Night of the Hawk, page 31
part #4 of Patrick McLanahan Series
“So sit down, all four of you, and let’s walk through this little operation Brad Elliott has concocted. And let’s pray that when the rescue operation starts, we don’t have to use Elliott’s cockamamie mutant warplanes.”
PALANGA BREAKWATER, LITHUANIAN REPUBLIC
13 APRIL, 0309 VILNIUS (12 APRIL, 2109 ET)
Some of the most beautiful beaches in northern Europe are located in Lithuania near the resort city of Palanga, on the Baltic coast nine miles south of the Latvian border. In summer, tourists from all over the Baltics, the Commonwealth states, and southern Scandinavia flock to a seven-mile strip of white sandy beaches north of the city. An extensive network of sea walls, vacuums, and tidal booms, along with hundreds of workers, were pressed into service to filter the polluted water of the Baltic Sea and to keep as much waste and debris off the beaches as possible, and to restore the former port city to a semblance of its pre-World War II grandeur. As a result, the Palanga Breakwater beaches were some of the purest in the industrialized world. A summer-long circus, an amusement park, folk art and crafts shops, and a glass-blowing factory that produces fine crystal and stained-glass windows enhance the attraction and charm of the small Lithuanian seafront community. It was often called the Riviera of the Baltics, although while under Soviet domination the name hardly seemed appropriate.
But the area was home to still another presence—the Commonwealth military. Drawn by the beaches and attractions as well as the tactical placement, the Soviet Troops of Air Defense built an airstrip, a long-range radar site, and an advanced SA-10 surface-to-air missile site just north of the beaches, on a section of oceanfront land almost as nice as the famous Palanga beaches. Not coincidentally, they also built a lavish resort base for their senior officers. The small base’s manning swelled from just a few dozen in winter to several hundred in the summer as general officers brought their wives and families to “inspect” the air-defense facility. Of course, when the facility reverted to Commonwealth control, it was not shut down or deactivated.
Until late spring, the Palanga Breakwater is deserted, and except for a skeleton caretaker crew, the same holds true for the air-defense site. The pristine white beaches that are choked with people in the summer are raw, cold, sometimes snow-covered, and very empty this time of year. At night, when the bitterly cold winds blow down from Siberia and out across the Baltic, it can feel like the loneliest, most isolated spot on earth…
… Perfect for Petty Officer Brian Delbert and his SEAL demolition team.
The howling wind, which created wind-chill factors well below zero, would also mask the sound of their outboard engine as they approached the shore. A Boston Whaler insertion craft, armed with an M-60 heavy machine gun mounted on a steel frame just forward of the helmsman, carried twelve SEALS and over a thousand pounds of equipment. The team was dropped by a Marine Corps CH-46 Sea Knight helicopter twenty miles offshore to the southwest, just out of range of Palanga’s big radar net. The Boston Whaler had a heavily muffled forty-horsepower outboard motor that propelled the craft at over twenty miles an hour, but the run to shore took almost two hours because they would stop the motor anytime they were near fishing boats or military vessels. There were plenty of patrols, but apparently none that used night-vision devices while on lookout.
Delbert, nicknamed “Command,” was the commander of the raiding team that would go ashore to the objective. The entire group was commanded by a Marine lieutenant, nicknamed Wheel, who would stay with the Boston Whaler and wait for the team to return after dropping them off on the beach.
Every piece of skin on their bodies was covered. All but two SEALs wore thick Mustang suits, with cold-weather fatigues and long underwear underneath, a black insulated balaclava with eye holes big enough for the PVN-5 night-vision goggles they all wore, thick wool gloves with leather shells, and insulated waterproof boots. Two SEALs, in the “swimmer scout” positions, wore black Neoprene wet suits, gloves, and boots under their swimming fins. The SEALs carried their standard assault weapons-Heckler & Koch MP5KA4 9-millimeter submachine guns with thirty-two-round magazines and suppressors; Heckler & Koch P9S 9-millimeter automatic pistols; and a variety of flash-bang, smoke, gas, and incendiary grenades. The swimmer scouts, who would move to the objective on the point position, carried M-37 Ithaca 12-gauge shotguns in waterproof bags. The SEALs also carried six square canvas haversacks resembling Boy Scout camping packs. Each pack was an Mk133 demolition-charge assembly containing eight blocks of M5A1 composition C-4 high-explosive.
