looking for Something. a fan fic

[cawest]

so I put chapter 1 up and no one threw stones at me so here you go. This is were it will be posted and I hope you all like it.


Looking for Something.
Twilight 2000

Chapter 1 intro

Richard Mtendere looked off into the distance. The twin mast ship was making good speed threw the small waves on the blue water. Well it was making good speed, for a sailing craft in the middle of World War 3. Richard could not help, but chuckle at that thought that had just went through his mind. He had grown up in Traverse City, Michigan. He had joined the army for two reasons. One was that his chief rival in high school, had gone into the navy. That was not generally a surprise, not with his hometown dominated by the Grand Traverse Bay. That led to the second reason for him to join the army. He had gotten into a fight with the football captain and soon to be navy man at a graduation night party, which had not ended well for both of them. The Football jock had ended up in the hospital. And by that Friday? Richard had ended up at the Recruiter’s office in town. The Army Recruiter was the only one who could get him out of town in the time frame, that he felt like he needed.

He had done…… okay in the military. He was a grunt, but he was smart enough to keep his head down at all of the right times. He made buck Sergeant, just before the issues between China and the Russians had started to heat up in a major way. His unit had lucked out and had missed the first few months of the war, before his unit had been sent to Germany. Again, his unit had lucked out when the nuclear weapons started to fly in numbers that had only been seen in a few people’s nightmares. It was not long after that. That he was notified that his family and the girl he had sort of liked, had been killed in a riot.

Not long after that, he had been moved to be the NCO in charge of protecting the Battalion headquarters. That had killed his next promotion, but with the number of replacements drying up. This Battalion was more like a larger company than a Battalion Taskforce, which it had deployed to Europe as. He spent most of his time with his Battalion Commander, a very young Major who had been his company commander for the past four years. His main job had been fighting against Marauders and other criminal gangs, which were operating behind the lines.

Then the final push to try to reach the Russian/Polish boarder had happened, and his unit had been chosen to add numbers to the attack force. They had rolled through the enemy “front lines” and the fighting had been as expected, right until the time that it was not. The whole front had been stalled for some time, and then word came that everyone was on their own. Was the war over? He had no clue on what to do next, but the old man did.

The Old Man had been from some small town on the seacoast of Maine. Thomas W Hyde had joined the military, as part of being a way to get out of the family business. It had something to do with fishing. As it turned out, it was harder to get the salt out of his veins. When word had come down, to the Old Man that it was up to him to pull out his troops? He had reached down into his roots, and he had pulled out his “Go To Hell Plan”.

By now, his whole Battalion was only made up of 27 combat effectives. About a third of them were not even “American”. He gathered “his” people together and briefed his modified plan to his unit. They were now mainly just light infantry, with only two HMMWVs spread out between them. One was a fire support version of that incredible off-road vehicle. The rest of their weapons were smaller and lighter than that 25mm chain gun. Only 15 of the 27 troopers in the Battalion had decided to try the Major’s plan. It was a little on the crazy side. Richard could not fault the group, which had decided to try their own plans. He would be going along with the Oldman. Besides he had a few ideas of his own, on how to help make it a more workable plan.

They “traded” the two 4-wheel drive vehicles to a local “militia” leader. The 25mm turret had been missing on the second truck, when the trade had been offered and completed. The turret had been replaced with a large thin piece of steal to make a large, but workable hatch. The trader had given them two small river sail boats, with auxiliary diesel motors. It took a lot of work, but a 60mm mortar and a pair of light Machine guns were added to both small craft. The Major’s boat also had the fully operational 25mm chain gun turret mounted and hidden under a tarp on the bow. Rigging the power supply for the turret, had not been a trivial task.

They had started on the lower Pilica River, with those two boats. They had been filled with all of the people, weapons, and other supplies that the unit had left. After a few days, they had to repack both vessels. They had pulled onto one of the banks of the slow-moving river. The boats were still overloaded after the repacking, but the pair of ship’s crews had learned a few new skills in those first few days. The pair of boats had slowly made their way to the Vistula River, and then they were able to make it all the way to Gadansk….sort of. They had not done this, without a lot of blood being spilled on both sides.

The last 10km of the trip, had been done on foot. That had been due to battle damaged to both boats on the long trip down the rivers. By now, less than ten people of the original group had remained on those two boats. They had picked up some additions along the way, to replace those that had died or had just decided that they had gone far enough.

Now on the Baltic Sea. They had almost tactically moved west on foot, working down the coast of the windswept and storm-tossed Baltic Sea. When they had found a town that was under attack on their trek west. The group had helped turn the tide against a set of Marauders flying Russian colors on the town. It had taken a few days to work out what had been going on, but the town had been happy to see them. With their help, the two river sail boats were recovered from the river and moved to the town.

Major Hyde, with a lot of help from Richard, had traded the two river boats for a medium coastal sailing fishing/light cargo boat. The pair of them made plans to go to Bremerhaven, and a hoped-for ride home as part of something called Operation Omega. The backup plan, if that failed, was more complex. It started with them trying to sail across the North Atlantic. The backup plan to that one had them sailing down the coast and heading to west Africa. From there, they would cross the ocean to South America. After they survived that crossing, they would head north to the land of The Big PX.

