by W. J. Lundy
“Nah, I’m not feeling up to running today, Chief,” Brad said as he leaned forward and continued to fire at the closing mass.
Sean’s MP5 went dry and he pulled his sidearm, continuing to shoot into the closing wave. “It’s been a pleasure to serve with you, Brad!” Sean yelled out as he killed two of them that had closed to within ten meters.
Brad saw them get closer and readied himself for the impact of the charging creatures. Leaning forward, he steeled his mind for the inevitable. He planned his demise in his own thoughts, everything slowing down. He knew he had ten, maybe twelve rounds left in the M4 and then he would have to draw his pistol. Fifteen shots – they would be on top of him by then. He would draw the karambit, that’s how he would go, slashing and killing with his fists.
Brad fired the last round in the M4; he let the rifle hang from its sling and reached for his sidearm just as the deck in front of him exploded. Sparks of metal and fire filled his view as the primals were vaporized. He could feel the heat from the flames. Dazed, he realized that he’d been thrown backwards against the deck; looking into the sky, he saw the Black Hawk helicopter floating over his head. The helicopter’s mini-gun was firing at full speed into the stairwell.
Brad felt suddenly peaceful; he had no strength to run, his legs were too heavy. Although Sean was slapping him, he couldn’t feel the pain. His body was numb. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again he could see the bright orange flames of the fire, the heat warming his body. He closed them again and felt the world spin around him.
When he forced his eyes open he was falling, no, hanging over the water. He could see the boat below him. Nelson was on the deck holding a rope; his life line. Brad closed his eyes again, and this time he didn’t try to open them.
He felt himself free falling then stop abruptly, the rope cutting in to his waist. Someone unclipped him from the line and laid him out on the deck. He felt himself being dragged back and propped against what he thought was the bridge.
Water hit his face and he willed his eyes open. He watched as Sean slid down the rope and hit the deck. The top of the platform was an inferno. The second deck was igniting and slowly starting to catch fire as the flames spread down. Brad rolled to his stomach and tried to stand but fell.
Chelsea hurried to his side. “Relax! Don’t move.”
Brad’s body ached, but he forced himself into a sitting position and rested against the bridge. He looked up again and focused on the far away dock. The dock was empty now; the mob had left long ago to attack the stairway. Brooks revved the engines and the boat began to back away as Brad looked at the platform and tried to focus. He was there, the Alpha leader; he was standing at the edge of the dock with the platform burning all around him. They locked eyes just as the rest of the rig was swallowed in flames.
19.
Brad came to in a dark space. Where the hell am I? He started to panic and tried to sit up, hitting his head on the ceiling above him. Then he heard the hum of the diesel engines. He slowly began to remember the fight, and lying on the deck of the boat. Brad reached for a flashlight in his hip pocket. What the … Where are my clothes?
Brad felt his body; he was dressed in nothing but his boxers and a T-shirt. He rolled to the side and reached along the floor. He found his bag and rifled through the front pockets, finding what he was searching for. He pulled the surefire flashlight from the pack’s pocket and clicked it on.
He shone the light around the space. As he suspected, he was in the berthing compartment, or the barracks of the boat as he liked to think of it. Brad panned the light around the space. He saw Tony and Nelson sleeping on racks across from him. Looking farther down the compartment past a few racks filled with supplies, he saw Chelsea.
Brad rolled out of the bunk and put his feet on the floor. He felt groggy, but couldn’t find any obvious injuries outside of a bad headache and a burning face. Brad ducked and stood in the center of the compartment. He found his boots next to the bag and slipped them on, then used the light to lead him out of the bow and stepped up the ladder to the bridge.
He opened the hatch and walked onto the bridge, where he found Brooks sitting in a large chair behind the steering controls. Sean was in a corner with a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked up, saw Brad, and smiled. “How ya feeling buddy?” he asked.
“Like shit; I have a killer headache and my face feels sunburned,” Brad answered.
