by J E Higgins
Realizing he could not expect any help from the arms merchant, Mehendra deployed his men accordingly. He sent two up the road to the entryway to set up a vehicular assault. He dispatched two more to patrol the adjacent pier, and then he and the remaining three started patrolling the walkways between the cargo boxes.
Managua wasn’t happy about finding his security detail suddenly scattered, leaving him alone, but he wasn’t about to argue. His attention was focused on the ships. The captain of the Chin Wu had begun making his descent down the rickety scaffolding to the waiting group of men. He was a short and slightly frail man. His clothes looked a size or two too big for him. By comparison, the captain was followed by two brawny sailors, each armed with some unidentifiable sub-machine gun. He landed on the ground just short of his Bulgarian counterpart, who had come down from the other ship a few seconds behind him.
Both captains joined the group waiting for them on the pier. Not wanting to wait for instructions, they had both taken it upon themselves to begin transferring the cargo immediately. Being in a foreign port conducting criminal activity, both captains jointly decided it unwise to stay any longer than absolutely necessary. Managua had already met with the captain of the Chin Wu, upon his arrival and had agreed with the decision to begin. The Romanov had been given prior instructions back in Sophia as to what ship he would be meeting so it was a simple arrangement.
29
The fishing trawler appeared cold and dismal in shadowy darkness as it lay a good distance from the Limassol port with only a few red-lensed lights inverted along the bow to allow for everyone to see what they were doing. On board, everyone went about their work in silence. The crew of the trawler tended to their duties manning the ship while the mercenaries busied themselves with last-minute details. The inflatable rubber rafts had already been dropped into the water and were tied to the railing of the ship.
Dressed in dark wet-suits, the teams jumped into their respective boats with their gear and weapons. Though there was no intention of scuba diving, they had opted to wear wet gear, because their crafts were small and low to the water. During the ride over, between the speed and the waves splashing over them, they would be sopping wet when they arrived. Neither Tarkov nor any of his men relished the idea of trying to launch an attack bogged down by wet, tight, and clingy clothing when trying to run. They would have greater mobility dealing with wetsuits that wouldn’t absorb water and cause problems. The wetsuits also helped them move with stealth ─ they wouldn’t have to worry about any noise from water dripping off their clothing.
All was quiet as everyone mentally prepared for the mission. The crew of the fishing trawler was silent as they watched the mercenaries climb into their boats. De’vor took the front of the craft followed by Gorzo and then the Palestinians. The muffled sounds of metal and wood echoed up and down the craft as the mercenaries’ stowed rifles that had been wrapped in thin, plastic bags to protect them against the sea water. Really, it was probably an unnecessary precaution as the AK model rifle was the most durable, small weapon in the world. But why take a chance if you don’t have to.
They could see the lights outlining the target ships and the port in general. Except for two or three ships docked along the pier on the outer side of the port, the port was virtually empty. Along the peninsula that separated the inner port from the rest of the ocean, they could hear crews busily loading and unloading.
Tarkov signaled ─ the team in the first raft moved toward their target. De’vor waited a few minutes, then motioned his raft into operation. The two rafts traveled through the water at a moderate pace. As they moved toward the port, the outline of the trawler became smaller and smaller until it couldn’t be seen. In the darkness, it felt like they had fallen into an endless void. The only reminder that they were on the ocean were the bursts of spray and the occasional gut of water coming from the waves surrounding them.
Rounding the opening leading into the port, they were guided by the meager lights attached to the concrete supports of the pier. They were no more than tiny specks in the massive body of water and the thick blanket of blackness cloaking them from sight. Even if their adversaries had the benefit of night vision optics, they would still have far too much area to cover with such a small target. The men were also aided by the use of dark rubber sheets that were pulled over them and the rafts to break up their outline. The boat motors generated only tiny humming sounds that were easily drowned out by the deep growling of the more powerful engines of the cargo ships.
Halfway across the large body of water, Tarkov’s craft veered to the left and circled around toward the starboard side of the Chin Wu. De’vor and Gorzo’s craft went right in the direction of the harbor. Two-hundred meters out, De’vor cut the engine. They were far enough away that they exceeded the range of the harbor lights and the moving beams of what the Frenchman determined were flashlights held by a roving patrol.
Using night vision optics, De’vor scanned the shoreline keeping his gaze on the two men walking there. Their attention and the beams from their flashlights were directed primarily at the water. The glowing flashes made it difficult to know if they were armed. He kept staring and, finally, was able to make out the rifles slung across their shoulders. By the indifference the men gave to the cargo compared to the emphasis they placed on the water, the Frenchman concluded they were there as part of the opposition and were anticipating a sea born attack. De’vor felt a slight sense of relief that they were not simple watchmen. He lamented having to kill innocents, but if they had been, he didn’t have the benefit of Sauwa dispatching them for him. He was sure she would handle it without the slightest hesitation or remorse.
Studying the terrain carefully, De’vor moved his raft to the far end of the pier several hundred meters from their target and the security detail. The raft advanced through the water parallel to the shoreline. Almost reaching the far corner, he cut the motor and silently paddled the rest of the way in.
