by Ron Sewell
Her face lit up when she smiled. “You’re right but my offer stands until the boat slaps the water. When you’re ready come to the bridge and I’ll show you how to aim and fire an RPG. You’ve fired an AK many times.”
She left the control room, made her way forward and descended into number one hold. She spoke to the two Isis men. “Haven’t you finished? We abandon ship at sunrise.”
“The charges will explode as one. As a guarantee we fitted two waterproof detonators.” He held out a mobile phone. “You can set off the explosives using this. Press zero, hash and send.”
She took the phone and shoved it in her pocket. “Works fine for me. Collect your possessions and be ready on the main deck. If you’re not there, I go without you.”
Both men nodded as they climbed the ladder to the main deck.
She paused until they vanished through the upper deck hatch. From its steel box, she lifted the explosives primed in Algeciras. With a steady hand, she set the timer for twelve hours and placed it inside the double bottom. In the dim light, she repeated the process in each space.
Satisfied, she entered her cabin and packed. From a drawer she took her passport in the name of Mrs Valerie Webster. She glanced at the photo and smiled before placing it with her wads of US dollars in the pocket of her holdall. After a quick shower, she dressed in her high-priced cream suit, which contrasted with her deep tan. One final check around the cabin, she hoisted her bag over her shoulder and sauntered onto the bridge. “Go tell everyone it’s time.”
The first officer gave a nod of approval. “Those clothes suit you.”
She nodded. “Go.” With a flick of the switch, the electronic jammer operated.
On their fifth cup of coffee Fred and George chatted. When his mobile rang both jumped. He glanced at her and put the call on speaker.
“Fred.”
The female voice was precise. “Initiate active scrambler.”
He pressed the scramble buttons. “Ready.”
“We’re in luck. There’s a Navy Seal Team on R&R at Camp Darby in Tirrenia, Northern Italy. They will capture or sink the American Queen.”
“Out of interest has the man at the top approved this mission?”
“He gave us the nod but there’s nothing in writing.”
“So when the shit hits the fan, we’re expendable.”
“She laughed. “Has it ever been different? We win you receive a medal. Cock it up and you are history.”
“Thanks a bunch,” said Fred, but the line was dead. He glanced at the clock. “The shit’s hit the fan big time and I can’t tell Eric and the team. It doesn’t matter; they’re out of the game. Better they take what’s-hisname to hospital.”
George leant on her desk. “Fred. I’m making more coffee, Can you drink another of my brews?”
29
Camp Darby, US Army Base in Tirrenia, Italy. The platoon of Navy Seals led by two officers ran at a steady pace. If one did not know better, it might appear they experienced a sudden storm. Soaked with sweat, their uniforms clung to their slim, muscular frames. The senior officer did not call them to a halt until they completed their daily fitness regime.
A colonel stood in the car park while the Seals completed fifty press-ups. When they stopped, he beckoned the senior lieutenant, William Thomas.
Thomas ran over, halted one metre in front of him and saluted. “Sir.”
“Lieutenant, your R&R is at an end. Your team has five minutes to be in the admin building, room thirtysix.”
Lieutenant Thomas saluted. “Roger that, Sir.”
The colonel smiled as the sixteen men formed two lines and doubled away. “The best of the best,” he muttered as he strolled towards the admin building.
In room thirty-six, the men questioned their boss. “The colonel didn’t tell me the mission but to cancel our R&R it must be important,” said Thomas.
The colonel and a female major with her arms full of files entered.
"Attention," barked the lieutenant
“Easy,” said the colonel in a calm and controlled manner. His gaze swept the in front of him. “Gentlemen, we have an unusual situation. There is no time to plan this operation but we are always ready. Your orders are to sink a ship that may have in its holds a nuclear bomb. Our advantages are our equipment, training and you men Major, the folders.”
She flashed a smile at Thomas who passed them to his team.
