Mischief Island

by Robert Lance

  They took a rest break. They shined their lights all around taking in the majestic beauty of the grotto. The mere size of it impressed the men. Perry said, “This is spooky Perrotte. It reminds me of a German submarine pen under a mountain, like in the movies.”

  Gates said, “I don’t get it.”

  There was a long pause before a voice whispered, “I don’t either.”

  Fitzgerald asked, “What’s with the entrance? Why are we using the back door?”

  Ted said, “It’s a twenty minute boat ride from here to Sabang on open water.”

  “Are we expecting Chinese gunboats?”

  “Running a taxi service might invite them to have a look. Let’s get back to work. We need to keep the store house empty.”

  “I thought we came here to hang blackout curtains.” Perry said.

  “Later tonight. Lt. Cummins needs to finish putting the Pitons across the ceiling. She’s going to need our help.”

  Perry gawked at the high ceiling. “That’s impossible.”

  Ted chuckled. “That’s what I thought too.” He flashed his light on one of the legs. The piton rings going up the wall stood out and Ted was rather proud of their fete. “She put those up last night.”

  Fitzgerald said, “No fuckin’ way. This I gotta see.”

  “We would have finished but we didn’t have enough line with us.”

  Gates said, “Let’s get down to business. We wouldn’t want to miss happy hour. Listen to me, will ya? How fucked up is this?”

  The dynamics of the Sheridan resort had change dramatically since morning. For one, the population had increased three-fold. It was like Jet Blue had landed with snow flakes whom had spent their last dollar to get there and had coupons to cash in. Military people have no sense of fashion in civilian attire. Military personnel can’t afford fashion, so crap that they’d wear to change the oil had to suffice as beach wear. Some of them wore the tee-shirts of the local team their kids played on. Tourists…almost.

  The Sheridan was the Sheridan after all. Four-star services could not go unabated regardless of who was invading. If there was a pig roast on Saturday, mortars popping in the distance wouldn’t faze the staff. Soft music blared from the sound system and a dozen geeks were involved with some ritual around a roasting pig smoking out on the lawn.

  Team Four was in their huddle at the pool deck sipping San Miguel. A short man with short legs ducked-walked in their direction. His long shorts made him even shorter, like a midget on a Segway. His arms swung in unison with his legs as though they were somehow connected and if his arms stopped, he’d fall over. The man had his steam up. He picked up a lawn chair, put it in the huddle, and sat down without so much as a howdy. “Which one of you is Perrotte?”

  “Who are you?” asked Perrotte.

  “Master Chief Gregory.”

  Perrotte said, “That doesn’t mean much to me.”

  “It should.” Gregory tossed a finger in the direction of the gathering out on the lawn. There were four women and eight men mingling around the flames of the pig pit. “Here is how this works. Pretend there’s a white chalk line around my people, especially my WO’s. If I catch you sniffing around my ladies, you’ll be shittin’ chalk for a month. Are we clear?”

  The four men looked at each other as if Gregory had told a stale joke that nobody got. His intrusion put him sideways to the SEALs. One of them said, “Who made you the boss of us?”

  “LT Cummins runs the intel shop. I run the command and control field operations center. If you want a ham sandwich, ask. I’ll kill the pig and garnish it with lettuce and pickles. I’m the head elf, okay? If you haven’t noticed this ain’t the north pole, and it would be a very bad idea to cross swords with me.”

  Perrotte said, “We get that, but we’re not on the same talk show. We take our orders from God.”

  Gregory chuckled. “Lieutenant Commander Jones may think he’s God, but God is a no-show. I’m in charge until he gets here, which brings me to the subject of your activities. What were you doing at the park yesterday? It’s closed for a reason.”

  “We don’t go anywhere without knowing the environment.”

  “That’s fuckin’ obvious. Does that include ransacking my boss’s personal quarters, stalking her, and strong arming my WO’s for information?”

  Ted could talk about it, but that subject was taboo.

  Gregory said, “Who authorized you to commandeer that gaudy muscle taxi? It’s like the circus came to town. Your orders are to remain inconspicuous, lay low and be dullards…tourists.”

