Chapter Eight - Operation Tortuga
Operation Tortuga
The plan was risky but it was a calculated risk. The JTF 2 was on operation in the area and they were tasked with carrying out the mission. Since, most things that involved the JTF 2 were classified above Top Secret. The only reason I know what I know is because of Carlos. You see as a member of the JTF2 he was part of that along with most of his closest friends. He was in one of the raiding boats that went ashore that night.
The raiding force consisted of all Canadian troops along with one Israeli and one US observer. Both those observers were highly trained Spec Ops themselves, since there was no room for passengers and even if there was, there was no bodies to watch out for them. The troops were loaded into small Zodiacs which were riding piggyback on 3 Mk V style high speed interceptor vessels. These weren’t the normal Mk V’s, these were all flat black and their design was more angular with the only large flat surface being where the Zodiacs were loaded. The design of the boats allowed them to be undetectable by conventional radar. The normally ear drum shattering roar of the twin 2300 HP engines was made whisper quiet thanks to a space age sound deadening material and a customized exhaust port that exited under the hull.
Under the cover of darkness the assault craft peeled away from the main body of the Canadian Fleet and began the run to the Island of Tiran. The US Navy had released little information on their latest incarnation of the Mk V saying they were capable of speeds in excess of 65 knots. Well they weren’t wrong. At nearing 90 knots the trip took less than an hour. The US air force was supplying air support in the form of two high altitude RQ-170 Sentinels and an AC-130 Spectre Gunship.
The Sentinels had picked up small troop movements on the island, but with no history to compare it to, the operators were unsure if this was out of the ordinary. It wasn’t long before they knew.
At less than a KM offshore the Mk V’s pulled up throttle and offloaded their cargo. The guys were definite pros. The Zodiacs were in the water and moving in under 20 seconds. While not nearly as fast, the Zodiacs were even more stealthy than the Mk V’s. Their small 50 HP 4 stroke outboards were outfitted with the same sound deadening technology as the larger boats. You would have had to put your hand onto the motor case just know it was running. Even at wide open throttle, the motors were no more then a muffled rumble.
About 400 metres off shore, one of the three boats pulled up. Its engine stalled. It floated listlessly while the operator tried feverishly to restart the engine. The info was passed along to the other boats, who acknowledged and continued towards shore. You see, it was the SOP of the JTF to plan for these situations by building redundant systems directly into the intial plan. Essentially having Plan B as part of Plan A. The original mission plan had only called for two, eight man teams each taking one of the observers. The third boat with the additional eight man team was there just for this reason. While Carlos and the 7 other JTF 2 members broke out their collapsible carbon fibre paddles that were incorporated into the seats and began paddling, the US Observer manned the engine operating it as a rudder while continuing to try and restart it. As it turned out, it was a nothing more than a loose connector on the ECU. The harsh handling of the boat along with the choppy seas had combined to jar it loose. I wonder if the mechanic who had made that small error ever had any idea of the number of lives that one simple act would eventually save?
Boats one and three made their landing, sliding soundlessly onto the beach. Like a finely choreographed dance the soldiers leapt from the boat, hands still on the guide ropes attached to the gunnels. They quickly pulled the boats ashore. A flat black mesh net was rolled out of a small compartment at the bow of the boat and pulled completely over the crafts, breaking up the long linear shapes making them all but invisible to a casual observer. Within seconds of making shore, both boats were stowed, covered and all 17 soldiers were making their way inland from the beach.
They were stopped in their tracks by a brilliant plume of fire and multiple explosions a short distance off shore. As their eye readjusted to dark after the fire began to settle, what they were witnessing began to sink in. Three smaller plumes of fire were burning. and the sounds of heavy calibre machine gun fire were filling the night sky. In the light of the fire, they could make out the shape of 4 small attack helicopters. Even at that distance the muzzle flashes were clear coming from both sides of the choppers. It didn’t appear as if anyone was returning fire from below. They continued to lay down fire as the search lights came on illuminating the targets beneath. It wasn’t until one of the choppers changed its orientation to the North that they saw the first muzzle flashes coming from the water. Even with all their training, they couldn’t break their near trance like state, they stood staring. Until one of the soldiers broke the trance and started calling for them to find cover. They were stranded and probably about to have the fight of their lives. It was only a few seconds later that the island before them came to life. The alarm was sounding and movement erupted from all directions. They were trapped at the edge of a small berm between the beach and the open space that lead to the camp a hundred or so metres inland.
