“We’re a CIA special ops team, Sir. What’s the problem?”
This guy was a couple inches over six feet, and I’m sure tough as a rawhide steak. He’d seen action by the age he looked to be, mid-thirties, probably all over the place. I’m certain he was the best of the best in military jargon. I caught Lucas’s narrow eyed USMC Recon look of annoyance as he moved over closer with the grinning Casey still trying to cinch a couple straps.
“You damn CIA cowboys are what’s the matter! This at sea takeover is clearly a military mission. How the hell do you bunch of misfits get cleared for it?”
Uh oh. I had to grab pappy.
“Who you callin’ misfits, you tit fed pussy! I was killin’ men when you were a dream in your Momma’s crotch. I’m Marine Recon, John here’s Marine Recon. My partner Casey’s a weak link on the team from that Army pussy outfit, Delta Force. Clint there… only God knows where he came from, but I trained him. That fact right there makes him better than you.” Lucas moved over and put an arm around Lynn. “This here’s Lynn. She’s badder than all of us. One more misfit remark, and I start this mission stompin’ your ass into the deck!”
The lieutenant commander didn’t scare, but he understood Lucas didn’t make idle threats. He spoke in a more calm tone though. “John Harding?”
“Yes, Sir. I’m John Harding. We’re on mission, Sir. You have a chain of command to go through. Voicing complaints to us is frankly out of line. I know from your trident you probably command a Seal team. We’re on the same side, Sir. There’s no-”
“I knew it! You’re the same outfit that took out that pirate Mother-ship, and left us with the cleanup. That was a rampage, not a mission! No one was alive on the vessel when we landed. Then in backup mode again, we found corpses floating in the ocean at every point you people operated. They were executions! Your team should have been in front of a military tribunal on war crimes, Harding. Instead… here you are again. I want to know who you answer to!”
Yep. This is a problem that shouldn’t crop up, especially here. The Seal team commander is absolutely right. Contrary to what Lucas called him in haste, the commander was a deadly and experienced killer. He was a United States Navy Seal, and a ‘by the book’ leader of men very few ever get to lead. The problem was this mission required monsters, not just killers. We weren’t flying aboard the Queen to arrest anyone. Our duty bound commander conformed to a different rules of engagement set of orders. I lead a team of monsters. Jafar tapped me on the shoulder, and handed me his satellite phone.
“It’s Denny. He says put the commander on.”
I probably didn’t mention that Denny was patched into everything. I offered the phone. “It’s for you, Sir.”
The Seal team commander took the phone with hesitant annoyance, acknowledging the call. Five minutes later, he handed it back white faced. “Good luck on your mission, Harding.”
“Thank you, Sir.” I held out my hand and he shook it with a parting glance at our troops.
He turned on heel and walked away.
“Denny?” I thought I’d better check on our connection.
“Harding?” An unfamiliar voice asked.
“Yes Sir.”
“This is the Commander of Naval Operations. I pray your team ends this threat. You will have first class back up of the highest order.”
“Thank you, Sir. We will get this done, and this threat ended.”
“From what Strobert told me, I have no doubt. I will be updated on your progress.” He disconnected.
Lynn, who hadn’t said a word during the conversation, hugged Lucas. “That was so sweet, Pappy.”
“That shave-tail pissed me off. Besides, you are badder than all of us. Hell’s Bell’s, Crue, that game show you invented was the most innovative piece of horror I ever saw on video, fiction or nonfiction. We’re here on the offensive with the entire United States Navy backing us because of what you found out. You damn well earned your place here.”
Back to business. “The commander was a distraction, but we’re not a Seal team. We’re monsters who kill, maim, and torture. Let’s not concern ourselves with the military point of view for now. Everyone good to go?”
“Aye, matey,” Jafar replied, causing much amusement.
The kid obviously has been hanging around with the monsters too long. “I’ll take that as a yes for all of us. We don’t stand on formality here, so let’s smile, and thank God we can get a piece here in the early morning hours that will save untold numbers of American lives. It doesn’t get any better than this.”
