He stood and moved for the door.
"Stroh, be sure to talk about our extraction. It could get hairy as hell. Remind him we might need another way of exfiltration beside the sub if the Chinese Navy gets frisky."
"Yeah, I remember. Maybe a fast launch from the carrier, maybe the sub, maybe a chopper and some rope lifts or a ladder climb. We'll be ready with all of them."
Stroh waved at them and left.
"Now, let's get the individual weapons spelled out," Murdock said. "We'll need more long-range weapons. Only two MP-5's. The rest with CARS and grenade launchers. The two HW men will have the HK 21A1 machine gun and twelve hundred rounds. Doc can keep his shotgun. That will give us some firepower. We'll want each man with a CAR to carry ten forty-millimeter rounds including three WP."
Jaybird wrote in his notebook. "What about the warships? Limpet mines just below the waterline?"
"Heavy bastards," Brown said. "Need three for each ship. Maybe we can get some buoyancy device to float them suckers along with us instead of dragging them."
"Yes, good idea," Murdock said. "The Navy should have something that will work. We'll want plenty of TNAZ as well and detonator timers."
"Might come in handy to take a few claymores and PDMS in case they send a whole damn company of ground-pounders at us on the dock," Jaybird said.
"Do it," Murdock said. "We're going to need enough explosives to do the job. See what kind of neutral flotation devices you can find to equalize the weight with buoyancy. Shouldn't be hard. Save a lot of dragging all that weight."
They kept on planning out the details of the arms, ammunition, and explosives. When they all agreed they had it right, they went their various ways to gather the material.
By the time they drew the equipment from the carrier's stores and selected weapons and explosives from their own supply they had brought along, it was after 1500. Each SEAL checked his own weapons, ammunition, special gear, and the extra loads he would carry into the fight. The men with the limpets had special flotation packaging that would give the heavy mines neutral buoyancy. That would make it easier to move them through the water.
Each squad had its share of the extra explosives, limpets, claymores, and PDMS — pursuit-deterrent munitions.
"We'll move out in our black wet suits with hoods, Draegers, boots, and fingerless gloves. We'll have our cammies in one of the waterproof pouches in case we get landlocked. Then we'll be ready."
The men kept checking their gear.
"We'll have time for a good meal, then a nap, before we move down to where we get on board the sub. Each of you is responsible for your own gear and the unit gear assigned you. Any questions?"
"Which target first, Skipper?"
"We'll go in through the bay to the pier beside the poison-gas missiles. They're our first target. We'll take it down as we planned without rupturing any of the containers. We don't want to wipe out half a million Chinese with their own gas."
"Why not?" somebody jabbed. Everyone laughed. It broke the tension.
"This is going to be the tough part, so get ready. Jaybird will send us to the food. We'll be back here rested up and ready to roll at 2230."
"Aye, aye, sir," two of the men said. The rest nodded and kept on checking their gear. They would go over it a dozen times before they were satisfied they had everything in place. Then they would load it all in their waterproof gear bags and secure them by nylon straps to their load-bearing equipment vests.
The transfer from the carrier to the submarine went smoothly. Then they were in the underwater craft moving cautiously toward shore. When they came to their point of departure a mile off the Amoy harbor, the sub came up to periscope depth and the captain checked all around. He clanged the handles together. "Down scope," he barked. A periscope makes a positive radar reflector, and if the Chinese had a surface-search radar working and set for such a small target, they could be spotted.
"No sign of any silhouettes out there," the captain said. "Looks like you're free to move."
"We'll be locking out," Murdock told the men. "You've done it before. No big deal. Everyone who goes out first, wait on the surface so we can form up. Go in the chamber with your roped-together buddy. Take it easy. I'll be the last one up. Let's move."
Jaybird had never liked this way of getting off a sub. The boat was forty feet underwater. The men would cram together five at a time in a phone-booth-sized chamber, flood it, open the hatch, and slide out into the sea. Then they would close the hatch and the water inside would be pumped out and the inside hatch opened so the next men could come in and flood it.
It would take fifteen minutes to get all thirteen men to the surface. Jaybird took a deep breath and stepped into the chamber. He pulled in his two gear bags and moved over.
"Make room in here, we got two more coming. Push it over, let's go."
The fifth man climbed in, stowed his gear bag at his flippered feet, and pushed his face mask up on his forehead. Jaybird closed the hatch, then hit the valve to let the water come in. He took another deep breath as the water rose, put on his face mask, and slipped the Draeger rebreather mouthpiece in place. Damnit, let the fucking water come!
22
Jaybird Sterling was not claustrophobic. He kept telling himself that as the water surged over his head and at last filled the exit chamber so the exterior hatch could be opened. He swam out with his two equipment packs and moved slowly to the surface. It was always a relief to be out of that damn sardine can. But he was not claustrophobic.
On the surface of the dark Taiwan Strait, he looked toward shore and saw the lights of the port city. Around him he saw and heard the rest of the platoon surfacing. He counted. Ten up. Three still to come. They were down to thirteen fit fighting men now in the platoon, including the two L-Ts. One dead and two wounded. They would be lucky if they came out without any more wounded.
Two minutes later Murdock surfaced with the other two men. Each of the SEALS quickly tied his six-foot buddy line with the man he had been teamed with. It helped them stay together and each would know if the other man was in any trouble.
Murdock pointed at the glow in the sky. "That's Amoy," he said in a normal tone. Everyone could hear him. "Take a compass bearing on it and let's move out. We'll work at fifteen feet. Try to stay in visual if you can. See you close to shore."
They dove and leveled off at fifteen feet. Murdock adjusted the compass board that some of the men called the attack board. It was a black plastic housing or frame with a large compass in the center. The frame was about a foot wide with handhold slots on both sides and a depth gauge at the front. It had a Cyalume chemical light, with a twist knob to open a lengthwise slit in a holder to regulate the amount of light coming out. That light was essential to see the bubble compass at night but it could be regulated so as not to give away a SEALS position.
Murdock settled in at fifteen feet and lined up the compass arrow at the bearing he had chosen and began his steady and even kick. He could tell the distance he traveled through the water by the number of kicks. After years of practice he found he could think about something else while still counting the rhythmical kicks in his head. It worked out to so many kicks per hundred yards, and he could come out within inches of his target every time in practice.
He felt a tug on the buddy line and looked through the dank waters at Radioman Ron Holt. The SEAL came closer and gave him a thumbs-up sign and they kicked forward.