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Ben and Hopkins sat in the messdeck with the four DIA team members for detailed planning of the expeditionary operation kicking off that night. As soon as the last breakfast meals were consumed and the remnants cleared away, the messdeck was placed off-limits, and Frankle and his team covered the tables with a large topographical map of Ile Ste. Michel and the latest satellite photos. The distance from the cove where the team would land and the high ground overseeing the 252 facilities was about two miles as the crow flies and probably half-again that distance over the intervening broken ground. The return route was shorter and more direct, thanks to the unimproved roads the Chinese had graded around the island’s periphery and to the 252 facilities. Still, Ben couldn’t imagine fleeing nearly two miles on foot while carrying an unconscious man.
The messdeck planning session reminded Ben of the special operations course he attended at Quantico the previous March. One exercise was an overland trek to a surprise assault on an insurgent position. The same types of terrain maps and satellite photos were employed, and the common considerations of time-distance, terrain, and contingencies had to be considered. That was where the comparison ended. Unlike Ben’s group of novices fumbling through planning with instructors rolling their eyes or giving prompts ranging from “have you considered...?” to “are you really this stupid?!”, Frankle and his team moved briskly through each step on the land op without hesitation or uncertainty.
Besides Frankle, another familiar face was at the table, his partner Lashon Bell. He had been on the DIA land team in the Resolution Key operation in January and had been present when Ben first met Victoria. Bell had been grievously wounded in a firefight with the 252s a day-and-a-half later and had been restored to full duty only months ago. He was very much like Bondurant, mid-thirties with a shaved head, powerfully built and quiet, although not as tall. Bell and Frankle were in their element in the planning meeting—they were both originally in Marine Corps recon units before being recruited into the DIA.
The other two members of Frankle’s team were also involved in the January operation, but at a remote location. William “Billy” Gerard was a forty-ish, well-built man about Ben’s height with light brown, close-cropped hair and a full, short-trimmed beard. He had also shipped aboard Kauai with Simmons on the Barbello mission. Steve Kelly was in his mid-thirties, a couple of inches taller, slim like Ben and clean-shaven, with black hair, close-cropped like Frankle and Gerard. This was the first time he and Ben had met. Unlike Frankle and Bell, Gerard and Kelly were not military veterans, but entered the clandestine service shortly after graduating from college.
After accounting for the route and terrain and the fact that they would navigate using GPS and night-vision equipment, the team calculated they would need between two-and-a-half and three hours to walk from the cove to the observation post and another half hour to dig in and camouflage themselves. They would need to be in place no later than first light, 05:17, meaning Kauai had to drop them off no later than 01:45. After observing the numbers and positions of the 252 personnel around the site and their patterns of patrol and movement, they would await the top dog. According to the itinerary, he would arrive at the Chinese port around 14:00 and, after a brief meeting with the lead Chinese administrator, leave for the gang’s facility around 17:00. After spending the night, he was due to fly out on the seaplane around 09:00 the following day. Sometime between sunset, 17:09 local time, and 01:00, Frankle and his team would creep forward, silently kill any sentries, seize one of the gang’s vehicles while disabling the others, grab the top dog and run to the beach to meet with Kauai. They would be over the horizon with their quarry by first light—a piece of cake.
The Chinese were the wild card. Everything depended on them staying put in their facilities across the ridge to the east. Several high-endurance reconnaissance UAVs had overflown the island in recent days, building a pattern of life. Everything seemed as expected—the Chinese were keen to avoid any apparent contact with their criminal neighbors and thus ran no land patrols or surveillance across the ridge. The gunboat showed no sign of movement during the observation period. Frankle was sure that a single sortie by the gunboat would burn through two to three months’ worth of the diesel fuel used by the generators, vehicles, and equipment at the facility, so routine patrolling was unlikely.
Ben had no illusions about the gunboat—Kauai would be no match for her in any straight-up fight. Their only hope of survival was to avoid contact, and stealth was the order of the day. There was no sign of any radar facilities on the island beyond those organic to the gunboat. Any portable sets used by the Chinese or the 252s would have difficulty picking up Kauai beyond one mile. Within three miles of the shore, Kauai would maneuver on battery power only to avoid any dedicated or incidental listeners. The special operations boat they were carrying also had a low-power/low-noise signature mode if speed was not at a premium.
The four DIA men finished their discussion and noted the routes and timing in their notebooks. They all turned to Ben and Hopkins, and Frankle said, “OK, folks. You’ve heard the plan, and we’re interested in your views and critiques.”
