Larry Bond - Exit Plan

“And I made sure she has plenty of gas, Doc,” huffed Phillips. Fazel could only smile and shake his head. Together, the two SEALs manhandled the speedboat toward the mouth of the harbor.

On the other side of the port, Ramey had just finished attaching two of his improvised explosive devices to the undersides of the IRGC patrol boats. The first boat was one of the notorious Swedish Boghammars. Very fast and armed with two heavy machine guns, this bad boy definitely had to be taken out. He tied the Mark 67 hand grenade, wrapped with half a pound of C4 plastic explosive, to the lowest step of the swim ladder using duct tape and rope. He made sure the explosive package was underwater to improve its effectiveness. He then looped line through the eye of the pin, straightened out the pin’s flared end to ensure a smooth extraction, and secured the line to one of the pier’s pylons. When the boat moved away from its mooring, the pin would be pulled from the grenade, followed four or five seconds thereafter by a loud BANG\

The second IED was attached forward, taped on the outboard side of the hull, just below the sharp chine near the waterline. And like the first grenade, he looped a line through the pin, straightened the end, and tied it off on a pylon. The booby trap would almost certainly be spotted in bright daylight, but by then it wouldn’t matter. All Ramey cared about was that these boats didn’t leave port for the next few hours.

The second patrol boat was a smaller Watercraft 800. Ramey didn’t see any armament, but he knew it was fast and fixed two of his IEDs to it as well. He still had some time, so he took the two remaining bombs and rigged them to blow up under the pier’s wooden deck. He took extra care to ensure one was directly under a fuel tank that was bolted to the deck — an insurance policy that hopefully would keep the Pasdaran busy while they made good their escape. With all his special packages in place, Ramey ducked underwater and swam away. When he surfaced he was over thirty meters away from the breakwater. He could see the guard’s flashlight, and while it was unlikely he would be seen, Ramey wasn’t taking any chances and went back under to put more distance between him and the Pasdaran sentry. When he came up the second time, in the middle of the port proper, he spotted the channel marker light and headed for the exfiltration point.

8 April 2013

0345 Local Time/0045 Zulu

Near the Breakwater at Bandar Shenas

Jerry struggled to keep Lapointe upright as they worked their way across the uneven, sandy terrain. They’d left the grove over an hour ago, but even though he was giving it his all, the wounded petty officer could only go so fast. While the crutch and splint enabled Lapointe to move, each step was agonizing. Jerry knew he was in considerable pain as the sweat was pouring off his shaking body, and yet all Jerry heard was his sharp exhale each time the splint hit the ground. Lapointe had insisted they take this route even though it would be tougher for him to navigate. It was not only the shortest path to the breakwater, but it kept them out of range of any passing patrol. It also would provide good cover for them to hide, just in case a Pasdaran patrol deviated from its observed route. The problem was they still had about half a kilometer to go till they reached the breakwater, and their pace was slowing.

It had been a difficult departure. While Lapointe got accustomed to the feel of his walking aids, Jerry went back to Yousef’s grave to get Shirin. He found her there, kneeling, her hand on the freshly turned soil, speaking softly in Farsi. He knelt down next to her, cleared his throat and said, “Shirin, it’s time to go.”

“I know,” she choked. “I was just saying my last good-bye. I won’t be able to… to come back.. ever. It’s so hard, Mr. Jerry.” She began weeping again.

“He wanted you safe, Shirin. He’d be mad if you didn’t leave.” It was a weak argument, but it was the best he had to offer.

“Yes, I know,” she replied quietly. “He often got upset with my stubbornness.” Jerry watched as she bent down and kissed the ground where Yousef’s head lay. He heard her whisper something before straightening up.

“XO,” Lapointe’s hushed voice came from the darkness, “we really need to get going now.”

“We’re coming, Pointy,” Jerry replied. Reaching down, he helped Shirin to her feet and steadied her during those first few parting steps. They emerged from the shrubs to find Lapointe standing, his rifle over his shoulder. Jerry grabbed his weapon, the UAV remote terminal, and his backpack and started putting them on.

“Give me something to carry, Mr. Jerry,” said Shirin. “You need to help Mr. Pointy walk, let me do something, please .”

Jerry was going to argue, but Lapointe was quicker. He removed his backpack and handed it to her. “Would you please carry this for me, Doctor? I think it would be safer for the XO if my weapon didn’t swing around on my pack and bounce by his head every time I took a step.”

Shirin took Lapointe’s heavy pack and slung it over her shoulders; she tottered a little initially then defiantly stood upright, ready to go. Sighing, Jerry slung his rifle upside down across his back and propped Lapointe up on his left side. “Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, XO.”

“Forward, march.”

They had paused for a short rest, Lapointe needed a break from the constant pounding on his leg and Jerry needed to use the night-vision goggles to scout ahead of them. Shirin sat down on a rock and carefully took the weight of the pack off her shoulders. She was breathing hard, but didn’t complain.

“How’s it look, XO?” grunted Lapointe.

“I think there’s another Pasdaran patrol approaching from the other side of the breakwater. We couldn’t see them before because of that dune we just crossed back there.”

“I kind of expected that, sir. Help me up.” Jerry helped the LPO stand; his grip trembled with pain as soon as he put weight on the damaged leg. Once up and steadied, Lapointe took a look himself.

“Yup, that’s a different group. I count four soldiers, and they’re heading toward the breakwater.” There was a note of frustration in his voice.

“How much further do we have to go, Pointy?”

“I’d estimate three, maybe four hundred meters, XO.”

“Can we beat them to the breakwater?” Jerry asked.

“Nope, not a good idea,” answered Lapointe.

“Okay, what’s next?”

“We keep moving and go to ground seventy-five meters from that first building. Then we wait for them to move on.”

“We’ll be late,” warned Jerry.

“Sir, we’re already going to be late.”

8 April 2013

0400 Local Time/0100 Zulu

Outer Breakwater at Bandar Lengeh

A ghostly gray shape slowly materialized out of the darkness. Relieved, Ramey swam with renewed vigor toward the boat. It hadn’t been a long swim by SEAL standards, but he’d been in the water for an hour and half and he was cold and tired. Phillips grabbed his platoon leader’s arm and helped him over the gunwale; Ramey tumbled onto the deck. For a moment he simply laid there, catching his breath, then pulled himself up on to the console chair.

“Report,” he commanded wearily.

“No problems getting the boat, Boss,” replied Fazel. “One guard had to be taken out, but no one saw us leave.”

Ramey nodded his approval and praised his men. “Well done, Gents! I’ve rigged the two patrol boats to blow should they pull away from the pier. And I left an extra special surprise, just in case.”