Taken

I Shall Not Return

Chief Petty Officer Vance Krandle looks toward the compound a couple of hundred meters away from an overlook position they found a couple of hours ago. The dark jungle around them stirs only slightly with the animals of the night. They landed in this god-forsaken place two nights ago and made their way cautiously to this location. Avoiding the small villages along the rutted, rocky jungle road, they paralleled it here. He can’t see the other team hidden nearby but the others of his team lie close.

“What do you think?” His point man quietly asks.

“I haven’t seen any movement so far,” Vance answers.

“Do you think we have the right place?”

“Has to be. The coordinates match with the satellite Intel,” he answers.

“Yeah, but shouldn’t there be lights on or something? I mean, they don’t even have guards posted. Guard towers, yes, but guards, no,” the point man asks.

“Maybe they went to bed early but it does seem a little odd for the guards not to be out,” Vance replies.

“Think they know we’re here then?”

“I suppose that’s always a chance but I doubt it. They’d have hit us earlier or set an ambush,” Vance whispers not taking his eye off the compound.

He is relaxed but feels his nerves tighten. He’s seen a lot but there’s something about this that doesn’t seem right. Compounds of this nature always have lights on unless they’re trying to hide from overflights of aircraft or satellites. And to not have guards posted when it’s evident they are meant to be there adds to his worry.

They were alerted with little to no warning for this mission. That in itself wasn’t unusual and they all took it in stride. Satellite footage had picked out this encampment and Intel had it that this was the leader of a large group of terrorists that has been causing havoc in the local area for the Philippine government. A government asking for help wasn’t anything unusual either. Whether the U.S. responded with the help was a matter of whether the mission supported current doctrine or if the U.S. wanted an IOU in their back pocket. Apparently this fit into one or the other category. They were here and it didn’t matter why. This was their job. The State Department had their job and CPO Krandle had his.

They had five days to accomplish their task. Their mission was to 1.) Infiltrate to the compound and verify that the leader and group were indeed using this location as their base of operations, 2.) If the opportunity presented itself, to take out the cell leader, and 3.) Rescue the Australian journalist that the group was believed to have captured a week prior. The cell was also believed to be responsible for ‘intercepting’ a Red Cross shipment of flu vaccines and other medical supplies.

They would have five days to accomplish any or all of their mission before they were to meet up with a fast attack submarine lying off the coast. If they were able to take out the leader, well, it would be a big IOU by the local government. If they were only able to positively identify his location, there would be a lesser IOU. Rescuing the hostage would bring the thanks of the Australian government along with a big publicity coup. The State Department men, in their dark suits, that briefed them made it abundantly clear that the removal of the cell leader was the optimal solution.

“Blue Team, move to my location at the southeast corner,” a voice calls quietly in his ear piece.

“On our way, sir. Do want me to leave an overwatch at my location?” Vance whispers using his throat mic.

“Negative. Everyone goes inside,” Vance hears.

“Okay, guys, you heard LT, let’s go,” Vance whispers to his teammates.

“Shouldn’t we leave an overwatch,” his point man whispers back.

“The LT doesn’t think we need one, now let’s go,” Vance answers.

They make their way silently down the ridge overlooking the compound. The rough, rocky road lies to their left as it snakes its way down into the small valley. The dense vegetation shows with a green glow through their goggles and slows their progress. Six men silently creeping through the jungle growth; weapons ready for the first sign of violence and senses heightened. There’s a tension pervading the atmosphere as each feels something isn’t quite right about this mission. But they are professionals and have been in tight situations before. They continue.

“Coming in, sir,” Vance whispers in his radio as he draws near the coordinates given.

“Copy, come on in,” a voice answers. The point man takes several more steps before a head rises above a dense patch of foliage. They’ve found the other team.

The wooden walls of the compound lie just a few meters through the trees and across a small open area that has been cut back from jungle. Vance and the LT hunker down in the middle of the perimeter of men keeping a sharp eye on the surrounding area.

“How do you want to play this, sir?” Vance asks.

“We’ll creep up to the edge of the trees and take a last look at the guard towers. If it’s still clear, I want your team to cover as we go over the wall at the southeast corner, then follow,” the LT says.

