Red Shark

Scott did have to prove himself, through physical workouts, SCUBA training, and refresher courses on tactics and with weapons in the SEAL armory. He had to refine his shooting skills, marksmanship, and magazine manipulation. He also had to relearn how to safely handle C4 explosive and get reacquainted with casualty care. The sessions had left Scott exhausted but exhilarated by the knowledge that he still had the physical and mental stamina to handle the mission they were training for.

A full day had been spent test-flying MAVs. Ominously, two micro bugs had crashed during the last flight, which had left Jefferson surveying their wreckage and frowning. He had cautioned them that with only a primary bug and one backup — due to their enormous cost — any crashes on Matsu Shan, like the ones at Pearl, and they’d be shit out of luck.

To wrap up training, a full day had been devoted to maneuver at sea to test the ASDS, a 65-foot-long, battery-powered miniature submarine designed to deliver SEALs to their objective from specially configured full-sized submarines. The eight-foot-diameter, titanium-hulled mini-sub had a range of 125 nautical miles and a top speed of eight knots. The sub could accommodate ten men: two pilots and eight SEALs and their gear. The pilot and copilot handled navigation through an advanced sonar and electro-optical surveillance system.

With its extended range, speed, and payload, the ASDS was capable of operating on its own, and without Deacon having to run the Reno virtually onto the beach — Scott’s nightmare — to launch the mini-sub. Instead, the Reno could lay in deep water, where she wasn’t likely to be detected. Even so, Deacon had agreed to take the Reno in as far as he could to make the swim-in as short as possible and to minimize the problems they might have with currents, tides, and also with bioluminescence, which could reveal to an enemy ashore the presence of an ASDS and its swimmers. Scott knew Deacon was a damn good sub driver, and, like himself, was willing to risk his balls for a mission.

But during the maneuvers, Scott had found scant opportunity to mesh with Deacon. Scott was nominally his boss and in charge of the mission; Deacon was ultimately responsible for the safety of his ship and crew. Still, Scott and Deacon had worked well together, and the Reno’s crew had been eager to prove just how good they were.

Hours after a final mission briefing from Radford via SVTC from Washington, and with the SEAL team embarked, Deacon had had the Reno at sea. Scott had watched Hawaii’s Diamond Head disappear off the horizon behind the Reno’s boiling wake. Minutes later, with the sub’s wave-wrapped bow pointed due west, Deacon had ordered, “Dive! Dive! Diving officer, make your depth six hundred feet.”

Reactor spun to full power, the Reno had flanked it west under the Pacific, destination Taiwan.

In the torpedo room Scott stepped around disassembled weapons laid out on a rubber mat: 5.56mm short-barreled M4A1 carbines, some with M-203 grenade launchers; suppressed 9mm Sig Saur pistols; and Remington 870 12-gauge choked shotguns.