Richard had found that he had remembered quite a bit about sailing, from his days on the bay as a kid and young adult. They had made it to Bremerhaven, without to many external issues. The 25mm chain gun had a way of making sure pirates stayed at a safe distance, from the small cargo sailing ship. When they had safely arrived, at the still very busy harbor with the over loaded vessel. The little ship had picked up two other small groups, who had been trying to make the same trip. Only they did not have the required skills to make it all the way on the water.

It had taken almost two days before the local authorities had accepted that they were members of the US military. It had taken some time to get used to being part of “The Army” again. Major Hyde had been re-tasked to help keep everything under control in the general area around the harbor. The Staff Sargent had been given a very different set of tasks.

One of the missions, which had come up for him to do. After he had to set threw and pass about a dozen classes on how to use a small boat. He was to run around the Baltic area looking for lost souls, which were looking for a ride home. They also were to pick up needed supplies, which the troops in Bremerhaven might need. If they could take out some enemy units, equipment, or the odd pirate or three? That would be also looked at as a positive outcome of his mission. Richard was not a master sailor, but he was given command of the mission and the sailboat he and the Major had acquired. This was okay with Richard.

During Richard’s third interview after returning from a patrol, things changed. That was when he had been given the choices to go home or maybe going somewhere else. He had picked somewhere else. Due to his skills, he had been “asked” to board the ship heading for East Africa. The ship, that he was on moved to leave the German harbor on Thanksgiving Day 2000. Richard had been with a handful of other passengers on the tramp freighter. He had mixed feelings about how and why he was leaving Europe. This was his clean break with anything related to his old life and unit. He was a lone man in the big bad world.

That was how he had found himself in Mombasa, Kenya. There had been some chaos when he had walked off the tramp freighter, that had some quickly painted over French markings Richard had found on the second day of the trip out. Richard had “lost” himself, as he took some time off away from the war. It seemed like all of the military people at the dock were more concerned about the aircraft parts the little tramp freighter had brought in. That and the 20 or 30 aircraft and heavy vehicle mechanics that he had been riding with in the rust bucket.

He had been hip deep in this war, for over five years. Richard could not remember all of the people he had seen killed. He wanted a break, away from orders, away from death, and away from the cold. A few days of vacation had quickly turned into a month, before he reported in at one of the defense points. Soon he was transferred to a small Repo Depot/Turtle farm. Because he was “army” and carried an official infantry MOS. He had been first pointed to a ground unit. But after explaining what he had been doing in the Baltic, before Omega had been launched. He had been “assigned” to the navy. The Navy had no idea what to do with him and put him on desk duty. Richard had found something to do, all on his own. He had started working with Operation Harvester, just on his own terms and in a very low-keyed way.

[cawest]

Chapter 2 On the run.

A splash of sea water brought Richard back to the real world. It also made his head jerk just a little, but it was enough that he could see the M40 recoilless rifle mounted on the bow of this sailing vessel. It was not a “real” M40 but a captured Norinco made Type 75, which was a clone of the American made weapon. That was not the only weapon, which the Bluenose III carried. Like a lot of things coming out of Mombasa these days. The Mombasa made vessel had a mixed heritage. Not that Richard was going to complain or point fingers.

She had come out of the growing support facilities, which were currently based in the harbor of Mombasa. Besides helping maintain the areas ships, they were adding to the number of vessels operating in this area. They had started building “new” ships, of the type that they had thought were a better fit to the current realities of this part of the world. The Bluenose III was over 140 feet long and massed just under 240tons empty, when she was launched out of a Mombasa dry-dock. She had twin mast to propel her from one point on the ocean to another. She also had a pair of multi-fuel engines salvaged from two wrecked five-ton cargo trucks center mounted in her hull. They were great for running around in a harbor, or when the horse latitudes reared up its ugly head.

She not only had the Chinese made Type 75 for teeth, which had come from some unit from Tanzania that had been hammered flat. She had a TCM-20 turret mounted on her aft deck. This went along with the small arms for every one of her 20-person crew to carry. She also had 4 light MGs to help with defense of the vessel against the growing threat of pirates. The only thing she was missing, was a SAM launcher. But SAM’s did not mix very well with things like sails, lines and masts. It was the whole fire thing.

Richard was only part owner of this vessel, but he was half owner and “the commander”. At least when it was on a mission for the military or when some combat was expected. The man at the helm or wheel was her day to day commander. Richard knew something about boats, but he didn’t know enough to handle something like this on the open ocean. He would convey his ideas to the Ship’s Master, and then the Master would try to make it happen or tell him to go pound sand. It was not an easy break up of responsibility, but it was working.

The last time something like the last boarder line offensive statement had passed, was when they had been attacked by a small group of Somali pirates. They had been able to take out two of the enemy ships, but when Richard had directed the helm to continue the attack against the 6 remaining pirate ships. The other co-owner had not let it happen. The ship’s master told him to go below and do something, that would not get them all killed in the next hour. Richard had nodded his head and kept his mouth shut for the next hour or so, but he did not go below decks. They only had been working together for a month, and they were still working on the fine details of working together back then.

Richard had taken proof of the two pirate boat kills; with both images and some key parts of wreckage he had pulled from the ocean. When they had returned to port? The local Kenyan government had been very pleased with them. The boat accounts were paid with 4 drums full of real diesel fuel, cash, and some hard-to-find ammunition. Richard had been surprised, when the two crates of MR483 flechettes had been pulled off the back of a cargo truck. Those four rounds had gone very nicely with the 10 Chinese copies of the M494 round. Those had been on the list as payment for removing two pirate vessels and an unknown number of pirate crewmembers from the local waters. Richard had taken it as a hint, that they were to keep up what they had just done.