“Okay, sir. We could just about stroll in through the front gate. Shit, they even left that open,” Vance replies. A scream from within the camp rises loudly and resounds across the jungle.

“What the fuck was that?! Sir,” Vance asks as he turns and aims his suppressed M-4 toward the sound.

“They must be torturing that poor girl. Or worse,” the LT responds.

“I have to tell you I don’t like this. No lights. No guards. Front gate open. Something just doesn’t feel right about this,” Vance adds.

“We have our mission and it’s obvious someone is in there,” the LT replies. “Let’s move.”

They creep to the edge of the jungle and observe the ten foot walls surrounding the various buildings within. Vance eyes the guard towers; the tops of which he sees over the walls. Nothing moves and he doesn’t see any sign of anyone occupying them. Another scream echoes from within the compound. It doesn’t even sound human to Vance and the adrenaline rushes through. He and his team keep an eye on the front and along the walls as the other team materializes from the undergrowth and dashes to the wall; silent shadows moving in the night.

He watches as they deploy tactical ladders and start quietly scaling the rough wall. They glide over the top and disappear into the compound.

“We’re in. Move up,” Vance hear the LT call.

“Okay girls, we’re up,” Vance says and mimics the other team to the wall and over it.

They pause at the top and pull the ladders up collapsing them as they do so. Vance is hesitant about not leaving anyone outside to keep watch and provide for an escape path but orders are orders. He drops to the ground and sees the other team spread in a semi-circle in the darkness close to the bottom of the tower.

Several more howls, apparently coming from the large building in the center of the encampment, echo out into the night. The sounds send shivers down Vance’s back and tighten nerves already stretched taut. The compound is dark and nothing moves. I’m getting way too old for this shit, Vance thinks as the echoes die down bringing silence to the area once again. He’s said that a number of times before yet the call always comes and he always responds. He isn’t quite done with the adrenaline rush as yet.

If you would ask him, he would say he does it for the country and because of the good they do but deep inside, he knows it’s purely for the adrenaline. Yes, there is a big patriotic motivation and that’s precisely why he joined years ago but he is also honest as to why he continues mission after mission. If it was from a purely patriotic nature, he could teach and has been offered those positions quite a few times but he would miss the camaraderie and being out in the field. It’s the ultimate rush and if truth be known, the ultimate competition.

He quickly checks his satellite uplink and finds no signal. That’s not unusual in some areas so he is not overly worried. They still have their radio so communications will be available should they need them. That is the part that is most important. He’s been in a couple of situations when they needed radio communication and it has failed them. Not a pleasant situation when you really, really need support. Not support in thirty minutes or last week but right fucking now. The thought of those times makes him want to do a comm check but he knows it’s just his nerves. The ‘something isn’t right’ feeling is making me paranoid, he thinks crouch-walking up to the LT.

“We’re going to make our way to the main building. Cover us and keep an eye out for that building. It looks like a barracks,” the LT says pointing to another building closer to them.

“Will do, sir,” Vance replies.

“If it looks clear, we’re going in. If you hear firing, grenades in the barracks and cover our withdrawal. We’ll exfil over the same wall. If we separate, rally point is the ridge of our previous overwatch position.”

“Copy that, sir. We’ve got your back.”

The main compound has three larger buildings built up on shorter stilts with stairs rising to the entrances. Scattered about are vehicles of every nature; from smaller Toyota pickups to larger, older transport vehicles. It’s not different from any other terrorist cell compound, Vance thinks as he watches the other team rise and proceed across the open area in the middle of the buildings. They keep to the vehicles as much as possible to minimize their silhouette and time in the open. Vance directs his own team into better positions to cover the team making their way slowly and quietly to the main building. Several shrieks rise in the jungle outside of the walls. They aren’t close but they aren’t far either.

“What the fuck is that?” His point man asks as he kneels near the rear bumper of a small pickup with his M-4 pointed toward the barracks building.

“Fuck if I know,” Vance answers. “Sounds almost like a large cat of some sort.”

“Yeah, right. If that’s a cat, it must be ten fucking feet tall. I don’t want to meet up with it if it is. And, it’s more than one,” the point man says.

“I know. Now shut up and pay attention,” Vance says wanting this to be over and to be out of here soon.

