The Coward's Way of War (46 page)

***

Unknown to the Saudis, who had never taken the threat of enemy submarines seriously, they were being shadowed.  USS
Dallas
, a
Los Angeles
-class attack submarine, had been on station since before the crisis had begun, watching for possible trouble from Iran and other rogue states.  Now, with formal permission to take the boat to war against another navy for the first time in her long history, Captain McBain didn’t hesitate.

“Captain, I have a lock on enemy vessels,” the sonar operator said, once the preliminaries had been completed.  McBain couldn’t hide his pleasure.  The only nuclear-powered attack submarine to sink an enemy vessel had been a British boat, back in the Falklands.  He would be the first American skipper to repeat the feat.  “I think its most of their fleet.”

“Begin firing procedures,” McBain ordered, tartly.  The display updated, showing the Saudi vessels through sonar – and through a UAV hovering high over the combat zone.  If the Saudis had realised how naked they were, they would never have come out to sea.  “Match sonar bearings and shoot; tube one, reload with Harpoon.”

The vessel shook slightly as the first weapon was launched.  “Tube one Harpoon away,” the weapons officer said.  “Estimated flight time; four minutes.”

“Weapon ignition,” Sonar reported, seconds later.

Over the next two minutes,
Dallas
fired six harpoons.  One was intercepted by a SAAM from one of their targets, the rest found their marks in a series of massive explosions that could be heard through the hull of the boat.  Cheers echoed through the vessel, before the chief ordered silence.  The Saudis might realise that the missiles hadn’t been fired from an aircraft.  As the seconds ticked away, it became apparent that all of their targets had vanished.

“Come to periscope depth,” McBain ordered.  He took the scope personally and watched as it panned around, hunting for the remains of the enemy vessels.  The Saudis had not fared very well.  The larger vessels were burning and sinking as he watched.  It also looked like one of the missiles had hit something carrying a large amount of high explosives, and the resultant explosion had pretty much wiped out the smaller vessels. 

For the first time in almost seventy years, he told himself, an American submarine would be steaming into harbour with a broom tied to a raised mast, the sign of a clean sweep.

***

Following signals uploaded from ground-based recon teams, American and all
ied ships within the Gulf turned and opened fire, unleashing missiles and gunfire towards the Saudi positions along the coastline.  The results were savage, undaunted by the pitiful attempts to break the incoming holocaust or return fire.  As Commander Ringo, and his counterparts watched the live feed, the last defence against the USN was destroyed in a matter of seconds.  What looked like a huge meteorite storm struck the beaches where the massed missiles waited to be launched.  When it stopped, there was nothing left, but burning launch vehicles, rockets, and the dead.

There was nothing now standing between the USN and the Saudi coastline.

The war at sea was over.

***

The radio message had been clear and to the point.  At a certain point, they were to e
nsure that they – the teams – were to be at least two thousand yards away from any identified target consisting of greater than five individuals.  The orders seemed uncomfortably paranoid, but Joe and his men had obeyed, withdrawing back to their prepared positions.  No sensible soldier would have questioned the order.

Joe blinked in surprise as the first missile roared through the air and struck the Saudi positions.  Secondary explosions billowed up, destroying most of the engineering teams and their hard work.  The bombardment seemed endless, with naval gunfire adding to the torment as other missiles streaked overhead and headed west, towards Riyadh. 

When the bombardment was over the SEALS looked at each other in shock.  Everyone’s ears were numb, but the desert around them was totally silent, except for the far off sounds of burning and explosions as ammunition detonated.

“Edwards,” Joe asked when he could speak again, “did the cameras get that?”

“Yep,” Edwards said. 

“Uplink it to Odin, with a report that damage appears to be total,” Joe ordered.  “Tell them that they kicked major ass out here.”

***

“
Men of the 31st MEU, sailors of Task Force Hammer,” the commander said, his words echoing throughout the task group.  “Over the past two hours, our destroyers, our submarines, and our aircraft have destroyed the enemy’s ability to challenge us on the sea, and on the beach.  This morning before first light, we will be conducting a combined air and sea assault on the beaches north of Al Jubayl.  Resistance is expected to be light, and we have assets on the ground, in the form of Navy SEALS.

“After we establish a beachhead, the maritime pre-positioning ships will begin bringing in Army units to advance to the south.  Our objective is to take and hold the Saudi coastline before we advance up to link hands with troops from Kuwait and advance against Riyadh.

“With the use of a weapon of mass destruction against our country, a blow directed against our families and friends, our wives and our children, the Rules of Engagement have been changed.  We will give civilians and obviously inferior military units one chance to surrender.  You will require surrendering personnel to strip to underwear before closing to twenty yards.  Any surrendering personnel who are unwilling to strip will be assumed to be suicide bombers, and shot.  Military forces of unknown strength or numerically superior forces will be met by overwhelming firepower.”

He hesitated.  “Any member of the defending forces whom you see commit an atrocity against the population, either through using them as human shields or anything else, is to be shot at once.”  He chuckled darkly.  “Do bear in mind that your helmets will record what you see, so we’re trusting in your discipline.  Enemy military personnel will be warned to behave themselves.  We will hold them to account for their actions.

“Look to your men, to your brothers in arms, and remember; we come to avenge those killed in America.  If they want to surrender, accept it; if not, give them hell!”