Once they were about twenty meters from the concrete pier, Gorzo and one of the Palestinians dropped into the water and quietly swam the rest of the way. Keeping their arms and legs well below water to avoid making any splashing noises, they forged their way to land. They quickly slipped onto the pier and dashed past the floodlights and into the shadows offered by the cargo boxes. The raft pulled back out into the water as fast as it had arrived. Gorzo and his cohort, now safely within the protection of the shadows, stealthily began to move. In their soft-soled rubber shoes, they were able to move silently without the distinctive clumping sound made by their normal heavy footwear.
Keeping close to the cargo boxes to avoid creating a silhouette, the two men moved with cat-like stealth, setting heels to the ground and gradually lowering the rest of the foot. They made virtually no noise against the smooth concrete surface.
They had to move a long distance at an excruciatingly slow pace which made it seem like an eternity. Thanks to the numerous rehearsals, both men could move on instinct without having to concentrate too hard on each step. This made it easier to stay focused on their targets. The guards helped shorten the distance and reduce the time by walking toward them.
They stopped several meters away and allowed the guards to close the distance. Slowly, the two men crouched down taking a predator attack position as they drew their double-edged knives from plastic sheaths and waited. As the guards neared the illumination of the floodlights, their rifles could be seen. The guards were looking out at the water with night vision optics. The few times they turned away from the water, they were either not using their optics, or they were looking too high and too quickly to notice the two crouching men.
Once they passed Gorzo, he signaled his cohort with a soft touch on the shoulder. Slowly, rising halfway to a standing position, the two men moved directly behind their quarry. Coming up behind the first guard, the Italian swung his arm around the man’s head, placing his forearm against the man’s mouth and, in a single motion, brought the knife up driving the sharp b
lade straight through the brain stem killing him instantly.
With a powerful force, Gorzo turned his whole upper body taking his victim off to the side to open up an avenue for his partner to engage the other guard. The second guard turned to see his comrade being assaulted just before the Palestinian plunged his blade deep into the guard’s stomach straight up under his chest cutting into organs, neutralizing any means of speech or ability to cry out.
With the guards taken care of, Gorzo seized one of their flashlights. Slowly he raised and lowered the torch in a vertical pattern in the direction of the sea. Behind him, the Palestinian took up a position directly facing backward toward the land. He kept watching to prevent anyone from sneaking up behind them.
Out on the water, De’vor watched the progress of the two men he had sent ashore. He caught sight of light moving in a controlled vertical pattern. Using his optical vision, he saw his two men, garbed in their diving suits, signaling him as agreed. On De’vor’s order, the raft was soon buzzing through the water.
It wasn’t long before Gorzo could hear the hum of the raft’s motor. Placing the flashlight on the cusp of the pier to serve as a guiding beacon, he and the Palestinian slid back toward the cargo box behind them. They took up security positions on either side to cover both avenues and secure a foothold that the rest of the team could use to safely infiltrate.
The raft stopped several meters short of coming within range of the floodlights. They navigated the rest of the way in using plastic oars dipped slowly and quietly into the water. De’vor stayed under the tarp to study his watch. He estimated they had less than ten minutes before the prepositioned Bangalores were set to go off and provide the diversion for his attack.
The raft nudged against the concrete pier. The mercenaries immediately began deploying onto land with their French commander leading the way. In truth, De’vor, being a commando trained from the paratrooper perspective, would have preferred a land insertion into the port. However, after the naval commandos, Sacchini and Tarkov carefully walked him through the plan and had softened to their idea. Since both his second in command, Gorzo, and the Palestinian had been trained as naval commandos, as they made their case, he agreed it would be the strongest place to assault from.
Tying off the raft to the nearest flood light, the mercenaries were now on land. Each man moved up in a well-practiced pattern. Like cards being dealt on a table, they peeled off with every other man forming into two tactical lines behind Gorzo and his Palestinian cohort. The last men from the raft joined the lines and signaled the end by patting the shoulder of the guy next to them. This pattern was copied all the way back to the beginning of the lines. Once everyone was up, De’vor gestured to Gorzo, who immediately rose to his feet and started moving to the pier. Like a chain reaction, every man rose one after the other and followed in a line pressed tightly to the cargo boxes, staying deep within the shadows.
Tarkov kept his eyes fixed on the bow of the ship as their rubber raft flew through the water. The cargo ship was a large fortress-like steel beast with the lowest deck still sitting high above the water. It was doubtful that anyone gazing over the side would notice them in the darkness below. At first, the Tarkov considered cutting the motor as he neared his target. But, the growling of the Chin Wu’s engine was so powerful, it easily masked the sound of their approach.
The ship seemed deserted ─ only the engine and a smattering of lights indicated signs of life. Once in a while, they spotted the occasional sailor as they walked along the bow, oblivious to anything beyond their immediate universe. There were no signs of any security. It appeared such concerns were not a consideration for the ship’s crew and captain.
