Caesar the War Dog 2 Read online

  Back at the landing pad, Sergeant Hazard looked down at an electronic device on the ground in front of him. On the device’s small screen was a map, and on the map was a tiny green dot blinking on and off. Grinning broadly, Hazard leaned over to Charlie and Ben and whispered, ‘Our mouse has taken the bait. He’s on the move, guys. I just hope to hell he’s heading to the Big Cheese!’

  ‘Fingers crossed,’ said Ben.

  ‘If he doesn’t lead us to the target, it’ll be you two answering to General McAvoy.’ Hazard produced a wry smile. ‘I don’t mind giving you two the blame for letting a valuable Taliban prisoner go free.’

  In a vast aircraft hangar at San Diego’s Naval Air Station North Island, Commander Renzo and Lieutenant Ellerman stood looking at the long, thin black shape on which all the hopes of Operation Blue Dragon were focused.

  ‘She looks fine to me,’ said Ellerman, running an admiring eye over mini-submarine DSRV-801X. ‘Nice job, Chief. You’ve got rid of the rust around the rudder.’

  A tired Chief Petty Officer Brogan was shaking his head. ‘A rusty rudder has been the least of our problems. With respect, sir, this whole deal has been too rushed. The Pencil is not ready for sea. People could die if you use this thing before it’s ready!’

  ‘And people will die if we don’t, Chief,’ Renzo shot back. ‘So, what are the outstanding problems that you still have to deal with? We could be called into action any time now.’

  The chief petty officer let out a long, deep sigh. ‘Commander, if I reeled off the full list, we’d be here for hours.’

  ‘Try me!’ Renzo glared at Brogan, clearly irritated by his attitude. ‘Give us the major items that still need to be done so we can put this vessel in the water and give her a trial run.’

  ‘Sir, as things stand right now, there’s no way I could let you put this sub in the water. The electrics are still a shemozzle. The ballast tanks are about as sound as a balloon with a pinprick in it. The diesel engine is running as rough as a hundred-year-old steam engine and could stop without warning.’

  ‘I’m still waiting for the bad news, Chief,’ said Renzo, which produced an ironic laugh from Ellerman.

  Brogan looked flabbergasted. ‘Sir, if you take this thing out, you could go straight to the bottom of the ocean – and stay there! It’d be your coffin.’

  ‘We’re prepared to take that risk,’ said Ellerman. ‘Frankly, Chief, we have no choice.’

  ‘I say again,’ Renzo reiterated, ‘this craft has to be ready for sea – and fast! Forget about the diesel motor. We won’t be travelling far. We’ll run the sub exclusively on the electric motor. It’s quieter, anyway. Just make sure that it’s in running order and the batteries are charged.’

  ‘You won’t be travelling far?’ Brogan scratched his head. ‘Sir, can I ask what the heck this mission is? What could be so important that you’re prepared to put your life on the line in this sub?’

  ‘Sorry, can’t tell you a thing about our mission, Chief,’ Renzo replied, moving to the Pencil and running a hand along its smooth, rubberised outer coating. ‘Just know that it’s of vital international importance.’

  ‘Where are the men who’ve been working on the Pencil?’ Ellerman asked.

  ‘Sleeping, sir,’ Brogan answered, trying to mask a weary yawn. ‘I’ve had them working twelve hours a day.’

  Renzo swung around with a fierce look on his face. ‘No wonder it’s not ready yet! You don’t want to send this sub out, is that it?’

  ‘Er … no, sir!’ Brogan protested.

  ‘Bring in a second work crew to take over when the first finishes. Focus on the “must do” jobs, and work on this baby around the clock. You got that? Around the clock! No questions, no arguments.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ said Brogan through clenched teeth. ‘Around the clock.’

  In the command bunker at FOB Nero, Caesar yawned as he lay watching four sergeants huddled around a laptop computer. As this was a joint Australian–American-led op, Ben, Charlie, McHenry and Hazard were the four most senior members of Strike Force Blue Dragon, and it was up to them to decide what the next step of the op should be. A map of the Dragon Lake area filled the screen, and a lone green dot glowed at a location beside the lake.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Charlie, tapping the green dot on the screen. ‘Deep Cave. Abdul Razah has gone straight to it.’

  ‘I gotta admit,’ said Sergeant Hazard, ‘you guys had me worried. But you’re right, he’s made a beeline for the cave. No doubt about it.’

