Hunter stood and walked the short distance to the SAN FRANCISCO, "Don't see any other choice, do you?"
26 May 2000, 0325LT (25 May, 1925Z)
Mjecka stared at the prisoners.
How dare the infidels parade through Allah’s land, bringing blasphemy with them. The young males would pay with their lives. But the uncovered houri females. Didn’t the Prophet teach that it was every warrior’s responsibility to make them show proper respect, and impregnate them with the next generation of Allah’s warriors.
Mjecka grabbed himself and smiled at the red head. She was the one. The first to feel the real power of Allah’s warriors. One of the promised seventy virgins, but delivered before paradise.
He strode across the room and grabbed the young houri by her blasphemous uncovered red hair. He could feel the blood rushing to his manhood. This would be very good; and maybe when he was done he would share her with his friends.
Nan Badgett screamed in fright. The awful, ugly guard, the smelly one with the rotten teeth was trying to drag her off. There was no mistaking his intentions, he meant to have his way with her.
The young missionary lashed out with all her strength, trying to kick and punch her way free. Mjecka laughed easily at her futile efforts as he dragged her toward the door. Tommy Clark jumped up and rushed across the narrow space, fists clenched and ready to strike out to protect her.
Mjecka chortled as he swung his AK47 around. The barrel caught the young missionary leader squarely on the chin. He spun the heavy assault rifle around and slammed the butt into Clark’s mid-section. Clark fell to the deck, groaning with pain. Tears ran down his cheeks, more from the frustration of not protecting Nan than from the pain roaring out of his stomach.
Mjecka dragged Badgett out the door and across the narrow passageway, into a small room. He reached up and snapped on the lights. Light was important. The houri must see the sword of Allah before he penetrated her with it.
The terrorist grabbed Badgett’s blouse and ripped it off. She stood there, futilely trying to cover her breasts. He nodded toward her pants. She screamed loudly and backed further into the tiny room. Mjecka lashed out with his right fist, smashing into her face and knocking her to the deck. He reached down and grabbed her pants, pulling them off in one stroke. Badgett tried to roll into a ball in the corner, but somewhere in her mind, she knew the inevitable was going to happen.
Mjecka unsnapped his pants and let them drop to the floor. He grabbed himself as he stepped toward the naked, cowering houri. He kicked her legs apart and knelt down. It was time to do Allah’s work.
“What are you doing, you stupid fool!” Captain Balewegal kicked Mjecka, knocking him away from the prisoner. “When Admiral Suluvana finds out about this, you will wish your mother had consorted with camels.”
25 May 2000, 1930LT (26 May, 0630Z)
The sun was just an afterglow to the leeward side of the islands, out beyond Barbers Point. SAN FRANCISCO lay quietly alongside the pier, her rounded black shape looking vaguely out-of-place, a creature of the open ocean held captive by the lines reaching to the pier. The brown-green harbor water lapped just a few feet below the deck, hiding most of her massive bulk. The large sail rose imposingly from the deck with wing-like fairwater planes jutting from either side. The only external way to separate SAN FRANCISCO from her sisters was the large white "714" attached to the after surface of the sail and the blue banner laced to the brow rail with the large ship's seal and "USS SAN FRANCISCO SSN 714" lettered across it in white letters. Soon these trappings would be stowed below. SAN FRANCISCO would be indistinguishable from any other LA class sub.
Hunter and Fagan dodged trucks and forklifts to wind their way to the boat. A group of six SEALs carried the last of their gear onboard. Seaman Martinez, one of the most junior men on the crew, brushed by, hands full of boxes. His hands full and not being able to salute, he was flustered, but settled on nodding acknowledgement of the two officers.
Hunter called out, “Martinez.”
The young seaman stopped in his tracks.
“How is your girlfriend doing?” Hunter inquired.
Martinez stammered, ‘Better. A lot better. Docs up at Tripler say she’ll be able to come home in a few weeks.”
Hunter clapped the young man on the shoulder and said, “Glad to hear it.”
Fagan shook his head. It was amazing how Hunter could keep track of every crewmember’s problems, even at times like this.
Topside was rigged for underway. The lifelines, deck lights and all the other paraphernalia were safely stored below decks.
The 1MC blared “SAN FRANCISCO returning” in the traditional announcement the Captain was back onboard.
Lieutenant Jeff Miller crawled up through the hatch and reported that all was ready for underway.
"Skipper, most of the four hour prior to underway items are done. We are on reactor power. The shore power cables have been removed. The Navigator is reporting some problems with ESGN settling out, but he expects the Schuler oscillations to be adequately damped out by twenty-four hundred, in time for underway. Pre-underway brief in the wardroom in twenty minutes. The Weapons Department is ready to get underway."
“Thanks, Weps. Have the Nav report if he has any more problems. I’ll be in my stateroom,” Hunter said as he walked to the Forward Operations Compartment Hatch.
The thick rubber acoustic tiles covering SAN FRANCISCO's exterior