Amens rang out in the predawn hours as we shouldered our gear. We boarded the Venom, and took our positions, weapons in hand. It didn’t matter what we were in the end. We are Americans. That American citizens would gasp in horror over what we do, or that we were a rogue outfit even our own superiors might disavow if faced with admitting our existence, none of that mattered. When we get called on to act in defense of the nation, it is strictly because monsters are needed. Our superiors don’t launch us because they want to. They launch us because America needs deniability when a ship is found by an American warship without any mechanical problems, and without any live people aboard.
I inhaled deeply as Laredo flew us off the helicopter carrier USS Boxer. The sky didn’t cooperate with us. It was clear, full of stars, and with a gorgeous three quarter moon. The sky may not be bound by our wishes, but damn if it wasn’t one pretty sight to see. I glanced around at my companions. Lynn was in position behind the 7.62 six barreled Gatling gun, positively radiant with anticipation. Clint and Lucas had already deemed her a natural, during a day’s drilling with the weapon. Lucas had taken up his position at a modified M107 .50 caliber sniper rifle setup next to Lynn.
“Fire in the hole!” Lynn called out, and fired a short burst. “Oh hell yeah!”
Lucas tried to maintain a grim and austere profile but laughed out loud instead. He fired a couple of rounds too, for dead bang certainty like Lynn, to make sure there wasn’t any problem with the guns. To a man, we knew Lynn would waste anything that had a heartbeat without hesitation. Lucas would be pinpoint death around any containers that might house the anthrax. Clint, Casey and I would be the ones repelling on board the Queen. We would be the close order death no one would anticipate or survive… except for a couple of obvious higher ups Lynn could work on for information.
There would be a crew aboard. The satellite photos of the ship leaving the Port of Hong Kong showed two containers lashed onto the main deck. Those were our priority. Once secured, we would do what monsters do best. Our unwritten orders were clear. We had five seats available with me in the copilot’s seat next to Laredo on the flight back. I could fill those seats with no more than five useful prisoners for interrogation into this rogue outfit of the Muslim Brotherhood. Our mission was to make absolutely certain the Queen Zanubiya had no one above decks or below to interfere with the handling of the anthrax containers. I’m certain the Seals would have done a proficient job of securing below decks prisoners. We were going to throw bad ass boom booms everywhere as we went, and let God sort out the five winners for the trip back. I didn’t know for sure if we could complete this mission without casualties, but I damn well knew we wouldn’t be taking any casualties trying to save the crew of the Queen Zanubiya.
“That was mean what you said about me,” Casey told Lucas, pretending to pout.
“Hell, at least he gave you an origin, Case,” Clint remarked. “I come from God knows where according to Lucas.”
“Where the hell do you come from?”
“I don’t like your tone, Lucas. I had a Momma.”
“Will you quit foolin’ with that Gatlin Gun, Crue!”
Lynn continued maneuvering the gun. “Shut up, Pappy. I have to be ready. I’m going to kill a whole bunch of banditos. Laredo will make passes, and I sweep the decks on the perimeter of the containers. You get any on the inside of the perimeter. This baby here is going to eat you alive with envy.”
“
Remember. If there’s any explosives rigged, and the containers are breached, we seal up the hatch, back away, and let Laredo fire both hydras,” I reminded them. “They have Reaper drones in the air now to follow up from the Boxer with incendiaries. We get points off for that ending. We’re here to make sure our military can find out what type weaponized anthrax dispensers these idiots have come up with.”
“This will be a short trip if we don’t get a few guys with names of who put this together,” Casey said. “I figure they’ll be the ones hiding in the best spots on board the ship, letting the grunts get killed for them.”
“I wish we could have brought Tonto with us.”
“Too many decks and ladders, Clint,” I replied. “He sure would have been a welcome partner on this, but the bangs we had made for this operation are going to foul the air below decks something fierce.”
