Unfathomed (The Locus Series Book 1)

by Ralph Kern

  “Davey, full speed,” Bautista coughed out, blinking the blood and smoke out of his stinging eyes. Not hearing a response, he looked around. Davey’s corpse was slumped in the chair, a gory hole in his chest. One of Davey’s hands was on the throttle lever. As he’d died, the weight of his body had pulled it back.

  Bautista staggered to the helm and pulled Davey’s bloody hand off the lever and rammed the throttle forward to the stops. He needed to get his ship out of the firing arc of the horrific bushmaster cannons.

  With a sickening feeling, he knew that this wasn’t the last trick the Ignatius had up her sleeve. The four remaining ferries tore on, desperate to escape the savage weapons.

  ***

  “Shit, the Mk-45 has taken a hit. Can’t tell the damage but I’ve lost the lateral traverse on it.”

  “Understood.” Slater nodded. She watched as the frantically updated manual plot showed the enemy vessels surging past the Ignatius, the bushmasters roaring fire at them.

  “They’ve cleared the bushmasters, ma’am. Looks like Sierra Hotel 1-1 has taken another one down and the rest are smashed up pretty bad.”

  “Keep the map updated,” Slater said. Grabbing her mic, she addressed the bridge, “Perry, slow us down to steerageway, I want them in the arc of the CIWS for as long as possible.”

  The weapon systems operator hunkered over the LCD screen with a wolfish grin on his face, the image from the camera on the CIWS mount reflecting in his face

  ***

  Bautista glanced back, seeing the turret of the minigun mounted on the rear of Ignatius swing around.

  “Everyone down!” he roared at the few survivors on the bridge and flung himself back to the deck.

  The Phalanx Close-in Weapon System wasn’t designed for anti-ship operation. It was meant to shoot down aircraft and missiles, but it could still do a damn good job of it when called upon. Capable of firing five thousand rounds a minute, it could expend its reserve of two thousand rounds of 20mm ammunition in just over twenty seconds.

  One of Liliana’s escorts simply disintegrated under the near solid beam of armor-piercing tungsten that erupted out of the six barrels. Nothing alive was left on board the ship.

  ***

  “I’m down to forty percent ammunition count, ma’am. This isn’t exactly an efficient way of working,” The WSO said with a wry grin. “I’m showing an overheat, too. I’ll need to cool for a few seconds.”

  “We’re four down, and that’s good by anyone’s standards. Perry, bring us about. It’s time for round two.”

  “Ignatius, this is Atlantica. We have more coming around from the western side of the island. They’re right on top of us!” Solberg’s voice was tense over the radio.

  “God damn it,” Slater breathed. “Those poor bastards we shredded were just the decoys. Mack, get over there and help out Atlantica. Now!”

  Chapter 42 – Day 17

  Jacks lined up the iron sights on the distant target and squeezed the trigger. The M16A1 barked in response and the figure ducked out of the way.

  “Damnit,” Jack muttered.

  A flurry of attention in the tree line caught his attention. Squinting down the length of the weapon, he focused on it. “Shit... down!”

  The PKP machine gun opened fire, the bullets hissed by Jack as he threw himself around the corner of the hut. Splinters of wood exploded over him as the rounds slashed through the building and he squeezed his eyes shut to protect them.

  That goddamn machine gun is going to rip us to shreds. Jack leaned out of cover and squeezed the trigger, visible lines of tracers reached for him even as his own fire sought the enemy.

  The tree line erupted in a cloud of wood splinters as Mack’s Seahawk thundered by, the loud drone of the GAU-17/A minigun firing silencing the PKP.

  The Seahawk turned and sped off back toward the beach. Jack gave a silent thanks to the crew as it went to cover the mega lifeboat which chugged its way toward the distant Atlantica, full to the brim with evacuees from the island.

  Hunkered down by the pier were still over a hundred people who couldn’t fit on the first boat out, crying out in fear.

  Sweeping the tree line with his sights, Jack saw more movement, indistinct figures darting back and forth. More were coming. Swiveling back behind the hut, Jack pulled his phone out again. “Atlantica, we are going to need a ride off this island ASAP. We are in contact with many bandits and looks like our top cover is heading back to you.”

