Larry Bond - Exit Plan

Jerry didn’t answer for a moment, but then said, “That’s why you and Philly and Harry are going by yourselves.”

“What?” Ramey’s question was echoed by the others. Even Shirin looked puzzled.

“How fast can you cover twelve kilometers? Could you do it in two or three hours?” asked Jerry.

“Hell, yes,” Fazel responded indignantly.

“Then you get to the harbor along the beach. Come in from the water, steal a boat, and bring it back down to this nice little harbor where Shirin and I will be waiting with Pointy.”

Jerry could see all of them, even Ramey, were thinking it over hard. How could they make it work? They started passing questions back and forth.

“How far do we have to swim?” Phillips asked.

“There’s beach almost up to the harbor breakwater. And there’s plenty of good cover in the cargo storage area,” answered Fazel, looking at the screen.

“Isn’t it all built up? This is a decent-sized town,” asked Phillips.

Fazel took over the laptop and zoomed in on the shoreline. “But it isn’t built up to the water’s edge. The beach is fifty to a hundred meters wide in most places. It’ll be dark, with no moon, and it’ll be the small hours of the morning. If we’re spotted, we go in the water. He shifted to a different section of the coast. “But here’s a problem. Look at Gasheh. This little village goes almost down to the water’s edge.”

“Then we go in the water there, if we have to, and get out when we’re past it. We can enter the harbor area here, at the western edge. There isn’t a fence along the southern perimeter near the water,” Ramey answered, pointing at the screen.

Phillips smiled. “Now it’s starting to feel like a real SEAL mission. Run on the beach, get wet, run on the beach some more, get wet again. Ah, the memories.”

“If you’re a good boy, Philly, we’ll let you roll in the sand.” Fazel grinned, happy to see his team’s attitude returning.

“How long will this take?” Jerry asked. Harry zoomed out the view, so that the entire route was visible, from their oasis to the harbor. He traced one route with his finger, then a slightly different one, and then looked at Ramey. “Boss?”

“Two hours to get there. We’re in the water, sneaking in, then back out with a boat. That will take at least an hour, maybe a little more. Motor back at ten to fifteen knots. That will take half an hour. Call it four, maybe four and half hours.”

Jerry nodded. “An hour and a half is a reasonable estimate for me to get Pointy to the other harbor. But he’s going to need something to support that leg.”

“I’ll see to that, XO,” volunteered Fazel.

That brought up another set of questions. Where the three would wait, what to do if they were seen. What to do if the others were delayed, or failed to return.

“I still do not get good vibes about splitting up,” protested Ramey.

Fazel shrugged and nodded reluctant agreement. “There is a risk, XO.”

“It’s riskier to stay.” Jerry insisted. “We need a boat, now!”

“Yes, sir,” Ramey answered. “We’ll make that happen.”

“Last question,” Jerry said. “What about the pursuit?”

“I have a few things I can throw together. If we can keep the Iranians distracted long enough, maybe we can sneak away,” Ramey answered.

“Okay then. Let’s call Michigan and inform them of the latest plan. By now I’m sure Captain Guthrie has a useful suggestion or three to pass on. We can use all the help we can get,” concluded Jerry.

8 April 2013

0000 Local Time/2100 Zulu on 7 April

The Oasis, East of Mollu

Ramey inspected Phillips’s camouflaged face, looking closely at the hairline and neck. The lieutenant frowned and motioned Fazel for the face paint compact. Dipping a finger in the dark hunter green, Ramey touched up a bare spot on the top of Phillips’s forehead. He then checked the diagonal striping on the face and arms. A grunt signified his satisfaction.

Jerry had watched Ramey earlier as he applied his own face paint; it reminded him of an Indian brave putting on war paint, but the analogy ended there. Whereas war paint was more ceremonial, designed to enhance one’s appearance and bring good fortune in combat, modern facial camouflage is all about hiding the face’s features to the maximum extent possible. A base covering removed the inherent shine of the skin, while darker colored diagonal lines broke up the recognizable pattern of the eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. In the dark, the three men would be effectively faceless.

The platoon leader had instructed his men to go light; only mission-essential gear was to be carried. They had a long run and swim ahead of them, and Ramey didn’t want them weighed down with unnecessary equipment. Each man had his SCAR, sidearm, ammunition, ka-bar, radio, and a small pack with distributed common gear such as water, rope, first aid kits, and explosives. Lapointe’s pack was also emptied and then restuffed with the bare minimum, the PRC-117 radio, both laptops, ammunition, rope, and four bottles of water. The UAV remote control terminal was set alongside. Everything else was buried in the ragged wild shrubs that made up much of the grove.

While the other SEALs made their final checks, Shirin sat on a small dune next to Fazel. She was visibly unhappy, and told Harry in Farsi exactly what she thought. “This is a bad plan. How can we help each other if we separate?”

He answered gently, “There is a risk, but we discussed all the alternatives earlier; this gives us our best chance of getting outta here.”

Almost crying, she said, “ I’ve had enough of death. I don’t want to see anyone else killed.”

Turning and kneeling to face her, he softly said, “Every man here is a volunteer who knew what he had signed up for, even the XO. Besides,” he added with a grin, “we don’t plan to get killed.”

Resigned, she scrunched herself up into a fetal position and pulled the thermal blanket around herself, her small body shaking with cold and sobbing.

As Harry reached out to adjust a corner of the blanket, she shook off his hand. “Just go,” she said, weeping, “but please come back.”

Before leaving, Fazel checked in on his patient. He had rendered Lapointe’s damaged right leg immobile with a sturdy splint. It was the best he could do given the available materials, and he wanted to make sure it and the bandages were secure.

“Okay, peg leg, this should get you down to the beach. Just be careful how you transfer your weight and you should be good. But I do have to warn you, it’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Well, at least you’re an honest pain technician,” replied Lapointe sarcastically. “Much more precise than the usual ‘you may feel some discomfort’ crap.”

Fazel chuckled at the brave face Lapointe was putting on; he knew how badly the LPO wanted to go on this mission. “I’ll be sure to add an extra honesty fee to my bill,” he teased.

“In that case, belay my last,” said Lapointe jokingly. Then he said more seriously, as he looked at Phillips, “Keep an eye on him, will you? He’s trained, but he’s also inexperienced.”

“You worry too much, mother hen. He’ll do fine. See ya later, dude.”

“Later, Doc.”

Ramey completed his checklist and then signaled Fazel and Phillips it was time to go. Picking up his pack and weapon, he came over to Jerry and Lapointe.

“Time check, Pointy. I have five minutes after midnight in five, four, three, two, one. Mark.”

“Check, Boss,” Lapointe replied firmly. He was still weak from his wound, but he didn’t have to sound that way.