Combat Swimmer (32 page)

As the
Achille Lauro
approached Alexandria, we waited to see what would develop. Would the hijackers really surrender? Finally, early in the evening of October 9, they gave themselves up to Egyptian authorities. We had already learned that they'd killed one passenger, Leon Klinghoffer, but all the others appeared to be safe. We were ordered to return to our stateside base; the crisis was over.

 

At 2000 on October 9, all of my men were loaded on our C-141, ready to return home, and I was waiting for the commanding general to give the word to take off. We were all disappointed at not having had a chance to execute our plan, particularly since the hijackers had murdered a fellow American. I was deep in thought about what I had to do when we got back: go to Washington to continue the fight with the bureaucracy. The sound of the plane's engines brought me back to the present. We were about to begin taxiing when the commanding general came on the radio and told me to keep the engines running but hold the plane. He'd just received word that President Reagan had ordered 6th Fleet aircraft to intercept an EgyptAir Boeing 737 carrying the
Achille Lauro
criminals out of Egypt.

I figured a deal had been cut. The Egyptians probably wanted the hijackers out of their country as soon as possible, because they didn't want to have to bring them to justice and risk the ire of Islamic fundamentalists.

The general said that as soon as the 737 was detected leaving Egyptian airspace, F-14s from the aircraft carrier
Saratoga
were going to force it into Sigonella, Italy, where we shared a NATO base with the Italians. Our C-141 was to land right behind the 737, take custody of the criminals, and fly them back with us.

Sounded like a great idea to me. We would have a crack at getting the bad guys, and the Egyptians would save face. Forcing their plane down at Sigonella seemed particularly fortuitous because I had already rerouted one assault team there after it became apparent we weren't going to launch an operation on the
Achille Lauro.

I told the troops what was happening. About five of them immediately began forcing themselves to puke in order to get rid of the sleeping pills they'd taken so they'd sleep all the way home. Lieutenant Pat and I (Pat had been my assault team leader during Urgent Fury and was now my operations officer) quickly briefed the C-141 pilot. Then off we flew, in company with the CG's bird, headed for Sigonella. The CG and I planned and coordinated over the radio en route. I learned that in addition to the four criminals, there were two PLO members and Egyptian “guards” aboard the 737. The plane was headed for Tunisia.

Our plan called for my assault team in Sigonella to block the 737 as soon as it taxied off the runway and stopped. One of the two teams with me would board the plane; the other assault team, I'd keep in reserve. I asked for permission for my guys at Sigonella to shoot out the 737's tires as soon as it came to a stop. The general relayed the request, but it was denied. We were told to tread lightly until we saw what the Egyptians were going to do. My guys already on the ground were to do no more than surround the 737 until the CG and I arrived.

I told the CG that we should contact the 737 pilot on the ground-control frequency as soon as we arrived and tell him to turn over the criminals. I figured we could explain the situation to him in terms he couldn't refuse. Either he handed over the criminals, or we were going to take them. If we took them, Egyptians would die. Faced with those options, I figured he'd hand them over.

The F-14s intercepted the 737 as planned, and the Egyptian pilot didn't argue too hard when the F-14 flight leader told him to declare an emergency and land at Sigonella.

We landed in the slipstream of the 737. I ran off my bird to the Boeing's rear, where my Sigonella assault team had established a command post. They had the 737 surrounded, the team leader told me. All of his men were concealed in the weeds nearby.

I told Lieutenant “Bo,” one of the two team leaders who flew in with me, to assemble his assault team off the tarmac behind the 737 and to its left, and be prepared to assault the jet on my order. Bo was a hard-nosed former Army Ranger, and his guys were ready to go.

Lieutenant Randy Rhodes put his assault team in position next to our C-141. Randy was a former enlisted SEAL who had worked for me when I commanded Team Two. His guys were ready to do whatever I needed.

As Randy and Bo positioned their assault teams, I tried to figure out where we were on the airfield. The lights from the EgyptAir 737 inhibited my night vision. I could see the shapes of hangars in the distance. I couldn't tell our exact position, but I figured we were on the U.S., not the Italian, side of the field.