“Read, digest and complete the will forms, just in case. I will make sure the chaplain gets them,” said the colonel. “Lieutenant, I want a complete list of your requirements ASAP. In the meantime, you and your team stay in this room. If you need a crap, one of the MPs standing outside will escort you. Door open routine applies at all times. Understood?” Everyman nodded an affirmative.
“With the greatest of respect, Sir. If there’s a nuke on board this mission is a one way ticket,” said Lieutenant Thomas.
“I’m glad you read the brief, Lieutenant. The fact is we don’t know and we don’t have the time to find out. If there were fighter planes available, we would bomb the crap out of this ship. Your team drew the short straw.”
“Sir, with regard to my list of requirements, can I have ten minutes alone with my team?”
“Major, you’re with me.”
Thomas saluted as the two officers left. “Gentlemen, its show time. Anyone who wants out, raise his right hand.” He paused for five seconds. “So I lead a team of lunatics. Okay, requirements for the mission.”
In five minutes, he completed his list. “Tonight we eat the best steaks this base can offer.”
The colonel entered room thirty-six without the major. Thomas gave him his list.
He glanced at it. “With luck they won’t see you coming. You strike at dawn.”
“Sir,” said Thomas. “My team asks if they could have Tbone steaks for dinner.”
He grinned. “Lieutenant, you can have two each served on silver platters if you wish.”
“Standard issue plates will do, Sir.”
In the huge dining room, the team ate their meal alone and chatted. As one group, they marched back to their mess. Other marines having heard the rumours nodded and smiled. The lieutenant grinned as armed military police surrounded the building.
Once more, they checked their weapons and spare ammunition. Satisfied, they rested in full combat gear on their beds and tried to relax. Each man thought of the mission and believed everything would work out. The majority of personnel at Camp Darby slept.
On the parade ground two teams of eight men strolled towards two Sikorsky Seahawks. Their team leaders counted them onboard.
One man pointed at the helicopter gunships resting on their pads. “Lieutenant, I hope they’re coming with us?”
“That’s what the boss requested.”
“Great to have extra fire power. This bastard is going to the bottom.”
The lieutenant slapped the young man on the back. “Adams, shift your ass and shut your mouth.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The colonel stood in silence by the helicopter until the last man boarded. “Ready, Lieutenant?”
“As ready as we’ll ever be, Sir.”
“Our met man has given each pilot a detailed weather forecast. For your info, fair to good. Visibility ten miles and the wind, light. Good luck.”
Thomas saluted and spun on his heal. Two of his men grabbed and hoisted him into the Sikorsky.
“They have two chances,” said the colonel to the man stood next to him. “Succeed and come home or God help them. Many believe fear and trouble control us. Those guys change those rules.”
The four helicopters increased power. The two Sikorsky Seahawks lifted off first followed by the gunships. They headed west into the dark.
***
At twenty knots, Abdullah guided Desert Wind along the shortest route to Bastia. Anna replaced Khaled’s dressings and Mohammed cooked another stew.
Eric and Rono sat on the aft deck.
Rono p
ointed. “How do we explain that mess to the authorities?”
“Electrical fire. In fact, if we unbolt what’s left it won’t appear half as bad. You get the tools and I’ll toss the rubbish over the side.”
“Taruq,” shouted Rono. “Where’s your toolbox?”
“No problem. I’ll get it.”
30
Linda checked the ship’s position by radar. She lifted her head. “Tell the chief engineer we are leaving.” The first officer passed the message to the chief in the engine control room.
She grinned. “An engineer to the end.”
“I’ll prepare our skiboat.”
“Good idea. I’ll reduce our speed to ten knots.”
He shrugged. “It’s a long time since I’ve launched any boat hanging from a single wire.”
“One mistake and we end our days as fish food.”
The second officer and the two Isis men arrived.
She glanced at the bridge chronometer. “Get the boat ready. I want to say goodbye to my engineer.”
“You three follow me. We have a boat to prepare.”
So far so good, thought Linda. What could go wrong? With luck, she would be in Bastia by the evening, enjoying a new life. While she waited, she stared out of the forward windows.