  The Taliban’s Abdul Razah had been tricked into thinking that Ali Moon, a part Pashtun, sympathised with him and the Taliban. But Ali had been in on Ben and Charlie’s plan all along, only pretending to be Abdul’s accomplice. It had been a classic set-up. After Abdul’s clothes were confiscated, a small electronic tracking device had been inserted into the lining of his cap by Duke Hazard. Abdul hadn’t suspected a thing. After he’d made his escape, Abdul had been tracked every step of the way as he scurried through the night. And as the tracking device in his cap had revealed, those steps led directly to Deep Cave.

  Sergeant Hazard had signaller Cisco send a radio message to Special Ops HQ at Tarin Kowt. ‘Target location confirmed. Request permission to proceed with extraction.’

  Five minutes passed before a reply was received from Lieutenant General McAvoy. ‘Permission granted. Heelo en route to collect Sky Team. Good luck, blue dragons.’

  Chewing his gum, Sergeant Hazard turned to Charlie with a victorious grin on his face. ‘We got the green light, buddy. All we gotta do now is work out who’s on Sky Team and who’s on Land Team.’

  They had previously been instructed to split into two teams once the operation went forward. Sky Team was to parachute into Dragon Lake to link up with the Pencil for the journey through the underwater entry into Deep Cave. Land Team, meanwhile, was responsible for attacking the cave’s only land entrance in order to keep the Taliban busy.

  ‘Should we toss for it?’ Charlie suggested. ‘Seems the fairest way to decide as far as I’m concerned.’

  Hazard shrugged. ‘Sure, why not? Heads, my people go with Sky Team. Tails, you Aussies do. Agreed?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘Agreed.’

  ‘It just so happens I got me a lucky dime,’ said Sergeant McHenry, reaching into a tunic pocket and pulling out a small silver coin.

  ‘How many heads does it have?’ Ben asked with a grin.

  McHenry laughed. ‘Ben, buddy, you think I’d have a two-headed coin? Come on, do I look like a cheater?’

  ‘Let’s have a look at it, just the same,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Suit yourself.’ McHenry passed the coin over to him.

  Once Charlie had satisfied himself that just one side of the American ten cent coin had the head of a US President on it, he said, ‘Okay, I’ll toss it.’

  ‘Go right ahead,’ Hazard replied with a shrug.

  ‘Here goes.’ Charlie flipped the coin into the air. It flew up, spinning all the way, with all eyes, including Caesar’s, following it. With a faint chink, it hit the concrete floor. The dime spun there for a few seconds before falling flat. All four men bent to look closely at it. So, too, did Caesar.

  ‘Tails,’ Ben announced.

  ‘We go with Sky Team,’ said Charlie matter-of-factly.

  ‘Want to make it best out of three?’ Hazard suggested. He clearly wanted to be with Sky Team because it had the best chance of rescuing Secretary-General Park and his colleagues. Both teams had equally important roles, but if all went to plan with the mini-sub, Sky Team would be the group that got to the hostages first.

  Charlie pursed his lips. ‘You know what, Hazard? I think we’ll go with the one toss.’

  ‘Thought you might say that,’ Hazard said resignedly. ‘Okay, we had a deal. Let’s figure out who’s on which team. It’ll be seven men and an EDD to each. The interpreter goes with Land Team, so, in addition to you four guys and Caesar, you can choose three more people for Sky Team. Who do you want?’


  ‘Men with experience in a water environment,’ Charlie stressed.

  ‘Okay, I guess that’s a no-brainer. So, you take Banner, the Special Boats guy, Mortenson, the Danish diver, and …’ Sergeant Hazard screwed up his face as he thought through the specialities of each foreign member of the force.

  ‘Angus Bruce, the Royal Marine Commando,’ Charlie suggested.

  Hazard nodded. ‘That would be your third guy. A pity you can’t take Wolf the combat medic along. Those hostages could be in a bad way.’

  Charlie nodded grimly. ‘Wolf will still be close by, with you and the rest of Land Team. And you may need his firepower if there’s a fight at the entrance.’

  Hazard nodded. ‘You got that right.’

  ‘And if Sky Team has to bring out the hostages the same way we go in, aboard the mini-sub,’ continued Charlie, ‘there won’t be any room for extra passengers. The Pencil will take sixteen bodies max. That’s my seven men, plus Caesar and seven hostages.’

