Counterfire

31

Ed DeWitt stood at the rail of the Israeli patrol boat as it skimmed through the placid Mediterranean. They were about three miles off shore, and had checked out thirty-five fishing boats in the north half of the fleet. There were only six more ahead of them. So far they hadn’t found Zekharyah or his boat, Gimbra II.

DeWitt had brought five men from his squad, Fernandez, Canzoneri, Victor, Mahanani, and Jefferson. That was all the boat captain would let him bring on the thirty-two-foot patrol boat. The craft could do thirty knots if it had to, DeWitt figured.

They came up on another fisher. It was trolling, and the patrol boat stayed well to the port side, out of the way of the trolling lines. They moved in to fifty feet and a bullhorn sounded.

“Ahoy, just checking on your welfare. We heard one boat in the fleet had an injured man on board.”

“Not here,” a husky voice called from the ship. “Haven’t heard any distress calls on the radio.”

“Thanks, we’ll keep checking.”

The patrol boat geared away, and angled toward another fisherman a mile away and closer to shore. DeWitt stood at the rail with his binoculars, trying to read the name on the next fishing boat. Still too far away. He didn’t know what the SEALs would do on this trip. It could be a simple arrest, with the captain put in handcuffs and a crewman told to follow them back to shore.

The fisher came up quickly at what DeWitt figured was their twenty-five-knot speed. He checked again and then saw the name, Gimbra II.

“This is the one,” one of the crew called. DeWitt used the Motorola and told all the SEALs to stay out of sight. He dropped below the solid rail around the front of the boat and waited.

Two minutes later a bullhorn on the Coast Watch boat came on.

“Gimbra II, heave to. We have official business with you.”

“Heave to? No way. We’re fishing here.” The words came from another bullhorn on the fishing boat.

“This is official business. Heave to, now.”

“We had official business last week. You checked all our papers, permits, and weigh charts. What else is there?”

“Cut your throttle and we’ll tell you.”

The fishing boat didn’t respond. “Put a round across their bow,” Captain Dagan of the patrol boat said. A rifle cracked, and still there was no response from the smaller boat.

“Last warning, Zekharyah. Come about, or we’ll have to open fire on your boat.”

The response this time was a rifle shot from the fishing boat that slapped into the cabin and ripped out the rear side.

“Two rounds into the cabin,” Captain Dagan said.

DeWitt lifted up so his glasses cleared the rail, and watched the boat. He saw no one on board. At once two rifle rounds cracked, and the rounds jolted into the small boat’s cabin, breaking a side panel and tearing through thin wood. There was no response.

“Come about and heave to, or we’ll be forced to fire again,” the captain said on the bullhorn.

There was no reaction from the ship. It continued forward, but now in a slight left turn that would bring it in a long arc back toward shore, now about three miles away.

DeWitt adjusted the Draegr rebreather that he and all the SEALs wore as a matter of course, and checked the boat again with his binoculars. Nobody.

He watched the boat; the gentle turn to the left was precisely the same. He went into the cabin, saw where the shot had ripped through, but not hit anyone.

“Captain, shouldn’t the boat be trying some maneuvers to get away? Make some quick turns or something?”

The young Captain Dagan nodded grimly. “First time I ever had to shoot at a boat.”

“Captain, I’d bet my last month’s paycheck that there is no one on board the fishing boat.”

The sailor frowned. “Why?”

“Otherwise he’d be taking evasive action. Dumping out the goods or trying to get away.”

“So, what’s next?”

“Put another two rounds into the cabin. Maybe you can slow or stop the craft.”

The young captain agreed, and told his riflemen to hit the cabin twice again. They did, and nothing happened. The captain looked at DeWitt.

“I think I can stop the boat with a pair of twenty-millimeter rounds into the cabin.”

The Israeli Navy man frowned, then nodded.

“Fernandez, up front. Bring your twenty.”

DeWitt let Fernandez fire the first round. The twenty hit slightly to the right of center on the cabin, and blew apart the wooden frame but didn’t stop the craft.

DeWitt aimed dead center on the cabin and fired. The round exploded with a cracking roar, smashing the cabin and bringing an immediate slowing of the fishing boat. A minute later it was dead in the water.

“Boarding party,” the Navy captain ordered.

The patrol boat came alongside the fishing craft. Two sailors quickly tied the two together, and an Israeli with an Uzi submachine gun jumped on board the fisher and bolted forward to what was left of the cabin.

“Nobody here and no dead bodies,” he shouted.

“Go below.”

A moment later he was back. “No one and no dead bodies.”

“Where are they?” the captain asked.

“Overboard, just after they took that shot,” DeWitt said. “They knew they couldn’t outrun us or outshoot us. So they went for a swim.”

“Three miles?” the captain asked.

“Easy for a swimmer,” DeWitt said. “And they could have a sea sled on board. A man like Zekharyah would plan ahead. What could he do if you figured out the deal and nailed the supplier? He must have heard about the fire and the raid on the International Food distributor.”

