South China Sea
August 26
The Panda Star was dark, the only meager illumination coming from windows in the superstructure. But darkness was an ally of modern special forces, and the SGIT team was wearing night-vision goggles, or NVGs. The entire six-man team had landed securely on the helipad and immediately released their chutes. As quickly as the black nylon fluttered away, the team was on the move: First descending from the helipad and then splitting into pairs to perform their specific mission roles.
With Iceberg and Magnum in the lead, they descended the ladder on the exterior of the superstructure. Halfway down to the main deck, where the moon pool was located, Ghost and Homer took up a defensive position on a landing. From this elevated location, they could see over the main deck. They stood on either side of the watertight door that led from the landing to a passageway that connected to berths. If any crewmembers came this way, they would be stopped immediately by the two operators.
Boss Man and Bull peeled off on the main deck, angling for the towers amidship, while Magnum and Iceberg continued aft. So far, no crewmembers had been seen. Whoever was manning the Panda Star appeared to be below deck or asleep in their cabins.
Jim took this as a positive sign. Although the lack of exterior running lights suggested a covert nature to the ship’s activities, he found a small measure of relief that they had not encountered any guards or lookouts.
Through the NVGs, everything was in shades of green and black. The sophisticated light-amplification sensors and circuitry delivered an incredibly clear and sharp image, and the two men moved rapidly to the base of the towers. There were three in total, surrounding the moon pool. Looking down, the water appeared inky black, and there was barely a ripple.
Bull quickly went to work, removing a numbered plastic bag from a cargo pocket of his fatigues. Using his knife, he scraped some paint and oxidation off a support leg of one tower and into the plastic bag. Then he held the bag next to the location he’d sampled and using a classified camera, equipped with low-light electronics very similar to the NVGs he was wearing, captured a photo without the inconvenience of a flash. He repeated this procedure many times, acquiring samples from all three towers as well as the base of the crane.
Jim was methodically exploring the deck surrounding the moon pool. Although the artificial coloration of the light-amplification headgear made it challenging to identify supposed scorching of the metal, the paint and other residue samples would confirm if application of intense heat and flame had occurred. He passed a first aid kit, several toolboxes, and even a few wrenches large enough to require a two-hand hold, but so far nothing of a military nature had been found.
He continued his search, moving aft, as Bull leaned over the edge of the moon pool and scraped away more samples. In his cargo pocket he’d already stashed more than a dozen plastic bags containing flakes and powders, all photographically documented. Jim brushed against several large wooden crates. He paused long enough to conduct a cursory examination. The lettering was in Chinese characters that he couldn’t read. But he was able to recognize the upward-pointing arrows and interpret this side up.
Continuing his search, he cleared the aft end of the moon pool and was inspecting several fifty-five-gallon drums that he suspected were hydraulic fluid or various grades of motor oil. He removed a glove and ran his fingers across the top of one barrel, next to the bung; it felt slick and had the odor of petroleum.
More barrels were arranged on the deck. His eye was drawn to two barrels that were slightly different in shape, although they were the same size as the others. The rim on these barrels appeared to be reinforced. He moved closer. Printed on each were four letters: UDMH.
“Bull, I’ve got something here,” he said. His throat mic transmitted the message to the entire team.
“Be right there.” Bull sealed the bag and moved toward his commander in a low crouch, always holding his weapon ready.
While Jim awaited Bull’s arrival, he requested his team to check in. “Anything?”
“Negative, Boss Man,” Iceberg said.
This was quickly followed by Homer and Ghost. “Nothing. These guys must be sleeping like babies.”
Bull announced his arrival with a gloved hand on Boss Man’s shoulder. Jim pointed at the lettering. “Looks like our smoking gun,” he said.
“Can only think of one reason they’d have hydrazine onboard,” Bull answered. “Photos?”
“Already done. We have what we came for.”
“Roger that.”
Jim addressed his team. “That’s a wrap. Ghost, Homer. Secure the bridge. Bull and I will meet you there.”
“We’re on it.”
“Iceberg, Magnum. You take the helipad.”
“Roger, Boss Man.”