Within a few meters of the ships’ hull, they dropped the raft’s speed to an idle. As they got closer, Sacchini, who maintained control of one of the limpet mines strapped snuggly to his torso, moved up. He started to unfasten the metal drum. Tarkov and two of the Palestinians trained their weapons and attention on the bows, watching for any signs that someone might have taken notice.
The Italian was on his knees as he crossed the soft bottom of their raft. He felt the rubber smack gently against the steel body of the ship as he reached his destination. He leaned forward just enough to feel the mines touch the hull. He adjusted the contraption until it was firmly secured onto the ship’s side. When he was sure it was properly fastened, he went to pull the pin.
He was suddenly jilted back by a powerful bump that came up under the raft. The Italian fell back into one of the Palestinians, temporarily knocking the wind out him. Everyone on the raft froze as they sought to understand what had just happened. A second later they all felt another bump, just as strong as the first. Everyone looked around in a state of confusion. What they had felt couldn’t have been a wave. Then one of the Palestinians rose to his knees and nervously pointed his finger in a direction off to the side. Tarkov gaze followed the finger and realized what the man was pointing to. Just a few feet from them, he made out the outline of a large dorsal fin. No one had to guess what it was. They were being circled by a shark.
By the size of the fin, they were being accosted by a man-eater ─ a Tiger shark, or possibly, a Great White. The first thought on everyone’s mind was to let loose with a barrage of gunfire that would rip into the shark’s body and certainly end the threat. But, the professional instincts in all of them understood that the noise would alert their enemies and exchange one threat for another.
The shark’s movements were getting bolder, and it was only a matter of time before it struck, sending them all into the water to be a midnight feast. Quickly, Sacchini jumped over to where the mine was and pulled the pin to arm the explosive. He grabbed hold of the mine and felt around for a second trying to find the pin in the dark. He felt the circular ring just in time to feel another bump, this time smacking against the side of the raft. Not wasting time, he slipped his finger through the ring and pulled until he could feel it slide all the way out.
“Go Now!!” He screamed, throwing tactical caution to the wind. The motor ripped into full speed as the craft started to take off. A large torpedo like silhouette exploded from the murky water missing them by just inches with a menacing set of clearly defined sharp jagged teeth. Water sprayed over the terrified mercenaries as they made their escape. Under the circumstances, they decided to forgo setting the second mine as they moved away from the ship. Their craft raced through the water and made their way to the open harbor. They had several minutes to escape and clear the distance.
De’vor and his team had moved up to the edge of the cargo boxes. In the darkness, it was futile to use a mirror of any sort to see around the edge. Lowering onto a knee, the Frenchman peered around the corner to see the group of men huddled at the base of the gangplank leading to the Chin Wu. He could make out only a few outlines of automatic weapons amongst the men in the crowd. It was impossible to determine how many combatants there were, and how many were just there for business. He supposed, in the long run, it wouldn’t matter.
He reached his hand back to tap the arm of the nearest Palestinian. The mercenary responded by slinging his rifle behind his back reaching into the tactical pouch on the side of his hip. He produced a small, round hand grenade. Unlike their shoulder weapons, the grenades were American. They were smooth, hard metallic balls. And, different from most eastern designs, they not only possessed a lethal, explosive power but followed with a dangerous cloud of shrapnel that was guaranteed to kill or severely wound a good number of their enemies within bursting radius.
Pulling the pin and flipping the secondary lock, the grenade was now kept from exploding only through the Palestinian’s hand pressed tightly against the spoon grip that ran down the side of the deadly contraption. The Palestinian moved to the Frenchman’s flank to give himself throwing space.
At the same time, De’vor motioned Gorzo to move his small team around and open pathways between the cargo boxes. They would come up from behind and attack the arms dealer from the side and r
ear after De’vor and his team had lifted their cover fire. The Italian moved down the line of mercenaries, tapping the shoulder of the men comprising his team. Gorzo moved out, leaving De’vor with two men. One man held the grenade while the other protected their back. Gorzo and his team disappeared into the opening, leaving the three men to guard the far corner.
The Palestinian had grown concerned when he couldn’t reach his team on the pier. He hadn’t yet begun to suspect the worst given that the walkie-talkies they had been issued were not of the best quality. He had made several attempts before finally getting a response from his team at the gate which led him to believe the situation remained unchanged. Still, having made his rounds through the numerous structures at the far corner, he was convinced they were safe enough from any infiltration coming from the fence line, and they were now making their way back to the ships. He planned to make contact with Managua and then commence a roving patrol circulating through the openings of the cargo boxes.
He looked back to check that his men were in a well-dispersed patrol formation. In the tight confines between the cargo boxes, it would be easy to take out a whole team with a few well-trained bursts of gunfire if they were grouped too closely together. Instead, his team moved with about fifteen meters of dispersion. They were moving through the space between a row of cargo boxes when they confronted a group of armed men moving adjacent to them through another opening. Those men were wearing black diving suits and sporting Kalashnikov automatic rifles.