Mischief Island

by Robert Lance

  “—As I was saying, I have brought a toy that will give you wet dreams. Perrotte will give you an overview while I attend to other matters. We’ll meet back here at 1400 and begin mission planning.”

  Perry asked “Sir does—.”

  “I prefer Alamo.”

  Perry wasn’t going to be the first to test the waters. “Does that mean we’re going duck hunting tonight?”

  “No. The Ghost is sophisticated, and I don’t want you guys fumbling around trying to get through the dive doors. We can’t afford accidents, so we’ll take her out for sea trials tonight and tomorrow. This is gonna get real soon enough.”

  Fitzgerald said. “Do you have any manuals we can study?”

  “Fitz, the Ghost is so new, we don’t have manuals. See Ya’ll, 1400 sharp.”

  SEAL Team Four did a walk-through tour of the Ghost. Slinky, the engineer, gave them an abbreviated run down on the variant modes of operation. The team was awed by the slow narrative delivered to them. Slinky pushed a button to display the capability of Ghost’s night vision capability. Ted and Heather’s profiles filled the screen, leaving no doubt what the two people were doing. He guffawed and said, “Great tits and check out the motion of that ass. I ain’t seen jack hammers pound that fast.”

  Ted felt himself shrink to the size of a flea. His mates giggled and jeered. Perry said, “Wow, Ted. Wow. Can we see that again?”

  Gates said, “Slinky, can you erase that?”

  “I could, but I’m not supposed to. Why do you ask?”

  “Because it’s court martial material.”

  Slinky shrugged and bawled. “We’ll watch it one more time and then I’ll erase it.”

  Ted’s voice boomed. “Erase it now, God damn it.”

  Slinky was slow on the uptake. The light finally went on, and he figured out that Ted was the dark male shadow on the screen. “Oops, guess I oughta not shown you that.” He couldn’t help snickering at Ted’s discomfort.

  On their way out of the grotto, Gates slipped up on Ted’s side, and whispered, “Just so you know, the men will never see LT the same. Bad for unit discipline. Alamo will bust your balls.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then get your act together, or get off the team.” Gates walked on.

  Alamo assembled the team in the “Pentagon war room,” which had been the restaurant. All the intel geeks were present, except Lt. Cummins. He started his brief with, “This is a nonstandard forward operating base. The nature of our mission requires top secret compartmental segregation. This is not a vacation, and I expect nothing but professionalism, one hundred percent dedication to the mission.” He paused to look everyone in the eye. Then he nodded, and one of the technicians put up Mischief Island on the briefing screen.

  “This is Mischief Island, three years ago. You can see the deep water lagoon where dredging barges and cargo ships are parked.” He used an electronic pointer to indicate the lagoon and a few ships moored there. “You can see the sea wall constructed along the north side of the reef. We believe that the sea wall has been extended, and there is a runway, nine thousand feet in length under construction.” He moved the pointer to the west side of the atoll and pointed to individual buildings. “This is the cement plant. Next to it is the desalination plant to provide drinking water for the garrison and fresh water to the cement plant.” Alamo pointed out individual structures and their functions. He came to two large barns and tapped the structures. These two structures are an anomaly. We know they have the capacity to shelter two Dong Feng 21-D mobile missile launchers in either structure. We don’t know that there are launchers present, if they are weaponized conventionally, or with tactical nuke warheads. We just don’t know, but we’re going to find out.

  A hundred questions simmered in the minds of the audience, but everyone knew not to interrupt Alamo Jones. He said, “The first thing we’re going to do is survey sectors for mines, defensive countermeasures and surprises that the Chinese may have planted before we set foot on their god dam sanctuary. Now this is important. If we are detected at any point, the mission will be canceled. We can not fail. It comes down to this; the president needs proof that China has nukes here, what happens after that is up to the president. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the overview. Questions.

  He took questions one at a time. “You’re right, Senior Chief Gates. We don’t know what the footprint looks like now. The manpower has to consist of engineers, worker bees, technicians to maintain the facilities and military specialists to man the radar sites, missile batteries, and so on. I suspect the manpower resides in the ships parked in the lagoon. Warrant Officer Diamato, you have a question?”

