TWO.
The black boat lay
still in the water while Devolis took a quick fix with his handheld
GPS. They were right on the mark, two miles off the coast of
Dinagat Island in the Philippines. The men retrieved their night
vision goggles (NVGs) from their waterproof pouches and secured
them tightly on their heads. Thick clouds obscured the moon and the
stars. Without the NVGs they'd be blind. On Devolis's signal the
boat moved out, the modified Mercury outboard engine no louder than
a hum.
The powers that be in
Washington had finally decided to make a move. Abu Sayyaf, a
radical Muslim group operating in the Philippines, had kidnapped a
family of Americans on vacation, the Andersons from Portland,
Oregon. The family, Mike and Judy and their three children-Ava,
nine, Charlie, seven, and Lola, six-had been plucked from their
seaside resort on the Philippine island of Samar five months
earlier.
Devolis and his men
had followed the story closely, knowing that if the politicians
ever got off their asses, it would most likely be their job to go
in and rescue the Andersons. Devolis had spent a lot of nights
thinking about the family, especially the kids. The
twenty-eight-year-old officer wanted to rescue those kids more than
anything else he'd wanted in his six years as a U.S. Navy SEAL.
He'd stared at their pictures so often the edges were worn and
brown, and read their files over and over until those innocent
little faces visited him in his sleep. For better or worse this
mission had become personal. He wanted to be their savior. With
Devolis it was not false bravado but an honestly and fiercely held
conviction that someone needed to show these fanatics what happened
when they screwed with the United States of America.
Devolis was in no way
sadistic, but he felt an unusual amount of hatred toward the men
who were holding the Andersons. He couldn't grasp what type of
person would kidnap innocent children, but whoever they were,
Devolis felt confident that he would lose no sleep over whacking
the whole lot of them. Tonight Abu Sayyef was going to feel the
full force of the U.S. Navy and the terrorist group would deeply
regret having locked horns with the world's lone superpower.
The USS Belleau Wood
was lurking fifteen miles off the coast of Dinagat Island. The
Tarawa-class amphibious and air assault ship could bring to bear an
immense amount of firepower. One of five such ships in the U S.
Navy's arsenal, the Belleau Wood was the air force, army and navy
rolled into one. She was a hybrid aircraft carrier and amphibious
assault ship with an 800-foot flight deck. She carried six AV-8B
Harrier attack jets, four AH-1W Super Cobra attack helicopters, and
for troop transport, twelve CH-46 Sea Knight helicopters and nine
CH-53 Sea Stallion helicopters. The 250-foot well deck in the stern
of the ship held the navy's super fast 135-foot, cushioned LCAC,
capable of delivering heavy equipment, such as tanks and artillery,
to the beach at forty-plus knots.
She carried a crew of
85 officers, 890 enlisted men and women and a battalion of
2,000-plus marines. The Belleau Wood provided true tactical
integrity. Rather than waiting for various air force and army units
to come together to form an integrated fighting force, the Belleau
Wood delivered a complete self-contained fighting unit to the hot
spot with air power, muscle, and logistical support all at the same
time. She was the culmination of everything the marines and navy
had learned as they clawed their way across the Pacific during
World War II.
Devolis's squad was
the advance element of the operation. Their job was to go in and
recon the camp. Once they'd verified what the intel guys had told
them, they were to set up a blocking position between the main
opposing force and the hostages and call in the door kickers
Because of this
they'd left their suppressed MP-5s back on the Belleau Wood,
sacrificing stealth for firepower. Six of the eight men were
carrying the M4 carbine, an undersize version of the venerable M16.
With a shorter barrel and collapsible butt stock the weapon was
much easier to maneuver through the thick jungle. The squad's
machine gunner was carrying an M249 SAW and the sniper was carrying
a customized silenced Special Purpose Rifle. When the shooting
started it would be very noisy, but for tonight's mission, this
would be a plus. The noise created by Devolis's squad would both
shock and disorient the opposing force as the helicopters swooped
in from above and disgorged the assault teams.