The other team makes their way to the base of the main building. Setting a perimeter around the front, Vance watches as the LT and another creep up the short steps leading to a porch with an overhanging cover. The LT sneaks to a window set into the building to the left of the main door and peeks in. Not knowing what he sees inside, Vance watches as the LT edges to the window on the other side of the door. The hush of the night is almost unsettling but Vance operates in the silences so it’s his friend.

The quiet is split by the sound of breaking glass as the window in front of the LT shatters outward. Vance sees someone vault through the opening and onto the LT before the last of the glass tinkles to the wooden porch. Vance watches as the LT is launched backward with the person on top of him. The other window shatters and screams pierce the night.

The main building front door opens and others rush out. Lights flash as the other team engages those pouring from the windows and doors.

“It’s an ambush. Gold Team, fall back to Blue Team. Blue Team, grenades at the barracks,” Vance yells both into the radio and out loud. Silence is no longer needed. He reaches out and taps his point man on the shoulder, “Get those ladders up.”

A loud scream rises above the compound from the direction where the LT is down with several people now bent over him. The other team members shoot them off the LT but he doesn’t rise after they go down around him. The barracks doors open and others emerge. Vance takes a grenade he set by his knee and arcs it toward the opening along with other grenades tossed by his team.

People are streaming out of the main building and barracks. He wants to lend his fire to Gold Team but they stand between him and the people running out of the building. He doesn’t want to risk friendly fire so he directs his fire to the ones coming out of the barracks. Five searing flashes of light followed by thunderous explosions fill the night. The horde coming out of the barracks building are thrown into the air or onto the muddy ground as shrapnel pulverizes their bodies.

Vance looks over to Gold Team. They are racing across the open ground firing behind them as they make their way toward Blue Team’s position. Vance directs his team’s fire to the sides as people are trying to catch up with Gold Team. He sees two trailing Gold Team members taken down from behind and are immediately engulfed by bodies. Their screams rise above the shrieking hordes racing across the compound from seemingly every direction. The strobes of Gold Team’s carbines flash through the night as they try to keep the onrushing mass of people at bay.

The stray thought enters that their attackers aren’t firing. Vance is confused by this fact but that is quickly pushed aside as he continues to add his rounds to the many streaking across the courtyard taking down dozens of the attacking horde. He wills the others of Gold Team to run faster but to no avail. Vance watches as the three remaining Gold Team members are taken down. The advancing mass slows as they pounce on the fallen members.

“Blue Team, disengage and over the wall. Now!” Vance shouts as more people join the masses. They are once more converging on him and his team.

“What about Gold Team?” One member calls out.

“They’re done for. Move! Now!” He calls out.

He watches and covers as his team pulls back and starts scaling the ladders leading over the walls. Vance is still confused about the lack of gunfire and really what is going on to begin with. The people charging his position are shrieking and screaming for all they are worth but not a one of them has a weapon. Through the charging crowd, he barely makes out huddled masses around where the members of Gold Team fell. A quick glance tells him two things: One, that they are done for and two, that it appears the people are bent over and biting at them. A part of his mind screams that he is seeing things distorted by the heat of the moment.

He keeps up a tremendous volume of fire while his team climbs. Still the mass closes in quickly. The click tells him it’s time to reload once again. The quick figuring in his mind, and with his vast experience, tells him they’ll be on him before her can jam another mag in and chamber a round. Even if he does manage that, there’s no way he’ll be able to hold all of them off. There’s just not enough firepower or ammo for that. His mind screams run but there is a part of him that wants to recover the bodies and make sure Gold Team is truly beyond help. The shrieks filling the courtyard make up his mind. It’s time to go.

He hits the mag release and runs for the ladders propped against the walls. The people after him are fast and he’s not sure he’s going to make it. The howls sound as if they are right on his heels. Expecting to be pulled down at any moment, he hears firing. He looks up and sees his team members at the top of the tactical ladders firing down on the horde closing in on him. The pops of rounds exiting barrels is barely heard above the screams just behind. The screams are a mix of eagerness and pain. He quickly throws his M-4 over his shoulder on the run and leaps for the first ladder he comes to.

Scaling quickly, he shouts, “Everyone over. Rally on the ridge.”

