Forget Me Not (Love in the Fleet)

by Ashby, Heather

  “There they are!” shouted Mikey, proud he’d spied boat number two.

  “What’s the clock position, Studley?”

  “One o’ clock, moving to twelve. Just below the horizon. See the wake? I don’t think they even altered course from when we left them earlier.”

  “Got ’em. You boys ready in the back?” Sky asked.

  “Yes, sir!” could be heard from all three crew stations. He knew they were eating this up with a spoon. If the frigate would just get there in time, there would be plenty of accolades to go around for both the Navy and the Coast Guard.

  “All right, Gunner, you are Cleared Hot to take out another three engines.”

  “Copy, sir. Cleared Hot.”

  Mikey clicked through. “They’re slowing down, Sky. They must have spotted us. What do we do now?”

  “We’re going to do what I said and take out their engines. All fucking three of ’em.”

  Mikey looked confused. “But they pulled over. Shouldn’t we wait? Isn’t that Standard Operating Procedure?”

  “SOP doesn’t address every situation. These guys are clearly not going to stay put if we leave and we’ve already given them warning shots. So get our gunner into position, Studley, and let him work his magic.”

  “Works for me.” Mikey deftly nudged Little Girl into the perfect perch for the gunner.

  “Nice position, sir,” the marksman said. “Request permission to fire.”

  Sky grinned. This was what made it worth getting out of bed every morning. “Cleared to fire!”

  One. Two. Three rounds met their mark. Smoke rolled from each of the now demolished engines.

  “Hey, sir, one of the crewmen fell overboard, what should we do?” Palmer madly thumbed through the ROE checklist.

  “Wave to him. He’s their problem,” retorted Sky. “We don’t have a rescue swimmer onboard and I’m not risking putting one of you down there to save one of those assholes. Besides, it looks like his buddies already have a line out to him and are pulling him back in. Now let’s haul ass and find that first boat so we can complete this trifecta.”

  Chapter 28

  Sky drummed his fingers on his thigh as Mikey flew them back where they’d left the first boat. “Quinn, I know you’ve found fiberglass boats on radar in weather much worse than this. So you keep the radar and I’ll take over the FLIR. I might even be able to spot their old wake. Studley here will climb Little Girl to heaven so everyone has a better view. Get it, Quinn?”

  “Got it, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Passing through five thousand feet of altitude, an excited Quinn called out, “Sir, I had a small blip on my screen at about zero-four-zero relative, approximately five miles. It only showed up for a second. I’m not saying it’s for sure a contact, but it didn’t look like weather or any other junk return—wait! There it is again. Sir, there’s definitely something on the water, now at our zero-three-zero for three miles. Could be a pod of whales, but I recommend checking.”

  “Mikey, bring Little Girl right twenty degrees while I slew the FLIR toward the contact. I’m not seeing anything, Quinn.”

  “Let me have the FLIR back for a second, sir.”

  “FLIR’s yours, Quinn.”

  Almost immediately Quinn yelled out, “Jackpot! Look at that rooster tail!”

  “Quinn, remind me to tell everyone just how damn good you are at finding needles in haystacks. You make rounding up suspect Narco-Terrorists look like child’s play. Keep the FLIR on these guys while I call the frigate and tell them the good news. With a mother-fucking giant of a wake that has to be our guy, Mr. Go-Fast Number One, trying to escape after we so politely pulled him over for loitering earlier. Studs, get us on top of this guy and don’t be too careful with the rotorwash when you get there.”

  “Roger that,” his grinning co-pilot replied. “You want me to hail our new friends too?”

  “Nah, you focus on keeping track of our fuel and not hitting the water while I brush up on my Español. Quinn, we’re probably going to lose radar contact with Mother when we descend, so keep our target’s track constantly updated via Link Sixteen. Now boys, let’s go greet our guests.”

  “Halt your vessel! Halt your vessel! Pare su barco! Pare su barco!” Sky called over the VHF radio. The only response from the boat was to become even more evasive by zigzagging.

  “Oh, I do love it when they don’t cease and desist,” cried the marksman as he prepared the M-240 machine gun to pop off warning shots. “This is my bread and butter, amigos!”

