Exit Plan jm-3, page 10
part #3 of Jerry Mitchell Series
Higgs chuckled. “Matt’s got his game head on now. From the moment he boarded the ASDS until after the debrief, it’s nothing but the mission for him.”
As far as explanations go, this one wasn’t very helpful and Jerry’s confused expression showed it. “I don’t get it, Vernon. We’ve been working on mission preps for almost two days and he’s never been like this.”
“Planning a mission is one thing, XO, executing a mission is another. Matt is one of those guys who mentally has to throw a switch between going downrange and normal living. Others, like Lapointe or Fazel, can go back and forth without thinking about it. It’s not a deficiency on Matt’s part; we all have personality quirks of one kind or another. His methods are just different and more discernable than some of the other guys, that’s all. But in the end, he gets results. He has an excellent reputation among the SEAL teams for his tours in Afghanistan. I’m surprised you didn’t see this during the exercise?”
“I never went out with Ramey during the exercise. If you recall, I only went out with you and Alex once, and that was when Barrineau and the chief led the squad. I had to back out from the other event, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right, I’d forgotten that you ditched us for some paperwork,” said Higgs with a grin. “So, XO, now you know what Matt is like in his über SEAL mode.”
“I don’t think I’d like to meet him in a dark ally when he’s like that,” commented Jerry, more as a joke than a factual statement.
“No, sir, you would not,” responded Higgs soberly. Jerry felt a chill when Higgs spoke those words. And for the first time, he wondered how many men the mild-mannered Ramey had killed in his career.
“Well, if Matt’s reputation is that good, then this mission should be relatively easy in comparison with Afghanistan,” Jerry concluded.
Higgs’s demeanor didn’t change, and his voice remained stern. “The only easy day was yesterday, sir.”
Jerry had heard the SEAL motto several times during the last couple of weeks, and every time it was spoken as if it were holy writ. The reason why yesterday was easy, he had been told, was because it was over and you couldn’t do anything about it. By definition the present was always harder. From his admittedly limited perspective, this philosophy sounded overly negative to Jerry and he said as much. “You SEALs really are a pessimistic bunch, aren’t you?”
A brief look of surprise flashed across Higgs’s face, or perhaps it was annoyance, but whatever it was, he recovered quickly and respectfully countered Jerry’s accusation.
“Absolutely not, XO. We are not a herd of Eeyores; nor are we blind optimists. We are realists. We do hope for the best, we truly hope everything goes according to plan, but we always train for the worst. Because usually something does go wrong, and we have to quickly adapt to the new situation if we are to win. And a SEAL has it ingrained in him from the very beginning that it pays to be a winner.”
As Higgs turned back toward his console, Jerry looked on in silence. The short, but cogent rebuttal shined new light on a number of misconceptions that Jerry had about this unique community within the U.S. Navy. He considered asking some more questions, when his concentration was broken by an annoying beeping sound.
“One thousand yards to the turn, Pilot,” reported Higgs.
“Very well, stand by to come right to zero three zero in three minutes forty-five seconds.” The navigation computer could have told him the time remaining, but Jerry preferred doing a little mental gym himself; it helped him to refocus on the job at hand. The discussion had definitely piqued his curiosity and he wanted to understand the SEAL mentality better, but he also had a feeling that now probably wasn’t the best time. There would be ample opportunities on the way back to hit Higgs and the others up with his questions. But one thing was certain, he had learned more about SEALs in the last ten minutes than he had during the last two weeks.
* * *
The next hour went by faster than Jerry expected: Partly because they were well inside Iranian territorial waters, and getting closer to the coast with each minute, and partly because Higgs had picked up two high-speed contacts on the ASDS’s passive sonar. One was heading northwest, the other southeast at thirty plus knots. Both had passed close by. “My guess is that they are IRGC Navy patrol boats on the prowl,” said Higgs.
“A safe bet,” Jerry observed. “It’s very unlikely they are fishing dhows.” The ubiquitous, boxy, wooden fishing vessels common to the Persian Gulf would be hard pressed to make ten knots.