  “Look, Gregory. You have to admit this is pretty fucked-up. It’s like the whole deployment is a day care trip and it’s nap time. When do we get to story time, where you let us kiddies know what this field trip is all about?”

  “You gonna buy me a beer?”

  Perrotte raised his hand to flag Roberto to bring a round. “It’s open bar and it goes on Alamo’s tab.”

  Gregory chuckled. “Alamo and I are asshole buddies, and we go way back. It goes without saying every person is hand selected. I’m going to go out on a limb here, and I’m going to speak on Alamo’s behalf—.”

  Gregory stopped speaking as Roberto swished in with the beers. Roberto paused as he set a beer in front of Gregory. There was recognition and Roberto said, “Hey, Master Chief Gregory, long time no see.”

  “Hello, Roberto. Good to see you. How goes life?”

  “Excellent and thanks for asking.” Roberto knew his place and quickly departed.

  Perrotte was curious. “You know Roberto?”

  “Yeah, he and his brother Ramon served on the USS George Washington as galley mates when we anchored in Manila. Ramon was head chef in the officer’s galley. They work for Admiral Salinas now. They’re cleared, but watch what you say around them.”

  Perry said, “I wondered about that.”

  Gregory said, “Where was I?” He paused to make sure he had the team’s full attention. “The Chinese have been building artificial islands in the Spratly’s for years and no one has done squat. Their focus is on eight of those islands. We know they’re working on submarine pens on Fiery Cross Island and that’s on the target list. In 2014, they stepped up their militarization of three of those islands. The Filipinos are screaming about it, but their warnings have been shamelessly ignored. That’s the short history.”

  “So our mission is to neutralize the Sub pens on Fiery Cross Island?”

  Gregory shrugged. “It’s bigger than that. The Chinks have been dicking around on Mischief Island, and we haven’t been paying close attention, but Alamo has. We have a smattering of intelligence that suggests the Chinks have deployed mobile launchers capable of launching Dong Feng 21-D tactical nukes. We have satellite images of four facilities to house eight launchers, but no proof that the launchers are there.”

  The light bulb popped in Perrotte’s head. “So we’re going to get the proof.”

  “Yes, and sabotage them without getting caught. But it gets better. The chinks have sixty or more Dong Feng 21-D missiles with nuke warheads. They’re not stupid enough to put their eggs in one basket, and we believe they’re stored off shore. A shell game of sorts.” Gregory cleared his throat to emphasize his next point. “We are certain the Philippine cruiser was about to interdict a shipment of tactical nukes, which is why they sunk the ship.”

  Gates said. “We have justification to blow the entire Chinese Navy out of the water.”

  Gregory took a long swig of beer and burped. He chuckled and said. “I already like you, but aside from starting World War Three, we’d have a Chernobyl and a second Dead Sea. If they get two or three launches from one of the other islands, we’d loose most of our WESTPAC fleet. You see the risk. Alamo calls it the ‘Second Cuban Missile Crisis,’ and he wrote the position paper on it years ago.”

  Perrotte said, “Let me guess. Our second task is to find nuke needles in the hay stack and paint bulls eyes on them.”

  Gregory made an exaggerate arm t
hrow with a pointed finger like he had just fingered out a criminal in a line-up. “Correct-a-mundo!”

  Fitzgerald said, “We’re going to be here for awhile.”

  Gregory said, “This is just speculation, but yeah, we could be here long enough to see the fuckin’ elephants die, but if the Chinks bring out their carrier group from Yulin, all bets are off. When the brass tells me to stay fluid, it’s because they’re constipated.”

  Perrotte asked. “What’s holding Alamo up?”

  Gregory smirked. “The shit in Manila. The government has requested us to move our carrier group out of Philippine waters. We do that and China will move theirs into the Spratly theatre. For the moment, it’s a Mexican stand-off.”

  Gates said, “That doesn’t answer Perrotte’s question.”

  “We’re having trouble getting our boat in the water. We had a C-17 land at Mactan but the Federal police forced it to leave before we could get it off-loaded. The C-17 went back to Guam, and our boat was transferred to an LSD amphibious carrier. It’ll take days before the LSD can transport it to a point within the boat’s operating range.”