  Her concern was the comm security and the possibility of interception.

  “That’s why you’re here. Either you or WO French will accompany us on each mission to encrypt all data, in or out, in real time to our facility here for analysis. You’re on your own here.”

  Domino asked, “How do we fast link to the folks who need it without sat link?”

  “Fleet intel is here to merely ping it directly to Fort Meade. It’s a temporary measure for now. We’re waiting on the Chinese to divert their spy SATs to the Java Sea, then we can link directly with our normal traffic out of Subic, and the Chinese won’t be able to source our location.”

  Alamo took his time fielding important questions. His audience was on the edge of their seats the entire time. He addressed them again. “For the sake of expediting things, we’re going to cut through the bullshit. Geeks, frogs, and our boat techs will mission plan together, face to face. I am the higher authority should you encounter any problems.” He paused “I’ll close on a good note. The Snake Pit Bar stays open with certain restrictions. Be good little snowflakes and mingle for the cameras. Let’s get to work…Master Chief Perrotte, a word in private.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Alamo sat on a table next to a boarded-up window, with both feet on a chair. His hands were folded in his lap, making him seem at ease. He was anything but. He lit into Ted in a measured stern tone. “Master Chief Gregory has a chalk line, and you have chalk dust on your shoes. This is a live op, Perrotte. The two people I depend on the most are off having a tryst. That’s unsat, and it’s in my mind to ship both of you off site to face charges. The mission comes first. I need Lt. Cummins running the center, and you, with flippers on. Are we going to have a problem?”

  “No sir.”

  “The fuck says you. Total fucking breakdown of unit discipline. If your dick gets hard, I’m going to know about it.”

  “You’ve made that clear to the team.”

  “Bullshit, their loyalty is to you. Your loyalty is to me. My loyalty is to the mission. No distractions, Perrotte. Not fucking one.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  Alamo curled his lip and smirked. “A piece of ass is a piece of ass, right Master Chief?”

  “Something along those lines, yes sir.”

  “Good.” He bent forward and whispered, “Cummins and I go way back, and you should consider her private stock. You get my drift?”

  It was starting exactly the way Heather said it would. Alamo had wiped his feet on Heather’s reputation, making her a pariah. He had put Ted on notice and isolated Heather from the herd. Ted’s flash of anger didn’t go unnoticed, and Alamo laughed at him. There was a hint of danger energizing the air around the two men.

  At the opposite side of the room, the dwarf sensed the fusion, making him wonder about Heather’s dereliction of duty. She had not been seen since Alamo’s arrival. He had sent Alamo’s personal gear up to the Blue Moon earlier. Alamo was a weird duck, and at the time, Gregory thought the housing arrangement was an upside down quirk of the man. Enlisted living in luxury, officers living in squalor. Then again, maybe it was something else. Given Alamo’s reputation, and Heather’s hot looks, it didn’t take a genius to make a connection. It was above his pay grade, and he put it at the back of his mind.

  The team didn’t have much to
use for planning purposes. They had old oceanic maps from World War Two that weren’t detailed. Most of the Spratly Islands had been a land group until seven thousand years ago when the last ice age collapsed the land mass into atolls. Most of the islands are mere rocks, a meter or two above water at high tide. The average depth of the sea around them is twenty meters, too shallow for submarine operations, the exception being the Fiery Cross Island group where China was building sub pens. Between their position and Mischief Island, the Palawan Trench provided a narrow deep water passage along the eastern edge of the South China Sea. The currents through the trench were mild which made the fishing grounds in the Spratly Islands too accessible and years of over fishing had depleted the aquatic supply of food.

  With too little information, the team quickly plotted their track to Mischief Island. Alamo made them do it over several times as an exercise. The secondary mission of the Ghost was to plot sea depths and channels that would be useful later. It was the kind of ‘make-work” detail that SEALs hated, but Alamo insisted they learn the skill sets of the lowest worm in the ground. Plotters and pencils were not the tools of sea warriors, and there was much grumbling under the surface in the planning room.

