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DRUMMOND ISLAND
00:35 SUNDAY 13 JULY
“Commander,” Ace called, “we’re nearing our last navigation point abeam of Duncan Island. We’ll assume a course to the northwest to your drop point. ETA: five minutes.”
Rohrbaugh acknowledged the timeline for their insertion on Drummond Island. “What’s the battery status?”
“Holding their charge, Commander. We’ve got a good eighteen hours.”
“We’ll stage for egress,” Rohrbaugh said. “I’ll signal when we’re locked in and ready to flood the chamber.”
“Roger that.”
Rohrbaugh felt confident the insertion would go without incident. Drummond was one of five islands of the Crescent Group, strung together by a shallow reef, Antelope, Robert, Prattle, Duncan, and Drummond lay along the rim of a dormant volcano. The deep central lagoon of this cauldron would provide a safe haven for ASDS-1. Ace would maneuver the sub past the unsuspecting Chinese by way of a deep channel between Duncan and Antelope islands.
“Ready up. Buddy check.”
He would have preferred to have run at least one simulated mission, but the mission’s short fuse precluded any run-throughs. Mitigating this shortfall was the precise mapping data and real-time streaming video fed to them by the Global Hawk circling overhead.
Rohrbaugh turned to his team leader, Chief Boson’s Mate Wayne Tinsley. “Boats, you good?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s get on it. Ace, we’re entering the chamber.”
“Sonar has confirmed our approach to the shelf, Commander. That’ll place you at one-hundred feet for your egress, four-hundred yards from the beach.”
“Boats, you lead,” Rohrbaugh ordered. “I’ll lock us in.”
The five other men of Rohrbaugh’s Direct Action Team squeezed by him to join Tinsley in the ocean interface chamber. Rohrbaugh followed, closed the watertight door, and opened the sea valves to flood the chamber. Cold seawater poured around him. He was never prepared for the shock despite the number of times he had gone through this evolution. The water rose steadily, engulfing his legs, surrounding his chest, enclosing his head.
Within moments the chamber flooded. Rohrbaugh released the latches securing the egress hatch and swung it open. He propelled himself into open water, looking up to verify his depth. A thin line of bubbles trapped by the hatch drifted to the surface.
He checked his pressure and depth gauges while waiting for the rest of his team to emerge. They were soon assembled, hovering in neutral buoyancy over the deck of the ASDS. He signaled Tinsley to close the egress hatch.
Rohrbaugh set a compass course for the south and settled into the SEAL’s energy-conserving kick and glide technique. His team kept pace in a tight formation by his side.
The offshore current was minimal, and the team easily traversed the short distance to the shallowing waters leading to the beach. Rohrbaugh broke through the surface, motioning the team to hold in place at the edge of a coral head. Low tide had occurred at 2031 hours and they only had to contend with minimal surge. Clouds obscured the moon. The conditions were optimal.
Rohrbaugh grasped a rocky outcrop and scanned the shoreline. A thick patch of low-lying vegetation abutted the water’s edge. “Boats, the beach is clear. Hold at ten yards.”
The team exited the water near the clump of brush Rohrbaugh had spotted and slipped out of their scuba apparatus.
“Boats, get the gear concealed. Suarez take point.”
Suarez led off, guiding the assault team around the base of the basalt mount in which the Chinese had carved a cave for their missile emplacement. He exited the dense vegetation and motioned to Rohrbaugh.
The ground before them was dotted with coconut palms. offering no concealment for their final approach. Tinsley pointed to the cave entrance.
“Guards?”
Tinsley held up two fingers. The PLA soldiers standing watch on either side of the cave entrance were backlit by a single bulb.
“Saurez, we’re going to have to take them out,” Rohrbaugh whispered. “Take left. I’ve got right.”
Rohrbaugh dug his elbows into the sand to brace his rifle. Drawing a bead on his target, he completed his mental checklist. The distance between him and the sentry was minimal. He wouldn’t need to compensate for wind drift or bullet drop. “On my count. Three, two, one.”
Two simultaneous pops dropped the guards.
“Miller. Anthony. Cover us.”
Rohrbaugh bolted across the thirty yards of open ground to the cave. He dropped to one knee when he reached the rock face and peered around the steel door into the emplacement. No sign of activity. He motioned to the nearest body. “Niles, prop that one up next to the entrance. Suarez, drag the other guy inside.”
