Full Force and Effect

54

Presidential Directive or no, there was neither legal nor justifiable reason — as far as international law was concerned — for the boarding and inspection of the San Fernando Chieftain, an Indonesian-flagged container ship making fifteen knots in a roiling Yellow Sea.

True, it was on its way to the North Korean port of Nampo, southwest of Pyongyang. But the ship’s stated destination was North Korea, so it had already been inspected by international proliferation experts, just before setting sail at Manila Terminal six days earlier. The cargo was confirmed to match the manifests; it was food aid and car parts and machinery for the nation’s large coal-mining industry. The ship also broadcast its automatic identification system for its entire voyage, and there were absolutely no irregularities with its movements.

In short, the San Fernando Chieftain played by the rules, so the captain was furious now, standing in his wheelhouse, his binoculars to his eyes and fixed on a point three miles off his bow. Though it was late morning, a heavy squall darkened the skies and obscured his view slightly, but there was no mistaking the image in his optics. It was the massive American warship USS Freedom, and it had positioned itself in the path of the San Fernando Chieftain, blocking the way ahead.

The radio call left the captain even more confused and angry. The Americans demanded to board, the captain asked them on what grounds they thought they had the right to do so, and the Americans cited UN Resolution 1874.

The Indonesian captain responded with outrage. The paperwork was on file and his transit had been documented. But the Americans were not listening to his reason. They informed him an armed boarding party was on the way, and for the safety of the captain, his crew, and his cargo, he needed to come full stop and comply with all demands.

The captain immediately called his home office. At this point there was nothing he could do but complain, because even though he was in the right, he wasn’t about to fight the United States Navy.

At ten fifty-six Chief Daryl Ricks of Echo Platoon, SEAL Team 5, stood up in the Zodiac boat, spun his HK416 rifle over his back, and climbed up the pilot ladder that had been lowered by the crew of the San Fernando Chieftain.

Just like the interdiction his platoon had made that uncovered the rocket parts from France, his boarding today would be “bottom up,” meaning from the water. Also as in that raid, this time his counterpart, Bones Hackworth of Bravo team, would be hitting “top down,” from a helo already on station an eighth of a mile off the bow and closing.

This was not a typical sanctions enforcement. Normally he and his mates spot-checked cargo containers or cargo holds, with no specific intelligence on where to look or what, exactly, they were looking for. But for today’s interdiction he had received specific intelligence about what he was looking for and where he could find it. From his understanding, the intel came from the Defense Intelligence Agency, although it had been filtered through channels and was delivered to him via sat phone contact with the intelligence officer of Team 5 in Seoul.

The IO had directed him to open and inspect four forty-five-foot high-cube shipping containers; he even had the hold number and location on the boat for where to find them.

There had been no information, oddly, on just what it was they were supposed to find inside the containers, but Ricks figured it didn’t take much imagination to conclude he and his mates had hit this ship to grab another load of missile parts.

The last time there had been resistance, and Ricks knew he couldn’t count on things going any easier for this interdiction, but so far, they’d seen no evidence that the crew was trying to hide anything or slow the SEALs down from taking a look for themselves.

Weird. This seems too damn easy, he thought, as he climbed onto the deck. But he kept his rifle up high, scanning for threats.

But there was no resistance from the crew. Ricks and his men took the wheelhouse while Hackworth and his team went for the engine room. In ten minutes the entire fourteen-member crew was covered on the deck by four men, and the rest of the SEALs headed for cargo hold two.

The containers were there, just as the IO had said; the numbers on the doors matched the report.

Greaser and Hendriks stepped forward and broke the seal on the first container. They opened the doors, and Ricks looked in with the flashlight on the end of his rifle. He scanned the beam up and down, and then left and right.

Hendriks stood behind him, and the Dutch special warfare operator said exactly what Ricks was thinking. “Bad intel, Chief.”

There was no nuclear material inside the container. No missile parts, either. Instead, there were three huge round pieces of machinery lying on their sides that Ricks first thought were industrial-sized boilers.

There were invoices in pouches on the side of each massive unit. Ricks lowered his weapon and used the light on the side of his helmet now, and he saw the invoice said exactly what the equipment was.

“Froth flotation tanks.”

Greaser looked over some writing on the side of the unit. “It’s mineral refining equipment.”

The chief turned away without replying, headed to the next container to break the seal there.

Twenty minutes later Chief Ricks stood at the fantail of the ship with his sat phone to his ear. “Typhoon Actual to Typhoon Main.”

“Typhoon Main. Go ahead, Actual.”

“No joy on the cargo.”

“Understood no joy. What did you find?”

“It’s not WMD equipment.”

A pause. “Understood. What did you find, Actual?”

Ricks explained. He waited a long time for a response, and he was about to check to see if Main had copied his last transmission, but then they replied.

“Typhoon Actual. Listen up. These containers are going to be offloaded from the ship. You will stay on board until a transloader arrives from Seoul, ETA to follow. You will oversee the transloading, and then you will release the ship and the rest of the cargo.”

Ricks cocked his head. “Uh… Roger that. Just to clarify. I understand we are to confiscate this mining equipment, and hold the ship until we offload it?”

“Typhoon Actual, Typhoon Main. Roger.”

Ricks paused. “Can we do that?”

“Chief, as far as you are concerned, you have been told that material is WMD-related. Do you understand?”

Ricks scratched the narrow portion of his neck between his body armor and the bottom of his helmet. “Roger that, Typhoon Main. Actual out.”

Chief Ricks made his way back to his team in the cargo bay, where he found Greaser, Hendriks, and Hackworth. Echo Platoon was ready to hear the order to release the crew and disembark. Ricks said, “Listen up. If anybody asks, we just found ourselves some more WMD.”

Greaser turned to his chief. “Come again?”

“Nuke parts.”

Hendriks said, “They look more like washing machines.”

“Fuck, Hendriks. I don’t know. Maybe they use them to wash their ICBMs. I just know we are transloading this stuff to a ship heading over from South Korea.”

Hendriks said, “So… this is kind of like stealing, right? We’re pirates now?”

Ricks just shrugged. “I guess national command knows what it’s doing.”

Hendriks said, “Doesn’t sound to me like POTUS knows what the hell he’s doing. The North Koreans are assholes when we don’t do anything to them. Stealing their shit might just send them over the edge.”

“Hendriks,” Ricks said, “I can’t wait till you’re president. You’ve already got it all figured out.”

“I can’t be president, Chief. I was born in Holland.”

Ricks turned and headed for the main deck to let the rest of the platoon know the plan. He called back in a sarcastic tone, “Well, that sure is a pity, Hendriks.”