  “We’ll work something out,” Solberg’s harassed-sounding voice answered.

  Jack fought the temptation to throw the phone away from him again and slipped it back into his pocket.

  The battle had reached an impasse. The pirates were in the tree line, while the defenders were hunkered down around the small collection of huts near the pier. Whenever one side or the other broke cover, it was answered by the sound of gunfire. With the helicopter in demand, they had no chance of breaking the stalemate.

  What’s their end game? Jack thought. We just have to wait until we get a ride. What the hell are they waiting for?

  Sighting back toward the trees, Jack squeezed off another shot at one of the figures who appeared in the wreckage of the tree line.

  ***

  “The Iggy really gave those fuckers some navy. She kicked their asses,” Hank called out over the roar of the rotors.

  “That she did,” Mack agreed.

  The three surviving ferries were running at top speed for the southern side of the island where Atlantica and the few other ships were nestled in the crystalline blue bay. As the Seahawk thundered over the mountain, she saw the new problem presenting itself.

  While the warship had occupied the fast-moving ferries, another contingent made up of slower freighters and fishing boats had hugged the cliff edge on the western side of the island and had a clean run at the bay.

  “I want to save the Hellfires for that big sonovabitch,” Mack called out. “We’ll do our best with the GAU.”

  “Roger that, ma’am.” Hank pulled out the empty ammunition canister from the side of the minigun and tossed it into the storage bin and fitted another. “We’re on our last ammo drum, then we’re gonna be Winchester.”

  “We can’t take it with us when we’re dead. Use it or lose it,” Mack’s tone was laconic. She squinted at an odd structure on the deck of one of the pirate ships. “What the hell is that thing?”

  The Seahawk swept lower. Some of the pirate ships were scribing long frothy trails, heading toward Atlantica. She was moving too, a churning wash emanating from her stern. Between the cruise ship and the coast, apparently unnoticed or uncared about, was the bright orange lifeboat, making its slow way home. Two other pirate ships were making for the beach, and on top of one of them was a strange framework, two inverted Vs thrusting into the air.

  Squinting at it, Mack saw a flickering flame next to it on the deck, the source of which looked like an oil drum. With a sudden snap, the drum launched upward, scribing an arc toward the beach.

  ***

  The flaming trebuchet-launched drum flew over the beach and smashed into a hut, engulfing it in flames. The two security officers using it for cover were covered in burning oil.

  Jack watched in horror as the two died an agonized, screaming death, staggering a few steps forward on fire before mercifully falling to the ground, silent.

  “No,” Jack breathed. One of those men was Josef, the perpetually smiling young security officer, one of the few who had survived the original attack.

  “Surrender.” The voice that came over the loud speaker from the trees was firm and authoritative. “You cannot win. Lower your weapons and you will not be harmed.”

  Jack glanced at the other end of the hut where another security officer was sitting, legs drawn up, weapon discarded next to him. He was staring at the still-burning corpses, his eyes locked on them.

  Jack turned and looked back at the now-silent throng of people who were gathered by the rickety jetty, waiting in v
ain for a boat which seemed it would never come.

  And beyond that, the ship with the strange wooden contraption on it; the source of the horrific fireball.

  ***

  “Ma’am, bring us around a touch, I can’t get a bead on it.”

  Mack looked closely at the light freighter. It had rearmed and was ready to go. The deck crew had worked with well-rehearsed efficiency and reloaded the trebuchet.

  “Standby,” Mack said. Yawing the helicopter around so the cockpit was pointed at the beach, she saw there was a crowd of people hunkered there, directly in line of the trebuchet.

  “Round a little more...”

  “Hold your fire, Hank.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “I said hold your goddamn fire,” Mack barked.

  ***

  Jack stepped out into the open, his hands up high, his rifle left leaning on the side of the hut.

  “Hold your fire. We surrender.”

  Two young men approached him with AK-47s—which looked older than they were—trained on him.

