The Shores of Tripoli

by Fisher Samuels

  MacFarland saw his eyes tear up. She looked away and watched the boat as it sailed clear of the harbor. She started thinking about the things she’d miss too, but then realized that was all she’d miss: just things. She had her parents of course, and she’d miss them, but she was too young and too busy to have a family of her own. She didn’t even have anyone who she’d rather spend her time with. As a young professional, she filled what little free time she had with things. Clothes. Phones. Gadgets. Crap. In the cabin of a ship 200 years from home, those things didn’t feel fulfilling at all.

  The sailboat continued to flash the SOS and slowly made its way toward the Dauntless.

  “Get on the gun camera, Ensign.”

  MacFarland sat at the console and swiveled the bow gun toward the approaching sailboat. She zoomed the gun camera in on the man at the tiller. He was dressed in the regional clothing, but under the long dishdasha was the unmistakable dark blue digital camouflage print of a Navy uniform. Grassley’s narrow mustache, trimmed just to the edges of his thin lips looked Hitlerian.

  MacFarland looked down at the weapons console. The firing selector was on safe, which meant that if she accidentally pulled the trigger, nothing would happen. If she pulled the trigger when the selector was on fire, Grassley would be ripped in half with a single 28mm round to the chest. As gruesome as that was, she thought about it.

  She scanned the gun camera around the rest of the boat. Lying down on a pile of fishing nets next to Grassley was a man also wearing a Navy uniform and disguised in a short dishdasha. “It’s Grassley and Watts,” she said. “Watts is laying down. Looks hurt.”

  Williams grabbed his microphone. “General quarters, general quarters. Prepare for boarding.” He paused before putting the microphone down. “Looks like Grassley and Watts made an escape.”

  MacFarland saw Williams smiling. She smiled too, then looked again at the display showing the Mark 38’s crosshairs superimposed on Grassley’s chest.

  ———————

  Graves and Childress came up first. They were both geared up and armed with M-4 rifles and M-9 pistols, but both seemed more interested in seeing Watts than engaging an enemy.

  “Where?” asked Graves.

  They stepped quickly to the front window of the cabin where Williams was looking through his binoculars.

  “Right there,” said Williams. “I only see Grassley and Watts.”

  “That’s all I saw too, sir,” said MacFarland.

  Marathyachi was at the weapons console and still had the bow Mark 38 trained on the boat, but no longer on Grassley’s chest.

  Williams scanned the harbor. “There’s no other boats coming. At least none that I see.”

  “We gonna go get ’em?” asked Graves.

  “In a minute. Just want to make sure they’re alone.” Williams lowered his binoculars. “It looks like PFC Watts really is hurt. Not sure how bad.”

  Graves strained to look at the approaching boat, but it was still several hundred meters away.

  “Come over here if you wanna look,” said Marathyachi.

  Graves and Childress moved to watch over his shoulder.

  “You can’t see much now, but we saw him when the boat was coming out of the harbor.” Marathyachi zoomed the camera, but the view was blocked since the sailboat was coming straight at them.

  “How bad? Could you see where?” asked Childress.

  “No,” replied Marathyachi. “He’s laying down, and his eyes were closed.”

  “It looked like his shoulder,” said MacFarland. “Or upper chest.”

  Graves looked out the window. “Dammit.”

  “Helm, let’s go get ’em. LT Smith, GM3 Brewster? Get a line ready. Let’s tow them out a bit.”

  “Aye, skipper.” LT Smith nodded to Brewster and went out on deck.

  Chavez fired up the diesels again and maneuvered to weigh the anchor. In sixty seconds, the Dauntless was steaming toward the sailboat.

  On deck, Brewster readied a monkey’s fist that was tied to a composite line. As the Dauntless neared the wooden sailboat, Brewster threw the weighted ball of line across its bow. Grassley luffed the sails and ran forward to retrieve the leader line, then hauled it in until it transitioned to the composite tow line. He tied it to the sailboat and gave the Dauntless a thumbs up, then went back to the tiller.

  “Bring us around, helm. Take us out half a klick or so.”