  “Mikey, don’t let the go-fast get too close and risk turning underneath of us. Just slide left or right, nice and smooth. Trying to maintain the same distance from the boat. Be careful. I’ve seen a go-fast hit a mondo wave at that speed and the whole boat shot out of the water like a rocket, high enough to strike a low flying helo. I don’t want to be on top of this guy if that happens.” Sky shifted in his seat, double-checked his five-point harness. “Gunner, you’re cleared for warning shots and disabling fire when ready.”

  On cue, the gunner fired three stitches across the bow, dotting the water in front of go-fast number one. Other than a glance up at the helicopter, the boat’s driver made no response.

  “I hate it when you make me get ugly, paisanos, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do!” The Coastie marksman turned control of the M-240 machine gun over to Petty Officer Quinn, and swung the thirty-pound Barrett .50-caliber sniper rifle into place. Wind whipped in through the open cargo door, but he was tethered with a gunner’s belt.

  Sky knew the gunner wished he could take out the assholes that were running the boat, but it was probably more fun to test his skills by picking off the hundred thousand dollar engines—one by one—until the boat stopped. Dead in the water. The gunner fired the first shot.

  Bingo. The go-fast immediately slowed. Too quickly for just the loss of one engine.

  “Sir, they’re slowing. Looks like she’s going to stop,” Palmer noted.

  “Yeah, but we’re not falling for that crap again, especially with Mother so far away. We’re going to have to leave and get gas at some point, and you know damn well while we’re away they’re gonna run. And they may very well dump their cargo in the process. So even if we do capture them later, it may prove impossible to prosecute them without the evidence. And since we don’t have a patrol plane overhead to babysit them while we’re away, I vote we take out all the engines right now.” Sky turned and flashed his signature smile at his men.

  “But, sir, I’m not sure that complies with ROE. I’d feel more comfortable if we climbed up and got confirmation from higher authority,” the observer said.

  Sky conceded. “All right, Palmer, but only because we’ve got nothing else to do and we’ll burn less gas flying around than hovering on top of these guys. Only this time when we leave the scene, don’t wave to the mules. I don’t want to give them an excuse to take off again.” He called over the datalink, “ASTAC, pilot. How do you read?”

  “Loud and clear, sir. Did you bag the third one?” came the response from the Van Den Elsen.

  “He’s down one engine and decided to pull over, but we suspect he’s going to run at the first opportunity. And since you guys drive like my grandmother, we’re pretty sure they’ll be gone before you get here. Plus we’ll need to return to you for some petrol before that happens. The second boat in the flotilla already pulled that on us, so I’m sure these guys know our ROE as well as we do. My observer wants confirmation we’re cleared to take out all their engines now, even while they’re not evading.”

  “Sir, we’re calling Joint Interagency Task Force-South now and will let you know ASAP. And by the way, I let the OPS Officer know your grandma is planning to come by and give him a boat-driving lesson. He didn’t seem to think it was funny, but everyone else—”


  “They’re running and dumping!” cried Quinn.

  Sky glanced at the FLIR video streaming on his screen as Quinn panned the camera over several large gray bundles marked with a large white “P” floating in the wide wake trailing behind the fleeing go-fast. This warmed the cockles of Sky’s heart. Now they had video evidence. Not as good as the real thing, but this proved these guys were hauling something they weren’t supposed to have on board. Now it remained to be seen if it was cocaine or something less valuable. Given the risks these men were taking and their sophisticated tactics, Sky would bet the farm it was cocaine. The mules weren’t stupid. They were lightening their load to make up for the lost engine and reducing the amount of evidence they had have to dispose of later.

  Sky doubted the mules knew the capabilities of the Romeo helicopter’s new FLIR-camera system or they wouldn’t have been so quick to dump any of their precious cargo overboard. Especially if they knew Little Girl’s crew was capturing the entire event with every mule’s face readily identifiable on video—video that was being recorded in the helo and on board the frigate. Video that would guarantee prison sentences for every man on board the go-fast, with time added for attempted destruction of evidence.

