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The Delta stewardess on the hop from New York whispered into Jinnie’s ear, “Dame Jinnie, the pilot has just received a message to say the military will meet you and your sister on the airbridge at Norfolk when we land. I’ll make sure you are first off. Do you have hold baggage?” “No,” replied Jinnie, “we are travelling light.” “That’s easy then,” said the stewardess.
The stewardess pushed a way for the sisters through the Business Class cabin and out of the aircraft door onto the airbridge. Two US sailors snapped to attention and threw salutes to Jinnie and Penny, neither of whom were in uniform, so they did not salute back. The sailors took the sisters’ bags and asked them to follow them. The party set off down the airbridge and seemed to be following the signs to “baggage reclaim” until they came to a side door signed “No Entry,” which they went through.
The group continued down a series of corridors until they came to a door labelled “Fire Exit.” One of the guides waved a card over a reader and the door popped open without an alarm sounding. Outside, they went down a metal fire escape to the ground, where a US Navy limo was parked. While one sailor put the bags in the trunk, the other saw the sisters into the rear seats. They were soon under way, and Jinnie noted they were heading away from the naval station. The sailor who was driving explained, “There is no road from the airport to the naval station, so we have to drive west to the Military Highway, then north to the 170. That takes us back east to the station.”
The limo pulled up at the main gate to the Navy Yard, and a CPO appeared at the driver’s window, asking for papers. The two sailors produced plastic cards that the CPO scanned with his tablet and read their written orders. He then moved on to the sisters and demanded their paperwork, which did not exist. Jinnie fished out her British passport and handed it over. The CPO held it under his tablet, where the passport’s embedded chip was read, and Jinnie watched his face as a message was displayed. Immediately, his attitude changed. He handed Jinnie’s passport back and did the same with Penny’s. He then said, “Welcome to Norfolk Naval Station, Ma’am. The driver will take you to your accommodation, where reception has base access cards for you.” He then saluted and opened the barrier.
The base was enormous, and everywhere Jinnie looked there seemed to be warships and sailors. The car pulled up at a block signed “Visitor Accommodation,” and the sisters were led inside to a reception desk, where the old petty officer manning it saluted. He checked them off on his computer before handing them their base cards and explaining that not only were they security passes, but keys to their accommodation and credit cards, should they want anything from the PX. After a glance at his watch, the PO said they were due at a briefing at 18:30, but as it was only 13:00, perhaps they would like to settle in and get something to eat from the small visitor cafeteria he pointed out.
Jinnie used the card to open the door to her room and was pleasantly surprised. The winter sun was coming in the window and made the room bright and cheerful. The driver dumped her bag on a stand and explained he would be back at 18:15 to drive her to the briefing room on the other side of the yard. He saluted and was gone.
Jinnie decided she needed a wash to refresh herself after travelling and opened her bag to retrieve her wash bag. At the same time, she took the few clothes she had brought with her and put them into drawers and the wardrobe. She and Penny had been told not to take uniforms, as SEAL camouflage would be supplied. On opening the wardrobe, a new SEAL uniform was awaiting her. The uniform carried no unit markings, only rank and a name tab that said “Lieutenant Colonel Jinnie De Luca.” Jinnie read it twice. Normally, she carried the courtesy rank of Major, which was a NATO grade O3. She wondered why she had suddenly been promoted, but put on the uniform, which fitted well. Someone had forwarded her sizes.
Jinnie had just finished changing when there was a tap on the door. It was Penny, who was also in uniform and had also been promoted, but to Jinnie’s previous rank of Major. The two sisters had a short discussion about their new ranks but came to no conclusions as to why they had been promoted. However, they did conclude that they should get something to eat. Jinnie remembered reading that Special Forces took every opportunity for food, as they never knew if they were going to be sent on a mission and have to eat ration packs.