“You probably have a concussion, and you got some decent flash burns to your face, but you’ll live,” Brooks said.
Brad walked through the bridge and took an empty seat. “How long was I out?” he asked.
Sean poured Brad a cup of coffee and walked across the bridge to hand it to him. “About four hours. We should be at the island in another twelve.”
“What about the air crew?” Brad asked.
“They are probably on the ground about now.”
“What! Alone and in the dark?” Brad said, a worried look on his face.
“Well, we didn’t have much of a choice with the platform gone and all. They flew ahead. But they won’t be landing at the airfield. They are going to go in from an isolated corner of the island and try to find a place to hold up.”
“Good, I was worried. Do we have comms with them?” Brad asked.
“We did, but they are out of range now. When we get closer I’ll call for them. Everything is under control, Brad,” Sean said.
Brad stood from the chair with the coffee in his hand. “Is it safe to go outside?”
“Yeah, have at it; just stay on the back deck. As a matter of fact, I’ll join you,” Sean said.
Sean walked to the compartment door and opened it, letting in the cool night air. He turned, walked toward the back deck, and sat his coffee cup atop one of the pallets of ammo. Brad followed him and did the same thing, then looked up to marvel at the bright moon and sky full of stars.
“It’s amazing isn’t it? Nothing better than a star-filled sky when you’re far out to sea,” Sean said.
“It’s something else. At least that’s one thing that hasn’t changed.”
“You feel that, Brad?” Sean asked him.
“Feel what?”
“That.” Sean paused. “The feeling of security. No primals out here, buddy; those damn things can’t swim. We’re safe at sea.”
“What happened on the platform seemed like a deliberate attack. They actually opened the purge valves?” Brad asked him.
“Brad, if you would have told me a week ago they were capable of planning, I would have said you were full of shit. But the evidence is stacking up. I don’t know what to think of it. For starters, we obviously need to step up our game.”
“I saw the Alpha on the dock as we pulled away; he was staring right at me.”
“What? I don’t know, man; you were pretty far out of it when we pulled out. Either way though, that goose is cooked.”
“For sure, we can’t afford to lose anyone else.” Brad shook his head and looked down at his feet. “Chief, I think I’m going to try and grab a few more z’s. If you or Brooks need me to relieve you, wake me up.”
“Okay buddy, get some rest,” Sean said.
Brad got to his feet and made his way back inside the bridge. He placed his coffee cup on the console in front of Brooks and repeated his offer to give him a break. Brooks said he was good to go, and that Brad should try to relax a bit after the fall he took. Brad nodded and made his way back into the berthing compartment.
He shined the light around the space and found everyone still sleeping soundly. Brad kicked off his boots and lay back down on his tiny bunk. He only had maybe a foot of space as the top bunk filled with supplies hung just above his chest, but it still beat sleeping on the ground. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep but his mind wandered to Ryan, Ben, and Wilson. Brad rolled to the side and tried to think of happier days and let the engine’s hum sing him to sleep.
Brad woke to the calming sounds of water slapping the side of the hull as
he slowly opened his eyes. The compartment had heated up quite a bit, and there was light coming down from the ladder well. Brad got to his feet and dug through his bag until he found a clean uniform. He elected to leave the heavy jacket off and instead just wore the T-shirt. Brad climbed up the stairs and saw Tony sitting at the controls.
“Hey Brad, how are you this morning?” Tony asked.
“I’m good Tony, where are we?”
Tony pointed off the port side, far in the distance. “We’re anchored just off the island while they peek around a bit.” Tony changed his gaze toward the front of the ship.
Brad looked and could see the hazy outline of the island about a mile out. On the bow of the boat, he could see Brooks and Sean lying in the prone position behind their heavy rifles and spotting scopes. Brad nodded and thanked Tony. Seeing the coffee was still on, he poured himself a cup, then walked out toward the back deck. He found Nelson and Chelsea sitting on some benches eating a cold MRE breakfast.