  Dinner was a welcome break, despite the unrecognizable end of the pig offerings that Ramon prepared. The team had their own table on the patio and their own chairs. Like gold mine stake claims. Perrotte came from the chow line with a double serving of Puto pudding covered in soy sauce. He slammed it on the table and said, “Thank god it’s pig roast night tomorrow.”

  Perry landed in his chair lamenting that there weren’t any lobster left-overs. Fitzgerald happily plopped his plate on the table. He smugly bragged, “Sorry dudes, I took the last of the ring meat.”

  Gates said, “Fitzgerald, you can eat that shit all you want.”

  “What are you talking about? This is damned tasty and tender. Anybody want some? You gotta beg, though.”

  The four men chuckled as though they were hiding a secret. Fitzgerald said, “What? Am I missing something?”

  Perrotte shoveled a large spoon full of rice into his mouth and nonchalantly mumbled, “Ring meat is the asshole, numb nuts.”

  Fitzgerald spewed pig sphincter across the table and went into a choking fit. His mates heckled him for several minutes as he tried to recover. Perry said, “You should have told him after he ate the ass hole.”

  “Nah, can you imagine what that mess would look like?”

  They finished dinner speculating what they would find on Mischief Island and making wild guesses about the performance of the Ghost in combat situations. They were mid-conversation when Domino and French sauntered to their table wearing swim suits.

  Perry smarted off. “The sun is down, ladies; you can’t get a tan in the dark.”

  Domino said, “I don’t need one. Why aren’t you guys suited up?”

  “For what?” one of them said.

  “Swim party in the grotto. 1900. It’s a dry run familiarization drill. Alamo insists that anyone crewing the boat must know how to operate the dive door chamber in case of emergencies. We’re supposed to meet Alamo here.”

  Perrotte said, “We didn’t get the invite.”

  French said, “I’d feel a whole lot better if you guys were in the water with us. I barely know how to swim, let alone, dive.”

  Domino said, “I went through basic dive years ago and let my certification expire.”

  “What about you, Carole? Did you get dive certified?”

  “Fifteen pounds ago, before I had babies. I took the course to get medical certification and a promotion.” She showed them two fingers narrowed together. “I came this close to washing out…twice.”

  “What about LT?” Ted asked.

  “Haven’t seen her all day,” the women said in unison.

  Gates said, “Maybe Alamo wants to give you a refresher dive. It certainly won’t hurt to have you up to speed if you’re coming with us.”

  Domino’s eyes got big. “That fucked me up. We never go on ops. Do they issue cyanide capsules?”

  Carole said, “Would one of you guys please be my dive daddy.”

  “That’s up to Alamo. I think you’re using an excuse to inspire me.” Gates said.

  “That too, but I really need some one I can trust to have my six.”

  Perry’s hand went into the air. “Can do.”

  Carol dismissively rolled her eyes. “I’m afraid of the dive locker. Is it too much to ask for a teensy favor? Please?

  Alamo slipped from the darkness onto the patio. He wore a stone cold expression as he approached the group. “You ladies ready?”

  Perry answered. “Yes sir.”

  Alamo smirked and said, “I’m talking to the ladies, moron.”

  Carole said. “I can’t”

  Alamo said, “Your 201file says you can.”

  Carole said, “It’s been years since I qualled. We were asking your fine frogs to buddy us. Please?”

  Alamo frowned, “What about you, Domino?”

  “What’s it going to hurt? I could use a back-up, and I don’t trust French to have my back…sorry Carole.”

  Alamo looked at each of his men for a sign of ulterior motives. “Volunteers?”

  Four hands went into the air. Alamo hesitated. “Perrotte, Perry, make a night dive plan, and be at the grotto at 2100.”

  Ted saw a window to slip away to speak with Heather…privately. He wanted to know how bad their situation was with Alamo. He trotted the trail to the Blue Moon and slowed where he expected to find the marine sentry. The sentry was absent from his post. Just as well. He slipped past the resort lobby to the trail leading to hut four. Ted whispered Heather’s name before climbing the rickety stairs. He whispered again. No response. Where would she be at this hour?