Reaching the top, he kicks the ladder to the side. Several people have already begun to climb after him. The ladder falls to the side. The others kick theirs as well and they jump to the ground. Screams and snarls sound loudly on the other side of the fence. He stumbles and recovers. Still not knowing what truly happened and only that they are in a fight for their lives, he heads into the dense undergrowth of the jungle. He feels better being in cover as he knows he and his team can lose their pursuers fairly easily. Speed is of the essence now though as he wants to get distance between them. The fence will slow the pursuit down and the team can go quiet later.

Shrieks, similar to the ones still emitting from the compound, echo in the jungle around him. The dense foliage makes it difficult to ascertain exactly where they are coming from but Vance and his team plows ahead following in the order they entered the jungle. They are noisy in their flight but that’s not Vance’s primary concern. They reach the location where they sat seemingly only moments ago overlooking the encampment. Vance pulls out his night vision enhanced binoculars and surveys the camp. There are six distinct groupings of the people who attacked them. A heaviness settles inside as he knows what they are grouped around. Others are streaking for the open gates and he catches a glimpse of some running up the rutted, dirt road. Shrieks continue to emit around the team; seeming to come from all directions.

“We need to move now before we get surrounded. Take us out quiet and slow,” Vance whispers to his point man. “Everyone pay attention to their areas.”

“They didn’t even fire a shot,” the point man whispers as he rises.

“I know. Let’s move,” Vance replies.

They move cautiously through the vegetation. Twenty yards and a pause to listen. They don’t have to listen too hard as the shrieks continue all around. They move through the jungle as if moving through a black hole. The sound of thrashing in the underbrush erupts behind them. They all turn toward it but see nothing in the greenish glow of their night vision. Hearts are racing and adrenaline fills each one. Faces, bright in their night vision and seeming to glow, suddenly appear.

Their pursuers lift their heads into the air in unison and shriek. The team has been found. Strobes flash off the surrounding bushes, tree trunks, and the vines hanging from overhead limbs as the team opens up. The faces quickly disappear in the maelstrom of fire the team puts out; many catapulted into the surrounding jungle. The team quickly disengages and the race is on again. They hear sounds in the jungle to their sides and behind as pursuit is continued. The ever-present screams continue to fill the jungle.

Their breath is coming quicker as they break through the dense underbrush. Vines grapple with their gear and bodies, attempting to hold them back, as they force their way through. The jungle itself has turned hostile. A small group enters their line of flight directly ahead. Vance, running just behind his point man, raises his carbine and fires. He places bursts on each one in sight and, along with his point man, clears their path.

The weariness is coming on quickly. Vance knows they can’t keep this pace up in this dense brush for long. He hears pursuit close but knows they have to stop for a quick breather. If they get completely winded, the game will be up and they will be on the losing side. He calls for the point to hold up. They all stand in a group with their hands on their knees trying to catch their breath. They all know they won’t have long to do it and must be on the run in a minute so all activity is focused on catching their wind.

“Get a claymore out of my pack and one other,” Vance tells one of his team. The whisper comes out in between pants.

He feels a tug on his pack and fumbles in his pocket for a fuse pencil. He keeps the short-timed ones in his upper vest pocket just for events such as this. The longer timed ones he keeps in a special place in his pack. He figures if he needs the longer timed ones, then he’ll have time to dig them out. Conversely, if he needs the thirty second or one minute pencils, well, those had just better be handy.

The shrieks and breaking of brush is close. He grabs the pliers out of his pocket, sets the claymores his team member hands him into the ground at angles but pointing mostly behind them, crushes the fuse pencils and quickly places them into the fuse wells.

“We have less than a minute. Go, now!” Vance whispers to the point.

The point man gets the idea and they move off in a hurry. They are still winded but feeling better than they did just a moment ago. They won’t be able to keep this up for much longer but they are alive and moving. The shrieks and sounds of pursuit follow.

Two back to back thunderous explosions fill the night. The team momentarily sees their shadows cast on the ground from the flash of light. Screams still sound off to their sides but they don’t hear much of anything behind them anymore. Not that they can really hear much above the sound of their own flight through the brush.

Feeling like they have a little room, they stop to rest. “One minute, no longer,” Vance says between breaths. Although they bought some breathing room, they still hear a mass of people to either side. “If we become separated, rally at the beach where we stashed our gear.” No one answers verbally as their panting breath won’t allow it, but all nod.

