Task Force Desperate (45 page)

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 hatch. 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.

The Zodiacs were now lashed to the bow and stern, wherever we could fit them after hoisting them up out of the water. The more we looked at it, the more we saw that we wouldn’t be able to launch our Bell 407 off the
Frontier Rose
, at least not without some considerable modifications. We didn’t trust the containers to hold up the weight of a loaded helicopter.

That was going to put a serious crimp in our options on the raid. Not only would we not have an aerial medevac, we wouldn’t have any fire support either. What we took ashore on the boats would be it.

We were in the middle of hashing out some of our possible contingency plans to counter this problem, when the first mate, who it turned out was named Sean Summers, came up to us with a frown on his face. We all stopped talking and turned to look at him. He hesitated for a moment, looking from one to another of us uncertainly, then apparently figured out we were going to wait for him to say something.

“I just had probably the strangest conversation with my employer I’ve ever had,” he said. “Actually, I suppose I should technically say my ex-employer, as apparently the company has gone under while we’ve been in captivity. But apparently you already knew this.” There were a couple of nods. “So the
Frontier
Rose
belongs to your company now?” Another nod. He shook his head, rubbing a hand over his scruffy beard. “That’s a new one on me,” he confessed. “If you are indeed the new owners, I have some questions.”

Again, none of us said anything, but Alek made a go ahead gesture, so he took a deep breath and dove in.

“I don’t know what a security company needs with a container ship, but I suspect I probably shouldn’t ask. So, what is the plan for us? Do we stay on, or are you going to ship us home and bring in a replacement crew?”

“Well, Sean,” Alek replied. “That’s kind of up to you. You and your boys have been held on this ship against your will for three months. What would you like to do?”

Alek was playing an angle that could threaten to derail the entire operation; if the crew of the
Frontier Rose
backed out and demanded to go home, Tom probably couldn’t get a replacement crew out here fast enough for us to be in position by the time the meeting started. We’d miss our window.

However, I immediately saw why he was taking the approach he was. These guys had been held by pirates and forced to watch their captain be murdered for the sake of a ransom that wasn’t going to come. They probably weren’t on the most solid psychological ground at the moment in the first place, and if we tried to play hard-ass, we could very well find ourselves in the position of acting exactly like the scum we’d just taken the ship back from. These guys weren’t terrorists or pirates. They were just ordinary guys trying to make a living. We couldn’t force them to work for us at the point of a gun and be able to look ourselves in the mirror ever again.

The question gave Mr. Summers pause. I don’t think he’d been expecting it. He’d confessed earlier that he had thought we were Navy SEALs when we’d broken into the superstructure and taken down the pirates. He was a bit confused, and probably a little disappointed, to find out the truth, regardless of the fact that every single one of us had at least eight years in some sort of SOF-related field before we’d gone private sector. A lot of people still weren’t comfortable with the idea of PMCs, even when they’d just had their asses pulled out of the fire by one.