"Freighter Jakarta, this is Philippine Patrol Boat Twenty-Two. We have spotted you and are ready to pick up the cargo. Heave to and prepare for the transfer. Over."
The familiar voice of Captain Bacharahman Muharno came back over the speaker. 'This is the Jakarta. I will not pass the cargo to you. Over."
Aguilando was confused. "Did you not pick up the machine guns?"
"I have them, but I refuse to give them to you. Out."
"Have you gone crazy?" Aguilando asked angrily. He could not believe the unexpected insolence. "Heave to or I'll send you to the bottom."
"If you do that," Muharno said, "the ship and machine guns will go down together."
"And also you and your crew!" Aguilando screamed into the microphone. "Now heave to, damn your lost Muslim soul! You pull that fucking tub over now, Muharno, or I'm going to put a cannon round through your hull! Over!"
"I say again," replied Muharno. "I am not going to comply with your order. Out!"
Aguilando started to press the transmit button again when the petty officer of the watch came up to the bridge. "Ship approaching off our stern, sir. A warship of unknown nationality."
Now a new voice came over the speaker. "Jakarta,, this is the Harbi-min-Islam. Continue on your course."
Aguilando swung his eyes rearward. "This is Philippine Patrol Boat Twenty-Two, unknown warship. Identify yourself and your nationality."
A couple of seconds later, a French Exocet MM-40 missile whipped so low over the patrol boat that Aguilando's cap was whisked off his head as the rocket continued on toward the open ocean. A second shot came right after the first and slammed into the stern of the Philippine boat. The concussion of the resultant explosion blew forward, sending a thick shower of white-hot metal, sheets of flame, and roaring gases through the lower deck. In the unnoticeable passage of a millisecond, the crew in the area was reduced to minute specs of charred flesh and bone.
Aguilando and the other survivors above deck could feel the unbearable heat through their shoes, then saw clouds of steam rolling up from the sea as the boat began going beneath the waves. By that time the Harbi-min-lslam had come alongside and its Bofors twin-barrel cannon pumped bursts of 40-millimeter shells into the sinking hulk at a rate of six hundred rounds a minute. The Filipinos who had been topside joined their shipmates below in death.
Commodore Mahamat stood out on his signal bridge, watching as machine gun crews sent bursts of automatic fire into the debris of the patrol boat to ensure there would be no survivors. He looked up to see the Jakarta fading in the distance as it continued on to make its rendezvous with the dhow Nijm Zark.
.
ACV BATTLECRAFT
OFF THE PAKISTANI COAST
2200 HOURS LOCAL
THE Battlecraft was packed with people, weapons, and equipment. The entire Command Element along with the First and Second Assault Sections were all present and accounted for. Additionally, Lieutenant Veronica Rivers, Petty Officer Bill Watkins, and Petty Officer Bobby Lee Atwill were also present. This meant that a total of twenty-two warm bodies were crammed aboard. To make matters even more uncomfortable, two fifteen-foot CRRCs were strapped to both the port and starboard sides of the deck.
Veronica Rivers surveyed her radarscope, which displayed the nearby coastline. The location was in the direct center between the city of Karachi and numerous mouths of the Indus River that fed out into the Arabian Sea. The terrain in the area was wet and marshy, and although the ACV could have easily moved over it, the tactical situation dictated that the CRRCs be used to move the Brigands ashore. Noise was an important factor.
These raiding boats were normally propelled by outboard motors, but since silence was of the essence that evening, the men aboard would be paddling with oars. It would take them a while to reach their destination, do the job assigned them, then make the laborious return trip.
"We're in position, Captain," Veronica said to Brannigan, who sat in his chair above and behind her.
"All stop," Brannigan said.
"All stop," Paul Watkins, the helmsman, said. "Aye, sir."
Brannigan, outfitted for combat complete with web gear, weapon, and camouflage paint on his face, grabbed his CAR-15 and stood up. "Section Leaders! Take your men to your boats."
Lieutenant Jim Cruiser and Senior Chief Buford Dawkins immediately left their cups of coffee in the wardroom and went out on deck to get the mission rolling.
.
THE night's operation was almost an impromptu effort, except they had received a warning order three hours earlier. Intelligence from the Pakistani Army had been sent to Commander Tom Carey about a seaside camp of a small Islamic terrorist group that was sympathetic toward al-Mimkhalif. An informer had passed on the information that the local thugs were earning extra money by acting as errand boys for the bigger guys as well as reporting on police and military activities in the area. If the Battlecraft was to knock off al-Mimkhalif 's transportation system, the camp would have to be taken out.
.
NOW the two CRRCs were launched into the water and the SEALs climbed aboard. The boats were designed to hold eight men, but each had an extra guy crammed aboard. The Number One Boat with the First Assault Section had Wild Bill Brannigan stuffed in between the two fire teams, while the Number Two Boat endured the presence of the detachment hospital corpsman, Doc Bradley. However, Doc elicited no complaints from the other SEALs. He had been instrumental in saving the lives of several Brigands in their previous two combat operations. A good chance existed he might be needed again on this raid.
Back on the ACV, Frank Gomez glowered with disappointment and anger at being left behind to monitor the AN/PRC-112 radio that was on the same frequencies with those of the assault sections. Veronica Rivers stood on the deck beside him, watching the rubber rafts disappear into the night's darkness. She had glanced in Jim Cruiser's direction as his two fire teams climbed into the raft, and she'd caught him looking back at her. They'd exchanged smiles. Jim had winked and waved, then turned his attention to the job at hand.
Frank didn't fail to notice the silent rapport between the two.
.
2356 HOURS LOCAL
COMMUNICATION between the fire teams was done by LASH radio headsets. The SEALs could whisper into the microphones and their voices would be transmitted through the earphones perfectly audible to the recipients. They were also supplied with night-vision goggles to make movement through the darkness of the swamp safe and easy.
Brannigan checked his GPS, noting they had come within a hundred meters of the target. He hoped the information he'd received about the water in the swamp was accurate. It was supposed to be no more than a meter deep and cover a firm bottom.
"Hold it," the skipper said over the LASH. "We're walking from here on in."
The paddling came to a stop, and the SEALs stepped out into the swamp, finding themselves in water just above their knees. A few tentative steps revealed they were in mud, but it wasn't deep or clinging.
Alpha Fire Team under Chief Matt Gunnarson moved out on the point in a skirmish line. Jim Cruiser and his SAW gunner Bruno Puglisi followed with Connie Concord's Bravo Fire Team behind them. Brannigan and Doc Bradley followed the Bravos.
Senior Chief Dawkins's Second Assault Section was in a similar formation, with Charlie Fire Team in the lead while he and his own SAW gunner, Joe Miskoski, were between them and Delta Fire Team.