Mischief Island

by Robert Lance

  “Live with it. The point of the exercise was to sort the guppies from the fish. Domino did fine. WO French panicked, and that was something to find out before we go operational.” Alamo scanned the faces to see if his summation passed muster. “It’s unfortunate that we were caught unaware when an unidentified vessel entered the zone. We can’t afford discovery of our presence before we even start. I wasn’t worried about Perrotte. He’s trained to adapt.”

  Willer spoke up. “I beg to differ. We had to surface anyway. We could have picked your divers without incident.”

  “I don’t share your confidence, Wayne. Chinese fast boats are sophisticated. We do not need to needlessly engage them in our waters. This mission is too critical to our national defense.”

  Fitzgerald fumed. “Did I hear you say needless? What the fuck does that mean? We left two divers in the water. That’s what I call needless.”

  “Stand down, Fitzgerald. I didn’t like it any better than you did. We didn’t have the option of running a SAR. Master Chief Perrotte has been dick dunked so many times this should’ve been a piece of cake for him.”

  A dick dunk was a surprise training scenario when a SEAL was taken from his bed in the dead of night, given minimal tools, and dropped in remote sites anywhere in the world. It was up to the SEAL to evade and escape in hostile operating zones and report back for duty. It gave the SEAL an edge to every skill he possessed and then some. Master Chief Perrotte was the dick dumped maestro of SEAL Team Four.

  “Change of plans and a heads-up. We’re not alone here. That fast boat we encountered is most likely a smuggler supplying a rebel cell operating in our immediate area—.”

  “Abu Sayyaf?”

  “Probably. I want eyes and ears on the staff and the locals. Having said that, we’re going operational as of now. Briefing at 1400, planning at 1600 and launch at 2000. Questions?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Ted swung by Carole’s room to check in on her. Domino answered the door. Ted said, “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll come back later.”

  “No, you better come in. She’s babbling shit that’s going to get us in more trouble.”

  “How is she?”

  “Sick. Throwing up and on the toilet.”

  “I’ll come back later.”

  “Get your ass in here and talk to her. I can’t. Besides, I’ve got to do my nails before we go out.”

  “You okay? I mean are you okay to go out?”

  “I gotta say this is the most exciting thing I’ve ever done, which makes me gung-ho as hell.” She gave him a high five and stepped past him.

  Carol was sitting up in bed. She was wearing a beach wrap over her underwear, pale and frail. Too sick to care, she waved Ted to a chair beside her bed.

  Ted couldn’t rule out that Alamo had every intention of murdering Carole. He needed to unravel any hidden malice lying below the surface. Carole seemed to believe that was his motive. Ted asked, “Carole, you said Alamo tried to drown you. That’s a major accusation. Maybe you panicked.” It was a statement intended to dampen the tension.

  She shook her head vigorously. “I didn’t panic. I swear I didn’t. I know how to tow, and it was all I could do to hang on. He was flipping like he wanted to shake me off. Suddenly he reached back and pulled my Draeger out of my mouth and pushed me away. I reached for my octopus and used the spare regulator and tried to surface. He grabbed my fin and pulled me down.”

  “Sounds like you panicked.”

  “I didn’t. He made me flip until I couldn’t anymore. When we reached shore, I tried to surface, and he attacked me. I couldn’t fight him. I swear to God I’m telling the truth.”

  “Is there bad blood between you?”

  She began to weep and used her hands to hide her face. “No. No. Alamo and I are very tight and always have been. He always counted on me to do work-up simulations when he was going out on an op.”

  “Did you have an affair with him?”

  “Hell no. I’m not his type; too chubby. I’m Sweet Pea to him.”

  “Have you ever seen him lose it? I mean, get out of control?”

  “All of you crazy bastards are insanely brutal towards each other. I don’t get all the fraternal horseshit. It’s almost queer, ya know.”

  “What about his personal life? Has he ever confided in you, maybe said something that he might regret?”

  “Nope. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know about his reputation with women.”

  “Anyone specifically?”

