Attack of the Seawolf

Ensign Ted “Buffalo” Sauer, the leader of the first platoon, was worried as he glanced at the forward deck of the Tampa. The first problem was the slick sonar dome of the ship at the bow — its surface was incredibly slippery, the combination of smooth plastic, slimy buildup from the ship’s days in port and the oily scum from the Chinese bay on top of the slime. The dome would be tough to climb, the only available path right up the centerline. But that would cause their insertion aboard the Tampa to be a single-file climb, leaving them naked. That led to the second problem, the guards on the deck. One guard had been smoking a cigarette, leaning on the forward leading-edge of the sail. At least one other guard, perhaps two, was visible on top of the sail in the bridge cockpit, and they had an excellent firing position for killing off the first platoon.

Buffalo could only hope Morris would come through, and that the Javelins would fly straight and not forget to explode.

Buffalo pulled his MAC-10 out of his vest while still floating in the bay and unplugged the muzzle, motioning to Chief Buckethead Williams to do likewise.

The sudden roar of the Javelin explosion on the destroyer to their right slammed their eardrums, the mushroom cloud lighting up the sky. The platoon ducked underwater, waiting for the second impact.

Soon the second Javelin hit, the crippled destroyers filling the sky with pulsating fireballs. The second detonation, stronger than the first, blew flames and shrapnel onto the deck of the Tampa, even knocking one of the guards by the sail overboard. Buffalo and Buckethead opened fire on the guards, shooting in three round bursts, and Buffalo dropped the two remaining guards on the deck.

It was then that the RPG exploded on the port lip of the cockpit. Buffalo could see one guard drop to the deck. He didn’t wait for the second. He motioned the platoon on, and as he kept his machine gun aimed at the deck, four of his shooters made their way slowly up the slick slope of the bow, gaining ground at the more level hull near the hatch. They crouched under the cover of the sail, rapidly pulling gear out of their combat vests. The SEALs were vulnerable but it had to be done. When the four shooters from his platoon had their weapons deployed, he and Buckethead tucked their guns in their vests and climbed the slope of the sonar dome. Once on deck, Buffalo pulled out his ski mask, radio and MAC-10, replacing the clip with fresh ammunition. He tested his radio, then ordered the platoon to go below.

As usual on a SEAL OP the commander of a unit went first — SEALs did not believe in leading from the rear. Buffalo took the ladder rungs two at a time and dropped silently to the deck, leveling his machine gun at the approaches to the ladder. The space seemed deserted. He was in a narrow passageway running fore-and-aft.

At six feet five inches tall and two hundred and fifty pounds, “Buffalo” (short for “Water Buffalo”) Sauer was the proverbial gentle giant, except on an OP. His moniker and radio handle came from his inordinate need for water — drinking, not swimming, although some thought the latter was linked in some mysterious fashion to the former, and hence his joining up with the SEALs. Unlike Morris, Buffalo Sauer seemed quiet to passive on the outside, but Morris and those around Sauer knew that that had nothing to do with the toughness inside, all of which Sauer needed now.

He ordered the assembled platoon to go, and covered the ladder way to the hatch above while the men proceeded up the stairs to the middle level. As he joined them he thought he heard something in the captain’s stateroom, some sort of struggle, but his orders were to stick to the plan. The upper level of the forward compartment was Commander Morris’ assignment To stay here would put the team in danger of being in the path of Morris’ bullets. Buffalo continued down the steep staircase to the middle level, emerging into a narrow passageway that ran the length of the compartment.

He sent a two-man team into a door leading to the petty officers’ quarters, a second team to the port crew berthing rooms, while he and the remaining men continued aft along the passageway to its termination at the crew’s mess. For a space that should be holding the entire ship’s crew, the level so far had been life less, as had the upper level. It wasn’t possible that all the guards had been killed when he and the platoon had come aboard … or could the Chinese have evacuated the ship before the SEALs got there?