The Peacekeepers. Books 4 - 6.

by Ricky Sides

  Inside the Peacekeeper Pol was busy calculating mathematical equations and handing them off to Patricia for her to verify his math. There was no room for error on these calculations. Patricia had already made a tentative identification of the design class of the submarine. It was an older model Soviet diesel sub.

  Namid remained calm and slowly drifted past the surfaced submarine. She methodically documented the sub and then she moved on to complete her assigned task. She filmed the other ships present, which were lined up behind the sub.

  When she had finished that part of her mission, she turned to her secondary objective. She filmed La Cabana extensively and then she moved her fighter into position to begin filming El Morro. “Beware, Phoenix. The moth is getting too close to the flame,” Jeff said cryptically. Though they believed that the enemy would not intercept their communications, the council had pointed out that there was no way that they could know that with certainty. Cuba had been well supplied by the Soviets with all manner of gear at the height of the Cold War. Therefore, they were to be as cryptic as possible in their communications so that if they were intercepted, the people listening in would not know precisely what they were talking about.

  “Thank you,” Namid replied and maneuvered her fighter away from the circle of bright light surrounding the old fort. She would have to swing wide around the fortress to document it or run the risk of being lit up by the beautiful golden light reflecting off its surface. “Remind me to speak to Pol about a dark matte finish on the bottom,” she said when she resumed filming.

  “Will do,” Jeff replied.

  Namid slowly circled El Morro filming the machinegun positions and all other details visible. She was grateful that the lighthouse wasn’t working. Had it been activated, she was sure that it would have been impossible to get the film footage without being illuminated by the powerful light source. When she finished this last portion of her assignment, she headed back out over the bay into a darker region and waited for orders from the council. She didn’t have long to wait.

  “Phoenix, we have a tentative identification on the target. This is what we need you to do,” Pete said and then he proceeded to describe their mission in detail. When he had finished he asked if they both understood the orders and they each replied that they did. Pete fervently hoped that none of the enemy could intercept his orders. If that happened, they would be ready when the two fighters commenced their attack. Patricia noted the concerned expression on his face and reminded him that the communications from the Peacekeeper that they were sending tonight were being encrypted by the computer and decrypted on the other end by the systems installed in the fighters.

  ***

  Namid lined her fighter up on the starboard side of the sub hovering at four hundred feet. Jeff lined up on the port side. Simultaneously, they began their attack. They fired their first shots at the rear of the submarine, targeting the rear screw-gear area through the outer hull of the sub. The blue beams slammed into the sub and a moment later, the red pulses raced down and slammed into the holes being bored into the body by the lasers. They tried to count the red pulses lancing down and the mini explosions, which followed. When both pilots were sure they had counted at least five mini explosions drilling progressively deeper into the ship, they stopped firing and moved up the ship to target either side of the conning tower.

  In the distance, Namid saw men scrambling toward the deck guns on the ships of the armada. Methodically she fired at the top of the submarine a foot from the starboard side of the conning tower. On the port side, Jeff executed a similar attack. This time they needed to get to a count of eight to achieve the penetration that Pol had suggested would be necessary. When that was accomplished, they moved up to target the center of the top of the submarine about ten feet from the bow. This time they held the attack for five bursts of the mini explosions brought about by the red pulses. Each successive pulse widened the damage area and assisted the laser in penetrating deeper into the sub.

  “Break hard right!” Jeff shouted. Namid reacted without thought and shot her fighter away from the submarine. For a moment, she saw tracers fly to her left but they soon stopped. Looking to her right Namid saw Jeff’s fighter fifty feet off her wing. “Nice flying,” he said and then he asked, “Ready for the next part?”

  “Ready, willing, and able,” Namid replied.

