Battlecraft (2006) Read online

0930 H0URS LOCAL

  WHEN the overloaded Toyota pickup truck arrived at the camp with a load of crates, Mikael Assad dropped his Arabic lesson book and rushed over to help unload the vehicle. It was tough work, since each of the crates weighed in excess of forty-five kilos. Most of the men teamed up with another and made only one trip from the truck to the supply shack. But Assad took a total of three muscle-cramping turns toting the weapons by himself. When he put the final one on the stack, he went back to the truck and spoke to the driver.

  "What in crates?" he asked in his stumbling Arabic.

  "French mortars, Mikael," the driver replied. "Now we'll be able to rain shells down on the infidels and blow them to Hell."

  'That good," Assad commented. "Where you get mortars?"

  "They came by dhow from a ship it met at sea," the driver explained. "This is a new method we have for getting supplies to use here and in Afghanistan."

  "Awa!" Assad exclaimed. "Yes! That very good! Infidels find our old way to bring in guns, and ruin everything, right?"

  "Right," the driver said. "And may Allah punish them for three eternities."

  "Yes. That a long time," Assad said.

  He went back to his lessons, grabbing up his books and notebook to stride out of the camp to his favorite study place.

  This was in the open country on the side of a hill where a lone tree grew in the scrub brush.

  .

  WHAT the other terrorists in Camp Talata didn't know was that Mike Assad was a U. S. Navy SEAL. He had been secretly assigned to a CIA mission called Operation Deep Thrust in which specially chosen operatives were sent to infiltrate various terrorist groups throughout the Middle East.

  His buddies in Brannigan's Brigands wouldn't recognize him now. His hair had grown out and he sported a beard that was well on its way to becoming heavy and full. He also wore the traditional Afghanistan pakol wool cap along with baggy peasant jackets and trousers. With ammunition bandolier and an AK-47 assault rifle, he looked like a typical mujahideen fighter.

  This new adventure started after Mike had been plucked out of that human resources class at the Naval Amphibious Base in Coronado, California. From there he was whisked off to a short but intense special orientation and training at the CIA center in Langley, Virginia. This was an accelerated class for specially qualified personnel like Petty Officer Mike Assad, who had unknowingly been given a complete security evaluation far beyond the norm due to his ethnicity. When he successfully completed the course, and impressed his mentors and instructors enough with his intelligence, physical conditioning, and raw guts, they had a doozy of a job waiting for him. He was assigned to penetrate the Islamic terrorist organization al-Mimkhalif; not in America, but over in a hot spot in Pakistan.

  He went to Buffalo, New York, in the guise of being an underachieving, angry young Arab-American with little education. He began attending services at a mosque known to be a recruiting center for al-Mimkhalif. A Saudi clergyman invited Mike and other young men to attend some special classes at the mosque. It was at these so-called sessions in Middle Eastern culture and philosophy that he was recruited into the fanatical organization and sent to Camp Talata in Pakistan.

  .

  NOW, out in the open country around the terrorist center, Mike Assad sat feigning study of the Arabic lessons under the tree. After an hour passed, he stood up and casually stretched. He took a steady but subtle look around to make sure he was unobserved. After sitting back down, he pulled a sheet of paper from his notebook. He wrote a quick note regarding the new method of delivering arms and supplies, then wrapped it up tightly and stuck it into an empty aluminum tube. Mike stood up again for another survey of the nearby countryside before placing the tube into a hollowed-out area beneath the tree roots.

  With that done, he gathered up his lessons and walked back to the camp.

  Chapter 3.

  TIE ZAUBA FAST ATTACK SQUADRON

  THE most elite unit of the Oman Navy was the crack Zauba Fast Attack Squadron stationed at the clandestine Taimur Naval Base along a lonely part of the coast between the city of Salalah and the Yemen border. This outfit, whose name meant "Storm" in Arabic, was operating far outside normal SOPs of the Oman armed forces. Outwardly, it seemed to be a run-of-the-mill antismuggling unit, but in reality its sole purpose was to conduct quick-reaction missions. The squadron was bullied through its duties by its egotistical and hard-driving commanding officer, Commodore Muhammad Mahamat.