Brian Delbert was the oldest and shortest man on the entire team. He was quite different from most of the men who were accepted as Navy SEALs—he was not tall or muscular; he did not look like a triathlete or linebacker. He won his place as SEAL team leader not by physical strength—although he was as powerful as a man fifty pounds heavier— but by brains and resourcefulness. Besides his nickname, he was also known as Weasel, and he preferred that name to any other name or title. Despite his experience—six years as a Navy commando—this was his first team command overseas.
“H-hour is in about two hours,” the Lieutenant announced. Delbert. steering the Boston Whaler, nodded that he understood. The timing was close, but they would be able to make it if their intelligence information was at least close: no opposition, no beach patrols, no perimeter patrols, and only a cursory maintenance patrol around the SA- 10 missiles and the radar. Dogs were a possibility—satellite photos of the installation clearly showed kennels, and a short inner fence had been set up to keep the dogs, away from the taller, motion-sensitive outer fence—but even dogs disliked cold, wet weather. Only U.S. Navy SEALs liked nasty weather.
When within two hundred yards of shore, just outside the surf line, Delbert killed the outboard motor and dispatched the swimmer scouts to check out the beach. The swimmer scouts were the key to the entire operation. They were often the strongest and smartest men on the team as well as being the best swimmers. While the rest of the team used their paddles to maintain position, they waited for the scouts to check the landing area.
The entire assault team used small wireless FM transceivers called “whispermikes” to talk with each other. Whispermikes operated at very low power and at very short ranges, and were taped to the head and ears. The first message came through a few minutes later: “Command, scouts, all clear,” came the report from the scouts. Using flashlights with special lenses that made the light visible only to those wearing night-vision goggles, the scouts directed Delbert onto the beach. Delbert saw that they had picked a pretty good landing zone, or “strongpoint”—between two clusters of rocks, in a narrow sandy inlet that afforded good cover from all sides. Delbert recommended that the scouts’ choice of strongpoint be adopted, and “Wheel” agreed. Word went around to memorize the location of the strongpoint.
As soon as they were in knee-deep water, Delbert and five SEALs jumped out of the small black rubber raft and sprinted for shore, being careful to step in each other’s tracks to try to disguise their number. Establishing the BDP, or Beach Defense Perimeter, was the most critical step in any amphibious landing in enemy territory—the mission could be ruined in seconds if the team was discovered, especially so close to a military installation. Two SEALs joined the two swimmer scouts and acted as flanking guards, two on each side, scanning down the beach for any sign of discovery. Delbert established the center defense position. Three other SEALs, called the “powder train,” carried the Mk133 assemblies onto the beach and took cover behind Delbert. Their weapons were slung on their shoulder straps—their job was not to carry a rifle, but to carry and protect the explosives.
Delbert raised the microphone of his tiny transceiver, to his lips. “Beach team, report.”
“Right flank secure.”
“Left flank secure.”
The two flanking guards had dashed out about seventy-five yards from the strongpoint then separated from each other by about twenty-five yards and set up for overlapping fields of fire on either side. Delbert had to concentrate to find the well-concealed SEALs.
“Copy flanks. Center is secure.” He turned and received hand signals from the three men in the powder train. “Train’s ready. Scouts, move out. Flanks cover.”
The eight-man assault team headed inland, following the dim outlines of the scouts as they checked their maps and compasses and moved toward the air-defense base. Meanwhile, the Lieutenant took the helm of the Boston Whaler, and the last SEAL, called the “cover,” used a rake and a small canvas water bag to erase the footprints on the beach. When that was done, they pushed the Boston Whaler into the surf and motored out away from shore, monitoring the progress of the team and watching for any signs of discovery.
