Exit Plan (54 page)

It wasn’t long before Fazel was back in the water with Phillips. And after stringing a second towline, he put his back into it as well. “Sweet ride, Philly,” remarked the corpsman approvingly. “She certainly looks fast.”

“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.

~ * ~

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.”

~ * ~

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.”

“Sounds like you had all the fun, Boss,” complained Phillips. “My shoulders are killing me from tugging this beast.”

“Rank does sometimes have its privileges, Petty Officer Phillips,” teased Ramey. Picking up his rifle, he took a quick look through his nightscope to get a better feel for their location. The island breakwater was less than ten meters away. Surprised, he exclaimed, “Damn! I didn’t think we were that close. We’d better move away from those rocks. Philly, grab the other oar.”

“Hold on,” Fazel interrupted abruptly. “We’ve got company. A boat’s coming in.”

Ramey reached for his weapon again. “Where, Doc?”

“Off the port beam.”

It took him a few seconds to sweep through the bearings, but Ramey soon had the boat in his sights. “Damn it! It’s a patrol boat! And he’s coming right at us! He’s probably going to use the southeast channel. We need to get on the other side of this breakwater, but keep us as close as possible.”

“Closer than we are now?” asked Phillips, as he dug his oar into the water.

“Yes, move us in so that we are just off the rocks.”

“Is that a good idea, sir?” Fazel was uneasy with Ramey’s chosen course of action.

“Think about it, Harry. Were at least a good hundred meters from the center of the channel. It’s so dark out, they won’t be able to see us. But if they have radar, which is highly likely, then our butts will be hanging in the air unless we can hide this bucket in the ground clutter of the breakwater.”

“Got it,” exclaimed the corpsman as he seized the other oar, and together with Phillips, began rowing the boat closer to the breakwater.

While Ramey kept track of the incoming patrol boat, the two enlisted SEALs pulled the boat to within an oar’s length of the breakwater’s base.

“It’s got an enclosed cabin, a standard nav radar, two outboard engines, and what looks like a 7.62-millimeter machine gun on a pintle mount forward,” Ramey whispered. “This guy could definitely be trouble. Let’s hope he berths at the same pier as the others.”

As the patrol boat entered the channel, it passed behind the breakwater and the SEALs lost sight of it. Ramey hustled over to Phillips and grabbed his oar. “Philly, get this puppy hot-wired ASAP. That boat’s engine noises will mask our startup, then steer southwest at slow speed.”

“Hooyah, Boss,” barked Phillips.

In less than a minute, the outboard whined as the starter motor cranked the dead engine to life. Suddenly, it caught and a low grumbling noise broke the silence. Ramey and Fazel then pushed the boat away from the rocks, and after making sure they were clear, Phillips advanced the throttle slightly. Slowly, the boat pulled away from Bandar Lengeh.

While Fazel stored the oars, Ramey shuffled up to the console. “Okay, Philly, keep us close to the coast, but not too close. And keep our speed down, but not too slow.”

With a look of irritation, Phillips replied, “Can you be a little more specific, Goldilocks?”

“Just drive the damn boat, will you?” countered Ramey. “We need to get back and pick up the others as fast as we can, but without getting spotted either from a patrol on land or a boat at sea. Capiche?”

“Yes, sir. I capichee.”

Ramey looked at his watch and grimaced. It was already twenty after four, and it would take close to another half hour to get back to the breakwater at Bandar Shenas. They were going to be very late, but hopefully, not too late.

~ * ~

The four Pasdaran soldiers walked in a loose formation toward the breakwater, and even though they were still sixty or seventy meters away, Jerry found himself holding his breath. The three of them had crawled to the very edge of the broken scrub; the Persian Gulf was less than a hundred meters to their right. The breakwater lay directly in front of them, not even two hundred meters away, across a nice soft, but very open, sandy beach. So close, yet so far.

“Are you serious?” hissed Lapointe.