Chapter 11: 'A Call to Arms'


by Tory LaPrath



McVey grabbed onto what was known throughout the world as the "Oh, crap" bar. Basically, you grabbed on, said "Oh, crap," and waited for something to happen. In submarines these bars ran along the interiors, attached to the ceiling. Sweat poured down, past the smile still on his face. The noise was getting louder. Smitty was right, he thought. It does sound like a freight train.

The deck began to tilt at a steep angle. The Echo was passing overhead all right, at a distance of about 20 feet. Every man on the bridge was holding onto something, no one saying a word. They were pitched at over 45 degrees now, as the Echo's wake washed over them. After what seemed like an eternity, the deck started to right itself.

McVey exhaled finally. "Well," he said softly, "that was fun. Sonar, conn."

"Conn, sonar, aye."

"Smitty, do you have a reading on our friend?"

"Conn, aye. Master twenty-nine has regained her original course of three- five-eight, depth approximately two-zero-zero, making turns for 8 knots, now skipper."

Sonar, conn. Aye. Keep on her, Smitty." McVey turned to his XO. "Set depth for two-zero-zero, make turns for 8 knots. Let's see where this guy is going." His XO repeated his commands, and moments later, McVey could feel the deck angle downward slightly.

"Making turns for 8 knots," said his XO.

McVey nodded. "What do you think is going on, Dave?"

"I don't know, Mike," he replied.

Coronado Island, California

Lieutenant Marc Riley stood on the beach, watching the surf pound the shore endlessly. He glanced at his watch. He silently counted as the watch hit 5 a.m. He picked up his Starlightscope and turned it on.

He looked back up at the Pacific, peering through the night vision device. Night became green daylight through it. He squinted, then saw what he was looking for. Two small dots, moving quickly towards the shore. He smiled, then ran behind a dune. He quickly set up the bipod on the M-60 machine gun, loading in the first 7.62mm shell, and making sure the ammo belt was not twisted.

He attached the Starlight scope to the top of the M-60 and looked through again. The two dots could now be seen as two Zodiac inflatable rubber boats, with what appeared to be several human forms in them. The boats hit the shore, and five people rolled out of each boat, all carrying automatic rifles.

Riley squeezed the trigger of the M-60, the machine gun spitting out fire and lead. The people on the beach dug in, taking cover. Flashes popped from their rifles as they fired back. Riley kept the fire up. There was a thump next to him, followed by another. He looked down. Two round objects were next to him. Grenades. He took a deep breath, reached down, and pulled up a flare gun. He aimed it up and fired. The white flare rose into the early morning sky, illuminating the beach. He looked at his watch and pushed the stopwatch off. two minutes, ten seconds.

He stood and started to walk down the beach. The ten men were walking up towards him. "How'd we do, sir?" came a deep voice.

"Not bad, chief," Riley answered. He stood before the men, members of the elite Navy SEALS. Before he could say anything more, headlights from an approaching Jeep lit them up. "Wonder what this is about," Riley said aloud.

The Jeep stopped in front of them. "Officer on deck!" shouted Riley. Commodore Henry Tasker stepped out of the Jeep. Riley gave a crisp salute, which Tasker returned.

"Lieutenant, you and your men are to get your gear ready and be prepared to move out. More details will come as a need to know basis."

Riley looked quizically at Tasker.

"Marc, that's all I can tell you. Just get ready."

"Aye, aye, sir," Riley responded . He saluted, then the entire SEAL team turned and ran full speed back towards the barracks. Tasker watched them for a moment, a look of sadness on his face momentarily. Then, he climbed back into the Jeep and nodded at his driver. The Jeep moved off after Riley and his men.

Read Chapter 12