  “Just don’t harm them,” Jack said, looking them in the pirate’s wide eyes. They were scared, nervous, and that would make them unpredictable. “You have us, okay? Just don’t hurt anyone else. Please.”

  “On your fucking knees!”

  Jack awkwardly lowered himself down, reaching slowly down with one arm to move his prosthetic leg.

  “Keep your hands up!” one of the pirates screamed. “I said keep them fucking up!”

  “I can’t,” Jack said as calmly as he could, continuing to move his hand down.

  One of the pirate charged forward and smashed the butt of his rifle into Jack’s head.

  Dizzyingly, the world lurched to the side as he was knocked down. He found himself looking back at the beach. The last thing he saw before blackness took him was Laurie standing from amidst the throng of people, looking at him, fear and concern on her face.

  Chapter 43 – Day 17

  “Come on, come on,” Kendricks murmured as he watched on the CCTV monitor as the mega lifeboat drew alongside the Atlantica. Glancing up through the window, he could see the pirate ships converging on them with menacing purpose.

  With a metallic screech, the lifeboat slid into the dolly and sailors leapt out of the top hatch and busied themselves securing the craft, deftly threading carabiners into the eyelets on the top of the boat. One of the sailors gave a thumbs up to the crane operator high above.

  “They’re attached,” Kendricks called over to the captain. “We’re hauling them up.”

  “Finally,” Solberg said. “Kelly, get us moving, increase to emergency dash speed.”

  “Captain, we need to wait until they’re up,” Kendricks said, eyeing the monitor uneasily.

  “We move now or those ships will be on top of us.”

  Atlantica began to surge forward, ponderously gathering speed from steerageway. The slowly rising lifeboat swung back on the crane like a huge pendulum, slamming into the hull. The crane whined as it struggled to haul up the heavy boat. Finally, it reached the stop and the boat was secured to the muster deck.

  “They’re up!” Kendricks said.

  “Excellent,” Solberg keyed his console. “Captain Slater, we have many ships converging on us. We need your support, now!”

  “On my way,” Slater’s crackly voice came over the radio.

  ***

  The Atlantica thundered forward faster and faster. The two trawlers and smaller boats of the Nest Island community following in her tumultuous wake.

  A pirate ship made to intercept the huge vessel. Misjudging, it put itself directly in front of the Atlantica. With a loud thud, the prow of the cruise ship smashed into it, barreling the smaller craft out of the way and leaving it listing and yawing away from the impact, water flooding in through the gaping wound in its flank.

  Atlantica powered on undaunted, with little more than a dent and damage to its paintwork. She began to turn a wide curve, striving to rendezvous with the still-flaming Ignatius which had come about and was arcing away from her pursuit of the surviving diversionary flotilla.

  ***

  “That’s a negative, ma’am. I have no control over the Mk-45. I can fire it at the angle it’s at, which is about 60 degrees off centerline to the port.”

  “Understood,” Slater nodded. “Perry, move to rendezvous with Atlantica, we need to stick to them like glue.”

  “And the people on the island?”

  They had listened in horror to Mack’s report of the capture of the hundred plus civilians on the island.

  “We have nearly six thousand on that cruise ship,” Slater’s voice was ice cold. “They have to be our priority.”

  ***

  “Captain, my daughter?” Reynolds asked.

  “I’m busy right now,” Solberg said as he watched the radar screen intently. The pirate ships were following Atlantica like a pack of wolves hunting their prey.

  “She was on the island. I need to know if she got off.”

  “Can you be—” Solberg started.

  “Admiral, please use my phone and speak to the deck hands,” Kendricks handed his smartphone to the older man. “The muster deck is in the contacts list under M.”

  “Thank you.” Reynolds took the phone from him.

  ***

  As the Atlantica and the other ships rendezvoused with the Ignatius, the pirates hounding them backed off, withdrawing to the coast, seemingly reluctant to face the same savage beating that the decoys had received.

  ***

  “We need to withdraw,” Solberg said into the radio.

  “Agreed,” came the static laden response. “Cannon... disabled... low... ammunition... CIWS. Weapons... left bushmasters... swarm ... protect you and us.”