Ben and Hopkins shared a glance, and then she said, “The shoreline is almost open, and the cove’s position on the leeward side of the island pretty much guarantees a suitable sea state for operations. I don’t see any problem from the maritime side. I’ll leave any comments on the land ops to the XO—he’s got the training, not me.”
Ben turned to Frankle. “Art, you seem pretty confident you can grab a vehicle and knock out the rest. What happens if that doesn’t work out? What if you miss one? These guys aren’t idiots; they’ll know you had to come by boat, and they’ll move to cut you off from the only viable landing site: the south shore.”
Frankle nodded. “Yes, that’s probably the riskiest factor in the op. But we’ve seen nothing on the overflights indicating they’re dispersing the vehicles or running any active patrols.”
“Alright,” Ben said as he reached for the topographical map and one of the aerial photographs. “I get you can get off the beach through this cut here,” he said, pointing at the map showing a gentler slope off the beach to the shallow plateau that formed the island’s base. “But looking at these photos, I don’t see any way to get a vehicle through here without cutting a bunch of trees. What happens if you have armed pursuit?”
“Any chance Kauai could pick them off for us?”
“Nope. We can only do direct fire, and that foliage is too thick, and we can’t just hose it down with the fifties without hitting you guys.” Ben looked between the map and the photo. “What about this spot here?” he said, pointing at a gap between two copses of trees. “Good cover for an ambush and good fields of fire. A couple of us can set up and take out anyone on your tail after you pass. Once we stop them, we can hightail it to the boat. If your plan works and there’s no pursuit, no harm done.”
Frankle bent over, looking closely at the map. “What do you think, Billy? Can you find that hole while on the run?”
Gerard shook his head. “Not in the dark. At least, not without a marker.” He looked at Ben. “You guys OK with chemlight markers?”
“Should be OK if we hold off lighting them until you get here, about five hundred yards away. It will serve them as well as you, but we want them coming into the crossfire, anyway. We’ll set up with Mark 48s—that will cut through anything without armor. We want to be sure we stop them.” The Mark 48 was a lightweight thirty caliber machine gun of Belgian design carried by special forces operators. Its larger round packed around twice the impact force of their standard M4 carbine bullets. Ben, Bondurant, Guerrero, and Lopez had special training to use the two carried by Kauai.
Frankle stared at Ben. “That will do it, alright.”
After a pause, Ben asked, “What?”
“I don’t know. Something this hardcore is a little out of character for you.”
“I’m not itching for a fight, Art. I’d be a happy man never pulling a trigger again off the range. But Resolution and the Miho Dujam taught me these guys aren’t playing soft and cuddly, and neither should I. It’s their choice.”
“Roger that.” Frankle nodded.
“One more thing,” Ben said. “You heard our orders. If the Chinese weigh-in, the boss has no choice but to leave you behind. Are you OK with that?”
“That’s the way it is sometimes.”
Ben shook his head. “Amazing. I’ll take a hurricane rescue any day over your world of work.”
Frankle grinned. “Oh, it’s not that bad. We wouldn’t be going if the odds weren’t right.”
Ben pushed the chart and photo away. “OK, I’ve got enough to brief the boss. Do you need anything more from us?”
“No, good to go here.”
Ben checked his watch. “We’ll be approaching Great Inagua in about two-and-a-half hours to train with the boat. You’re welcome to watch.”
“Thanks, I think we would,” Frankle said.
Three days. Haley wondered at the realization that she had held this command for only three days. Her ship had pursued and stopped an armed and dangerous drug smuggler with gunfire during that time, killing a murderous suspect. Now, her XO and chief operations specialist were laying out plans for a covert operation on foreign soil that included the terms “ambush position” and “fields of fire.” Haley stared at the chart while her brain came to grips with the reality of it.
“Ma’am?” Ben asked, snapping Haley out of her thoughts.
“Wha.... Oh, I’m sorry, XO. I guess I’m having difficulty taking it all in.”
“Yes, ma’am. This is the worst case, naturally. If Frankle’s team disables all the other vehicles, we’ll be able to get out without firing a shot.”
“No, XO, that isn’t the worst case by a long shot. The worst case is that damn Chinese gunboat pins us to the shore.”
“Yes, Captain. But nobody thinks that’s going to happen, me included. Why would they stick their necks out for the 252s? It wouldn’t make any sense.”