“There she is,” Lynn said, unable to contain the excitement in her voice. Off in the distance, the Queen Zanubiya steamed on her merry way, unaware of death and destruction following her.
Laredo remained low over the water, approaching the aft part of the ship on the starboard side. The decks were clear everywhere but the center. The large containers lashed there side by side obscured the vision of anyone approaching from the bow area. All others had been off loaded. The three cranes mounted port side aft, amidships, and at the bow obstructed any ideas about landing the Venom. A hundred yards out we began taking small arms fire. The 7.62mm, six barrel machine gun opened up. It was capable of two to six thousand rounds per minute, and we were not short on ammo. Lynn had her night vision headset on and could see the pinpoints of light as the crew fired at us. She wasted them with remarkable proficiency. As Laredo swept past amidships, Lucas fired six times with the M107, killing three crew members on the starboard side near the containers.
Lynn again opened up on the bow, hosing down the decks with fire while Laredo shot around to the port side. More crew members surfaced from below decks, various weapons in hand. They died instantly. Lucas cleaned out the port side with four more shots near the containers. This time around, Laredo went in at bridge level, port side, aft. Lynn obliterated the bridge. After one more pass around, no one dared to come up on deck. It was our turn. Clint, Casey, and I repelled down onto the moving ship. Not as easy as it seems – a wind gust, or ocean surge, and we could be in big trouble. We hit the deck, cleared our tether, and ran in a spread formation toward the containers. Two more crew died in front of us as Laredo hovered with Lucas covering our movements.
Casey stayed on patrol around the containers while Clint and I did a sweep of the ship. We finished off the wounded, and made certain of the dead. In all, we counted eighteen dead above decks. When we made it around to the bridge tower, nothing had survived Lynn’s thousands of rounds. It was a shambles, but a secure one. At the passage to below decks, we let fall a few of our more explosive toys, concussion grenades not meant for the squeamish. Jafar kept a running monologue on anything and everything. Then it was time for a couple more of our monster squad to help with this phase.
Lucas and Jafar repelled down to join us. Jafar took up Casey’s patrol at the containers, allowing Casey to join us. We threw two more concussion grenades down, before donning our breathing apparatus for the descent. It would be a smoky nightmare of an operation. We secured each landing, throwing concussion grenades into the far reaches of the passage ways. The crew quarters took the brunt of our attack with first grenades, and then the four of us renegades shot up the crew quarters with our MP5’s. Only eight had stayed huddled in the crew quarters. The search had to be done methodically with Denny now in our ears. He described each section of the ship from the Queen Zanubiya blueprints obtained before the mission, crossing them off as we moved along.
A problem cropped up at the engine rooms, where we had some bad people who fled where they knew we wouldn’t throw in concussion grenades. We were outside one of the engine rooms, grinning at each other through our masks. See, we have great bangs, but we have even nastier gas grenades. Our specials won’t kill you, but they’ll make you wish you were dead. Clint threw one into the far right of the engine room, and I threw one to the left. We simply closed the hatch. Yeah, we may have taken a moment to enjoy the results. It was only a matter then of going in to collect our prizes. They were rather stinky from our special gas delights, but if this was easy anyone could do it. We dragged their very unhappy asses out. Lucas watched them while the rest of us prodded the others to the crew quarters’ showers. After they washed off, we had them scrounge around for clean clothes.
There were six. They were the only survivors. Then the grunt work began. All fatalities received a burial at sea, meaning we tossed them all overboard as the Queen limped along in her former direction. No, we didn’t say prayers over them or anything else. It was a simple ceremony with each ocean disposal – Lucas kicked the body off the fantail. He may have muttered a few words, but they weren’t prayers. Once disposal was done, it was time to find out who would win the trip back to the USS Boxer.