  The two pilots flew away from the harbor in G-force acceleration. At first, they flew east and then they executed a long circular turning maneuver that brought them back into the bay area. This maneuver put them above old Havana and they approached from the west. They hoped that the gunners on the decks of the ships would be watching the east; because that was the direction, they had taken as they left the area. They lined up on the warship and fired their lasers at the rack that contained depth charges. The explosion that resulted lit up the night sky and secondary explosions were almost certain to follow. They flew toward the ship, flicking open the bomb release covers as they did so. Namid saw tracers headed her way just as she released her bombs. Breaking hard right, she executed a tight turn and increased her speed to full acceleration heading due south. Slightly behind her, Jeff executed a similar maneuver after dropping his three bombs.

  Behind them, secondary explosions continued to detonate. Fiery debris from those explosions rained down on the two ships closest to the warship. Some of the men on the decks of those ships were engulfed in flames. A few dove into the water to escape a fiery death.

  “Phoenix, we should get over the water. My fighter was hit and I am losing power. I do not want to go down on this island and end up captured by these guys,” Jeff said.

  “Roger that, Jeff. Take the lead and I’ll follow. I want to try to determine the extent of your damage,” Namid replied.

  “Roger, Phoenix,” Jeff replied and then he moved to the front as Namid reduced speed to let him take the lead.

  Jeff executed a tight turn to port and soon he was heading north again. “Jeff you are going too far to the west. We’ll be too close to the harbor,” Namid warned. She was concerned that his fighter might not have the power to execute an escape maneuver. A section of his battery system had been damaged, and even as she watched, he was losing battery fluid at an alarming rate.

  “We have to know if the two targets have been neutralized, Phoenix. You film them and then we can leave,” Jeff said.

  Namid cursed under her breath but she complied with his instructions because she knew that he was right. That information was of critical importance. “I’d say the sub’s a write off,” she said to Jeff as she filmed the fires and secondary explosions coming from the submarine. “And the warship is still cooking off explosions. I believe that she is listing a little to the port side. She might be taking on water.”

  “That’s good enough, Phoenix. You two head for home. Help is on the way to meet you, should you require assistance,” Jim said. The Peacekeeper was already in flight. Detached from the battleship module he knew that if necessary Tim could and would get the Peacekeeper down to a few feet above the ocean and they could affect a rescue. Lieutenant Wilcox and his men were preparing for that eventuality in the cargo bay.

  By now, the two fighters were racing across the Gulf of Mexico at two hundred miles per hour. However, almost immediately, Jeff’s fighter lost altitude and Namid said, “Jeff, take the speed down to forty miles per hour and altitude to twenty feet. I’ll fly cover. Trying to race to the island won’t work and soon you’ll just deplete the battery reserves.”

  “Roger, Namid,” Jeff said and she heard him voice an audible sigh.

  “Are you hit, Jeff?” a concerned Namid asked the pilot for the first time.

  “No but with my plane shot up, I may not have a ride for the big dance,” Jeff said sadly. Namid knew he was referring to the coming war.

  “Well cheer up cowboy. You had the first dance,” she said, causing him to laugh.

  “Power is gone, Namid. I’m going down,” he said calmly and for a moment, she l
ost sight of his fighter as it splashed into the sea.

  “Jeff, open the cockpit and get out!” Namid shouted into her microphone but there was no answer. Namid saw the fighter sitting on the surface but it was already sinking. The fifty-caliber ammunition had riddled the rear of the fighter, and water was entering those holes, filling the fuselage of the aircraft. The nose of the fighter rose briefly out of the water. Namid could see Jeff struggling to open the cockpit canopy and she prayed that the fighter had the minimal power needed for the cockpit canopy to open.

  The canopy was half submerged when Namid saw it open. Jeff’s hands emerged from the fighter and he forced his body out as the little aircraft went under the surface of the sea. His life vest automatically inflated and he looked up toward Namid. He pointed back toward Cuba and Namid turned her head in her cockpit to try to see what he was pointing at, but she could see nothing from that angle. He pointed again, signaling frantically for her to turn her fighter and see what he had briefly seen. She turned her fighter slightly to see what Jeff seemed to want her to see. About a mile away, she saw a spotlight moving in their direction. The light seemed to be getting larger and she knew that this meant it was heading in their direction, and doing so at a high rate of speed. “It must be the speedboat,” she thought as she prepared to fire her laser. A moment later, she fired the laser. The spotlight disappeared immediately and she saw a secondary explosion as something blew up.