  Ted asked, “What kind of boat are we talking about? Don’t tell me this is a fast boat operation. The inlet to the underground river is too shallow, and there’s too much open seas out in front of us.”

  Gregory leaned in. He lowered his voice. “I haven’t seen the watercraft, but it’s next generation technology. What I can tell you is it’s a hybrid between a fast boat, zodiac, and mini sub. It’s not in the inventory. It’s one of two prototypes still going through test trials. It’s called “The Ghost.”

  Ted’s mates all leaned back in their chairs with looks of skepticism. Ted recalled Heather making a derogatory remark about Alamo’s bat mobile. His thoughts were interrupted by Gregory’s next statement.

  “The airport at Puerto Princesa is closed to all military traffic. The smuggling operation by courier van isn’t working anyway. I’m bringing the last of what we have up here in a box truck tonight. Speaking of smugglers, We suspect Abu Sayyaf cells are operating at the north end of the island. Smugglers mostly. They haven’t bothered Sabang and stay out of the park, but who knows about radical Islamic terrorists? If they suspect Americans are here, they might be tempted to take hostages. WO French will brief you later on the threat.”

  Ted said, “We’ve got something else planned for tonight.”

  Gregory said, “I know. My crew can handle it. What I’m saying is we can’t count on help from the Philippine government or their navy. At least not in the open. Our logistics is gonna have to go black.”

  Fitzgerald said, “We can’t sustain an operation without beans and bullets.”

  Gregory waved a hand. “That’s my specialty. I have the connections to build a black cartel in a day. By the way, those flashy sets of wheels you have are a stroke of genius, but were going to have to get something that’s more wieldy and less conspicuous.”

  Ted asked. “So, when we finish with the blackout curtain, what’s next?”

  “Since you nosey bastards found the secret passage, we’ll build out the infrastructure in the grotto. Maybe we’ll get back on schedule.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Heather beat the SEALs to the grotto and was already on the wall threading a climber’s rope through piton eyelets. Dressed in black tights and a do-rag, she looked like a black widow spider making a web. When the team arrived, four beams spotlighted her.

  Fitzgerald said, “That’s fuckin’ nuts.”

  Heather’s voice echoed. “Turn those damn flashlights off.” She zip-lined to the floor, swam the grotto, and laid into Ted. “Master Chief Perrotte, what did I say about keeping the curtain material dry? Now they’re going to be heavier to hang.”

  “Sorry, LT, there was no helping it.”

  She used her head lamp to look at the silly grins on the faces of the team. “We can’t flash beams out toward the sea for obvious reasons, but I’ll need two of you to swim out to the opening and light up the dome with the beam facing back this way. We’re getting to the tricky part. We’re going to have to move the curtain twelve feet this way so that It won’t be visible in daylight.” She explained each step and sounded like she was talking to stage hands. Each man had detailed tasks assigned to every step. Her lamp was on Ted the whole time. “You ready to climb, Ted?”

  “Yes ma’am.” It sounded more like “Yes dear.” Perry elbowed Fitzgerald in the ribs.

  Her lamp flashed on Fitzgerald’s moon face. “You’re the safety, make sure you keep the safety line played out, but be ready to tie off in case one of us falls.”

  “Yes ma’am,” which also sounded like “Yes dear.”

  “Okay, lets gear up and get to it.”

  Perry couldn’t help himself and said, “This is going to be fun to watch.”

  “Maybe you should get your scrawny ass up on the wall with me?”

  “Me? You’re shittin’ out of your mind LT. I get a nose bleed on a step latter.”

  She chuckled and went about collecting tools she’d need. The SEALs swam the grotto to take up their tasks. Gates and Perry went to the front of the opening to backlight the dome, while Fitzgerald checked the safety line anchored from the vertical string of pitons already in place.

  Heather climbed Ted’s frame and together they scaled the wall like two frogs playfully leaping over one another. She’d giggle, and he’d laugh, as they twined their bodies together.