“They could be smugglers,” Higgs suggested. Jerry detected a note of playful cynicism in the copilot’s voice. The earlier transgression, if there had been one, was forgotten.
With a look of feigned astonishment, and dripping with sarcasm Jerry replied, “Seriously!?! Smugglers? At sunset, silhouetted by the sun, whizzing by within range of numerous coastal radar sites? What are you thinking?”
“Okay. Maybe they’re dumb smugglers.”
“Mr. Higgs, let’s just stick with your initial call and move on.” Then motioning aft he said, “Please inform Mr. Ramey that we are thirty minutes out. I told him we’d give him a warning.”
“Aye, sir.”
While Higgs notified Ramey of their current position, Jerry noticed that the water depth was starting to decrease. At a depth of one hundred feet, they only had fifty feet beneath them now, and that was slowly being nibbled away. He’d have to start coming up to a shallower depth soon, as the navigation chart showed the water depth at Point Zulu was only about forty feet. They were getting very close to the Iranian coast; they were deep inside Indian country.
Exactly twenty minutes later, a heavily laden Ramey opened the watertight door and strode up to Jerry and Higgs. “Status, Pilot,” he demanded.
Normally, Jerry would have been a little irritated by the lieutenant’s lack of military etiquette, but thanks to Higgs’s counsel, he had a better understanding of the platoon leader’s mind-set.
“We are fifteen hundred yards from Point Yankee, Mr. Ramey. Current depth is thirty feet, with thirty-four feet beneath the keel. We’ll be coming to periscope depth soon to take the initial observation,” he answered.
“Understood, XO.”
“If you wish, you can look over Mr. Higgs’s shoulder during the observation and see the lay of the land for yourself,” offered Jerry.
“Thank you, sir. I intend to,” was Ramey’s response.
For the next ten minutes, Ramey stood rigidly over by the copilot’s console. Jerry snuck an occasional look at the determined young man; the only time he could recall experiencing such intensity was during air combat maneuvering training at Fallon. Ramey was mentally pulling nine Gs.
Jerry had just started maneuvering the ASDS to periscope depth when an alarm suddenly sounded. Looking down, he saw a flashing red light on the aft battery status display
“High temperature alarm,” shouted Higgs. “Battery pack number two, aft battery.”
“Reducing speed to three knots. Report temperature,” Jerry yelled back.
“Two hundred seventy degrees and rising.”
Without hesitation, Jerry turned to Ramey. “Lieutenant, get your men and all your gear out of the transport compartment ASAP.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the SEAL as he bolted for the watertight door.
Jerry worked to stay calm. “Mr. Higgs, report temperature.”
“Two hundred eighty-five degrees, and rising. Battery packs one and three also show elevated temperatures.”
Not good, Jerry thought. He needed to get this under control quickly; if the temperature exceeded three hundred degrees the affected cells would become unstable and almost certainly start a fire. Worse yet, nearby battery packs could also be driven into thermal runaway. The resulting chain reaction would likely end in an explosion.
“Mr. Higgs, isolate the after battery,” he ordered. Isolating batteries would reduce their power reserve by half, but this battery wasn’t going to give them any more power today.
“Isolating the after battery.” The copilot reached over to the electrical control panel and rotated the selector switch on the after battery breaker to open. Nothing happened. He tried again. No response.
“XO, remote breaker control failed. Battery temperature at two hundred ninety-eight degrees.”
“Open the breaker manually,” Jerry commanded.
Higgs launched himself from his chair and reached the breaker panel within a couple of seconds. He threw open the panel door, grabbed the breaker, and shoved it upward.
Jerry caught a bright flash out of the corner of his eye, followed immediately by a thundering noise. Momentarily stunned by the sound, Jerry tried to focus his eyes. The compartment was filled with gray smoke. The acrid smell assaulted his nose and lungs, forcing him to instinctively reach for his emergency breathing mask.
A flashlight beam pierced the smoky atmosphere as Ramey and the other SEALs crowded into the compartment. Ramey went over to Jerry. Fazel went to Higgs, who lay prone on the deck. He’d been thrown across the compartment by the blast.