  At the mention of his name, Caesar quickly sat up and looked at Ben and Charlie with an expression on his face that seemed to say, Ready for work when you are, guys.

  ‘There would be room for one more man,’ said Hazard. ‘You want to take the medic? I think you should.’

  ‘Our equipment will take up the extra space,’ said Charlie, running a hand through his hair. He was tired of having to argue with Hazard over every decision. Charlie wondered whether the American was just difficult by nature or if it was personal.

  ‘We all have medical training,’ Ben added. ‘Enough to stabilise injured hostages until Wolf gets to them.’

  Charlie folded his arms, signalling that he was done talking. ‘I’m happy with the team I’ve got.’

  Hazard shrugged. ‘Okay. Let’s wrap this up. The heelo’s on its way. You and your team should get your gear ready. Zero Hour will depend on when the fly boys get the sub over here from California. The way I figure, they’re gonna have to get that mini-sub into the air in the next couple of hours or we’ll miss the deadline.’

  ‘Let’s get it done,’ said Charlie.

  He and Ben were just walking away when Hazard called after them. ‘What the heck do we do if they don’t get that sub over here? What’s our Plan B, Grover?’

  ‘There is no workable Plan B,’ Charlie said over his shoulder.

  ‘They have to get the sub over here,’ said Ben. ‘Or Dr Park is toast.’

  The telephone beside Commander Renzo’s bed let out a shrill ring. Sitting up and noting from the glowing face of his digital clock that it was just past three in the morning, he groaned and answered the phone. ‘Renzo.’

  ‘Commander,’ came an unfamiliar voice, ‘this is General Mitch McAvoy calling you from Tarin Kowt, Afghanistan.’

  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Renzo sat a little straighter. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You know who I am?’

  ‘Yes, sir. You’re in charge of Operation Blue Dragon. Naval Intelligence filled me in, sir.’

  ‘How’s that Pencil coming along?’

  ‘Er, it’s just fine, sir. Just fine.’ Renzo tried to sound upbeat, hoping that his dissatisfaction with the pace of the work on the mini-sub didn’t show in his voice.

  ‘Outstanding. I’m calling to tell you to get that fish in the air.’

  ‘Really? When, sir?’ A jolt of alarm ran through Renzo’s body.

  ‘Now, Commander. An Air Force C-17 is standing by at North Island air station.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Is there a problem, Commander Renzo?’ said McAvoy, making sure to stress that McAvoy was his subordinate by a long way.

  ‘A problem? No, sir. No problem at all.’

  ‘Excellent. I wanted to make this call to personally wish you and Lieutenant Ellerman the best of luck. There’s a heck of a lot riding on this mission.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, sir. But don’t worry, we can pull this off.’

  ‘I know you can, and so does the President. Good luck and good hunting. I look forward to talking to you again in a few days’ time to congratulate you on a mission accomplished.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  After he hung up the call, Commander Renzo sat in pensive silence, thinking about the dangerous mission that lay ahead and the enormous responsibility that now rested on his shoulders. Never in his career had the stakes been so high. He must rescue the secretary-general of the United Nations, captaining a craft that was technically not ready for sea. He’d never baulked at difficult or dangerous missions before and wasn’t about to start now. Besides, he was under orders.

  Snapping out of his leaden thoughts, he dialled his co-pilot’s number. A drowsy Lieutenant Ellerman answered the phone. ‘Wake up, sleepyhead,’ Renzo said cheerfully. ‘We got a sub to fly.’

  ‘Really?’ Ellerman yawned loudly. ‘When?’

  ‘Now.’

  Ellerman didn’t even end the call. He just dropped the phone and ran.

  A giant C-17 Globemaster of the US Air Force’s Air Mobility Command stood in darkness to one side of the North Island air station’s runway, well away from the normal US Navy and Marine Corps aircraft traffic so that its top-secret cargo was out of sight of curious eyes. Renzo and Ellerman, now in blue US Navy combat fatigues, were driven out to the massive aircraft in a Humvee. When they climbed out, they found Chief Petty Officer Brogan waiting for them at the C-17’s lowered rear ramp.

  ‘Your baby’s loaded aboard the aircraft, Commander,’ said Brogan, after exchanging salutes with the officers. ‘I can’t guarantee it’ll do all you want it to do but my team and me have done our best …’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Chief,’ said Renzo, patting Brogan on the back. ‘The Pencil is our concern now. Go and get some rest. We’ll take it from here.’