That had been only the second mission, with Richard as part owner of this vessel. The actions of the Kenyan government had cemented his ties to the other owner. They had taken a few other missions, after that first little windfall. They had been anything from being a light escort to the fishing fleet to some scouting. Those were only side missions for Richard, but it paid the bills. He was chasing a few scattered reports about something strange, which had piqued his interest soon after landing in Mombasa. Richard had latched onto a report from the latest RDF convoy to make it to Mombasa, on their last port call. It was dropping off raw oil and picking up refined oil and other fuels to take back to The Gulf. There it would be used by the RDF units still fighting the Russians.

It had taken some time, but they had found what they were looking for. Now all they had to do was live long enough to make it back to a safe port, find someone to report to that would believe them, and then get back to the target. Now Richard was wishing that he had brought along a long-ranged radio, so that he could contact someone back at the Africom headquarters in Mombasa. Those devices were both hard to find and very expensive. That is if you could find one and keep it operational in a sea environment. Still, right about now? He was wishing for one of them.

This area was thick with pirates, and on that thought Richard started making his rounds around the top deck. He wanted to make sure that everyone was on their toes. If things went south, they would go south quick. The air and water might be warmer around here but being thick with pirates was something that these waters shared with the Baltic. Now if he could only get the boat to go faster than 16kts. At least with the current wind, they did not have to resort to operating her twin diesels. That would have slowed her down to only 8kts, and that might be enough to get them all a case of the deads by nightfall.

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Omar Muhamad looked threw his old spy glass. The spy glasses were Russian made and something that Omar had traded dearly to have. The Type 025 Torpedo boat had been built by the Hudong Shipyards, years ago. She had been in service with the Tanzania navy, before that country had fallen apart under internal and external pressure. Omar had not been the Captain of this vessel or any other vessel for that matter back then. The previous owners had fallen in and then had a major falling out, with what remained of the Soviet navy.

Omar had been doing some trading when he had found the vessel. He had been able to talk his pirate band leader into “buying” the boat for half of their fuel, some gold, and half a dozen uncut diamonds. Getting her back to the shores of Yemen had been an interesting experience, but her I band radar had help her avoid any major issues along the way. She even had been able to “collect” taxes on four fishing boats. All before making it to a safe harbor, that a part of their group used to provide land support to their tax operations. She had been a very nice cash cow every time she had taken to the ocean.

Omar loved the boat, but he could tell she was starting to show her age. The ones useful I band radar now was offline more than it was working. The four torpedoes that had come with the ship, were used in action or found to be defective. The two empty firing tubes for the torpedoes now were used to keep things out of the sea air, which did not like its sting too much. She still had the two twin turreted 14.5mm. They only had 100 rounds per turret, which should be enough for a few more collection missions. The real “show of force” were the three RPG-7s. He only had 3 real rockets, and 6 inert training rounds for them. They would only break out the real rounds if things went wrong. He only had the training rounds loaded into the grenade launchers, after one of his fumbled fingered troops had accidentally fired a rocket on a tax collection mission.

Omar was back to using his fine field glasses and scanning the local area of water. When one of the twin engines sputtered and threw off his balance? He remembered that he had been told by one of the Russian infidels, that they would need to be service regularly. Omar was a firm believer in inshallah. The engines would work, as long as they worked. He was jerked again, as one of the engines over revved. Omar shot a look over one shoulder to the helmsman, but he didn’t say anything. His eyes had been drawn to the tall billowing black cloud of unburnt and hard to replace bunker oil these engines were supposed to have been modified to use.

############

Richard saw the pillar of black smoke, before he could see the other ship. “Someone is about to burn out, or needs to replace a set of rings already,” thought Richard.

Richard gave a look to the other owner of the boat. He was an old, solidly built dark skin man that spoke with your typical London accent. Norwell Lionel just set his thick shoulders and grabbed the helm firmly in both hands. Both men knew of only one type of people that would treat their boat like that, and be in these waters. They were not the friendly type, as a general rule. They would know more, if the black exhaust kept coming towards them. Two strange friendly ships passing in the night, wanted to pass with a lot of distance between them.

Norwell would take care of making the boat move in the right direction, while avoiding most natural hazards. Richard would make his way to the hidden 105mm RCL mounted near the bow. Richard knew how to manage a boat’s books, crew, weapons, and a few other nautical skills that had gotten only better in the Baltic Sea. But he also knew how to shoot a heavy weapon off of a boat, a lot better than anyone else. Just don’t ask him to navigate away from the sight of land or climb a mast of any length. And there was a big difference between the Baltic Sea and the Indian Ocean.

#############

When Omar brought his gaze forward and away from the black smoke. If he could not see it? Then it was not there, inshallah. Still, it took him a few minutes of scanning, to see the white sails on the horizon. He should have seen it earlier, but inshallah. With an evil grin, he gave orders. That vessel would be their next “tax” collection. It also just happened to look like a nice replacement, for this current vessel.

The torpedo boat surge to “full” speed. The vessel would have been able to push 50kts when she had been first launched. Instead, the little boat could “only” manage 28kts with both engines pushing as hard as they could. At that speed? It would only take them a half an hour, to cut the corner and catch the speeding sailboat.

