“Four degrees west.”
“Eight degrees north.”
“Copy. Moving three degrees west, eight degrees north. Call it as we move.”
Williams waited for Smith to show him the computed heading on his notepad. “Alright, Boats. Course three three zero. Ahead slow.”
“Three degrees west.”
“Eight degrees north.”
“Two degree west.”
“Seven degrees north.”
Williams watched Smith make updates on his notepad. “Get ready for heading three six zero.”
“One west.”
“Seven degrees north.”
“Now, helm, three six zero.”
“Aye, three six zero,” replied Chavez.
“One east.”
“Six north.”
Williams nodded. “Your discretion, helm. Keep us zeroed.”
“Aye, sir.” Chavez guided the Dauntless slightly to the east.
“One west.”
“Five north.”
Chavez motored the Dauntless due north for nearly half a nautical mile before both teams reported zero degrees from their original observation headings, and Smith went out to the deck for the next step.
“Confirm bearings, ensign,” said Williams.
She nodded and pressed the transmit button. “Team one confirm bearing.”
“Team one good bearing.”
“Team two good bearing!”
“Drop now,” said Williams to MacFarland.
She was already leaning out the window. “Drop now, LT!”
Smith leaned over the rail and dropped a canister of 25mm blanks that was tied to a roll of composite line. When the canister hit the sea floor, he clipped an emergency locator beacon from one of the life vests to the line and used the recovery platform winch to lift the ammo box by two meters. He quickly tied the beacon in place, turned it on, and cut the line. The ammo canister dropped again, submerging the floating beacon with it. He leaned over and saw the beacon was just a meter below the surface. He pressed his throat mic. “In place. Do you have a signal?”
MacFarland yelled out the window again. “Good signal!”
Smith slid the cabin door shut. “Well, that’s that.”
MacFarland picked up the microphone. “Ready for third point check. Call when you’re ready.”
“Team one copies. Moving to pick up team two.”
———————
Chavez slid open the cabin door. “RHIB’s back, skipper.”
Williams got out of his chair. “Tidals back in the water?”
“Yessir. Choppy seas are giving us almost 700 watts.”
Smith and MacFarland followed them out of the cabin and to the aft deck.
Marathyachi slowed the RHIB and guided it onto the transom lift.
Graves climbed out first. “Think we got it, skipper?”
“As close as we can with three bearings. Any contact?”
“Negative. Saw two fishing boats, but they didn’t react like they saw us.”
Marathyachi clipped a D-ring to the bow eyelet and engaged the windlass to haul in the RHIB. “They gotta know about us. Probably scared.”
Williams nodded. “Yeah, I’d imagine so.” Williams patted each of them on the back as they climbed to the aft deck. “Thanks for going. All of you.”
Brewster looked at Williams. “Do we got a chance, sir?”
Williams smiled. “There’s always a chance. But with a crew like this, we got more than a chance.”
“I can help with the plan to intercept the next bubble, sir,” said Childress.
“Thanks, Tricky.” Williams shook his hand.
“What can I do, sir?” asked Brewster.
It wasn’t the first time that a team clicked under Williams’s leadership, but he’d get a feeling that made his pride swell every time it happened. “Help Lieutenant Smith get a Beachcomber airborne.” He looked at his crew. “We’ve got less than seventeen hours to get eyes on the prison, break out Grassley and Watts, and get right back here so we can catch the next ride out of here.”
Chapter 15
Paroled
PFC Watts wanted to scratch his trapezius muscle, but knew it would hurt more than help. At least his hunger pains distracted him from the throbbing and burning, if only a little. “Fuckin’ 1803, huh?”
“Beg ’pardon, sir?” asked Midshipmen Crothers.
“This is some kind of joke, right? All part of the act?”
Crothers wrinkled his brow.
Watts shook his head. “You guys are good, I’ll give you that much.”
Crothers continued pacing by the cell door.
“You ever been locked up before?”
Crothers looked down at Watts and shook his head.
“Me neither. Guess you don’t know how to get food or water, then?” Watts was sweating, even though it wasn’t very warm.
“No sir.”
Watts looked out at the seagulls flying over the harbor. “Where you from?”
“Barnstable, Massachusetts, sir.”
“Close to Boston?”
“No, sir. Cape Cod. Hyannis Port.”
“Oh, sure. Heard of that place.” Watts smiled. “Seagulls made me think of home. Maybe you too.”
Crothers looked at the birds but didn’t react.
“I grew up in Florida.”
“A Scot living with the Spaniards?”
“Spaniards? No. And I think Watts is British.” Watts watched the seagulls circling the fishing boats that just docked. “Guess I really don’t know where my family came from.”
“Our ancestry is an important thing to learn, sir. Watts is a Scottish name. Just like Crothers.”
“Oh yeah? You’re from Scotland, then?”
“My grandparents were. I am proud to say that I was born in America.”
“Yeah, I was born there, too. I guess it would be kinda cool knowing where the old folks came from. Why they left. How they got here.” Watts focused on an odd-looking seagull.