Major Jerry Prost coughed as the General put down the mike.  “General, are you sure it was a good idea to say that to the troops?”

Major-General Lee Munemori snorted.  “Major, every man out there has family who has been affected by Henderson’s Disease or knows someone else who has.  The men fight better when they know what the hell they’re doing, and why they’re doing it.” 

“But General, they know why they’re fighting,” Prost objected.  “Because it’s what they’re paid to do.  Your words could encourage an atrocity.”

Munemori sighed.  “You didn’t come up through combat arms, did you?”

“No sir,” Prost said proudly.  “Intelligence.”

Munemori grinned.  It was the kind of grin that swam towards swimmers with a fin on top.  “Well congratulations, Major,” he said.  “You just got an opportunity for a learning experience.” 

Prost gulped.  “What does the General have in mind?”

“I need someone on the ground,” Munemori said.  “You’re it; you go in with the second wave.”

“Yes, sir,” Prost said, “but why me?  I’m not infantry.”

“Every man a rifleman first,” Munemori reminded him lightly.  His voice hardened.  “Because it’s what you’re paid to do.  And because you have forgotten what the fuck it is we do for a living.  Get your gear ready, report to Colonel Blue as an observer.”  He paused.  “Oh and Major, I hope you remember how to use a rifle, you may need it.”

***

The air and sea around the amphibious assault force swarmed with chaos; organised chaos, but chaos just the
same.  Harriers were taking off and orbiting, as were Ospreys and other aircraft.  As soon as they took off, they would nuzzle up to a tanker and top off.  This was especially important to the Harriers as they had to burn a lot more fuel getting off the deck of the
Essex
.  In addition the deck of the
Essex
was now filling up with Chinook heavy lifters for the second wave of airmobile assault.  The sea was filled with LCACs and Landing Craft forming up for the rush into the beach.  All of this was done in the dark, with no lights to speak of, including navigation lights.  The plan called for everything to hit simultaneously, so that the defenders had no idea which way to turn.  Of course, plans don’t usually survive contact with the enemy.

Somehow no one hit anyone else, no one crunched anything, and soon the LCACs headed for the beach with gunships overhead.  A few minutes later the troop ship Ospreys headed for their LZs with more gunships escorting them.

***

Joe could hear the LCACs before he saw them.
They were fast, but noisy, noisy enough to worry him.  He would have hated to travel in such a vulnerable – and obvious – assault vehicle.

He had his men spread across five hundred yards of beach, watching his back.  He was going to be bringing them in himself.  Further down the beach other five man teams were doing similar tasks.  Inland were more teams marking landing zones.  The whole landing area would be thirty miles across, with thousands of Marines landing and taking enemy positions. 

The bombardment had left very little intact in the area.  There were chunks of wrecked steel and scraps of tank traps all over the beach but nothing remained intact enough to damage an LCAC.  The Saudi troops seemed stunned, although some officers were clearly trying to organise resistance, encouraged by the clerics Joe could see shadowing them.  Two tank units had shown up, and dug in, covering themselves with sand and tarps.  Joe had informed his seniors that they were there, but he was fairly sure that the Marines wouldn’t have needed the warning.  The Saudis had not done a good job of concealing them from outside observation.

He had no sooner thought that when the second bombardment began, spearheading the assault.  The bombardment lasted for fifteen minutes, while the LCACS closed the distance.  One of his team was yelling something about tanks in the open, but he couldn’t understand what was said, not over the noise of the incoming weapons.  The SEAL signalled frantically, just before the bombardment patterns shifted; aircraft were roaring out over the beach, opening fire with rockets and machine guns.  The bombardment had smoked the enemy tanks into the open and the aircraft had wiped them out. 

By now, the LCAC he was guiding in was close enough to signal, so he flashed it with an IR beam.  They responded and he started calling them in by IR light.  Joe relaxed slightly, just before the aircraft roared overhead, far too close for comfort.  Seconds later, he felt a terrible hammer blow and then nothing.  The F/A 18’s moving overhead in a ground support role had mistaken his team for Saudi infantry and strafed them.  There were no survivors.

***

Brent watched the data unfold in almost real time as the Allied forces invaded the kingdom of Saudi Arabia. The 31st ME
U had established a firm beachhead north of Al Jubayl, covering thirty miles by ten miles.  Resistance had been almost non-existent, and casualties were very light.  They expected to take the docks at Al Jubayl within hours, which would allow the Army to start bringing in the real heavy gear.  The 31
st
could then pivot northwest.  The 11
th
had taken a beachhead north of Duba, and were advancing in good order towards Tabuk.  They had taken a slightly heavier set of casualties, the hills overlooking their beach had been pocketed with artillery, and not all of it had been destroyed.  One LCAC and three LCMs had been destroyed on the way in, or at the beach.

Still, the butcher’s bill was pretty light, unless you’re the family of one of the casualties
, he reflected.  

In addition, SF units had captured the oil fields mostly intact.  Casualties had been heavier there, due as much as anything to the fact that they couldn’t shell the defenders out of something you wanted to capture intact.  The Saudis had put up a savage fight, but the odds had been stacked against them from the first.  The defenders had eventually given up and surrendered. 

***

“
I'm getting too old for this,” Gunnery Sergeant Dean Burtis muttered to himself.  A LCAC was almost as noisy as standing next to a passenger jet at full throttle and no one would hear his words.  “I really am too old for this.”