Once they were a few hundred yards outside the base, in a well-concealed position, Delbert gathered the team together and gave them another short briefing. Then one scout, one powder carrier, and one flanker split off from the group. They were the backup team, ready to create diversions, mount a flanking assault on a security team, or if necessary attempt to carry out the mission if the main group was trapped or captured. Delbert and his four-man team continued on to their penetration point on the extreme eastemmost side of the base, while the second team moved northward to the more populated part of the base, where the headquarters and security buildings were located.
Security at the small base was mostly concerned with tourists wandering into the place during the summer months, so the SEALs found nothing too difficult to defeat. Getting into the base itself was absurdly easy—they could hop the two-meter-tall chain-link fence with ease, hiding between conveniently located scrub oak and cypress trees. It was a quarter-mile fast jog between darkened, deserted buildings to the small airfield, where the team split into two again. One two-man team would jog around the runway to set charges at the radar facility, while the last three-man team, led by Delbert, would set charges on the nearby SA-10 surface-to-air missile’s radar and command-control-communications equipment.
The SA-10 “Grumble” surface-to-air missile was the most advanced air-defense missile now deployed outside the Commonwealth. The big missile, resembling an enlarged version of the U.S. Patriot, was stored in a four-round, side-by-side box-launch magazine which was mounted on a trailerable platform. It was capable of destroying both high- and low” altitude aircraft, and its advanced pulse-Doppler tracking system and autonomous radar seeker head made it difficult to jam and almost impossible to evade. Two four-round launchers were set up inside a fenced compound, ringed with sodium-vapor floodlights. Because the missile launchers could be depressed to very shallow angles for use against sea-skimming targets, the compound was clear of any obstructions all the way to the fence. But their objective was not the missiles themselves—it was the plain gray concrete building just outside the fence. Disrupt equipment inside that building, and the eight SA-10 missiles would blind.
Weasel and his men waited in the shadows of a radio air-navigation facility to rest and wait for the rest of the team to get into position. The sounds of the Baltic Sea crashing on shore and the sharp ocean breeze made them feel almost relaxed… . Almost. The sharp, insectlike chirp chirp of Delbert’s miniature tactical transceiver cut that image off right away.
“Team Two’s in position,” he announced. Team Two had run all the way around the base, entering from the north side, and had moved up to within striking distance of the base headquarters building, which conveniently housed the base security office and command post. If they had time and the opportunity, they would set some explosives on vehicles, near doorways, or on communications aerials, trying to disrupt a security response as much as possible. Their objective was not to kill as many soldiers as possible, but to reduce their response effectiveness should the demolition team be discovered before they could set the timed charges.
A few minutes later, a triple chirp was heard, and Delbert reported that Team Three was in position around the radar site. The site had three large white radomes—one held the long-range Echo-band search radar, one a Lima-band missile-guidance radar for the SA-10 missiles, and the last a backup Hotel-band radar for both long-range surveillance and missile guidance. The sites were fully automated, lightly patrolled, and minimally manned. Setting explosives to eliminate them would be easy.
He waited a few more minutes, allowing each team a few precious minutes to recheck their weapons and catch their breath, then swung his microphone to his lips to issue the command to attack..
He was interrupted by a chirp chirp… chirp chirp, the chirp chirp chirp chirp on the whispermike.
All of Delbert’s SEALs froze.
Team Two had issued a warning message and now wanted to talk via voice—only the most serious development could prompt Team Two to break radio silence.
Delbert raised the radio to his lips: “Go.”
“Five trucks, thirty armed soldiers, heavy weapons, headquarters building. Mikey’s on the roof.”
Delbert felt a prickle of sweat start to itch under his collar.
Mike Fontaine one of the four SEALs in Team Two, had made his way up to the roof of the headquarters building—probably to set time-delay charges on the antennae up there—when a large convoy of trucks had unexpectedly pulled up to the building. Now he was surrounded by troops. Their satellite and HUMINT intelligence had said to expect only minimal activity around the headquarters building all night—no more than a few night-duty officers ever went near the place after hours.