  “Quinn, on the way to the go-fast, let’s mark the bales they tossed with some sonobuoys. I bet that even if they don’t drift at exactly the same speed as the taller bales, they’ll at least float in the same direction and we can use that as a starting point to find them again for when Mother finally gets her slow-moving ass into the area. You got any set to long-life?”

  “I got them all set to long-life, sir.”

  Sky shook his head and a smile lit his face. “Quinn, I’m starting to worry you can read my mind.”

  The aircrewman chuckled in the back. “Yes, sir. So you better quit thinking about hot chicks and turkey dinners and insert some sonobuoy fly-to-points.”

  Sky gave a rough bark of laughter. It felt good to release some tension. He rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t realized he was wired quite so tight.

  “Mikey, slow up a tad. Give me a second to insert the fly-to-points and I’ll manually launch three buoys, one at each end of the bale pattern and one in the middle. Just fly along the go-fast’s wake and let me know when you’re about to mark on top of the first bale. Then tell me when we’re getting to the middle of the pattern, and again at the end.”

  “Roger that, Sky. We’re about ten seconds out now. Standby to mark on top. Mark on top. Now, now, now!”

  “Buoy one away. Quinn, let me know when each buoy is up and singing sweet. If not, I want to put in another one before we bring fire and brimstone down on these drug runners.”

  Mikey cleared his throat. “Sky, we’re almost to the middle of the bale field. Standby to mark on top. Mark on top. Now, now, now!”

  “Buoy two away,” called Sky.

  “Standby for number three, Sky. Mark on top. Now, now, now!”

  “Buoy three away. Now everyone get ready to take this guy down. As soon as Quinn has good indications all three buoys are transmitting, we’ll take these assholes out.”

  “All good, sir. I set all the buoys to short depth, so they’d deploy and activate quickly. And we can check how far and fast they’ve drifted when we go back for gas.”

  “Quinn, you’re not only a mind reader, you’re a friggin’ psychic. Now, come on. Let’s go bag these guys! Studley, get Little Girl into a nice position so our gunner can do his thang. Gunner, you’re cleared to take out all engines. We’re done playing footsie.”

  “Copy, cleared for disabling fire.” The sniper took aim for engine number two. Ready. Aim. And fire. Two engines down. Smoke poured from the disabled engine and the mules on board scrambled. One of the mules nearly fell overboard as the careless driver, still fixated on Little Girl, allowed the boat to turn sideways into a slow rolling wave. Regaining his balance the mule bent and reached for—

  “Shit,” Sky said simply into his mic as he monitored the FLIR. “What’s that guy on the left holding in his hands? Gunner, is that what I think it is? Holy Christ! Mikey, get us the fuck out of here! Never mind! I have the controls! I have the controls! RPG! RPG! Lock your harnesses! Incoming!”

  Sky ripped the collective out of Mike’s hand, causing red lights to scream across the instrument panel. He slammed the cyclic to the right, hoping beyond hope that by closing the short distance to the go-fast, it might confuse the shooter. It seemed to work, until Sky felt—rather than heard—something strike Little Girl. He turned instinctively and locked eyes with Mikey. In that split second, they knew. They all knew. Now that the bad guys had fired at them, the Rules of Engagement flew right out the open cabin door and it was every man for himself.

  “Suppress! Suppress! Suppress!” Sky commanded.

  “I can’t see the boat or I would!” yelled the Gunner. “Sir, spin her in either direction and I’ll take these bastards out!”

  Sky spun the helo toward the go-fast and the gunner fired at will, going for people this time. Not necessarily to kill them but to keep them from firing anything else they might have tucked away. Sky pedal-turned Little Girl and slipped her to the left, away from the go-fast, in order to give himself more room to maneuver and the gunner a better view out the cabin door. He watched the mule who fired the RPG cross himself before jerking spasmodically, causing him to fall backward and lose the weapon over the side.

  “Got the son of a bitch!” cried the gunner. “RPG out of commission!”

