“Huh? Ah, no, Vernon. It’s just that Mr. Ramey is acting rather… well…”
“Strange?”
“I was going to say different,” Jerry replied defensively.
Higgs chuckled. “Matt’s got his game head on now. From the moment he boarded the ASDS until after the debrief, it’s nothing but the mission for him.”
As far as explanations go, this one wasn’t very helpful and Jerry’s confused expression showed it. “I don’t get it, Vernon. We’ve been working on mission preps for almost two days and he’s never been like this.”
“Planning a mission is one thing, XO, executing a mission is another. Matt is one of those guys who mentally has to throw a switch between going downrange and normal living. Others, like Lapointe or Fazel, can go back and forth without thinking about it. It’s not a deficiency on Matt’s part; we all have personality quirks of one kind or another. His methods are just different and more discernable than some of the other guys, that’s all. But in the end, he gets results. He has an excellent reputation among the SEAL teams for his tours in Afghanistan. I’m surprised you didn’t see this during the exercise?”
“I never went out with Ramey during the exercise. If you recall, I only went out with you and Alex once, and that was when Barrineau and the chief led the squad. I had to back out from the other event, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right, I’d forgotten that you ditched us for some paperwork,” said Higgs with a grin. “So, XO, now you know what Matt is like in his uber SEAL mode.”
“I don’t think I’d like to meet him in a dark ally when he’s like that,” commented Jerry, more as a joke than a factual statement.
“No, sir, you would not,” responded Higgs soberly. Jerry felt a chill when Higgs spoke those words. And for the first time, he wondered how many men the mild-mannered Ramey had killed in his career.
“Well, if Matt’s reputation is that good, then this mission should be relatively easy in comparison with Afghanistan,” Jerry concluded.
Higgs’s demeanor didn’t change, and his voice remained stern. “The only easy day was yesterday, sir.”
Jerry had heard the SEAL motto several times during the last couple of weeks, and every time it was spoken as if it were holy writ. The reason why yesterday was easy, he had been told, was because it was over and you couldn’t do anything about it. By definition the present was always harder. From his admittedly limited perspective, this philosophy sounded overly negative to Jerry and he said as much. “You SEALs really are a pessimistic bunch, aren’t you?”
A brief look of surprise flashed across Higgs’s face, or perhaps it was annoyance, but whatever it was, he recovered quickly and respectfully countered Jerry’s accusation.
“Absolutely not, XO. We are not a herd of Eeyores; nor are we blind optimists. We are realists. We do hope for the best, we truly hope everything goes according to plan, but we always train for the worst. Because usually something does go wrong, and we have to quickly adapt to the new situation if we are to win. And a SEAL has it ingrained in him from the very beginning that it pays to be a winner.”
As Higgs turned back toward his console, Jerry looked on in silence. The short, but cogent rebuttal shined new light on a number of misconceptions that Jerry had about this unique community within the U.S. Navy. He considered asking some more questions, when his concentration was broken by an annoying beeping sound.
“One thousand yards to the turn, Pilot,” reported Higgs.
“Very well, stand by to come right to zero three zero in three minutes forty-five seconds.” The navigation computer could have told him the time remaining, but Jerry preferred doing a little mental gym himself; it helped him to refocus on the job at hand. The discussion had definitely piqued his curiosity and he wanted to understand the SEAL mentality better, but he also had a feeling that now probably wasn’t the best time. There would be ample opportunities on the way back to hit Higgs and the others up with his questions. But one thing was certain, he had learned more about SEALs in the last ten minutes than he had during the last two weeks.
The next hour went by faster than Jerry expected: Partly because they were well inside Iranian territorial waters, and getting closer to the coast with each minute, and partly because Higgs had picked up two high-speed contacts on the ASDS’s passive sonar. One was heading northwest, the other southeast at thirty plus knots. Both had passed close by. “My guess is that they are IRGC Navy patrol boats on the prowl,” said Higgs.
“A safe bet,” Jerry observed. “It’s very unlikely they are fishing dhows.” The ubiquitous, boxy, wooden fishing vessels common to the Persian Gulf would be hard pressed to make ten knots.
“They could be smugglers,” Higgs suggested. Jerry detected a note of playful cynicism in the copilot’s voice. The earlier transgression, if there had been one, was forgotten.
With a look of feigned astonishment, and dripping with sarcasm Jerry replied, “Seriously!?! Smugglers? At sunset, silhouetted by the sun, whizzing by within range of numerous coastal radar sites? What are you thinking?”
“Okay. Maybe they’re dumb smugglers.”
“Mr. Higgs, let’s just stick with your initial call and move on.” Then motioning aft he said, “Please inform Mr. Ramey that we are thirty minutes out. I told him we’d give him a warning.”
“Aye, sir.”
While Higgs notified Ramey of their current position, Jerry noticed that the water depth was starting to decrease. At a depth of one hundred feet, they only had fifty feet beneath them now, and that was slowly being nibbled away. He’d have to start coming up to a shallower depth soon, as the navigation chart showed the water depth at Point Zulu was only about forty feet. They were getting very close to the Iranian coast; they were deep inside Indian country.
Exactly twenty minutes later, a heavily laden Ramey opened the watertight door and strode up to Jerry and Higgs. “Status, Pilot,” he demanded.
Normally, Jerry would have been a little irritated by the lieutenant’s lack of military etiquette, but thanks to Higgs’s counsel, he had a better understanding of the platoon leader’s mind-set.
“We are fifteen hundred yards from Point Yankee, Mr. Ramey. Current depth is thirty feet, with thirty-four feet beneath the keel. We’ll be coming to periscope depth soon to take the initial observation,” he answered.
“Understood, XO.”
“If you wish, you can look over Mr. Higgs’s shoulder during the observation and see the lay of the land for yourself,” offered Jerry.
“Thank you, sir. I intend to,” was Ramey’s response.
For the next ten minutes, Ramey stood rigidly over by the copilot’s console. Jerry snuck an occasional look at the determined young man; the only time he could recall experiencing such intensity was during air combat maneuvering training at Fallon. Ramey was mentally pulling nine Gs.
Jerry had just started maneuvering the ASDS to periscope depth when an alarm suddenly sounded. Looking down, he saw a flashing red light on the aft battery status display
“High temperature alarm,” shouted Higgs. “Battery pack number two, aft battery.”
“Reducing speed to three knots. Report temperature,” Jerry yelled back.
“Two hundred seventy degrees and rising.”
Without hesitation, Jerry turned to Ramey. “Lieutenant, get your men and all your gear out of the transport compartment ASAP.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the SEAL as he bolted for the watertight door.
Jerry worked to stay calm. “Mr. Higgs, report temperature.”
“Two hundred eighty-five degrees, and rising. Battery packs one and three also show elevated temperatures.”
“Mr. Higgs, isolate the after battery,” he ordered. Isolating batteries would reduce their power reserve by