“Go.”
The SEALs swept the void of the cave mouth with their rifles. Two C-802 cruise missiles resting on their cradles dominated the space.
“Holy shit, Skipper. Look at those bastards.”
Rohrbaugh pointed to the nearest. “Boats, wire that one. I’ll take the second. Niles, see if you can locate the warheads. They must have them secured in another area. Suarez, C-4.”
The SEALs set to work affixing the two-pound blocks of explosives in a pattern around the missiles’ fuel tanks. Next, they paired their charges to primer cord and blasting caps, wiring the entire array to a firing device.
Rohrbaugh turned at the sound of thudding boots. Niles. “Skipper, I’ve found them. There’s a locked wire-mesh door back there with a couple of signs plastered on them. One’s red, the other looks like one of those yellow nuke signs.”
“You got the flex charge?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wrap the door. We’ll blow it just before we set off the main charges.”
“Skipper, I also found these,” Niles said, handing Rohrbaugh a four-inch thick stack of tan jacketed books. “Look like some kind of tech manual.”
“Let’s see ’em.”
“What do ya think, sir?”
“Niles, you’ve hit the mother lode. These alone are worth the trip. Hey, Boats?”
“Checking the batteries, Skipper.”
“Listen up. We’ve got to get our asses out of here. Niles, set your timer for fifteen minutes.”
“Set at fifteen minutes,” Niles confirmed.
“Boats.”
“Remove arming pins.”
“Arm on my mark.”
“Yes, sir.”
“One one-thousand, two one-thousand, now.”
“Armed,” Boats barked.
“Rally up, let’s get the hell out of here.”
Rohrbaugh pulled up next to Suarez at the cave mouth. “Clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go.”
The team retraced their steps, joined up with the other SEALS, and made their way to the beach. Rohrbaugh checked his chronometer. Two minutes until the charges were set to blow. “Get your gear on.”
Rohrbaugh hefted his apparatus, twisting to align his scuba tank. A huge explosion rocked the island. The blast wave knocked him off balance, throwing him onto his right side. A stab of pain lanced through his shoulder.
Niles was the first to respond. “Holy shit! What did they have in there?”
“Damn,” Suarez said, his head swiveling to check their perimeter.
“Boats,” Rohrbaugh coughed. He rolled to a sitting position, cradling his right arm in his lap.
“Skipper?”
“I’ve dislocated my shoulder.”
Tinsley edged over to Rohrbaugh’s side and made a quick assessment. He’d seen this injury before. “I need to fix this.”
“Yeah, thought so.”
“It’s going to hurt,” Tinsley said.
“I know.”
“Niles, help the skipper with his rig.”
“What gives?”
“Dislocated shoulder. Secure him.”
Niles handed his rifle to Suarez, dropped to his knees, and positioned himself to prevent Rohrbaugh from moving.
“Ready, Skipper?”
Rohrbaugh set his jaw in anticipation of the pain. “Do it.”
“I’m going to put my foot in your arm pit and pull like hell.”
“This is my second time.”
“Alright, here we go.” Tinsley placed his boot, grasped Rohrbaugh’s hand, and began to pull with steady traction.
“Arghhh!”
“Hold on Skipper. It’s beginning to give.”
Several seconds later, Boats felt the joint pop into place.
“Damn, Boats,” Rohrbaugh gasped.
“You can thank me later. I’m going to strap your arm to your side.”
“How the hell am I supposed to swim?”
“You’re not. I’m going to drag you. All you have to do is kick.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Suarez, grab the skipper’s gear. Niles, help with his rig. Skipper, you have the signaling device?”
“In my kit.”
Tinsley found the device and aimed it into the lagoon, squeezing off two long bursts of infrared light. He repeated the sequence three more times. At the end of the third, the receiver flashed in response to an invisible signal broadcast from the mast of the ASDS. He sent another coded signal and waited for the reply.
“Let’s get wet. They’re waiting for us at four-hundred meters, due north. Ace knows we have a casualty and will be near the surface. Skipper, you’ll feel better once we’re underway. Remember, all you have to do is kick. I’ll get you home. You ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Shove off.”