Luger nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll tell them that right now. It will take a few moments to remove their outfits." Luger bowed slightly to the captain, then went over to McLanahan, Briggs, and Wohl. "Bad news, guys," he said. "The captain wants you to ditch the armor. He's going to have his doc examine you; then he's going to place us all into custody at Mersa Matruh."
"We can't wait until we dock before we do something,
sir," Chris Wohl said in a low voice. Although they were all civilians now, retirees, Chris Wohl would never even consider calling McLanahan, Luger, or Briggs anything else but "sir," although he might put a definite sneer in his voice if he disagreed with their orders-as he did now. "Mersa Matruh is a combined-forces base-they have close to fifty thousand troops stationed there from all three services."
"We're not supposed to be fighting the Egyptians," David Luger said. "Once we contact the American embassy, we'll be let go. But if we get into a shit storm with the Egyptians, they're just as likely to kill us."
"Our embassy has no idea why we're here," Patrick said. "No real passports, no visas-and the President already tried once to have us all arrested. We can't go running to the embassy for help."
"I'm forced to agree with the master sergeant, Muck," Hal Briggs said. "They'll treat us like captured terrorists. Our cover will be blown wide open."
Patrick thought for a moment longer; then: "Sarge, how many sailors on this ship?"
"About two hundred total. The U.S. Navy doesn't usually carry Marines on little frigates, but the Egyptians do. Usually two marine platoons max, thirty or forty menthose will be the best-trained counterforces. We've seen one platoon in here already, but only a dozen of them armed."
Luger tensed up as he saw movement nearby-the captain was getting tired of waiting and was getting his men together to start taking them into custody. The commandos surrounding the three leaders were trying to look casual and relaxed, but they could sense their tension. "Looks like the captain's coming over here. Time's up."
"How do you want to play it, sir?" Wohl asked Patrick.
Patrick got to his feet, turned away from the oncoming Egyptian captain, and hefted his helmet. "Let's take this boat," he said, and he quickly slipped his helmet into place.
"Hoo-rah," Wohl said tonelessly as he and Briggs got to their feet. "Good decision, sir."
"An iznukum!" Farouk shouted when he saw Patrick put on the helmet. "Minfadlukum!" But when he saw Briggs and Wohl also put their helmets on, he knew things were turning ugly. "Wci'if!"' He motioned to his marine guards. "IhataristWa'if!"
The three armored commandos moved out in a triangle formation, opposing the three main bodies of guards. At the same instant, the commandos also fanned out, moving with surprising speed since it seemed as if they were so relaxed and tired there moments ago. The electronic energy bolts fired, striking the armed guards, and almost before the stunned guards hit the steel helicopter hangar deck, the Night Stalker commandos had their weapons in their hands. In less than fifteen seconds, every armed Egyptian sailor in the hangar was unconscious, and the commandos were closing, dogging, and guarding the steel hangar doors and hatches, weapons in hand.
"What are you doing? What are you doing here?" Farouk shouted as he saw his men drop to the nonskid deck, their bodies quivering from the electric shocks they received. He pointed an angry finger at Luger. "You told me you meant us no danger!" He saw Patrick approach and turned his anger towards him. "Are you the one responsible? I will see to it that you are put to death for this act of aggression! We saved you and your men from the Libyans, and now you dare do this!"
"Captain, I am Castor," Patrick said. He paused as he listened to instructions Wohl issued to his men. The Night Stalker commandos quickly began to remove the Egyptian sailors' uniforms and put them on. "My men and I won't hurt you, and we have no desire to take your ship, unless you do not cooperate with us."
"Won't hurt us? Won't take my ship? You are terrorists! Saboteurs! Spies!" Farouk screamed. "Putting on the uniform of another country's army is not permitted!"
"This is not war, Captain, and we are not soldiers," Patrick said. "Sir, I'm going to ask one more time for your cooperation."
"I refuse. You may kill me if you wish."
"I don't want to kill you, Captain," Patrick said. "I want you to contact your headquarters on Mersa Matruh. Tell them I have taken you hostage and warn them not to approach this ship."
"I told you, I will not cooperate," Farouk said. "I order you to put down those weapons and surrender."
"That's not likely to happen, Captain," Patrick said. "But I'm sure you'll reconsider my offer to contact your headquarters once we reach the bridge."
"The bridge?" Farouk gulped. "You… you think you will take my bridge! You will all be dead in ten minutes."
"Maybe so," Patrick said. "But in five minutes, we'll have control of your bridge." He switched the view on his electronic visor to an electronic briefing Chris Wohl was giving to the Night Stalkers. Patrick saw that Wohl had called up an electronic blueprint of the U.S.-made Perryclass frigate and was briefing his men on their assault. In less than five minutes, they were ready. Wohl took the portside rail, Briggs the starboard rail, followed by fifteen Night Stalkers each; Patrick went atop the hangar and made his way forward along the upper gun deck with twenty commandos.
Because of the tense situation in the Med following the Libyan raids, the deck was full of lookouts, all armed with American-made machine guns. They were all doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing-searching the sea, continually scanning for threats using night-vision goggles and infrared sniperscopes-so it was easy to simply step within a few feet of them unnoticed, quietly knock them unconscious with a quick zap, disable or capture their weapons, and move on. McLanahan's, Briggs's, and Wohl's electronic visors showed each crewman on deck in stark relief several yards away, and their amplified hearing equipment allowed them to take cover before a crew member came through a hatch or unexpectedly appeared around a corner.
On the bridge, the officer of the deck, or OOD, was making a log entry when suddenly the frigate's oropeller simply stopped. "Sir, sudden loss of propulsion!" the helmsman reported.
The OOD immediately picked up the IMC phone direct to Engineering. "Engineering, bridge, what's happening down there?" No reply. "Engineering, bridge, respond!" Still no reply. The OOD turned to the chief petty officer. "Sound general quarters, all hands to battle stations, no drill." He picked up another phone, the one direct to the captain's quarters. "Captain to the bridge. Emergency." The OOD had picked up another phone. "Combat, bridge.. Combat, can you hear me?" There was no reply. "What in hell is going on here?" He turned to the chief petty officer and shouted, "And why haven't you sounded general quarters, dammit?"
"I activated the alarm, but it did not sound, sir!" The chief petty officer turned to one of the watchstanders and shouted, "Start a running message relay right now, general quarters, battle stations, this is not a drill. Go!"
"Ma'lesh," they heard behind them. "It doesn't matter."
The OOD and chief petty officer turned and saw commander Farouk step onto the bridge. "Sir, we've lost propulsion," the OOD reported, "and I cannot raise Engineering or Combat and I cannot sound general quarters. I…" But then he noticed the surprised expressions of the helmsman and the other watchstanders as the captain stepped onto the bridge. "Sir..?"