Carlos and the other eight men on his boat were almost sent swimming from the bow wave of one of the torpedoes as it past underneath their boat only inches below the surface. They were within 300 or so metres of the nearest Mk V when it erupted in an enormous explosion. The other two went up a split second later. Two of the soldiers at the bow of his boat were killed instantly as a large piece of metal that had only seconds before been a section of deck plating on the stern of an Mk V hit them high in the chest. The shock of the piece of metal colliding with the Zodiac must have jarred the loose cable back into position because the engine suddenly came back to life. You see the boats had been wired to operate with a two way deadman style ignition system. Each of the team members had a toggle attached to their LBV that when plugged into the boat operated as a key of sorts. One that you didn’t need to turn. As soon as it was removed the engine shut down. They were wired that way so that in the event of heavy combat, injury, extreme cold or any other reason for diminished fine motor skills the soldiers would save precious seconds not fumbling with a key. The sound of the motor attracted the attention of one of the chopper gunners and he directed his pilot their way. The 7 remaining soldiers opened fire on the chopper. The chopper banked hard to try and avoid the worst of the barrage. But too little too late for one of the door gunners. the gunner on the side closest to the boat was cut to pieces by, hit by at least a dozen bullets. The navigator was also hit. A large 7.62 round from the C2 Saw took him in the temple filling the cockpit of the chopper with the liquefied remains of his temporal lobe. It was obvious the pilot was completely unprepared for the realities of combat. He pulled back hard on the stick causing the copter to bank sharply left as he simultaneously pushed the throttle to its max. The combination of the two actions and the close proximity of the squadron meant that the pilot of the second bird didn’t have a chance the two collided . the main rotor of the unprepared chopper ripped into the already bullet riddled first aircraft opening the body like a tuna can. The blades ripped through the bodies of two souls on boards on their pass through. The second chopper crippled by the collision crashed to the murky sea below. It main body landing on the burning hulk of one of the Mk V’s. The tank full of Jet-A pouring into the passenger cabin as it ignited. The pilots and gunners, arms flailing wildly were trying to escape their fiery grave.
The two remaining choppers bore down on the small craft the door gunners laying down a steady stream of bullets. One of the heavy bullets took Carlos in the left side of his helmet. Although the Kevlar took the brunt of the impact saving his life, Carlos was thrown overboard. Unconscious and badly injured Carlos floated listlessly in the water. He had no idea how long but when he awoke the boat was several hundred meters away, and moving fast. The others must not have seen him go over, or they took him for dead. Understandable since the shattered remains of his helmet lay in the hull of the boat. The operator had the throttle wide open and began a series of sharp and abrupt turns trying to keep them to the rear of the choppers, all the while the other members of the team put their years of training, training perfected by years of combat to good use. Within minutes three of the four door gunners were dead and the last struggled in his harness as he hung flailing from the side of the craft thrown out of the cabin by the crazed maneuvers of the pilot. Just as the tide of the battle began, unbelievably, to turn in their favour it appeared, about 50 metres to their stern bathing them in swath of light. A old Vietnam era PT Boat. The dual deck mounted 50 Caliber machine went to work with devastating efficiency. What remained of the soldiers on board were cut to ribbons.
The shore force was taking heavy fire. They were pinned down their only escape route was back the way they came. There were hundreds of enemy combatants bearing down on their location. Carlos, floating several hundred meters off shore armed only with sidearm was unable to help his friends, but he heard it first. The low steady rumble of the 4 massive Allison TurboProps strapped to the wings of the Spectre. Delayed by an apparent computer glitch at the airfield. But better late than never. The plane reached the beach and began it slow cumbersome portside turn and unleashed all its fury. The gunners plied their deadly trade with accountant like efficiency. The steady staccato of the twin 20 MM Vulcans along with thunderous drumming of the 40 MM Bofors was near deafening. Both those were drowned out by the ear splitting crack of the M102. Its 105MM shells obliterated everything they impacted. All was made for nothing though. As the shore teams began to crest the berm escaping the deadly fire from the deck guns of the PT Boat the island itself seemed to leap into the air. The entire beach head was a trap. A series of explosions erupted from under the sand. No one survived. No one other than Carlos. Carlos began to kick his legs pushing himself further to sea. Unable to use his arms since every time he moved them he was almost sent unconscious by the shooting pains travelling from his shoulder to. He hadn’t noticed earlier but he had been hit in the left shoulder as well. His radio was ruined, but between it and his vest the bullet never made it to his flesh.
