Authors: Keith Douglass
Three minutes after their 2000 target time, everyone and all the equipment was loaded in the two IBSs and they pushed away from the mountain of a ship.
“It always looks so damn big from down here,” Fernandez said.
“It’s fucking huge, always has been,” Ted Yates said, then looked toward shore.
They were a little over four miles out, just beyond visibility from land. Murdock had been given a course to set with his plotting board, and angled that way. The two boats kept close to each other, never more than ten yards apart, as the muffled outboard motors purred. They could move the IBSs at a top speed of eighteen knots.
These IBSs had the smaller thirty-five hp engine, and with an eighteen-gallon fuel tank they had a range of sixty-five nautical miles.
Murdock led with Horse Ronson on the tiller. They kept the speed to ten knots as they approached land. That would
drop to five or less as they entered the harbor. These IBSs, also called CCRCs or Combat Rubber Raiding Craft, were black and inflated in pockets so one rifle bullet wouldn’t sink them. At night they were hard to see, invisible to the best radar. With the dark-clad SEALs low in the craft, they could slip into most harbors without being spotted.
After fifteen minutes of powering toward shore, Murdock figured they had covered about two and a half miles. Now they could see a few shore lights along the mainland. The city of Mombasa was mainly on an island over six miles long and half that wide. The channel they wanted led up the left or west side of the island. They would stay in the middle of the channel to avoid detection.
“Any sign of the harbor entrance?” Murdock asked Red Nicholson, who angled his NVGs that direction.
“Small cluster of lights on the left,” Red said. “Then, what looks to be farther away and to the right, a whole shitpot full of lights. That must be the end of the island with an ocean frontage.”
“Right. So we head for that cluster of bright ones on the left. That must be Likoni. If there’s much harbor activity there, we may want to swing right more into the channel to go around it.”
Murdock wanted to check the SATCOM radio link, but he knew it worked. Holt had tested it just before they left. They might be able to talk directly with the carrier on another frequency. Holt had checked that out just as they went into the water. Relax, just relax, he told himself.
Ten minutes later they could see the spit of land that stuck into the Indian Ocean and the dark channel between it and the brightly lighted Mombasa Island on the right. They could make out more lights and activity in the small settlement of Likoni, but stayed in the middle of the channel to avoid any night-running pleasure craft docking there.
They slowed to five knots and worked closer to the shoreline, which was relatively unpopulated right here and mostly covered with trees and brush.
“Another two and a half klicks and we should see the little bay off to the left,” Jaybird said.
They all wore the lightweight desert cammies, tan with dark brown and light brown splotches, and the usual jungle boots with their black socks folded down over the tops and laces to prevent snagging. SEALs don’t wear hard helmets. Each man picks his own type of headgear, from the floppy soft hats with brims also called “boonies,” to black stocking watch caps, or a wide headband, or maybe a bandanna pulled up and tucked in. They all had on the back padded fingerless gloves that protected the backs of their hands and snapped tightly around their wrists.
They wore their combat harnesses fitted with pockets to match the type of weapon they carried. The machine gunners carried 600 rounds, and the M-4A1 men all had a mixed group of 40mm rockets. Ron Holt had his radio on his back, and each man carried a web-belt-holstered H&K Mark 23 .45-caliber pistol with a twelve-shot magazine. It weighed a ton and had a long suppressor that could be added. They’d left the silencers on the carrier.
They watched the shoreline creep by. Five knots was slower than walking. Jaybird said he could swim faster than this, so he was invited to jump overboard. He declined.
“There it is,” Murdock said, looking through his night-vision goggles. “Bear left in another fifty meters. Everyone get your eyes on.”
The men all put on their NVGs and watched the shoreline come into sight in all of its pale green wonder.
“Nobody looking at us I can see,” Jaybird said.
The SEALs all had their Motorolas on for instant communications.
Murdock touched his mike. “Let’s lock and load quietly.”
Each SEAL charged a round into the chamber and pushed the safety on. They were ready.
They came around the small point to the inlet and saw that it angled slightly due south. Murdock used the mike again. “Stay sharp, you guys. Figure we have maybe half a click up this inlet. Then the prison is three hundred yards away.”
He looked at Holt. “How’s our time? Fire up that Tomcat frequency and see where our bird friends are.”