#########

Sweat was pouring down the back of Richard’s neck. It was very hot under the oil canvas used to both protect and conceal the heavy weapon. The closer the enemy got, the easier it was going to be able to hit it. Richard had no idea why the pirate was taking so long to catch up. They had started coming after them at a very good clip going across the ocean rollers, but then it had noticeably slowed down. Richard kept his eye glued to the siting eye piece. Threw it, he could see a group running around on the deck between weapons turrets and command structure. He was wondering why they were bothering with pulling out AKs and RPGs. They seemed light when they had two twin heavy machine guns, and two twin sets of torpedo tubes to use in combat.

###########

Omar was not a happy man. They had been closing on the target, when the second engine had stopped on them. He had been able to increase power to the one remaining engine, but if that one also failed? He would be without power, in more than one way, in the middle of the unforgiving ocean. He had already given the order for his crew to do their dances and being intimidating as possible. It would only take a little longer to get within the range he wanted. His boat was still faster than any sailboat on the ocean.

Omar made sure to catch the eyes of Asim. Asim was manning the forward twin machinegun turret. It would be his job, to fire the warning shot across the bow of the sailboat. Asim was the best shot in the whole group, and if he did not do his job right? He would lose part of the bonus, which he normally got on taking a tax collection. He would need to fire his twin machine guns close enough to prove a point, but not hit the target. Sinking ships were harder to collect from. It was not impossible, but it would be harder to collect from them. If it took more than two burst of machinegun fire? Then Asim would also have to help with the reloading of any recovered 114mm long brass cases from both MG mounts. With the look and head nod from the Captain. Asim was now in charge of when he fired the attention burst.

##############

Richard did not even flinch, when the forward turret open fire at less than 200m from his ship. He did not need to see the line of water fountains stitch a line in front of the bow wave of the Bluenose III. Richard had a tight smile on his face and adjusted his aim just slightly. If the other vessel would have just left them alone or had been a friendly? He would not have to unleash the dragon onto them. With the twin burst of heavy weapons fire? They were now listed as pirates or an enemy vessel, and subject to the beast that his hand was holding back.

Richard let a little breath out, which he was holding to steady his aim. He could have used the 50cal spotting rifle, but that would both reveal his location, and show what weapons were waiting for them. A round as heavy as the 50cal, tended to move a lot of air.

“Cut the Spinnaker.” Richard did not move, when he said those three words.

Behind Richard three people went to work just out of sight of the pirate vessel. They did not cut the Spinnaker sail. Good ones were hard to come by, anymore. They just released three ropes that had been set up with a quick release mechanism. With those three ropes now loose, the huge sail pulled up and away from the hidden firing point. Recoilless weapons were a great way to add heavy firepower to a lightly built ship. But to make them “Recoilless”. They had a back blast to almost equal the muzzle blast. That flaming back blast did not react well to ropes and sails. With the spinnaker flapping high in the wind, it also was now not helping pull the ship threw the water. So, the ship slowed making shooting from it easier, and now the back blast was also clear.

As soon as Richard felt the oil skin get ripped off of his head, by the freed sail. He pulled the trigger on the long-tubed weapon. A twin blast of gasses and heat left the long tube. It was hard to hit a moving sea target. That was the reason for the type of shell that was just shot. 105mm RCL rounds were hard to come by but using them to stop a pirate vessel that had twin 21inch torpedo tubes was worth a few of the very hard to find rounds.

Still Richard was smart. The first round he fired was a training round. It was a reloaded shell with a solid steal nose as the projectile. If he hit is target? It still would know it had been kissed, by a heavy weapon. Unless it was a warship, most vessels in these local waters were made of thin steel, lightweight aluminum or a mix of wood and tar. A solid 7kg slug moving at over 500m/s would punch into, if not all the way through the hulls of something like that.

Richard’s face did not move, as he saw the path of this “practice” round. The first shot was always the hardest, and it was one of the reasons that the practice round had been first loaded. As soon as the wind carried the smoke away from the RCL. The weapons team when to work. The second loader threw the lever to open the back of the weapon. He reached in with thick gloves and rotated the hot spent shell out of the breach. With a few quick steps. He placed the round upside down in a specially made wooden housing, so that the shell could be reused.

As soon as the Number 2 loader had stepped away. The Number 1 loader step forward with a second round in her hands. This was not another solid round or even an anti-tank round. It was a fragmentation round. She quickly, but safely, put the nose of the round in the breach. Then she rotated it to lock it into place. A split second after the round stopped moving, the breach lock was dropped back into place. Richard was slapped on the top of his fritz helmet, when the breach block was locked back down. Richard had seen where the first round had gone, and he had already corrected his aim for his second shot. Again, he did not show an outward sign when the warship opened fire again. This burst was not a warning shot.

##########

Omar had seen the long tongue of flame shoot out from the bow of the sailing ship, a heartbeat after the larger forward sail had started flapping in the wind at the top of the forward mast. He had not known what had happened, even when he saw the object (shell?) go skipping across the water off of his boat’s stern. It had happened so fast, that he had not been able to give any orders. That had not stopped Asim from reacting to the explosion on the other boat.