The sisters found their way back to the visitor cafeteria and discovered it was self-service, with a small selection of hot food keeping warm under heat lights. Some of the dishes were unfamiliar to them, so they both picked something more recognisable, a New York strip steak with mashed potatoes and greens of some kind. Despite Jinnie wishing she had found some chips, she found the food good and went back for Mississippi mud pie and cream out of a spray can.
The car was waiting for them at 18:15 and this time, as they were in uniform, they returned the driver’s sloppy salute with a crisp British one. The trip to the briefing room took them across the base and past many warships, including at least three aircraft carriers. Eventually, they passed yet another gate and into what appeared to be a base within a base, which the gate guard confirmed when he said, “Welcome to Naval Amphibious Base Little Creek,” before saluting.
The only person Jinnie recognised in the briefing room was Rear Admiral Dobiecki, who came straight over and said, “At last, some friendly faces. I know this is an American operation and I am only liaison, but they are playing this very close to their chests. I think something leaked from a previous mission and its details are being kept secret from even me.” “Well, we know as much as you,” replied Jinnie. “I am coming to hate this Naval Attaché post,” continued Dobiecki. “I am so far from any action, and I spend half my time buttering up the wives of senators and congressmen at Washington cocktail parties. I would prefer to be back at my old job, driving a desk in Whitehall, and I did not like that very much.”
“Have you thought about asking for a transfer?” asked Penny. “Of course,” replied George, “but I am told I am on a three-year rotation and I will not be given another posting until the three years is up, and I have over two years to go. Of course, I could resign, but what kind of job does an ex-Rear Admiral do in civvy street?” Before Jinnie could answer, a voice shouted, “Attention, flag officer on the deck.” The room fell silent and came to attention as an admiral, a commander and a captain walked in. The admiral and the commander took front-row seats while the captain took to the raised dais.
The captain said, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. For those of you who do not know me, I am Captain Goodwin, and I am the SEAL Team 2 Intelligence Officer, and it is my job to give this briefing on Operation Omega. Some of you know the basics of this operation, but for others this will be the first you know about it. Before I begin, I would like to welcome our guests from the United Kingdom, who will be playing a major part in this operation.”
Goodwin continued, “First, some background. As you may be aware, the States have been suffering from drugs being smuggled into the country from South America for some time. Operation Omega is us hitting back at the smugglers. The operation is divided into Omega A and Omega B. A is against the West Coast smugglers and B against the East Coast smugglers. The West and East Coast operations are essentially rather different and are to be tackled in different ways. Let us deal with the West Coast first. The drugs there come into California at night, mainly by speedboat from Mexico. The plan here is quite simple. It calls for an expert sniper to take out the boats from a sub’s sail.”
“Here we have a problem that the Brits are helping us with,” said Goodwin. “The plan calls for the use of explosive ammunition, and we have no snipers trained to use this ammunition at night and at distance. We have a similar but different problem on the East Coast. So, the Brits are loaning us their two best snipers who have used the ammo operationally. Now, when I say their two best snipers, I mean it. These girls are good. I am not sure if they are better than the best we have, but their reputation and records are unbelievable. I cannot give you details of just how good they are, it is restricted, so you will have to take my word for it.”
“The Brits are really stepping up to the plate on Omega A and will also be supplying the submarine,” continued Goodwin. “Which is already lying off the coast of San Diego. The only SEAL participation in ‘A’ is supplying a spotter from Team 7 and flying them to and from the sub, together with a supply of the ammunition. I gather the Brits’ preferred L115A3 sniper rifle is already on board.”
“The East Coast, Omega B, is not so simple. Here, the gangs use submarines and meet local transfer boats in the Gulf of America, off the coast of Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and Florida. That is a hell of a lot of coastline to cover,” said Goodwin. “So, the idea here is to launch a raid on the source of the subs and the drugs, which intelligence tells us is just south of the town of San Timoteo on Lake Maracaibo. Here, the plan is to infiltrate Platoon D from Team 2. They will operate as two eight-man squads under the leadership of Commander Woodhouse. The sniper will be Lieutenant Colonel Dame Jinnie De Luca, and the spotter will come from Platoon D.”