  Ted turned on his mag lite and shined it into the room. The light spot-lit the bed. It was a shambles, thin sheets wadded, bedding pulled from the mattress. Her clothes were scattered about the bed. It was the kind of mess he left behind after making mad passionate love to her. Something wasn’t right. Had he been duped? Was Heather having a lark romance? Was she really Alamo’s private stock? Hadn’t he been warned by Domino? All he had was Heather’s word. Maybe she made it all up.

  He felt foolish and angry as he slipped out of the hut. He allowed himself to believe that he’d found the woman that could fill the dull void residing inside him. It was more than a let down, the end of a wild fling. He felt the humiliation, had a vision of her and Alamo laughing behind his back. It really pissed him off that she had led him on, making him feel needed in her life. A cycle of self loathing followed him down the hill.

  Ted found hope. Maybe she was at the grotto getting a refresher dive. That had to be it. He recalled Heather’s intense knowledge of every event in his life, her obsession. Confidence returned, and he couldn’t wait to get his eyes on her. Her face would speak to him. There was one other place to check before he met up with Perry to go to the grotto.

  The command center was back-lit with blue light from monitors. There were two geeks behind work stations. He casually asked, “Seen the LT around?”

  One of the techs spoke without turning around. “She was here a minute ago. I heard some banging around in the kitchen. I think you’ll find her back there.”

  “Anything going on?”

  “Not much. Alamo had us put in a remote to monitor the grotto. He’s giving the WO’s a real work out. French is definitely a two-ten-two. Now, Domino is gettin’ my bone up. Wanna see?”

  Ted ignored the salacious remark and walked to the kitchen door. There was a single light on over the sink. Heather darted away from the sink into the shadows. He heard her stern voice, a voice he didn’t recognize. It was pained and broken. “Stay out—Don’t come back here—I’m warning you.”

  It was the wrong thing to say to Ted. He saw blood on a rag in the sink. Heather had gone to the floor to cover herself. She was a wounded animal in mortal fear. “Go away,” she shouted.
>
  Ted flashed the mag lite on her face. She had a nose bleed and a swollen lip. The left side of her face had been pummeled and began to darken with bruising. Her eyes were red rimmed.

  “Who did this to you?” He knew, but wanted to hear it from her. His anger rose and he repeated himself.

  “Stop it, Ted. You’ll only make matters worse. Get away from me and stay away!”

  “I can’t let him get away with this.”

  “He got angry when I told him I loved you. He’s sorry, and he said it wouldn’t happen again. It was an accident, Ted. It has to be.”

  “No fuckin’ way.”

  “If you want to protect me, then stay away from me. Promise me you will. Think about where we are.”

  “What else did he do to you?”

  “Nothing, god dam it. Nothing—I want to keep it that way.”

  “You’re lying, Heather.”

  “He’s just hurt, that’s all.”

  “I’m having Gregory move you down here. You’re not safe where you are.”

  She nodded. “No one can find out. Please leave me alone. Go away Ted…now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Ted ignored Perry’s ramblings as he tried to sort out his own conflicted mind as they made their way to the grotto. The best advice he’d received was to stay out of Alamo Jones’ sights. It was a message delivered to him by Domino, Gates, Gregory, and Jones. Now he was hearing it from Heather. The fact that Jones beat a woman was enough to trigger Ted’s berserk button. He wasn’t sure he could restrain his desire to head slam Alamo. Heather’s history with the man was troubling, and he knew too much.

  Soldiers form unique bonds, combat veterans even more so, but SEALs wear each other’s skins. Nothing is personal or private. If the wife has a bad menstrual cycle, every man on the team knows about it, or thinks he does. If one is going through a divorce, the entire team has law degrees, and quarterback the smallest of details concerning the bitch in question. But, no SEAL ever has an affair with another SEAL’s woman, or so the myth goes. Being married to a SEAL is a cruel bargain, and few escape the hardship unscathed. Married or not, SEALs had women problems, either too many, not enough, or in between.