  “I sorta know what you’re asking. I worked the intel shop with Lt. Cummins for three years. Between you and me, I think she’s a dyke. Always brushing off men, goes home alone, never has a boyfriend. Come to think about it, Alamo came around once in awhile, always hitting on her, snooping into her biz, asking us real personal questions. Fuckin’ guy can’t take no for an answer.”

  “Why did he by-name request her?”

  “Are you joking? Lt. Cummins is the Far East guru in the intel world. Other than that, I think he wants to get in her pants. You’ve worked with her before. You can’t be in theatre and not.”

  He said, “We don’t usually face to face with you guys, especially officers.”

  “We’re dead flies.” She chuckled for the first time. “Geeks and heroes don’t mix.”

  “It’s not a good idea for operators and intel to compare notes during spring break.”

  She cocked her head and looked suspiciously at him. “What’s LT got to do with Alamo trying to drown me?”

  “I thought you might know what caused him to go ballistic. Carole, it gets edgy in the field, and below standard performance is not tolerated. Maybe he forgot you’re not a SEAL.”

  “Good try, Perrotte. Hold that thought. I gotta go to the toilet.”

  He stood up and attempted to help her out of bed. She pushed him away. She groaned. “I keep having brown showers. That’s enough to make me vomit.”

  “You took in a lot of sea water.”

  “Tami keeps shoving rice at me with some native potion.”

  “Who’s Tami?”

  “The maid. Can you believe it, I have a maid? She’s like Ramon’s little sister.” She grunted and stumbled. “Do you mind waiting outside? I mean outside. I want to talk if you can spare the time.”

  “I can’t be long.”

  “It’s important. Leave the door open.”

  Ted didn’t know Carole from Eve, but he was convinced she was telling the truth as she knew it. Whether it was true or not, he needed to put a lid on a volatile situation. It was a lot to ask two women who had been abused by their superior in less than twenty- four hours, to keep silent. He was constructing words to float when Carole called for him.

  She was back in her bed, looking no better off. She started where she left off. “You know Alamo’s married, right? Do you know anything about his wife?”

  Ted shrugged and said, “Daughter of the admiralty type. I don’t run in that circle.”

  “More like whore of the admiralty. She was screwing a guy in my DET, a bleeding heart shoe clerk, but he was always telling bedtime stories about Alamo. Spousal abuse shit. BFD and none of my business. I believe it now. He also said Alamo got passed over for promotion because of something like that—Wait, I’m not finished. You said something that got me thinking. Why does Tami refer to LT as Mrs. Alamo?”

  It alarmed Ted, but he shrugged as if it wasn’t important. “Who knows?”

  “Everyone knows you and LT sorta jumped the broom, but she’s shacked up with Alamo. I’m warning you, Ted. I pissed him off, and look what happened to me. You really pissed him off and I think he tried to murder both of us. I’m serious.”

  Ted didn’t like her choice of words. “What makes you think she’s shacked up?”

  “Tami works both places.”

  “All the more reason for you to keep your cool. It’ll blow over.” He looked at his watch to divert his mood change. “I’ve got to go.”

  “On
e more thing. I’m an intel spook, so I’m naturally bonkers, but I’ve got vibes. Tami keeps saying she wants me to get well enough to leave. Are we going somewhere? I don’t think so, but she does and she’s afraid.”

  “Eat your rice. I’ll check in on you later.”

  Ted spotted Master Chief Gregory leisurely walking toward the pig pit where the staff was preparing the pit for the next roast. He caught up to him. “What’s up Master Chief?” he casually said.

  “Notice any thing strange, Perrotte?”

  Ted shrugged.

  “The natives are restless. No men around. Sorta like Afghanistan when the Mujahedeen are in the area.”

  Ted nodded his head. “Last night we bumped into a smuggling operation north of here, about ten klicks. We believe Abu Sayyaf has a cell in the area. I suggested we let Admiral Salinas have his Marines check it out, but Alamo vetoed the idea. He doesn’t want to bring attention to the area.”

  The Master Chief grumbled. “Yeah I heard. Live and let live bullshit.”