Goodwin continued, “The party will fly out to Aruba and pick up their gear from USS Jack H. Lucas (DDG-125), which is on a courtesy visit. Your cover will be crew rotating in. The ship will take you to off the coast of Venezuela, and you will proceed in four Zodiac CCRCs. The aim is to travel by night and land well south of the gang’s submarine construction yard and drug warehouse. You will hold up for the day and the following night move to within operational distance of the gang’s camp. You will set up a firing position and defensive lines and take out the subs and warehouses from distance, not risking yourselves. USS Jack H. Lucas will be available for the exfiltration.”
***
The C-17 Globemaster banked over Aruba and dropped onto the runway at Queen Beatrix International Airport, just outside Oranjestad. The SEALs, and Jinnie, did not go through the terminal but were loaded straight onto a bus that took them to the dockside and the destroyer. The party headed up the gangway and were shown to temporary accommodation. Because of her rank, Jinnie was allocated a bunk in a small cabin that she shared with the senior female officer on board, Lieutenant Commander Jane Benson, who was surprised to be sharing with a Brit in SEAL uniform.
Jinnie lay on her bunk, trying to get some sleep before the platoon was set down off Maracaibo, when there was a knock on the cabin door. Opening the door, she found a CPO carrying a gun bag. He saluted and presented her with the bag, saying, “This is your weapon, Ma’am. Can you sign for it, please?” Jinnie signed his tablet and took the gun bag. Once back on the bunk, Jinnie had a look at the Accuracy International L115A3 and realised it had been in store somewhere and was covered in protective grease. She groaned, knowing she needed to clean it before using it, and pulled the cleaning kit out of the bag.
Twenty minutes later, it was beginning to look better when Jane came into the cabin and saw pieces of rifle on the bunk. “Gosh,” said Jane, “that’s some rifle, I’ve never seen one like it.” Jinnie smiled and replied, “It’s a standard British Army long-range sniper rifle, and it is a superb weapon. I’ve used it many times and, in the right hands, it is lethal at over two miles, although the makers say it is good for 1,100 yards, but that is in the hands of a new shooter.” Jane said, “I’ve only shot a standard M4 carbine, and that is good for 500 yards.” “This rifle has been in store somewhere, and as I am going to be using it soon, I want it in tip-top condition. Do you know if there is somewhere I can fire it to zero it in?”
“We usually tow a target from the stern and shoot at it,” said Jane. “Although it is normally only at 450 yards when we must requalify, I don’t know if we have a long enough cable for you. And what size ammo does that monster use? We have loads of the 5.56 standard NATO round.” “It fires an 8.59 mm round,” said Jinnie. “I think that’s a .338 Magnum round in your terms, but don’t worry, the SEAL team brought a load for our mission.”
Jinnie’s request had made its way to the XO, who had agreed, and Jinnie found herself firing at a bullseye target being towed some 1,500 yards behind the ship. The crew had found spare cables, and they had been lashed together. Jinnie carefully aimed at the bull and fired. The SEAL spotter, who she was going to work with on the mission, reported a hit on the target but high and wide to the left. Jinnie was disappointed both with the shot and the information coming back. “How high and wide?” she demanded. “About 18 inches high and 30 inches wide,” came the reply. Jinnie made adjustments to the telescopic scope before firing again.
This time the spotter said, “Extreme outer ring to the left, an inch high.” Jinnie did a calculation in her head and made further adjustments to the scope. While doing so, she became aware that she had drawn a small crowd of officers and helicopter maintenance crew in the helicopter hangar doorway. She resumed the prone position on the helicopter deck she was firing from, took aim and shot again. The spotter called, “Bull’s eye, about half an inch high and half an inch to the right of dead centre.” Suddenly, Jinnie became aware of a round of applause from behind her. Encouraged, Jinnie took the fourth shot of the five in the clip. “Dead centre,” called the spotter, so she fired the fifth round and the spotter said that was about an eighth of an inch below the previous shot.