Carlos watched as the fires burned themselves out on the shore. The Spectre pilot had witnessed the blast, and probably had an even better idea of the level of destruction it caused. Although there were no longer any of his brothers left on the beach to provide support to. He continued his slow circle above the small island. The circle widening on each pass. Dealing death to all as they went. Even from that distance, Carlos could see the muzzles of the Vulcans protruding from the fuselage of the aircraft, glowing red. As if all the anger and hate that was boiling in the hearts of the pilots and the gunners had been channeled into them. It was as if the enemy PT Boat that had been hoping to avoid the pilots wrath. Carlos didn’t know what made the boat captain decide to turn the guns on the Spectre, but that decision is one he didn’t live long enough to regret. It was the sight of the tracer rounds that caught the attention of the Spectre. Because as the plane was making one last sweep of the small island finding no more targets to make pay for the deaths of their friends the pilot gunned the throttle and banked the plane bringing it directly over the boat. The report from the 105 MM gun was indescribably load at such close range. Carlos was momentarily left breathless by the percussion. The effect of the shell on the boat was incredible. It was nearly split into two pieces just aft of the operator's cabin, with only a small section of the hull and the starboard gunnel keeping the pieces from separating completely. The gunners rage seemed insatiable as the unmistakable roar of the Bofor’s filled the air. If anyone had survived the initial hit, they didn’t survive long. The gunners kept firing, rittling the already crippled vessel with the heavy 40 MM projectiles. The magnesium and strontium tipped tracer rounds ignited the spilled fuel from the deck mounted fuel tank. Making the scene almost surreal as the PT was sent to its watery grave. The flames still burning on the waters surface the only thing to mark where it was only moments before. The spectre made two more wide circles, not finding any more targets the pilot returned to base.
It was only a few moments later that more enemy troops began to appear and started to make their way to the beach. Nervous and moving very tentatively Firing randomly at any sign of movement. They must have been very green. It didn’t take a combat veteran to know that nothing could have survived what had taken place on that beach. It was too dark to make out anything about them other than their number. The moon was full and the sky was clear but at his distance Carlos could only see the silhouettes. The hate he felt for them was all consuming. It rose from his stomach like bile into the back of his throat and then began to fill his mind. He had to fight the urge to swim to shore and take up the fight. He had to fight with himself to push those feelings back into that dark place where they normally remain. He needed a clear head, he needed to think.
Carlos had came to the JTF after serving for years in the 2nd Combat Engineers Regiment out of CFB Petawawa. He had never been a military strategist but he didn’t have to be. It didn’t take one to know that were set up. The enemy had known they were coming and had set a near perfect ambush. If it hadn’t been for the engine failure of his boat, the battle would have been over before the Spectre even arrived. Carlos knew that with the info from the Spectre others would be on their way. All he had to do was wait. Sewn into his uniform protected inside his kevlar vest was a small emergency beacon. Just as he activated it the thought struck him. That PT style boat had been very close and unless it was heavily modified it would have had to surface launched those torpedoes. And at that close range at least one of his crew would have surely heard the entry splash . And even then, could a boat that small have the capability to launch three torpedoes at the same time?
Was there a second boat possibly a third? No surely there couldn’t be. That Spector had circled repeatedly over the area. Even blind with rage the fire control operator would have seen other boats. With the new Synthetic Aperture Radar, standard radar, motion detection systems and infrared nothing could hide from it at that range. Almost as the thought occurred to him Carlos began to work. Even though relatively warm, the water was still causing the blood vessels in Carlos’ hands to constrict making the delicate task of disassembling his emergency beacon even harder. He managed to use his knife to pry open the base of the unit and remove the battery. Carlos had never been so happy to be an engineer. His time with 2 CER had allowed him countless hours to tinker and play with assorted electronics. Once he had the battery out and a small length of wire cut from his radio earpiece he began to transmit using the wire to complete and break the circuit in timed intervals. Dot dot dot, dot dot dash, dash dot dot dot, dash dash he began to type it out but could barely wrap his mind around the thought. He hoped he was spelling it right.
On board the HMCS Toronto the comms operator, Corporal Jan tried to lock in on the distress beacon. The frequency was definitely a JTF one. The reports that had come in from the Overwatch pilots was that there were no survivors. But there had to be one. After all, these beacons didn turn themselves on. Jan just couldn’t seem to get a firm lock. The signal kept dropping in and out. Sometimes on for just a fraction of a second sometime a tiny bit longer. Frustration got the best of the Corporal and he slammed his fist into the counter. Hard enough to cause the private beside him to almost jump from her seat. Private Sandra Smith had been working at the same task and was in deep concentration when he did it. Something about the beacon wasn’t right. They are built to last. Sandra had heard of them being run over by trucks, hit by bullets, even lit on fire and still broadcasting. Since she was fresh out of Basic it was still clearer in her mind than Corporal Jan’s. It was her who came to the realization first. The signal wasn’t weak or failing it was Morse Code. With the lessons still fresh in her head she began to transcribe..... S U B M A R I N E