Chapter 4: The Island
The Pilot of the twin-engine Grumman Albatross dropped his left wing, and he got a good look at the island he was going to drop off the snake eaters at. He was not impressed, with what he saw. Even from only 400 feet above the waves, it only looked like a large sand dune in the middle of the ocean. The water all around this area was very clear. He could see the area north of the island was shallower, but that would make for a longer walk for the guys in back. And sometimes waves did funny things, when they went from Open Ocean to very shallow water. There was a little bite out of the south west side of the island that gave it a harbor. Well cove would have been a better fit, than a word like harbor. The grounded warship was in that limited cover, and it almost filled the crescent shaped cut in the land mass. From the images that had been in his briefing. The cove looked bigger, from sea level. He was not going to risk that landing in his aircraft.
With another slight movement of the stick, he leveled his wings. The blowing sand gave him an idea of how the wind was moving in the local area, and he was betting that the island was blocking most of it. He only had a co-pilot with him, and the rest were the shooters or cargo needed to support the shooters. The two sets of eyes looked around the open water, and from this high they could not see anything. That was one of the things that was so hard to get used to. This area had been a major shipping lane, and it should have been filled with ships moving from Europe to China or Japan. Now it was the land or water home of pirates. He slowly dropped down to the water going from east to west. He wanted to stop “his” craft before it reached the beached ship.
The water was almost glass smooth as the Albatross boat like hull kissed the water top, and then suddenly a wall of white momentarily cut all vision to the outside world. The water started to grab more and more of the surface area of the flying boat as it lost lift. With a flip of a switch, the twin propellers cut back power to only idle. The plane now boat coasted until it was more bobbing up and down, and not moving in one direction.
The pilot did a quick check. His craft was carrying a rated full load, but thanks to the fuel he burned coming out here. His craft was sitting a good 6inchs higher in the water, than when he had left Mombasa a few hours ago. He slowly taxied his bobbing boat with wings closer to the nearby sand covered shore. He was waiting to feel the sand start to scrape on the hull bottom. Then he could turn his craft so that the loading hatch was parallel to the beach. At the planning meeting, it was assessed that the sand on the island was too soft for him to use it as a runway. That left only a water landing to get some shooters on the dirt.
With only one engine providing power he slowly nosed his craft forward. He had less power, used less gas, but he had finer control of his now boat. He didn’t have any air much less water charts of this island, which were of any use. He just kept his flying boat headed towards the island, at about a walking pace. On a whim, he dropped his landing gear, but he did not lock them down. When he hit shallower water? It should let him know by the feel of the moving sand on the wheels, and it would push up the landing gear.
It did not take long for the pilot “to feel” the sand. He knew how “tall” his landing gear was, below the boat hull part of his craft. He looked at the beach and did a shoulder shrug. Most would say that he did the math. But he really just made a guess and pulled the landing gear up with the hydraulic assist motor. He gave the craft a little more rudder, and then the passengers could “hear” the sand on the bottom of the craft over the light engine noise.
Bill turned around and looked behind his “co-pilot” and with an evil grin. “You boys will have to put out or walk to shore.”
SSG Wilkes gave the old man a look. “You’re not my type. I think that I’ll walk.” When he looked over his shoulder, he could see the grins from his team. They had heard the old joke. “Okay, it’s time to go to work.”
While the detachment NCO was getting out of the five-point harness seat. The side of the craft opened up, and one of the team jumped into the warm water. When he came up out of the blue water, a line was passed to him. He would be the anchor, while they unloaded. He was supposed to swim to the shore and put the anchor in the sand. When he stood up, the plan changed. That proved unnecessary, just like the small inflatable raft in the back of the plane. The water was only a little deeper than hip deep on the best swimmer in the team.
The team quickly formed a human chain in the water, and the float plane was emptied of the supplies that had been brought out with them. In less than a half an hour, after touching down on the underwater sand. The twin-engine float plane was empty of cargo and passengers, and it was starting to pull out into a little deeper water to start it’s take off run. It was leaving behind on the very real desert island. A ten-man detachment making up two SF teams, with a small pile of supplies.
SSG Wilkes was watching the old plane slide across the water and become a full-fledged airplane again. He suddenly felt very alone. He could see the rest of the team watching their only contact with what passed for civilization this late into world war III. Without thinking about it, he knew what he needed to do to get his detachment back focused on the mission.