  The officers and sailors were handpicked, superbly trained, and blindly loyal to Islam and Mahamat in that order. All officers were required to be fluent in the English language before assignment to the squadron. The enlisted sailors had to pass I. Q. tests and have superlative service records. They were immediately put into English classes to develop a strong working knowledge of the language. All personnel were sent to facilities of the United States Navy or Britain's Royal Navy for advanced studies in technical and tactical subjects.

  Because of these special qualifications, all personnel received extra pay, rations, and perks not enjoyed by the rest of the Navy ; earning all this through a demanding and continuing program of training exercises that kept them away from their homes most of the time. Morale was high among the men and their families due to their excellent living conditions and opportunities to purchase and enjoy luxury goods from the West.

  The commodore ran his squadron using a Province-class British fast-missile vessel as his flagship. She was named the Harbi-min-Islam, which translated into English as "Spear of Islam." She carried a generous supply of French-built Exocet MM-40 missiles loosed from two quadruple launchers situated amidships. The main gun located on the bow was an Italian OTO compact gun that could kick out 6.3-kilogram shells at a rate of eighty-five rounds a minute. A Swedish Bofors twin-barrel 40-millimeter cannon on the stern was capable of delivering a combined rate of six hundred rounds per minute at enemy targets. The Harbi-min-Islam moved at a maximum speed of forty-five miles an hour with a range of three thousand miles when fully fueled. It was not a warship to be trifled with.

  The remainder of this deadly squadron consisted of a half-dozen Swedish Spica-class attack boats well equipped with a mix of antiship and antiaircraft guns, torpedoes, and missiles. These boats, with lengths of 143 feet, could skim across the waves at seventy-five miles an hour.

  The most surprising aspect of the Zauba Squadron was the fact that the perks, specialized training, and pay were not furnished by the Sultanate of Oman. The official naval budget did not indicate these extra expenses. In fact, the national government was unaware of all this power that Commodore Mahamat had at his fingertips. If anyone bothered to investigate the situation, they would find that most Oman officials did not know the Zauba Fast Attack Squadron even existed. This ignorance was shared with the world's intelligence agencies, who blissfully paid no attention at all to what was assumed to be an unremarkable, poorly equipped coastal patrol operation.

  According to Oman's naval organization charts and logistic records, the squadron was operating with some aged surplus British 7bn-class coastal patrol boats doing routine duties looking for miserable smugglers using old wooden dhows. The extra pay received by the officers and sailors, all the additional finances, equipment, and vessels were provided to Mahamat's outfit through the courtesy of Saudi Sheikh Omar Jambarah.

  Another unusual practice followed by Commodore Mahamat was that the vessels of his squadron did not display Oman's national colors. Instead, they openly flew ensigns bearing a white scimitar and crescent moon on a solid scarlet field. This was the flag of the al-Mimkhalif terrorist group that was led by the sheikh, who used his nom de guerre Husan as he directed the far-flung operations of the fanatical band.

  If any naval vessels made serious attempt to thwart al-Mimkhalif's oceangoing activities, they would eventually be drawn into battle with the Zauba Squadron without knowing it was out there to attack them.

  .

  GULF OF ADEN

  VICINITY OF 13deg NORTH AND
41deg EAST

  13 SEPTEMBER

  1400 HOURS LOCAL

  THE Harbi-min-Islam was hove to less than fifty meters from the Royal Saudi Yacht Sayih, and Commodore Muhammad Mahamat waited while his gig was lowered to the water. After the coxswain and boat hook were situated, Mahamat went nimbly down the netting and took a seat. "Tanruh--go!"

  he commanded, and the boat hook pushed the craft away from the hull as the coxswain eased the throttle forward.

  During the short minutes it took to reach the yacht, Mahamat surveyed the vessel appreciatively. Although he had seen her many times, he was always impressed with her striking beauty. The Sayih was a specially designed luxury ship thirty meters in length with a short forward deck, a longer stern deck, and a sleek state-of-the-art superstructure. The latest in radar, navigational, and communication equipment was evidenced by the various antennae showing above the bridge. The numerous portholes belowdecks were the cabins where specially invited passengers stayed. Sheikh Omar Jambarah of Saudi Arabia had private quarters that would rival any deluxe hotel suite in the world. All this on an oceangoing vessel.