The corpsman checked Higgs for a pulse, but it was a mere formality. The copilot was obviously dead. His face and hands were badly burned, his neck was canted at an odd angle, and there were ragged holes torn in his uniform. The larger ones had bloodstains growing around the periphery.
“XO, XO, can you hear me! Are you all right?” shouted Ramey.
Jerry looked at Ramey. The SEAL’s image came into focus and Jerry could see that they were using their scuba gear to breathe. Ramey pulled the demand valve from his mouth and repeated himself, “XO, are you okay?”
“Temp… Temperature?” Jerry struggled to speak as he stood, shaking his head.
Ramey quickly looked over at the copilot console, it was dark.
“The displays are down, sir.”
Jerry turned and saw that two of his displays were still working. He called up the battery-monitoring menu. The temperature was at three hundred fourteen degrees. They had very little time left. He reached over and pulled the emergency surface chicken switches, and turned toward Ramey. From such a shallow depth, the ASDS rose quickly to the surface.
“Matt, the after battery is probably going to explode. We are abandoning ship. Get your men out, now!”
Ramey hesitated for just a moment, then pushed his guys toward the escape hatch, instructing them to grab whatever they could on the way out. Fazel grabbed an additional first aid kit. Phillips nabbed a small inflatable raft. Ramey went to the lockout compartment and started opening the hatch.
While the SEALs prepared to abandon ship, Jerry programmed the ASDS to head back out to sea as fast as it could. He set the delay for one minute. Jerry briefly considered sending a “Mayday” but the Iranians would almost certainly pick it up and know they were there. Bad idea. In the end it didn’t matter, as the communication system had been fried when the breaker shorted out. Jerry mentally ran down the emergency destruct bill; there was one last thing to do.
Outboard of the pilot’s seat was a cabinet that held two demolition charges. Jerry couldn’t be one hundred percent sure the after battery would explode, although it was very likely, so he grabbed the charges, removed the backing, and plastered one on the hull above his chair. He set the timer for seven minutes. Popping his connection for the emergency breathing system he headed toward the escape hatch. Along the way he saw the after-battery breaker panel, or what was left of it. A one-foot-diameter circle was just plain missing, vaporized by the sheer amount of electrical power. He paused for just a moment to say “good-bye” to Higgs, then popped his connection again and went into the lockout chamber. He secured the watertight door and set the second charge, this time for six minutes.
Just as he had placed the second demolition charge, Ramey climbed down the short ladder and started opening the watertight door to the operator compartment. Jerry immediately grabbed him and shook his head “no.” Ramey spit out his demand valve and shouted, “I have to get Vern.” Dumbfounded, Jerry pushed him back and said, “He’s dead. There is nothing you can do.”
The platoon leader acted like he didn’t even hear Jerry. “I can’t leave him behind!”
Ramey was a powerful man and Jerry physically couldn’t hold him back, so he grabbed Ramey’s harness and swung the SEAL around to face him. “I said abandon ship, Mister! The demo charges are set and that battery could go any second.”
Ramey stood there confused; he looked at Jerry and then the watertight door. Jerry could see his mind racing, but had no idea what dilemma was causing his wheels to spin. Jerry in turn was getting frustrated and angry, he’d given this junior officer a direct order and he seemed unwilling to follow it. But before he could say anything else, the ASDS shook violently and Jerry saw flames in the transport compartment. Ramey saw it, too. They were running out of time.
With every ounce of strength, Jerry pushed Ramey against the ladder, grabbed his face, and yelled, “We are done here. Get your ass off my boat NOW!”
Reluctantly, Ramey climbed out and dove into the water. Jerry followed and closed the upper hatch just as water started pouring down into the lockout compartment. Another explosion threw Jerry off of the ASDS and into the cool waters of the Persian Gulf. Treading water, he watched as the minisub dove beneath the surface for the last time.
3 April 2013
1844 Local Time/1544 Zulu
USS Michigan
“Conn, Sonar,” Buckley’s voice boomed from the intercom, “Loud explosions bearing zero two two.”
