Vince Flynn - Protect And Defend

One minute passed. Then two. Halberg remained motionless, other than to take an occasional sip of coffee. He noted the time, decided on how long he would wait, and then returned his attention to the tactical display. Before entering the Persian Gulf, the shipping channel turned almost due west forcing vessels to turn hard to port. Halberg had set a course for the inside edge of the channel. If the Yusef was trailing the first ship by 200 feet or more they stood a good chance of picking her up as she executed her turn and came out in front of the tanker that separated them.

Halberg glanced over at the sonar station just as Sullivan was looking over his shoulder back at him. This was not a good sign. Halberg stared intently at Sullivan who had moved the large, bulky headphone from his left ear.

“What’s up, Sully?”

“We picked up the Sabalan heading out of port.”

Halberg nodded; he’d already noted the ship on the broadband sonar. The Sabalan was a British-made Vosper Mark V-class frigate that had been commissioned in 1972. Back in 1988 an A-6 Intruder from the U.S.S. Enterprise dropped a 500-pound bomb on her in retaliation for an Iranian mine that had blown a fifteen-foot hole in the side of the U.S.S. Samuel B. Roberts. Instead of allowing the navy to finish her off, then-secretary of defense Frank Carlucci decided to spare the Sabalan. The ship was then towed back into port and repaired. By surviving the attack the ship had become an Iranian national treasure.

“Nothing unusual. Just cruising along at the standard fifteen knots. About five minutes ago, her Rolls-Royce turbines started howling. She’s been steadily picking up speed, and if she holds her current course it looks like she’s going to try and slide in between the two container ships.”

“You think she’s going to sit on top of the Yusef and help screen her when she clears the channel?”

“That’s what I thought until a few minutes ago. It’s hard to be sure, Skipper, with all that noise out there, but I think the Yusef has been blowing ballast. In fact I think her sail might be out of the water.”

Halberg could not hide his surprise. “You’re serious?”

“I know I’m a bit of a screwball, Skipper, but I would never joke about something like this.”

Halberg glanced around the CACC. Strilzuk and the navigator were watching them. The captain looked back down at Sullivan and said, “Keep me posted.” As he walked over to Strilzuk he wondered why in the hell the Yusef would be showing the top of her sail. Strilzuk glanced at the fire control panel and noted the assumed position of the other sub. In forty more seconds she would be clear of the container ship, and they could get a glimpse of her. Halberg was about to order the photonics mast raised when Sullivan called for him.

“Skipper, I’ve got her! She’s taking on ballast and increasing speed.”

Halberg quickly moved his attention back to the sonar monitor. He looked down at the updated location. She had been right where they thought she was. Halberg was in the midst of trying to figure out if he could pass the container ship on the inside turn when he noticed a commotion among the sonar operators.

The man to Sullivan’s left announced, “Sir, the Sabalan is pinging the Yusef. ”

Before Halberg could absorb the comment, Sullivan announced, “The Yusef is flooding tubes.”

“You’re sure?”

Sullivan didn’t bother to answer the question. “The Yusef is opening rear torpedo doors, sir.”

Strilzuk joined Halberg at the tactical. “Strange place to be running a drill.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Torpedo in the water!” Sullivan said loudly.

“Battle stations,” Halberg said without wasting a second. The order was repeated throughout the ship in a matter of seconds. Halberg was about to order the sub to flank speed when the bearing of the torpedo showed up on the tactical. The torpedo was clearly headed for the Iranian frigate Sabalan.

“Sully,” said the captain, “confirm that bearing.”

Sullivan reconfirmed the bearing of the torpedo. Strilzuk said, “Are we sure that’s the Yusef ?”

“It isn’t one of ours.”

“Twenty-one seconds to impact,” Sullivan announced.

Halberg looked at Strilzuk. “I want visual.”

Strilzuk ordered the photonics mast raised and joined Halberg in front of the color monitor. Sullivan began counting down from ten. As he reached two all five sonar men took off their headsets. Halberg increased the magnification on the camera and the Sabalan went from a spec to a clearly visible ship plowing through the water. As Sullivan’s countdown reached zero, Halberg watched a geyser erupt from under the Sabalan ’s bow. For a moment it looked like the entire ship had been lifted out of the water. As she settled down her back broke and the front third of the frigate started sinking.

“Send a flash message to CTF 54,” Halberg said. He paused to look at the sonar monitor. The Yusef was passing the container ship in front of her and sprinting toward the Persian Gulf. “Set course to follow the Yusef.”

Rapp walked through the short sandbag tunnel and into the trailer that housed the offices. He was looking at the last of the six photos he’d taken. The colors were growing more vivid with each step. The castration speech had gone over swimmingly. He’d delivered it to each of the three men, and they all took it differently. The first one, the one who Rapp had punched in the mouth, went into shutdown mode. Before the speech the man had been cussing up a storm and acting as defiant as a teenager. As Rapp described how he would dissect the man’s groin, he watched the fight drain out of him. He had either decided it was not wise to antagonize Rapp any further, or he was working to come up with a plan. More than likely a lie that would keep him firmly in the sexual category of his choice.

The second man, the policeman, was either a great actor or an absolute crazed lunatic. With each increasingly descriptive word about what Rapp planned to do, the man only laughed harder. He had a kind of crazy, bring-it-on attitude that Rapp had seen before. He was the type that either cracked right away or never did. There was very little in between. Rather than waste time, Rapp decided to find out if the guy was a pretender or a crazed, true believer.

The army medics had cut away the man’s pants so they could bandage the bullet wounds to his knee and butt. He was still on a stretcher, his lower body covered with a drab green army blanket over which he was bound by restraints. Rapp yanked the blanket out from under the straps, exposing the man’s genitals. He drew his knife and held it in front of the man’s face.

“What’s your name?” Rapp asked in an easy, even tone.

The man laughed hysterically and refused to answer. Rapp placed the tip of the knife against the man’s left testicle and repeated the question. The man’s laugh turned into a crazed cackle. Rapp forced the knife downward, twisted it and jerked it back up. A hunk of flesh flew from the tip of the knife and smacked against the cold, steel wall of the cell.

The man twisted back and forth on the gurney, struggling against his bonds and screaming at the top of his lungs. After ten seconds the man stopped his wailing, looked at Rapp through moist eyes, and continued to laugh maniacally.

Rapp looked down and simply said, “I’ll be back for the other one in five minutes.”

With that he left the cell and went to find the last prisoner. This was the one Rapp had knocked out rather than kill. Rapp guessed since he was younger than the other two by at least ten years he would be the easiest to break. After delivering the castration speech, Rapp stood, took a second photo, and told the man he’d give him a few minutes to think about life without a pecker and then left.