Red Tide

by William C. Dietz

  “No,” Vos replied, “you won’t. The channel is 20 feet deep. And so’s the lagoon. Don’t waste time. Take her in.”

  Finster’s face was flushed. He wiped it with a rag. “This is my ship.”

  “For the moment.” Vos said. “But that could change. Do what I say.”

  Finster left the bridge and First Officer Loe appeared. He was a good looking young man, who, had it not been for the loss of a leg in a motorcycle accident when he was younger, would have been in the military. But Loe had a good prosthetic and was fully capable of executing his duties. He smiled and took command.

  The channel leading into the U-shaped lagoon had been dredged by the fishing company, and was, theoretically, the same depth as it had been before. But just to be safe Loe ordered his boatswain to lower a boat and lead the Alcona in. “Tell him to keep his eyes peeled for mines,” Vos suggested. “Who knows what the Chinese have been up to.”

  The international orange lifeboat had an inboard engine which produced a trail of gray smoke as it motored into the channel, paused to take soundings, then proceeded into the lagoon. The azure water was crystal clear, almost completely calm, and bordered by a thin band of white sand. A tattered flag flew from an aluminum pole that marked the complex of buildings.

  The first thing Vos noticed as the Alcona crept forward was the rusty wreck lying half submerged on the north side of the lagoon.

  The second thing that caught her eye were the orange mooring buoys which dotted the lagoon, all carefully spaced so that fishing boats could swing freely, regardless of what direction the wind blew from. That was an unexpected bonus because the buoys would allow the Pegs and Armindales to tie up rather than anchor.

  Last, but certainly not least, was the concrete quay where company’s reefer ships had docked. Could the Alcona do the same? Yes, of course she could. “Put her alongside the wharf,” Vos ordered, and watched approvingly as Loe took the single screw ship in. A tricky task in such cramped quarters.

  The yellow sun was hanging low in the sky by then, and barely visible through the overcast. Vos faced a decision. Should they unload the ship immediately, before assessing the buildings, or push the task off to morning? The Alcona is a sitting duck, Vos reasoned, and a sure sign that something’s going on. If we can turn her loose tonight we should.

  Finster didn’t like the navy officer’s decision, since it would require him to negotiate the channel at night, but Vos didn’t give a shit. She gave the necessary orders and it wasn’t long before the ship’s yellow crane was plucking blocks of cargo off the deck and depositing them on the quay.

  The first item to go across was a Yale gas-powered forklift, which immediately went to work moving pallets of supplies up a concrete path, and into the steel frame building. Chin’s job was to organize the generators, tools, cordage, ammo, food and other items.

  That left Vos free to inspect the rusty train tracks that led away from the water to a free-standing tin roof, where a fishing boat sat on a trolley awaiting repairs. A path led to the barracks beyond which, while in desperate need of a good cleaning, would offer those who were off duty a place to crash rather than sleep on their boats.

  The small building ajacent to the flag pole was clearly the office, and would serve Squadron 7 as such. Her radio crackled and Chief Becker spoke. “We have company, ma’am. Enemy drone at eleven o’clock.”

  There was still a bit of light to see by. And, as Vos looked up, there it was: a sizeable quadcopter, circling the island as it took pictures, feeding them to who knew where.

  Vos had no idea what model of UAV she was looking at. The Chinese had more than a hundred different makes and models. Nor did it matter. What mattered was that the Tor and C-RAM systems hadn’t arrived yet, which left Vos and her tiny command virtually defenseless. Yes, she could call for air support if attacked, but would it arrive in time?

  Vos held her right hand up with middle finger raised, and shouted: “Fuck you!”

  Some of her people were close enough to hear. They laughed and offered defiant gestures of their own. “Fuck you!” they yelled in unison, as the UAV banked away. The Allies had arrived.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Off the coast of Luzon, the Philippines

  Darkness had fallen, and lights twinkled in the distance, as a gentle swell caused the HMAS Rockhampton to heave. Off to port the HMAS Kalbarri was waiting as well. And further out to sea, the HMAS Eucia, and the Perth, were lurking in the gloom.

