Mark Greaney - Full Force and Effect

Unless, of course, it was a modern warship.

Soon the captain learned who was after him because his radio did, in fact, work, and a Korean speaker announced, over and over, that the American naval ship USS Freedom planned on enforcing UN Resolution 1874, and the Emerald Endeavor should bring its engines to idle and prepare itself for boarding and inspection.

From then on the captain knew he would not make it to port in Haeju without a confrontation, but he did not acknowledge receipt of the message, and he did not slow.

—

The act of boarding and inspecting the noncompliant 2,300-ton cargo ship in transit fell to two groups of eight American men, all aged between twenty-three and forty. This was not a large number of men for such a daunting task, but this was Echo Platoon of SEAL Team 5, squads Alpha and Bravo, and these guys lived for this shit.

Thirty-seven-year-old Chief Daryl Ricks of Chico, California, was in charge of the eight-man Alpha squad. He and his seven special warfare operators rode in a rigged-hulled inflatable Zodiac boat that closed on the Emerald Endeavor from astern at thirty-eight knots.

Even though the RIB smashed plumes of spray as it bounced along on the black water and its motor roared, so far it had approached undetected because circling above the big cargo ship 350 yards off the RIB’s bow were a pair of big and loud MH-60S Seahawk helicopters. The helos had been at it for a half-hour now, thumping low over the deck of the Emerald Endeavor in figure eights and swooping passes, shining spotlights on the crew on the weather deck and through the windows of the bridge.

The MH-60S helicopters had two functions this morning. The first was to make a lot of noise and flash a lot of lights in order to cover for the approach of the RIB at the ship’s stern. And the other was to deposit the eight men of Bravo squad on the ship’s deck as soon as Chief Ricks called for them.

The practice of hitting a ship at sea was called an “underway boarding operation,” and it was about as good as it got for a Navy SEAL. Every one of these men had not only trained for events just like this, but had also dreamt of such events, prayed for them.

Their plan was straightforward. Alpha would use a grappling pole to board at the stern, and they would climb to the weather deck, then move in two four-man leapfrogging teams to the stairs of the superstructure. They would climb to the bridge while Bravo fast-roped from the helo to the bow, distracting those watching from the bridge deck and using a stack of containers as cover. This would put sixteen men on the ship, quickly and at multiple ingression points. “Bottom up” Alpha would go for the wheelhouse, and “top down” Bravo would go for the engine room. From here both teams could detain and isolate the crew from the cargo. When that was accomplished they would begin their own quick inspection of the cargo holds while Marines from the Freedom came over to help with the search.

If any hint of contraband was found a real inspection would take place after the ship had been towed to port in Inchon.

All sixteen Navy SEALs were armed with Colt M4A1 carbines outfitted with SOPMODs, special operations peculiar modification accessory kits, essentially allowing each operator to customize his weapons platform to his preference and mission.

Ricks’s carbine was gadget-rich; it wore a flashlight and a thermal optic and an infrared illuminator and a suppressor and a foregrip, certainly not all the bells and whistles available with the SOPMOD, but an impressive array nonetheless. Other guys in the squad had grenade launchers and lasers and variable scopes latched onto their weapons, but the rifles themselves all fired the same 5.56 round, and any operator could pick up and employ any one of his teammates’ guns in a firefight if it came down to it.

They wore night-vision goggles on their foreheads and black balaclava masks with the image of a white jawbone on their lower portion, fortifying the men with a particularly terrifying appearance.

At two hundred yards Ricks looked through the thermal scope of his rifle, scanning the aft decks. While he did so he spoke into his headset, yelling over the noise of the engine behind him. “Bravo actual, Alpha actual! Two mikes!”

In his headset he heard Special Warfare Operator (One) Marty “Bones” Hackworth reply from up in an MH-60S flying over the cargo ship, his own transmission delivered in a yell. “Roger that, Chief! We’re prepping ropes now!”

And then Ricks heard the man next to him in the boat, speaking with a noticeable Dutch accent. “They know we’re coming, Chief.”

Ricks knew Hendriks was right, and he knew this was a problem, but he just said, “Well, let’s hope they’re cool about it.”

Hendriks replied, “I still don’t see why we didn’t just board covertly, take advantage of total surprise. Hell, we’ve been telling them we’re on the way for the past four hours.”

Ricks did not take his eye out of his thermal scope. “Rules and shit, Hendriks. We had to give them an opportunity to let us board.”

“We’re giving them an opportunity to shoot back.”

Ricks wasn’t going to argue. Hendriks liked to bitch, and normally that was okay, because if rounds did fly, Chief Ricks knew the big Dutchman with the heart of a lion would do more than his share. Ricks let him mumble and grumble a little, because it didn’t affect his job, and sometimes it was pretty damn funny.

But not now. “Stow it, Hendriks.”

“Yes, Chief.”

A special warfare operator called Greaser sat in the rear next to the Navy ensign steering the RIB. Greaser was a breaching specialist, but his job right now was to deploy the telescopic carbon-fiber “hook on pole,” from which hung a Fibrelight II assault ladder, a double-rung polyester ladder reinforced with carbon-fiber poles that could take the weight of three operators laden for combat simultaneously.

Greaser extended the pole to six meters in length, just high enough to reach the railing at the stern of the Emerald Endeavor , and he lifted it, along with the ladder attached to it, and waited for the RIB to get into position.

The Zodiac closed the last fifty yards quickly, then came along on the starboard side at the rear of the cargo ship. Greaser attached the pole hook to the railing high above, then looked down at a small computer monitor at the pole’s base. It showed the view from the tiny fish-eye camera at the top of the hook, and through it he could see no one on the deck aft of the superstructure who might cause trouble for the men climbing the Fibrelight.

“Hook on and secure!”

“Go!” shouted Ricks, and one by one the eight men of Alpha squad began climbing the twenty feet up to the deck.

Parnell was first, then Elizondo and Jones. When they were up and over the railing they covered for the next three; Takenaka, Chief Ricks, and Hendriks. Finally Stovall and then Greaser brought up the rear.

Parnell fortified the pole hook with a carabineer locking system that kept it in place, the RIB below spun away and shot back into the darkness, and the eight men broke into their two fire teams and split up, heading toward the two staircases of the superstructure. Ricks led three men to the port side, and Takenaka led three more to the starboard stairs.

Eighty yards forward of their position, four fast ropes slapped onto the deck and black-clad operators with skull-face balaclavas began sliding down to the Emerald Endeavor .

“Chief, I’ve got movement.”

Ricks dropped to a knee on the metal landing between the main deck and the second deck, and he scanned forward, looking for any indication of the movement Greaser called out. Just fifty feet ahead of him, two men stood at the railing, looking forward at the bow. He could only see their backs at first, and he observed them as they watched the helicopter lift high into the air and peel away.