by Michael Cole
Seymour and Nagamine descended the small flight of stairs, meeting Ivan and Rex at the main entrance. Seymour took point, leading the way to C-Deck. The stair ramp led them down twelve feet, where they found a door leading into a hallway. Seymour glanced to Ivan and Rex, then pointed to the left of the hallway.
Nagamine sheathed his sword and clutched his MP5. Seymour pressed his ear to the door, listening for any chatter. He glanced through the window. The hallway was well lit. They wouldn’t be able to camouflage. They would need to instantly identify their targets and neutralize them immediately.
Nothing they haven’t done before.
Seymour slowly turned the handle, then opened the door a crack. Nobody. He stepped out, checking both directions. Clear. He led the way, rifle raised, as he and Nagamine continued aft. Ivan shut the door then followed Rex to the fore section of the ship.
Seymour saw the mess hall doors ahead. Both double doors opened, and three Koreans walked through. Each was dripping wet and covered in mud, as if they had just undergone trench warfare. Each carried a 58 Assault Rifle and seemed nearly out of breath.
Seymour squeezed the trigger. NATO rounds cracked the skull of the nearest soldier, instantly ending his life. In that same moment, Seymour fired a second burst, dropping the one right behind him, while Nagamine fired a three-round burst into the third.
They pushed forward, approaching the galley.
********
Ivan and Rex hugged the walls on opposite sides of the corridor as they drew near the quarters. Brief, shallow breaths, they listened to the chatter amongst the crew they approached.
Though not able to understand the Korean dialect, they took notice of the tone. The exchange between the unseen crew sounded panicked. The mercs knew they hadn’t been discovered, as the crew would be mobilizing for a counterattack. Plus, their voices lacked the particular urgency of an active assault.
Whatever it was, they were unnerved.
The only thing that mattered to the mercs was that they heard no English speech. They burst through the door, causing five crew members to jump from their bunks.
Ivan took the right, while Rex took the left. They released an onslaught of bullets, peppering all five crew before any of them could snatch up a weapon.
Ivan looked to his friend, mouthing the words, “Three-to-two,” before grinning.
The door on the opposite side swung open. Two Koreans paused in the doorway, seeing the massacre and the two armed brutes. They jolted with surprise. Exclaiming in Korean, they raised their weapons.
Rex fired from the hip, putting a round through each combatant’s forehead. Their skulls burst in showers of red. Their corpses fell backward, twitching uncontrollably from muscular reflex. Rex looked at Ivan.
“Four-to-three, bitch,” he mouthed.
********
Seymour proceeded past the dead crew, gently pushing the double doors open. He peeked into the mess hall. Five Korean crew sat inside. Like the ones he’d just put down, these personnel were all dripping wet, and covered in grime. Each of them wore tactical gear, complete with automatic rifles.
Seymour and Nagamine burst through the doors. The small group spun around in surprise. Before they could react further, each one felt his torso torn open by a barrage of strategically placed bullets. The bodies hit the floor with a thudding sound. Positioning near the entry of the next corridor, Nagamine ejected his empty magazine.
As he reached for a fresh one, an alarmed soldier jumped from the galley entrance. He gripped a semi-automatic pistol in his hands. In one motion, Seymour turned, rose his rifle, and squeezed the trigger. The combatant’s head ruptured as the bullet entered his torso, instantly killing him.
Nagamine lifted a thumbs up as a ‘thank you.’ As he did, another crew member burst in from the nearby entrance, rifle in hand. His speed was second only to Nagamine’s, who drew his Ninjato. In a flash, he swung downward, striking the blade atop the rifle, which fell from its owner’s grip. The merc thrust the blade forward, driving it through the soldier’s chest cavity.
Seymour slammed a fresh magazine into his weapon and stepped into the hall, while Nagamine sheathed his sword.
Two more soldiers approached, drawn by the sound of a struggle. They entered the corridor, only to be met with bullets fired from the two mercs. As their bodies hit the floor, the sound of a door echoed through the hallway.