“Corporal X take Bravo team and check out the tin can. I’ll take the rest of the degenerates and scout out a place to set up an over watch and hide site. Let’s make sure we are alone. When you and your team are done? Come back here and start helping hump this crap.”
Corporal Tim “X” Xzavier took Bravo team. The 5 of them fast walked toward the grounded Russian destroyer. They were lightly loaded with weapons and equipment as they went about the task in a tactical manner. You did not need much, when you were doing close quarters clearing of an objective. It would be AKs/M16s/45s and grenades if they found anyone that wanted to have a fight. It did not take Bravo team but two hours to clear the dead ship. Just as they had been briefed, it was empty of threats and bodies. It was a ghost ship, ripe for the taking.
The second in command made it almost to the top of the dune, that made up the spine of this small island. He could see were a slit trench was already being dug into the hard sand. As he watched a new hole opened in the side of the dune. It was a short tunnel going to the military crest on the other side of the knife edge dune. There would be two short trench lines with bunkers on the ends, one on each side of the crest.
When X dumped his arm and back load of supplies. The SSG looked up from using the sharp point of the shovel to dig out a harder packed block of sand. “Give it to me, Tim.”
Tim gave a slight smile and hopped down into the half-finished trench. “For once, the briefing was right. No one’s here. We found about twenty sets of bones on that point of land, on the other side of the ship. I would say they ran aground, and then ran out of food and or water. We did not find any of those things on that hell’s sized oven. Even rainwater had dried up on her top deck. I’m not a sea born bell hop, but I think she is solid.”
The SSG used the shovel handle to hold up his arm. “That is a first. Help get the stuff up here. Then we all will take a break, and get some water and food. I want everything dug in and undercover as fast as we can. Then I’m going to have to call back to base. The pilot should have let them know that we landed okay, but I want to make sure. We’re going to be here for a few days, but I don’t want everyone to get too used to doing nothing. I soooo do not want another Sudan.”
Tim gave a sour look, and then a slight head nod. They had lost half a team, trying to pull out a few dozen boxes of 122mm rockets. He did not want to have another Sudan, ether. With the addition of five more sets of hands, and a break to eat, drink and to grab a little rest. The rest of the supplies were brought closer to the building trench, and its twin defensive points. Only 8 troopers were working on the defensive and hide site at any one time. The rotation to the two over watching positions gave the whole team a recharge every hour.
The key to making the two trenches and four defensive points a viable hide site. Was that once they got the rough parts done, they had to start “hiding” it. This team had been in Africa for about a half decade, so they had a good idea on what they would need, when the order was given to head out. They did not have much time to get anything special, but you would be surprised what you can get done in half an hour. That is, if you have a huge warehouse and the right drive to supply those needs.
When the trench was about halfway to the needed depth, tent canvas was pulled out and set up over it. It was not the right color, but after a little work to get the pitch of the canvas just right. Some local sun-bleached sand blended it into the background. When it was about two hours until sun set, the whole team stopped working. The trenches and defensive points were not “done”, but they had excavated two tunnels. They had enough space to store all of the supplies needed to live for 14 days on the island without additional support.
Only four of the team members would be awake, after the end of day meal. Two would be awake on each side of the ridge. Very little work would be done on the hide site, after the meal. It was too dark, and the team was not going to risk any light leaking out to give away their location to anyone in the local area. The sun baked sand kept the group warm, as the outside temperatures dropped, and the winds started to kick up. This combination had the makings for a very cool night. If they were seen landing? This would be the time that they would be attacked.
When the sun started to rise. The detachment had a stand-to, and everyone was awake to watch the sunrise. After a visual scan of the local area, going all the way to as far as their spotting scopes could reach out to sea was done. A pair of two-man patrols walked/jogged the 7km island to make sure no one had come ashore, without being noticed. SSG Wilkes had to contact Head Quarters, while the patrols were making their circuits.
He would have to do this twice a day, or until something major happened. He did get one set of good news. He was told that the reinforcing team was on the way. It was coming via a slower mode of travel, but it would be there in less than a week. The main recovery team was still being drawn up and would not leave port for a few more days, at best. The last part was not so good news. Two SF teams were bad news for any local group to deal with. But that did not mean that they could not be wiped out, if enough bad guys showed up.