Jim nodded to Bull and together they dashed for the ladder and ascended. Iceberg and Magnum were twenty meters behind them. The bridge was on the deck just below the helipad.
From the landing outside the watertight entry to the bridge, Ghost eased open the door just enough for Homer to lob in a flash-bang. Two seconds later, it exploded and the two operators stormed the opening, their primary weapons sweeping the bridge, ready to neutralize any threat.
Even through the bridge lights were out to help the officers maintain a degree of night vision, the diffuse illumination from the instruments was more than sufficient to render the space in bright detail through the NVGs worn by Ghost and Homer. The crew, on the other hand, had been momentarily blinded by the bright flash of the pyrotechnic, and they had yet to see the intruders who were now occupying the ship’s command center.
“Hands up! Get your hands up!” Ghost yelled. The four men manning the bridge faced in the general direction of the voice. “Hands up!” Ghost repeated.
One man lunged for a drawer. He pulled it open and grasped a pistol. Homer fired a single round from his MP5 submachine gun. At the close range afforded within the confined space of the bridge, he couldn’t miss. The man took the bullet in the chest, dropped the handgun, and fell back against the console.
“Hands up!” Ghost yelled again. This time, the other three slowly raised their hands. By now, they were able to see enough to recognize two figures holding weapons.
“On the landing just outside,” Jim alerted his two men inside the bridge.
“Roger. Clear to enter. We have three tangos, plus one that Homer dropped.”
Boss Man kept his MP5 leveled at the three prisoners as Bull, with his weapon slung over a shoulder, moved forward. One by one, he pulled the hands of each prisoner down and cinched nylon zip ties around their wrists. Hands firmly bound behind their backs, the SGIT operators felt comfortable enough to lower their weapons.
Bull proceeded to examine the unconscious victim. He was sitting, his back against the instrument console, head slumped forward. Bull check for a pulse. None. “This one’s dead.” He picked up the pistol. On the black rubber grip was the image of a circle surrounding a star. Bull recognized it as a QSZ-92 semiautomatic pistol, standard issue of the Chinese army. He dropped the magazine and cleared the chamber, then stuffed the gun in his belt. More evidence to share with the analysts at SGIT.
Bullets raked across the outer bulkhead, many penetrating into the bridge. Windows shattered and everyone dropped to the deck at the same time. Then the SGIT operators all heard the warning over the squad radio network. It was Magnum speaking. “Heavy machine gun! Must’ve been hidden in a crate or something beneath the towers!”
“Can you get a good angle and take ’em out?” Jim replied.
“Negative! Armor plate in front of the gun. Can’t get rounds on the shooters. Maybe if we had a Barrett. I doubt that armor is thick enough to stop a .50 caliber round.” Magnum and Iceberg were both firing their submachine guns at the threat, but the 9mm pistol rounds, even fired from the longer barrel of the MP5, simply pinged as they bounced off the shield.
Jim crawled to the door joining the bridge to the ladder landing. As he edged his head forward enough to see down to the deck amidships, his courage was rewarded with a burst of gunfire. The bullets all penetrated the bulkhead above him, but it was sufficient to convince him they would never survive a sprint up the steep ladder to the landing pad.
“Bull, get on the radio. Find out the ETA for that Osprey. Let them know the landing zone is hot!”
Bull grasped the handset connected by a coiled line to the radio in his pack. After a short conversation, punctuated with acronyms and jargon, he concluded with “Roger. Swordfish out.” Then he addressed Jim. “The Osprey is five minutes out. They’ll continue inbound and then hold at 3,000 meters until we tell them the landing zone is secure. They have twelve Marines onboard, ready to hold the Panda Star while we exit.”
“Do they have a tail gun on that Osprey?” Jim asked.
“Affirmative. A Dillon minigun. But with limited range of fire, they’re an easy target.”
More bullets gouged through the wall into the bridge, continuing their path of destruction into many of the instrument consoles. The ship shuddered briefly and then all vibrations ceased. The Panda Star was dead in the water. It would continue to coast, maybe for several miles, before it came to a dead stop.
“What’s the plan, Boss Man?” The question came from Homer.
Jim racked his brain, running through options, discarding those that were foolish. And then it came to him.
