Task Force Desperate

by Peter Nealen

  I’ve never made a good tourist, and from the looks of things, neither have Jim and Lee. It was all we could do to lounge in the boat rather than lay down on the gunwales and open the throttle, heading for the target. But there were eyes on shore, and out on the water, that would notice if we acted too much like American gunfighters, and not enough like tourists in awe of the natural beauty of Socotra.

  It was a striking place, now that I took a moment to really look at it. The last time we’d been there, I had been watching the pirates, not the scenery.

  The island reared up out of the Arabian Sea in a jumble of jagged towers, their slopes covered with more verdant greenery than any of us expected this close to either the Arabian Peninsula or the Horn of Africa. It wasn’t Hawaii, don’t get me wrong, but it definitely got more rain than Somalia did.

  The water was warm, and we each took a turn or two going over the side to swim a bit, stretching tired muscles while rinsing the grime from our skin and looking like dumbassed tourists frolicking in the ocean only a little way from where pirates were openly operating. We never got too far from the boat, and kept away from anybody who might be a spotter. We didn’t want to get taken ourselves. It was unlikely; they used Socotra as a port, and most tourists went unmolested, most of them blissfully unaware of the nature of the murderers they got their pictures taken with.

  After about an hour, we were roughly halfway to the port, and we could see three large merchant vessels sitting at anchor. We were getting close to where we could start actually reconnoitering the target vessel. We’d have to do it carefully, looking like slack-jawed gawkers taking pictures of everything, so there‘d be quite a bit of junk around the important pictures. Jim had taken the role of our resident shutter-bug, and had already set the pattern of taking enough photographs that if we had been actual tourists, our families would be looking for a shotgun to end it all about a quarter of the way through the slide show.

  We drifted closer, and I picked out the Frontier Rose. She was sitting slightly farther out to sea than the other two, and while there was some activity around the two closer in, she seemed abandoned at first, almost dead in the water. There was no movement at all, except for the lap of the waves against her hull.

  I brought the binoculars up, and peered at her, watching the superstructure and the bow more closely, trying to find lookouts or other signs of armed occupation. “Looks dead,” I said.

  “I hope not,” Lee replied. “That would mean the crew is somewhere else, and I doubt we’ll be able to find them before tonight.”

  Jim grumbled something under his breath. “What’s up?” I asked him.

  “This whole damned clusterfuck started out trying to find hostages,” he said irritably. “And now here we are trying to find a different set of hostages.”

  “Just the way the game plays out, brother,” I said, getting back on the binoculars.

  “Wait a second,” Lee said. “Jeff, take a look over there.” He was pointing to our starboard, toward the far side of the pier. “Is that what I think it is?”

  I turned the binoculars to where he was pointing. There was a dhow floating just on the other side of the farthest ship, drifting slowly down the coastline toward us. There were definitely armed men aboard it; I could see one with a badly-wrapped turban in the bow, with a Krinkov slung across his chest. There was a machinegun mounted on the forecastle behind him, too, though I couldn’t get a very good look at it.

  “Yeah, it looks like they’ve got a patrol boat covering the port,” I said. “At least one heavy gun on it, and probably RPGs, too.” I lowered the binoculars. “Fucking hell. That’s going to make things more complicated.”

  “Let’s just hang out for a while and see what they do,” Jim suggested. “At least we can try to figure out a pattern for their movements, so we might be able to avoid them at night. I doubt those Muslim Brotherhood assholes have been supplying the pirates with night vision, too.”

  “Let’s hope not,” I said, as I raised the binos again. “This would work better if we had a couple of days to watch, but we’re getting a little down to the wire, if we’re going to make that meeting.”

  “We can always hope they go home for the night,” Jim said.

  “Yeah,” I said, watching the guy with the Krinkov. The longer I watched, the more I was convinced that he really wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings at all. He was leaning against the bow, letting the gun hang, and appeared to be smoking something. “You can hope in one hand, and shit in the other, and see which one fills up first.” Jim chuckled.

  We floated, making an effort to look like we really were snorkeling like good little tourists, while drifting closer to the seaward side of the Frontier Rose. We finally saw some movement on her deck. A single man in local clothing was walking along her side, from the bow toward the superstructure. At first look, he appeared to be unarmed, but Lee took the binoculars, and announced that he had a pistol in his waistband, sticking out of his shirt, in the usual “blow your own balls off” gangster carry.

  So, there were armed pirates on the ship. We still didn’t have any confirmation that the crew was still aboard, aside from the last video message from the pirates, which was over five days old. They could very well have moved them, or even moved them from shore out to the ship to tape the message, then taken them back to shore. It didn’t sound likely, and pirates had shown a tendency to keep their hostages on the ships they hijacked, with a few exceptions, but it was a possibility.

  The sun was starting its long slide toward the Somali coast, and we still didn’t have any confirmation that the crew was aboard. If we didn’t get the crew, we were fucked. I was increasingly convinced we could take the ship relatively easily; the pirates we could see were slacking off, bored, and paying little attention to their surroundings. There hadn’t been any attempt to take any of the ships they had, they probably hadn’t seen a US Navy ship in months, and they certainly weren’t worried about their captives trying anything.

