by W. J. Lundy
Sean and Brooks turned and leaned over the book. All of the entries were handwritten in dark ink. Brad turned through the entries page by page until, more than halfway through, the text changed. Instead of generic entries about dial readings and counters, there were more detailed journal entries.
“Look at the writing. Instead of operator entries, the platform manager has taken over the log,” Brad said.
Sean looked at the entry on the page and pointed at the number. “That was over thirty days ago; right about the time of the outbreak,” he said.
Moving his finger down the page, Brad found the first detailed entry and began reading.
Log Date 214:
First Officer J.C. Sharif Assumes the Log.
08:00 - The resupply ferry did not arrive. Men are angry and ready to return home. The satellite television is reporting news of riots and violence on the mainland. PAK-PETROL said they will give us detailed information later and reschedule the ferry.
17:00 - We were contacted by PAK-PETROL Corporate. Our resupply ferry has been delayed. Problem is at the mainline Karachi ferry station, described as mechanical in nature. They will notify us when the ferry is back online. The men doubt this as family members have relayed news to us of a pandemic hitting the mainland, people are getting sick. We think Corporate is keeping us in the dark so that we will keep working and not abandon the platform.
Log Date 215:
14:00 - Satellite TV is showing worldwide martial law in effect. People are rioting and attacking anyone. Citizens are warned to stay indoors, stay away from hospitals and avoid city streets. Corporate denies the reports and says news of violence is exaggerated; Corporate promised the ferry will be coming soon.
Log Date 216:
06:00 - We picked up radio traffic from the cargo ship ‘Chang’ this morning. Chang warned us to turn away any unknown vessels. They had spotted a ship dead in the water and boarded it. The crew of the disabled vessel attacked their boarding party. They sought help from the Coast Guard but were turned away and warned not to approach the coastal waters.
10:00 - We have halted production as our storage containers are now full.
12:00 - One of the engineers was able to contact his family with the satellite phone. Family said that hospitals are shut down. The cities are overrun with rioters. The Pakistani Army has been mobilized and is threatening nuclear retaliation against India for inciting violence against the people. This all makes no sense.
Log Date 217:
08:00 - We have depleted fresh rations, we have thirty plus days of canned goods, desalinization is working normally, the satellite TV is broadcasting on a loop, we have not been able to reach anyone on the satellite phone. The men are panicking.
14:00 - Message from Corporate received via UHF, the ferry station has been closed. We have been told to hold out and await transport. The men are restless and threatening desertion.
Log Date 218:
05:00 - Ten men deserted the platform today and fled in the small boat. A note found in the boathouse said they were returning to their families.
08:00 - Fishing vessel approached the sea deck. They requested permission to dock. The security team met and escorted them onto the first deck. Our doctor inspected the crew; they were hungry and dehydrated but no visible signs of illness. The Captain of the fishing boat said that the mainland ports are all closed. He was forced to seek refuge in blue water. Coast Guard ships are firing on anything that approaches the shore. We have allowed them refuge; we may need their vessel if the ferry does not arrive.
14:00 - We were approached by a small craft from the Pakistani Navy. The five man crew were injured and seeking medical attention. We brought them to the infirmary for treatment by the doctor. They had visible wounds, cuts and scrapes and were suffering from high fever. During the night the crew became agitated and attacked and killed the doctor and our medic. We locked them in the infirmary. They are contained but cannot be reasoned with.
Log Date 219:
10:00 - We have been boarded by Pakistani Navy war ship. They have taken control of the platform. When informed about their crew members in the infirmary, a team was dispatched to take care of them. They executed the sick crew members and disposed of the bodies over the rail. Pakistani Navy has commandeered the bottom two decks. All of our team members have been ordered to occupy the top deck only.
Log Date 220:
12:00 - PAK-PETROL Ferry arrived today with crew members from other platforms. Instead of taking us home they are seeking refuge on the platform. A large United States Navy war ship has attached to the platform. U.S. Military helicopter dropped off American Military to platform. We have been ordered to surrender control of operations to the U.S. Military. We have nowhere to go.
15:00 - U.S. Military has ordered all non-essential team members to report to lower decks for evacuation processing. Only Engineers and those required to maintain platform life support will be allowed above the second deck. Log closed. J.C. Sharif.
Brad finished reading the handwritten pages and took a step away from the desk. He turned to look out of the observation window that overlooked the platform. The ocean had a calming effect. The hot sun was burning down on the deck outside, and he could see the men working, cleaning the deck, and patrolling. Brad looked back down at the desk and Sean closed the journal.
“What the hell are we going to do, Chief?” Brad asked.
“I’m not sure, Brad. Let’s get one of the Marines to sit on this radio. We need to get a planning session together with the officers. This place might start feeling cozy after a couple of days, but we can’t stay here. Our focus has to be on leaving.”
Brooks stood up from the log book and clipped his MP5 back onto his body armor. “Sounds good, Chief. I’ll get one of the guys trained on these radios and we can all meet up on the helipad in a couple hours. I say the sooner we get out of here the better.”
15.