Seymour moved to the end of the corridor, where the captain’s quarters was located. He heard the soldier inside yelling on the radio, attempting to make contact with his fellow comrades. There was no answer, as Ivan and Rex had completed their sweep.
Seymour and Nagamine stood on opposite sides of the door, staying clear of the frame. Keeping himself standing off to the side, he slapped his hand hard against the door, just hard enough to make the Korean believe he was trying to break it down.
The ploy worked. Deafening gunshots cracked through the room as bits of wood burst from the door. Ten shots rang off, followed by an empty click.
Seymour stepped in front of the door and put all his weight into a powerful kick, breaking the door off of its hinges.
The Korean soldier quickly slammed a fresh magazine into his pistol. He pointed the gun at the intruder.
In a lightning fast motion, Seymour grabbed his wrist with his right hand, maneuvering the soldier’s extended arm upward like a lever. Three rounds pierced the ceiling before the former SEAL grabbed a handful of the soldier’s hair on the back of his head. Turning his hips clockwise, he slammed the soldier’s head into the doorframe.
The gun dropped from his hand, and the unconscious soldier slid down the wall, until he was sitting upright, his head hanging to the left. Nagamine quickly checked him for other weapons, while Seymour checked the hallway again for any more stragglers.
He clicked his transmitter, “Mess hall and galley secured.”
“Crew quarters secured. Engine room checked and secured,” Ivan responded.
“Any hostages?”
“Negative.”
Seymour took a breath. All he could do was hope that the hostages were somewhere on the island.
“Alright. Good work everybody. Agent Hawk, the vessel is secured. You may come aboard.”
CHAPTER
7
Hawk tapped several keys on her tablet, linked by cable to the ship’s main computer. Clicking ‘enter’ she uploaded her bypass, allowing her access into the files.
The lab room’s floor was smothered with paper files, all cast aside while she looked through everything. What little was there was nothing other than old research printouts from the ship’s previous ownership. Printouts on water temperatures, fish species, sodium levels, etc. The only knowledge she gained were clues as to how the Koreans likely acquired the ship. Odds being it belonged to a Chinese institute who sold it for quick cash. Either that, or the black market.
With her computer able to translate any data, she downloaded the computer documents. The translator swept each page within a few minutes. Like the printouts, the computer contained nothing of relevance. It almost seemed as if the Koreans hadn’t even used it yet.
“Damn it,” she slammed her fist against the computer desk. She cooled her tempter and thought for a moment. She searched for any flash drives or discs, only to find nothing.
The data must still be in the bunker.
The echoes of voices traveled down the corridor, drawing her attention. She stepped out through the doorway in time to hear the Korean captive yell in pain.
“That was to ensure we have an understanding,” Seymour said, tapping the butt of his knife against his palm. The Korean captive slumped facedown over a table, held in place by Rex and Ivan. Blood dripped from the gash in his forehead, and his right index finger swelled where Seymour had crushed it with his knife handle. The remaining mercenaries continued roaming the corridors, securing weapons and supplies.
Rex grabbed the Korean by the hair, forcing him to look up at Seymour, while Ivan ke
pt his hand pinned to the table. Bathed in his own sweat and blood, he grimaced at his captor, enraged by his defeat and the humiliation of his torture.
Seymour put a foot up on a chair and leaned in toward the Korean, “Make this easy. Where are you holding Dr. Trevor?” The Korean glared at him for several tense moments, then spat in his face. Seymour straightened his posture, brushed his sleeve over his face, then rose his knife high above his head. He slammed the butt of the handle hard over the middle finger, crushing the knuckle into gravel. The Korean yelled out, cursing at Seymour in his native language.
“I’d talk man,” Rex said. “You’ll save yourself a lot of pain.” The soldier turned his head, looking at the leviathan of a man who held him in place. His snarl gradually turned into a smile.
“Neoui eomeoniga amsoleul yeosmeog yeossni?” he said, laughing maniacally. Rex could sense verbal abrasion through the tone.
“What’d you say?” He looked toward Seymour. “What’d he say?”
