Several of the SEALs now pulled on leather gloves over their flight gloves, so T-Ball did the same. Then he double-checked that the strap from his M-16 was fed through the carabineer on his vest and that the carabineer was locked shut.
He looked up to see Daranchak with one hand up, fingers splayed, signaling, “Five minutes.”
Now T-Ball pulled the hood up over his mouth so that only his eyes were visible under his flight goggles. Then he pulled back the charging handle on his M-16, chambering a round. He checked to ensure the safety was still on and wrapped a bungee cord around it, securing it close to his body for the descent. He heard the clicks of several SEALs doing the same. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Leon through the open left door. Daranchak held up his index finger. “One minute.”
His heart began to race now. Fast-roping was a simple evolution that could go badly when done incorrectly. Done right, he would simply slide to the deck like a fireman on a firehouse pole; done wrong, he would freefall until steel converted him from a sailor into a carcass for a trauma course.
The helo shuddered and its blades thwapped louder in the air as it came into a hover over the main deck in front of Leon’s pilothouse. The aircrew kept the helicopter moving forward slightly, matching the speed of the ship, while maintaining a position seventy feet off the deck.
Daranchak kicked out the heavy line and tapped the first SEAL. T-Ball watched as one after another, each of the SEALs stepped over to the line, grabbed it and slid down toward the deck. They were so fast that four would be on the line at one time.
T-Ball was second to last. He jumped almost without thinking. He looked down at his feet wrapped tightly on the line, but focused more on the man on the line just below him. The EOD Tech squeezed his hands together slightly to break his fall before crunching his fellow sailor. Once he was off the line and clear, T-Ball reached the deck and stepped away, making room for Daranchak coming down behind him. He unclipped his weapon from his side and assumed a position in the tight circle that the SEALs formed for security. He felt like he was in a tornado with the downwash of the helo pushing him toward the deck.
In seconds another helo came into a hover over the deck and the rest of the team descended in perfect rhythm.
T-Ball scanned the ship in front of him for any movement. In his earpiece he heard Holt’s voice.
“Rebel, this is Kermit. All hands on deck safe. Starting takedown.”
FIVE
T-Ball stayed right behind Digger as they entered the superstructure. Their objective was the bridge. The staircase seemed never-ending. T-Ball lost count at seven stories. As the last man in line, he kept swiveling his head, looking behind them to prevent ambush and listened for the sounds of alarm.
The group stopped just outside the door to the bridge. Lieutenant Holt was in front. He surveyed the team to ensure everyone was there and knew what he was about to do. No words passed. He pushed on the door to open it. It was locked.
Again, without commands, from just behind the lieutenant, the first class boatswain’s mate SEAL called Pops sprang into action. He slung his MP-5 over his shoulder and opened Holt’s pack. Pops pulled out a mini-battering ram and slammed it into the door. With the first impact, yelling began in the pilothouse. It was in Arabic. T-Ball had no idea what the crew was saying. He quietly hoped they were not armed. Pops’ third try knocked the door open. Lieutenant Holt and the other SEALs burst into the room with their guns up. Each one quickly put his sights on one of the Leon’s bridge crew.
T-Ball set up a position at the door with his weapon pointed down the stairwell, providing rear security. The screaming in Arabic continued. One by one the SEALs forced the seamen to lie face down on the deck.
“Echo!” Kermit called out.
T-Ball stepped in the door.
“Zip them.”
The SEALs kept the crew covered while T-Ball began zip-tying their hands behind their backs.
“Who’s the fucking Master?” Holt said out loud.
Just then one of the men called out. T-Ball looked to the starboard side of the bridge and saw a seaman in coveralls get up and run.
“We got a runner!” his guard yelled as he chased after him.
“Six, go with him!” commanded the lieutenant.
T-Ball heard the squelch of the radio and Holt’s voice again. “All in Kilo, this is Kermit. We have a runner from the bridge, Kilo Two and Six in pursuit.”
A calm answer came from one of the helicopters circling the Leon. “Roger, Kermit this is Viper Nine. We got him, heading down an external ladder behind the wheelhouse. Looks like your element is following.”
“Fozzy, Kermit. Runner coming your way down pilothouse aft ladder.”
“Roger, Kermit, we’ll find ‘em.”
“DAMNIT!” Holt yelled to nobody in particular.
All of the men seemed to distance themselves from their leader for a second. This was probably a minor setback, but allowing a runner was shoddy. After a quick moment, the lieutenant regained his composure.
“Who is the Master?” Holt now said with ice in his voice. “Who is the Captain?” The Master knew it would not be long before he was identified. One of the men made a noise.
“You?”
He nodded.
“Get up. Get up motherfucker! I am pissed now! Where did that guy go?”
“He’s scared, sir, we all scared.”
“Yeah, you ought to be! I’m gonna cut you loose now, Captain. Don’t run. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the Master replied with steely arrogance.
T-Ball thought it strange that while the Master claimed to be frightened, his voice did not seem concerned.
Holt pulled out a knife and held it front of the Master for effect. He swiveled the man and cut the zip tie binding his hands.
“Take the helm.”
The man walked over and took the ship’s wheel. Holt looked in front of the ship. The sea was clear for miles in front of the Leon.
“Slow to just one knot.”
The captain slowed the ship’s speed.
“See, not so bad, huh? Now listen, I’m Lieutenant Kermit De Frog of the United States Navy. We are boarding your vessel to conduct an inspection…”
Just then a report interrupted Holt.
“Kermit, this is Fozzy. We got your runner. ‘Seems scared. You want us to keep him here?”
“Fozzy, this is Kermit. Roger that.”
When the SEALs were confident that they had control of the ship they moved all non-essential personnel to the deck in front of the ship’s main superstructure and placed them under guard. The captain remained at the helm and a second crewmember was in engineering also under guard.
“Kilo Four, Five, Seven, Eight, search the house. Look for hidden Tangos or contraband,” said Holt.
“Four,” Foote acknowledged for his element.
“Kilo One and Three, Echo One, secure the bridge team and keep eyes on the main deck to help cover the security team there.”
“One,” Senior Chief Daranchak answered.
“Echo One,” replied T-Ball.
Holt looked out the front windows of the bridge. “Fozzy, Kermit. Begin search of the main deck and all holds.”
“Fozzy.”
T-Ball stood in the starboard corner of the bridge. He faced his body toward the captain, now at the helm, steering the ship. T-Ball pointed his weapon at the deck just in front of his feet.