“I know,” she choked. “I was just saying my last good-bye. I won’t be able to… to come back.. ever. It’s so hard, Mr. Jerry.” She began weeping again.
“He wanted you safe, Shirin. He’d be mad if you didn’t leave.” It was a weak argument, but it was the best he had to offer.
“Yes, I know,” she replied quietly. “He often got upset with my stubbornness.” Jerry watched as she bent down and kissed the ground where Yousef’s head lay. He heard her whisper something before straightening up.
“XO,” Lapointe’s hushed voice came from the darkness, “we really need to get going now.”
“We’re coming, Pointy,” Jerry replied. Reaching down, he helped Shirin to her feet and steadied her during those first few parting steps. They emerged from the shrubs to find Lapointe standing, his rifle over his shoulder. Jerry grabbed his weapon, the UAV remote terminal, and his backpack and started putting them on.
“Give me something to carry, Mr. Jerry,” said Shirin. “You need to help Mr. Pointy walk, let me do something,
Jerry was going to argue, but Lapointe was quicker. He removed his backpack and handed it to her. “Would you please carry this for me, Doctor? I think it would be safer for the XO if my weapon didn’t swing around on my pack and bounce by his head every time I took a step.”
Shirin took Lapointe’s heavy pack and slung it over her shoulders; she tottered a little initially then defiantly stood upright, ready to go. Sighing, Jerry slung his rifle upside down across his back and propped Lapointe up on his left side. “Ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be, XO.”
“Forward, march.”
They had paused for a short rest, Lapointe needed a break from the constant pounding on his leg and Jerry needed to use the night-vision goggles to scout ahead of them. Shirin sat down on a rock and carefully took the weight of the pack off her shoulders. She was breathing hard, but didn’t complain.
“How’s it look, XO?” grunted Lapointe.
“I think there’s another Pasdaran patrol approaching from the other side of the breakwater. We couldn’t see them before because of that dune we just crossed back there.”
“I kind of expected that, sir. Help me up.” Jerry helped the LPO stand; his grip trembled with pain as soon as he put weight on the damaged leg. Once up and steadied, Lapointe took a look himself.
“Yup, that’s a different group. I count four soldiers, and they’re heading toward the breakwater.” There was a note of frustration in his voice.
“How much further do we have to go, Pointy?”
“I’d estimate three, maybe four hundred meters, XO.”
“Can we beat them to the breakwater?” Jerry asked.
“Nope, not a good idea,” answered Lapointe.
“Okay, what’s next?”
“We keep moving and go to ground seventy-five meters from that first building. Then we wait for them to move on.”
“We’ll be late,” warned Jerry.
“Sir, we’re already going to be late.”
A ghostly gray shape slowly materialized out of the darkness. Relieved, Ramey swam with renewed vigor toward the boat. It hadn’t been a long swim by SEAL standards, but he’d been in the water for an hour and half and he was cold and tired. Phillips grabbed his platoon leader’s arm and helped him over the gunwale; Ramey tumbled onto the deck. For a moment he simply laid there, catching his breath, then pulled himself up on to the console chair.
“Report,” he commanded wearily.
“No problems getting the boat, Boss,” replied Fazel. “One guard had to be taken out, but no one saw us leave.”
Ramey nodded his approval and praised his men. “Well done, Gents! I’ve rigged the two patrol boats to blow should they pull away from the pier. And I left an extra special surprise, just in case.”
“Sounds like you had all the fun, Boss,” complained Phillips. “My shoulders are killing me from tugging this beast.”
“Rank does sometimes have its privileges, Petty Officer Phillips,” teased Ramey. Picking up his rifle, he took a quick look through his nightscope to get a better feel for their location. The island breakwater was less than ten meters away. Surprised, he exclaimed, “Damn! I didn’t think we were that close. We’d better move away from those rocks. Philly, grab the other oar.”
“Hold on,” Fazel interrupted abruptly. “We’ve got company. A boat’s coming in.”
Ramey reached for his weapon again. “Where, Doc?”
“Off the port beam.”
It took him a few seconds to sweep through the bearings, but Ramey soon had the boat in his sights. “Damn it! It’s a patrol boat! And he’s coming right at us! He’s probably going to use the southeast channel. We need to get on the other side of this breakwater, but keep us as close as possible.”
“Closer than we are now?” asked Phillips, as he dug his oar into the water.
“Yes, move us in so that we are just off the rocks.”
“Is that a good idea, sir?” Fazel was uneasy with Ramey’s chosen course of action.
“Think about it, Harry. Were at least a good hundred meters from the center of the channel. It’s so dark out, they won’t be able to see us. But if they have radar, which is highly likely, then our butts will be hanging in the air unless we can hide this bucket in the ground clutter of the breakwater.”
“Got it,” exclaimed the corpsman as he seized the other oar, and together with Phillips, began rowing the boat closer to the breakwater.
While Ramey kept track of the incoming patrol boat, the two enlisted SEALs pulled the boat to within an oar’s length of the breakwater’s base.
“It’s got an enclosed cabin, a standard nav radar, two outboard engines, and what looks like a 7.62- millimeter machine gun on a pintle mount forward,” Ramey whispered. “This guy could definitely be trouble. Let’s hope he berths at the same pier as the others.”
As the patrol boat entered the channel, it passed behind the breakwater and the SEALs lost sight of it. Ramey hustled over to Phillips and grabbed his oar. “Philly, get this puppy hot-wired ASAP. That boat’s engine noises will mask our startup, then steer southwest at slow speed.”
“Hooyah, Boss,” barked Phillips.
In less than a minute, the outboard whined as the starter motor cranked the dead engine to life. Suddenly, it caught and a low grumbling noise broke the silence. Ramey and Fazel then pushed the boat away from the rocks, and after making sure they were clear, Phillips advanced the throttle slightly. Slowly, the boat pulled away from Bandar Lengeh.
While Fazel stored the oars, Ramey shuffled up to the console. “Okay, Philly, keep us close to the coast, but not too close. And keep our speed down, but not too slow.”
With a look of irritation, Phillips replied, “Can you be a little more specific, Goldilocks?”
“Just drive the damn boat, will you?” countered Ramey. “We need to get back and pick up the others as fast as we can, but without getting spotted either from a patrol on land or a boat at sea. Capiche?”
“Yes, sir. I capichee.”
Ramey looked at his watch and grimaced. It was already twenty after four, and it would take close to another half hour to get back to the breakwater at Bandar Shenas. They were going to be very late, but hopefully, not too late.
