The Sniper and the Wolf

36

“Chief of the Watch, emergency blow!” said Captain Daniel Knight, ordering the boat to the surface. “All lookouts to the bridge.”

“Aye, sir!”

Knight crossed the con to the SEAL team leader, Senior Chief Dexter “Dex” Childress, who had just heard over the radio that one of his SEALs was dead and another wounded so badly that he couldn’t return to the Ohio via the SDV.

“You’ll be going ashore hot, Chief, so take whatever you think you’ll need.”

Childress, thirty-five, was of medium build, with a perpetual five o’clock shadow. “Aye, sir. Any idea who’s doing the shooting?”

“You know what I know, Chief. Let’s just hope it’s not the Italian navy, or we’ll all be standing tall before the man when this is over.”

“Roger that, Captain.”

Minutes later, Childress stood on the deck of the surfaced submarine with his NVGs on, watching as six other SEALs finished inflating a pair of black CRRCs — Combat Rubber Raiding Crafts.

“I guess so much for a low-impact exfil, eh, Senior Chief?”

Childress looked at his number two, Petty Officer Winslow. “I warned the head shed to send more men, Winny. What the fuck else could I do?” He felt sick to his stomach, never having lost a teammate before. “Fucking half measures.”

“We’ll get it sorted,” Winslow said, bumping him on the shoulder. “We’ll get it sorted.”

The boats were ready and in the water a minute later. The SEALs loaded up four men to a craft.

Knight stood in the conning tower, watching them through a pair of night vision binoculars as they sped away.

“What do you think, Captain?” asked the chief of the boat.

Knight glanced at him. “I think we’re probably about fifteen minutes away from an international incident, Chief — but we’ll see.”

“How long before we contact Fleet Command, sir?”

“Let’s get below and do that now. The admiral’s going to have a cat. All lookouts below, and prepare to submerge the boat to one-six-zero feet.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Childress sat in the team leader’s position on the forward port side of the boat, watching out over the gray-white surface of the water through infrared, the cold sea spray on his face. He and his men were headed into allied waters — armed to the teeth — without the Italian government’s permission.

Winslow spoke to him over the radio headset as they raced along the surface. “What are the rules of engagement, Senior?”

Childress glanced over at the other boat, seeing Winslow looking back at him. “Whatever’s necessary to make sure no more of our people get killed.” He took an instant to make sure of his feelings and then added: “I’ll accept full responsibility.”

“Roger that,” Winslow said. “I’ve got your back.”

Within ten minutes, they were in sight of the extraction point, and Childress spotted a man on the beach, kneeling over another man. As they drew closer, he realized the kneeling man was performing CPR — and that another, much cooler body lay not far off, with its legs still in the water. He signaled the coxswain to head directly for them, and the coxswain gave him a thumbs-up.

“Come on, you stupid American,” Dragunov growled. “Breathe!” He gave the dying SEAL a precordial thump to the sternum in an attempt to get his heart going again. He could hear the encroaching boat motors behind him as he lifted the SEAL’s chin and breathed into his mouth. He then resumed CPR: fifteen chest compressions for every two breaths.

The boats came ashore on either side of him, and two SEALs rushed to take over CPR as four others spread out in a defensive arc.

“Sir!” Childress said. “Are you Major Ivan Dragunov?”

“Yes,” Dragunov said, sitting back in the water to rest against his arms, his chest heaving. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him. I did my best.”

“I appreciate you—”

“He’s got a pulse!” Winslow said, his tone desperate. “Permission to haul ass, Senior Chief?”

“Go!”

Both the dead man and the dying SEAL were loaded immediately into the CRRC, and the secondary team raced back out to sea in the dark.

“Major, where is Chief Shannon?”

Dragunov got to his feet and pointed inland. “He went after Kovalenko to keep him from killing you as you came ashore. He could be dead, for all I know. But I think probably he is still alive because Kovalenko hasn’t shot at us. Give me a weapon, and I’ll go look for him.”

“Negative,” Childress said, scanning the shoreline but seeing no heat signatures. “We have to go, sir.”

“That’s your man out there,” Dragunov said. “You’re going to leave him?”

“I’m sorry. We don’t have a choice. You’d better get in the boat now, sir.”

To Dragunov’s own surprise, this angered him. “Shannon told me SEALs don’t leave their people behind.”

Childress felt like shit. “We don’t leave our people behind, sir, but this is different. We have to go.”

“You go!” Dragunov said, waving them off. “I’m going after Shannon. You won’t give me a weapon? Okay, give me your night vision!”

Childress signaled for the other three SEALs to surround the Russian officer. “Major, the second that boat slid ashore, you became my responsibility. My orders are to see you safely aboard the Ohio, and that’s exactly what I intend to do — with or without your cooperation, sir.”

Dragunov stood glaring, glancing over his shoulder at his competition and finding it formidable.

Childress could see him swaying on his feet. “Major, you’re dog-ass tired, sir. Why don’t you get in the boat? We’re running out of time here.”

“Chort!” Dragunov snarled, walking into the water and getting into the CRRC.

The SEALs shoved the boat into deeper water, and Childress climbed in beside Dragunov, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about Chief Shannon, Major. He’s survived a hell of a lot worse.”

“I know,” Dragunov grumbled as the motor was started. “I was watching on satellite when they tried to kill him in the Panjshir Valley.”

“Say again?” Childress said over the drone of the motor.

Dragunov shook his head, feeling very tired suddenly. “Nothing… nothing.”