Asim had been watching the target, to try to judge if he was going to have to use a second twin burst to get the target to start dropping her sails. He had an idea of what had been fired at him. He had used an 82mm B-10, before he had been picked to crew this boat. He thought he had an idea of what those types of weapons would do, to the thin hull that was under his feet. With a few quick adjustments of the controls at his fingertips, he re-aligned his weapons on the enemy ship. He put a long burst into the side of his target.

Not all of the machine gun rounds, he fired hit the ship. That was just not how machine guns worked. The line of twin water fountains started about 3 meters short of the hull, and then walked up the side of the ship. The twin lines of now wood fountains made it about halfway across the deck, and then the cloth sails started to meet fast moving metal. Asim could not hear the screams over the hammering of the twin 14.5’s, but he could still hear them in his head. He knew that this boat would be added to his list of nightmares, as soon as he was able to put his head down on a bunk.

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It was Richard’s job to make sure, that the crew of the pirate ship did not live long enough to have those dreams. With the slap on his head. Richard pulled the trigger again. With his slight adjustment to his aim point, he did not miss with this round. The round flew straight and true. Before his team could reload him with a HE round. The deed was done. It would only take a few minutes longer for it to be noticed by the rest of the Bluenose’s crew, that the “battle” was over. The 105mm gun would be unloaded of its oddly designed, holey filled slightly rusting metal case, and it would be returned to a weatherproof box. The two expended shell casings would stay where they were, until they reached the dock. Then the spend shells could be traded as part payment for other locally reloaded rounds of 105mm.

The round was traveling at over 1,110 mph. That is almost three times the speed of sound, at sea level. The hard nose of the round impacted just aft of the pilot house low on the main hull. That was where Richard thought the engine room might be. Richards aim was just a little off, and the round impacted forward of the twin abused engines. It went into the berthing and kitchen space on the vessel, after passing through the thin metal hull. The outer metal cover of the ship was hard enough, and the fuse was sensitive enough to interact. The shell did not fire off its bursting charge until it was fully inside the ships internal hull parts.

The blast wave, hot metal, and shell fragmentation went out in a bubble pattern. The wave of death went up, left, right and down. It killed or gravely wounded, everyone from the pilot house going back to the open back turret of the twin machine guns. Inside of the hull, it was something out of a nightmare. The hot metal cut threw bulk heads and bodies with equal abandon and resistance. The blast started a fire in the backup fuel tank. Soon the fire had spread to a half case of RGD-5 hand grenades someone had not put away into its proper place. The 45ton vessel lost its hull integrity, by the flying metal of the secondary explosion. That was when the 600 grams of filling from the grenades went into unfriendly mode. The ship was cut in half, just behind the piloting house.

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Norwell Lionel was all white teeth on a black face, as the secondary explosion finished off what his partner had started with the beehive round. The twin 20mm cannons would not even have to unmask and take the pirate under fire. The sharks would take care of the rest of the problems. He turned the wooden wheel in his hands, and his beautiful boat turned at his command. He did not even look over his shoulder, to see if anyone had survived the interaction with the heavy weapon. One part of his mind knew that some of the pirates had to have lived.

Norwell felt that the wheel had just finished moving to put the craft on the right course. The aft part of the pirate vessel was already underwater. With a sudden jerk, he pulled out his camera. It was a very nice tourist job, which was worth more than he had paid for it. He quickly took two images on the 35mm film. By now the sharp bow of the torpedo boat was pointed up in the air, and the deck was pointed towards him. This was going to be the proof, to collect on the bounty the US Military and Kenya government had on any Pirates. He had no idea if Richard had already done so, or not. But he was not going to take the risk of missing a payday. At worst. The images would end up pinned on the wall in the mess area, that showed each of the pirates that they had taken off of the board.

[cawest]

Bluenose III 1x 105mm type 75 RCL, 1 x TCM-20 from 75th ground air defense artillery BN. Part owner Richard Mtendere and London native Norwell Lionel

[cawest]

Note before reading: You might notice NPCs from the East Africa source book that was release in 2018.

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Chapter 3 Mombasa

The Bluenose III dropped her anchor well off of the shore in the harbor. They were in a designated small boat anchorage, and out of the harbor’s traffic lanes. That freed up the valuable dock space to those who could afford it, and for those that needed the space, crews, and or equipment that the harbor’s dock area held. The Bluenose had been met at the mouth of the Mombasa harbor, by the powered whale boat based off the Harbor defense ship FF 1064 USS Lockwood. They didn’t have any cargo to sell or to buy for that matter, and so they had been directed to this location in the crowded harbor. The twin lines of now patched bullet holes had been noted, and the cover story used by the twin commanders. Information was power in this day and age, and just because the uniform said US Navy on the correct side of the jacket. That didn’t mean, that they would not try to make a little money on the side by selling juicy bits of data to third parties.

The sun had set some hours ago, and the two boat partners were having a pair of cold beers on the slowly swaying top deck. Having anything cold in this part of the world was strange. Then again, the only way to keep a crew, was to have some perks. Also, if you wanted the food you were buying to stay fresh. You needed to keep it refrigerated. To do this a small alcohol powered generator was fired up, and it ran the refrigerator. It also runs a few lights spread around the ship for four hours a day. It was not a small expense, but it had a high payoff.

Norwell took a slug of his beer and looked over at Richard. “Okay brain trust. Now what do we do?”