  This penchant for hedonism displayed by the sheikh confused Commodore Mahamat. Although the sheikh was closely associated with the Saudi royal family, he indulged in many decadent traits of the infidel West. The commodore excused this conduct, assuming that the sheikh was using this misbehavior as a cover. After all, he was the supreme commander of al-Mimkhalif--the Warriors of Fury--and such a lifestyle would confuse outsiders and infidels.

  When the gig reached the accommodation ladder, the boat hook deftly tossed a line to the sailor waiting there. The coxswain slowed the engine, hit reverse, then moved into neutral as he came to a stop at just the right spot for the commodore to step easily onto the platform. Mahamat hurried up to the main deck, where he was met by a trio of tough, professional bodyguards. These were large muscular men totally dedicated to the sheikh's well-being. They were never addressed by their real names, instead being called Alif, Baa, and Taa, the first three letters of the Arabic alphabet.

  Even the august person of Commodore Mahamat was not above a search by the three hard-core thugs. He submitted to the indignity, then was escorted toward the stern deck, where his host awaited his arrival.

  The stern had a canvas cover rigged across that entire section of deck to keep off the sun. In actuality, the area was an outdoor drinking and eating patio lounge. A trio of waiters was available to attend to the guests, while a wet bar complete with an attendant was situated forward by the companionway. Numerous tables and chairs occupied the middle of the area, and a special place with comfortably padded chaise lounges was situated on the extreme stern. This latter area was where Sheikh Omar sat comfortably in bathing trunks and deck shoes.

  Mahamat immediately noticed the number of thong-clad women with bare breasts who occupied the chairs. All were European and were either blondes or redheads. The commodore treated his eyes to the lovely, evil temptation for just a moment before he walked to the sheikh and bowed. "Marhaba--greetings, Sheikh Omar."

  "And to you I offer marhaba, Commodore. Welcome aboard," the sheikh replied, pushing the leggy Russian blonde off his lap and dismissing her with a curt gesture. "I thank you for responding so quickly to my summons."

  "It was my pleasure to obey, Sheikh Omar."

  "Please sit down."

  As Mahamat settled down on a lounge, a waiter appeared with a tray bearing a glass of pineapple juice. As Muslims, neither the sheikh nor the commodore would consume alcohol, though the women were freely tossing back various types of cocktails. The sheikh preferred them to be a bit tipsy when he wished to engage in his version of rough sex. It was easier for both him and whichever well-paid strumpet he had chosen for his playmate.

  "Am I to understand al-Mimkhalif's new supply procedures have been put into place?" the commodore asked, taking a sip of his juice.

  "Yes!" the sheikh said enthusiastically. 'Thus, we will not be required to employ the Zauba Squadron to right the shipping situation at this time." He was a large, heavy man with a good deal of body hair. His beard was neatly trimmed and his thinning hair was skillfully bartered to make it look as thick as possible. 'That is exactly why I had to speak with you. There remains the possibility you may eventually provide protection with your squadron as we establish the new routines and methods of delivery and pickup. There are always glitches--as the Americans say--in such activities."

  "The Zauba Fast Attack Squadron is at your service," Commodore Mahamat assured him.

  "Nishkur Allah--thank God!" the sheikh said. "Our main problem will be treachery from the owner of the miserable shipping line we have hired."

  "What problem might we have with him?"

  'The man is an immoral narcotics smuggler," the sheikh explained. "He is a fallen Muslim and exceedingly unreliable to the point we must control him with threats. We feel he will betray or deceive us at the first opportunity."

  "Was there not a better choice?" the commodore asked.

  "Unfortunately, there was not," the sheikh replied. "It would have been impossible to bring a legitimate firm under our influence if it were owned by a Muslim. However, he is not our only problem. The area he must ship our arms through is patrolled by the Philippine, Indonesian, Singaporean, Indian, and Pakistani navies. The United States also has a carrier force in the vicinity, but the battle group now on duty does not have the capability of coastal patrols." He chuckled. "One of my half brothers is good friends with an Undersecretary of the Navy in Washington. He always has useful tidbits of intelligence to pass on to me."