  Ryson knew that military operations rarely went off as planned, and that’s why there was some pad in the schedule. But the fact that the ferry had broken down, and been adrift for thirty minutes, had been cause for worry. Now the ferry was running again, and would arrive shortly.

  But what if something else happened? And the team lost even more time? That could force the patrol boats to run for Manado in full daylight. A prospect Ryson didn’t care for at all. But if he cancelled the raid, and the POWs were taken to China, Ryson would never forgive himself. So, the rescue was on. In the meantime, every minute carried the risk that a Philippine patrol boat would happen along, or a Chinese satellite would spot the intruders from space.

  Ten long minutes passed before the ET spoke over the intercom. “The Setiawati is five out and headed for the beach.”

  Ryson knew the tech was referring to the beach that fronted the village of Bagao. No pier or wharf was available. So the plan was to run the Setiawati up onto the beach, drop the bow ramp, and drive the vehicles off. If they arrived dry, good. If they didn’t, no problem. All of the vics (vehicles) had four-wheel drive, or in the case of the trucks, six-wheel drive.

  Once the commandos were ashore, another long wait would begin. I hope it will be boring, Ryson thought. Boring is a good thing.

  ***

  Aboard the ferry Setiawati just off the village of Bagao, the Philippines

  A Simba armored personnel carrier was going to lead the way, followed by the trucks, and a second Simba. Greer was riding in the second six-by-six, along with ten Australian commandos, all of whom were gunned up.

  In accordance with the Geneva Convention, Greer was wearing U.S. Navy camos and was armed with American weapons. Not that he would allow himself be captured. No fucking way.

  The ferry was going full tilt as it hit the beach and ran up onto the sand. The boat came to an abrupt stop, hydraulics whirred as the bow ramp went down, and the first Simba roared away.

  There was a short wait followed by a violent jerk as the driver of the second six-by-six let the clutch out too quickly and killed the engine. A torrent of friendly abuse was directed at the unfortunate driver: “Hey, Dickhead, learn to drive!” “What a fucking Drongo,” and “How am I supposed to sleep?”

  Greer grinned as the driver produced an equally profane torrent of words, and a sergeant told the commandos to zip it. Silence reigned.

  The back of the truck was covered which meant Greer couldn’t see out. But he could feel the truck bounce through potholes, slow for intersections, and make a sharp left-hand turn.

  The ride began to smooth out as the vic left town and made its way onto a highway. That’s when the driver ran through the gears and put his boot down. The forty-five-minute wait began. People handled the situation in different ways.

  Corporal Boyle went to sleep. A medic made changes to his kit. And a dull-eyed private sharpened his knife. It might have been Gallipoli in 1915, Korea in 1950, or Vietnam in 1965. Young men, their thoughts astray, waiting for the worst.

  Greer’s thoughts turned to the men they were hoping to rescue, the pilots who’d been killed, and a burning need for revenge. I want a carrier, Greer thought. And a plane.

  Greer closed his eyes but found he couldn’t sleep. Not behind enemy lines on a noisy truck. After forty minutes on the highway, Greer heard Captain Dancy’s voice via the plug in his ear. “All right men, we’re almost there. Check your weapons and remember your assignments. Oh, and don’t stop to pee. That means you Cooper.”

 
The comment produced gales of laughter just as it was supposed to. Greer hadn’t been briefed on the backstory, but grinned, and felt sorry for Cooper. No wonder they called him “the pisser.”

  Greer’s job was to lock onto Corporal Boyle, follow the noncom, and defend himself if necessary. Other than that Greer’s mission was to be present when the prisoners were freed, so they’d have a familiar face to look at. At that point he was supposed to lead the POWs out of the building to a waiting truck.

  Greer’s radio was tuned to the command frequency. So, he was a firsthand witness to what occurred next. “Cat-Four to Alpha-Six,” a female voice said. “It looks like a trap. Something like a hundred tangos are gathered around the main gate. Over.”

  Greer knew that Cat-Four was a UAV pilot located back in the states. She was flying an MQ-9 Reaper drone which, due to its range, wasn’t likely to make the return trip to Indonesia. Other drones had more range but were unarmed.