Richard was laying back on the top of the low pilot house. He loved looking at the stars. That was something that he had found out late in life. With so little electric light leaking at night, you really could see a lot of them. The German and Polish skies had been cloud covered most of the time, and then you had the trees to have to look through when it was not cloudy. The less said about the Baltic weather, the better. “We have to get “it” to the right people, just like the information about those pirates we ran into.”

Norwell was getting a little short tempered. He had just wanted to contact the Lockwood, and hand everything over to them. The only thing that stopped him, was the knowledge that he knew that he was not a businessman. He was a sailor, now. “And just who would this mythical person be, Richard?” The sarcasm was dripping off every word he said.

Richard came up off the wood top and swung his tan legs down. He pointed to the long boat coming out of the night with an oil lantern mounted on the bow and stern. It was a local water taxi. He finished his beer, and then he pointed to the lights deeper into the main town of Mombasa. “You know who, and there’s my ride. If you have not heard from me by this time tomorrow? Go with your idea. I will not be in any condition to argue.”

Norwell almost choked on his beer. “Her!!! Are you out of your ever-loving Yankee mind?! Or should I just ask if your life insurance policy is paid up, and am I your beneficiary? She is still mad about that kiss you stole a few months ago.”

Richard had a sly smile on his face. “You might be right, but she did hip throw me afterwards. I think we’re square. I trust her enough to get us to see The Colonel.”

The two friends parted ways with a handshake, and Richard climbed down into the Viking long boat looking craft for the short ride to a dock. From there, it would be a cheap bus ride to where he needed to go. He would keep going over in his head, what he needed and wanted to say. Some things were better than others, but he was sure of one thing. He was going to be kicked in the coconuts before the night was over, but maybe that would be worth it.

Richard was looking up at the sign. The bar was hopping with music and voices were vibrating the very stone of the nearby buildings. There was a line out the door, and Richard had to fight down a smile. He was just glad that he had taken a few hour nap, before he had that beer with his business partner. “I guess everyone does go to Ricks, at least once.”

###########

It didn’t take Richard long to find who he was looking for. He just needed to find the loudest noise in the place, after the band. As he walked up to a woman with red hair as she slammed down a shot of something clear. When the double shot glass hit the table. She flat footed jumped up and put a snap kick into the chest of a brick house sized man, that had been just a hair slower than her taking the shot. The living wall with legs went flying back and he didn’t get back up that quickly from the beer-soaked floor. The action was met with hoots of laughter and applause from a gathering of people in and out of uniform.

Richard used the opening in the crowd to approach his target. “Hey, Denise. We need to talk.”

The red head’s head snapped up, and eye locked onto the voice. She did not say a word. She just stormed up to Richard, and for the next half minute. He was blocking kicks and punches that should have broken bones being launched from the red headed woman. When she took three steps back to regroup. Now it was Richard’s turn.

Richard didn’t throw a punch or kick. He was smarter than that, and he was sober. “Commander, this is important. Killing pirates important.”

Richard knew that there were two things that can get this woman’s attention. One was using her rank, and the other was mentioning that it was about killing pirates. There were a few things in this fallen world, that LCDR Denise Moore like more than the navy and killing pirates. The USS Edwards had developed a reputation of being the best pirate hunter in what was left of the US Navy. Rumor had said that some of the larger pirate groups had put a price on her head. So far, all that had achieved, was more pirates going down to see what was in Davy Jones’s locker.

When she didn’t launch another set of attacks, Richard knew that he had her attention. “Commander, we need to find a quiet place. We have work to do.”

Denise and Richard walked away from the group of bystanders near the game tables. Richard gave a slight wave to the owner of this place standing over by the bar. Rick’s American Café was also known as a place where two parties could make a deal. The pair went upstairs were it was less crowded, less noisy, and more comfortable with thickly cushions booth seating. It took Richard almost an hour to cover most of the details of his last mission. He had the camera with him, but the Bluenose did not have the equipment to develop the exposed film.

Denise rocked back into the booth’s thickly padded black leather back. “Why should I believe you, Richard?”

Richard had expected this. This story was pretty incredible. “Get me an appointment with “The Colonel”, and he can have the film looked at. I have two dead crewmembers and a patched-up boat as proof of the pirate attack. That is on top of what we found.”

Denise did not say anything for a few seconds. She made a thin-lipped look, and then exited the booth. When Richard did not join her quick enough, she half turned. “Well let’s go!”

The pair walked out of the club almost side by side. Richard and Denise could both feel the eyes following them, as they walked towards the exit. Some were wondering if the male had finally broken the Ice Queen. Most of the others? They were wondering what had happened, that would get the party animal to stop and go back to work, before the sun rose.

Denise was on her hand-held radio, as soon as they had put a building corner between them and the building holding the club. They would only walk for about three blocks, before a military HMMWV pulled up to them. Now that there were armed MPs all around them, they were safer. They had been dispatched when Denise had pulled out her radio, and she had started the ball rolling. The two people in civilian clothes got into the open back of the all wheeled drive military truck.

The camouflaged military truck pulled up to one of the four main buildings, which made up the US military command structure in this part of the world. The camera was taken from Richard, as soon as they made it through the sandbag entrance of the main building. The first stop was the security office on the first floor, where Richard was almost stripped searched. The next stop was the fifth floor. Richard had a pair of young privates escorting him from the security room to this floor, and into a briefing room. Denise was the only person in the room, when he stepped in and the door was closed behind him. One part of his mind noted that he thought he heard the lock being thrown. It was not unlike being locked in a cage with a hungry lioness.

