“A real pleasure. You the OIC?”
“That's me!”
“I was told to report to you, sir,” Cavanaugh said. “We thought maybe you boys might need some help!”
“Good! We could use it.” Murdock pointed toward the burning fuel dock. “Listen! I've got two guys ashore. Probably back that way. One of them may be injured. Think you could spare some of your boys to go look for 'em?”
“No problem, sir. That fuel dock fire was their idea?”
Murdock cocked an eyebrow. “I wouldn't be a damned bit surprised.”
He was interrupted by a loud cheer from the top of
Yuduki Maru's
supestructure, a cheer that was taken up by the MSPF team members on the deck. Turning and looking up, Murdock saw the American flag rising up the freighter's main truck in a series of short, jerky movements, illuminated by the lights from shore. He wondered if one of his SEALs had brought the flag, or if it was courtesy of the Marines.
“Okay, make yourself at home, Captain,” Murdock told Cavanaugh. “We're seeing what we can do about getting under way.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Cavanaugh said. Then his teeth shone brightly against his black face. “You guys did a real good job, Navy. Almost as good as the Marines!”
Murdock grinned back. “Just don't let me hear any shit about the Marines always being first to hit the beach!”
Yuduki Maru
was secure. SEALs, and now Marines as well, continued to move through the freighter's passageways and compartments, ferreting out remaining pockets of Iranians or Japanese terrorists, but it looked as though this part of the battle had been won. Minutes earlier, DeWitt and Frazier had killed an Ohtori gunman standing guard outside the crew's quarters. They'd found the captive Japanese merchant marine sailors and officers locked inside, including the stolid Captain Koga, a prisoner aboard his own ship. Murdock had ordered that the crew be kept locked up, at least for the moment. It was safer that way, without having to worry about Ohtori gunmen hiding among the former hostages . . . or about civilians blundering into the middle of a firefight.
Gunshots continued to bang and thump in the surrounding darkness, but for the moment, at least, it appeared that the
Yuduki Maru
was firmly in American hands. A Huey Medevac chopper had touched down on a clear stretch of the dock side a few moments before. They'd have Wilson aboard and on his way to the
Nassau
in another few minutes.
Roselli trotted across the deck. “Hey, L-T!”
“Whatcha got, Razor?”
“Me'n Mac have been going over the engine room and boilers. Except for that twist to the starboard shaft, everything's shipshape. We can have her up to steam and ready to move out in twenty.”
“Do it. How much trouble is that bent shaft gonna cause us?”
“Some, especially when we're maneuvering inside this damned, tight-ass harbor. Course, if you don't mind us denting some fenders on the way out . . .”
“Dent all the fenders you want, just so we get this scrap heap to the Gulf of Oman.”
“I've got a good engineman in my platoon,” Cavanaugh said. “I can have him lend a hand.”
“Outstanding.”
“L-T, this is Prof” crackled in Murdock's earphone.
“Copy, Professor. Go ahead.”
“We've got VIPs inbound, Skipper. ETA two minutes. They say we should clear the deck.”
“Roger. Who is it?”
“They say it's NEST, L-T. Looks like the show's going to be taken out of our hands.” Higgins sounded annoyed.
“That's okay, Professor. We've
done
our part.”
The black, unmarked Huey dropped toward
Yuduki Maru'
s forward deck two minutes later, right to the tick.
NESTâthe Nuclear Emergency Search Teamâwas an elite and high-tech government unit set up under the auspices of the Department of Energy in 1975. Its mission was to search for and identify lost or stolen nuclear weapons or SNMâSpecial Nuclear Materialsâand to respond to nuclear bomb or radiation-dispersal threats. Most of its activities were highly secret, for obvious reasons; one indication of the unit's efficiency was the very fact that few people
had
heard of it, though in the past twenty years it had responded to many hundreds of alerts. In the United States, NEST teams were based at the Nevada Test Site and at Andrews AFB. Overseas, a team was permanently stationed at Ramstein Air Base in Germany; the NEST coming in to the
Yuduki Maru
now would be a special field detachment from the Ramstein group, deployed to II MEF when the emergency first began.