“Crazier things have happened. Let’s hope I don’t have to make the hard choice. Now, as far as personnel, what are your recommendations?”
“Lee, Lopez, and me in the boat.”
“If you are taking the Mark 48s, wouldn’t it be better to have Guerrero with you?”
“We are all better off with him as Overwatch, ma’am. Lopez is fully up to speed on the gun.”
“OK, why you instead of Bondurant?”
“That’s kinda my job here, Captain,” Ben answered with a tilt of his head. “Also, I’m pretty sure we’re better off with him working the crane, and I’d rather have him around to pull someone out of the boat than the reverse.” After a pause, he added, “Besides, he has a wife and two kids.”
“That’s true, but it’s not the principal consideration. What happens if I go down?”
“I can’t picture a scenario where you go down, and there’s anything salvageable left behind, ma’am.”
Holy shit! Are we really talking like this? “Very well. Do you see any problems with this new boat?”
“I don’t think so. Lee thinks it’s a pig, but she’s trading a sports car for a family van in her view. The practice runs will definitely help; at least she can get a feel for it. I’d like to do a full load-out dress rehearsal at Great Inagua with your permission. I know COB said the crane would be fine, but I’d like to see it work before getting into dangerous waters.”
Haley nodded. “Concur. You think we can get the DIA team to go along with it?”
“I don’t think that will be a problem. Frankle has already expressed an interest in watching the try-outs. In any case, I can be very persuasive,” Ben said with a grin.
“Very well, make it so.” Haley smiled back. Ben’s grin was infectious, and she was seeing why Sam had such faith in him. “Is there anything else?”
“No, ma’am, that about covers it.”
Haley turned to Hopkins, whose face remained devoid of expression. “Chief, anything to add?”
“No, Captain,” Hopkins answered.
OK, it ends here. “XO, this is a scary place, but you’ve made it easier. Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to have a word with Chief Hopkins.”
“Very good, ma’am,” Ben said as he stood, then closed the door as he left.
Here goes. “Chief, Commander Powell said you were his ace in the hole, that he could count on you to give him straight advice and feedback. I’ll be frank that I’m not getting that vibe from you.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Captain,” Hopkins said.
“Perhaps you are. In any case, whatever this is between us, we need to get it sorted out before we go in harm’s way. So, I’m offering you a free shot. For the next few minutes, no rank exists here. Lay out your issues with me, and I’ll listen.”
“Captain, I am a professional, and I will do whatever it takes to get through the mission and bring the crew and boat home safely. If I think you are making a mistake that threatens that outcome, I’ll let you know.”
“Good to hear. Now, I’ll take a straight answer to my original question, if you please.”
Hopkins raised her left eyebrow. “Right. Two issues, the biggest one first. It chaps me royally when someone else gets jammed up for something I did.”
“You’re referring to the XO?”
“I am. He’s one of the finest men I have ever known. The dressing down you gave him in front of COB and me was just wrong, ma’am.”
“Chief, Mr. Wyporek is not ‘jammed up,’ quite the contrary. And it was not a dressing down—I would have handled anything like that privately. My purpose was so that you and COB could help him with the transition. I’m pretty sure he would never dime me out to the crew or you as the reason he turned formal all of a sudden. You helped with that, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hopkins replied.
“Good. Mission accomplished. Now, what’s the other beef?”
“That ‘Girl Power’ session you held before the change of command. I hope you don’t plan on that being a regular thing.”
Haley was surprised by both the subject and Hopkins’s term for it, but kept a poker face. “No, that was not my intention.”
“I’m relieved to hear it, ma’am. I realize you meant well, but it backfired badly. In case you haven’t caught on to this already, Zuccaro is a troublemaker, and that little session empowered her. Don’t get me wrong; she’s good at her job, but I’ve had to come down on her before for being too flirty. Now she’s smug, and the rest of the junior crew is wary of her, except for Lee, who, given a chance, would throw her ass overboard.”
“Point taken. Is this an issue I need to take for action?”
For the first time, Hopkins smiled. “No, Captain. This one has two stops before it gets to you. I just needed to know I had support for a chief’s intervention.”
“Always. What’s the second stop?”
“The XO, ma’am. He’s young and amiable, but he’s not a soft touch. You’re really the last resort.”
“His stock continues to rise. So, is there anything else? Now’s the time to clear the air.”
“That will do for me. Thank you for the chance to....”
“Bitch?”