Day 4 on Darsah
The SF detachment had been on the island for now starting, on their fourth morning. The hide site was done but would be slowly modified, as they had time and ideas to make it more comfortable were identified. They had seen four vessels in the local area, after they had landed. All had been sail powered, and seemed to be fishing boats in nature and in operation. That did not mean much, as most of the local fisherman would turn pirate. That is, if they thought they could get away with it. Each ship had been reported back to headquarters, after they had left the area. Wilkes didn’t think that they had gotten close enough to the island, to see the grounded Russian destroyer.
On the third day of their stay on the island. The mission NCO sent a team down to the grounded warship, after the morning patrol. They went over it from top to bottom. Amazingly most of the weapons could still be turned and elevated under manual controls, after some work. They seemed to be in working order, but his team was light on heavy weapons training. They were able to get two of the 57mm AA guns, one on each side of the ship, to do everything but fire a real round. They found half a dozen spent shells in a below deck ammunition locker to test the weapons. The ready lockers on deck were still half full with live shells. They had wanted to fire the weapons for real, but Wilkes had put a squash on that. He did not want to announce to the locals that they were there. If they needed those cannons? They would test fire them, in live action. Being in the ship during the day was like being in an oven set on max. The internal temperature was well over 100 degrees before noon, even at this time of year.
The sun was just starting to set, when the north side lookouts spotted another sail coming over the horizon. This did get everyone’s attention, but not in a major way. The 10 man team was on alert, but they did not change the pattern that they had fallen into. That changed when it was reported that the sails had turned, and it looked like the boat was heading towards them. The whole team went to stand to in about 10 seconds. Two M60’s, one very battered PKM, and one almost brand new M249 were uncovered on the end defensive points. All eyes were out, but the only threat was on the north side of the island.
The sailing boat had two light MGs, one mounted on the bow and the other on the square stern. That automatically did not make this boat, a pirate vessel. Everyone was packing heat, these days. It was just a matter of how much, and how they planned on using it. Those were the only weapons seen by the team on the island. Both weapons were manned, but the 1-man operators were not “active” in their duties. They looked to be asleep, as they held the deadly weapons. They were not expecting any threat, but they were supposed to look like that they would be ready at short notice. The SF teams kept a count on the number of bodies on the vessel. Soon they had even given a few of them “names”, but the little vessel had at least fifteen warm bodies on it.
The sailboat moved to the west, when it was only a few hundred meters off the north side of the island. It was just before the sunset. They started to take down the sails and a pair of anchors were dropped over the side. It looked like the boat was going to be staying the night. The SF team kept watching the boat, from their hide sites. When all but one light on the boat was extinguished, most of the team was allowed to come off “shift” and get some sleep.
The two SF teams were awakened an hour before sunrise. The time just before sunrise, is one of the best times to attack. That is due to the slow response time of any one awake, your body’s clock is just geared that way. The team would eat their second cold meal, in the last 24 hours. This fact did not even make it into the forefront of their minds. They had eaten cold meals for days on end, on past missions. At least this one was not still squirming when it was popped into their mouths. The team barely spoke as they moved under cover, in the two trenches. They knew how far sound could travel and that possible pirate boat, was well within that distance.
They had just finished checking equipment and getting some food in them, when the number of lights on the anchored boat started to grow. The team when on full alert, as more and more people started to wonder around the top deck of the sailboat. The SF team watched as the crew on the fishing boat below them went about, whatever it was that they were doing. It was two hours of stress, which rolled off their backs like water off of a duck. They all started to breathe a little easier, when the two anchors were pulled out of the water.
They almost fully relaxed when the boat started to move. Then they noticed that the boat was moving west and staying very close to the shore of the island. Being that close to the shore, meant that they were risking the boat to any underwater rock or other obstruction. The team was again on full alert when they saw someone in the mast yell and point to the south. The team knew that the grounded warship had been spotted by the fishing boat.
The team was not going to fire into a fishing boat, not if they didn’t have to. They watched as the sailboat made a hard turn and crossed over to the south side of the island, that held the small cove filled with a grounded warship. It looked like things were about to go downhill for the SF Teams.
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Wilkes made his way through to the western most of the two little tunnels to the south trench. He set up beside the group sharpshooter. He could not call just anyone, sniper. That was because he was old school, and this person had not gone through a proper sniper school. That didn’t mean that his team sharpshooter was not one hell of a shot.
