being held prisoner?”
“More than a hundred.”
“How about Seawolf? What’s happening about that?”
“I’m afraid we’re going to scuttle her. Sunday night. Coupla hours before the guys go into Xiachuan.”
“How, sir?”
“I’m not sure. But I know it’s organized to have them think their own scientists simply screwed up the temperature of the nuclear reactor. The explosion will frighten them half to death, and that will provide a terrific diversion for us. Canton’s only an hour away in a chopper. I’m hoping they won’t have an American attack on their minds. They’ll be too busy.”
“Sir, are all the guys from Seawolf in there?”
“We think so. But we have no information whether they have killed anyone.”
“Why do they want them, sir? They’re not hostages, are they?”
“No, they’re not hostages. But the Chinese have spent years trying to build a big nuclear attack submarine, stealing or buying the technology wherever they can. And now they have such a submarine captive, which they can copy — and they’ll do that ten times faster if they can persuade key members of the crew to help them…”
“Sir, does our government have an attitude about all this?”
“Very much. But the Chinese have taken a very devious line. They’re saying Seawolf was damaged in a minor collision with one of their destroyers. All they did was answer a call for help from its commanding officer, and now — surprise, surprise — it’s developed a possible nuclear leak, and they can’t release it till it’s fixed, which they say won’t be for another two or three weeks.”
“Give ’em time to copy it, right, sir?”
“Not hardly. They’d want a lot longer than that, even if they have real help from the top technicians in the crew.”
“Jesus.”
“Do you think they would try to torture them? Force the information out of them?”
“Yes. Yes I do. Don’t you?”
“Guess so,” replied Lieutenant Merloni. “We better get ’em out. In a big hurry.”
The Sea King lifted off the portside diagonal runway, its howling rotor slashing through the rain. Forty feet up, almost level with the plantation of electronic aerials at the top of the island, its nose tilted forward and it rocketed away, over the raging white wake from the bow wave, straight out toward USS Greenville, which could be seen on the surface two miles off the carrier’s port bow.
The journey took less than a couple of minutes. They never even bothered to shut the main door before it was time to drop the two-inch-thick line out, directly down to the foredeck, right in front of the great round dry dock recently fitted to the Los Angeles-class 7,000-tonner.
All six of the SEALs wore heavy leather welder’s gloves, and they lined up behind Lt. Commander Bennett as the Sea King hovered. He grabbed the rope and stepped out through the doorway, dropped like a stone for 20 feet, the line racing through his hands, then tightened his grip, applying the brakes hard, and came to a near-perfect halt two feet above the deck. By the time he touched down, Lieutenant Conway was already on the rope and on his way down, followed in quick succession by Rattlesnake, Buster, Catfish and Chief McCarthy. Three and a half minutes after the takeoff from the flight deck of the carrier, the helicopter was on its way back for the other six. That’s fast-roping.
At 1104 all hatches were shut and clipped, masts were lowered, and seawater was thundering into the ballast tanks as Commander Tom Wheaton took USS Greenville deep and aimed her straight at the southern approach to Xiachuan Dao, seven hours away.
“Bow down ten…four hundred. Steer course three-zero-zero…flank speed.”
All 12 of the SEALs were given bunks to rest on during the journey, and most of them slept. Catfish Jones and Olaf Davidson did not do so. They stayed up the whole time, poring over the map of the island, selecting the assault beach for Sunday night. They tried to watch a video, but lost interest almost immediately and returned to the charts. The two strongest men in the reconnaissance team had a lot on their minds.
At 1400 they were served an excellent lunch/dinner: thick, perfectly grilled New York sirloin steak, baked potatoes and salad. Afterward they all charged into Goliath-sized wedges of apple and blueberry pie with ice cream. It would be their last proper meal for two days.
At 1700 they changed into their wet suits, all 12 of them, including the four men who would work under the water, manhandling the ASDV out of its tunnel and then bringing in the Zodiac inflatable. They would also need wet suits in case of an accident or an attack that might put them in the water. SEALs by nature cherish the ability to go deep, where their training gives them inestimable advantage.
At 1730, Rusty Bennett and his seven colleagues, faces blackened by water-resistant oil, began to embark in the ASDV. They climbed up through the first dry hatch, which is sealed into the dry dock, and then boarded with slick expertise the 65-foot-long miniature submarine, through the hatch on its keel. The two men from Greenville’s crew who would drive and navigate the quiet electric boat inshore were already in position in the two bow seats.
Lt. Commander Davidson and his team waited by another exit hatch for the moment when they were informed that the USS Greenville could go no farther, because the water was becoming too shallow.
The final four heard the call at 1752: “Captain-Sonar — I’m showing one-twenty feet on the sounder…”