  “But what about the people left on the island?” Kendricks struggled to pick out what Slater was saying.

  “When... safe... come back...” Slater crackled in response. “But... we stay, you... risk. We need... leave now... another assault.”

  “That sounds like a plan to me,” Solberg nodded. “Kelly, lay in a course away from the island. And for God’s sake, keep the Ignatius between us and those pirate bastards.”

  “Captain,” Reynolds said from the rear of the room. His face had lost all color. “My daughter. She wasn’t on the lifeboat.”

  The room went silent. Kendricks walked to the Reynolds and laid a hand on his square shoulders. “We’ll get her back. But we need to make sure every other person we have on board Atlantica is safe.

  Reynolds opened his mouth, a conflicted look on his face. He closed it again and visibly gathered himself, straightening his shoulders. “Yes... yes we do,” he said, his voice firm again. “And then we sure as hell need to go back.”

  “Damn right.”

  ***

  As fast as the slowest trawler, the small collection of ships began to pull away from the island. The pirate fleet converged on the island, both sides licking their wounds.

  ***

  “Keep us between Atlantica and the island, Perry,” Slater said before keying the mic to the helicopter’s channel. “Mack, I am going to re-assign you...”

  Chapter 44 – Day 17

  “Time for payback,” Mack growled to her crew. “We’re going for the big game. We’re going to teach these pirate shits what it means to mess with the Iggy.”

  “Hoo-fuckin’ yah,” Hank whooped.

  The Seahawk ceased orbiting the Ignatius and Atlantica and set course directly for the ship that hung on the horizon on the opposite side of the island from the retreating fleet.

  “Finally,” the copilot said. “We gonna heat them up?”

  “With Hellfire, Jim, With Hellfire.”

  The Seahawk thundered its way toward the vessel. The sheer size of the ship steadily began to resolve itself. It was huge, lumbering. She hung low in the water, complex pipe work all over the top side of her deck.

  “Ignatius, Sierra Hotel 1-1. I have an oil tanker of some desc
ription. It’s a big one,” Mack said, pressing the radio transmit button on her collective.

  “Seaha... nsmiss.... Ken. Say .... Gain... ver.”

  “Damnit,” Mack breathed, the distorted coms had gone from difficult to unintelligible. “If you’re receiving us, we are moving to engage. Gentlemen, that thing is one hell of a beast. I want to do a flyby. We need figure out how to send it to the bottom.”

  Mack looked at the ship as they closed on it. The massive vessel was easily as large as Atlantica, at least three hundred and fifty meters long. Emblazoned on the tired paintwork of the hull was broken lettering. Titan.

  “Okay, Hank, listen up. Pick your target spot carefully on this pass and we’ll pump our AGMs into it. If we don’t be selective about this, we’re going do jack shit to that monster.”

  “Roger that,” he replied with a low whistle. “That sonvabitch is huge.”

  As the Seahawk swung closer a stream of tracer fire extended from deck of the ship. Mack hauled up on the cyclic and swung the Seahawk around, orbiting the ship.

  “Looks like they’ve bolted something on, amidships. Take a closer look at it, Hank.”

  The Seahawk swooped around the ship, the WSO’s practiced eye examining every inch of it.

  “Ma’am, looks like a collection of cylinders and tanks. Definitely looks makeshift.”

  “Does it look like it’ll go bang?” Mack said, thrusting the cyclic down. The helicopter descended under a stream of fire reaching for the helicopter.

  “Holy shit,” Hank called out. “I know what it is. They’ve built a goddamn refinery on top of the ship!”

  “Say again?” Mack yawed the helicopter around, cutting around the ship to its stern, behind the T-shaped bridge superstructure.

  “They must be processing the oil on that thing, turning it into fuel. I ain’t entirely sure if that would pass quality-control standards, but it explains why the pirates have always been so flush with fuel.”

  The Seahawk thundered up the side of the vessel, angling away to get out of range of the crew who were still firing rifles at them. The occasional pinging on the helicopter’s armor made Mack wince.