Operation Caribe

38

BATMAN WAS FACING an unusual problem for a combat pilot. He was low on fuel, but still had plenty of ammunition left. That didn’t happen very often.

Like the rest of Whiskey, his mission since taking off about ten minutes ago was to keep the SEALs on the open bridge pinned for as long as possible, this to prevent them from firing at Ramon and his security party, as well as the sailors coming out of the torpedo tube. It was also his job to finally let the SEALs know who they were dealing with, a bit of psy-ops that Whiskey was hoping might hurry the inevitable simply by screwing with 616’s collective heads.

But doing these things in the OH-6 in hurricane-force winds had been a real chore. One of the Senegals was with him, and the normally cool customer was holding on for dear life. Batman was, too. He was just grateful the plan didn’t call for him to fire directly at the SEALs. That would have required a sustained hover, tricky to do under these conditions, especially if the SEALs were firing back at him.

So, while they might have looked threatening to the 616 guys trapped atop the conning tower, it was all Batman could do to keep the helicopter in the air.

He’d made about a dozen passes on them, wounding them, scaring them, and per the plan, generally f*cking with their heads. But now he had only enough gas for a few more sweeps. He hoped all the sailors would be safely out of the sub before then—and that Ramon would be done by then, too. He really didn’t want to have to land this copter once its tanks were dry, then get into Bad Dawg Two, and use it to provide air cover until it, too, ran out of gas. But that was a definite possibility.

He turned sharply and went to fly over the sub’s bridge again. He was about 100 feet away and coming down fast when he saw one of the 616 guys suddenly jump up out of cover and into plain view.

It was hard to tell who in Whiskey fired first. Nolan and Harry opened up from their dugout. The Senegals protecting Ramon fired from down on the deck and Gunner even fired the 30mm cannon from down near the sub’s bow.

But Batman was closer—and more accurate.

At first he thought the SEAL was going to take a shot at Ramon down on the deck, so he didn’t even think about it. He squeezed off a burst from his twin 50s and watched the rounds tear into the renegade SEAL’s body.

It was only then that he realized the man had attached a white cloth to his rifle and had actually been waving it at the helicopter.

It was too late though. The SEAL was blown off the bridge and into the water below where he was quickly swept downstream.

Batman pulled the copter up and over the bridge a moment later, missing it by inches.

“God, was that a flag of surrender?” he asked his white-knuckled Senegal passenger. “Did I just screw up the plan?”

“Ne vous en faites pas,” the Senegal replied, once they had regained level flight. “Un de moins meurtrier pour noyer tard.”

Don’t worry about it, he said. Just one less murderer to drown later.…

* * *

BEAUX WAS SHOCKED that Ghost was so suddenly gone.

Like Elvis, he’d known the guy for years—they all had.

But that was the final straw. It was totally useless to be up on the bridge, trying to do battle with Whiskey, while God knows what was happening in the sub below. The 616 team had already lost two men, with absolutely nothing in return. SEAL training or not, this strategy would not come to any good end for them.

Sick, dizzy and deflated, Beaux had had enough. On his order, the last of his command collected their weapons and scampered back down the conning tower ladder, slamming the hatch behind them. Their defense of the boat from up top had ended in abject failure.

They wearily climbed down to the control deck and dropped their weapons, helmets and ammunition.

Then they dragged themselves into the CAAC, only to find that all the sailors they’d left at their posts, unattended, were now gone.

* * *

IT WAS TOTAL confusion in the torpedo room.

Twitch had led the last group of sailors out of the CAAC, this while the SEALs were still battling Whiskey up on the open bridge.

Luckily, he didn’t have to carry any of these guys. Most could walk, and those who couldn’t were helped by those who could. The remaining sailors arrived in the torpedo room just as the last of the sick bay sailors was going out.

It took another ten minutes but once all of the CAAC sailors had gone, only the corpsman and Twitch remained. The Wyoming would soon be empty of friendly forces—and anything could happen after that.

“You go first,” the corpsman told Twitch. “I’ll push you along if you need any help.”

But Twitch shook his head. He had one more thing he had to do.

“No, you go,” Twitch told the medic.

The corpsman was taken aback. “Aren’t you coming?” he asked Twitch.

Twitch said, “Not yet. I have to go get my leg. I need it.…”

Before the corpsman could say another word, Twitch disappeared back into the dark sub.