Crothers nodded. “My grandfather passed on everything he knew about sailing and fishing to my father, and he passed it on to me. That is why—”
“Hey, hold on a second.” Watts turned back toward the center of the cell and winced in pain. “Grassley! Grassley, wake up! Come over here!”
Grassley lifted his arm off his eyes. “What, man? I was finally sleeping.”
“Drone’s up! Come here.”
“What?” Grassley rolled onto his hands and knees and walked quickly to the door.
“We should signal ’em!”
“No.” Grassley looked outside the cell. No one looked at the birds, so nobody besides him and Watts was looking up. “Don’t bring attention to it.”
“They gotta be looking for us, right?”
Grassley watched the small white drone flying parallel to the jetty about a hundred meters above the surface. “Yeah. They’re probably planning to break us out.”
———————
LT Smith adjusted the controls so the screen displaying the view from the drone’s belly-mounted camera zoomed in on the cell. “That’s them. They’re looking right at us.”
Williams leaned toward the laptop screen. “Watts looks injured.” He pointed at his arm. “See? Pinned to his chest.” Grassley was blocking the view of Watts’s bloody shoulder.
“How bad?” Graves huddled over Smith’s other shoulder. “Can you see how bad he’s hurt?”
“No,” said Smith. He guided the camera as the Beachcomber drone flew its pre-programmed route along the jetty. As the drone continued north, the look angle shifted and Grassley and Watts were no longer visible. “I’ll try on the next pass.”
“We’re lucky they’re in the same cell,” said Williams. “Should make things a little easier.”
Graves took a deep breath through his nose. “If everyone’s got flintlocks, we don’t need to wait for night fall.”
Williams looked at Graves and raised his hand. “We’ve got to be sma
rt about this, Robber. Can’t just go blasting in there.”
“Why not? They were blasting at us all night.”
“Hey, how about a sir in there?” asked Smith.
Graves looked intense, but he nodded. “Sorry, sir.”
“No worries,” said Williams. “I want to get them out of there, too. But I’m not going to risk a day mission.”
“Look how busy this place is,” said Smith. “We’d get outnumbered. Even with M-4s.”
Graves looked at the merchants walking along the seawall on the monitor. “See any guards? Anyone armed?”
Smith shook his head. “Not yet.”
Graves took another deep breath and crossed his thick arms.
“We’ll go when it’s dark. At least an hour after sunset,” said Williams. “In fact, when you’re done recording, recover the drone and charge it up again for a flight right after sunset. If the place looks deserted, we’ll go. If it’s still busy, we wait for the dark of night. Deal?”
Graves nodded. “Oorah, sir.”
———————
Grassley saw the man he’d been waiting for. He looked behind him to see if anyone was watching him, but everyone else in the cell was napping again. Grassley reached his hand through the rusty iron bars and began quickly dragging his finger through the sand.
The man neared the cage and lifted his sandaled foot to either stomp on the drawing or on the hand that was making it. But he stopped.
Grassley held up a finger to his lips, and then pointed to the sleeping prisoners behind him.
The man looked at the drawing and again at Grassley. Grassley pointed at the drawing and then at himself. It was clear that the man recognized the profile of the Dauntless, so Grassley pointed at the drawing of the Dauntless, then at the man, and then again at himself. Grassley hoped the man understood that he was making a deal.
The man stared at the drawing of the Dauntless and looked curiously at Grassley. He kicked at the drawing to erase it and snapped his finger at the short fat man who’d kicked sand in Grassley’s face.
The pudgy man genuflected to the tall man, and listened to his quiet orders. He ran off, leaving Grassley looking up at the suddenly interested tall man with whom he’d just shared his secret.
Grassley stood and grabbed hold of the bars of the door. They stared at one another, and try as Grassley might to win the contest, the other man didn’t look away.
The man returned, holding a dirty, ratty blanket in his arm. He nodded to the tall man and quietly retrieved his keys. He whispered another few words to the tall man and quietly unlocked the cell door.
In the open doorway, Grassley thought for a moment that he’d be walking casually out of the cell with his new tall friend. Then he felt the stubby fingers of the jailer’s hand strike his cheek. His face stung and he saw stars swirling in his right eye. He was jerked forward by the arm and the sudden disorientation made him groan.
“Where are you taking him?” yelled Watts. He scrambled to stand, his arm still buttoned to his chest. He scurried to the door, but the fat man kicked dirt at him and slammed the door shut.
The jailer shoved Grassley’s chest against the locked door and pulled his arms back. Grassley grimaced when the man pulled tightly and wrapped a thick, coarse rope around his wrists.
“Stay tough, bro,” said Watts.
Grassley grunted and nodded just before getting pulled away from the door. The men threw the dirty, smelly blanket over his head and adjusted it to cover his uniform.
He could see well enough to make out that they were pushing Grassley through a maze of narrow paths between rustic buildings and tents. Through the loose weave of the fabric, he could see merchants selling more figs and fish. Even though everything the vendors sold was brown and dried, Grassley eyed them like juicy steaks on a grill.
They’d shoved him along paths for ten to fifteen minutes, and then in to a small earthen structure that appeared to be a home of some sort. The jailer ripped the blanket off and Grassley looked around. The old home was absent of decoration and everything was covered in a fine layer of dust. The two men stared at him, looking closely at his clothing.