  There had been a leak somewhere. But from whom? Greer hoped to live long enough to find out. Even though the news came as a surprise, the possibility had been discussed, and Dancy had a plan. “Roger that, Cat-Four. Take them out. We’ll make our own gate. Over.”

  Cat-Four’s voice was devoid of emotion. “A Hellfire and a couple of 500-pound bombs should do the trick Alpha-Six. Warn your people and plug your ears. Over.”

  Dancy gave a warning as the truck veered to the left and bounced wildly. Then, just short of the razor wire topped fence, the driver braked. “Out! Out! Out!”

  Boyle bawled. “Make a hole in that fence Cooper … And be smart about it.”

  Greer heard a series of loud explosions as Cat-Four put some of her ordinance on the locals. Greer followed Boyle into the night. A search light snapped on and a shaft of light began to probe the prison grounds. That was accompanied by the rattle of gunfire as the remaining defenders fired in every direction.

  It took Cooper three minutes to place the charges and detonate them. The result was a ragged hole through which the commandos could pass so long as they were careful. “High step and mind your balls,” Boyle advised, as he led the way.

  Greer took the advice to heart, saw muzzle flashes off to the right, and realized that the surviving defenders were going to stay and fight. Prison guards were coming out to serve as reinforcements. Like generations of noncoms before him, Boyle shouted, “Follow me!” and ran straight at the enemy.

  Greer was lumbering along behind the Aussie, his M4 carbine at the ready, as defenders fired from the prison’s roof. It was Greer’s first experience with ground combat and he didn’t like it. The search light found Boyle and pinned him in its glare. Bullets threw divots of dirt up all around the corporal and knocked him down.

  Greer ran to help. The medic arrived seconds later, felt for a pulse, and shook his head. “He’s gone.”

  Greer took a quick look around, realized that Boyle’s team had gone to ground, and waved them forward. “Follow me!” And with that the pilot began to zigzag forward. The Australians followed.

  A second commando counter sniper team was at work by then, and the fire from the roof stopped, as the Aussie marksmen found their targets. Lieutenant Kapoor was shouting orders. “Bring the vehicles in! Establish a perimeter! Treat the wounded!”

  Greer heard the words, but his mind was focused on reaching the door to the prison, and the sand-bagged machine gun position in front of it. Muzzle flashes lit the area around the belt-fed weapon as it began to swivel their way. “RPG!” Greer shouted. “On the machine gun!”

  It was the correct order, but a projectile was already on the way by the time the pilot gave it. There was a flash, followed by a boom, and a series of secondary explosions as grenades went off. “Cooper!” Greer yelled. “Blow the door!”

  Cooper had to step over badly mangled bodies to access the door. The charge had been prepared prior to departure, and was ready for placement.

  Cooper backed away. “Fire in the hole!”

  The explosion was more modest than what Greer expected. And that made sense, since the purpose of the charge was to destroy the lock, not the door. Smoke swirled as Cooper hurried forward, gave the barrier a kick, and saw it swing open.

  A private named Pinder hurried to toss a smoke grenade through the opening. “Now!” Greer shouted as he entered the space beyond. Bodies were strewn all over the reception area’s floor. A casualty said something, raised a pistol, and paid the price.

  A metal door blocked their way at that point. But, thanks to Greer’s description of the barrier, Cooper was ready for the challenge. “Fire in the hole!”

  The explosion was larger this time, and not only destroyed the lock, but blew a hole through the door. There was no response from inside. And that made sense. The guards had been sent out to fight.

  With help from Pinder, Cooper managed to push the door aside, revealing the hellhole beyond. Nothing had changed since Greer’s previous visit. Cages were crammed with prisoners. The stench was sickening. Hundreds of eyes stared. Greer spoke over the command frequency. “This is Gun Daddy. We’re inside. Give me a sitrep. Can we turn the prisoners loose? Over.”

  Greer wanted to release the prisoners, knowing they would run every which way, causing Filipino soldiers to chase them. But turning them loose into the middle of a firefight would be a monstrous thing to do. So, Dancy had to make the call. “This is Alpha-Six. Let ‘em go. We’re in control out here. And you can bet your arse that reinforcements are on the way.”

  “Roger that,” Greer replied. “There are a lot of loose weapons lying around, so watch the people coming out. We’re going in after the pilots. Over.”

