by FARMAN, ANDY
“I really don’t know what this is about, but if I were you I would get legal representation before I spoke a word to anyone, if you get my drift?”
Ray looked into his eyes and could see written upon them that contrary to what had just been said, this lieutenant had a pretty damn good idea about what was going on.
Nodding his thanks Ray first turned to the lance corporal with the handcuffs.
“Put those things away before I stick ‘em where they’ll smell!” He then turned to the first pair of RMPs, snatching back his I.D card and pointing a stiff digit at his interrogator.
“And in future, Lance Corporal, whenever you address a Warrant Officer you’ll stick a ‘Sir’ somewhere in the sentence, or I’ll drop kick you into the nearest empty cell…understood?”
There were few civilians out and about at the airport, but those who were present were all maintenance workers, only Heathrow catered to those few who still needed to travel by air. They had seen returning soldiers being escorted by the military police on a number of occasions and it had lost its novelty value by now, so the sight of Ray and the Guardsman being driven away to Her Majesty’s Military Corrective Training Centre at Colchester attracted little interest.
1 Mile east of Devils Island: French Guiana.
Twenty two gallons of water is shipped daily aboard the Juliett class submarine Dai when in the tropics and all of it as a result of condensation even when she is submerged, mainly in the bow where the hull was coolest. Captain Li knew this as it was one of the myriad of statistics associated with being captain. It was flushed out of the bilge each day after being measured.
No doubt one day a discrepancy in that amount would be the first clue to some mechanical fault.
He made a mental note to check on how much was in the bilge tomorrow because the whole crew were hushed as they listened to the sound of propellers approaching from the starboard side.
With the memory of the depth charging by the Brazilian frigate still fresh, even the coolest calmest crew members were already breaking into a sweat.
Dai was at 200 feet and moving forward at a bare three knots with all ancillary equipment shut down to minimise their audible profile, or Silent Running to the picture house audiences.
The quiet within the vessel served to magnify the sound of the approaching enemy corvette. The water being thrashed by the blades driving it towards them, louder and louder with each revolution of its propellers, the audible thump of the bow smashing through the waves along with the higher pitched whine from the ships twin screws was causing a nervous gesture here and there.
Eyes fixed on the starboard bulkheads and traced the sound, heads raising as it drew closer and louder, and then they were staring straight upwards as the corvette was overhead, the whine of the screws now almost as shrill as a dentist drill, their whole bodies braced and ready to flinch, but no warning call of depth charges hitting the water came from the sonar shack. The heads continue to follow the sound to port as it forged away, diminishing in volume as well as in threat, leaving a hundred sets of gratefully relaxing shoulders clad in sweat darkened shirts.
Li had no doubt that there were nervous eyes watching Bao’s bulkheads also, even though they had yet to suffer the character building and brown adrenaline producing experience of a depth charge attack.
Bao was off their port quarter and in the process of moving into position a quarter mile behind them as Dai aimed for the gap that lay between the three islands that formed an unequally sided triangle off the coast of French Guiana.
The submersible was still riding piggy-back as they edged closer to the islands, seeking both traditionally chain anchored mines and bottom seated magnetic mines.
The Juliett carried shortwave ultra-low frequency sonar that was first devised by a clever man in a shed as a means of avoiding reversing ones car into walls or other cars when parking. The invention was then stolen by an even cleverer lady who adapted it as a tool for ships and submarines to find sea mines without being overheard at a distance by the people who had planted them. China called its own pirated version the Mouse Roar.
For thirty minutes they cautiously closed on the notorious islands.
“There isn’t such a thing as a stealth mine is there?” whispered Jie who was now clad in black wet suit, and with his hands and features painted for war, daubed dark green, grey and brown with greasy waterproof camouflage paint.
“Thank you so much for inserting that seed of doubt.” The captain murmured. “But no, there is not.”
There was a long pause as the soldier thought about that.
“But if there was, we wouldn’t know about it would we, because they are stealthy, right?”
The captain glared at him.
Jie shrugged. “Just saying.”
They crept on in silence, feeling their way closer to the land.
Just as Li was beginning to think the French were very lax with their security an urgent voice declared otherwise.
“Conn, sonar…stationary object, range zero six five, bearing two nine nine…classify as anchored sea mine…conn sonar, stationary object range zero nine nine…bearing three one five, classify as anchored sea mine…conn, sonar…stationary object…”
“Both engines back slow together…!”
Already barely making headway the Dai lost way almost instantly and backed off from danger. Behind her the Bao did likewise as its hydrophones tracked the Juliett and heard the brief flurry, knowing what it must mean.
…all stop, helmsmen hold this position.”
He and the Exec studied the chart with Jie Huaiqing close by.
“Well we knew they probably had one and indeed they have, off our starboard quarter…” Li carefully marked the mines discovered by the Mouse Roar sonar. Li suspected that going active with their main search sonar would reveal a dense minefield and possibly one that also contained magnetic proximity mines.
“Bring us slowly up to sixty feet…raise ECM.”
They remained there for ten minutes with the ECM sensors listening to localised radio and microwave transmissions as well as feeling for radar energy.