Fifty meters further and they break into the open. A small village appears ahead. They have come out of the jungle on the edge of it. The jungle road lies off to their right and runs through the middle with thatch huts lining both sides. Shrieks rise on the night air. Vance turns to look behind and sees a horde of people running up the road. There’s no choice but to make their way directly through the middle of the village. It’s that or through the jungle again and Vance doesn’t feel like they’ll make it far given how far they still have to travel and their weariness. They were not to be observed on this mission but that is now secondary to their very survival.

“To the road,” he tells the others and they make their way over the muddy ground and begin running down the road. Screams follow them.

Several doors open as the team passes; people rousted by the shrieks and coming out to see what is disturbing their quiet village. Vance glances over his shoulder and sees the horde that was following them fall upon those that ventured outside. Others change direction in mid-stride and pummel their way into other huts. Vance and Blue Team reach the far side of the village and notice they are no longer being pursued. Whoever, or whatever Vance thinks, was chasing them is now consumed with the village and villagers.

“Keep going but keep the pace to a jog,” he says. They continue down the road as the screams, echoing through the jungle, slowly fade behind them.

Vance and his team make their way down the side of the muddy road, darting quickly into the brush as the occasional vehicle passes by. Headlights are their early warning system and they watch from behind bushes as the lights shine on the slick surface of the road and head toward the village they left some hours ago. They rest up and take their ‘energy’ pills. Vance has no intention of stopping and replays the night’s events over and over without any of it making any sense. He can tell by the quietness of the others that they are lost in their own thoughts and confusion as well. Nothing is said about it during their rest and trek. It’s as if mentioning it will bring it back down on their heads.

They continue to make their way out of the mountainous jungle toward the coast line. They avoid any further contact with civilization staying well back in the jungle. The light of morning slowly filters its way through the trees rising tall above them. The jungle keeps its gloomy light as the triple canopy filters out most of the sunlight. Every so often, a stray beam of light finds its way through and brings the dull green to a brilliant radiance. Insects fly in and out of the beam, drawn to its light. Vance tells his point to find a secluded place to rest.

They find a thick patch of bushes and settle down. There is a little opening within for them to be comfortable. They clear the small sticks and leaves from the middle and collapse in their little hideout; lying in a circle pattern with their toes touching.

“We have time before we’re due at the beach so we’ll rest here. We’ll stand one guard with one hour shifts,” Vance says feeling exhaustion sweep over him. He lays out shift schedules and is immediately asleep. Not even the heat and humidity bothers him as he sinks into a coma-like sleep. The pills have worn off leaving him feeling like he hasn’t slept in a week. Normally his mind would play over the events of a mission but there is no staying awake this time.

Startled awake, Vance looks around in a panic. The feeling leaves slowly as he becomes aware of where he is and the sight of his team lying on the ground around him. The man on guard looks over his way and nods. The birds chirp a symphony around their small thicket of bushes. Brightly colored birds flit from branch to branch overhead. His fatigues are bathed in sweat and his mouth feels like someone poured sand in it while he was asleep. He sits up and takes a sip from his canteen, swilling it around his mouth before spitting it out. He then takes a long draught. Not so much as to bring on a stomach ache but enough to quench the great thirst he feels.

The calmness and spirited birds filling the air belies the events of last night. It’s a surreal world Vance wakes to and he feels like he’s woken in another universe. He’s used to that feeling — the one of an adrenaline-based mission followed by a cold beer — but not like what they experienced last night. The loss of Gold Team and the LT hits hard. They’ve lost people before, either due to action or accidents, but not a whole team. Yeah, there was the one aircraft accident a while ago where they actually lost several teams, but not an entire team to action. He runs the events through his mind expecting some of it to make sense but nothing of the sort materializes.

Vance wants to send a message letting command know of their disastrous mission but this was to be a silent op and communications were only to be made in the direst of needs. A rescue effort or any communications would be known. Even if the listening parties couldn’t know the exact content, they would get an idea that a team was in place by the coding. This information could then be given to other parties if they were financing or supporting a certain operation in any way. The thought of leaving the others isn’t sitting well and he feels a tightness in his stomach. Both from leaving comrades in the field and from trying to explain what happened. He doesn’t even know what happened so he’s not sure how his explanation is going to be taken. Fuck it, he thinks. My team and I are still alive and that’s what counts for now. I’ll deal with that other shit later.