“Morning, Sergeant. Hey, you want my pound cake? Stuff constipates me something fierce,” Nelson said to Brad while holding up a small tan package.
“Well damn, Nelson, how could anyone pass it up with that sales pitch?” Brad said, smiling and taking the package from Nelson.
“How’s your head, Brad?” Chelsea asked.
“It’s fine. I think I just got my bell rung when the blast took me off my feet. I appreciate you all taking care of me last night,” Brad answered as he peeled open the cake and dunked it into his coffee.
They heard the clop of boots and the rattle of equipment as the SEALs moved up behind them. Sean explained that there was no movement across the water on the island’s pier. A few broken ships were tied up, apparently battered by the same cyclone that had hit them the week prior. Everything appeared to be good and quiet, at least out in the open.
“Brad, you up for a recon? We’re looking to take the inflatable in close, possibly to the beach. We will do some quick sneak and peek. If it’s all clear, Tony can bring in the boat,” Sean said.
“I’m up for it. Have you heard from the air crew?”
“Talked to them about thirty minutes ago; they’re tucked in to some high terrain south of the airfield, and so far, they haven’t seen anything. Bradley said it’s pretty barren from what they can see.”
“Sounds like a good time. Give me a few minutes to suit up and I’ll be ready to go.”
20.
When Brad climbed back onto the deck, they already had the rigid inflatable sitting in the water with the front pulled up onto the dive deck. Brooks tossed Brad a small self-inflating life vest. “Make sure you wear your floaties. I don’t wanna have to go pullin’ your ass out of the drink,” Brooks said with a smile.
Brad took the device and strapped it over his gear. He didn’t even try to pretend like he knew how it worked, so Brooks gave him a quick rundown on the mechanics of it. Basically, if he fell out of the raft, it would quickly fill with air from compressed cartridges. “Nice to have when you are wearing seventy pounds of gear in a small rubber boat trying to break the surf,” Brooks halfheartedly joked.
Sean positioned Brad in the front of the raft and took a position opposite him, while Brooks had the helm. The engine turned over easily and they slowly moved away from the boat’s dive deck to head toward the shore. Sean got on the small radio and checked in with the boat and the Black Hawk crew. If they got into trouble, the Black Hawk could still provide air cover.
The water was calm and the raft easily cut through the short swells. Brad looked up at the sun, thinking it would be a hot one today. They were just off the coast of Oman and he knew this part of the world could easily hit over a hundred degrees in the daytime. For now it was nice and cool, and the movement of the boat was creating a pleasant ocean breeze. In another time and place, this would have been a relaxing day at the beach.
As the small raft slid through the water, they began to make out the harbor ahead of them. There were a number of docks farther south, and it appeared to be a civilian shipping port; judging by the ferry tied up and some larger shipping vessels. To the north, and closer to the air base, sat one long pier. A military vessel was positioned at the end of it. A large sandy cove was cut into the beach, with the mouth being next to the military pier.
Brooks turned the craft slightly and headed towards the cove. As the raft got closer, they could see that the military ship was in a state of disrepair; maybe it had even been salvaged. There were holes cut into the hull; the ship was covered in rust and flaking paint. Brooks slowly cruised the raft past it and turned into the mouth of the cove. The water flattened out and he cut the engine, allowing them to drift and listen for sounds of company.
The boat glided forward and hit the sand with a soft grinding sound. They sat quietly, listening to sea gulls squawk and the ocean waves lapping against the beach. Quickly dismounting the boat, Brad helped grab the handles as they dragged it ashore and tucked it next to a berm. Sean and Brooks then moved toward a small rise in the sand and dropped into the prone position. Brad followed their movements, staying just a step behind them.
Sean had his binoculars out and was panning them along the beach and surrounding areas. Just over the berm, they could make out a small Navy shipyard of sorts. There were some heavy lift vehicles, fuel trucks, and several large wet storage containers. The pier next to them also held vehicles and a few small buildings. Sean slowly got to his knees and pointed to the end of the pier. Brooks nodded and stepped off briskly in a light trot.