“Where would they be now?” the captain asked.

“A sea sled can make about two knots per hour. My guess is they have scuba gear, which will leave a trail of bubbles. We could go in within a mile of shore and work a picket line back and forth looking for bubbles. Once there we can drop off our SEALs every twenty yards and watch for the fishermen. We don’t leave bubbles.”

The young Captain Dagan looked at DeWitt and grinned. “Let’s do it, go now.”

He reported the situation to the other patrol boat and to his superiors on shore, who gave him the go-ahead. The other patrol boat met them at the spot and their divers went into the water. A half hour before the swimmers could have made it a mile offshore, the picket line stretched for half a mile in a direct path from the first firing of the fishing boat’s rifle to the beach.

Just before he went into the water, DeWitt suggested to the young captain that he request the Army to send a company of men to patrol the beach, watching for any exhausted swimmers coming out of the water, especially any with a sea sled. That was backup in case they got by the divers.

“Done,” the captain said.

Murdock went underwater, made contact with his SEALS, and they began their prowl of their sector. It was only three hundred yards wide, but was in the center of the estimated line the swimmers would take.

The Coast Watch captain went on the fisherman’s network frequency, notified the boats in the area about the three missing men, and warned them that if they picked up the men out of the water, they must report it immediately. The men were fugitives and would be arrested on sight. Anyone harboring the men would be subjected to stiff fines and imprisonment.

Then the Coast Watch boat worked a line a mile long up and back, crawling along at three knots, watching for any trail of bubbles.

Underwater, the SEALs worked through the clear water. The sun was out bright and the water sparkled with the light. They stayed at ten feet, figuring any swimmers would be above them. On the second run up the three-hundred-yard course, they found a trail of bubbles. The problem was they came from below. Canzoneri followed them down, and when he came up he surfaced to report.

“Just a gush of bubbles out of a crack in some rocks down there,” he told DeWitt. “Mother Nature passing air. Wouldn’t be surprised if it had a bunch of foul chemicals in it.”

They dove again.

On the third swing along their assigned corridor, Canzoneri swam up to DeWitt and pointed to his ears, then out to sea. They both tried to listen, then DeWitt grinned. It was a motor. It could be the sled. It was too faint to be the patrol boat’s motor. They knew how it sounded. This one was faint, but coming their way.

Canzoneri swam back along the line and compressed the men so they were only ten yards apart, so they could just see each other in the water. They kept at fifteen feet now and waited. They all gave thumbs-up. Everyone could hear the motor, a thin whining sound that would come from an electric motor underwater.

Mahanani stared to sea, and looked upward in surprise as he saw it coming. The nose of the sled was down about ten feet. It had one man on the handles and two more men with scuba gear hanging on to the sled man’s ankles as they were towed along.

Mahanani waved to the man on each side of him and pointed upward, then waited until the three men were directly over him. He surged upward, jerked the first man’s hands off the sled, and grabbed his air hose and ripped it out of its connection. He swam for the second man, but Victor was there ripping away at his face mask, jerking it free, then holding the man underwater as he clawed for air.

Mahanani went back to his first man and jolted him upward, bringing him out of the water and keeping the arm locked around his throat.

The patrol boat had seen the splashes; it raced in from three hundred yards away. A second man popped up, Victor with a nearly unconscious fisherman. Both men were grabbed and pulled on board the patrol boat.

Jefferson brought up the last man; he was half drowned, and the sailors on the boat used CPR and brought him back.

“We want them alive so they will stand trial,” Captain Dagan said. He radioed the news that all three fishermen had been captured including Zekharyah. They went out to the drifting fishing boat, put a tow rope on it, and sailed for the harbor.

An hour later, the SEALs were back in their temporary quarters at the air base outside Tel Aviv. They had showered and were getting ready for chow when somebody yelled near the door.

Don Stroh walked in and waved. “Am I too late to go on any of the missions?” he asked. Jaybird threw his floppy hat at the CIA agent. The rest of the SEALs shouted unkind words at him.

He chuckled. “Well, maybe next time. Don’t suppose any of you would be interested, but this mission is over. I’ve had you released from the military here. There will be a business jet here at 0800 tomorrow to pick us all up and start our homeward journey.”

That brought a series of loud cheers.

“Always said that you were an okay guy,” Jefferson yelled.

“The Israeli President has awarded each of you two medals. They will be noted on your record, but of course you can’t wear them until you retire.”

“Thanks a lot, Stroh,” Fernandez yelled. “How about that ten-thousand-dollar bonus you were going to get us?”

Stroh looked surprised. “Hell, hasn’t that come through yet? I put the requisition in about two years ago. Probably still going through channels.”

Three more floppy hats sailed in his direction.

He waved at them and went to talk to DeWitt and Murdock.

He shook hands with both. “You guys did great on this strange one. The President appreciates it. The Israelis are more than grateful, and I’m pleased. To show you how happy I am, the steak dinners are on me at the officers’ club in about twenty minutes. We have a reservation.”