The commanding general's plane landed. He raced over to our command post. One of his radiomen arrived with a radio tuned to the airfield ground-control frequency. When we called the 737, its pilot told us there was an Egyptian ambassador, with proper credentials, on board and he wanted to talk to us. This was a new wrinkle.

The general and I huddled. Having an ambassador on board seemed to us a signal that the Egyptians wanted to get rid of their cargo. We figured he'd turn over the criminals to us as soon as we got him off the plane. I also figured the president and the State Department had managed to convince the Egyptians they ought to lose the bad guys, and that's why the ambassador was on board. If they intended to take them to Tunisia as we'd been told, there would be no need for an ambassador. We decided the best thing to do was get him off the plane and talk to him. I told the CG I'd go.

I went to the forward door of the aircraft and waited while the crew lowered stairs. An armed man stood beside the door. I couldn't see very far into the plane from the bottom of the stairs, but behind the crew members operating the stairs, I could see two more armed men. I was unarmed, because I didn't want to spook the ambassador, but I knew my snipers had zeroed in on the door.

The ambassador appeared in the door, turned, and said something to one of the men behind him. I yelled for him to come down the stairs, and he did. He was a well-dressed, short, round man, obviously very nervous. I asked for his credentials, and he produced a letter and a diplomatic passport. The letter said he was an authorized representative of the Egyptian government, and the passport looked authentic.

One of the snipers covering me radioed that he had Abu Abbas, one of the most infamous Palestinian terrorists, in his sights as the ambassador came down the stairs. Pictures of Abu Abbas were scarce, but we knew what he looked like, and we thought he might be one of the two Palestinians on board.

I took the ambassador by the arm and headed for my command post. As I walked up to the commanding general with the Egyptian in tow, I heard one of the radiomen say that one of our intelligence agencies had sent us interesting information regarding the Egyptians. President Hosni Mubarak had instructed the pilot to turn over the criminals. The ambassador's eyes widened in surprise. He said he wanted to confer with Mubarak first. (We later learned Mubarak thought the Italians had the plane.)

The ambassador and the general began a heated discussion. The CG pointed to me and told the Egyptian that if he didn't hand over the criminals immediately, I was going to take my men aboard and get them. I called Bo on my radio and told him to get ready. The ambassador paled and he started arguing that it wouldn't be necessary for us to take them by force if only he could talk to Mubarak. He said he was concerned for the safety of the crew members. The general said if we had to take the hijackers by force, he couldn't guarantee the safety of any of the Egyptians on the plane. The ambassador got more nervous and repeated that he was sure that wouldn't be necessary, if only he could speak to Mubarak.

One of my men came up and grabbed my shoulder, saying we were about to have a problem. A large number of Italian troops and police had arrived on the scene. I had been so busy with the ambassador that I hadn't even noticed. I began getting reports over the radio from all of my guys that the Italians were quietly surrounding us. The situation was getting more tense. I told the men to stay off their triggers because we appeared to be about to get the bad guys.

At this point I was about ten feet away from the CG and the ambassador. A group of Italians walked up to me and demanded to see whoever was in charge of our forces. I told them I was. An Italian general demanded to see my general. I said the CG was busy and he could talk to me. We argued about it for a few minutes. The Italian general stormed off, yelling something in Italian I didn't understand. More Italian police and military began to appear around us. I was worried their egos might take over and they'd do something really stupid.

A Navy captain who identified himself as the commanding officer of the U.S. Naval Air Facility at Sigonella arrived and said we ought to turn over the criminals to the Italians. I said no way; we were conferring with an Egyptian ambassador, and I expected the situation would be resolved soon. He said in return that we were on the Italian side of the base and that he found out what we were doing when the Italians told him. I began to wonder just what coordinating the people in Washington had done. (We later learned our government had tried to coordinate with the Italians, but that by the time they reached Premier Bettino Craxi, we were on the ground.)