  “Aye, sir,” said Chavez. He turned the Dauntless about and from the cabin’s aft windows watched the line pull taut. The wooden boat shuddered and pushed a deeper wake, so Chavez upped the throttles and headed northwest.

  “Permission to go on deck, skipper?” asked Graves.

  Williams nodded. “Go ahead. Keep an eye out for other boats.”

  ———————

  Exhaust from the diesels wafted along the deck and Williams thought of trying to turn both boats into the wind. Since they’d only be lashed up long enough to get their two crewmen aboard, he tried to ignore the smell.

  Brewster and Chavez pulled the sailboat close to the Dauntless’s hull and wrapped the worn hemp lines around the nearest deck cleats.

  Grassley waved the two anxious marines over first.

  Graves and Childress jumped down onto the sailboat and kneeled next to Watts.

  Grassley looked at the deck of the Dauntless, then climbed aboard. He scanned the deck again and then ducked into the cabin.

  “Welcome aboard, EN1 Grassley.” Williams stood up quickly and wrinkled his brow. “How did you do it? Is there anyone following you?”

  Grassley ignored him and looked at the crew standing in the cabin: Smith, MacFarland and Marathyachi.

  MacFarland noticed a strange look on Grassley’s face, but it wasn't the lecherous, prurient expression he normally had every time he looked at her. In fact, for the first time since she’d met him, he basically ignored her.

  “Gotta get water,” said Grassley before disappearing through the belowdecks hatch.

  ———————

  “Shit, man. Look at him.” Childress kneeled next to Watts. He was passed out on a jumbled pile of fishing nets and old blankets that lined one side of the deck.

  “Come on, bro, wake up.” Graves gently slapped Watts on the cheek while Childress looked at his bloody shoulder.

  Brewster and Chavez jumped aboard and waited to help.

  Childress pulled a knife from his boot sheath and cut into the shoulder of Watts’s bloody shirt. “Man, this thing looks like hell. Might be infected.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you help him clean this—.” Graves turned but Grassley was already gone. “Son of a bitch.”

  “We gotta get him down to Doc. I’ll get a litter.” Childress jumped back onto the Dauntless and went in to the cabin.

  “How bad is it?” asked Williams.

  “Don’t know, sir. He’s passed out.” Childress opened the belowdecks hatch but Ruiz was already coming up the ladder. “Doc, Charlie’s hurt.”

  Doc Ruiz made his eyes widen but didn’t talk. He turned the corner and nodded his head back when he passed LT Smith.

  “Grassley’s armed!” yelled Smith.

  Grassley slammed the butt of his pistol on the side of Smith’s head and shoved him into Williams. He kept shoving and Williams stumbled into Childress and Ruiz, and the four of them fell to the ground.

  Childress tried to get free, but he was trapped behind Williams, who kept Smith from falling to the ground. Grassley shoved again and pulled the M-9 from Smith’s holster.

  “Shit!” yelled MacFarland. She reached for her pistol, but Grassley spun to his side and pointed one of the pistols at her and kept the other pointed at the pile of men.

  “Don’t move! Don’t fucking move! Any of you!” Grassley quickly glanced at Smith’s pistol in his hand and flipped off the safety. “Just give me a goddam reason!”

  ———————

  Graves looked up at the cabin long enough to miss the movement under the
pile of fishing nets. They flipped up in the air and covered Watts, then two men popped out from under the pile. One was holding an M-9 pistol and the other a wooden club. The man with the club swung hard at Graves’s helmeted head and knocked him backwards to the deck. The other man screamed something in a language that Graves didn’t understand, but he saw the barrel of the 9mm pistol pointed right at him.

  Two more men emerged from hiding at the stern of the sailboat, and two from the bow.

  Graves saw that one of the older men held an M-4 rifle. “Grassley, you fucking traitor,” he snarled.

  The men all started yelling and waving their weapons at Graves, Brewster and Chavez. The man with the club reached for Graves’s M-9, but Graves swung wildly and punched him on the side of his head. The man crumpled to a pile in his lap.