Brad slowly walked around the platform’s rail, following the entire perimeter of the first deck while trying to clear his head. The platform’s systems were all back online; he could hear the hum of the pumps and the rattle of machinery in the power house. Brad turned a corner near the storage deck and found Corporal Swanson directing a couple of the men in breaking down pallets of supplies. She smiled when she saw him and turned to walk in his direction.
“Hi Brad,” she called out.
“Hello Chelsea, how is everything coming along? Any problems?”
“Everything is going great now that we have all of the lights back on and the boilers are cranking out hot water. I was breaking down some of this gear. I thought with the power on we could cook a nice meal tonight.”
“Sounds great Chelsea, good to hear,” Brad said softly.
“Really? Then why do you look so down?”
“It’s just been a long few weeks. I thought I had a goal I was working toward, but now I just want to sit down and rest. You ever get that feeling?”
“Every day, Brad, but once you allow yourself to quit, it will be hard as hell to keep going. We have to just keep pushing, you know. Doesn’t matter what for, just keep pushing. Don’t quit, okay?”
“Okay Chelsea,” Brad said, cracking a smile.
“So where are you headed anyhow? Would you mind some company?” she asked him.
“I’m going up to the helipad to meet with Chief and the pilots. We’re trying to figure out how to get off this thing. You’re welcome to come along.”
Brad waited for Chelsea to brief the Marines before she joined him on his path to the helipad. They climbed the stairs to the top, where they found the officers had attached long fuel lines to the Black Hawk and were gassing it up. Sean and Brooks were standing over the apron of the pad looking down at the sea, so Brad and Chelsea moved in to join them.
They could see all the way to the water. A fishing boat still drifted quiet and lonely at the length of a long line. The small military boat was in bad shape, now listing to one side. The lar
ge fast attack craft was still there, attached to the deck by a number of mooring lines. Sean and Brooks were in a deep discussion over the military vessel’s capabilities.
“Hey Brad, I see you brought a friend,” Sean said, acknowledging the presence of Swanson.
“Yeah Chief, I figure she has just as much at stake in this as any of us.”
“Good call. Welcome to the head shed, Swanson,” Sean said smiling.
“Thanks Chief, so what’s the plan?” Chelsea answered.
“Well, that’s what we are trying to decipher. Captain Bradley, are you two about finished?” Sean called out across the platform.
Captain Bradley walked from around the nose of the aircraft, wiping his hands with an oil-stained rag. Mr. Douglas was close behind him. Brad watched as Bill turned a number of fuel cutoff valves and disconnected the fuel lines from the aircraft.
“All settled here, Chief. We have her completely topped off. With the external tanks full, we have a range of nearly a thousand miles. All we need is a destination,” Captain Bradley said as he walked to the railing and leaned against it. Mr. Douglas came in close and took a seat on the deck, opening a bottle of water.
“That’s the problem, we have no comms with anyone and nobody is answering the phone, so where in the hell do we go?” Sean said.
“Socotra,” Bill called out.
“What? What the hell is a Socotra?” Brooks asked as they all turned to look at Bill, who was now walking in their direction, having finished stowing the fuel lines.
“Socotra. It’s an island about a thousand miles from here, off the horn of Africa. I did some exploratory drilling near there with the company in the late nineties,” Bill said, unrolling a map.
He laid the large map out flat on the deck and pointed to the island. “I heard our sailors talking about it. The island is just off the coast of Yemen. Not many folks live there and they said it was infection-free. Well it was anyway.”
“What exactly did the sailors say ,Bill?” Sean asked.
“I don’t know a lot. They were pretty quiet about it, but rumor had it that the U.S. military had occupied the island and they were staging things there. The island has a small airport. We even heard a carrier strike group was plugged into the island.”
Brooks put his hand on the map and drew a line with his finger from the platform to the island. “A thousand miles, that’s a hell of a haul,” Brooks said, looking at the map. “I don’t know if we could take that patrol boat across the open water, but I would be more comfortable hugging the coast.”
“How old is this information?” Sean asked.
Bill scratched the side of his head and squinted. “Well, I figure it’s been at least three weeks since I heard it. You kind of lose track of time out here.”
Mr. Douglas stared at the map. “That’s going to stretch the limits of the chopper. I don’t think we can make it on one hop without getting wet.”
Swanson leaned over the map and pointed at a small island off the coast of Oman. There was a small airport symbol at its northernmost point. “What’s this, sir? Could you fly here?” she asked.
Captain Bradley looked at the island. “Masirah Air Base, yeah, that’s about five hundred miles. We could make that, but is it safe? It’s not like we can turn around and go home if it’s not.”
Brooks looked at the chart and then went to look over the rail at the attack craft. “I would feel a lot better about taking that boat five hundred miles than a thousand. But we don’t know shit about that place; what if we get there and it’s overrun?” he asked.
Sean took the map and drew a circle around the island. “It looks isolated enough, and it’s within our range. I say we go for it. We may even find a suitable fixed wing there to take us home. But how do we travel: sea, air, or both?”
Brad sat listening to the conversation, taking it all in. He wasn’t a fan of the ocean, but he had never been very comfortable with flying, either. That’s why he’d joined the Army instead of the Navy or the Air Force. Today though, his options were very limited.