Out of breath and with a red face the chief arrived. “I’m getting old. There was a time when I could scoot from the engine room to the bridge and not break sweat.
She laughed. “I know the feeling. Are you coming?”
“I’ve told you my answer so why ask the question?”
“I hoped you might change your mind.”
He pointed to the RPGs, “Show me how to aim and fire those things.”
She hoisted one and pointed to the safety, the trigger and sight. “Just support it on your shoulder, aim, release the safety and squeeze the trigger.
“How do I reload?”
“You don’t. I have three ready. If there’s a problem, detonate the explosives in the holds.” She handed him the mobile phone. “If you press zero and the hash key in any order and then send it will set off the charges.”
The chief nodded as he removed two photographs from his top overall pocket. Both he placed with care against the bridge window. “They will be the last faces I see on this world. If God exists, they’ll be waiting on the other side. If it’s a lie, it will not matter.”
Linda checked the engine controls. “I’ve set the levers to maintain ten knots. When our boat is clear, you can do your own thing.”
He shrugged. “Ten knots, I can handle.”
“Last chance, old man.”
The chief’s eyes narrowed. “Good bye.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered to the starboard bridge wing. He stared forward and minutes later saw Linda stride across the deck and climb into the boat.
The first officer operated the crane and hoisted the craft with its occupants. When clear of the deck it swung over the port side. With a slow descent, it vanished from his view. On hitting the water, the craft drifted aft. It stopped when the bowline took the strain.
Linda switched on the engine pre-heaters. After waiting thirty seconds, she pressed the start button. The twin three--hundred horsepower engines roared into life. From the ship’s deck, the first officer grabbed the wire and hand-over-hand descended.
Linda eased the boat ahead until the fixed eye of the bowline came free. She nudged the throttle and circled away from the hull. When they were clear, she shoved the throttle lever to maximum. The acceleration slammed her against the back of the driver’s seat. Power surged into the propellers as the craft charged under the American Queen’s stern. The chief lifted the photos of his wife and children. For the first time in his career, at sea he sat in the captain’s chair. His mind wandered. As a child, I forgave those who hurt me, but when my thoughts turn to you my love, I cannot. I feel so much hate at what those butchers did. With each year, it grows like a tumour, enveloping me in its toxic darkness. The love I have for you cannot end until my heart stops. I pray that our love will endure. Even on my dark days, you kept my mind from sinking into the mire. In my next life, you will be there and as always forgive me. If there’s a next time, I will die with you.
A tear ran across his cheek as he slid from the chair and placed them once more against the window. He gave a casual glance around and saw an empty sea.
He wondered if they had left any food as he strolled to the galley.
***
Dawn broke and the light of day crept across a calm sea. In close formation, four helicopters, their rotors beating a steady rhythm, flew towards their target. Filled with men ready to fight, those in the Sikorsky Seahawks tried to sleep or doze. No such luxury existed for the crew of the two gunships. Each pilot sat in the rear section and concentrated on flying. His co-pilot/gunner double-checked the instrumentation and his weapons array. Time and again, a wave of turbulence buffeted them.
On the half hour, the lead Sikorsky completed a radio check. This time the pilot, a major, ordered their descent to one hundred metres above the sea.
“Target thirty miles, speed ten knots.” said the major. “Gunships will lead.”
“Roger that,” said both gunship pilots.
“Twenty miles.”
The men in the Seahawks checked their equipment one more time.
Static filled the major’s helmet. “The radio’s dead, nothing but static” He wrote on his pad to turn back and mouthed abort.
He adjusted the controls and gained height before turning. “Where are the others?”
The young co-pilot peered into his rear view mirror. “One, two, three chicks in a row, boss.”
They headed back the way they came. Five minutes elapsed before the copilot asked, “Can I try the radio? You never know.”
The major nodded.
“Seahawk one to anyone. Can you hear me?” “Loud and clear,” said the other pilots.