Who the hell were these guys?
“Any sign we’ve been discovered?”
“Negative.” There was a pause, then: “Look like six, maybe eight soldiers staying outside, acting as guards. The rest entering the building.”
Twenty soldiers going into the headquarters building? If they were a response team to the SEALs’ infiltration, they weren’t acting too excited. Maybe they’re all getting coffee before hunting down—
“Shots fired—inside the headquarters building!” the Team Two leader suddenly radioed. “I can hear grenades going off … shit, a grenade… two grenades went off inside!”
“Mikey okay?”
“Not directed at Mikey … no one’s going near the roof… hold on… Weasel, we gotta get Mikey off the roof Something serious is going down.”
“Time?”
“A minute. No more.”
“Hold your position,” Delbert said. “In sixty seconds, create a mess and scatter. Copy?”
“Copy.”
To his team, he said, “We got thirty seconds to get inside the missile-control center.” He outlined exactly how he wanted to do it, a slight variation of the plan devised a week ago from satellite photos and diagrams provided by agents and defectors. He took twenty seconds to explain his ideas, then drew his H & K P95, fitted its suppressor in place, and growled, “Let’s go!”
The three-man team split up. One man circled around the perimeter of the control building, out of the glare of floodlights, while Delbert and his partner sprinted for the fence.
The missile-control center was surrounded by a three-meter-high chain-link fence, topped with razor wire and illuminated by floodlights, and there was a thirty-meter clear-fire area from the tall grass and weeds of the runway perimeter to the fence. Delbert took five shots to blow out three nearby floodlights, throwing his section of fence into complete darkness; a few seconds later four more lights soundlessly winked out on, the other side of the building. There was no reaction from the building’s occupants as they raced across the clear-fire area. Five seconds had elapsed.
Delbert reached the fence and withdrew a small, battery-powered metal saw from his knapsack. The saw was about the size of a Thermos, with a powerful three-inch circular blade. One swipe against the fence, with his partner providing cover, and he had cut a gap in the fence big enough t crawl through. Ten seconds total had elapsed, and still no reaction from the building.
They raced across the clear-fire area.
There were several thin gunports around the building, but all were covered with metal grates-odd. No guards, no patrols, no dogs. Delbert carefully went around to the front of the building. There was a large bulletproof glass window in the front, with a large gunport beside it so the guards could pass identification papers in and out, and beside it was the steel-sheathed front door with a thin, heavily scratched Plexiglas booth around it to keep the chill winter air from rushing in when the door was open. Delbert rolled under the window and carefully checked around the side to be sure the third man was in position. He was already at the side door to the control building, crouched down below another closed gun-port.
Delbert gave the signal and the riggers opened the Mk133 packs and broke out the L-shaped hunks of plastic explosive. Each bar weighed forty ounces, and its puttylike consistency made it easy to stuff into the doorframe. Every SEAL qualified in demolitions knew the formulas for determining how much explosives to use—the basic breaching formula (P - R3KC), the conversion factors for a steel door, and the tamping factors for charge placement. A priming adaptor threaded into a hole in each end of the bar, an electric blasting cap pushed into the priming adaptor, and the leg wires from each blasting cap were connected with “Western Union” splices and connected to a standard “hell box” blasting machine with sixty feet of firing wire. The wires from the explosives set on the side door were then led to the rigger and connected to the same hell box. The rigger made a quick continuity check of all wires with a tiny galvanometer circuit-tester and gave Delbert a thumbs-up. Twenty seconds total had elapsed.
When he was ready, Delbert signaled his teammates, and the rigger flipped the safety switch off and threw the “hell handle.” The explosives ripped the thick steel doors out of their frames and threw them inside. Even with earplugs, the sound was jarring—but it was far worse for the building’s occupants Delbert threw his body onto one remnant of a door hinge that hadn’t completely sheared off its frame. It broke free, and Delbert was flat on his stomach, lying atop the shattered door. But he knew what was going to happen next, so he stayed down and covered his eyes and ears with his arms.
