CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Why join the Navy if you can be a pirate?
-Steve Jobs
D-1, Yemen
'Short final,' the taciturn pilot said over the intercom.
After the buffeting from flying with the landing wheels barely above-indeed, sometimes skimming-the waves, then barely above the sand dunes, though it didn't skim those, it was a welcome relief to Konstantin when the helicopter went into a low hover. The pitch of the engine changed, as well.
Though he'd never before flown into anywhere in an MI-28, Konstantin was certain that the change in pitch meant a landing. The sudden shudder and bounce as the landing wheels touched down told him his guess was correct.
'Devaye, devaye, muzhiks,' the pilot said, which translated roughly as, 'Un-ass my helicopter, peasants.'
Konstantin flipped the small door open and dived out. He hit and rolled, groaning, 'I am getting too old for this shit,' before scurrying to take up a position around the helicopter. He couldn't see the other bird, but heard it not far away.
'Still darker than three feet up a well-digger's ass,' he said, with satisfaction, looking around at the sand dunes that seemed to enclose him on all sides. He flipped onto his back and brought his NVGs down to his face, scanning quickly but thoroughly.
Already, the helicopter was powering down. In the grainy green image he saw the other bird. He saw, too, that the other three men were likewise lying down around it. Closer in he caught glimpses of the two, Musin and Galkin, who had flown with him.
And now we wait for the choppers to power down completely, put up the camouflage nets, break out the motorcycles, change clothes, rest until nightfall, and then . . . .we're off.
D-1, MV
Down in the hull, several layers of containers down, forward of the internal open assembly area, Boxer watched over a UAVs pilot's shoulder as another greenish image, this one on a monitor screen, changed with the movement of the UAV.
'Fuel?' Boxer asked.
'Maybe half an hour,' the pilot replied, after checking his somewhat ephemeral instruments. 'Not enough to get the thing back.'
'All right,' Boxer nodded. For a moment he considered the very high amusement quotient in sending the thing to Saudi Arabia where it could be found, after crashing, complete with Israeli markings, on Saudi sands. It would be a hoot, and bound to muddy the waters, but . . . better not.
Feeling mildly guilty, he said, 'Well, we do have a limited number of spares. Spend the fuel circling around Konstantin's position until you have only enough to get to the sea. Then head to sea and ditch it. If you see anything that might be of interest to the Russians, let me know.'
'Roger.'
Boxer shifted his attention to a different pilot and monitor, this one aimed at the port of Bandar Qassim and the airport to its west.
'Sir,' said the pilot, 'two boats have left the rectangular harbor. I mark them as targets three and seventeen, both presumed pirates. They've split up, one heading west toward the Red Sea and the other heading generally toward . . . well, toward us. Maybe an hour and a half behind us, at our current speed and heading. That's assuming they haven't changed course. And about that I just don't know; I can't cover two things with one UAV.'
Eyes on his screen and controls, the pilot didn't notice Boxer close his eyes and envision the current positions of the LCM, The Drunken Bastard, and Namu. The latter, in any case, would be fifty or sixty feet underwater and thus in no obvious danger from a primitive surface ship manned by pirates. The LCM, however, could be in danger if Bastard left her to her own devices.
'No,' Boxer said. 'You keep watch over Bandar Qassim.' But I'd better go see the ship's captain and Stauer.
'At what time,' Boxer called out as he left the control station, 'what precise time, did the boat that's tailing us leave port?'
It's a danger Stauer thought, but not a disaster. This, too, was a part of command; to know the difference.
The bridge was still lit only in red. Kosciusko, Stauer, and Boxer surrounded a chart spread on a table. It was, perhaps, a bit primitive, but it worked well enough. On it were several wooden models for the known or presumed positions of six seagoing vessels. For two of those, the pirates, erasers had been pressed into service, one blue- green, the other pinkish. Under the light, they were merely slightly different shades of red, as, indeed, were the faces of the men.
Kosciusko wasn't saying much of anything, just peering closely at the chart and, to all appearances, doing calculations in his head.
'Anything we use has the chance of giving the game away,' Stauer said. 'If we launch either a CH-801 or a helicopter with rocket and machine gun pods, someone on shore will see the firing or the tracers. Might anyway. If we wait until they're climbing up our ass and engage from here it's the same problem only worse. How sure are you that they're heading for us?'
'I'm not sure,' Boxer admitted. 'We've only got so many UAVs and so many pilots. But pickings have to have gotten scant for the pirates since the merchant ships have started avoiding this stretch of coast. I figure they noticed us-ground observer, maybe-as we rounded the Horn and launched then, intending to overtake and take us. They probably haven't clue one about what we are.'
'Can we just avoid them?' Stauer asked.
'Do we want to?'
At Stauer's raised eyebrow, Boxer continued, 'Even leaving aside the general good to mankind in taking them out, if we don't take them out they just might be in the landing area at precisely the wrong time. And if we lose them by heading to sea, that won't change the risk that they might be hanging around the beach when we start to land.'
'I can see the problem,' Stauer agreed, then asked, 'Did you warn Chin and the Bastard about the other boat?'
'Just before I called you up here,' Boxer relied. 'He says, ‘No sweat. Piece of cake.''
'That's comforting.' Stauer said it in a way that indicated it was not at all comforting. 'How's he plan on taking them down without giving away what he is?'
'I asked him that. He said that he and the LCM were heading out to sea where there'd be less chance of anyone spotting their fires. He can go further out to sea without risking delay with another operation, though it would surely slow down the landing if we lose a third of our capability.'
Stauer shook his head, doubtfully. 'The LCM's slow. What if the pirate closes before he can get far enough out?'
Boxer smiled broadly. 'He said, ‘chop-chop.' He also said-'