Murdock watched as the helicopter lowered itself gently to the deck, its skids just off the steel. Twelve men climbed out, six of them swaddled in bulky white antiradiation garments, anonymous behind the helmets that made them look like lunar astronauts. The others wore nondescript Army fatigues, without emblems or rank insignia. One of them strode purposefully toward Murdock as the Huey lifted off with a roar.
“You Murdock?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Smith. Senior NEST control officer. What's the situation?”
“As far as we can tell, sir, the cargo's intact and secure. We stopped the bad guys before they could breach the hold.”
“We'll
be the judge of that, Lieutenant,” the man said. “I want you to keep your people well clear of the cargo area. Only those personnel absolutely essential to the defense of this vessel are to be on this deck. Your men will stand by until we can tow this vessel clear of Iranian waters.”
“Tow, sir?”
“Yes. One of the destroyers with the Marine force offshore will work its way in as soon as the enemy batteries on some of the Gulf islands are neutralized. We should rendezvous with the
Recovery
in the Gulf of Oman sometime late tomorrow.”
Recovery,
the ARS 43, was a WWII-era vessel fitted out for diver support, salvage, and ocean tug duties.
An explosion thumped in the distance, followed by a burst of muffled gunfire. “Pardon my saying so, sir, but that's a dumb-ass idea. The whole, damned Iranian army's going to be all over this place before too much longer, and we
don't
want to risk an attack on this ship! We can be out of here in twenty minutes.”
The NEST officer looked startled. “The ship is ready to sail?”
Murdock looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes, sir.”
“But are you sure it'll make it? I was told some Navy SEALs caused a lot of damage to its engines and it had to be towed.”
“I've got good men on it down in the engine room now, sir,” Murdock said, a little stiffly. “We have one good screw, and the con's all right. We'll take her out on her own steam.”
The NEST officer didn't look happy, but he was obviously tempted by the idea of getting clear of Bandar-é Abbas in twenty minutes instead of several hours.
“What about those Iranian gun and missile batteries on the islands?”
Murdock grinned. “Sir, I imagine the SEALs and Marines are on top of that right now.”
He was guessing, but Murdock was sure he was right. He'd participated in too many planning sessions and simulations to believe that the planners for Operation Deadly Weapon had failed to arrange a safe path clear of the enemy coast.
“Very well,” Smith said at last. “You will make all preparations to get this ship under way as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir. As soon as two of my men show up.”
“Eh? What's that? What do you mean?”
“I've got two men ashore, sir. They didn't make it back after liberty. We can't sail without them.”
DeWitt, standing nearby, turned suddenly away, stifling a laugh. Jaybird grinned broadly and nudged a smiling Roselli with his elbow.
The NEST officer sputtered. “Youâyou can't do that! The cargo on this vesselâ”
“Is of the utmost importance and takes precedence over all other considerations, yes, sir. I wouldn't worry, Mr. Smith. One of the missing men is my commanding officer. The other is one of my most steadfast and dependable men. I feel sure they'll turn up soon.”
The officer gave Murdock a black look, then spun on his heel and stalked toward the
Yuduki Maru's
deckhouse. Murdock shook his head as he watched him go. The plutonium shipment
did
have absolute priority, of course, and if Doc and the Old Man didn't show up fast, the
Yuduki Maru
would have to sail without them.
But it had been fun giving that stiff-assed DOE prick's tail a good twisting.
Roselli stepped closer. “Still no word about Doc and the captain, sir?”
“Not yet. The Marines'll keep looking, though, even if we have to pull out.”
“I'd like to volunteer for a shore party, L-T. I could help look for 'em. I know how Doc thinks.”
Murdock gave a lopsided grin. “I hate to break it to you, Razor, but they don't have bars in Iran. Alcohol's illegal here, remember?”
“Poor Doc,” DeWitt said, shaking his head. “We
can't
leave him here, Skipper. He'd die of thirst!”
“We'll leave it to the Marines,” Murdock said. “I need you here, Roselli, watching those engines with Mac.”
“Yes, sir.” Roselli looked crestfallen.