Seymour knew telling him would only incite anger, and doing so would waste valuable time. “He’s just trying to get under your skin,” he said.
“I say…did your mother…fuck with…cow?” The Korean hollered. Rex’s face stiffened with anger, while meanwhile, Ivan struggled not to grin with glee.
“Oh, you’re funny!” Rex said, drawing a large knife from his vest. He pressed the tip of it against the captive’s throat, barely keeping it from puncturing. Exactly why Seymour didn’t translate.
“Rex, chill,” he said. Rex hesitated a moment, then withdrew the blade. Seymour leaned in once again. “So, you speak English. Good…that saves me the trouble of translating.” He dug into a pocket in his vest, unfolding the photo of Dr. Trevor. “Where is he? Where are you holding this man?” The Korean stared at Seymour, appearing bewildered. “Yes…we know you have him hostage. Now you have five seconds to tell us where.” He folded the picture back up, and held the blade of his knife to the swelling fingers.
The Korean looked at the blade, then back to Seymour. His bewildered expression lit into a large grin. He started chuckling.
“Dr. Trevor…” he said.
“SEYMOUR!” Hawk yelled as she entered the mess hall. “You are not to speak with this individual.” Seymour stepped away from the table, his eyes a fiery blaze.
“Agent, we’re in the middle of something called “acquiring intelligence.” We need to find out how many soldiers are on the island, and where the hostages are being held.”
“This man may hold classified information,” Hawk said. “He may only be interrogated by an Agent with special clearance.”
“Oh! Like you?” Ivan blurted.
“Agent, we don’t have time for you to conduct an interview,” Seymour said. “We need to move before we lose the cover of night and weather. This storm won’t last much longer.”
“Fine,” Hawk said. “If we have to move now, then why don’t we take him with us? We can tie him down and secure him in the first outpost until we’re finished.”
Ivan noticed all color leave the Korean’s face upon hearing the Agent’s suggestion. The captive’s amused expression instantly became one of intense anxiety. Keeping quiet, Ivan glanced at Rex, who made eye contact with a shared puzzled look. He also had noticed the soldier’s shift in demeanor.
Seymour briefly thought about it, then nodded. It seemed like a plan suitable for both parties. Seymour would see to it that the soldier would not be able to escape the guard shack and alert his comrades. This would entail breaking both his legs and at least one of his arms, leaving one available to allow him to drink water. Cruel, but it was less than what a member of Pogoung Death Squad deserved.
Seymour turned to look at Ivan and Rex. “Get him up. We’ll make him talk on the boat.”
The Korean’s eyes widened. Panic overtook him. “No…NO!”
“Oh, yep yep!” Ivan said.
“NO!” he was screaming now. Ivan reached for a rag to gag him.
With veins bulging from his face, the soldier glanced down to the left. Rex still held the knife, its tip pointed directly at his neck. With Ivan having released one of his grips, there was a little leverage.
He dry-heaved and hyperventilated. Through clenched teeth he wailed, then threw his weight downward, slipping his arm from Ivan’s grasp. With his remaining digits, he grabbed Rex’s wrist.
“Hey!” Rex prepared to outmuscle the soldier. Before he could react, he felt the warm sensation of blood smother his hand. The Korean pressed his throat against the blade, pushing upward on Rex’s hand. The knife plunged four inches deep. “Holy shit!” Rex yelled, instinctively withdrawing the knife. Blood filled the trachea like water down a drain. The soldier collapsed onto the floor, gagging and squirming in a puddle of red.
“Doc, double-time it to the mess hall!” Seymour yelled in his transmitter as he jumped over the table. Withdrawing gauze pulled from a small first-aid pouch in his vest, he applied pressure to the soldier’s throat.
The soldier’s trembling slowed, and the repeated clicking of his jaw ceased. His eyelids closed halfway and froze in place. The dead soldier lay on the floor, still as a billboard, containing equally as much life. The effort was fruitless. Seymour stood up, hands covered in blood.
“Well, you got your wish. He won’t be spilling any “classified data” to us.” He looked to Agent Hawk. She stood perplexed from what she had just witnessed. Staring at the dead body, she tried to utter a response.