“Yes, that’s the word for it, Captain.”
“Happy to oblige. Please keep us straight, Chief,” Haley said as she stood and offered her hand.
“Semper, ma’am,” Hopkins replied as she shook Haley’s hand.
They were cruising at an easy twenty-five knots in the special forces boat. Lee was at the helm, Frankle and his team distributed forward of the helm console, Ben and Lopez sitting aft, and five ten-gallon containers filled with seawater to simulate the weight of their arms and equipment, plus their expected passenger. The heavily loaded boat maneuvered as sluggishly as Lee expected, but its powerful engines still delivered a good turn of speed.
Ben keyed his radio. “Kauai, Kauai-One, stability checks complete. Ready for the high-speed run.”
“Kauai-One, Kauai. We’re ready here,” Williams’s voice replied.
“Petty Officer Lee, feel like opening her up?” Ben shouted.
“Hell, yes!” Lee replied. “In the boat, prepare for a speed run!”
Lee turned the boat to run parallel with Kauai, then pushed the throttle levers forward. The boat picked up speed quickly in the calm waters in the lee of Great Inagua island, creating a pleasant cooling breeze and the dazzling rainbows of spray as the boat slammed through the small waves. Ben looked aft, briefly watching their cream-white wake spreading on the dark blue sea behind them. The DIA men were grinning and looking out over the boat’s sides, enjoying the warm sunshine. Ben remembered that just the previous day, the men had left the freezing temperatures of Washington, DC behind—for a while anyway, this was like a tropical vacation to them. Ben’s smile faded when he remembered what they faced this evening. He checked his watch—three minutes—and keyed his radio again. “Kauai, Kauai-One. How’s it looking?”
“Kauai-One, Kauai, thirty-four point six knots,” Williams replied.
“Roger. Are you ready for practice approaches?”
“Affirmative. Cleared for approach and hookup.”
“Petty Officer Lee, that’s all we need—thirty-four point six! You can head back now!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Lee brought the throttles to the twenty-five-knot cruise speed and then turned the boat to port to head for Kauai. Once the boat was steady on a heading to the ship, Lopez stood and made his way to the bow to handle the sea painter, a line from Kauai the boat would ride on while the crane falls were attached.
They were approaching Kauai quickly, too quickly, in Ben’s opinion. He was about to say something when Lopez shouted, “Coming in a little hot, don’t you think?”
“I’ve got this, Boot!” Lee replied as she took the throttles into reverse. The boat’s waterjet engines, optimized for forward propulsion, dutifully went into full astern but lacked the thrust to save this approach. Lee realized they would not make it, took the right engine out of reverse to provide enough helm control for a turn, and shouted, “Hang on, everybody!”
The last-second correction was enough to alter the impact to a glancing blow and, with a tremendous “squeak” and lurch, the boat caromed off Kauai’s port side.
“Jesus, Shelley!” Lopez shouted.
“OK, sorry about that, everyone!” Lee shouted as she brought the other throttle up and continued turning to the left. She glanced at Ben and said less loudly, “I’ll have a hard time living that one down, sir.”
“Don’t worry about it. That’s why we’re here.”
The next approach was flawless, and after hooking up the sea painter, Lopez grabbed the fall when it came within reach and slammed the hook onto the boat’s lift frame. Lee killed the engines and gave a thumb’s up to Bondurant on the crane controls. As the crane took the load, its hydraulic motor screamed as the boat lifted slowly out of the water. The noise was unnervingly loud—Ben would have been concerned if Drake had not been monitoring the pressure gauges on the side of the crane and giving a thumbs-up. As the boat reached the main deck level, Bondurant held while the crew stepped out, carrying the water containers. He then lifted it onto the cradle.
Lee pulled off her helmet and said, “Got a little cocky. Sorry again, sir.”
“Forget it, Lee,” Ben replied. “That one is still a distant second compared to the ‘Smurf Boat’ incident!”
Lee rolled her eyes and said, “Yeah, I’ll always have that one going for me. Thanks, sir!”
“Anytime. I’m all about morale, you know.” Ben chuckled. The “Smurf Boat” event occurred when they were doing operational tests with the Squid, with Lee driving the RHIB in a series of tactical trials. One test squid canister detonated early and doused the RHIB and crew with blue paint. No one was hurt, but the video recording of the event and aftermath remained a crew favorite.
As Lee turned to head inside, Ben noticed Frankle was waiting for him forward of the crane. “You need anything else from us, XO?”