The ECM board warrant officer swivelled in his seat.
“Captain, four brief bursts of microwave transmissions, all from landward and all digitally encrypted, otherwise the board is clear, no radar energy seaward or landward at this time.”
Jie looked at the chronometer above the chart table; it was set to Beijing time. He did a quick mental sum and smiled to himself.
“Exactly 7pm local time, five digitally encrypted transmissions…” he muttered and then raised his voice enough to address the ECM operator.
“Range and bearings?...I’ll bet the first and fifth transmissions were from the same point inland and the other three are spread out along the shore, back in the undergrowth somewhere?”
The two naval officers were watching him quizzically.
“Encrypted microwave transmissions of short duration, that’ll be from man-portable battlefield radio sets.” He enlightened them. “Radio checks on the hour to observation posts or patrols watching the beach.”
“Major?” responded ECM. “Approximate ranges only, based on signal strength…” he rattled off four sets of ranges and bearings which the captain marked on the chart.
“I think you were right Captain.” said the Exec. “If he’d gone to my school I’d definitely have bullied the smug, swatty bastard.”
Jie grinned, and noted the approximated locations whilst the captain stepped over to the periscopes.
“Raise ‘Search’.” It slid smoothly up and he grasped the handles before pressing his face against the eye shield, switching to lo-lite TV and swinging the device around through 360°, ‘Dancing with the Grey lady’ as it is known, his hand cranking the prism elevation upwards as he looked for aircraft as well as surface craft. After several revolutions he was satisfied they were in no immediate danger and turned to study the land.
During their journey north along the A
tlantic coast of South America Li had noted the twinkling lights on the shores of the neutral countries, Argentina, Uruguay and Brazil. In towns, cities and ports the lights blazed away, illuminating shipping to landward of the Dai, silhouetting them against that carefree absence of blackout regulations. It had been enough to make a grown predator weep, all that tonnage there for the sinking but being unable to do so without compromising the mission.
Here though, French Guiana was in total darkness, a sinister dark mass on the horizon.
He took a step backwards.
“Down ‘scope, lower the ECM, come left to two zero zero …port motor back slow, starboard motor ahead slow…now slow ahead together, helm amidships.”
Again they inched forward and Li stared hard at the chart as if trying to divine whether the French had also mined the deep water to seaward of the ancient volcano that Ile Diable and her two sisters sat atop of.
“I assume we know that there isn’t some kind of enemy position or listening post on those islands?” asked the Exec.
“It’s a bit late now to be worrying about that, but no, the islands are directly beneath the launch path of the rockets and were abandoned because of that…as our resident anorak on western health and safety laws can confirm?”
Captain Huaiqing’s blacked up face suddenly sprouted a set of pearly white teeth.
“Conn, sonar, sharp rise in the sea bed…six hundred feet… five fifty…five hundred….” The granite pinnacle arose steeply from the depths, its sides almost sheer in places.
“All stop.”
“Conn, sonar, Bao is matching us Captain.”
“Thank you” answered Li. “Raise the ECM… raise ‘Search’.”
Again the area was clear of detectable threats and as the periscope slid back down again Li looked at the chronometer.
“Half an hour to high tide Major, and there are no mines in the vicinity.” He turned and faced the soldier. “The French had a six hundred foot long cable car affair running from Royale to Devils Island as the tidal race is too fierce for boats in the channel so don’t hang about…and the very best of luck to you Major.” He held out his hand.
“Thank you for the excellent job of getting us here Captain, and whether or not we succeed I hope to see you on the dock in six hours.” The handshake was brief but firm and Li hoped it did not betray the guilt he felt.
If the troops failed to take the pads out of operation then he would not be seeing Jie or his men again. His orders on that count were precise, allowing no room for manoeuvre and were marked for his eyes only.
Four of the troopers entered the submersible through the after hatch and Jie Huaiqing with five men departed one at a time from the escape hatch just aft the conning tower to attach themselves to its outer hull.
The submersible’s batteries, motor and air supply had been tested regularly on their marathon journey from China, and its pilot ran through the start-up, instruments lighting up one at a time until the board was fully lit with green lights over ‘Air’, ‘Battery’, ‘Propulsion’ and ‘Manoeuvring’.
Jie rapped on the submersibles hull with his knifes hilt to signal they were all secured outside upon which the crew of the Dai heard the sound of the securing clamps releasing. The sound magnified by the water.
Once the Mouse Roar sonar showed the submersible was clear and entering the channel between the three small islands Dai remained in place knowing that Bao was launching her submersible too.
To their left, the south of the islands was almost certainly a continuance of the dense minefield but there was no need to seek it out now.
Li had been correct; the channel was the chink in the armour protecting the satellite launch facilities.
It took several minutes for the second special forces team to reach them and then pass into the channel also, after which the passive sonar told them Bao was moving back out to sea and Dai followed.