They moved parallel to the beach, using the berm as cover to conceal them from the shipyard. Once Brooks reached the pier, Sean and Brad moved in behind him. The pier rose about ten feet above the water and was made entirely of stone and earth, with the surface being poured concrete. Brooks moved towards the top of it and took up a concealed position while Sean and Brad ran past him and farther up the pier.
They reached the first vehicle: a large fuel truck. The truck’s hoses were dragged out of the back and were hanging over the side of the pier. Brad moved around the truck and saw bullet holes in the windshield. The warm fuzzy feelings were starting to fade.
“Looks like someone topped off here and got the hell out of Dodge fast,” Sean said.
“See those bullet holes?” Brad asked.
“Yup, maybe it was looters stealing fuel. Guards must have shot at them,” Brooks said, slowly walking over.
“Looters, ha, you mean just like us?” Brad said.
“Yup, something like that,” Brooks said as he inspected the truck. “This truck’s tank is dry. Chief, you want to clear the entire pier or move inland?”
“Let’s call up the boat; they can anchor in the cove near the raft while we search for fuel. That should help keep them hidden,” Sean answered.
Sean called Tony on the radio and gave him direction to the cove. Soon they saw the boat’s profile as it drew closer to the shore. Tony was moving slowly to keep the boat as quiet as possible. It moved around the pier and into the cove before Tony cut the engines. Nelson and Swanson were out on deck, dropping anchor lines and tying them off.
From Brad’s angle, he was amazed by the image of the attack boat. He’d thought it looked large before, but it really was intimidating as well, with its large, sharp lines and grey, tiger-striped pattern. With the large cannon on the bow and the machine guns on the deck, it was a lot to take in. Too bad the primals couldn’t be scared off.
Sean conversed with Tony over the radio, letting him know they would be searching for fuel, and planned to be back within the hour. This quick field trip was only to find fuel. The boat was already well provisioned, but they would need diesel for the boat and JP-8 for the Black Hawk to make it to Socotra Island.
Brooks led the way, with Sean and Brad walking behind him. It felt good to be off of the platform and once again on solid ground. The pier was connected to a road that led farther inland, but also split off toward a gated compound. A sign in both Arabic and English indicated
it was the tank farm. They followed the road toward the high fences and found a gate.
The gates were cracked open, and destroyed padlocks hung from their locks. Brad helped Brooks pull the gates open. The entrance to the tank farm held two small guard shacks, which they cautiously approached and found empty. The small block buildings were intact, but the windows had all been broken out. There were several signs of a struggle in and around the guard shacks.
Brooks continued forward until he spied a parking lot with a number of vehicles lined up. Toward the back, they found four large fuel trucks and a couple of maintenance vehicles. They patrolled in that direction, moving quietly and wary of any movement. They set up a mini-perimeter around the first fuel truck which had DIESEL painted on its side. Sean opened the cab door carefully and inspected the interior, while Brooks jumped to the back of the truck and opened a hatch to the vehicle’s tank. It was over three-quarters full, plenty to top off the attack boat. Upon inspecting the other three trucks, they found them also full of diesel. Brad had heard that a Black Hawk could fly on diesel, but he was sure Captain Bradley wouldn’t be happy about it. Hoping to find more, Brooks pushed forward toward the tank yard.
They passed a large fuel point where several pumps and fuel lines were connected to a long string of pipes – exactly what they were looking for. A number of them were labeled as petrol and JP-8. Sean checked out the pumps and found them operational. Although there was no power, an emergency pump on the end appeared to be gravity-fed. It would take longer, but should work for the pilots.
Brooks spotted a large guard tower and took to the high ground to provide security while they ran the refueling operations. Brad jumped into the cab of the large diesel refueler to start it, but the truck refused to turn over. They tried the other trucks; however, they also had dead batteries. Sean dug though the maintenance tow vehicle and found a starter cart with four, twelve-volt batteries strapped to it.