“No, that will do.”
“Any changes to the plans?”
“Just for us. I didn’t anticipate how loud the crane would be under this load. I’m going to recommend we launch at least a mile and a half offshore and ride the sea painter in and out. It should affect nothing you guys have planned.”
“Cool.”
It had been night for almost six hours. Ben looked at the cloudless and moonless sky, the stars painfully bright through his Night-Vision Goggles, called NVGs for short. The low growl of the boat’s muffled diesel engines and the soft hiss of the water as they crept northward at twelve knots were the only audible sounds while Kauai was running on batteries. Ben glanced at the shoreline, then around the fully loaded boat, riding the sea painter as Kauai completed her approach to the island.
Their approach was later than planned—a result of a delay in the launch of their supporting UAV surveillance flight. They remained in position twelve miles offshore until the reconnaissance confirmed both the Chinese and the 252s occupying the island were tucked into their respective compounds, and the cove was clear. The boat held the same crew as the previous afternoon’s foray, but the DIA team had all their equipment and were dressed out for expeditionary operations. Lee, Lopez, and Ben were dressed in full combat gear, body armor, and helmets with mounted NVGs. The three carried sidearms, and Lopez and Ben also carried M4 carbines.
Lee kept her eyes on Kauai and adjusted the helm and throttles to keep pace with the patrol boat. The sea painter was a tether only—it would part if they tried to use it to tow the boat. When they received the visual signal from the Bridge, an NVG-visible infrared light flashing the letter “L” in morse code, they would cast off and proceed independently to the shore. After dropping off the DIA team, the boat would rendezvous with the idling Kauai, and the two would proceed in company silently back offshore to the two-mile point, far enough that the crane could not be heard from shore. After craning the boat on board, Kauai would proceed offshore to her patrol box and await the team’s signal to return.
Ben looked from the boat over to the shoreline—it was quite close now, and he could make out the outlines of individual trees through his NVGs. Finally, a pencil-thin beam of light shined down from the Bridge: dot-dash-dot-dot, the signal for launch. Lee said, “Release sea painter.”
Lopez cast off the line, and Lee brought the boat into a left turn, crossed Kauai’s wake, and headed to shore at the slow speed of twelve knots. The quarter-mile journey took less than a minute. Lee cut the engines to idle as the boat gently nudged onto the shelving beach and said, “Go.” The DIA men slipped over the side into the knee-deep water, and Ben and Lopez handed them their equipment. Once the handoff was complete, Frankle turned to Ben and reached out with his right hand.
“See you when we see you, Coast Guard,” Frankle said as he shook Ben’s hand.
“Godspeed, Art,” Ben replied.
The DIA man gave the bow of the now floating boat a shove to help Lee pivot it around, then turned and began wading toward the shore. Ben scanned the shore with his finger near the M4’s trigger until the four men passed into the treeline. He then turned to Lee. “OK, return to ship.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Lee replied and pushed the throttles to ahead slow.
Ben looked away from shore, over the boat’s bow, and noted that Kauai had already turned toward the open sea. She would hold bare steerageway until the boat caught up, then speed up to twelve knots to the recovery point. The journey and recovery of the boat took fifteen minutes. As Kauai continued offshore under battery power, Ben climbed to the Bridge, crossed over to the captain’s chair, and saluted Haley. “Ingress complete. No issues, Captain.”
Haley returned the salute. “Nicely done, XO. Now get some sleep. I expect tomorrow will be another interesting day.”
“It is certainly trending that way, ma’am. Good night.”
“Good night, Ben,” Haley whispered.
Ben was slightly startled at Haley’s use of his first name on the Bridge, but headed down without comment. He was suddenly exhausted, too tired to think about anything. Guerrero met him at the bottom of the bridge ladder.
“I’ll take the heaters, sir,” he said.
Ben had forgotten the M4 and the Sig pistol he was carrying—both would need to be locked in the armory. “Thanks, Gunner,” he said as he handed them over, then took the short steps to his stateroom. As he stripped out of his combat gear, Ben heard the whirring of the diesel engine starter, followed by the low grumble as the engine turned over and started supplying power to the grid. Now that they were far enough offshore to be unheard, there was no further need to run on batteries.
He stared briefly at Victoria’s green dress picture, smiling at the memory of her face when he slipped the ring on her finger. “Good night, my love,” he said, touching the picture. He then flopped on his bunk and was asleep within a minute.
