Page 7 of Soul on Fire
“Radio check every five mikes, Highline. Do not go rogue on me.”
He clicked his radio, a response in itself, and circled his hand over his head. “Deploy!”
A sailor from theDallas, who’d been waiting at the deployment controls with them for hours in case it was go-time, scrambled to his feet. He unhooked the safety line and pressed the launch initiator. The hook holding the RHIB on the sloped launch deck released.
They flew back, sliding into the ocean with a splash and a shimmy, rolling like a dolphin getting used to the waves. Elliot waved to the sailor as Jumper lowered the engine and cranked it on. In moments, they were on their way, skimming over the Indian Ocean on an intercept course for the pirates.
Schafer and Ras laid out on the bow, rifles ready, binos up. “They see us comin’ L-T,” Schafer radioed. “They’re scrambling.”
“Highline, Midtown. Radio check. Report.”
“We’re in sight now, Midtown. About to begin three-sixty eval.”
Six pirates, all rail-thin Somalis, ran over the deck of their speedboat, tossing things left and right. Searching for their weapons, most likely. This wasn’t a professional crew. They were in an old speed boat, something lifted from Kenya, someone’s weekend pleasure boat stolen for piracy.
“Are they hostile?”
“L-T, looks like they’re pulling A-Ks up!”
“Still determining that, Midtown.”
He guided Jumper to swing the RHIB in a wide loop around the pirates and take them to their stern and engines.
A burst of automatic fire raked over their heads. Ras shouted, “I think they’re hostile, L-T.”
“When we swing around, take out their engines.” Elliot crawled forward, keeping low, and came up beside Schafer and Ras. “Propellers and engine block, just like we practiced.”
Jumper made the turn, and the three fired almost at the same moment, three shots merging their sound into one, a clap that broke over the waves. Black smoke gutted from the pirate’s engine, gears clanging as their vessel sputtered to a stop, adrift.
The shouting Arabic from the pirates grew louder, and frantic. “Jumper, tell ‘em we just wanna talk.”
Jumper grabbed the radio and set it to broadcast. In flawless Arabic, he told them to drop their weapons and prepare to be boarded. That they had entered an interdiction zone and hadn’t responded to hails.
Bullets cracked over their heads.
“Don’t think they’re listening,” Schafer muttered. “And they can’t shoot for shit.”
“They’re not taking the waves into account. They’re used to shooting on land.” Elliot kept the lead pirate in the center of his reticle. “Jumper, tell ‘em again. Ras, ask them politely.”
Again, Jumper called through the radio, instructing them to lay down their weapons and prepare to be boarded and questioned. As he spoke, Ras fired three warning shots well over the pirates’ heads.
Through the scope, he watched the leader throw his hands up and shout at his men, ordering them to drop their weapons. “Looks like they’re giving up. Schafer, keep your eyes on the leader.” Elliot pulled back to Jumper at the wheel. “Come alongside, nice and slow. Tell them to keep their hands in the air.”
Jumper piloted the RHIB and shouted into the radio. The pirates kept their hands high over their heads, palms facing the team.
Elliot kept his weapon up, cheek to the stock, sighting each man and tracing their outline, watching them breathe before moving to the next.
Until he stopped. “Schafer, you got eyes on the leader still?”
“Yeah, L-T.”
“The fuck is he doing with his hands?”
“Scratching his nuts, L-T. He pissed himself a minute ago. It’s gotta chafe”
“Jumper, order them to leave their God damn hands up. If anyone drops their hands again, I’m putting a round in their chest. Schafer, Ras, get ready to board. I want everyone zip-tied and down on their faces in thirty seconds.”
“Roger, L-T.”
