“Sounds good. I’ll see you shortly.”
“After we have rescued Carol we will drink Vodka together and talk about old times.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
The USS Virginia swept silently under the waters of the Gulf of Oman like a shark looking for prey. Eventually it slowed and then stopped completely floating in sight of the Hellespont Tara, about two km distant. A Navy SEALS Combat Team climbed aboard the specially designed Seal Delivery Vehicle and disengaged via the dry dock shelter from the mother craft. The stealth submarine hastened away under the moonlight and disappeared as though it had never made the encounter.
Inside the lithium-ion battery powered jet propelled SDV was navigation, communication and life support equipment. It carried a pilot a co-pilot and 8 NSCT that had trained all their lives for this mission. All were combat trained and prepared to take out the enemy as required.
The SDS was a “wet” navigation system. When the combatants entered, they were fully fitted with scuba gear and then the module was flooded. They would use the breathing apparatus from the SDS saving the precious air in their own tanks for the mission. This was a fast safe reliable system that incorporated nearly five decades of technology that was considered to be a vast improvement over mini-subs that often resulted in the deaths of the occupants.
When combatants broke free of the SDS they would use the “rebreather” compressed air system in which no bubbles would ever betray their presence to an observer at the surface.
As they navigated toward the Tara a school of stingrays and jellyfish crossed their path. The captain navigated closer to the surface but it was too late. Suddenly the motor coughed, sputtered and quit. “Now we have done it,” muttered Stambaugh as he attempted to revive the engine with the start button. It was no use. He figured a jellyfish had become tangled in the intake. It was one of the few things that could go wrong. “Mahoney, go out and check the intake. Clear it out if you can.”
“Yes sir.” Mahoney swam around to the front. “It is a four minute repair. I’d need to get the screen off, clear the intake and we could be on our way.”
Stambaugh calculated they were about 150 meters from the tanker. “Forget it. We haven’t got four minutes. Everybody out — we’ll swim to the target. Halberg and Pearce can bring the gear.” He toyed with the idea of holding back with Mahoney to make the repair then decided to abandon ship. The choppers would be airlifting everyone off when it was over. The SDS was not that important to the mission from this point. He set the homing signal then closed it down and exited. It would float fifteen feet below the surface until one day a ship would strike it. It wasn’t heavy enough to do any damage. If the brass decided to hunt it down and salvage it, that was their decision.
His team was behind schedule. He reported to the USS Virginia who would relay the delay to CENTCOM. “This is Swordfish II. We got tangled up with marine life and will be about one minute behind schedule. We have abandoned the SDS and are swimming to the target.”
“We copy that. Report the moment you are in place.”
He swam over to the side of the tanker that looked like a towering Mt. Everest where his men had already attached themselves and had climbed the first twenty feet using suction climber gear. On his signal they would jettison the grappling hooks to the rail.
He looked at his watch. They were thirty-three seconds behind schedule. Thirty-one other teams were held back until he gave the signal. “We are good to go.”
“Affirmative. You are good to proceed in seven seconds.”
Grappling hooks were readied. Final checks were completed for the pistols, grenades, and special designed assault rifles. Stambaugh did the countdown from his wristwatch.
“SIX… , FIVE…, FOUR ….”
He confirmed the status with HQ.
“Repeat — mission is good to go.”
“THREE…, TWO…” Grappling hooks sailed into the air….
Disaster was seconds away….
And no one in the OC could do anything about it.
The stakes were high. The cards had been dealt — the players were at the table. Some would win, some would lose.
“ONE….”
Everyone held their breath in the OC. The president had given the order. Operation OMAN had officially begun. CENTCOM relayed the data as quickly as it was received and the results appeared on the towering plasma screens. Thirty-two teams were scaling the supertankers in the Gulf of Oman, the Arabian Sea, and the Straits of Hormuz on the other side of the world. In a few seconds Navy SEALS would battle pirate terrorists for the control of the hostages, the tankers and 16.5 million tons of crude.
The OC, which had been in a frenzy all day, suddenly became silent. Landenberger could hear his heart beating against his chest.
It was all on the line. His entire life had come to this moment. No one dared talk to the most important human on the planet as the smallest gesture, a muttered order; the nuance of a single glance could not be misinterpreted. The tiniest bit of information could change it all. He watched the screens and listened to the chatter from the teams.
“Swordfish II…, we are nearly to the deck. No sign of hostages. No hostiles….”
“Swordfish II…, we copy.”
“We have boarded the deck and have met no resistance so far….”
“Any sign of hostages?”
“Nothing so far.”
Suddenly a huge explosion filled the air. The screens sputtered briefly then everyone saw the fireball lifting from the center of the Hellespont Tara, the Alhambra, the Fairfax, and the others.
“Swordfish II we see an explosion—”
“My God! The Tara is going down! We are listing badly — permission to abandon the ship. There is no way anyone could have survived the explosion which appears to have come from the center of the ship. If anyone was down there they are dead. The Tara is broken in half and on fire. There is oil everywhere! THE CRUDE IS ON FIRE! We are taking casualties!”
The reports from the SEALS teams were all the same. The tankers were on fire and sinking fast. “Permission to abandon the mission!”
Landenberger was in shock. He turned as white as flour; however he was able to give the order. “Abandon mission!” The order went to CENTCOM and out to the SEALS teams. “ABANDON MISSION! REPEAT — ABANDON MISSION! SAVE YOURSELVES!”
“GET A RESCUE TEAM OUT HERE ASAP! We are in the water. Our SDS is non-functional. The water is on fire as far as the eye can see. GOD HELP US!”
A static hiss ended the transmission. The screens were all the same. Fireball explosions lit the sky as though it were blinding sunlight and black oily clouds reached into the sky. SEALS teams were in the water and one by one the images disappeared from the screens and went to snow. The USS Virginia reached the surface and provided an image of the horizon. The Tara lit up the sky with fiery explosions and hellish fire extended in every direction as the oil slick rippled outward.
The commander asked, “Permission requested to attempt an underwater recue.”
Baumgarder said, “Mr. President, the helicopter rescue will not save those in the water. They are trapped under the floating oil slick….”
“Deploy the helicopters as planned and send the submarines to save the others as best they can. If they get caught up in the oil, they are ordered to abandon any rescue attempts. We cannot risk our submarines for those that may already be dead. Leave the decisions up to the discretion of the individual commanders. If the helicopter pilots deem it unsafe to proceed they may use their own discretion.”
“Very good, Mr. President.” He placed his palm on the shoulder of the president offering a sign of condolence. He whispered, “I am sorry, Mr. President. I’m sure I speak for all of us.”