He pats his team member on the back and indicates for him to nod off. He’ll take the remainder of the watch. He lies on the warm dirt and contemplates their escape route. He envisions scenario after scenario and how to counter them should the need arise. His mind drifts back to the night prior. Certain images stick in his mind. The sight of a mass of people surrounding and huddled over the bodies of Gold Team. How positive he was that they were biting and clawing at them. In the light of the day, he’s pretty sure he mistook what he saw but the images don’t fade away with the unreality of it. He trusts his eyes and knows that’s what he saw. The sight of the pale faces, glowing in his goggles, scaling the ladder scant feet below him; their eyes seeming to shine in the night like some night animal. That was freaky, he thinks as the image stays locked in his head.

The next hour passes by with these images circulating in his mind. He quietly wakes the others. They take a quick bite and drink; burying their wrappers in the soft jungle soil. They arrange the leaves and twigs leaving no trace of their being there and continue their trek.

They slowly make their way out of the mountains and down to the coast line without sighting a soul; or hearing one for that matter. Vance doesn’t trust much of anything after last night. They eventually come upon the supply cache they left upon arrival and he sends a coded signal. The signal says in effect that they are in position and will head out at night and rendezvous at the appointed time. The tail end of the coded signal tells of an unsuccessful mission. He hates to send that but that is also part of his job. Thoughts of looking into those instructor positions surface. Yep, I’m getting too old for this shit.

They find a concealed place to hole up and rest until the coming night. With the night, they slip on their dry suits, inflate their rubber zodiac, known as a combat rubber raiding craft, and make their way out into the Philippine Sea.

Captain Raymond Leonard, USN, commander of the fast attack submarine USS Santa Fe, sits in the control room. The freshly poured cup of coffee sits unnoticed beside him. His attention is on the flash transmission from the SEAL teams on the beach. They are in position and ready for recovery at the appointed time and place. But that’s not what has made him forget the much-needed caffeine by his side. It’s the second part of the message that clenches his stomach. It’s the ‘mission unsuccessful’ that has his attention. Rarely does he ever see one of those. And to see one on this mission. It was only a recon; more if circumstances allowed. He will send his own message when he recovers the crews. He sets the transmission down and tells the crew to be ready to board the teams.

The time arrives and he brings the sub to periscope depth. The periscope breaks the gently swelling waters of the Philippine Sea and he immediately sees one of the zodiacs. He flashes the infrared light once and sees the rubber craft turn in their direction. Scanning 360 degrees, he looks for the other boat but sees none. Bringing the scope down to minimize their exposure, he waits for the report that the teams, or team, are safely on board. He is definitely interested in the debrief although he also knows that some of the information may be limited. It just depends on whether he is on the need to know list.

“Sir, Blue Team is recovered,” a crew member informs him.

“And Gold Team?” Captain Leonard asks.

“No sign of them, sir,” the sailor answers.

“Very well. Have the team’s leader report.”

He has the crew maintain position and depth until he clarifies the situation. He’s not fond of staying so close to the surface as MAD (Magnetic Anomaly Detectors) can easily pick his boat up here but he can’t leave without knowing where Gold Team is. Captain Leonard looks up as a very tired and disheveled SEAL team leader stands before him.

“Where’s Gold Team?” Leonard asks coming straight to the point. He wants to know if he needs to stay here or they can get to a more comfortable depth.

“We were ambushed and they were overrun, sir,” the Chief Petty Officer reports. He then proceeds to give a synopsis of the events as he saw them.

“You mean to tell me we have a team lying somewhere on that island?” Leonard asks after hearing the story.

In the depths of his mind, he wonders about the authenticity of the story. It’s an outlandish one that’s hard to believe. He looks at the CPO standing before him wondering if perhaps there weren’t a little too many pills taken on this one. The eyes of the team leader seem to be telling the truth but the truth will come out regardless of whether it is now or not. It always does.

“Yes, sir. We couldn’t get to them and if we tried, there would be two teams lying there,” the team leader says.