He chimed in, “Absolutely by air … I mean, if the pilots are comfortable with the distance. We don’t know the condition of the boat yet. But the map shows a port, also, so let’s ready the aircraft while we secure that ship and see if it’s seaworthy.”
Captain Bradley examined the map again, using his finger to estimate the distance. “Shouldn’t be a problem finding it, but I’m somewhat worried about the aircraft. It’s really overdue for some heavy maintenance. We picked it up off an abandoned airfield weeks ago and, other than fuel and washing the windows, we haven’t done much to it.”
“It’s your call, sir,” Sean said.
Bradley smiled and, leaning back against the rail with his hands in his pockets, said, “I’m willing to give it a shot then.”
Sean took the map and rolled it up before handing it back to Bill. “Okay, we have a short term plan then. Captain Bradley, prep your aircraft for the trip to Masirah. You will take Bill as your crew chief, and one of the Marines as a gunner. I have the rest. Tomorrow … mid-day … we’ll assault the ship and take it back.”
The helipad cleared out quickly after the meeting. Bill had asked Chelsea to give him a hand refueling the generators, and Brad once again found himself alone. He moved down the stairs and wound his way along the walkway till he reached the center deck facing the disabled lift. The space was clear now; there was no evidence of the small skirmish from earlier in the day when they had lost one of their own.
Wilson and Nelson were on watch. He greeted them and moved closer to the exposed mouth of the lift, looking into the dark space while keeping his distance.
There was a mashed bit of flesh and blood at the lip of the deck below the opening. “What happened here?” Brad asked.
Wilson stepped forward, trying to conceal a grin. “Ahh … well … one of them things kept sticking its hand out every time we got too close to the opening. I guess we kind of smashed its fingers with the sledge. Yeah … it ain’t been doing that anymore.”
Brad shook his head at them. “Just don’t do anything stupid, okay? Have you noticed any changes out of them?”
Nelson stepped a bit closer to the lip and shone his flashlight into the space. “No, Sergeant, they just stand there … staring at us.”
Brad moved closer and squatted to the deck. He peered into the gap and could see the pale face of a man looking back at him. Its eyes were focused and intense. Brad could almost feel the hatred of the thing. It was like looking into the eyes of a vicious dog and knowing there would be no reasoning, no calming it down. Brad made eye contact with the primal and it suddenly bared its teeth and lunged forward.
Brad flinched heavily, losing his balance and falling over on his backside. The two Marines laughed. Wilson extended a hand to Brad and pulled him back to his feet. “Don’t be ashamed, Sergeant, that son of a bitch got me a couple times too,” he said. “I wish we could just shoot them all; I hate looking at these damn things.”
“Sergeant, do you really think them things operated the lift?” Nelson asked.
Brad looked back at him. “No, I don’t. You put a monkey in an elevator long enough and it will eventually start pushing buttons. I think they just got lucky. Either way, don’t worry about that, just keep your head in the game.”
“Yes Sergeant,” Nelson replied.
“Looks like you fellas have everything under control out here; I’m going to head back. I’ll send someone to relieve you when chow is ready. Stay safe,” Brad said.
16.
The men gathered in the platform’s main galley. With the life support systems powered up, the kitchen was operational. Tony and Mr. Douglas had raided the pantries and stores of supplies on the deck and managed to put together a hell of a pot of chili. Tony had offered up another bottle of his finest Kentucky bourbon, but this time Chief had declined.
There was a lot of work to be done before they assaulted the attack boat, and he wanted everyone to be
sharp. The men feasted on the hot chow until their bellies were full. Casual conversations filled the deck, the war stories and joking that had always accompanied meals back in the world. After dinner, the Marines went about their business of cleaning and maintaining their equipment while the pilots looked over charts, plotting their possible venture to the Masirah airbase.
Those that weren’t working were relaxing in the lounge or preparing for the night’s watch out on the decks. They had set up guard rotations with three-man teams around the clock: two patrolling the deck and one on the radio. There were only eleven of them now, with the loss of Ben. The rotations were four-hour shifts, with Brad and Brooks filling the holes and taking the extra watches at the radio.
As the sun went down, the men heard the scurrying of movement on the decks below. The primals were reminding them that they were still there, that they owned the lower decks and the darkness. As the patrols walked the deck grating, they could hear the primals moan and scream below them. The darker and cooler the night got, the bolder the primals became. It was a nerve-racking duty, but a price they had to pay to keep the deck secure.
Sean and Brooks met in one of the offices and planned out the assault on the vessel. This was their expertise, and Brad trusted them to do the right thing. Brad had grown up on the Great Lakes and had some experience onboard small boats, but nothing like this. His most ambitious voyages were short day trips on a thirty-footer, doing some fishing on Lake Superior. Brad left the SEALs alone and made his way to the control tower to start his shift on the radios.
Brad sat at the radio slowly turning the dials, switching between UHF and VHF. After he had gone the entire length of the dial with no response, he set the console to ‘scan’. Brooks had managed to get one of the small computers working and found that it had a rudimentary radar application installed. Brad could see the large globe and dish spinning just outside the window, letting him know that the radar hardware was running.