“I…he…I didn’t…” she could only stutter. “Why did he…”
“Eh, it’s not too uncommon for captured soldiers to off themselves,” Ivan said. He reached into one of his many pockets and pulled a Kit-Kat bar. He stuffed it into his mouth and munched. “Hell, I hear prison food tastes like shit. Probably why he did it.”
Hawk stared at him, jaw agape, simultaneously appalled and amazed by the brute’s casual indifference. She took control of herself, remembering she was in a position of authority, and did not want to appear feeble in the presence of the combat-hardened veterans.
She cleared her throat.
“He seemed fairly confident a minute ago,” she said.
“For some reason, he didn’t want to go back to the island,” Seymour said.
“For fear of punishment from the other units?” she asked. Seymour looked at the body and shook his head.
“Doubt it,” he said. “He had no qualms with taking himself out.”
“He killed himself?” Sutton said, hurrying into the room followed by Terrie and Easley.
“Yep,” Rex said. “Stuck his own neck into my knife!” He looked over at Ivan, who pointed at him and smirked.
“Oh no!” Ivan said. “That one does not count!”
“Fine,” Rex said.
“Damn, Boss,” Sutton said. “There’s a lot on this boat that doesn’t quite add up. I mean, how many personnel did we eliminate?”
“Probably around thirty,” Seymour said.
“Are we aware of any other vessels in the area?” Hawk asked.
“Charlie’s monitoring the waters,” Seymour said. “He’d let us know if there was.”
“Another thing...” Terrie chimed in. She held up one of the enemy rifles taken from a dead soldier in the crew quarters. “I checked some of the weapons…” she removed the mag, “…this thing is half full. These weapons have been fired.”
“Well yeah,” Hawk said. “You’d expect that in a firefight.”
“Except we popped those chinks before they could get a shot off,” Rex said. He noticed a glare from Nagamine, who sat at one of the tables. “My bad.”
“They had shot at somebody,” Terrie said. “Then there’s the cargo. They had nothing battened down. They had equipment scattered all over the deck….”
“Doesn’t seem like they had much in the way of rations, either,” Easley said, stepping out of the kitchen.
“Seems like they left in a hurry,” Seymour said. He looked at Hawk. “You have any insight?”
“No,” she said. “And they have nothing pertaining to the research. No sign of the team.”
A crack of thunder echoed. Seymour glanced at the ceiling, seemingly looking through the steel barrier into the night sky.
“Right now, the only way we’ll find out where they are, is to get on the island and find out,” he said. “We’ll proceed with the original plan.” He raised his voice, conveying authority to his team. “Let’s move! Storm won’t last much longer.” He led the way down the corridor, followed by his team in single-file.
Hawk hesitated, looking down at the dead Korean. Staring at him, she pondered. A chill struck her spine like lightning, and a deep dread caused her stomach to ache.
The footsteps from the team grew evermore faint, and she snapped into reality. She dashed down the corridor to catch up.
CHAPTER
8
Coming in from the ocean, Crater Sands looked like a huge mountain in the dark stormy cast. In truth, while the terrain did contain many steep hills, the elevation did not excel over 1,430 feet above sea level. However, the island was teeming with enormous Cryptomeria trees. With the island left predominantly undisturbed over the decades, many of the trees grew to record heights, many exceeding 250 feet. The vast groupings of trees, and the thick interior jungle, gave the island a towering appearance.
The whole side of the island seemed to quiver as the winds caused the exterior layer of trees to sway. Like fireworks without the sparks, loud crackling echoed from deep in the forest, as smaller trees succumbed to the force of the storm.
The surrounding waters were steadily calming as the storm moved off. The large five-foot swells reduced in size, climbing no higher than three. Still, the ocean appeared like one huge enraged beast, stretching its anger out for miles. Waves rolled one after another, hurling themselves toward the island.
A swell of water, thickening with each inch in momentum, hit the south side of the island. Hitting the rocks, it broke apart into a thousand fragments of water that sprayed in all directions.
