more by morning. Same thing applies here, only if I second guess myself now, I could not only get myself, but my entire team killed.
I glanced up at the moon, thankfully only a quarter full and dim, and wondered why I really transferred my service. I’d just settled into my command as a SEAL team leader, and was working with some of the finest operators on the planet. My team and I had been deployed to Iran, Mexico, Siberia, Pakistan, North Korea, Africa, Azerbaijan and countless other countries, and each time I had made it out alive, and relatively unscathed. Except for Korea, of course. I’d had some of the most qualified men at my side to thank for that, and I remembered too many close calls that could have ended in my death if not for them. So why, only a few months later, am I sitting in this boat with two Brits, an aging priest, a beautiful Ice-Queen, a Frenchman, and of all people, Santino?
I’d always lived by the tenants of God, country, and family, only I’d never known what order to put them in. Up until the war, I’d always considered myself Catholic because that’s how my mother raised me. Granted, I understood the faith, believed in it and appreciated the values, but I’d never really felt like it meant that much to me. While I went to church when I could and tried to lead as pious and noble a life as I could, but up until maybe four years ago, I didn’t really care that much.
This goddamned war put things in perspective.
It was Muslims versus Christians again, but the lines were nowhere near as clear as they used to be. We had excommunicated Russians, South American extremists, African rebels, Hindu Indians, Pakistanis, expansionist Mexicans, Chinese, Japanese, Europeans, Koreans, and Americans, all involved in one way or another.
When word came out concerning Russia’s involvement in the biological attacks on Jerusalem, China started mobilizing. They didn’t care much about Jerusalem, or any other Western interest, but there had been growing tension with Russia over natural resources, territorial expansion, and aiding terrorism. Within weeks of the attack, China closed its borders permanently. The only thing they continued was trade with the West, especially America, but even that was in question thanks to tension mounting over China’s near stranglehold on rare earth elements. Their Eastern front was another matter, armed to the teeth, and defensively entrenched; China was ready for anything.
As a result of their military buildup, the first hostilities were over border contention near Kazakhstan. Blood was spilt on both sides, but it also set a precedent for years to come between the two nations of mere skirmishes, with no gains for either side.
While China and Russia were at a stalemate, Pakistan and India continued to wage a bloodthirsty land war. Europe and Islamic forces in the Middle East were still fighting over the same “promised land” fought over for a thousand years. African warlords slaughtered anyone they could get their hands on. South America warred within itself and Mexico fought against both neighboring continents. There wasn’t a peaceful day that went by without hostilities. Cities on nearly every continent lay in ruin, the United States included. Cultures were devastated. Maybe two billion souls lost already.
Nope, the world was pretty much fucked. The war had no end in sight, and my two year stint away from the Teams wasn’t going to hurt anyone… as long as I survived long enough to go back.
“You all right, Jacob?” Helena asked casually. “We’re going to need you sharp tonight.”
“I’m fine. Just reminiscing.” It was probably best she got my attention when she did. I hadn’t had a chance to think about my father yet, and all the bullshit that came with that stream of consciousness.
“Well, wake up. The shore’s in sight. We should reach the ship in ten.”
I gave her a quick thumbs up and got to work.
***
A short distance from the giant cargo ship, Bordeaux cut the engine, allowing the small boat to drift idly towards its target. The rest of us were crouched low in the boat, weapons at the ready. Making contact with the ship, Wang attached a small, but powerful, magnet to the hull, securing a rope between it and the CRRC and anchoring them together. Next, Santino took an old fashioned grappling hook, a device left relatively unchanged in design since the Romans, and flung it over the edge of the railing. Giving it a quick tug, making sure it caught, he turned towards McDougal and smiled.
McDougal nodded and pointed up. Santino returned the nod and began climbing, Vincent not far behind him, ready to take point. A few agonizing minutes later, Santino transmitted the all clear double click over the radio.
Wang, Bordeaux, and McDougal followed. Once their feet cleared the railing, Helena started up after them, leaving me to deal with our little boat.
Making sure I had a firm grip on the rope, I pulled out a stopper holding the air in the inflated ring around the boat, and pulled a simple plug from the rubber hull, allowing water to flow aboard. Within seconds, the boat started to sink, engine and all. Normally, SEALs would take their CRRC ashore and hide it, but our mission parameters made that difficult. When it was almost fully submerged, I detached the line attached to the magnet and pocketed the anchor.
Quickly pulling myself up the rope, I reached the railing, swung my feet over the edge and dropped quietly to the deck. I pulled up the rope, collapsed the grappling hook, and handed it off to Santino, who efficiently reattached it to the appropriate spot on the back of his rig. As the team’s lead scout, he traveled light. His rig was more of a harness than a vest and was lightly burdened, with only magazines, a few tools, the grappling hook and rope, and a rather nasty looking knife that belonged in a Rambo movie. He had a small pack attached to his back, containing his computer hooked up to his eye piece, and as our scout, he was in control of a small aerial drone that Vincent carried on his back.
The UAV was basically a small helicopter, its circumference no more than that of large dinner plate. It consisted of three helicopter blades that jutted out from the circular chassis to create a three points of a triangle. It was extremely quiet, almost invisible, and very effective. It carried high resolution cameras outfitted with night vision and thermal lenses for use in the dark. It could climb a thousand feet in the air and had an effective radius of two miles. It was solar charged and had the shelf life of a Twinkie.
As soon as Santino secured his grappling hook, he began creeping forward while Vincent kept pace with him. Santino could stalk anything on the planet, so I imagined Vincent might have trouble keeping up. He could tip toe over broken light bulbs to sneak up on a prowling panther if he had to. Still, Vincent was a veteran, and knew his way around. He’d keep up. Besides, Santino could easily peel off on his own if McDougal thought it was necessary. He probably preferred going lone wolf anyway, with nothing but a knife in his teeth, and streaks of blood on his cheeks.
As he crept forward, the rest of us followed at a safe distance. I was rearguard in the formation checking our six constantly to keep our rear secure. Thankfully, everyone must have been asleep as we didn’t run across a soul. After a quick stroll over the deck of the ship, we came across the stacked cargo containers.
Santino pulled down his night vision goggles to scan the containers. According to intelligence, our local contact had tagged those going to the terrorists’ stronghold with infrared paint, invisible to the naked eye, but brilliantly luminescent under night vision.
Santino pointed to three containers, the first of which we inspected was conveniently only half full, but still a tight squeeze for any swim pair. It was a good thing I wasn’t paired with Bordeaux, since we were the two biggest guys on the team. He was with Wang, who was the smallest, but McDougal will be with them too, making for a tight fit. Of course, being in such tight proximity to Helena probably won’t be the most comfortable thing either.
I made sure not to look at Santino, who I knew would never give up an opportunity to screw with me. I was saved from my embarrassment when I saw him moving off to the side of the ship. He looked for an infrared beacon that would point out our contact’s position and would send a return signal to alert the local resistance to our presence.
McDougal pointed to Vincent and then a container, then Helena and a container. They nodded and headed towards their assigned containers. I followed Helena. As she opened our container, we peered inside, noticing it was even less spacious than the last. Looking at each other, I gave her a shrug.
“After you, ma’am,” I whispered.
She gave me an indignant look, but went inside all the same. She studied the layout, and after a few minutes, decided on the position that would keep her close to the exit, comfortable, and most importantly, as far