“Sonar, Conn. Repeat your last,” Simmons replied anxiously.
“Conn, Sonar. Multiple explosions bearing zero two two.”
“Sonar, Conn, aye.” Simmons didn’t even have to look at the chart. He knew exactly what was supposed to be on that bearing. He picked up the mike for the 1MC, the ship’s general announcing circuit, keyed the mike, and said, “Captain to control!”
6. UNFRIENDLY SHORES
3 April 2013
1700 Local Time/1400 Zulu
Bandar Kangan
She’d forced herself to eat, in spite of her fluttering insides. She had the baby to think about, and had dutifully worked her way though rice and vegetables at dinner, although it was a mechanical exercise. She felt a little light-headed, detached from herself.
It seemed like a fantasy. Normal people didn’t pass nuclear information to a foreign country. They didn’t meet American commandos on a beach. Maybe they’d stopped being normal when the two of them had decided to act on their consciences. She wanted a place to work and live as a family. She wanted them all to be safe and unafraid. Was this the price?
After an early dinner in Bandar Kangan, they’d wandered the town, having explored it thoroughly that afternoon. It had let her walk off some of her nervousness before one final visit to their hotel room.
It was supposed to be a stop to visit the bathroom and pick up a jacket, but they’d never come back here again. She’d packed lightly, with clothes for three nights, but now she would abandon it all. The instructions had said no luggage or belongings, but she took photos of her parents and tucked them into her jacket pocket. She changed her scarf, putting on her favorite, and stuffed another piece of material, a gift from her father, in the other pocket.
Yousef came out of the bathroom. “Are you ready?” She nodded, hesitating at first, then firmly. He’d changed into his uniform, and was wearing his sidearm. They’d discussed it, and had decided it might help if a Basij patrol or the police stopped them. He wore the sidearm because it was part of the uniform, not because he expected to use it. The idea of shooting one’s way out of Iran was ludicrous, not to mention he’d be shooting at other Iranians. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt someone just trying to do their duty.
They had half an hour to go nine kilometers, so they took their time driving around town, which let Yousef take one last look for unusual activity. Nothing had changed since their tour that afternoon, and they headed southeast on Highway 96.
They parked about half a kilometer past the pickup point, and pulled off the road onto a wide, smooth shoulder. The ocean lay a few dozen meters away from the road here, across a gently sloping sandy beach. Low dunes dotted with dark green scrub lay landward. To the southeast, a few low houses and buildings clustered along the highway, but behind them, in the direction of the pickup point, the coast was empty.
Yousef made sure Shirin had her jacket, although the air was still warm. “It will cool off quickly after the sun goes down.” He locked the car, partly out of reflex, but also to discourage casual investigation. He carried a blanket, so she could sit while they waited, and a water bottle.
The sun was still a few minutes above the horizon, which suited them both. “Watch your step,” he admonished needlessly. “There are a lot of uneven spots.” Gravel and sand crunched underfoot as they walked toward the water. Gradually, the area between the water and the highway became wider, until the road was hidden by dunes and scrub.
Half to himself, Yousef muttered, “This beach is so flat, so open. I wish there was more cover.” Then he added, “Is that why they chose it?”
Shirin nodded agreement, but stiffly. “I feel so exposed here.” She sounded tense. “What time is it?”
“Eighteen-fifteen. Almost sunset.”
Shirin pulled the GPS device from her pocket and checked it. “We’re close, less than a hundred meters from the rendezvous.”
“Watch for a big X on the ground.”
She laughed.
They waited. Although they never saw it move, the sun crept toward the horizon, swelled, reddened, and eventually disappeared, taking the daylight with it.
When it was no longer possible to tell a black thread from a white one, she asked, “How much longer?”
“It could be any time,” Yousef remarked.
They kept their vigil, alert for any sound, any movement. She tried counting the seconds in each minute, but lost count in the low two hundreds. After what seemed an eternity, Shirin finally looked at the clock on her GPS. It read 1940 hours. The Americans were late.