  Glancing back down, Namid looked for Jeff but she didn’t see him. Alarmed, the pilot increased her altitude. She searched the surface of the sea, but still she didn’t see him even though the heavy overcast that had dominated the sky all night was breaking up, and moonlight was now illuminating the surface to some degree. She opened her cockpit window and dropped back down to twenty feet. “Jeff!” she shouted.

  “To port!” she heard Jeff’s faint reply. Namid quickly turned her fighter to port and slowly eased forward. She saw him a moment later. Apparently, the current was taking him away. Namid flew closer and reached with her left hand for the coil of emergency rope all pilots now carried when flying over the Gulf. One end of the rope was attached to a bracket on her cockpit seat. Grabbing the rope, she tossed it over the side to Jeff. The rope fell short of his position but Namid eased forward with her fighter and carried it to a spot within his grasp.

  Jeff caught the rope and tied it under his arms. “Want to give me a lift sweetheart?” he asked rakishly, and Namid laughed.

  She lowered he fighter until it was just inches above the water and held out her left hand to her fellow pilot. “Climb aboard the nose of my fighter, cowboy. These waters are shark infested you know.”

  Jeff swam over to the fighter. The rope hampered this process but not overly so. He took her extended hand and managed to get one leg over the nose of her fighter. “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied and the fingers of her right hand prepared to activate the switch, which would pitch the nose of the fighter upward for targeting aircraft higher than her relative position. The timing had to be just right otherwise the nose of the fighter would dip into the surface and at best, Jeff would just slide off the fighter. Worst-case scenario, her fighter could slam onto the surface, take on water, and sink. She didn’t even want to think about that possibility while Jeff was tied to the seat. But if she activated the switch too early, he would fall off his precarious perch.

  “You had better hurry,” she said as she noted a fin breaking the surface about thirty feet away. “I mean normally they circle a bit first, but you never really know with sharks,” Namid said as she locked her muscles and prepared herself to take Jeff’s weight as he struggled to get his body out of the water.

  The pain in her left arm was excruciating. Namid knew that Jeff was trying not to hurt her, but with no leverage, he had been forced to pull hard on her arm in order to pull himself up out of the water. “Get us up a bit higher please, Namid. The shark is still coming,” Jeff said with an air of concern in his voice. He was now facing her with his legs wrapped around the nose of her fighter and he could see the pain on her face. “I’m sorry, Namid, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said in genuine concern as she feathered her fighter upward in a gentle maneuver.

  A strong gust of wind almost knocked Jeff from his precarious seat. Namid reached up with her free hand to steady him and she said, “Hang in there, Cowboy. The rescuers will be here soon and they’ll bail us out of this.” However, Namid knew their situation was grim. She couldn’t fly with Jeff on the fighter. He would fall off the moment she attempted any forward thrust. Nor could she let him drop into the shark infested water and then go for altitude to fly him dangling from the rope. If the sharks didn’t get him, his own body weight just might. Without a harness, his body weight on the ropes for that long could constrict his lungs and suffocate him. As if that weren’t enough, she was concerned that a ship or speedboat might stumble across them while they were in this vulnerable position.

  “Peacekeeper, the flight leader’s plane went down…” she began.

  “Roger that, Phoenix. We heard your side of the conversation. Is he really sitting on the nose of your fighter?” asked Jim.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied, scarcely believing it herself.

  “We are now five minutes out. Tim pushed us to full speed when he heard your broadcasts. Just hang in there a few more minutes, Jeff,” Jim said.