“Ahoy the
Maru
!” a voice called from the shore. “Man in the water, starboard side!”
Murdock, Roselli, DeWitt, and Jaybird all raced for the freighter's starboard rail. Murdock couldn't see anything against the black water . . . no! There! And
two
heads, not just one!
Roselli and Jaybird were already stripping off their load-bearing vests. Stepping up on the railing, they vaulted smoothly over the side, Jaybird going in feet-first, Roselli cutting a perfect and strictly-against-regs dive. Murdock leaned against the rail and watched. It looked like Coburn was wounded, with a lot of blood on his face and head despite his immersion in the water. Doc had one arm across the captain's chest and was pulling him along with a slow but powerful sidestroke.
In seconds, Roselli and Jaybird had reached the two swimmers. Jaybird took Coburn and started hauling him toward the shore, while Roselli helped a clearly exhausted Ellsworth. Marines and SEALs splashed off the side of the wharf to lend a hand, and others gathered at the side of the water. DeWitt was already on his radio, ordering the medevac chopper to hold up for one more. By the time Coburn was hauled from the water, a couple of corpsmen had reached the dock with a Stokes stretcher. It was hard to tell from here, but Murdock was sure he saw Coburn moving his arms as he was fastened down. He was conscious, and that was a damned hopeful sign.
Murdock had to grip the rail to avoid showing the weakness that swept through him.
Coburn and Doc were okay!
Until that moment, he'd not realized how worried he'd been about his people.
Turning, he strode back toward the
Yuduki Maru's
deckhouse.
Fifteen minutes later, he stood on the freighter's bridge, peering out through paneless windows at the Blue/Green Team members ashore and on the forward deck. Smith glowered over his shoulder to his right, while a still-damp Jaybird stood behind the wheel and Holt manned the engine-room telegraph. Roselli had joined MacKenzie and several MSPF snipes below in the engine room, but Higgins had transferred his satellite gear to the freighter's bridge and was watching with professional interest. The other SEALs, less Doc, Chucker, and Captain Coburn, were scattered about the ship. The medevac chopper had lifted those three out several minutes earlier.
Murdock picked up a microphone and pressed the switch. “Now hear this, now hear this,” Murdock said, and the words boomed from loudspeakers all over the ship. “Make ready to get under way.”
A rifle shot popped from somewhere ashore, but he scarcely noticed it. The Marine perimeter now enclosed the entire shipyard, and the last report from the air contingent had placed the nearest organized Iranian forces just outside of Bandar-é Abbas proper, a good three miles down the coast.
“Cast off forward,” he ordered, and the Marines manning the forward line tossed it across to their fellows on the pier. A pair of SuperCobras thundered overhead, keeping watch.
Murdock walked to the starboard bridge wing and checked aft. With the freighter tied portside-to and bow-on to the shore, and with only one engine working, maneuvering in this tight harbor would be tricky. He was glad it was the starboard screw that was off-line, though, and not the port.
It occurred to him that this was his first commandâat least if you didn't count the little
Beluga
or the Boghammer patrol boat. He'd had classes in ship handling at Annapolis, of course, and during his senior year he'd conned a guided-missile destroyer out of Norfolk on a training exercise.
This,
however, was completely different.
“All back,” he said, and Holt moved the telegraph handles to reverse. “Back her down easy. Starboard helm . . . just a touch.”
Yuduki Maru's
engine rumbled through the deck beneath their feet. Slowly, slowly, the freighter moved astern. With the rudder to starboard, the ship's bow pressed in toward the pier, while her stern moved away. Moving to the port wing, Murdock checked aft. The ship's stern was now five feet from the pier, the stern line stretched nearly taut.
He'd given the freighter room astern to maneuver. “Forward on the engine,” he said, and Holt rammed the telegraph handle to the forward position. “Keep your helm starboard.”
The freighter's slow, backward drift halted, then reversed itself. Tugging on the stern line until the pier gave an ominous creak, the
Yuduki Maru
started to swing, her bow moving out from the pier now in a tight circle. When the still-smoldering ruin of the fuel pier lay dead ahead, Murdock gave his next order. “Cast off stern lines!”