Grassley looked at the tall man. “Mudawar.”
Mudawar stepped in close and snarled. “How do you know my name?”
Grassley leaned back. “You speak English.”
“My father has negotiated with the British since I was a child. How is it that you know my name?”
“That’s what the people were calling you.” Grassley gestured his head toward the doorway. “Out there.”
“What do you know of that ship?”
“I know everything about that ship. And I could tell you more about it.” Grassley over-exaggerated his pain by adjusting his hands behind his back. “If you let me go and I get what I want. But it’s got to be soon.”
———————
“Didn’t you use soap? These fuckin’ stink.” Brewster handed one of the dried tunics to Childress.
“No. We’d really stick out if they were clean.” Childress pulled the tunic over his head and pulled it past his armored vest, but it barely went to his knees.
Brewster looked at Childress’s boots and smiled. “Yeah. You’ll fit right in.” He handed tunics to Graves, Smith and Marathyachi.
Graves put on his disguise and checked his range of motion. “Too damn tight. Got anything bigger?”
“Where are we going to put our weapons?” asked Smith.
Williams looked at the four men with boots sticking out from under their too-short tunics and shook his head. “Just sling the M-4s over that. And cut a slit down the side for the leg holster. Will that work, Robber?”
“That’ll work, sir.”
“Yeah, I don’t think you’ll need to be inconspicuous for very long.”
“Aye, sir,” added Marathyachi. “If I can dock right where we planned, we’ll only be exposed for twenty or thirty meters.”
Williams nodded. “You’ve got my ROEs. Stay out of sight as much as you can, try not to engage anyone but shoot to kill if you have to, break the door and get those two out of there. Nothing more. Got it?”
The four nodded.
“Yessir,” said Smith.
“Thanks. I’ll leave you all to plan.” Williams looked at his watch. “You’ve got just over four hours until we launch.”
———————
Mudawar stepped close and glared. “Are you trying to taunt me?”
“No,” replied Grassley. “But that ship is causing you problems, isn’t it? With that old man?”
Mudawar straightened and turned away.
“That’s why I drew that ship in the sand for you. We might be able to help each other.”
Mudawar laughed. “How can you possibly help me?”
Grassley smiled. “Let’s say that whatever happens, the old man will have to respect you.”
“My father respects no one.”
“So he is your father.” Grassley nodded. “Do you work for him?”
Mudawar ignored the question. “How can I destroy that ship?”
“Destroy it? Wouldn’t you rather have that ship working for you?”
“Working for me? How?”
Grassley scanned the room and crossed his arms. “I’ll command that ship for you. I can capture it.”
“You think of me as a fool? As soon as I release you, you will leave.”
“Don’t be so sure. I’m not the ship’s captain.” He paused. “But I want to be.” Grassley glared at the short fat man who stepped on his hand. “Does he speak English?”
Mudawar glanced at the jailer. “No.”
“I want to make a deal with you.” Grassley didn’t get a reaction. “An accord. About the black ship.”
Mudawar stared at Grassley. “Why?”
Grassley shrugged. “Because you and I want the same things.”
Mudawar stood tall and put his hands on his hips. “What do you know of my wants?”
“We’re like all sailors. We want freedom. To make our own decisions. To have our own fleet of ships!”
Mudawar glared at him. “How can you give me any of those things?” He turned and looked out the window at the harbor.
“Because I can help you steal the black ship.”
Mudawar turned to Grassley. “How?”
“To work on a plan, I need to be free.”
“Are you mad? You are the Pasha’s prisoner.”
Grassley shrugged. “You didn’t keep track of how many prisoners you captured. One missing won’t be noticed.”
Mudawar didn’t look convinced.
“If you wait, I might be killed and you will never get that boat.”
Mudawar rested his hand on his dagger.
“But we need to move fast. They plan on attacking tonight.”
“How many men are on that boat?” asked Mudawar.
“Ten. Not counting me and Private Watts.”
“Only ten men control that ship?” Mudawar’s eyes widened slightly. “What do we need to take over that boat?”
“A boat big enough to hide some of your men. Maybe six or eight men.”
“And weapons?”
Grassley nodded. “Yes, weapons. And two good swimmers.”
“Sah—sahwim—”
“Swim. In water.” Grassley paddled his arms. “They need to be able to dive to the bottom. Swim down.”
“I understand. Why do they need to dive?”
Grassley patted his empty holster. “To improve our odds.”
Chapter 16
Betrayed
MacFarland saw a white cloth appearing and disappearing on the deck of the boat leaving the harbor. It alternated between three short and three long appearances. “Skipper, someone in that sailboat’s flashing an SOS.”
Williams looked out the window. “That’s got to be them. Grassley and Watts.”
“How do you know?”
Williams smiled. “Because Samuel Morse probably hasn’t even been born yet.”
MacFarland laughed. “Well that’s one good thing about us being stuck here.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“We’ll probably get to witness some pretty historical events.”
Williams’s smile faded. “I’ll miss more important things than that.”
The Shores of Tripoli Page 14