“Time, we’re at 2052, about three minutes early from our ETA.”
He spoke softly into his microphone. “Tom Birds, this is Water One.”
“Water One, we’re about ten klicks off shore. Ready when you are.”
“Give us another seven minutes, Tom Birds. That’s a mark. Then lay your eggs out front. That’s a south-to-north run on the front gate.”
“Roger that. Have your time mark. All plotted in with some really wild twenty-mike-mike rounds out of our Vulcan. Each one of us has six hundred and seventy-five rounds. You’ll hear us in about six and thirty.”
Holt had the speaker on low, but Murdock heard it all.
“Goose it a little, Horse, let’s get up there. We don’t mind waiting a bit for our flying friends.”
The speed picked up to seven knots, and they sailed up the middle of the five-hundred-yard-wide inlet.
“I’ve got the prison,” Jaybird said. “Lots of lights up there about eleven o’clock.”
“Right. Horse, let’s slow it down and move to the left and hug the shore. I don’t see any buildings.” The shoreline here was dark green with brush and small trees.
They came to within fifty yards of the end of the inlet. A small stream meandered into the bay. There were no reeds or marsh at the end. So much for their good intel.
“Take it all with you,” Murdock said into the mike. The men were not to leave any equipment or ammo in the IBSs.
“Stay dry,” Jaybird whispered into his mike.
The first IBS angled for the shore twenty yards from the small creek. Jaybird felt the rubber bow touch shore, vaulted out of the boat to dry land, and tugged the craft forward another three feet. The SEALs arrived dry.
“Deflate?” Jaybird asked Murdock. It was one point they hadn’t covered.
“No, they’ll know we’re here, and we can’t take out a hundred and forty men in these two tubs.”
The other IBS grounded, and the men got ashore. By that time the First Squad had spread out five yards apart. Red
Nicholson took the point as usual, followed by Murdock, his radioman, Holt, dogging his heels.
When the Second Squad formed, Murdock moved out with his seven men. They had come onto a ten-foot beach, behind which was a tangle of growth of brush and small trees. The SEALs moved into the brush for cover and went slowly forward. They worked their way through the brush, and came out in a stretch of small trees that covered them but let them move more quickly.
Murdock could see the lights of the rear of the prison through the trees. They had another two hundred yards to go. He figured they were behind schedule. He touched his mike.
“Double it,” he said. At once the SEALs began jogging forward. Magic Brown swore softly as he dragged the twenty pounds of the .50-caliber sniper rifle and ammo. He snorted, but knew that he had asked to bring it.
Murdock and his squad broke out of the end of the trees, and saw that all growth had been cut to the ground for a hundred yards beyond the prison wire. They went to ground. Jaybird crawled up beside Murdock.
“No searchlights along the walls, L-T. Not even many lights. No trouble getting up to that first wire with a casual walk.”
“Quinley ready for the wire?”
“He is.”
“Let’s give our top-deck boys a couple of minutes,” Murdock said. “I’d like to have all eyes inside looking out the front when those multi-barreled cannon rounds hit them in the front gate.”
Just then they heard the eerie sound wave pulsating ahead of a jet fighter. Then came the stuttering sound of the cannon fire hitting the front of the prison, and then the roar as a plane Murdock figured must be an F-14 Tomcat slashed overhead in a climbing turn.
Moments later another F-14 made a strafing run with the Gatling gun-type 20mm Vulcan rounds slamming the prison’s front gate.
“Move it,” Murdock barked, and the sixteen men lifted up
and ran for the first set of wire fences that guarded the rear of the prison.
Quinley was ready to use wire cutters or primer cord designed to look like a pencil-thick roll of high explosive. The cord came in a roll, and you took off as much as you needed. It did the cutting job quicker, but also attracted more attention.
Quinley tossed Willy Bishop a pair of foot-long wire cutters as soon as they bellied down at the wire. It was triple-layered and twelve feet high, but with a regular soldered pattern.
“We’ll use the wire cutters,” Quinley said. “A lot quieter.” Quinley began cutting upward on one side, and Bishop moved over three feet and cut upward as well. In thirty seconds they had opened in the wire fencing and bent up a doorway five feet high. The SEALs ran through the opening and angled for a concrete block wall with a small door in it fifty yards ahead.