“Magnum, you guys have any flares?”
Iceberg pinched his eyebrows at the unexpected question, and then nodded to Magnum. “Affirmative. But there’s not much on the deck here that’s flammable.”
“Yes there is,” Jim replied. “Here’s the plan…”
After going over the major elements, Jim turned his attention to his team pinned down on the bridge. “I want all of you to take up firing positions along the row of windows facing down toward the deck. The machine gun is at the base of the towers.”
“We’re not going to have much luck getting our rounds through the steel structure of the towers,” Bull said.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re going to draw the enemy’s attention. Wait until you see Iceberg’s flare, then let loose with all you’ve got.”
Staying low, Bull, Homer, and Ghost edged to the bulkhead with the shot-out windows. Jim checked his watch: ninety seconds until the Marine Corps Osprey would arrive. This had better work.
Iceberg struck the igniter on the road flare and lobbed it toward the machine gunner’s position. It actually landed behind the gun crew, rolling to a stop at the base of a group of fifty-five-gallon drums.
“Fire!”
Four submachine guns opened up simultaneously from the bridge. The effect was predictable. The large volume of automatic fire with bullets impacting the armor shield and all around the gun crew served to force them down. In the brief lull, Iceberg and Magnum rose above their cover. Their angle allowed them to look down the side of the stored drums and, picking out the farthest drum, they opened fire.
At first, their bullets only penetrated the closest drums, those filled with oil and hydraulic fluid. But eventually at least one round penetrated the far drum. With a hiss, compressed vapor escaped the drum—unsymmetrical dimethyl hydrazine, or UDMH, otherwise known as rocket fuel. The vapor was heavier than air, and it formed an invisible cloud that spread along the deck. Extremely toxic, the vapor also formed an explosive mixture with air.
Magazines emptied, Iceberg and Magnum ducked again behind their cover. And not a moment too soon. The hydrazine vapor spread quickly and reached the flare.
A massive explosion and fireball rocked the deck. Steel barrels filled with more than 350 pounds of fluids were thrown overboard. The gun crew was incinerated, their ashes blasted forward in a sooty cloud, while the heavy machine gun was stripped from its mount and tossed forward in a tangled heap.
“Bull, radio the Osprey. Tell them the landing zone is secure. Panda Star is adrift, engine controls believed to have been disabled from gunfire on the bridge.”
s
Seconds later they heard the deep reverberations from the huge Osprey propellers beating the air. The Marine Corps transport circled around the bow of the Panda Star, keeping distance from the stern, as well as the obstruction of the towers, just in case there were more gunmen waiting to ambush the aircraft. The raging fire cast an eerie yellow-orange glow that illuminated the Osprey. Tongues of flame and sooty smoke reached skyward, reminding Jim of a dragon.
The SGIT operators watched the Osprey approach, even though it had extinguished its running lights. The huge twin engine nacelles were already tilted partially upward, slowing the plane as it approached the helipad. The whirlwind whipped the fire into a raging conflagration that spread to the many barrels of oil.
With the nacelles pointed vertically, the craft hovered, its landing gear inches above the landing surface. The rear door was open, and twelve combat-ready Marines poured out the opening.
Jim exchanged words briefly with the platoon leader. He wore the rank of lieutenant and exuded confidence born from violent battle under difficult conditions. The men were all heavily armed with M4 automatic rifles, grenade launchers, and two squad automatic weapons. The lieutenant issued orders to his men and they quickly dispersed. Exactly what those orders were, Jim didn’t know. He didn’t have to. His priority was to get their evidence back to command and file his report.
The SGIT team scrambled onto the rear ramp, Jim being the last to board. He stood on the ramp momentarily, surveying the deck of the Panda Star. The hydrazine was still burning, although the flames were less intense. The oil drums might burn for hours. He suspected the Marines would order the crew to attack the inferno with firehoses, but since the conflagration was confined to the deck, he doubted the ship was in peril.
What secrets are in the holds below deck? He’d probably never know, although he felt satisfaction that his team had eliminated the ballistic missile launch vehicle. The Seventh Fleet was out of danger.
In only a few hours, he’d learn how wrong that conclusion was.