aircraft, wings-folded Tomcats nose to-nose with similarly configured
Hornets, the bulkier E2C Hawkeyes taking up the space just aft of the
island.
Helicopters with their rotors folded like broken mimosa leaves edged
the deck, with the exception of two ready helos positioned slightly
behind the rest of the pack.
Even with the hangar bay below crowded with aircraft, it was an
impressive display of weaponry and force. Almost a football field
away, a small group of men clad in tattered khaki shorts and faded
brown T-shirts stood in a line facing aft. Even from here, he could
make out the outlines of the different types of weapons they
carried45s, M16s, and AK-47s. Had they not been U.S. SEALs his men he
would have been worried.
Sikes trotted down the tarmac. The safety observer spotted him
immediately, and with a sharp motion terminated the exercise. He could
hear the men grumbling good-naturedly, a sound that faded away
immediately as they saw his face.
“What’s up. Skipper?” Senior Chief Petty Officer Manuel Huerta
asked.
He motioned toward the broad wake behind the ship with his free hand,
carefully keeping the AK-47 in his other hand pointed aft. “A no-fly
day figured we’d get in some weapons practice. Never can have too
much.”
Sikes drew to a halt. “You may have a chance sooner than you think.
Quick, huddle time. I need some fast thoughts.”
He motioned for the men to close around him.
Within the elite SEAL community, rank made little difference when it
came to planning an operation. Even the most junior man might have
some valuable insight to contribute. He looked around the circle of
faces like a quarterback, noting the keen interest on each one of
them.
A good team hell, maybe the best team. His team.
“Here’s what’s going down.” He briefly outlined the strategic
scenario, then settled into the business of discussing tactics. “As I
see it, there are two main objectives. First, we find our man. Get
him out if we can. Second, we disable the weapons systems.” He saw a
few frowns across faces. “I know it may not be reasonable,
particularly if they’ve got nuclear weapons on there. Still, I want to
plan for it. Failing that, we can at least bring back the admiral some
hard info on them. We’ve got the gear?”
“Sure, we’ve got everything we need. Radiac equipment, the new
version fits in the palm of your hand, it does.”
The man who’d spoken smiled. “I’ve been wanting an opportunity to
field-test them.”
“You’ve got it. Any thoughts on how to get the pilot back?”
“It will depend on where he’s being held,” said Felipe Garcia, a petty
officer second class and SEAL for three years.
“Garcia, you may be the whole key to this.” Sikes studied the man
carefully. He was shorter than most, a fact Sikes noted simply for its
reference value. In the SEALs, size made no difference. He’d had his
own ass kicked by men far smaller than Garcia. “You grew up in Havana,
didn’t you?”
Garcia nodded. “And I’ve been back there since then.
Five times in the last two years. To different parts of the island.”
Sikes nodded sharply. Given the diverse and dangerous nature of the
SEALs’ normal missions, he had a good idea of what Garcia might have
been doing in Cuba. Not that he’d ask he wouldn’t have to. Only
Garcia knew how highly classified his mission had been, and what
details he could release to his fellow SEALs. Even if Garcia couldn’t
give them a blow-by-blow account of his mission, he’d factor every
available detail into the planning of this one.
“Good. I expect you to vet every step of this.” Sikes looked around
the circle again. “How do we get in?
Helicopter and HALO would be my preference,” he said, referring to a
high-altitude low-opening parachute drop.
“But that’s not going to be practical, not with those radars ringing
the island.”
“Small boats might be better, but still not entirely safe,” Garcia said
thoughtfully. “The whole littoral area is patrolled regularly by Cuban
gunboats. We might be able to outrun them, but there’s a good chance
we would be detected.”