  But without the crew, taking the ship would be pointless. None of us knew how to run a container ship, plus the use of the ship was conditional on our rescuing the crew. We had to find them.

  Just as I was starting to get to the point of thinking of doing something crazy and/or stupid to get in and see if I could get eyes on the crew, the pirates did us a favor.

  It was probably about five in the afternoon when a small fishing boat with a single occupant pushed off from the shore and slowly motored out to the nearest inshore cargo ship, a bulk carrier called the Hyram Horizon. It disappeared behind the ship, but we could hear some yelled conversation, then the boat came chugging out from the shadow of the Hyram and headed for the Frontier Rose.

  This time, the boat pulled up to the ship’s flank where we could see. The guy in the boat yelled up to the deck, and after a minute, was answered by one of the pirates. This guy was carrying an AK and a radio, and spoke into the radio for a moment after the guy in the boat yelled up to him. Jim was taking pictures as fast as he could.

  A few minutes later, a hatch in the superstructure opened and two men came out, with a third carrying an SKS behind them. When one of them didn’t move fast enough, he got a hard shove from the guy with the SKS.

  The two men were herded to the bow, where they took a coiled rope and let it down for the guy in the boat to tie on several bundles, which they then pulled up and started carrying toward the stern. The guy with the boat backed away from the side of the ship and headed for the third vessel.

  “Tell me you got all that,” I said to Jim.

  “I got all of it,” he replied. “I think that pretty well establishes that the crew is on board.”

  “I think you’re right,” I replied, checking the time and the angle of the sun. “And I think that’s our cue to head back. Tourists probably wouldn’t be out here snorkeling until the sun went down.”

  “Probably wouldn’t be out here stag, either,” Lee muttered. He had a point, but we didn’t have a lot
of choice there, and we hadn’t been accosted, so I figured that anybody watching us had bought it.

  We took a long, curving turn, and headed back west toward our launch site. I found myself hoping we’d get back in time to get some rest before we headed out again. It was going to be a long night.

  Our three Zodiacs purred toward the Frontier Rose from the seaward side.

  It was one in the morning. We had launched two and a half hours earlier, heading north, straight out to sea. The former Marines on the team were at a little bit of an advantage; Recon did this kind of shit a lot. And if you think navigating on open water in a Zodiac at night is easy, well, just try it.

  Our kit really hadn’t changed much. We had our fins with us, and small air bottles with demand valves in case we went in the drink and needed air before we could strip our kit and get to the surface. Flotation collars went over the vests. Other than that, we were kitted out pretty much the same we had been on land, with rifles, vests, FAST helmets, and NVGs. Larry and Rick each had a compact, lightweight Wilcox cutting torch on their gear, with the copper cutting rods strung through the MOLLE weave on their backs.

  As we neared the Frontier Rose, the throttles were cut back until the outboards were barely idling, and we didn’t so much motor toward the ship as we drifted. Everyone but the coxswains lay low to the gunwales, trying to present as low a profile against the water as possible, rifle muzzles covering the ship’s deck.

  The ship was mostly dark, with light shining through a handful of portholes, and only the most basic running lights. I suspected they’d shut down the power plant, so any lights were probably running on batteries. So much the better for our approach, but it could make things more complicated when it came time to try to steam out of here.

  The first two boats sidled slowly and quietly up to the side of the ship, while the third hung back, the shooters on the gunwales keeping their eyes and their rifles on the deck, watching for pirates who might either sound the alarm or otherwise interrupt our boarding.

  I was on the lead boat with Larry, Lee, Jim, and Alek. Lee was driving; he was one of the better coxswains we had. He brought the boat alongside the Frontier Rose with a touch that was so light we didn’t even really feel it.

  Jim and I steadied the collapsible caving ladder we’d stored in the bottom of the boat, raising it to the edge of the ship’s hull. The hook at the top had been taped, as had the nubs to rest it against the hull itself, to keep the noise down.

  It wasn’t a long climb. Jim went first, while Mike took the lead on the second ladder. They each paused just short of the top, drawing their pistols and then easing over, facing in opposite directions. There was a brief pause, then they each clambered the rest of the way up and disappeared over the edge.

  A handful of seconds later, a hand came over the edge and flashed a small green LED twice. That was the go signal. The rest of us headed up the ladders.

  I was the second man up. The caving ladder felt flimsy as hell, even though I knew it could even take Larry’s weight, with gear. It took only seconds to get up and over the rail, dropping carefully to a knee, clear of the ladder. I reached back and unslung my rifle, joining Jim facing back toward the superstructure.

  The ship was silent, except for the sounds of our guys scaling the caving ladders. The coxswains were the last up, bringing mooring lines with them to lash the boats to the rail. We figured we’d need all the shooters we could get. Lee and Chad would stay at the boarding point, making sure no pirates came around behind us and cut the boats free while we were clearing the ship. Everybody else was on pirate-hunting duty.

  A hand squeezed my shoulder. We were up. I came quietly to my feet, Jim mirroring my movement beside me, and we started to glide sternward, careful not to let our boots slap on the metal deck.

