He watched for two minutes as the ship sailed closer and closer to his line of mines. Then it was light enough that he could see the ship with his binoculars.
It sailed majestically through the calm waters one moment, then the next, the huge tanker seemed to lift a dozen feet out of the water. An explosion somewhere in the guts of the tanker burst through the deck and spouted fire and smoke into the morning sky. He could see oil pouring out of the ruptured tanks, and then it began burning, lighting the early dawn. He heard secondary explosions and then the craft broke in half. The bow sank almost at once, but the stern half of the quarter-mile-long ship shuddered several times, and another explosion racked the ship. Aziz guessed that might have been when the cold seawater reached the boilers.
Then the rest of the ship sank quickly, leaving only a trail of smoke in the sky and a flaming sea of oil.
He did not move his ship out to look for survivors. He had been ordered not to. He raised his anchor and motored quietly back inside the harbor on the Iranian side of the strait.
It was done. The warning had been given in a way that no one could doubt. Now the world would know what it felt like to be chained and curtailed and badgered and hemmed in on all sides by angry enemies.
Yes, now the whole world would know how Iraq had felt for ten years.
Stroh paced the assembly room. “No, I’m not sure if this changes your assignment or not,” he said. “That bastard finally did it. He’s trying to close the strait and give himself and his minuscule navy the key to the cookie jar. This way he can let in and out only those he wants to get in and out. Hell, he could double or triple the price of oil, and nobody could challenge him.”
“We have mine hunter ships in the gulf,” Murdock said. “They’ve been here since the war. What are they called… mine countermeasure vessels. Probably two or three of them are steaming at flank speed down to the strait this second.”
“Yeah, but can they figure out the mine pattern or the system quickly enough to keep the strait open? That’s the hundred trillion million gazillion dollar question.”
“Can you check about our mission? If we go, we need a couple of hours to get ready.”
Stroh nodded. “Yeah, I’m still a little shell-shocked over this damn Saddam move. I didn’t think he had the guts to do this. Shows what a man will do when he’s desperate. None of his other ploys have worked.”
Stroh took the phone and called the admiral. Then he called CIA headquarters on the encrypted SATCOM. He came back in ten minutes.
“You’re still on. Gonna take the Navy minesweepers a day or so to evaluate the situation and figure out what to do. Those minesweeper-type ships, they really made mostly of wood?”
“What I hear. Oak, fir, and Alaskan cedar with a thin coating of fiberglass on the outside to cut down on the magnetic signature. They even have low-magnetic engines made in Italy.”
“I wish them good luck. Mines give me nightmares, especially naval mines.” He shivered. “So, the COD will be ready to lift off here at ten-thirty.”
“We’ll be on it.”
Murdock discussed the mission with his men as they readied their gear.
“Yeah, lots of TNAZ and timers and our weapons should be enough,” Senior Chief Dobler said. “We go in light, we hit them hard, and get downstream before they can find their pants.”
“You’ve got a way with words, Senior Chief,” Jaybird said. “We going with the rebreathers?”
“Damn fucking right,” Harry Ronson said. “Don’t want to have to swim down forty miles on the surface.”
“Yeah, it might be forty miles,” DeWitt said. “That’s too damn far. I hear they have a Pegasus with the fleet. This is what they built these little runners for. They do forty-five knots and have weapons. Why doesn’t the damn Pegasus motor up the Euphrates quietly during the night and meet us just below Basra? We jump on board and cut out of there at forty-five knots. We’re out into the gulf before Saddam knows we’ve been there.”
Murdock agreed. He dialed the phone and found the admiral.
“Yes, Commander, we do have a Pegasus. We weren’t sure that it could get up the river quietly enough.”
“They will have at least six hours of darkness to move up the river,” Murdock said. We’ll need that much time to get to the target, hit it, and get into the river heading downstream. All they need is a Motorola on our frequency, and we can pick them up for about three miles.”
“Sounds possible. As you said, forty miles is a long swim, especially if you have any wounded. I’ll get back to you.”
Murdock waved at his men. “Looks like the old man bought the idea. Now he’s talking to the Pegasus drivers. The rig has a crew of five and is designed to hold sixteen combat troops. Sounds a hell of a lot better than swimming back.”
Twenty minutes before they left for the flight deck, the phone rang, and the admiral’s aide was on.
“Commander Murdock. We’ve talked with the Pegasus crew. They say they can get forty miles up the Euphrates in the dark without attracting undue attention. So it will be a meet in the water somewhere three or four miles below the naval base. If you get there first, hit the beach and talk our boys in with green glow lights.”
“Yes sir. Sounds better than a forty-mile swim. We’ll be in place. Can the Pegasus crew get a Motorola like the SEALs use? It will carry about three miles.”
“We can do that. Good luck, Commander.
Murdock turned back to the men. “We get the Pegasus up the river for a ride home. Which means we leave our wet suits and that gear here. No rebreathers, either. Five minutes to restow your gear.
Ten minutes later, Murdock checked. “Now, who isn’t ready to take a small airplane ride?”
They took off on time.
Just under two hours later, they had covered the 530 miles between the carrier and Kuwait City. The pilot reported that he had counted more than twenty tankers steaming toward the now-closed Strait of Hormuz.
Murdock and his men landed at Kuwait City Airport and had lunch at the nearby air base. They were met by Major Charles Rausch, who would be their contact all the way to the border.
“Commander, we’re ready. We’ll get you and your men fed and then into a chopper for the jump to the border. We’ve inserted men into Iraq this way before, but none on such short missions. Usually it’s a HALO operation.”
“Some food would be good, Major. We have the equipment we need, and we hope it can be hidden in the civilian cars. Somebody said we would be trading our cammies for civilian clothing in case we are stopped.”
“The standard procedure. Our drivers know the local customs and the language, of course. Should be able to get you past any road checks. Not a lot of Iraqi military down in this area once you’re past the border. I’m sure you and your men won’t have any trouble with that. I’ve seen some of your people operate.”
The food was excellent, reminding Murdock a little of a condemned man’s last meal.
They boarded a Marine Sea Knight at 1600 and took the sixty-mile flight to a spot along the border with Iraq. They set down at a small village that had an unusually large number of civilian cars, small trucks, and vans. All were nondescript; many with banged-in fenders and some with cracks in the windshield.
Major Rausch led them to a modest building that needed paint and had one pane of a window broken out. Inside, it was modern and filled with army men and women and Marines all busy at work. The major took Murdock and DeWitt through three doors into an attached building where six civilians worked. Two looked up and nodded at the major. They were all Kuwaiti or Iraqi; Murdock wouldn’t know the difference.
“Yes, yes, we have our people here,” a small, dark man said. He had a thick mustache and piercing black eyes. “Do you wish to wear the civilian clothing over your cammies?”