Battlecraft (2006)

'I am happy' she said. She hesitated, then said, 'My friend Franziska Diehm murdered by the sheikh. Will you arrest him, please?'

Carey leaned forward. 'Why would the sheikh murder her?'

'Certain I am not,' Hildegard said. 'I know that pregnant she was.'

'Actually,' Paulsen said, 'we're planning on doing much more than simply arrest Sheikh Omar Jambarah.'

Hildegard smiled through her chapped lips.

.

WHEN Mike left the ready room, he went directly to the wardroom, where Lieutenant Bill Brannigan and Lieutenant Jim Cruiser were drinking coffee as they went over some of the scheduled maintenance that had to be done on the ACV. The rest of the detachment was out on the flight deck getting the kinks worked out by double-timing up and down the length of the ship. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins ushered them through the activity with rude remarks punctuated by loud shouts of criticism.

Mike snapped to in front of the skipper. 'It looks like I'm officially back with the detachment, sir.'

'Right,' Brannigan said. 'How're you feeling, Assad? It must have been pretty rough out on that whaler boat.'

'It wasn't so bad, sir,' Mike said. 'I'm ready and raring to go.'

'Good,' Brannigan said. 'I'm going to put you with the Command Element as a rifleman. That way you'll be handy to fill in when needed.'

'Great, sir,' Mike said. 'I'm anxious for some recon with Leibowitz. I really missed that son of a bitch when I was an acting mujahideen.'

'You seemed to have done all right in that outfit,' Cruiser said with a wink. 'Did you make much rank?'

Mike thought a moment, then a devious thought flashed through his mind. 'Oh, yes, sir! As a matter of fact I was a general. I assume the Navy will pay me in that rank for the time I spent in al-Mimkhalif. Actually, I was in command of an infantry division, what with all those tanks and cannons. Twenty thousand men. Oh, yes, sir! A lot of responsibility being a general. I should be compensated accordingly, right?'

Brannigan scowled good-naturedly. 'If you keep that shit up, you'll be lucky to get paid in your regular grade of E-five, Assad.'

'I understand, sir,' Mike said. 'How about per diem pay? I had to eat, y'know.'

'No problem,' Brannigan said. 'Put the paperwork in and I'll sign it. Of course, DJMS will forward it to al- Mimkhalif for the funding. Any more questions?'

'Shit, sir!'

'I didn't ask for comments, Assad, I asked for questions!'

'No questions, sir.'

'Dismissed!'

'Aye, sir!'

'And get rid of that long hair and beard, goddamn it!' Brannigan growled, 'You look like one of those fucking hippies from the nineteen-sixties.'

'Aye, sir!'

Mike wasted no time in heading belowdecks to the area where the detachment was billeted. He had had only sporadic contact with those guys who meant more to him than his own life. Now he wanted to settle back into the Brigands as quickly as possible.

With no USMC personnel aboard the Dan Daly, the SEALs had more than enough room to make themselves comfortable. By the time Mike reached the area, the Brigands were back in after the long period of PT administered by Senior Chief Dawkins.

His best buddy, Dave Leibowitz, like the others, was stripping down for a shower, and spotted him coming into the compartment. 'Hey, Mike, are you completely debriefed yet?'

'Yeah,' Mike replied. 'They wrung me dry. By the way, where's the ship's barber on this tub? The skipper told me to get a haircut and get rid of the beard.'

'There ain't one,' Dave said. 'If there was Marines aboard, they'd have a full ship's complement, but the Dan Daly is understaffed right now.'

Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson walked by, overhearing the exchange. 'We've got a field barber kit.'

'Yeah,' Dave said. 'Arnie Bernardi has been doing a pretty good job with it. He gave us all haircuts last week.' He looked down the row of racks. 'Hey, Amie. You got time to give Mike a haircut?'

'You bet,' came back the call.

Within five minutes, Mike was seated on an empty ammo crate while Bernardi took the hand clippers and began running them down through his beard. Amie asked, 'How you want your hair? Long enough to comb?'

'Naw,' Mike said. 'Take her down to the scalp. Believe me, after weeks and weeks of this shit, it'll feel good to be a cue ball.'

'You got it, buddy,' Amie said, applying the squeaky instrument to the task.

Chad Murchison, with a towel wrapped around his waist and a soap dish in his hand, walked up. 'Tell me something, Mike. How does one manage to go off on a recondite mission into the ferity of the Middle East, then return with a pulchritudinous woman?'

'Damn it, Chad!' Mike snapped. 'Will you fucking speak fucking English?'

Dave laughed. 'I think he wants to know how you managed to go off on an undercover operation and come back with a good-looking woman.'

'Oh, her,' Mike said. 'I met her on the yacht.'

'On the yacht!' Dave bellowed. 'What the fuck were you doing on a yacht?'

'Oh, God!' Mike moaned. 'It's obvious I'm back among the peasantry, so let me explain. I'll speak in simple terms so you poor bastards can understand me. I was on a luxury yacht complete with stewards and beautiful women.'

'You son of a bitch!' Dave growled. 'Here we were all worried about you being off on a dangerous mission, and you were in the lap of luxury.'

'Mmm,' Mike mused. 'I suppose you would really get pissed off if I mentioned my harem, huh?'

'Hey, Amie,' Dave said. 'How about cutting off his head with them clippers?'

.

FORTRESS MIKNBAYI

NOON LOCAL

SHEIKH Omar Jambarah, Kumandan, and Hafez Sabah had just finished a Western-style lunch of grilled- cheese sandwiches, potato chips, and Coca-Cola in the sheikh's office. An air of seriousness hung over the trio, who had been busy formulating the preliminary plans to get al-Mimkhalif back on its feet.

'I do not wish to change the subject, but there has been something in the back of my mind for several days now,' the sheikh said. 'What has happened to Mikael Assad?'

Hafez Sabah had a view on the subject. 'To tell you the truth, I am not sure exactly how smart or dull-witted Mikael really is.'

'I am wondering about that too,' Kumandan said. 'I recall that when he first came to Camp Talata, he appeared to be quite slow. He stumbled with his Arabic lessons and did not impress anybody with any great show of intelligence.'

'Perhaps he appeared to be not too bright because of the way he spoke our language,' the sheikh suggested. 'I conversed with him in English, and while he did not give the impression of having a university education, he seemed to be a clever fellow.'

'I will concede him that,' Kumandan said. 'It was very cunning the way he escaped from the American Embassy. We know that as a fact.'

'Mmm,' Sabah said with a nod of his head. 'Could it be that he was a spy for the CIA?'

'We have irrefutable evidence that he was recruited in a mosque in Buffalo, New York,' Kumandan said. 'He arrived in camp with several other men who had been there with him. And the letter from the cleric had his name in it.'

'There is another thing,' Sabah said. 'If he were a spy and wanted to escape from here, why would he take