Major Huaiqing was attached to the casing of the small vessel by a rubberised carabiner and a firm grip on the foot and hand holds as he watched the submarine that had been ‘home’ for six weeks disappear into the ocean blackness. He gripped the regulator between his teeth, breathing calmly into his re-breather as he returned his gaze to the way ahead, where lay the channel between the small islands that had been more the gaoler of the prisoners incarcerated there than any gun totting prison guard. But surely he thought, they must have thought the risk worthwhile at such times as this when standing on the shore watching the maelstrom relent twice a day?
The submersibles spot lamps snapped on as the mouth of the channel approached to show rock walls covered by razor edged barnacles that would flay the living flesh from any unfortunate swimmer caught in the currents grip, and then he was startled by the black soulless eyes and evil, jagged fanged grin of a Tiger shark that entered the circle of light created by the spot lamps. It deferentially ignored the submersible that was larger than itself, and the Chinese troopers clinging to it like pilot fish.
That at least answered his question.
Beyond the channel his submersible ceased forward motion and held station awaiting the second submersible to emerge safely. It appeared after a little more than five minutes and turned north, to head parallel to the shoreline for fifteen miles.
The Captains submersible though came to a heading of 280° and continued for the shore.
An hour later the submersible settled to the bottom well short of the low water mark, its purpose fulfilled.
According to the ECM data they were now at worst about five hundred metres from a Foreign Legion O.P
Captain Huaiqing slipped out of the rebreather while still submerged but retained the weights belt about his waist for the moment to prevent bobbing to the surface. He partially emerged from the sea to lie in the surf with just passive night goggles and the muzzle of his French FAMAS assault rifle visible.
A downpour of tropical dimensions was pelting down from above raising a low lying haze of flying spray as the droplets burst upon impacting the sea and already sodden sand. It roared down, smiting the wide palm fronds like a constant drum roll. Even with PNGs, passive night goggles, the visibility was greatly reduced.
The beach was exactly as expected from both satellite photographs and tourists holiday snaps incorporated in the original briefing back in China.
Pale grey cadavers lay strewn and entangled upon the beach where storms had tossed them, their rigid bodies going brittle in the intense heat of the sun, in the seasons when it shone. These once proud trees did not hail from close hereabouts though. Overhanging the myriad rivers and waterways that drained the South American rainforest they had eventually succumbed to age or to undermining by flood waters, the rivers carried them away, out to sea eventually and thence to a timber cemetery such as this.
Once upon a time the shore had not been so crowded. Once it has been sun dried, the dead wood made excellent fuel for cooking fires at the many hamlets and fishing villages along the coast of French Guiana. The remains of the villages between Kourou and the border with Suriname were now as grey and lifeless as the trees on the beaches, the inhabitants moved on in the interests of un-burst eardrums, such was the thunder of the rocket launches.
Two men crawled slowly forwards, hesitating only once to peer at their commander.
Jie Huaiqing gave them a reassuring nod and they squirmed forwards through the sand, wasting no time looking for mines or trip wires. The scouts disappeared into the jungle lining the shore and separated, searching left and right for any waiting legionnaires manning OP’s or laying in ambush.
After a few minutes one returned to give the all clear and they all of them still in the shallows shed their weights belts, hoisted heavy, vacuum sealed bags and sprinted from the sea heedless of their footing.
Nobody with half a brain would waste mines on a beach where a few thousand heavy Leatherback turtles were going to be digging holes to lay their eggs.
Once in cover they stripped off the wet suits and opened the bags,
pulling on boots, camouflage clothing, weighty bergen’s and combat equipment.
Captain Huaiqing took a fat barrelled 7.62 calibre handgun from the bag. The Norinco Type 64 was purpose built for silent dirty work at greater distances than a sound suppressed 9mm. He looped a lanyard through the trigger guard and hung it suspended around his neck, tucking it out of sight down the inside of his smock.
Next Jie pulled on a green beret, setting it just so. He had practiced this many times in the dark onboard the Dai during the voyage.
The last item out of the waterproof bag was his map case. A French military map of the area and a wildlife reference book were squeezed inside. Expertly forged orders authorising their presence within the security compound were tucked inside the pages of the book, fastidiously clean and uncrumpled. A legionnaire may drag himself out of the jungle in rags with six months’ worth of beard, too weak to salute and no one will think the less of him, but to produce an illegible Ordres écrits? Unforgiveable! It was part of what made the legion different. Romantics continue to seek out the recruiters, and grizzled recruiters continue to sort out the romantics.
“Fools fight for idéaux, professionals fight for Orders!”
P.C Wren has a lot to answer for.
The orders are everything to the legionnaire, the romantic ideals, simply nothing.
In the wet and dripping jungle near the ocean the professionals of another country’s army adopt a veneer of that which defines a legionnaire for the purposes of subterfuge.
“Remember, any civilians we meet we treat with polite disdain and any army, navy, air force or marines encountered will be ignored as if they are a sub species, comprendre?” It would be completely out of character for a legionnaire to so much as greet a member of any countries military with any level of civility.
“Oui, mon Chef!”
He paused for a moment to hold the PNG’s to his eyes, looking them over and checking the prized Béret vert on their heads was sat correctly as any true legionnaires would be.