  “Like I have a choice?” Jeff asked with rare good humor for a man in his predicament.

  A few minutes later, the Peacekeeper arrived and Tim took the ship down right in front of Namid with the cargo bay door open. Several strike force team members stood just inside the door, ready to assist the pilot. Namid coaxed her fighter forward just enough so that the men could grab hold of Jeff and cut the rope. “Peacekeeper, the package is delivered. Please have your pilot move forward ten feet to give me some clearance,” she requested.

  Namid watched as the cargo bay door of the Peacekeeper closed. She had seen Jeff waving and blowing her a kiss as the door closed. She assumed that it was in gratitude for his rescue, but it made her think about their relationship in a manner in which she had never considered it before.

  She pulled in the remnants of her rope so that she could seal her cockpit. The water from the rope would make a mess in her fighter but she had just learned how important that simple tool could be. Namid would never again fly her fighter without a rope. She would have it replaced with a new one when she got to the temporary base.

  “Phoenix, take the lead, and take us home,” Namid heard Tim say on the radio. “And excellent work tonight, Lieutenant,” he added.

  “Thank you, sir,” she responded and maneuvered her fighter around the flagship of the peacekeepers to take the lead.

  Inside the Peacekeeper, Lieutenant Wilcox raced through the ship with a sealed heavy duty plastic bad. That bag contained the film footage from Jeff’s camera. Retrieving that film footage and taking the time to seal it in the bag had almost cost Jeff his life, but it was possible that it contained critical information not located on Namid’s film. He had been filming from different angles; therefore, it was likely he had delivered slightly different intelligence.

  In the Peacekeeper control room, Tim was amazed when the lieutenant delivered the tape. “You mean he retrieved the video after ditching into the sea? He took the time to seal it in a plastic bag before seeing to his own safety?”

  “Yes, sir. That sums it up,” the lieutenant said. “He stuffed the bag inside his flight suit so he wouldn’t lose it.”

  Shaking his head in disbelief, Tim said, “Lieutenant, tell the pilot to take a shower. Get him a uniform, and tell him I want to see him on the tarmac when we land.”

  “Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said, and hurried off to comply.

  “You going to kill him, or give him a medal?” asked his brother.

  “For what they have done tonight I think they both deserve a medal,” Pete said.

  “So do I,” Tim said and Ji
m nodded in agreement.

  Chapter 16

  The cartel bosses were furious. Someone or something had attacked the best two vessels at their disposal. The submarine was a total loss, and it would be a miracle if the warship were still afloat when the sun rose in the morning. There was no way the warship would be ready to sail with the armada even if it didn’t sink. The attack had also brought about the loss of most of their vials of the biological warfare weapon. The cartel had carried a vial of the deadly disease organism with them on a trip to El Morro. They transported the vial in the waterproofed heavily padded interior of a silver metal briefcase. They had planned to leave that vial with the underlining who would command the Cuban garrison after their departure. This was being done so that the garrison could unleash the disease upon the population, should they ever rebel.

  The attack had changed those plans. The submarine had contained their remaining supply of the deadly organism and it was sinking in the bay. The explosions that ripped the vessel apart had destroyed the remaining plague supply. Under the present circumstances, there was no way that the cartel would be leaving the last remnant of their once plentiful supply with the garrison.

  Forty-three year old Henry Silba had risen through the ranks of the drug world over his twenty-five year history in the cartel. He had started out as a lowly member and risen to the top levels of the cartel over the years. In the wake of the disasters, he soon found himself in a position to take command of the cartel. He was an ambitious man, with plans to turn the United States into his personal empire. His hatred of the United States had been brought about by narrow escapes with drug enforcement personnel. On two separate occasions, they had almost succeeded in kidnapping him in Venezuela for the purpose of taking him out of the country to face prosecution. On the third occasion, they had sought to force the Venezuelan government to capture and extradite him to face charges in America. It was fortunate for him that the Venezuelan government had been hostile to the American government and refused.