  The Frontier Rose wasn’t very large as container ships go. She could only carry about four container boxes across, and only had them stacked two high above the main deck. A quick glance down showed that there wasn’t much room between the containers and the outer hull. It also looked like the superstructure was only about three decks high. That would narrow down the crew’s location rather significantly.

  It would also make it harder to clear out the pirates without any of the crew getting hurt or killed.

  We climbed the short ladder to the rear deck without seeing any sign of either lookouts or hostages. There was a single hatch on the side of the superstructure, without any portholes. I moved immediately to the far side, facing where the door would open, while Jim took the other, the rest of the team stacking behind him.

  Jim tested the latching wheel. It moved easily, so he carefully turned it. I waited, my rifle pointed at the seam where the hatch would open, praying it didn’t squeak.

  It didn’t. Even after three months of doubtless complete neglect, the hatch swung open quietly on well-greased hinges. I stepped over the lip and into the superstructure.

  The interior lighting was on, so apparently they were keeping at least one generator running, they just had most of the external lights shut off for some reason. I moved quickly but quietly into the narrow corridor, with Jim flowing in behind me.

  There was only a blank bulkhead forward, with three hatches astern. One was open, leading to the ladderwell up to the bridge. I held on that one, while the rest of the stack pushed past me. Alek and Larry were barely able to squeeze through, essentially sliding along the forward bulkhead. I really hoped there weren’t any bad guys on the other side.

  Jim and Alek went in the center hatch, and then Charlie and Larry kept going, moving to the far one. I glanced at them, and got a signal saying that it was the ladderwell down, probably to the crew quarters and machinery spaces.

  Alek came out of the center hatch first, and came over to stack on me. I immediately started up the ladder, my rifle raised and pointed at the open hatch at the top.

  The hatch opened onto the bridge. It was a narrow space, made smaller by the steel island of controls set in the center. Plate glass ports opened on all four sides, providing a decent view in all directions. Nothing really could be seen outside at the moment, as the bridge lights were on.

  Those lights starkly illuminated the two pirates who were leaning against the control panel bullshitting. They turned at the sudden movement as I came in the door, checked the corner, and then stepped out of the way as Alek came in after me.

  For a second, they obviously didn’t know what the hell they were looking at. They weren’t expecting any of their friends, and the fact that they’d just been boarded by large, heavily armed men in full combat gear took a few moments to register. By then it was too late, anyway. Both of their weapons were on the deck, leaning against the forward bulkhead. By the time they could get to them, they’d be dead, and they knew it. Their eyes widened as it dawned on them what was happening. The one closest to me pissed himself.

  They didn’t offer any resistance as I moved up and took them to the deck. The fact that Alek had moved up on the other side of the control panel, his OBR covering them the entire time, might have had something to do with it. They were too used to waving a gun at unarmed merchant crews. Facing armed men ready and willing to kill them was a little too much. The guy who pissed himself even started whimpering as I slammed his face into the deck and put my knee in his back while I flex-cuffed his buddy.

  The radio crackled with Mike’s voice. “This is Speedy. Forecastle’s clear.”

  “Roger,” Alek replied. “Bridge is clear, two tangos down. Moving to lower decks.”

  Jim and Bo simply turned around, Bo taking point down the ladderwell, and Alek followed. I took the few seconds to gag the two pirates, one of which was now actually crying, using curtains torn down from the aft ports, then went down after Alek.

  We flowed through the crew cabins relatively quickly. None of them were very large, so we could only get maybe two men in at a time. The pattern quickly established itself--two men stack on one hatch, go through, the next guys go to the next h
atch. The first two had been taken, and Alek and I were on the way to the third, when another hatch forward opened, and a skinny Somali with a shitty turban and an SKS stepped out. I was pretty sure that it was the same guy I’d seen on the deck during our recce. The turban looked the same.

  Alek pounded forward and shoulder-checked him into the edge of the hatch, and he yelled out in pain and surprise, the SKS clattering to the deck. Something cracked audibly, and his shout quickly turned into a long wail of pain. Alek wasn’t in a sympathetic mood, and he simply slammed the guy face down on the deck and zip-tied him.

  Bo was coming out of the second cabin as I finished. There was a pale, sickly-looking man with dark eyes and sunken cheeks behind him. “The first mate tells me there were only three aboard,” Bo said. “We should finish clearing, but it looks like we’re in business.”

  “There haven’t been more than three of them for the last month,” the man said. His voice was dry and quiet. “With only eight of us to guard, they must not have felt like sparing more than that.”

  “We’ll make sure, anyway,” I said, moving past Alek and heading for the next hatch, with Larry in tow. The hatch wasn’t dogged, and swung easily. I threw it open, and Larry went through.

  It didn’t take much more than another five minutes to determine that the first mate was correct. There had only been three pirates aboard, all of whom were now flex-cuffed and being held below decks in the bow. We still had to figure out what to do with them, but getting the ship away from Socotra came first.

  Alek, Mike, Eddie, and I were in the bow, discussing our next move, as the engines rumbled to life and the anchor came up. Chad, Jon, and Lee were on watch, in case the pirates decided to object to our absconding with the ship they’d hijacked.