Battlecraft (2006)

had been a SEAL all his naval career, he had enough savvy to know that the type of naval assault being described was a logistical impossibility owing to the actual tactical situation in the Middle East. It seemed to him that even if the entire United States Navy was on site for the battle, they wouldn't have near the firepower that Mahamat was describing in such vivid detail. Mike was sure the commodore was covering his ass big-time; no doubt the defeat was completely his fault because of bonehead errors and the mismanagement of his command.

However, the sheikh's face showed an expression of shock and surprise as Mahamat told of attack boats exploding in rows. When the erratic report came to its sputtering end, tears streaked down the commodore's face and he fell to his knees. He held out his arms in a beseeching manner. 'Sheikh Omar! You must see that a new Zauba Squadron is created so that this great disaster can be avenged. Surely the Saudis with their unlimited wealth can finance such a crucial undertaking. Do what you can to convince them of this dire necessity. I beg you in Allah's name!'

The sheikh stood up and reached across the desk, grasping Mahamat's hands in his own. 'Get to your feet, my brave friend! I will use all my influence and resources to see that replacement vessels are made available to you.'

Mahamat wiped at the tears on his face. 'I thank you with all my heart, Sheikh Omar. I would have martyred myself with my men, but I swear that Allah spoke to me in my heart of hearts to tell me it would better if I returned to you so that the great struggle of al-Mimkhalif can continue with al-Azeez--the Almighty, the Powerful--showering us with His most holy blessings.' He sobbed loudly. 'I fought the battle as best I could under the most dreadful of circumstances.'

'Of course you did, my poor brave friend,' Sheikh Omar said. 'Nobody could have done better in the face of such overwhelming odds.'

'You are most kind, Sheikh Omar,' Mahamat said.

'You are exhausted,' the sheikh said. 'I will see to it that cabins are made available to you and your brave companions Mikael and Hafez.' He picked up his phone and punched the button for the chief steward of the yacht. 'I need two cabins prepared for my guests. One for Commodore Mahamat and another to be shared by his two companions.'

Mike, though no trained actor, did his best to exude bitter disappointment and grief. In part, the emotions were genuine. It appeared there would be no way he could contact American intelligence. He was locked into a vacuum.

.

USS DAN DALY

INDIAN OCEAN

VICINITY OF 5deg NORTH AND 15deg EAST

1700 HOURS LOCAL

LIEUTENANT Veronica Rivers was so confused, she was now irritated and more than just a little perplexed. Not only were the SEALs off somewhere on their own, but from the looks of things, they were purposely ignoring her. It didn't make sense, and she was determined to find out what was going on.

She made her way down into the docking well to see if they had gone to work on the Battlecraft for one reason or another. Veronica noted that the ACV was tied at its place, and a quick glance inside showed the helmsman Paul Watkins running some checks on his steering equipment.

Veronica went aboard and joined him. 'Have you seen Lieutenant Brannigan or Lieutenant Cruiser around?'

'No, ma'am,' Paul replied. 'I haven't seen 'em since early this morning.'

She went over to the engine compartment to see Bobby Lee Atwill. He was giving loving attention to his beloved gas-turbine power plant as he changed oil with as much care and affection as a mother preparing formula for her baby. Veronica interrupted him. 'I'm looking for the SEALs. Do you have any idea where they went off to?'

'No, ma'am,' Bobby Lee replied looking up from his greasy chore. 'I ain't seen any of 'em a'tall.'

Veronica went back outside and walked over to Chief Warren Donaldson, who was supervising maintenance on the hydraulic system that opened and closed the well's doors. 'Have you seen anything of the Battlecraft's crew, Chief?'

'Lieutenant Brannigan don't like us to call 'em a crew, ma'am,' Donaldson reminded her. 'He prefers the word detachment'

Veronica's temper snapped. 'I don't care if he wants them referred to as the goddamnedNew York Metropolitan Opera! Have you seen them around?'

'No, ma'am,' he replied. 'Not since yesterday.'

Veronica returned to the flight deck and took the trouble of walking the entire length of it, looking over the side in case her wandering comrades-in-arms had gotten together in one of the whaler boats. Maybe they'd decided to go off for a swim someplace. Or even go fishing. After a twenty-minute search, she figured there was nothing else to do but return to the wardroom and wait to find out what was going on. Her jaws were torqued tight with anger at being ignored. It seemed she would have to experience some male chauvinistic snobbery after all. It was a real shame. She had begun to almost feel like a SEAL herself, especially after going into battle with them. They owed her something for that, even if nothing more than polite consideration.

Veronica's mood didn't improve when she arrived back at the wardroom to find the coffeepot empty. Then there was nothing in the supply cabinet to brew a fresh batch. She was seriously considering throwing the empty container against the bulkhead when the door opened and Petty Officer Second Class Bruno Puglisi stepped inside.

'Oh!' he said. 'There you are.'

'Yes ' Veronica growled. 'Here I am.'

'The skipper's really pissed off at you, ma'am,' he said. 'How's come you didn't come to the meeting he called up for'd in the pilots' ready room?'

'I didn't know a goddamn thing about any meeting in the pilots' ready room because nobody told me about it!'

'Well, you better come with me,' Puglisi said. 'And be careful what you say. Wild Bill's feathers is really ruffled. He don't like it when somebody misses one of his meetings. Fact is, he expects ever'body there fifteen minute before it even starts. And here you are--'

'I told you that nobody gave me the word on any godamn meetings, Puglisi, so back off!'

'Yes, ma'am!'

'Lead on, Puglisi,' Veronica said in disgust. 'Escort me to my doom. Does the firing squad have their weapons loaded?'

'I don't know, ma'am,' Puglisi answered, missing the sarcasm. 'Do you want me to check the ammo inventory?'

'Shut up!'

They made their way forward, going up a couple of decks in the island. The ready room for pilots was unused since no squadron was assigned to the Daly at that time. When they arrived at the door, Puglisi opened it and stepped aside to allow her to precede him into the interior.

Veronica took a deep breath and stepped inside, then stopped.

All the SEALs immediately got to their feet and broke into applause with wide smiles. She frowned in puzzlement now rather than anger, and was baffled by the silly grins they directed at her. Wild Bill Brannigan signaled for her to join him at the front of the room.

Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins suddenly yelled, 'Three cheers for Lieutenant Rivers!'

The three 'hip-hip hurrahs' thundered out as she walked up to join the skipper. It was then she noticed the keg in the corner and the beer-filled paper cups everyone had at their seats. Petty Officer First Class Connie Concord handed her a cup. 'It's light beer, ma'am,' he said. 'We know that's what you prefer.'

'A toast to Lieutenant Rivers!' Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson ordered.

'To Lieutenant Rivers!' the SEALs yelled out simultaneously as they raised their beers.

Veronica didn't know what the hell was going on, but whatever it was she liked it.

Suddenly Brannigan loudly commanded everyone to attention and they all snapped into the proper position. Then the skipper called, 'Attention to orders!'