PRELUDE.
The sleek gray craft
sliced through the warm, water and humid night air of the
Philippine Sea at twenty-five knots, its twin engines rumbling
toward its destination with a guttural moan.
The boat was in
violation of international law and at least one treaty, but the men
on board didn't care. Technicalities, legalities and diplomacy were
for other people to sort out, people who sat in comfortable leather
chairs with Ivy League degrees matted and framed on their office
walls. The men standing on the deck of the special operations craft
were here to get a job done, and in their minds, it was a job that
should have been taken care of months ago.
The low profile
Mark-V special operations craft was designed to sneak in under
radar. It had been designed specifically for the United States Navy
SEALs, and it was their choice of platform when running maritime
insertions. It was eighty-two feet in length but the boat only
drafted five feet when it was fully loaded and dead in the water.
Instead of the standard screw it was propelled by two water jets
All of this allowed the boat to maneuver very close to the beach
with great precision.
Five men wearing
black flight helmets and night vision goggles manned
four.50-caliber machine guns and a 40mm grenade launcher.
Eight other men
dressed in jungle BDUs and floppy hats sat on the gunwales of the
rubber combat raiding craft they would soon launch off the Mark V
and went over their equipment for at least the tenth time. Their
faces were smeared with warlike green and black camouflage paint,
but their expressions were calm.
Lieutenant Jim
Devolis looked down at his SEAL squad and watched them go through
their last check. He'd observed them doing it countless times
before and for some reason it always reminded him of baboons
picking bugs from each other at the zoo. They meticulously examined
their H harnesses to make sure every snap was secure and all
grenades taped. The communications gear was checked and
rechecked.
Fresh batteries had
been placed in everyone's night vision goggles, and along with
backup batteries the expensive optical devices were stowed in
waterproof pouches attached to their H harnesses. Weapons were sand
proofed with condoms secured over the muzzles and a bead of
silicone sealant around the magazines and bolt covers. The only
person wearing a rucksack tonight would be the squad's medical
corpsman, and Devolis sincerely hoped they wouldn't be needing his
expertise.
The group was
traveling light tonight. No MREs, only a couple of Power Bars for
each man. The plan was to be in and out before the sun came up.
Just the way the SEALs liked it.
The tension grew as
they neared the demarcation point. Devolis was glad to see that the
jaw-jacking had subsided. It was time to get serious. Turning his
head to the right and down, his lips found the tube for his
neoprene camel water pack and he sucked in a mouthful of fresh
water. The men had been drinking all the water they could hold for
two days. Hydration before an op in this part of the world was
crucial.
Even at night the
temperature was still in the mid-eighties and the humidity wasn't
far behind. The only thing that was keeping them from sweating
through their BDUs was the breeze created by the boat as it cruised
at twenty-plus knots. Once they hit the beach, though, that would
change. They had a two-mile hike ahead of them through the thick
tropical jungle. Even with all the water they'd drunk in the last
two days, each man on the team would probably lose five to ten
pounds just hiking in and out.
A firm hand fell on
Devolis's shoulder. He turned to look at the captain of the
boat.
"Two minutes out,
Jim. Get your boys loaded up."
Devolis nodded once
and blinked, his white eyes glowing bright against the dark
camouflage paint spread across his face.
"Thanks, Pat."
The two men had
practiced this drill hundreds of times back in Coronado,
California, at the headquarters for Naval Special Warfare Group
One.
"Don't go wandering
off on me now," Devolis said with a wide grin.
The captain smiled in
the manner of someone who's confident in his professional
ability.
"If you call, I'll be
there guns a'blazin'."
"That's what I like
to hear." Devolis nodded and then turned to his men. With his
forefinger pointed straight up he made a circular motion and the
SEALs instantly got to their feet. A moment later the boat slowed
to just under five knots.
The Mark V, in
addition to being extremely fast, also came with a slanted aft deck
that allowed it to launch and receive small craft without stopping.
Without a word the men grabbed the sides of their black CRRC with
the forty-horsepower outboard leading and walked down the aft ramp.
The men stopped at the end of the ramp just shy of the Mark V's
frothy white wake and set the rubber boat on the nonskid deck, the
lower unit of the outboard hanging in the water. A crew member from
the Mark V held on to the rubber boat's bow line and looked for
each man to give him a thumbs-up. All eight men were low in the
boat clutching their handholds. One by one they returned the
sign.
The call came over
the headset that the launch was a go and the crewman tossed the bow
line into the boat. A second crewman joined the first and together
they shoved the black rubber boat down the ramp and into the
relatively warm water. The small rubber boat slowed instantly, the
SEALs hanging as far to the aft as possible to prevent the bow from
submarining. The boat rocked gently in the wake of the Mark V and
no one moved a muscle. The men lay perfectly still, listening to
the ominous moan of the Mark V as it sped away. Not one of them had
any desire for the boat to return until they needed it. They
eagerly looked forward to carrying out their mission.
Unfortunately, they were unaware that thousands of miles away
they'd already been fatally compromised by someone from their own
country.