Satisfied, Jinnie stood up, took the empty clip out of the rifle, ensured the gun was empty and walked over to the small group of officers standing in the helicopter hangar doorway. The XO said to her, “I have never seen anyone do that at such a distance or with so few shots. That was some shooting.” The SEAL platoon commander, Lieutenant Brodsky, said, “I now see what we were told about your ability is true, Ma’am. How would you do with a fresh clip now the rifle is set up?”
Jinnie said, “I would expect a minimum of four bulls, shall we see?” Jinnie spoke to the Gunner’s Mate in charge of the ammunition, and he handed her a full clip. Jinnie said, “Thank you, Gunny,” and together with the spotter headed to the fantail and rapidly shot off the five rounds, with the spotter reporting “Bull” after each. Jinnie headed back to the group of officers, where Brodsky said, “Ma’am, do you mind if I tell the guys what just happened? Some were a little sceptical that a woman sniper could be better than one of our own.”
***
Jinnie went back to her bunk to clean the rifle after its use. This time, it was a simple clean and not the deep clean needed to return it from storage. Jane sat watching and said, “I was in the wardroom grabbing a sandwich and the rumours were incredible. Apparently, there is a woman sniper on board who just shot five bull’s-eyes in a row at 1,500 yards. Was that you?” Jinnie smiled, put down the can of gun oil and said, “I suppose so. I fired ten rounds. In the first clip, a couple were not very close, as I was aligning the sight with the rifle. I found it pulls a bit to the left. The third shot was better, on the edge of the bull, but the final two were bang in the centre.”
“I was showing off a bit with the second clip of five. The SEAL platoon commander challenged me to hit the bull again. I guess he thought I had fluked it the first time, so I just dropped into competition mode. I used to shoot in competition, but that was years ago when I was at university. Anyway, I put five in the bullseye. That will stop the platoon thinking I am only along for the ride.” Jinnie tidied away the rifle and looked at her watch, a little over three hours to reaching the drop-off point. Suddenly, she was hungry. Turning to Jane, she asked, “Is there hot food in the wardroom?” Jane replied, “There is always hot food in the wardroom, even if it is only hot dogs, burgers and pancakes, but if you smile nicely at the orderly, he will fry you eggs and bacon.”
Jinnie wiped her mouth on the paper napkin and caught the ship’s XO looking at her from the next table, where he was drinking coffee with a couple of other officers. Realising he had been caught, he said, “I am sorry, Lieutenant Colonel De Luca, but I have never seen anyone eat fried egg and bacon in a sandwich before.” Jinnie replied, “In the British forces, an egg banjo is a staple. In the Navy, when a ship is on ‘Action Stations’, the galley will prepare a huge pile of egg banjos and bacon butties and take them round to the men who cannot leave their posts. Together with a mug of what we call builder’s tea, it will keep the crew happy.”
Jinnie continued, “But there are some rules. The yolk of the egg must be runny, the bread must be sliced thick and liberally buttered, so the hot egg makes the butter melt and mingle with the yolk when you bite in. Oh yes, I nearly forgot, it must have HP Brown sauce on it. It is similar for the bacon butty, thick buttered bread with two or three rashers of British back bacon, not this crispy stuff you call bacon. It is a bit like our streaky bacon, but overcooked. There was no sliced bread on the self-service, so I had to resort to a big soft roll, which I buttered myself and added a fried egg that the ward orderly did for me sunny side up, and half a dozen rashers of your bacon, which the orderly did not think I would like because he thought it was not cooked. So, what I had was not an egg banjo but an egg and bacon bap.”
The XO shook his head and said, “I think I understood that, but why a banjo?” “Well, the explanation I heard,” replied Jinnie, “was that when a sailor bit into the sandwich, they had to be careful of the yolk spurting on their uniform, and if it did, they held the sandwich in one hand and rubbed vigorously with the other, so it looked like they were playing a banjo, and the name stuck. It is an egg banjo in all three services. One other thing, in Britain a sandwich is between two slices of buttered bread. A hamburger goes in a roll, it is simply referred to as a hamburger and never a sandwich. If I go to Subway, I do not buy a sandwich, it is a roll.”