  Two of the men attacked Brewster and Chavez and quickly got the upper hand. The men threw them to the deck and hog-tied them with coarse hand-made ropes.

  Graves started rolling the unconscious man off of him just as the other man pointed an M-9 at his face and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Graves roared and broke free. He drew out his M-9 and shot the pistol-man twice in the chest and once in the head.

  Brewster looked up just in time to hear a three-round burst from an M-4.

  ———————

  Two of the pirates pressed their hands against the cabin’s windows.

  “Get in here!” yelled Grassley.

  The men outside smacked on the glass again, but didn’t move.

  “Open the goddam door!” Grassley kept each of his pistols pointed toward his old crew mates, and looked at the two pirates on the other side of the door.

  Williams was laying with his back against Childress’s M-4, but Childress had free access to his M-9 pistol. Williams shifted to give Childress a little more room.

  “You fucking idiots. Ensign, open the fucking hatch,” barked Grassley. “Now!”

  MacFarland crossed between Grassley and the four men on the floor. Childress slid his hand down to his side and unholstered his pistol.

  MacFarland slid open the hatch and the two pirates burst through. They started screaming and waiving their weapons at the four men huddled in the corner.

  Childress saw that MacFarland was blocking Grassley’s line of sight. He slid the pistol out from his side and laid it flat against Williams’s back. Williams signaled by rocking back into Childress twice then leaned forward.

  Grassley holstered one of his pistols and lunged at MacFarland, grabbed her pistol from her holster and shoved her to the ground.

  Childress finally had his chance, and raised his pistol at Grassley. Just as he started squeezing the trigger, a sandaled foot slammed into his wrist and shoved it against the cabin bulkhead. The round fired off, the noise cracking loudly in the small cabin.

  The slug shot through the cabin wall just inches from Grassley. “Get his goddam gun!” Grassley pointed his gun at Childress and glared at him.

  Something hard smashed into Childress’s helmet and the loud thunking resonated in his ears. It kept hitting him again and again on his helmeted head, but did little more than keep his ears ringing from the close-quarter pistol round.

  Someone snatched Williams off of him and Childress was wrenched to the floor. He reached over his head and clawed for whatever was hitting him. A sharp, electrifying pain shot through his hand when he felt the butt of a rifle smash his fingers against his own helmet.

  Two men jumped on top of him and pulled at his weapons. Childress grabbed at one of them with his good hand, and ripped whatever he caught in his grip. He’d never grabbed another man’s testicles before, but he knew what they were as soon as he had them in his hand. He pulled hard and squeezed, and the man yelled louder than he’d ever heard a man yell before. He squeezed and pulled as hard as he could, and squeezed more until the once solid balls in his hand burst and turned to mush. The man screamed even louder and passed out on his arm. Childress tried to break free again and saw light only long enough to see the butt of an M-4 heading for his cheek. He turned to the side and the last thing he heard was a loud cracking thud.

  ———————

  Mudawar lifted Williams’s chin and nudged it to the side like he was examining a lamb before slaughter.

  Williams jerked his head away and glared. “Keep your hands off me.”

  Mudawar ripped a dagger from his sash and pressed the edge into Williams’s throat. “Watch your tongue, black.”

  Williams closed his eyes for a long second then looked down at the blade. “You speak English.”

  “Of course I speak English.” Mudawar flicked the blade to make a small cut on Williams’ neck. “The next time you try to command me, my cut will be deep.”

  Williams reached for his throat and looked at the blood on his hand.

  “Don’t kill him yet, Mudawar. We might need him.” Grassley stood beside Mudawar and smiled at Williams.

  “What do you think you’re doing, you sick son of a bitch?”

  Grassley grimaced. “Sick? I’m not sick. I’m just an opportunist.”

  Williams shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re doing. You could change history!”

  “I haven’t even started yet.”

  “We found a way back. It’s not too late!”

  Grassley shook his head. “What is there to go back to? War? Politics? Reality TV?” Grassley leaned back against the captain’s chair. “Our country has grown up to be quite the spoiled little child. It wants everything, but works for nothing. It’s lazy and corrupt. I think it’s time for an abortion.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not wasting any more time on you. You have one job now: keep the crew alive. I might need them to repair the ship when I get back.”