Before they got there, another jet roared overhead. This one slammed another two dozen of the 20mm rounds into the front of the prison and slanted upward and away.
A small sentry position at the outside of the wall was not manned. The door in the wall was metal. Quinley unrolled his primer cord, made two circles around the door handle and its lock, and inserted a timer detonator. He waved the SEALs back twenty yards and set the timer for ten seconds. Then he ran.
The primer cord exploded with a shattering sound and impact. The lock disintegrated, and was blown into the prison yard. One side of the door itself tore off the top hinge, and pivoted downward on its bottom holder until it slammed into the ground on the inside.
The SEALs moved up to the door cautiously. Murdock looked inside past the smoke from the explosion. Two Kenyan rangers shook their heads trying to get their hearing back. Murdock cut them down with a three-round silenced burst from his MP-5. He saw no other defenders.
Murdock touched the throat mike. “First Squad inside. Second Squad hold at the door.”
Red Nicholson jolted through the opening in the wall, followed by Murdock and Holt. They raced the fifty yards across a prison yard toward a pair of wooden doors in a two-story building with no windows.
A rifle fired at them from a catwalk along the top of the building. Nicholson hosed the area down with a half-dozen rounds from his M-4A1, and kept running. All eight men of the First Squad pressed against the main prison wall. Jaybird was closest to a door. He tried the handle. Locked. He leaned back and fired a burst from his HP-5. The 9mm whizzers pulverized the door lock, and it creaked open six inches.
Murdock ran up and kicked the door inward, then jolted back behind the wall. As he did, an automatic weapon blasted a dozen rounds from the inside through the door opening. Jaybird, on the other side of the door, pulled a fragger from his combat harness. He tugged the safety pin from the round and smooth M-67 hand grenade, and bounced it through the door.
Four seconds later the blast shattered the sudden silence. Jaybird and Murdock charged through the door. Murdock took the left side and swept the area with his NVGs. He found no enemies. Jaybird checked the right side, and cut loose with one three-round silenced burst.
“Clear right,” Murdock said.
“Clear left,” Jaybird said.
They were in a room thirty feet long and ten feet wide. It held boxes and some desks and looked like a storeroom. One door led out at the center of the rear wall.
“Come,” Murdock said in his mike. “DeWitt, move up to the outside of the main building.”
Jaybird tried the inside door. It was unlocked. First Squad got against the inside wall and out of the line of any fire. Murdock turned the door knob slowly, and swung the door outward.
A machine gun chattered in front of them, and angry messengers of sudden death slammed through the doorway. It was a ten-round burst, then a five, then a ten.
“We need a prisoner alive,” Murdock said.
“You go talk to him,” Jaybird said.
Murdock shrugged. “Next time.” He pulled a fragger from his straps and let the arming spoon spin off the bomb. He held it for two seconds, then threw it through the door. Almost at once it exploded, and Magic Brown and Red Nicholson darted through the door into the next area.
They could hear the jets hitting again. The cannon fire rocked the old structure for a moment; then the birds were gone.
“Promised us ten minutes worth of shelling,” Holt said. “They’re about ready to go upstairs and ride shotgun to see if we need any help or cover.”
“Clear right,” Brown said.
“Clear left,” Nicholson said on the Motorola.
“Let’s take a look,” Murdock said. “DeWitt, come into this room when we leave.”
They faced a steel security door that blocked their way.
“About time they had some steel here,” Murdock growled. “Get Quinley up here.”
When the explosives man arrived, he looked at the door and the heavy metal bars on the rest of the entrance.
“Electric lock,” he said. “Shouldn’t be too tough. Locking bars into the steel sidebar. Sliding door. I’ll have to hit all three weak points. Better get the troops back a ways.”
He went to work with packs of TNAZ explosive. When he had it all positioned correctly, he inserted detonators in the pliable material, set them for fifteen seconds, pushed the timers to the on position, and ran back around the corner.
The three blasts went off almost at the same time, pounding through the hallway like a freight train out of control. When the sound and the shock wave had worked down the corridor, the SEALs checked Quinley’s work. The lock was shattered. The two push rods were broken off, and the door had rolled back two feet. It wouldn’t move any farther.