Chapter Eighteen
Aftermath and Rematch
Our survivor contestants were all cleaned up and on the main deck, bound and gagged. I gave Denny the good news. “Queen Zanubiya secure, no casualties, Den. Clint’s taking pictures of our six survivors. If they’re all good candidates, I’ll stay behind after the other teams arrive.”
“Damn fine job, John. Pictures received. I’ll get word to you. Ten minutes.”
Fortunately, although there was no helicopter pad for Laredo to land on, now that the canisters were secure, we cleared him into an open area on the bow. He’d landed in a lot worse spots. Lynn didn’t even stop to pass the time of day. She rushed over to her new toys, still juiced to the gills from her time at the Gatling gun. Her toys were sullen and out of sorts thanks to our delightful party favors. She began prepping them with the subtle touch of a professional.
“Do these guys speak English?”
Clint walked over, drew his .45 Colt, and made sure he had our prisoners’ attention. He spoke in Arabic. “Anyone who cannot speak English and prove it within the next five seconds receives a bullet through the head.”
All six contestants passed their first trial with English verbal chaos. Yes, the monsters enjoyed this very real threat with amusement. Lynn clapped her hands.
“Thank you, man from nowhere, I’ll take it from here.”
The monsters enjoyed Lynn’s reference to Lucas’s earlier jibe even more. Denny’s voice came on in all our ears then.
“Good Lord, John, don’t kill any of them. Hang one from the props if you have to.”
“Understood. We have a landing zone cleared now. When we have our relief crew in sight, we’ll take off for the Boxer. Jafar is searching everywhere for first arrival goodies. We’ll help him now to speed things up. Give us an hour.”
“Will do. Relief launches in one hour. The Boxer is on an intercept course now.”
“Acknowledged.”
Lynn went right back to work, pointing at each one of our prisoners. “I get to keep all of you lucky guys. Who wants to give me something really good right off the bat? Believe me, I remember my helpful boys. C’mon, don’t be shy.”
One spat on the deck. Lynn took on her scary annoyed look instantly. “Great, another spitter. That wasn’t very helpful. Cheese! Look at what this guy did to our clean deck.”
I walked over, picked the guy up over my head, and smashed him down into his spittle. He of course wasn’t conscious while I cleaned up his mess. Hell, I didn’t even know if he was still alive. We monsters don’t always administer attitude adjustments perfectly. After making sure with a couple of twists that everything was spotless under him, I threw him amongst his buddies. He was still breathing, but there may have been a few broken parts on him.
“Thank you, Cheese,” Lynn said. “I don’t mind silence, boys, but any stupid displays of bravado will get you a Cheese adjustment. Now then, anyone else want to spit?”
>
No sound, and rapt attention were the only answers to her question. “That’s better. We just had a failure to communicate. I am here to explain things in a more easy to understand mode, like your buddy here received. You guys need to start thinking about every single fact you have ever garnered or imagined concerning this operation targeting untold numbers of American lives. How much I help you remember those facts is up to you. Let me be clear. I will make you beg me for the opportunity to tell us everything about your shitty lives. How we arrive at that point is up to you. Play me, and oh baby… that will be when what’s left of your lives gets really interesting. We need one of you boys to guide us to the safe, where you keep your important things. Who wants to help?”
Silence, but respectful silence, as they glared at each other.
“Uh oh. Aunty Lynn is going to have a demonstration. Someone is going to tell me a little bit right now.” Lynn reached into her equipment bag to retrieve a propane torch. She fired it up, while peering closely at each one of the men. Smiling, Lynn pointed at the one in the middle, who was sweating like he had run a marathon. “There’s my bitch! Strip him, and let’s get this show on the road.”
Clint and I reached for him.
“No! I…I will show you!”
The one next to him started screaming at him in Arabic, but Lynn kicked him in the face. “I’ll get to you later, tough guy. Now, bring my good little helper along, Clint. We’ll go treasure hunting with Jafar while Cheese loads my other toys.”
Hard Case IV: A Violent Life (John Harding Series Book 4) Page 31