My general came up and told me he was going to take the ambassador and a three-star Italian general (not the one I'd pissed off) someplace quieter to negotiate. “Hold down the fort, Bob. Don't let the Italians on the plane.”

I said, “Aye, aye, sir,” and they drove off.

As soon as he was gone, my radio operator told me we'd just received an order from someone over the SATCOM to assault the plane immediately, capture the bad guys, and depart on our C-141s. I took the receiver and explained the situation: we were surrounded by a large number of angry, heavily armed Italians. They had blocked our planes with vehicles and surrounded our position. Did he really want me to start a battle with them? I heard, “Wait—out.”

Earlier, I'd sent my executive officer, Commander Tom Moser, to keep a lid on things at the airplane stairs. As soon as I'd signed off, Tom came on: “Hey, boss, you'd better get over here. The Italians are about to assault my position.”

I went. Tom, Chief Petty Officer Rich Peters, and a couple of our troops were blocking the base of the stairs. An angry Italian officer was there as well. He told me he was taking his men aboard the plane. I told him no one was going on the plane until our bosses had reached some sort of agreement. We spent a few tense moments eyeballing each other, and he blinked. He agreed not to push the issue. Good thing, too, because my guys were beginning to get pretty irritated themselves. It was starting to get hot all around.

Back at my command post, I received a SATCOM transmission from the National Military Command Center, where the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the secretary of defense carry out the president's orders and otherwise manage crises. They asked for an order of battle. I told them I had eighty-three men with me. As near as I could tell, the Italians had about sixteen hundred troops around the airplane. “But,” I pointed out, “it's dark and I can't count heads.” The person on the other end thanked me and asked if I thought I could keep the 737 on the ground. I said, “No problem—the 737 isn't going anywhere.”

I knew this because earlier I'd sent Bob “Bobby Lew” Lewis, the man who'd taken the chain saw to the trees around the governor general's mansion during Urgent Fury, to the front of the 737 with a truck our Sigonella assault team had borrowed. I told him to take two men and make sure the plane stayed put. Bobby Lew said, “Don't sweat it, Skipper,” and what Bobby Lew said went.

Then the situation got even more tense. Bo called on the MX-300 to say that Italians with automatic weapons had surrounded his position to the left rear of the plane. I told him to have his guys face out and stay put. With Italian armored vehicles approaching from the apron in front of the 737, I suddenly heard a loud “bang.” Amidst a burst of adrenaline I thought, “Shot fired.” Bobby Lew came right up on the radio and said not to worry—one of the armored cars needed a tune-up. When he saw me confronting the Italian at the stairs he'd moved forward underneath the plane; when he went back to his vehicle, he found the ignition key broken off in the lock. Master Chief Billy Acklin told Bobby Lew that was okay, we weren't sending him out for beer anytime soon.

Everyone's nerves were tight as drumheads. The Italians were furious. In retrospect I don't blame them but at the time I didn't have much sympathy for their damaged feelings.

I called the commanding general's communicator on the SATCOM and asked how things were going. Lieutenant Colonel Dick Malvesti, from the operations division, told me it looked as if things were going well. They weren't yelling and they had just sent out for coffee. Dick said he would stay on the radio and let me know as soon as they decided something. One of the coolest officers around, Dick had been in our Army counterpart unit for years before moving to the Joint Headquarters staff. He knew what he was doing, and I trusted his judgment.

More Italians kept arriving at the plane. If shooting started, it was going to get interesting. I wasn't too worried, because we had enough firepower to force a standoff, but I knew we'd take casualties. Over the radio, I kept checking with my team leaders, who all reported that they were doing fine. Randy had refused a request by some Italian police to board and look around our C-141.

After a while I lost track of time. I remember looking at my watch and seeing we'd been in Sigonella about five hours. It seemed a lot longer than that.

Finally, Dick Malvesti called to say an agreement had been reached: we would turn over the hijackers to the Italians, who had agreed to prosecute them under Italian law. I told him I wasn't letting the Italians on the plane until the CG got back.