  The cheers were short-lived as eyes darted around. All aboard became instantly aware that Little Girl was making strange, new noises. “I think the RPG punched a hole in the tail and made a mess of things back there, boys. The book says we should be high and fast for a tail rotor emergency, but I’m thinking that’s not a good idea right now, especially since we might not get this Little Girl high or fast before she comes apart at the seams.” Sky patted the console. “Come on, Little Girl. I’ve been good to you, baby. Let’s get Daddy and the boys home safe and sound for supper. There’s turkey and stuffing tonight, sweetheart. Just get us home to Mother.”

  Another shudder wracked Little Girl.

  “Never mind. The way she’s shaking, we’re never going to make it back before we have to set her down. I’m gonna creep her toward that speck of land Quinn spotted earlier today. Gunner, make sure you shred their remaining motor. I want those bastards DIW until the frigate gets here to arrest what’s left of them. Quinn, give me a steer toward that atoll.”

  “Three-three-zero for five miles is the last mark on my scope. Only we’re too low now to verify with radar.”

  Like a surgeon, the marksman wielded the Barrett to slice apart the boat’s remaining engines. “She’s DIW, sir. That crew is going nowhere fast.”

  “Excellent work. Now grab a seat and strap in tight.” Sky gently turned Little Girl to three-three-zero and nudged her forward in a slow creep, minimizing any control inputs so as not to put any more stress on the rotors or the transmission system.

  As they crept away from the smoking go-fast, the gunner called out the open cabin door, “Alpha Mike Foxtrot!” Adios, mother fuckers.

  “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!” Sky yelled into the radio. “Cat Scratch Four-Seven-Five experiencing imminent tail rotor failure! Mikey, squawk emergency code 7700! Quinn, keep trying to raise Mother on the link! I’ll keep trying the radio. And if you get through, tell them the go-fast is DIW, possibly four live ones, and at least one floater.

  “Tell them we’re creeping to the northwest looking for a dry spot to lay Little Girl down. And let them know about our three buoys marking the cocaine dump, since they might want to grab at least one bale if they end up driving through the same area. Once the four in the go-fast realize we’re not around, they’ll likely dump it all overboard, but I doubt it’ll float far enough away to matter before the frigate gets here.”<
br />
  “Shit, sir,” Quinn called from the cabin. “We’re leaking oil. The transmission fluid is not going where it’s supposed to go and the shuddering back here is scaring the crap out of me. Everyone needs to cinch down your harness, we could start spinning into the water at any time.”

  “Quinn’s right, Sky,” Mikey said. “And take a look at the Tail Transmission Oil Temp gauge, and—Oh, shit! We have a Tail Chip Light too!”

  “Relax, Mikey.” But Sky knew this really ramped up the pucker factor. A Chip Light meant metal shavings were passing through the system, as the transmission gears began to disintegrate, precipitating the total breakdown of the tail gearbox. Sky wasn’t sure they could make it back to the atoll before that happened. And even if they did, he had no idea if there was a safe landing area or if he’d have to choose between landing in the surf or the trees. He’d heard of a crew landing in the surf and losing all on board in the process but the thought of intentionally landing in the trees sounded too violent to risk. And on top of everything the wind had picked up and fat raindrops were splattering on the windshield faster than the wipers could clear them away.

  He thought about his crew, including Nick’s little brother. Oh, shit. This was not the time for Daniel’s face to pop into his head.

  Compartmentalize.

  Quinn clicked through his headset. “Sir, lots of grinding noise coming from the transmission back here. We got oil coming down in a steady stream!”

  Mikey turned to him, his face ashen, “Sky, we’ve got the Intermediate Gear Box Temp spiking and the Intermediate Gear Box Chip Light. IGB Oil Pressure’s zero!”

  “Okay, gang, don’t panic. We’re going to ditch. I’ll get her as close to the atoll as I can, but we’re still three miles out. You guys in back. I’m gonna bring her down to ten feet and ten knots. Quinn, grab those duffels with the rafts, all five of ’em. You and the Coasties jump. Mikey and I’ll take her forward until we’re well clear. Then we’ll set her down, egress, and swim back to meet you. By then, I want you to have all five rafts inflated and a cold one waiting for us. Now bail! Go! Go! Go!”