Denise was still in her street clothes, when she walked up to Richard. It happened to fast for him to react, but she slammed her knee dead center into his crotch. Richard bent over and tears came instantly to his eyes. Now that he could not see, but still more tears came to his eyes. Soon he was down on the thick carpet, and the words “black belt” came to his mind.

It took more than just a few minutes for Richard to recover enough to pull himself off the floor. Even then, he needed the help of an office chair. While he was recovering, he heard the door open and close twice. He had no idea who or how many people had come in. He was still finding it hard to focus his eyes. After what seemed like hours, he was able to make it into the chair and his eyes started to clear. He was very surprised at who was in the meeting room with him.

Everyone knew about “The Colonel” or Lt Col Thomas, but this was the first time that Richard had been in one of the famous Harvester related meetings in person. Richard had been looking forward to finally meeting The Colonel. That was the surprise, which greeted his still watery eyes.

Richard wiped a last tear from one of his eyes with the back of his off hand. “Well Teddy, I take it you are Colonel Thomas.” There was not much more he could ask, even if his mind was back up to speed.

LTC “Teddy” Thomas gave the other man a sly smile. “Good to see you again, Richard. At least we don’t have to worry about someone listening in on this one.” He passed over the camera and a sealed packet of three rolls of fresh 35mm film. “It would seem that your little side project turned out to be real and not the wild goose chase, I thought it was.”

Richard took the camera and the three pack of new film. “It took more work, and it took a lot longer than I expected. But I think the images speak for themselves.”

Teddy was a HUMINT pro and his face gave nothing away. He just opened a folder, and he pulled out a few still damp photos separated by some thin wax paper. He was starting with a pair of images of the old torpedo boat. They were before and after images of the pirate. He put them in front of Richard. “I will make sure you get the bounty on this kill. Why do you think they didn’t use a torpedo on you after you showed how much firepower you were packing on that little tub of yours? Did you recover any of the crew?”

Richard set his shoulders. “I would bet that they ran out of them, or they were broken before they found us. We think that they lost an engine on the attack run, but they kept pushing in anyway. No, we left the pirates for the sharks. We had other things on our minds, after we put a shell into her hull and got them to go away.”

Before anything else could be said. Denise spoke from her spot holding up the back wall. “Too bad you didn’t capture that Type 025 PTB. She would have been great, on Lake Victoria even without any replacement torpedoes. They could have slapped it on an old rail car and sent it out on the next supply run heading that way. That could give some of those assholes on the lake something to think about.”

Richard could not help but let his feelings show. “I lost two crewmembers! And we took on water and other damage, before we could put her under!” He was not going to say, it was his shooting that blew apart the enemy warship. He was part of a crew. “I would have been just as happy, if they would have left us alone. Then you could have dealt with them, the next time you were out that way on one of your Search and Destroy missions.”

When Richard turned to look back at the light colonel, he noticed that the other man had pulled out other images. They were the ones that he really wanted to talk about. Richard had taken almost 20 of the images. Only six were of the outside, and the rest were taken inside the target from different locations. Richard spent the next few hours going over and back over, everything that had happened and what he had seen. He reinforced, that there were other groups in the area. And they could find the target at any time, or they already had found the prize.

When they were done? Richard was given a ride to the Navy dock and a powered whale boat took him back to where the Bluenose was riding at anchor. He was ordered to return to the building for a noon meeting the next day. He didn’t need to be told that he needed to keep his mouth shut about what he knew.

When he came up over the Transom he was greeted with a shotgun in the face. The duty night shift guard was not sleeping. Before Richard could make it to his outside mounted hammock, Norwell came out of the helms station wiping sleep out of his eyes. Before he could say anything, Richard underhanded tosses him a little velvet bag with drawstrings.

Norwell caught the flying bag, and it made an odd sound when it hit his meaty hand. With a quizzical look, he opened the bag. In the full moon light, he could see a few cut blue, red and clear crystals along with a few small gold coins. Richard had come through with payment on the deal. It was not as much as Norwell had expected, but he was not going to bring something like that up tonight. He would wait until the sun was up, and both of them had food and coffee in their stomachs. To do otherwise was bad form

##########

It was noon the next day, and Richard was back in the tall office building. He only had been able to get a whole six hours of sleep, before he had to talk to his business partner. Part of it was to remind him that he was still in the US military. The other part was to explain the light purse, he had passed over last night. The gold and gems were the payment for taking out a not minor pirate warship, and a little extra between friends. It was all the payment that they could come up with, with such a short notice, and keep it quiet. The rest of the payment would only be given after the meeting today. This also might lead to another payday, but he was afraid that the “big payday” would not happen until they could get the prize into Mombasa’s harbor.

That was why he was here now. He had no idea if this meeting was in the same room as last night or not. He had been escorted all of the way from the traffic control point into this room, without even stopping for a detailed security check. Every seat in the room had a name plate set out on it or in front of it. Richard’s was on the back row and near the main exit of the room. He thought it was not a bad placement. He was looking it as it was giving him an easy escape path.

The meeting started about five minutes after Richard arrived, he had not even been able to take a sip of his coffee. This limited the number of looks he was getting from the rest of the meeting attendees. He was in uniform… of a sorts. A weather-beaten Navy Captain started the meeting, without much fanfare.

