The nickname had stuck ever since, in spite of his move from the west coast to the east. Before his arrival at SEAL Team Seven a phone call had been received at Black Bart’s desk informing them that Lieutenant Phillip McDermitt was to be addressed properly. When he first reported to Morris’s office, in dress blues, at rigid attention, Morris had smiled and said, “Welcome aboard, He-She.” McDermitt had cursed but taken it like a man. He had no choice.
McDermitt was the first SEAL down the hatch of the aft escape trunk after Morris shot the Chinese guard who had been lying in ambush inside. McDermitt dropped the five feet to the bottom of the spherical escape trunk without using the ladder, his feet coming to rest on the body of the Chinese guard. For a moment he considered dropping the body inside the ship to see if it drew fire but decided against that, pushing the body aside with his foot, making sure the hatch to the deck below was clear. His chief, Lyie “Padre” Gerald, landed next to him as McDermitt tossed the grenade down to the deck and immediately began to climb down the ladder. A second later the grenade exploded.
Lube Oil Vaughn had noticed the guards’ alarm when the first explosion had rocked the ship. For the first time in days, Vaughn felt a sliver of hope — a rescue mission had to be underway. He had kept a careful eye on the anxious guard, who seemed distracted enough to be overcome. Vaughn made eye contact with his reactor operator and electrical operator. Both men were obviously thinking the same thing, nodding at Vaughn knowingly. When the second explosion came, the guard was momentarily knocked against the jamb of the door to maneuvering, and without thinking, Vaughn launched himself toward the armed guard, wondering where the guard’s AK-47 bullet would hit him. The reactor operator and electrical operator were just behind him. The TO went low, grabbing the muzzle of the AK-47 while the EO came at the guard from his other shoulder In a crazy instant that extended into what seemed an hour Vaughn saw the guard’s throat coming closer, his fingers wrapping around it, the guard’s head slowly turning to look at Vaughn, his eyes registering what was happening to him.
Time seemed to speed back up as the force of Vaughn’s body impacted the guard. The guard’s head hit the wall with a cracking noise, Vaughn plowed into the guard’s chest, the man’s weight dragged him toward the deck. By then the TO had a grip on the AK-47 and the EO was pulling the guard’s feet up, dumping him to the deck. Vaughn saw the AK-47 barrel rising, then turning back down toward the deck-the TO had the rifle and was aiming at the guard. For the third time in a minute an explosion filled the room, the rifle-muzzle blast inches from Vaughn’s face as the TO fired into the guard’s chest. Vaughn’s ears rang as he pulled himself upright. He grabbed the AK-47 from the TO, ready to shoot the next Chinese he saw, when the grenade exploded below the after escape hatch. Not five seconds after they had overpowered the one guard, the other guard on the upper level had lobbed a grenade.
McDermitt shut his eyes for an instant after tossing a grenade to the deck of the aft compartment. It exploded directly below him, but it was a simple flash bang unit producing an incredibly loud explosion, a blinding flash and a roomful of smoke, but no other damage. Under the cover of the grenade’s smoke McDermitt came down the ladder two steps at a time, the other SEALs behind him. By the time the smoke cleared the seven SEALs of third platoon were in-hull and running from the impact point of the grenade.
Four of them bolted for the ladder to the lower levels, where a two-man team would clear the middle level and a second team would secure the lower level of the aft compartment. McDermitt and Chief Gerald hurried for the walled-in room aft of the escape trunk — the maneuvering room that was the control for the entire propulsion plant and would be a key space to secure in order to get the Tampa out on its own power.
As McDermitt approached the side-entrance door to the maneuvering room he saw the barrel of the Chinese AK-47 rifle coming down and forward, aimed right at him. McDermitt pointed his MAC-10, his finger tensed on the trigger guard as he ran toward the door and saw the edge of a head in the clearing smoke, and aimed for it … When the heavyset broad-shouldered man in black pajamas, black ski mask, black vest and black submachine gun materialized out of the smoke of the grenade blast Vaughn nearly got off a round — when he realized that Chinese guards did not wear ski masks, did not stand over six feet tall and did not have eyes as blue as the ones staring at him.
“Hold your damn fire,” the man’s voice boomed in a Mississippi accent, “we’re a SEAL team. We’re here to get this ship the hell out.”
Vaughn felt like hugging the commando, who seemed to be sizing him up.
“You the engineer?”
“Yes.”
“How fast can you start up the reactor and get ready to crank out power?”
“By the book, an hour, for you, the main engines at full RPMs in a couple minutes.”
The SEAL handed Vaughn a walkie-talkie and a Beretta pistol.
“I’ll be back,” he said, and disappeared.
“Have the scram breakers reset and latch all rods and pull,” Vaughn ordered.
The rods were already coming out of the core as the muffled sound of automatic rifle fire sounded from the lower levels of the aft compartment. The reactor power meter’s needle came off zero and rose to forty percent. The steam in the headers filled the space with roaring heat and the sound of the turbines whining at thirty-six hundred RPM aft of maneuvering was the sweetest sound Vaughn could remember hearing.
CHAPTER 20
Ensign Ted “Buffalo” Sauer, the leader of the first platoon, was worried as he glanced at the forward deck of the Tampa. The first problem was the slick sonar dome of the ship at the bow — its surface was incredibly slippery, the combination of smooth plastic, slimy buildup from the ship’s days in port and the oily scum from the Chinese bay on top of the slime. The dome would be tough to climb, the only available path right up the centerline. But that would cause their insertion aboard the Tampa to be a single-file climb, leaving them naked. That led to the second problem, the guards on the deck. One guard had been smoking a cigarette, leaning on the forward leading-edge of the sail. At least one other guard, perhaps two, was visible on top of the sail in the bridge cockpit, and they had an excellent firing position for killing off the first platoon.
Buffalo could only hope Morris would come through, and that the Javelins would fly straight and not forget to explode.
Buffalo pulled his MAC-10 out of his vest while still floating in the bay and unplugged the muzzle, motioning to Chief Buckethead Williams to do likewise.
The sudden roar of the Javelin explosion on the destroyer to their right slammed their eardrums, the mushroom cloud lighting up the sky. The platoon ducked underwater, waiting for the second impact.
Soon the second Javelin hit, the crippled destroyers filling the sky with pulsating fireballs. The second detonation, stronger than the first, blew flames and shrapnel onto the deck of the Tampa, even knocking one of the guards by the sail overboard. Buffalo and Buckethead opened fire on the guards, shooting in three round bursts, and Buffalo dropped the two remaining guards on the deck.