  “There’s something else on my mind.”

  “Let me guess. Something about Lt. Cummins trip and fall accident? Doesn’t add up. Mata Hari has made her own bed. You should stay out of it.”

  “I thought we could avoid—.”

  “I thought so too and told Alamo we need to circle the wagons tighter but he told me to mind my own business. He pulled the sentry post from the Blue Moon. After thirty years in this man’s navy I’ve learned officers fuck each other by a different standard than we do. Wanna get your head taken off? Get in the middle of it. LT can put a stop to it anytime she wants.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  Gregory gave him a knowing look. “There are some women who thrive on two men fighting over them. Seen it too many times before the mast. I’ll keep an eye on it. You get your own business done.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Alamo Jones presided over the 1400 brief. The crew, SEALS, and intel personnel were crammed into the planning room, a portion of the restaurant cordoned for that purpose. Heather was conspicuously absent.

  Alamo looked at his watch and frowned. “Anyone seen Lt. Cummins?”

  A voice floated from the back. “She’s back here in the kitchen, doing a final work up.”

  “Okay, let’s get started.” He pointed to a monitor screen that displayed Mischief Island. “We’re going into uncharted waters, and I mean uncharted. This view is only representative of our target zone. My original plan was to sector survey an approach to put operators on target. That’s changed. This mission is a sneak and peek.”

  He zoomed the visual to two structures. “These two buildings are exactly like the missile launcher barns at China’s Yulin naval base. Our mission tonight is to checkout the contents of these two buildings and any others like them. The secondary mission is to update the progress of the Chinese on Mischief Island. You people in the intel DET will have plenty of work to do.”

  He turned his attention to the SEALs. “If you can’t sneak, abort and worm back to the rally point. Under no circumstance can we allow the Chinese know we’re on to them. Abort, and we’ll try again. Is that clear?”

  Every man answered firmly. Alamo laid out the approach, the landing, and the exfil. He ended his lecture with a caution. “This is all presumptive, and we’ll do a real-time evaluation from the platform on the Ghost. The plan is subject to change but not without individual confirmation. No confirmation, we abort. All of us.” Alamo nodded to a reedy man sitting in the front row. “IS One, Hartman will brief the threat analysis.”

  The thin man, wearing a bright native barong, stood up. Alamo quipped, “Nice shirt, Petty Officer Hartman.”

  The young man squeamishly shied at the laughs and had a ha-ha to himself. He began, “Like Alamo said, our evaluation is outdated. Based on what we see, Mischief Island is heavily populated with specialty structures, electric generating facility, water plant, concrete plant, dock, barges, cranes, and so on. There is little space to house a garrison and the work force to manage the island. You’re more likely to encounter technicians going about their duties. That’s not to say a military garrison is not housed on barges or ships in the lagoon.” Hartman identified each structure and its purpose. When it came to the missile barns, he took them apart beam by beam and screw by screw. Then he provided hand held tools the SEALs could use to unbutton panels. “Button them back up when you’re done,” he admonished. He turned the brief over to Lt. Cummins.

  Heather ditched the hat, but kept the sunglasses on. Her body language was all about business. Two techs laid out black electronics on a table in front of her. “What we’re going to attempt on this mission is to maximize our intel, but I will make a caveat here. Nothing I’m asking is written in stone. Follow Commander Jones’ order to the letter.”

  Perry interrupted. “Who the hell is Commander Jones?”

  Alamo, relaxed in the front row, put his hand up. “I’ve been promoted, but the orders haven’t come through yet.” The room filled with hearty yelps and congratulations. “You people keep your pants up; maybe I’ll be able to keep it. Continue Lieutenant.” The room instantly became subdued.

  Heather cleared her throat. “We’re completely off the grid out here. We have the ability to get in the face of our adversary, smell his breath without him knowing it. Our platform is the Ghost, where WO Diamato will uplink directly to this facility so we as a team can react accordingly. Valuable intel will be encoded, encrypted, and vaporized.