“But what’s a bap?” asked one of the junior officers.
***
Jinnie sat in the lead of three Zodiacs, which were carrying half the platoon. The remainder and the stores were split between two more Zodiacs as they crept past the distant lights of the city of Maracaibo, into the massive Lake Maracaibo. With the lights disappearing behind them, and the chance of being detected reducing, the three boats sped up and moved out into the middle of the lake. The plan called for them to pass wide of the cities on the east bank and to land north of San Timoteo and hold up over the day to prepare for a night attack the following day.
The sky was lightening as the Zodiacs were dragged out of the water and under cover of the jungle and camouflage nets. Four SEALs were left to guard the boats, while the remainder, including Jinnie, set off on foot to find a suitable firing base for the attack. It was nearly light when Jinnie declared a small jungle-covered hill suitable. The SEALs struck camp and, with a small guard contingent posted, set about finding suitable spots to eat and sleep away the daylight hours.
As darkness fell, half the platoon, under Commander Woodhouse, set off for the edge of town, ready to launch the coordinated attack. The remaining four were Jinnie’s spotter and three perimeter guards, to protect the camp and Jinnie’s position. While there was sufficient light, Jinnie checked her loaded ammunition clips laid out on either side of her position. To her right was a pile of nine five-round clips she had loaded with explosive ammunition. The tenth clip was already loaded in the rifle and, for luck, she had an extra round in the breech. To her left were a further ten clips, five loaded with armour-piercing bullets and five with full metal jacket bullets.
She was pleased to see her spotter using his scope to measure out the yardage to possible targets and making notes in his notebook. Jinnie glanced at her watch. She had plenty of time to have an energy drink from her breakfast MRE before the scheduled kick-off at 13:08. There were two subs tied up at the wooden jetty, and Jinnie had watched the one furthest from her being loaded with what appeared to be drums of something, which had come out of a lakeside warehouse.
Woodhouse had said to Jinnie that the warehouse would be the first target for his ground attack, but he was worried that the steel doors might be a problem. Jinnie had agreed a codeword over the platoon radio network if she was to shoot out the door with explosive rounds. It would be quicker and safer than planting a demolition charge.
With two minutes to go, Jinnie had her sights lined up on the submarine’s engine cover. She was concentrating on the shot she was about to take but could not help reflecting on the SEAL who had told her it was not a true submarine but a semi-submersible. Jinnie chuckled to herself. If this shot went as expected, it would not matter what it was, as it would be a burnt-out hulk sitting on the lakebed.
At exactly eight minutes past one, the voice of Commander Woodhouse came out of her earpiece, saying, “It’s a go, go, go.” Jinnie gently squeezed the trigger and, as the bullet flew the 2,021 yards to the target, worked the bolt action to ready a second round in the chamber. Through the night scope, she saw the bullet explode and the engine hatch cover cartwheel into the lake. There was a small lick of flame, but nowhere near enough to satisfy the destruction of the boat. Jinnie fired again, this time through the hatchway into the engine compartment, and this time the bang of the bullet exploding was followed by a series of secondary explosions, and smoke and flames belched out of the hatch. She guessed she had severed a fuel line and it was feeding the fire. She put the remaining three bullets in the clip into the side of the semi-submersible and was satisfied to see three holes appear on the waterline and water clearly rushing in.
Jinnie put in a fresh clip and asked, “Range?” The spotter tore his eyes from the blazing, sinking boat, consulted his notebook and replied, “1,897 yards.” Jinnie fired the five rounds in the clip with exactly the same result. She was now free to hit targets of opportunity unless she was called to support the SEALs. She put a bullet into the propane tank used to refuel the forklift truck that she had watched earlier being used to load the boat. This time there was an enormous explosion and the wall of the building the tank was next to collapsed, including half the building’s roof.
