72

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Yes, I do understand,” said Ali. “But—it would not be an easy task. I would need much information—considerable information.”

“You will have it.”

“The Iranians?”

“The Iranians will not be cooperative. We will work to get you other resources,” said the Saudi. “And God will be with you. Come. It is almost dawn. Let us prepare to pray. It will be a glorious day.”

II

Xray Pop

Aboard the Abner Read

4 November 1997

0800

STORM SIPPED THE COLD COFFEE, ITS ACID BITTERNESS BITING

his lips. Admiral Johnson had been called away from the camera in the secure communications center aboard the Vinson. The pause gave Storm a chance to regroup and reconsider his approach. By the time Johnson’s face flashed back on the screen, Storm was more deferential.

“As you were saying, Captain?” said Johnson.

“We have reviewed the data, and the weapons were definitely aimed at us,” said Storm.

“You still disobeyed your orders of engagement. You were not within visual range and therefore could not positively identify the craft.”

“Admiral, I believe that United States warships are permitted—excuse me, directed—to take any and all prudent actions to protect themselves.”

“You were not supposed to pursue any warships into territorial waters,” said Johnson, who wasn’t about to let go of this. He continued over the same territory he had covered earlier, speaking of the delicacy of diplomatic negotiations and the political situation in the Middle East.

Storm took another sip of his coffee. No other commander would get this lecture; on the contrary, they would be commended for forceful and prudent action and the sinking of two pirate vessels, wherever their rusty tubs had gone down. Storm was only getting blasted because Tex Johnson hated his guts.

76

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Talk to the intelligence people. I have other things to do,”

said the admiral finally.

Storm leaned back in his seat, waiting for Commander Megan Gunther and her assistants to come on line. But instead the screen flashed with the chief of staff, Captain Patrick “Red” McGowan.

“You son of a bitch you—congratulations on sinking those bastards!” said Red.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Don’t give me that Captain bullshit, you dog. Tell me—did those idiots you were chasing blow themselves up or what?”

“Just about,” said Storm.

“So you sunk them with the gun, huh?”

“Didn’t seem worth a missile,” said Storm. “Of course, a tactical decision like that would be made by the ship’s captain.”

“Bullshit. I’m surprised you didn’t go down and load the damn gun yourself.”

“Computer does all the hard work.” Storm smiled. He might be a micromanager and a pain in the butt and all that—but he also knew that he took care of his people when the shit hit the fan. And they knew it too.

“They’re mighty pleased back at the Pentagon. Everybody’s lining up to buy you some champagne.”

“Everybody except your boss.”

“Ah, don’t worry about Tex. He’s just pissed that you’re getting most of the credit. He’ll come around. By tomorrow he’ll be reminding people Xray Pop was his idea.”

Red meant that as a joke—Tex had opposed the idea as premature, and Storm had only prevailed by calling in favors owed to him at the Pentagon. It didn’t hurt that he’d had several assignments under the present Chief of Staff, Admiral Balboa, when Balboa headed CentCom. Balboa was a bit too pansy-assed for Storm, but connections were connections.

SATAN’S TAIL

77

“I’m telling you, Tex is warming up to you,” added Red.

“He has the commendation all written out.”

“The only reason that might be true is if you wrote it.”

Red smiled. “So how many of the little suckers are left?”

“No idea,” said Storm. “There were at least three other boats last night, all of them patrol-boat-sized. And we’ve seen others. It’s a motley assortment.”

“One of your little Shark Boats couldn’t take care of them?”

“I have to tell you, Red, not having over-the-horizon systems is hurting us quite a bit. If we had those Orions we’d be doing much better. Listen—give me the Belleau Wood and I guarantee we’ll wipe these guys off the face of the earth.”

Red laughed, but Storm wasn’t joking. The BelleauWood—LHA-3—was an assault ship capable of carrying Harriers and AH-1W SuperCobras as well as nearly two thousand Marines. The ship looked like a down-sized aircraft carrier, which she essentially was. When Storm had originally drawn up the proposal for Xray Pop and the mission here, he had wanted Belleau Wood or one of her sister ships involved, intending to use the airpower to provide reconnaissance and air cover. He also would have used the Marines to strike the pirate bases.

“What happened to your Sea Sprite helicopters?” asked Red when he noticed Storm wasn’t laughing.

“Still back at Pearl. It’s a sore subject, Red. Those helos weren’t designed to operate from the Abner Read, let alone the Shark Boats. I need the UAVs.”

“Not going to happen.” Red shrugged; weapons development wasn’t his area. “Any other news? You find that lost Libyan submarine?”

“Give me a break, huh? The Libyans can’t even get out of port, for cryin’ out loud. They’re not going to sail around Africa.”

“National Security Council thinks it’s real. Rumor has it 78

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Phil Freeman is sending a detachment out of Dreamland to look for it.”

“Dreamland? Out here?”

“Strictly to find the submarine.”

“As long as they stay out of my way,” said Storm. He’d heard of Lieutenant Colonel Tecumseh “Dog” Bastian: He’d gotten his nickname because it was “God” spelled backward. Bastian was so full of himself he could have been in the Army, Storm thought. “That Yemen missile boat we sunk—does that mean we can go into Yemen waters now?”

“You heard that the Yemen government claims it was stolen, I assume.”

Storm snorted in derision. “Sounds like the story we told the night we stole the Army’s mule for the game.”

Red smiled. As students at Annapolis, Red, Storm, and four other midshipmen had conducted an elaborate operation to procure the Army mascot prior to the Army-Navy game. The operation had involved considerable daring, skul-duggery, and not a little deceit—but its success had guaranteed that the six would live forever in Academy lore. It also hadn’t hurt their careers.

“Untie my hands, Red. Let me go after these bastards where they live. They don’t respect the law. Why should we?

Let my ships go into territorial waters.”

“Talk to the politicians,” said Red. “Even Tex’ll back you on that.”

“Untie my hands. That’s all I ask.”

“That and an assault ship and half of the Navy’s Marines.”

“I’ll take two platoons of Marines. With or without the ship.”

“Where will you put them?”

“Marines? I’ll give ’em a rubber raft and tell them that’s all they get until they take over one of the patrol boats. I’ll have the whole damn pirate fleet by nightfall.”

SATAN’S TAIL

79

Near Karin, Somalia,

on the Gulf of Aden

4 November 1997

1731

FATIGUE STUNG ALI’S EYES AS HE WALKED UP THE GANGPLANK

to the large ship. He had not slept since the battle. It was not simply a matter of restlessness, or even the demands of his position. He feared that he would dream of his son the same way he had dreamed of his wife after her death. The dreams had been vivid and heart-wrenching; he could not face such an ordeal now.

The ship was nearly twice as long as his boats. Once part of the Russian navy, it had fallen into great disrepair after being delivered to Somalia as part of a deal the communists used to sway the corrupt government years before. The ship had fallen under the control of a warlord in Mogadishu, who had agreed to donate it to the Islamic cause in exchange for weapons and cash.