  “Where are you going?” pleaded Williams.

  “And ruin all the fun by telling you?” Grassley shook his head. “Now get everyone on deck.”

  ———————

  “Just keep your hands where we can see them.” Grassley looked around. “Where’s the other guy? The guy we rescued from the Philly?” Graves pointed his pistol at Williams.

  “He died,” Williams replied. “We buried him at sea a few hours ago.”

  Grassley adjusted his grip on his pistol. “What’s wrong with Corporal Rogers?”

  “He got shot. Trying to save you,” said Williams.

  “Too bad.” He nodded toward the sailboat. “Get over there. All of you.”

  “What do you think you’re doing, Grassley?” asked Williams.

  “Shut up. Move.” He pointed his gun at Williams’s chest. “Now.”

  Williams looked at Grassley, then at the sailboat. “Go ahead,” he said to his crew. “Move to the other boat.”

  Smith stared at Grassley as he walked past him and climbed on to the sailboat. Marathyachi followed.

  “Not you!” Grassley said to Ruiz. “You’re staying, Doc.” He pushed Ruiz toward the cabin door.

  MacFarland was almost past Grassley when he grabbed her arm. “Oh, no. Where do you think you’re going?”

  MacFarland looked up at Grassley, her face tight with tension. “Let me go!”

  “You’re staying with me,” he said. “Don’t worry. I don’t bite. Hard.” Grassley smiled and shoved her against the side of the cabin next to Ruiz.

  “Don’t you lay a hand on her, Grassley!” yelled Williams.

  “Guess you don’t know when to shut up.” Grassley raised the weapon to Williams’s head. “Your new boat’s waiting for you. Hurry before I change my mind and cancel your assignment.”

  Williams stepped down to the sailboat. “What about Childress? And Rogers?”

  Grassley sneered. “They’re coming.”

  Two pirates lumbered out of the cabin, one holding Childress by the wrists, the other by his bare feet. They swung him back and forth, and dumped him over the side. Childress landed right on top of Graves’s cor
pse.

  “You motherfucker!” yelled Smith. Marathyachi helped Smith pull Childress off of Graves and laid him carefully on the fishing nets.

  Grassley kept his pistol aimed at Williams while he waited. “Don’t worry. My friends will help you find your way.” Grassley pointed at another sailboat approaching from the harbor.

  “You son of a bitch!” yelled Williams. “You’ll hang for this.”

  Grassley smiled. “Come on. Can’t you see that I’m the skipper now?”

  The two pirates emerged again, this time carrying the shirtless and bandaged Rogers.

  “Don’t do that,” Ruiz pleaded. “He just got out of surgery!”

  “Good practice for you,” said Grassley.

  The pirates repeated the same toss and dumped Rogers over the side. Smith and Marathyachi tried to catch him, but Rogers fell to the deck with a loud thud.

  Smith ran to Rogers and then glared up at Grassley. “I’m going to fucking kill you!”

  “Good luck!” Grassley directed the two pirates towards the lines lashing their boats together.

  MacFarland looked down at Williams.

  She was only ten years younger than Williams, but her scared eyes reminded him of his daughters. Williams watched Grassley shove her and Ruiz into the cabin and felt waves of worry wash over him. But as soon as Grassley looked back and sneered, Williams felt nothing but rage.

  Chapter 17

  New Crew

  “Get in there. Sit down.” Grassley pointed at the cabin floor. “Right there.”

  MacFarland put her back to the wall and slid down. “Why are you doing this?”

  “You too, Doc.”

  “You’ll be tried as a traitor,” said Ruiz. He sat next to MacFarland and looked at her. “You alright?”

  She nodded.

  “Tried by who?” asked Grassley. “You know where we are, don’t you? What year it is?”

  MacFarland shook her head. “We found a way back. It’s not too la—”

  “Who’s talking about going back?” Grassley opened his arms. “You know what I could do with this boat?

  “Are you serious?” asked Ruiz. “You’re going to keep all of us here?”