  Greer heard two clicks by way of a response. He turned to a corporal. “Cut the locks. Start at this end.”

  Two commandos, each armed with a pair of bolt cutters, went to work on both sides of the corridor. A cheer went up and the prisoners battled for positions in front of cell doors.

  Greer, M4 at the ready, led the rest of the squad down the central walkway to the cell where the pilots had been previously. His heart sank. Some terrified Filipinos were being held in the cage where the pilots had been confined.

  Had the aviators been taken to China? If so, Corporal Boyle had died for nothing. “Who speaks English?” Greer demanded. “Where are the American prisoners?”

  There was a stir as a man with a bloody bandage wrapped around his head pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “The guards took them.”

  “When?”

  The man shrugged. “They took my watch. Three, maybe four hours ago.”

  “Did the guards say where they were taking the prisoners?”

  The man shook his head. “No. But there are interrogation rooms in the basement. I would look there if I were you. Open the door and I’ll take you there.”

  A soldier carrying a bolt cutter arrived. Greer pointed to the padlock. “Cut it.”

  The lock rattled as it hit the floor and a cheer went up as prisoners pushed the door aside. There was a rush to get out. Greer half expected the man with the bandage to flee. But he didn’t. “Follow me,” the man said, and turned toward a door Greer had paid scant attention to during his prior visit. It was made of steel. A head-high, wire mesh window made it possible for jailers to see who was about to enter. Not surprisingly the door was locked. But Cooper was there to set a charge and trigger it. “Fire in the hole!”

  Greer spoke into his headset. “Gun Daddy to Alpha-Six. The prisoners were moved. We’re going to search the basement. Over.” Dancy offered two clicks by way of an acknowledgement.

  Hinges squealed as Greer pushed the door open. There were no defenders to block the way. Metal stairs led down. Greer followed them, turned into a switchback, and immediately took fire. A burly private shoved Greer aside, fired a shotgun, and nodded. “Sorry sir, but there’s a reason why we don’t put pilots on point.”

  Greer grinned. “Sorry, my bad.”

  Three commandos slipped past Greer. A dead guard lay sprawled on th
e floor, a pistol not far from his right hand. The man with the bandage paused to scoop the weapon up and Greer allowed him to keep it.

  Overhead lights led the way through a long corridor with rooms on both sides. Commandos checked them one by one. Then they paused. “This one is locked!” a private shouted.

  Greer was about to send for Cooper when the commando with the shotgun stepped forward. He shouted “Stand back in there!” and fired. The door gave. A second commando kicked it open. Greer entered. The aviators were standing with their backs to a wall. All three of them.

  Ames was on the left, Symons was in the middle, and Wix stood to the right. He was the first to speak. “Holy shit, it’s Gun Daddy!”

  Greer nodded. “That’s right Dickhead … Where’s the fifty-bucks you owe me?”

  Ames laughed and Symons began to sob. Wix gave him a hug. “Come on Drew, we’re going home.”

  ***

  Off the coast of Luzon, the Philippines

  Ryson was sitting on the Rockhampton’s bridge when the report came over the intercom, and all hell broke loose. “Two-three targets inbound! Repeat, two-three targets inbound. ETA three minutes!”

  Mike Christian, the Rockhampton’s skipper, was about to issue an order when a call came in over the radio. Ryson recognized Atworthy’s voice. “Seadog-Seven to all units … We have contact, repeat contact, with …”

  “Fire!” a lookout shouted, “at ten o’clock!”

  Ryson turned and saw that the lookout was correct. A low-lying fire was burning west of the Rockhampton’s position. The Eucia? Yes, it had to be. But what? How?

  The answers came quickly. “This is Six,” the Kalbarri’s skipper said. “We’re in contact with approximately six Jet skis. They’re carrying two men each—a driver plus an armed passenger. Engaging. Over.”

  By that time Ryson could hear the rhythmic thud, thud, thud, of the Kalbarri’s fifty caliber machines interspersed with automatic fire from the jet ski riders. After getting word of the attack on the prison someone in the Filipino chain of command had the good sense to wonder if the invaders had arrived by sea and dispatched a unit to investigate.