The forces commanded by Abdulhasan Askari were in position, but they didn’t have the information their leader possessed. Askari now knew about the three submarines that were taken out, yet took great pleasure in hearing Ali Reza had damaged a US nuclear sub before being killed. Six helicopters were on their way; five were Vietnam-era Bell UH-1 Hueys with M-60 machine guns mounted front and back on the sides of the aircraft. Four other helicopters sat in a field in Costa Rica riddled with bullet holes along and with gas tanks loaded with soap. He was in communication with his troops but wouldn’t tell them they had lost most of the explosives so carefully placed during the past few years. The SEAL team had come in, dismantled the explosives on the locks, quietly killed several guards, and destroyed two hidden machine gun emplacements. They left without introducing themselves. Even though the other locks were not so well-guarded, SEAL teams also took out explosives on all the other locks. They would be back.
A large group of what appeared to be tourists had gone into the film theater, which was the common starting place for the tour each day. The lookouts for Askari did notice that there were mostly men and only a few women, but didn’t report it as unusual. Some of the women were either FBI or undercover ATF agents who had posed as tourists on the Tropic Queen, along with Debi, Maria, and Simone. The movie about the construction of the Panama Canal came on automatically, and the lights were dimmed in the theater.
While the movie was still playing in the background, Rick turned up the lights and had one of his men go into the theater control room and turn down the sound.
“In the lobby are several cartons which we had delivered this morning. They are marked ‘Display items,’ but they are our larger weapons—machine guns, RPGs, etc.,” Rick said, as he gestured to a few of his men to retrieve them.
“The US forces will be using FGM-Javelins, and our Panamanian police forces will use Russian RPGs. May be a few of those left for other members of our group. The Javelins require a lot of training since they are infrared lock-on and ‘fire and forget’ guided weapons. RPGs are monkey weapons—aim and pull the trigger.
“I have given each fire squad an objective. I will work my way up to the fourth observation platform to oversee everything. Expect heavy fire from the big lock control building that sits on an island between the two canals. Our intel has identified it as the headquarters for Abdulhasan Askari. It appears that all the outbuildings are occupied. All workers should be treated as Jihadists. If you capture men, use nylon ties on hands and feet and leave them for interrogation later. Each fire team and frog team should have a medic. We will medivac the wounded as soon as possible.
“Some of you might not be coming back. Any civilians who are having second thoughts and don’t want to go can stay here in the museum. Let’s stop a minute from putting on our gear and bow your heads. Pray with me.
“Heavenly father, please place your mighty hands over these soldiers to protect them as they go into battle. I thank you for your gift of eternal life. I ask for your divine protection for my nation, my army, my family, my soldiers, and myself. I appeal to your divine justice to grant us victory. I ask this in the name of our heavenly father. Amen.”
Several “amens” were muttered by the group, and Debi looked at Lester without smiling.
“Well, if that doesn’t scare the shit out of you, I don’t know what will.”
“I tend to be more afraid when the actual bullets whiz by my head,” Lester said.
“I don’t know—I’ve seen you go into your Zen state and become a statue when the bullets hit all around you,” Debi said.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not scared,” Lester said, smiling at Debi and giving her a hug and a quick kiss on her forehead.
“I expected a lightning bolt to come into this room and strike me dead for even being in a room where a prayer was spoken. Not been in a church in so … so long,” Jordan said to Lester.
Maria overheard and replied to Jordan’s confession, “Honey, if we live through this, we’re going to Mass as soon as we land back in France.”
“How about we go to a church that would accept us if we got married—a nice Presbyterian or Episcopalian church? The Catholic Church would require us to get an annulment from our first marriages, which is a little ridiculous, don’t you think?” Jordan said, before he realized that he had stuck the “marriage” word in the sentence.
“I agree with your assessment of nice churches to attend, but did I hear a veiled attempt to ask for my hand in marriage?” Maria said, smiling and pressing her nose to his, with her eyes wide and locked on his.
“Maria, I hope the end result of our time together will be marriage, but I am capable of a much better proposal—one that includes a ring and me on a knee. Also, I’m a traditionalist, which means I would call and ask your dad’s permission to marry you.”
“You got to know that my church accepts anyone unless they don’t pay for their meal,” Lester said.
Maria had read about Lester’s church café. “I like the idea of your church, Lester, but it doesn’t seem to lend itself to weddings and funerals.”
“Nonsense! Move a couple tables out of the way, lay out a buffet of fried catfish and frog legs, and have the owner do the ceremony. We can get her a ‘preachership’ real quick on the web. Won’t be fancy, but it’ll be the talk of Kirby,” Lester said in his most unconvincing voice and holding back a laugh.
“Fried frog legs? Can I list them on the invitations going out? It might cut down on attendance,” Jordan said.