  "That is indeed an advantage," Mahamat said. "If we have any encounters with war vessels, my squadron will be able to mount an instant devastating attack and destroy them, Allah willing " He paused. 'The only essential thing, Sheikh Omar, is that we must be close by our transport vehicles to be able to effectively defend our interests."

  "We have considered that," the sheikh said. "You will be apprised of the exact times and routes of each delivery so you can maintain an eye on the situation."

  "My ships would have to be near enough to be in sight," Commodore Mahamat pointed out. "Would that not compromise security if we are seen by foreign warships?"

  "We have taken that into consideration too," the sheikh said. "An agent from al-Mimkhalif will accompany each shipment. If there are any difficulties, he will be able to raise you by radio. Your speedy vessels may then make timely appearances and rectify any difficulties."

  "Who is this agent?" Mahamat inquired.

  "Someone you know," the sheikh said, smiling. "Hafez Sabah. He is a countryman of yours, lae?"

  "An excellent man!" Mahamat commented.

  The conversation was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a tall blond German woman. She stood half-naked, wearing a thin bikini without shame in front of the two men whose own women were veiled and literally covered from head to toe with the traditional burka. The sheikh frowned angrily. "What is it you wish, Hildegard?"

  "I cannot find my friend Franziska."

  The sheikh shrugged. "She is not on board for this trip."

  "Yes, she is!" Hildegard insisted. "I saw her come out on the boat with Olga and Adelaida."

  "Then she must have gotten off before we sailed," the sheikh said.

  "Olga and Adlaida said she did not get off," Hildegard insisted.

  The sheikh stood up. "I told you Franziska is not on board. Now get back with the others! You have interrupted me in an important meeting."

  Hildegard stood her ground. "What happened to her?"

  "You infidel whore!" the sheikh yelled so loudly that everyone turned to look at him. He slapped Hildegard across the face with such violence that she staggered sideways against the deck railing. "If you bother me again I shall give you to Alif, Baa, and Taa. Do you want that? And after those big chaps have finished with you, they will pass you belowdecks to the crew. Those are some pretty crude fellows down there. They would have a party with you that would last
three or four days before you succumbed."

  Hildegard, rubbing her bruised face, fearfully stumbled away. The sheikh sat back down, glancing over at Mahamat. "I apologize for the slut's behavior."

  "I understand," the commodore said.

  "Her friend Franziska was pregnant with a child she said was mine. An Arab child of the Faithful cannot be allowed to grow in the godless body of a European slut." He chuckled. "And I told Hildegard the truth. Franziska is not on board. At least not anymore."

  Mahamat grinned back at him. "Problem solved, lae?" He eyed the other women, who now were subdued and nervous.

  'Take your pick, Commodore," the Sheikh invited. "Rut all you want in their unclean bodies. Allah does not consider such fornication a sin when done to an infidel woman. They are below sacred consideration."

  "Shokran--thank you, Sheikh Omar," Mahamat replied. He wondered if Allah really did not look upon sex with such women as fornication. He decided to put the question to his cleric. Meanwhile, he would take his host's word for it.

  The sheikh took a final swallow of his fruit juice. "When you've finished, I must see you before you return to your flagship. I have the fourth-quarter funds for your squadron."

  "Of course," Commodore Mahamat said."Shokran, Sheikh Omar."

  He stood up and walked toward a plumpish redhead.

  .

  USS DAN DALY

  THE USS Dan Daly LHX-1 was the newest vessel in the United States Navy's amphibious assault inventory. The ship and the concept that spawned her was so new and untried, the Navy couldn't decide whether to put an "A" for general purpose or a "D" for multipurpose on her designation. Thus a temporary classification of "X" for test and evaluation was used.

  Her homeport was Norfolk, Virginia, and she was a one of a kind in her job line; a compact, fully functional ship that, although limited in her ability to participate in large, complex operations because of her size, was better than her big sisters when it came to SPECOPS such as raids and other hit-and-run missions. She also had the significant potential of being a dandy flagship for a busy Naval admiral or Marine general in multiship amphibious situations.