  ‘Okay, sir.’ Brogan sounded relieved. ‘Good luck to you both. Oh, and watch the reverse thrust control. It proved a bit tricky last time I tried it.’

  ‘We only intend on going forward, anyways,’ joked Lieutenant Ellerman.

  As Brogan disappeared into the darkness Renzo and Ellerman walked up the metal ramp. The vast curved interiors of a C-17 could accommodate several M1 Abrams tanks, a Black Hawk helicopter, or hundreds of paratroopers sitting in four long rows from the plane’s nose to its tail. But on this early morning, eerily lit by the glow of green lamps along the fuselage walls, this particular C-17 was carrying just a single unusual payload – a long, thin black mini-submarine. The Pencil.

  A team of USAF cargo handlers was busy strapping dozens of parachute packs to the craft as Renzo and Ellerman came to a halt beside it. The two men looked at it and then at each other.

  ‘Our new command, Brad,’ Renzo said apprehensively.

  ‘For better or for worse, I guess, sir,’ replied Ellerman.

  ‘There’s no time to put the Pencil in the water and run her through her paces. It’s not too late for you to drop out, you know, buddy. Me, I’m just hankering to be the first sailor to pilot a US Navy sub in an Afghan lake. That’s a first! But you –’

  ‘What? Drop out and leave you on your own in this sardine tin?’ Ellerman returned with a grin. ‘Hell, sir, I want to be in the history books for making the deepest submarine dive in a landlocked country.’

  ‘Okay, that’s settled then,’ Renzo responded with a chuckle.

  Appearing from the front of the cabin, a female Staff Sergeant joined them with a salute. ‘Welcome aboard, Commander, Lieutenant. I’m Staff Sergeant Barbra Kramer, and I’ll be your loadmaster for this mission.’

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant Kramer,’ Renzo returned. ‘I’m guessing that you probably haven’t had many sub­marines as cargo before today.’

  ‘Commander, you’d be surprised what this C-17 has carried.’ Tall, slim and short-haired, Kramer had the air of someone who knew their job inside out. ‘Let me tell you, sir, this heavy-lifter has been assigned a lot of precious cargo over the last couple of years. For starters, it has flown the presidential limousine qu
ite a few times. One time, we gave the President himself a ride.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ said Renzo, impressed. ‘The President on this aircraft?’

  ‘Yes, sir. And for that one time, this C-17 carried the designation of Air Force One.’

  ‘Interesting.’ Keen to get down to the subject of their mission, Renzo asked, ‘Tell me, just how do you plan to drop the submarine into the lake?’

  ‘We’ll just push her out at 7000 feet, sir,’ Kramer replied. ‘Dragon Lake is already 3000 feet above sea level, so the sub will only have 4000 feet to drop. We’ve attached the largest cargo chutes we can get our hands on. We’re kinda hoping that will be enough to slow the sub’s fall so that it eases into the water like a hot knife going through butter. That’s the theory. We don’t have a lot of experience with submarine airdrops.’

  ‘Have you ever parachuted a submarine from a C-17 before, Sergeant?’ Ellerman asked.

  ‘Er …’ She produced an embarrassed smile. ‘No, sir. Never. But don’t worry, this aircrew is the best in Mobility Command. Covert insertion is our specialty. It’s you two that I’m worried about. Ever made a parachute jump before now?’

  ‘I did a bit of weekend skydiving when I was younger,’ said Ellerman.

  Sergeant Kramer nodded, then turned to Renzo. ‘How about you, sir?’

  ‘This will be my first time,’ Renzo admitted.

  Kramer raised her eyebrows. ‘It must be a real emergency if there isn’t time to give you jump training, sir.’

  ‘It is an emergency, believe me, Sergeant,’ Renzo assured her.

  ‘Okay. The jumping part isn’t so hard. Steering yourselves to the sub, that’s another story.’

  ‘So, we don’t jump at the same time as the submarine goes out the back?’ Renzo queried.

  ‘No, sir. That would be too risky. You two will jump immediately after the sub drop.’

  ‘We’ll have to swim to the vessel once we’re in the water?’ said Ellerman.

  Sergeant Kramer nodded. ‘Correct, sir. We’ll send you both out with inflatable dinghies. Once you are in the water, you will use them to get to the sub.’