Three more squads of
SEALs, twenty-four men total, would then fast-rope in from above
and both secure the hostages and sweep the camp. From there the
door kickers would move the Andersons one click from the camp to a
small clearing for a helicopter evacuation. The clearing would be
secured by a platoon of Force Recon marines, and if things started
to fall apart and they met more resistance than they'd planned, the
Harrier attack jets and Super Cobra attack helicopters were on
station for quick deployment.
The squad would
remain until the rescue element was safely out, and then work their
way back to the beach and ex-filtrate the same way they'd come in.
A pretty straightforward plan, with one exception: they would be
operating in the backyard of one of their allies and the Filipinos
weren't going to be involved in the operation. Not only were they
not going to be involved, they weren't even going to be told it was
going on. No one had told the SEALs why, but they had their
suspicions.
The Philippine army
had been promising for months to rescue the Andersons and they
hadn't done squat. There were rumors working their way around the
teams that our old Pacific allies could no longer be trusted, so
the United States was going to take care of things on its
own.
Devolis had learned
early on in his career to steer clear of diplomatic and political
questions. They tended to cloud the mission, which for a SEAL was a
very bad thing. Mission clarity was crucial for a Special Forces
officer. Besides, all that stuff was way above his pay grade. It
was for the hoity-toity crowd with all their fancy titles and
degrees.
Despite knowing
better, Devolis couldn't help but wonder how some of this might
affect the mission. The scuttlebutt was that some pretty heated
debates had taken place in Washington before they green-lighted the
rescue operation. A rivulet of sweat dropped from his left eyebrow
and landed on his cheek. He pressed the sleeve of his jungle BDU
against his forehead and mopped his face. Silently, he cursed the
heat, knowing that if it was warm out here on the water, it would
be completely soupy in the jungle.
As they neared the
beach, the boat slowed and settled in the calm water. There was
only about fifty feet of sand between the waterline and the jungle.
Every pair of eyes in the little rubber boat scanned the beach and
the thick jungle in search of a sign that they weren't alone.
Even with their night
vision goggles there was nothing much to glean beyond the empty
beach. The jungle was too thick. Insertions were always a tense
part of the op, but for tonight, at least, the intel guys had told
him that it was highly doubtful they would meet any resistance upon
landing.
A large, mangled
piece of driftwood sat at the water's edge. On Devolis's order the
boat headed in its direction. Unless it had moved since this
morning's satellite photographs, that was their spot. Just to the
right of it, and in from the beach approximately a hundred yards,
was a shallow stream they would use to work their way inland to the
camp.
The boat nudged onto
the sand beach, just to the right of the driftwood.
The men moved with
precision and speed. This was where they were most vulnerable, here
on the beach out in the open. They spread out in a predetermined
formation that they'd practiced with numbing repetition. The lead
men in the front of the boat maintained firing positions while the
others fanned out, creating a small secure beachhead that provided
180 degrees of fire.
Devolis lay in the
prone position slightly ahead of the others, the muzzle of his
rifle pointed at his sector of the jungle, his heart beating a bit
faster but under control. The goggles turned the dark night into a
glowing green, white and black landscape. Lying completely still,
the lieutenant squinted his eyes in an attempt to pierce the wall
of vegetation in front of him. After he'd given it a good look he
took his right finger off the trigger and pointed toward the jungle
twice. Ten feet to Devolis's right, Scooter Mason, his point man,
popped up and scampered off toward the jungle in a low crouch, his
weapon at his shoulder ready to fire. Devolis took a second to
check their flanks and looked down the beach in both
directions.
That was when it
happened. A three-round burst that shattered the still night. Three
loud distinctive cracks that Devolis instantly knew came from a
weapon that didn't belong to any of his men. As Devolis swung his
head around he saw Scooter falling to the ground and then the
jungle in front of them erupted in a fusillade of gunfire. Bright
muzzle flashes came from everywhere. A bullet whistled past the
young lieutenant's head and the sand in front of him began to dance
as rounds thudded into the beach. In return, the squad let loose
with everything they had. Each man hosed down his sector, focusing
on the bright muzzle flashes of the enemy.