“The very purpose of listing them—only your true friends will show up,” Lester said and watched Rick cringe at the talk of mistreating frogs. All the SEALs called each other frogmen, most likely as a reference to their origins in WWII.
“Listen up! Make sure your tropical shirts cover your vests. Your resort wear will identify you as a friendly. The Panama Canal workers will have on work clothes. Shouldn’t be any non-jihadist workers here—they were told to stay away until 2:00 p.m. Get with your fire teams and good luck to you. Let’s move out,” Rick said.
Monte looked at Simone, smiled, and muttered, “Stay frosty, my girl—stay frosty.”
The other five from the group almost fell on the floor laughing when they heard the overused phrase.
“What in the hell does that mean?” Simone said.
Before anyone could answer, each couple was called to go with their fire team leader. Tank had his team fall in with him.
“Look, in combat, the objective is not to just kill the enemy,” Tank said. “The most important thing is to keep the person next to you alive. You are fighting for your buddy. Keep him or her safe. There’s plenty of time to engage the enemy. Do it with your fellow frogmen in mind—and guest frogs, of course. No fuck ups.
“Our objective is a big building across the canal. To cross over, we will run across the top of the closed lock gate. You will see yellow handrails but not much room. If the canal gate is open, we have to wait until it’s closed to get across.
“First, we’ll need to take out the machine gun in the main control building. Intel says it’s there. Far right window top floor. When you see us setting up the Javelin, you’ll provide cover fire. Don’t get in the way of the back blast because it’ll kill you. Frogs, let’s move out.”
Tank sounded like someone who had been in combat a million times. In truth, he had never been fired upon. Lester and Debi got the impression he couldn’t wait to have bullets zipping by him. It was what the frogmen lived for and why they became SEALs to start with.
As they moved out of the theater, down the stairs to the rear exit, they could hear gunfire from the upper floors. One fire team was moving to clear the upper front offices, so they could get eyes on the snipers in the tree line across from the visitors center. Since the big glass oval front windows didn’t have access, the SEAL snipers had to break the glass on the fourth story walkway to the observation platforms. Shortly, they could distinguish the sound of the Barrett .50 caliber long range sniper rifle firing ten round clips.
“You know, Debi, that Barrett must be trying to cut down the tree,” Lester said.
“I hope to hell they do their job before we take off in open space across the yard,” Debi replied.
When they reached the ground floor and exited the building, they found a low concrete wall for cover. It was a patio area adjacent to the snack bar, but it was perfect to sight in the administration building on the island between the two canals. If the advanced information was accurate, then the top window on the right housed a machine gun.
“Start putting rounds in that top right window. If we get a response, then we’ll send a Javelin on its way,” Tank said, and helped the two-man missile team set up.
“Debi, let’s send three-round bursts at that top window but don’t feel bad if we don’t get close. These MAC-10s are no good at that distance which looks like about 200 yards,” Lester said, as he aimed and pulled the trigger as did the rest of the team.
Pieces of stucco put out little smoke signals as the building was dusted by small arms fire. There was no return fire. Above them were four observation decks, and fully-automatic gunfire could be heard on all decks as squads of SEALs moved in and cleared out all enemy personnel.
Suddenly, a large barrel protruded from the middle window in the main control building, directly above the lettering for the Miraflores Locks, with the date “1913” below it. It began firing, and pieces of concrete were ripped and blown away all around the squad of seven fighters.
“Fifty cal. Got to get ’em fast or it’ll chew up our cover,” Tank said, and directed the team member who had just magically produced a Barrett .50 caliber sniper rifle from a bag where it had been in a disassembled state. It looked odd to see a man wearing yellow cargo shorts and a shirt covered with palm trees and surf boards putting together one of the deadliest long-distance killing weapons on the planet.
“Buck, slap a clip in that window—move down a ways on this wall—we’ll give you a little cover fire,” Tank said.
Buck slid an extra round in the chamber and rose a little above the wall as all his team sent rounds downhill towards the machine gun barrel protruding from the window a good two city blocks away. Dust puffed in small clouds all around the window, and the machine gun opened up and erratically threw rounds all around them but not directly on their position, causing chunks of concrete to shower down on them from where the huge rounds tore into the observation platform above them. Then came the sweet sound of the big Barrett as eleven rounds were sent through the window. The machine gun went silent. Next, was the sound of the Javelin as it rocketed toward the infrared signature and then exploded, leaving a huge hole where there had been a window before. No movement could be seen in the opening.
“Ok, prepare to move out!” Tank said, with no change in his voice from losing his combat virginity. “Keep an eye out for those other windows.”
His fire team quickly grabbed their equipment to move out from the protection of the concrete wall when Tank got a message from Rick.
“Stay put a minute. We’ve got a fucking sniper.”