Larry Bond - Exit Plan

The ASDS was supposed to transmit one of a series of code words once Opal was aboard and they were headed back to Michigan. One meant a successful extraction; another meant they hadn’t been able to find Opal at the rendezvous point; another would warn that they had been discovered, and so on. Instead, the call came from Michigan , and late. The communications specialist had passed her the handset.

Captain Guthrie’s report was grim. After reporting the loss of the ASDS, Higgs’s death, and the team’s rendezvous with Opal, Michigan’s, skipper said, “They’re going to a safe layup position and we’ll send a CRRC in for them tomorrow night.” Guthrie made another request to bring Michigan inside Iranian territorial waters. The closer he got to the coast, the better the odds of recovery with a combat rubber raiding craft.

After giving her Higgs’s name and rank, Guthrie listed the others on the beach. When she heard Jerry’s name, she was surprised. What was Michigan’s executive officer doing on the beach? Guthrie explained, and she realized Jerry was the fifth man. Only four men were supposed to come ashore, and she cursed herself for missing that vital detail when she’d seen the UAV’s image.

She’d known Jerry for years, and had once sailed with him on a mission. He was a dear friend. Jerry had also served under her husband, Lowell, before he’d left the Navy to run for congress.

Distracted by the news, Patterson automatically thanked him for the report and said she’d pass on his request. Her mind filled with activity. Someone had died, and there were things to be done. When a mission starts going bad, it often gets worse, quickly. Kirkpatrick would have to be briefed, and after that, the president.

And she would call Lowell, and see what he knew about Guthrie. She wanted to tell him about Jerry, as well, but that would mean telling him about the mission.

And the waiting was not over yet.

3 April 2013

2000 Local Time/1700 Zulu

On the Iranian Coast near Bandar Kangan

Ramey ordered Lapointe to keep watch along the highway to the west. The petty officer split off from the group to take up a flanking position. The lieutenant sent Fazel to the east.

Jerry hurried with the others down to the car. It might have started out as a pale blue, but the sun had faded the upper surfaces to mottled white. There were dents in the grille and rear fenders. But it was transport, and his immediate thought was to get as far away from this place as possible.

The two Iranians, Yousef and his wife, were speaking softly in Farsi and looking at the car, then the SEALs, and back to the car. Finally, Shirin said, “You cannot all fit inside.”

Ramey didn’t hesitate. “Three guys go in the backseat, and two ride outside. We keep our weapons, but anything bulky goes in the trunk.” After a pause, he added, “With your concurrence, XO.”

Again the edge, but Jerry just said “Fine.” This was not the time or place. “Is that all right with you?” Jerry asked the Iranian couple.

“What else can we do?” Shirin replied. “If we split up, the Basij or VEVAK can still find us. And I do not wish them to find us.”

The team leader explained, “There’s an access road five and a half klicks west of here. It leads north to a high-voltage transmission tower. We should be able to go to ground there.”

Yousef asked a question in Farsi, and Shirin translated. “How far off the highway is the tower?”

“A little over two kilometers,” Ramey answered.

Yousef opened the trunk, then headed for the driver’s seat, calling to Shirin. Ramey spoke into his headset, recalling the flankers. “XO, you’re in the middle.” That made sense. Not only was Jerry one of the shortest, but he wasn’t a shooter. “Fazel and Lapointe are inside, Phillips and I will ride outside. There could be traffic down the highway at any time. Move.”

Moving quickly, Jerry put his canteen and knapsack in the trunk, but kept his pistol. He climbed into the backseat of the small sedan. The space was claustrophobic enough, but the car had rear-wheel drive. The hump in the floor for the drive shaft pushed his knees up almost to his chin.

Clunks and thuds behind him meant the other team members were stowing their gear. Fazel piled in first on the left, behind Yousef, and Jerry didn’t realize how far he’d moved to the right until Lapointe tried to get in from the other side. Jerry had to scrunch even closer to the medic, both pulling their elbows and shoulders in until it hurt. Ramey helped Lapointe position himself, then pushed the door shut. It jammed them together even more, but showed it was possible to fit three full-grown adults into the back of a Peykan.

They’d rolled down the windows on both rear doors before closing them. That was good, because there was no way Fazel or Lapointe could work them now. The two SEALs’ weapons lay across their laps, barrels pointed out, but Jerry wondered how well they’d be able to shoot from such a cramped position.

Ramey and Phillips hopped up, putting their feet in through the open window and holding onto the edge of the door along the roof. Jerry found the space in front of him filled with boots and legs. Serving as “leg space coordinator,” he pulled Ramey’s feet in slightly and Philly’s away so they didn’t collide.

Once they’d settled, the two men slung their rifles over their shoulders. “We’re ready,” Ramey announced. The loading had taken less than a minute.

Yousef put the car in gear and started forward at a creep. Inside, Jerry felt the car lurch and tilt. He wondered if the shock absorbers had any play left in them at all. They were certainly overloaded, but hopefully not dangerously so.

The car rocked and wobbled across the uneven ground onto the shoulder, then up onto the smoother pavement. Yousef accelerated quickly and smoothly.

“The dirt road will be on the left,” Ramey called to Fazel, who translated for Yousef. The Iranian nodded, his eyes ahead, accelerating. Shirin fiddled with her GPS device, but quickly announced, “The road is not on the map.” Jerry thought that was a good thing.

How long would it take to drive five-plus kilometers? They all watched the road and the black landscape, except for Jerry, who could see little but the car’s upholstery and combat boots. The enforced inactivity gave him time to think — and to remember: Higgs’s disfigured body on the deck, his own sense of failure as the ASDS went down, and the long, cold swim to an unfriendly beach.

All he had to do was pilot the SEALs to a point off the beach, wait, and then take them back to Michigan. There had been no way to predict the battery fire, or any way to save Higgs. But it was his boat and Higgs had been his responsibility.

Jerry was still trying to shake off the thought when Ramey called, “There!” and pointed ahead and to the left.

Yousef held his speed as long as possible, then braked smoothly and turned onto the gravel access road. Thankfully, the car quickly slowed to a fast walk, making the ride bumpy but not bone-shattering. Jerry heard Ramey say, “Lights,” with Fazel repeating it in Farsi, but Yousef was already turning off the headlights as he spoke. What little light they’d had was replaced with a single narrow beam from Ramey’s flashlight. Although the SEALs had night-vision gear, Yousef did not, and Ramey kept the beam centered on the road in front of them. Yousef slowed the car even more.

Still pinned in the backseat, seeing only blackness out the windows, Jerry could only wait as the car crept forward on the access road. He could tell when the gravel stopped after a short while, giving way to a rougher dirt track, either poorly maintained or never more than crudely graded.