  Fitzgerald whispered. “That’s a floor show I wouldn’t mind participating in. She didn’t ask me.”

  Perry said, “Yeah, foreplay. I’m kickin’ myself in the ass.”

  Heather growled. “Perry, watch yourself. Concentrate on keeping the light on the dome and not my ass.”

  The pair caught their breath and prepared to set the next Piton. Heather said, “Ready?” Ted nodded, and her foot went into his groin, and his left hand went to the front of her web and the right firmly on her butt. Simultaneously, she fell backwards, arched, and leapt backwards into thin air. “Hold me tight Ted,” she chirped.

  The men watching from the floor were awed as Heather set to work. She dropped her first piton and had to fish for another. She power hammered the second piton, tested it, then leaped into Ted’s arms, burying her head on his chest, gasping for breath. Sounds of applause rose from the grotto floor. She gave an appreciative wave. “The next one will be easy,” she whispered.

  Ted transferred a rope chair to the new piton and swung away from the wall He dangled from the ceiling, swaying slightly. He yelled, “Fitzgerald, give us some slack and be ready to tie off.”

  Perry mumbled, “I can’t watch.”

  Ted swung in her direction, and she timed her leap to throw her legs around his waist. Both his arms clasped her lower torso to keep her from falling. With her legs tightly around him, she thrust upward and arched backwards to set the next piton. Her pelvis was in his face as she struggled to set the next anchor in the ceiling. They repeated the step four more times, and Heather announce they were on their way down.

  Perry mumbled very quietly, “Maybe that explains Perrotte’s rug burn on his chin.”

  Gates also mumbled. “Worth it, if you ask me.”

  Ted and Heather reached the floor, and Fitzgerald said, “LT you’re as agile as a squirrel, you too Perrotte. I held my breath the whole time.”

  Perry said, “It would make a great training film, but it would have to be R rated.”

  Heather pretended insult. “Perry, do you have to shoot your mouth off every time a dirty thought enters your mind?”

  “Yes ma’am…I mean no ma’am. We’re not used to working around babes, so we pretty much go dirt mouth amongst ourselves.

  She turned up the end of her lip and shrugged. “Far be it for me to change your work habits. Let’s get the other leg done.”

  Ted and Heather did an encore performance. Heather was getting tired, and she dropped a few pitons. Near the end she missed Ted’s catch, but Fitzgerald
was quick and tied her off. They finished, and they both took a break. Heather was drenched with her own sweat. She found a dark place in the grotto to have a private cool down. The team, hardly lifting a finger, waited patiently on the sand bar.

  Gates said, “You know how I feel about women serving on SEAL teams, but I’d make an exception in the LT’s case. I’ve never seen that before. Perrotte, how did you learn to walk on the ceiling—?”

  “Fucker walks on water, why not the ceiling?” said Fitzgerald.

  “That’s a skill set I just learned. LT said she’s done this before.”

  The team sung her praise in her absence. She returned looking refreshed and eager. She said, “Do any of you sailors know how to make a trolley knot?”

  “A what?”

  She rolled her eyes. “We need to run the runner line, a service line, and a safety line from both back anchors. We need trolley knots so they’ll slide back and forth. Once we do that I can finish putting pitons to span the back corners. Then it’s just of matter of hoisting the curtain sections.” She smiled. “There’s something left out of your education. Who wants to go top side with me?”

  Four hands went into the air. She made a studied pretense in her selection process. “Perry, put on a harness. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

  Perry beamed, but he didn’t get what he was expecting. The men hand hauled him to the top of the wall, and he hung like a puppet passing lines to Heather. In no time at all, she had traversed the center of the dome, completing the frame structure. She descended in a zip fashion and looked up where Perry swayed. She said. “Leave him up there. We’ll let him feed the curtain onto the runner line.”

  She opened one of the boxes and showed the team the curtain and how to feed it without getting it wet. The material was sheer netting finely woven in ten foot sections. She said, “We’ll need two-ply to filter the light and let’s be smart how we do this. It looks light weight, but don’t be fooled. Get it wet and you’ll be sorry. Ted, I need you topside to attach the clips. I’m too tired.”