Wilkes looked threw a spotting scope, and he could tell that the small sailboat was going to try to land on the island. He was working out what might be the best way to handle what was coming. In a soft voice. “Jill, you think you can give them a warning shot? I don’t want to give away our position, and I don’t want to shoot a fisherman.”
Jill was not the snipers real name, but it was close to Chill and that was good enough for her. She was looking down the scope mounted on her SVD sniper rifle and made a very slight adjustment to her firing position. “Yea, I can. The back mounted MGs is not moving hardly at all. I could get a good slider off of it.”
Tabatha “Jill” Chill was not your normal US military Special Forces trooper. She also had never been to the US, that she could remember. Oh, and she was a woman. She had been born to an American father and a German mother, who both worked at a safari park. She had been shooting for as long as she could remember. It had started with small game, and to keep the rats out of the fodder for the safari park’s animals. She had killed her first poacher at the ripe old age of 16 in Feb 1995. Things had quickly gone downhill, as the Great War of Africa went into high gear. She quickly developed a local reputation, as a hunter of men. That was how she got the Russian sniper rifle. She had “joined” the military, not long after she had acquired the weapon from its former owner.
Now at 22, she was an old hand at the sniping business. She had kept the Russian Dragunov, because of the steady supply of 7.62x54R in the bush. She had made only one change to the weapon after she had taken the weapon off the body of the Sniper, which had killed her boyfriend the week before. That was to replace the optics with some of the great toys the American Special Forces had under lock and key. It was with one of those nice devices, that she was “zoomed” in on the ship moving parallel to the island.
Wilkes let out a little breath, which was almost a sigh. “Do it.” With those few words, he was committed.
Tabatha put her finger in the trigger well and gave the thorn shaped metal a little pressure. The sound in the trench was impressive, but for the ear plugs both were wearing. Unlike in the movies, her barrel was not exposed to the outside world. She was firing completely from within the trench. This little trick kept a muzzle flash from being so visible and a cloud of sand flying around, to be marked for returning fire.
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Abdi Risqe Shakh’s head snapped up, as he heard the sound of some high-speed metal hitting hard metal. His long years in combat, had told him that the zipping sound after the metal impact was not an issue. If you heard it? Then it had missed you, and you were safe. The aft gunner was looking wide eyed at the silver smear that had appeared on the side of his machine gun. Now knowing his gunner was alive, and more importantly his weapon should be still functional. Abdi turned to where the gun shot could only have come from.
He had been surprised at the sight of the grounded warship. He had only stopped at this small island, because he needed to get some rest. And he did not trust any of his crew, to keep his ship off any rocks in the night. It was only out of curiosity, that he had started to sail around it. The French and the damn Americans had been very active in looking for his kind of people. Then to his surprise, he had seen the rust scarred ship on the other side of the island from where he had anchored overnight. It was too good, not to want to check out. But now it appeared that the crew was still alive, and that they did not want to risk the hospitality of this Somali based band. Now that he had thought about it, he gave a few orders. He was known to make snap decisions while on the water and this morning was no different.
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Wilkes kept watching, as the sharpshooter had put the round dead-on target. He had even seen the look on the gunner’s face when the round had impacted on the side of his weapon. He was hoping that the warning shot, would be enough to get the fishermen to leave the area. Someone shooting at you was the universal sign that someone wanted you to go away, and I have a firearm that will ruin your day.
All the SSG could do was frown, as he watched the crew come pouring out of the different access ways on the sail powered fishing boat. Each one was coming out with some kind of rifle. That was all the proof he needed to know, that this was not just the run of the mill fishing vessel. His hopes were further dashed as the vessel made a sharp turn, towards the island. It quickly crossed the few dozen feet of water and ran aground on the wet sand. The now armed crew came spilling out of the wooden hulled ship, in a tidal wave of flesh and weapons. These were not the actions of a fishing vessel, was about all that Wilkes could think about.
The SF team did not need orders to start servicing targets of the new threat. Chill took out the bow MG gunner with a single shot to his bare chest. This took both of the MGs out of the battle that was growing on the beach below them. She had killed the bow gunner, and the ship’s orientation blocked the second MG gunner from seeing any targets. That is unless, he wanted to start shooting threw his own sails or deck.
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