Direct Action

10

Blake Murdock was waiting when everyone arrived at the planning room. He was freshly shaved and showered, but based on the amount of expended coffee grounds in the wastebaskets, he’d been there all night.

“Hey, sir,” said Razor Roselli, “didn’t you know SEALs are supposed to get ten hours of sleep every night?” A little joke from BUD/s, and Razor’s way of apologizing for the previous day. During Hell Week SEAL trainees get a total of four hours of sleep in five days.

Murdock was in a dead serious mood. “Everybody take a seat. I’ve got something I want to run by you.” The SEALs began shooting little looks at each other.

A map of Lebanon was spread out on the table, along with a set of satellite photographs.

“We fly in to Lebanon on four MH-47E Chinooks,” said Murdock. “Two Shorlands armored cars, two armored Mercedes limos; one vehicle in each helo. We terrain-fly all the way, and over the central mountain range. The helos drop us near the road south of Baalbek, so as we drive in it looks like we’re coming from Damascus. We’re in Syrian livery, and we roar past every checkpoint like we’re king shit, all lit up.”

Murdock pointed to a computer-enhanced close-up of the warehouse in Baalbek. “The entrance to the warehouse is fenced, sandbagged, and guarded. So is the loading area. But this road runs right up against the long side of the warehouse. We come up this road, and the two armored cars make a hard right, ram through the chain-link, and keep on going right through the flimsy-assed wood walls of the warehouse. “The armored cars are filled with as much explosive as we can pack into them. From the specs I figure about seven hundred fifty pounds each, maybe more.”

George MacKenzie was beginning to smile.

“As soon as they go through the wall,” said Murdock, “the boys in the armored cars pop the vehicle smoke dischargers and pull fuses. They un-ass the cars and bolt through the holes in the walls and the fence. The limos provide covering fire and pop their own smoke.

“Everyone hops in the limos and we peel rubber. We blow out of town at high speed. If you look at the route I’ve marked, we have to go through two checkpoints, based on current intelligence. The limos still have Syrian flags, sirens blaring. Everyone’s going to think really hard before taking a shot at us. On the way out of town we’re throwing tire poppers and pursuit-deterrent munitions out the windows.

“We’re out of town, and the helos are already on the way in. Two MH-60K Blackhawks, one primary and one backup, because we’re not bringing the limos back with us. We’ll rig them to blow when we leave.

“If we spend more than thirty seconds on the target, from the time the armored cars go through the fence to the time the limos pull out, you’re all fired.”

Murdock stood there expectantly, but there was silence in the room.

Then Ed DeWitt whistled through his teeth. George MacKenzie’s smile grew even larger.

Kos Kosciuszko was nodding happily. All eyes turned to Razor Roselli.

Razor thought about it for a while. Then he said, “This could work. You know, Boss, this could most definitely work.”

Murdock was unmoved. “We’ve just started working,” he said grimly. “We’re going to sit here and diagram every move we make every second we’re in Lebanon. And then we’re going to war-game absolutely everything that could go wrong, from a flat tire to Razor’s hemorrhoids acting up on him. And we will figure out exactly what we are going to do in each situation. And only when we’ve got this plan airtight and polished like a diamond will we brief it back to the brass.”