For good measure, Jinnie put a round into the large tank on the back of the forklift and it too exploded, tipping the forklift over on its side and leaving it precariously balanced on the edge of the dock. As she watched, she saw several black-overalled SEALs moving around. She knew they were SEALs as each had a tiny infra-red light on their head that glowed like a beacon in her night sight. As she watched, she saw a pane of glass broken and a grenade tossed into a building. There was a thump rather than an explosion and flames became visible. Jinnie knew the SEALs had carried incendiary and not HE grenades, so she was not surprised.
The spotter said, “Lights have come on in a building far left by the main gate.” Jinnie swung her rifle and, through the scope, saw a man in a blue shirt looking out of the window holding a handgun. Again, she asked, “Range?” and her spotter replied, “2,187 yards.” Jinnie knew this was close to the longest shot she had ever taken with the explosive ammunition, but the window was a big target, so she pulled the trigger and watched the window explode and the man in the blue shirt disappear. As Jinnie worked the bolt action, the door of the building opened and a different man staggered out carrying a long-barrelled gun. Without hesitation, Jinnie pulled the trigger. Two seconds later, the man’s chest exploded, splattering blood and tissue all over.
“Holy crap,” said her spotter. “That guy just exploded.” Jinnie replied, “That’s what explosive ammunition does. I didn’t have time to swap to FMJ.” Before the conversation could continue, the codeword “Pilgrim” sounded in Jinnie’s ear and attention turned to the metal doors of the main warehouse. Jinnie toggled her mic on and said, “Stand clear, firing in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.” She pulled the trigger and a large hole appeared in the door, not quite big enough for a man to get through comfortably. So, she fired a second time just to one side and was satisfied the hole was now big enough. “Fire mission complete,” she said into the mic and continued to observe.
Jinnie watched as two SEALs, dressed in white forensic suits and wearing breathing masks and carrying what looked like explosive satchels, went in through the hole she had made in the steel shutter. SEALs carrying similar satchels were disappearing into other buildings and coming out empty-handed. As Jinnie moved her scope from building to building, her spotter said, “Main gate,” and pointed to where a crew-cab pickup was arriving. As she watched, a man got out of the front passenger door and went to a keypad and started to punch in a code.
Jinnie did not hesitate and immediately pulled the trigger before the gate could open. The bullet was a spot lower than intended, but the man’s gut exploded all over the front of the pickup. The second bullet exploded in the cab, killing the driver, and the third blew up the engine, setting the vehicle ablaze. A voice in her ear said, “Nice shooting. We are withdrawing in three minutes and should be with you in 45.”
The two men in paper suits and breathing masks came out through the hole Jinnie had created, and she observed the paper suits and overshoes being cut off and dropped in a dumpster. Her spotter said, “It’s to stop them getting contaminated with the fentanyl. One of the other teams raided a warehouse and a SEAL who went in got it on his skin without knowing and nearly died. Now we take no chances. They will burn the suits and the face masks in the dumpster.”
With the dumpster blazing, the spotter showed Jinnie three men cutting a big hole in the wire mesh fence behind the gatehouse, close to the road. He said, “False trail, make everyone think we left via the road.” Jinnie knew the real point of egress was over the northern perimeter fence and into the forest. As she saw the last SEAL melt into the trees, the first incendiary bomb went off in one of the buildings with a crump rather than a bang, and quickly flames were licking out of the roof. Other buildings followed and within minutes the whole complex was ablaze.
Jinnie scanned the whole complex. The submersibles had sunk and only the tips of their conning towers were visible. Every building, including the gatehouse, was ablaze and not a thing moved. The generator that ran the compound’s floodlights was the last thing to be hit by an incendiary and the lights went out, but it was hardly noticeable as the illumination was now coming from the burning buildings.
After lying up during daylight and watching gang members trying to stop police and firefighters from entering the site, the platoon took to the Zodiacs by darkness and headed back across the lake and north past Maracaibo and out to sea for their rendezvous with the USS Jack H. Lucas.
Chapter 34: The debrief
© WorthingGooner 2026