“And no part of the mission was successful,” Leonard asks.

“No, sir. We didn’t get any verification.”

“Very well. Get cleaned up and get some rest. You’re sure Gold Team isn’t coming?”

The team leader swallows before saying, “I’m sure, sir.”

Leonard nods and the team leader departs. He scribbles a quick message and heads to the communications room.

“Send this to COMSUBPAC,” he says handing the operator on duty the message.

He wouldn’t normally send a message as they were instructed to run silent out of respect for the Philippine government. They were to head to the Strait of Hormuz to monitor shipping, in particular any Iranian Navy activities, and then have a deep, silent run home to Bangor to drop off the team and report in. That part Captain Leonard will still accomplish. He dives the sub and they crawl near the bottom of the sea before hitting the Pacific. They spend their time monitoring the important passageway and then they run slow, deep, and silent for the duration of their crossing.

It takes time but they cross the large stretch of water. Most of it spent in the normal rut and routine of a mission complete; complete if not successful. He briefs each member of the surviving team; individually at first and then as a group. They each tell a similar story; a horde of people attacking out of the blue and not a shot being fired by the other side. They have either rehearsed their story to the nth degree or they’re telling the truth. Both have chilling ramifications and Leonard is hard-pressed to decide which one he believes.

The only anomaly for the passage is the complete lack of communications. They are deep so can only receive communications sent on the ultra-low frequency, which is especially for subs operating at low depths. They don’t get many communications in that manner but there is usually some. For the duration of the passage, they don’t receive even one which confuses Leonard to an extent.

“Check the comm gear,” he orders the chief of communications.

“Already have, sir. Several times,” the chief reports.

“Check it again.”

They arrive outside the entrance to the straights of Juan de Fuca. They rise to periscope depth and look for their escort. Not only does Captain Leonard not see the escort that should be waiting, as they have arrived on schedule, but there is a distinct lack of the normal shipping. This is a busy channel feeding Seattle, Vancouver, B.C., and all of the ports along the Puget Sound. The USS Santa Fe waits just off the normal shipping lanes. Nothing goes in and nothing emerges. Against protocol, Leonard sends a flash message that they are waiting. No message answers.

“Sir?” The Executive Officer says for direction.

“Take us in nice and slow. Avoid any traffic and continue to make calls,” Leonard finally says.

“Yes, sir.”

They ease the fast attack sub into the straights and proceed up the long entrance. The town of Port Angeles slides off to their starboard side and eventually they see the city of Vancouver off in the distance to port. They see this as Leonard occasionally raises the periscope to get his eyeball on things. The passive sonar indicates absolutely no traffic operating in their vicinity. Either all of the gear onboard has stopped working at once or there is no one around.

Time passes and they catch sight of Seattle through the periscope. The usual ferries are silent and a few plumes of smoke rise into the cloudy sky. Leonard can’t see the usual flotilla of sail boats or cargo vessels plying the waters. There’s not even the usual one or two kayakers out. He continues trying to contact the base on the flash channels but there is still no reply. His thoughts wander to the team leader’s story but his mind refuses to go in that direction. There has to be a plausible explanation, he thinks looking over the empty waters. They’re not entirely empty as he sees several vessels anchored but none are moving.

Perhaps there is a Homeland Security ban on these waters for some unknown reason, he thinks. But that wouldn’t explain the lack of communications. They would normally be squawking loudly with one of their attack subs breaking communication protocols. If it was any large-scale attack on the United States, they would have heard something and protocols would have been initiated.

They make the turn into Bangor. Through the periscope, Leonard zooms in on the base proper. Nothing is moving. The usual people walking amongst the building, the dock workers, the cars driving to and away from the bunkered docks are nonexistent. The look is one of total abandonment. He has the periscope transferred to one of the viewing monitors.

“What do you think?” Leonard asks his exec.

“Looks like no one is home, sir,” the exec responds.

“My thought exactly.”

“Well, what do you want to do, sir? Should we motor in?”

“Negative. Park us off the main channel. We’re staying here until we figure this out. Have communications send over the UHF emergency channel and see if we can pick up any military traffic.”

The communications operator receives word and dials up the UHF emergency channel, “This is the USS Santa Fe on UHF guard. Anyone read?”