“I would like to think everyone for coming to this briefing on Operation Looking Glass. It is falling under the broader Operation Harvester mission.” He kept talking and an image that Richard knew well was put on the wall. After all, he had been the one to take the image. “We are going to try to recover the Russian built Skoryy class Destroyer Smotryaschy or DD 455. The ship’s name means looking, in Russian. An independent operator just found the vessel on an island east of Socotra and west of Kilmia, called Darsah. It is a 7km long spit of hell on earth.”

A new image, which was not one that Richard had taken was displayed. “What do we know of her? She was built between 1949 and 1953. We had thought that all of the ships of this class were pulled out of service by the end of 1984. Some of them were put back into service as the war dragged on. She had been originally reported in the Baltic being made ready for combat, and she was moved to the Black sea. From there, we know that she started to cover supply convoys going to Maputo and other points unknown. We had thought that the South Africans got her with the nuk strikes on 10 Dec 1997. She has not been seen again, until yesterday.”

An officer in a navy uniform with a lot of gold, stepped into the briefing with both feet. “Why are we wanting to recover this old tin can?”

A voice interrupted the navy officer, which came from a speaker mounted on the center most desk. Richard had no idea who might be on that speaker, but it would seem that everyone else recognized LTG Harris’s voice without any introduction. “For two reasons. We don’t want anyone else to have it, and as the attack on the refinery showed us. We have a wide scope of threats to have to deal with. The Patriots can cover air and missile attacks, while we have missiles for them. But Mombasa harbor is too big, for just the damaged Lockwood to cover all the area and avenues of approach. We have to keep a second major asset in harbor to cover the other half of the damn thing. And then we had to use a third asset, like the Valley Forge in case something happened to the other two. When we were short on fuel? That was a workable solution, for the problem. Now that we have the fuel flowing again, it limits us. If we can recover and repair her hull and key systems? She will cover the sea and any sub surface issues, at least long enough for a more capable unit to be activated.”

With the smack down laid on the senior navy officer by the most senior officer in this theater, the meeting went on. Teddy had to fight down a smile and took over from the Navy captain. “Plus, your navy types know how hard it is to come up with replacement 5inch rounds. We can reload them, and cast new warheads, but the local made fuses are crap. This destroyer has four 130mm guns, and the main magazine looks to be full or almost full. And I can get more of those type of rounds…….from other sources faster than we can get replacement 5 inchers.”

Colonel Thomas didn’t have to cover about what some pirates might do with that amount of firepower or ask about what would happen if the French recovered it. Most of the people in this room could connect those dots and come up with a good idea of what would happen. At a minimum, it would cause an increase in the numbers and firepower of the escorts needed for any ships going to South Africa, RDF, or back to the States. At the end of the meeting, tasks were broken out. The kicker had been the last image in the briefing before the question slide. It was of the bow of the pirate torpedo boat. The twin torpedo tubes were clearly visible on what remained of the vessel. It was a statement image pure and simple.

When Richard was about to leave the room, Teddy passed over a black plastic film tube with a soft under-hand toss. Richard just gave it a slight shake, and he could feel and hear the movement inside. He knew that it was over half full of cut diamonds. He could have gotten more uncut stones, but they were not worth as much. Richard and his business partner had some big bills to pay. The Bluenose had not been cheap to have built or to keep manned. Two stones would go to each of the dead crewmembers next of kin. The rest would be put to very good uses.

##########

This was going to be one of the largest Harvester missions launched this year. In less than an hour, an Albatross float plane would be taking off with 10 armed men from 1st Battalion, 3rd Group. Another 15 troopers were from 3rd Battalion were assigned to the mission. They would be going out on the Bluenose. Richard needed to quickly get back, so that he could make sure his boat was ready for the short notice high value charter. Both teams were the duty units in the local area for supporting Harvester missions, and on call for short notice very high value missions that might come up from a number of different sources that were not conventional.

As soon as the group for 3rd Bat were loaded on the Bluenose. It would be making a run north at her best speed. If things were found to be………complicated by the team from 1st Bat. More troops would be brought out and dropped by parachute for added support. The parachute drop was not considered to be a good idea. Hitting an area that was only 2.2km wide, on its widest point, was not something you should plan to work.

The heavy firepower would be coming from 30th Marine RGT. They would be taking the Alexander Bonnyman. She would be carrying 4 of the AAVP9s, 2 LAV-25s, 4 gun trucks out of the ready reserve, and 200 jarheads. The salvage tug Solstar would be doing the heavy pulling, and the Forrest Sherman class DD 950 Richard S. Edwards would be the escort and mission commander for the whole mission. They would be leaving in no more than three days, after the Bluenose.

All of this was a major muscle movement for AFRICOM, and it could not be kept quiet for long. There were only two things that could be kept quiet. One was where the action was going to be taking place, and the second was the target they were going after. The Grumman Albatross and the Bluenose left the area spot on time. The flying boat would reach the target area and return to Mombasa, before the Bluenose was out of sight of the harbor.

[cawest]

Skoryy class Destroyer Smotryaschy (looking) DD 455 before her TT were removed for RBU2500 2x twin 130mm, 1 twin 85mm, 7 x single 57mm, 5 TT, max 60 mines or 52 depth charges.



Jasiirada Darsah L 7.1km W 2.2km

[cawest]

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.

###########

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.

##########

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.

####

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.