Devolis unloaded his
first thirty-round magazine and ejected it.
While fishing for a
fresh magazine, he yelled into his lip mike, "Victor Five, this is
Romeo! I need an immediate evac!" Devolis rammed home the fresh
magazine and chambered a round. A muzzle flash erupted at one
o'clock and he sent a three-round burst right back down its
throat.
"Say again, Romeo"
came the reply back over Devolis's earpiece.
Devolis continued to
fire and shouted, "We are taking heavy fire!
We have at least one
man down and we need an immediate evac! Bring it right in on the
beach!"
An earnest voice
crackled back over the radio, "We're on the way."
Devolis knew the rest
of the team had heard his call for an evacuation over their
headsets. They had covered it thoroughly in the pr emission
briefing. The Mark V was to circle back after it dropped them off
and take up station a mile and a half off the beach in case they
were needed. It was a standard mission precaution, but one that no
one thought they'd need tonight. As Devolis returned fire, he
loudly cursed the people back in Washington. They'd walked right
into an ambush and for the life of him he couldn't figure out how
it had happened.
"Guys, give me a sit
rep, by the numbers." Devolis continued to fire while his men
sounded off one by one. Only five men checked in. Devolis knew
Scooter was down and that left only one other.
"Irv, talk to me."
Devolis repeated the request, then looked to his left. He could see
Irv's prone figure, but there was no movement.
"Listen up!" His
shout was interrupted by several loud explosions as one of his men
fired his M203 40mm grenade launcher into the jungle.
"Gooch, put some
smoke into their position. The boat will be here any second. When
the big fifties start to rake the jungle we move. I'll grab Irv.
Gooch, can you get to Scooter?"
"Affirmative."
Devolis tore off his
night vision goggles, reached for an M-18 smoke grenade and pulled
the pin. Rolling onto one side, he lobbed the can of soup upwind
from their position. The grenade rolled across the sand and began
to hiss its white cover. Slowly the fog worked its way back down
the beach. Devolis knew the boat had to be near and started his
crawl toward Irv. He had to get to him. No one could be left
behind. When he was just a few feet away from his friend a bullet
found him. It slammed into his right leg. Through gritted teeth
Devolis let out a muffled scream and a slew of profanities. The
pain had been so complete he wondered briefly if his leg had been
blown off. He looked over his shoulder to reassure himself that it
was still attached.
He reached Irv just
as the battle reached a new crescendo. The big 50-caliber machine
guns of the Mark-V tore into the jungle with vicious force.
Shredded leaves rained down, branches snapped free, trunks absorbed
the big rounds with cracking moans and thuds and then the 40mm
grenade launcher let loose with a salvo of explosions.
The enemy's guns all
but stopped as they dove for cover.
Devolis called out
his friend's name and reached out for his shoulder.
When he turned him
over all he saw was a lifeless face staring blankly at the night
sky, his jaw open and loose. A bullet had struck him in the
forehead and a mixture of sand and blood covered one side of his
face. Devolis froze briefly in sorrow as the finality of the moment
hit home and then a line of bullets popped in the sand just in
front of him. A voice inside told him to get to the water. Now was
not the time to mourn his friend's death. Devolis grabbed Irv's
harness and began dragging him toward the safety of the sea. As he
struggled with the lifeless body and only one good leg, he called
for his team to report in.
While they did, he
reached the warm salty water and looked over at the rubber raft. It
was too shot up to bother recovering. He continued to move away
from the shore, pulling his friend with him as the salt water began
to bite at the bullet hole in his leg. He gave the team orders to
abandon the raft and swim out for pickup. Devolis stopped in about
five feet of water and waited for each team member to pass.
The Mark-V continued
to rake the beach with its big.50-caliber machine guns until the
enemy fire was reduced to a few sporadic shots.
Devolis side-stroked
with all his might, clutching his dead friend as they moved farther
and farther away from the shore. As he neared the safety of the
boat, he blocked out the agonizing pain and tried to understand how
they could possibly have walked into an ambush.