  “Specifically, we need to know what’s under the barn roof. If you get visual, remember what you saw and don’t depend on what the gizmos are reporting. Ideally, we need a picture of every square inch of Mischief Island ten days ago. Our concentration is on the barns.”

  She held up a black device that attached to the nonstandard MP-5 that the SEALs would carry into combat. “This device is optic and audio. It records everything you see through your scope. It data stamps time, GPS location, and sends it to Domino. It’s sensitive and limited, so don’t be surprised if she asks you to re-send.”

  Fitzgerald broke in. “I’m to understand our C and C is the Ghost, so I assume our ops center is in the same hostile environment we’re in. Isn’t that risky? Where’s Alamo during all this?”

  Alamo spoke. “I’ll be on board. The fire control system is linked into Domino’s station. If we run into trouble, it’s manageable.”

  Fitzgerald fired back. “Maybe for you it is. What happens if the enemy gets a hold of one of the devices?”

  “Good point, David,” Heather said. “There is an erase mode that you can toggle or that we can remotely deactivate. Don’t drop your weapon.”

  She went on to the next topic. “If you can’t get physical access into the barns, There’s a snake with a cutting head that can auger a distance of fifteen feet. It will put a bug under most foundations. It’s heavy, so I suggest you preposition it and use it if needed. Please bring it home with you.”

  She spent time going over tactical and comm protocols with the team. She ended her brief by putting odd looking foot wear on the table. She said to the curious faces. “We’re leaving nothing but foot prints behind, but they need to be smaller. These clamp to the bottom of your combat boots. They leave indentations common to Chinese laborers foot wear. You might want to try them on and get used to walking with them.”

  Heather was gracious, but succinct with follow-on questions. She retired to the kitchen without so much as a goodbye or good luck.

  The dull thud of rain tap, tap, tapped on the overgrowth as the team headed out to the grotto to commence their mission. Gates wasn’t happy. He felt hobbled by the Chinese work boots. “These fuckin’ boots. I feel like a thirteen year old girl wearing her mother’s high heels.”

  “Me too,” said Perrotte. “This is someone’s bad idea of a good idea. How are we expected to haul ass wearing ballet slippers?”

  Alamo said, “Just one time I’d like for you guys to say, ‘Hey Alamo, what a gre
at fuckin’ idea.’ Hopefully this will be the only time we’ll need them. Discard them if you think you’re in trouble.”

  Gates said, “I’m in trouble. How about now? The rain and wind will cover over our footprints in the sand.”

  Alamo said, “It’s like finding a raccoon track imbedded in a bear track. Nobody is going to recognize the bear footprint.”

  “Yeah, in theory.” Perrote said. “You forgot that’s these are very long strides for a raccoon.”

  “Take smaller steps.”

  The team joked back and forth as they entered the opening to the grotto. The Ghost’s sleek lines were something none of them had adjusted to. Each of them muttered an astonished tribute when they caught sight of her, seething with action, like a heavy weight boxer getting a rub down before the big bout. The civilian techs were busy doing their final checks. Domino was sitting on the stern, taking it all in.

  Alamo called out to her. “Hey String Bean, you up and running yet?”

  “All set. I’ve got goose bumps bigger than the wart on Perry’s nose. All systems are up.” Slinky put his head through the door and said, “Waitin’ on you.” No sooner had the last man stepped on the fantail when the electric motors began to pull the Ghost from its nest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The weather was great for stealth operations, drizzle, limited visibility, and darkness. It was pointless to put the Kitty Hawk in flight as the light weight drone was fragile in heavy weather. If its remote signal was lost, Beetle would have a difficult time recovering it before it crashed.

  They cruised into the open sea lanes at the same speed as other ships transiting the South China Sea. Willer zig-zagged the first twenty kilometers. The Ghost had an extremely low radar signature. The cavitating propulsion of the two jet engines was unique in that it created bubbles that the Ghost rode upon, an air ride skimming the surface. For sonar to detect action of the propulsion required, two active sonar devices correlated on the same target, and the resulting image would be nothing more than dolphins breaking the surface. Still, there was no point in attracting attention.