“Gunship one to Seahawk one, what’s happening?” “Last time this happened was when I worked with NATO. Halfway through an exercise the Russians jammed our radio communications. I reckon this is similar. Over.” “So are we aborting? Over.”
“That ship is going nowhere. If I follow the rules, we abort but I suggest we plan our mission in the air. Without radios, we'll blast that motherfucker to hell. When we sink this bitch, I hope the radios return to normal. Pilot check the neighbourhood for other shipping?”
“We’re ready and we’re here so let’s play the game.” “I must talk to the lieutenant. It’s his show. Back in five.”
“Roger.”
Four helicopters flew in formation towards the coast. The major and the lieutenant thrashed out their choices over the air.
“This is Seahawk one. It's a go. The lieutenant recommends we form two teams. The gunships will lead and circle at a distance of five hundred metres. Go no closer than four hundred metres, and we will see what happens.” “Major, the target zone has proved empty but I propose we contact base for clearance.”
“This has been approved by our Commander in Chief, NATO and the Italian Prime Minister. Our orders are to capture or destroy. That’s good enough for me.” “And what if nothing happens, Major?”
“Then you cowboys shield these men as they drop to the deck. If anyone on that ship so much as breaks wind, blast them to hell with those Gatling guns of yours.”
“You got it, Major.”
“Before our comms die. If they score a hit and you ditch, the boys in blue will rescue you. Good luck everyone.” With the gunships leading, the two teams began their approach. With the American Queen at six hundred metres, team ‘A’ banked to the left and team ‘B’, to the right. The two gunships switched direction and the old man woke. He glanced out of the starboard bridge windows. With a grin, he turned to the picture of his wife. Not long now. As the helicopters circled, he watched and waited. The ‘A’ team Seahawk approached the stern and hovered before edging nearer.
The chief rubbed his chin and g
rabbed a loaded RPG launcher. He strolled to the bridge wing and pointed the weapon astern not bothering to take aim. Lifting the launcher to his right shoulder, he squeezed the trigger. With a roar, the grenade flew past the hovering helicopter and dropped into the sea.
He laughed, as the machine broke right and veered away at full power. From inside the bridge he lifted another. This time he aimed straight at a fast-flying gunship. He missed.
The co-pilot/gunner of the second gunship flipped the switch on eight Hell Fire rockets. With the aid of the laser guidance system, he aimed at the centre of the bridge deck. Fresh jasmine filled the inside of the bridge, her perfume, and for an instant, he held his wife and children. It was the right time. He gathered the photos and shoved them into his pocket. With the fingers of his right hand, he pressed the hash, zero keys, and waited.
With a grim smile, he saw the gunship draw close. As the port and starboard rocket pods discharged, he pressed the send key.
Thick clouds of flame and smoke trailed from the eight missiles that streaked across the gap. Together they punched into the bridge. A blinding flash spewed from the point of impact. The bridge exploded in a whirlwind of steel. An instant later, a thick plume of smoke and fire belched into the morning sky. A shudder rippled the steel hull from stem to stern. It bulged, twisted, writhed like a snake, and disintegrated. Dark smoke rolled upwards one moment and blossomed into a fireball.
The shock wave pummelled the four helicopters. Shards of red-hot steel shimmered as the American Queen rose out of the water. The pilot of the lead helicopter tapped his gunner’s helmet and broke left “Sonofabitch, what the hell was inside that ship? She’s blowing like St Helens.” The vessel fragmented like a shattered window.
The second gunship approached and fired eight missiles into the hull below the bridge. On impact, the stern ruptured from the main hull and sank.
“Job done,” said the major. “No collateral. It’s the Navy’s problem now. I gather they intend to examine the scrap metal with a submersible. Let’s go home.”
The sky filled with fire, a huge rolling ball of flame, and smoke.
The two Seahawks banked and completed a slow, wide circle. “Keep your eyes on the sea for survivors.” The helicopters hovered and checked the floating debris for any sign of life but found no one. The attack took less than ten minutes and the American Queen, history.