was probably the inlet — everyone would have to break cover in there, and then attempt to charge out through the shallows across the Haing Gyi Shoal. Three miles.
“Mother of God,” whispered Lt. Singer. “They haven’t got a prayer on the open water.”
“You mean the helos?”
“Yessir.”
“Actually, they have two chances, Lieutenant. To break cover in secret, unseen by the helos. Or to shoot the fuckers down. They have three standard M-60s, right? One already in each boat, one with the team.”
“You need to be a bit lucky to down a helo with one of those, sir. But I know it’s been done plenty of times, and they do have six belts of ammunition in each boat.”
“Where would you rather be, Lieutenant? On the ground with the guys holding the ammunition belts, or in a helo being machine-gunned by Commander Hunter?”
“On the ground with the Commander, sir. No question…. But what are we going to do?”
“Tell comms to get a signal in. Tell the boat driver to let us know the moment they’re under way. We’re going in to get ’em.”
“Christ, sir. There’re only about thirty-five feet of water this side of the big shoal.”
“I don’t actually give a fuck if there’re only two feet. We’re not leaving them.”
“
“Debrief me, XO. I need to appreciate the precise situation if you are planning to endanger the lives of my entire crew, and indeed of USS
Lieutenant Commander Headley walked over to him, and his tone was icy. “This is the map of the island, sir. The X there marks where the boats came in to embark the SEALs. This mark is where we anticipate the team will move, in order to embark farther downstream. There are PLAN helos up, but they have not yet discovered either the boats or Commander Hunter’s team.”
“I assume they will attempt to cross this wide shoal at high speed?”
“I agree, sir. And I’m proposing we come in on the surface and meet them. If we have to, I’ll take the helos out with Stingers.”
“Not on my watch, you won’t, XO. How dare you decide in my ship virtually to declare war on China? In the open sea, firing publicly on Chinese aircraft quite properly defending their own base. No, sir. For that, you will need not only my permission, but that of the flag, and probably CINCPACFLT. Do you have any idea of the consequences of what you are proposing?”
Dan Headley stared him hard in the eyes. There was total silence in the control room. Commander Reid shook his head and turned away, walking out through the door.
Lieutenant Commander Headley did not acknowledge what had been said. He just turned back to Lt. Singer and ordered, “Please carry out my last order, Matt. Get that signal in to the boat drivers. We must know immediately when they leave.”
“But what about the CO, sir? He plainly doesn’t think we should go in.”
“No,” replied Dan. “He doesn’t. Now get that signal away, and tell comms to stand by for the reply.”
The Boat Chief, MCPO Drew Fisher, looked at the XO, and said quietly, “We’re going in to get ’em, right, sir?”
“Do you want to leave Rick and the guys to die out there, Drew?”
“Nossir. No. I do not.”
It was just beginning to rain now, and Commander Hunter with his eight SEALs were struggling through the thick tropical forest. They’d made their course adjustment in radio contact with Lt. MacPherson, who was now helping to drag the big inflatables along the shore in about two feet of water, too shallow to paddle, under a canopy of insect-ridden grasses.
“Jesus,” he said, “I’m supposed to be a combat SEAL, not Humphrey fucking Bogart.” And he was right. It was like a scene from
However, the deadly nature of this night was brought into all of its terrible reality by the clattering of the helicopters overhead, searching, searching for the murderers who had infiltrated their base and very nearly destroyed it.
Back under the trees Rick could hear them coming in low, circling the area. But right now all nine of the SEALs had but one thing on their mind. It was just 0415 and the armor-piercing bomb should be on its way. They would not hear the blast, one mile away and 3,000 feet below the surface of the earth. But they should hear something in the next couple of minutes.
Rick told them to keep moving, and the sense of anticipation grew more intense with every stride they took. Then they did hear it…a dull, muffled rumble, more like a distant earthquake.
And then there was nothing. But quite suddenly in the weird silence of the night, an explosion shook the island to its foundations. A colossal crash, erupting out over the forest, as the roof of the power station was blasted a hundred feet into the air, followed by a shattering white light that lit up the area.
A giant bright plume of incineratingly hot steam, 50 feet across, gushed skyward. Higher and higher above the island, burning into the rain clouds, 1,000 feet, 2,000 feet, roaring like the oil flame on an old-fashioned boiler. A million old-fashioned boilers.
The noise was an unearthly, unnatural, uncontrollable sound, gushing out of the very core of the earth. Up through the trees Rick Hunter and his men could see the dead-straight, ivory-white tower, like an endless sky- scraper reaching up into the stratosphere, into the heavens, for all they knew.
Aside from the fact that it most certainly signaled the end of China’s Naval base in Burma, the howling tower of steam did the SEALs one other colossal favor. It totally distracted the three PLAN helicopters, two Russian-built ASW Helix-As and a single Helix-B assault craft carrying its full complement of UV-57 rockets. All three of them had been a mere 500 feet away from the power station when it blew, and they swerved instinctively away from the white inferno as it slammed the roof into the sky, showering the local airspace with bricks, concrete, dust and metal beams.
With everything on fire down below, it was difficult for them to land. Also there was no electric power, anywhere. There was no one to consult with. The pilots did not even know if there was anyone left alive. All three of them had managed to get airborne as a result of the last-second message from the late CO of the destroyer, but they had done so at huge risk, flying out and away from the fire in the fuel farm, and then picking up a new signal from the emergency transmitter in the accommodation block.
The officer had delivered the message under immense stress. He was badly wounded and his signal was more like a MAYDAY than an order. He just had time to tell the lead pilot the direction the murderers were headed — down to the marsh — before the radio went dead. As it happened, there were six officers still in the accommodation block, and they were trying to transmit to the helos. There was no one else at this stage to transmit to.
The big red-and-white Helix choppers were all very capable; two of them had the weapons to destroy a submerged submarine, and the other had rockets to outrange the U.S. Stingers. But they were very exposed, and very noisy. With their twin high rotors and four-corner landing wheels, they looked like a cruising flight of pterodactyls.
And now the pilots brought them in to land, out on that rough ground, 200 yards from the stream. And all nine of the occupants, pilots, navigators and gunners, ran for the accommodation block to receive whatever orders there might still be.
And that left the SEALs, for the moment, unthreatened. Commander Hunter told them to keep going. He told them to carry Buster somehow between them, and Rattlesnake and his rookie assistant made a chair with their linked hands. Buster was able to sit in it, and he could lean back into the powerful arms and chest of Catfish Jones. Once they found a regular stride they were able to move fast, with Buster’s weight distributed between them. Much faster than if he had had to walk himself.
They pressed on beneath the trees, struggling forward, dreading the sound of the returning helos. But none came, and Rick led them on down to the inlet, watching the compass, trying to keep on course two-five-five, more
