Stephen Coonts - Pirate Alley

The second hand swept up toward twelve. The man seated against the wall was moaning gently now, almost mindlessly. Penney wondered if he even realized he was making the noise.

Mustafa pointed the gun at Penney.

The captain closed his eyes. Took a deep breath, forced himself to exhale, relax. As Marjorie said, everyone has to die once. But only once.

He was standing there, his hands at his side, his eyes closed, when he heard the shot. He opened his eyes.

The man who had been moaning and sobbing was lying on his side with his eyes frozen, a smear of blood on his chest. His heart must have stopped instantly.

Mustafa picked up the handset. “Did you hear?”

He paused, then said, “In thirty minutes I shoot another one. Work quick, or I start shooting one every five minutes.”

* * *

Mustafa al-Said walked to the wing of the bridge and looked again at Chosin Reservoir and the Ospreys flying back and forth to a destroyer. Several more Ospreys were overhead, several thousand feet up. Two more destroyers … a helicopter.

He could feel the situation slipping out of his control. With the ship moving toward Eyl, which was only a couple of hours away, there was little the Americans could do to stop him. But here, dead in the water, drifting, the Americans had more options. Mustafa didn’t know exactly what they were, but he felt the threat-and he was worried.

His men were pirates, not soldiers. They wanted money and were willing to risk their lives to get it. But they weren’t willing to die for nothing. That was a hard fact. If pressed … well, if pressed hard, Mustafa didn’t know what they would do. Surrender, he suspected. A man could always go pirating another day.

They had already seen what the Americans could do. The pirate killed by a sniper after he shot a swimming passenger had been an object lesson. Mustafa wondered if any of his men could be induced to kill another passenger.

He stuffed another wad of khat in his mouth. The khat would keep his fingers from shaking.

* * *

Admiral Toad Tarkington believed the pirates would surrender rather than drown or be shot. He was acting upon that belief.

Toad, his chief of staff, Captain Haducek, and his ops officer had a plan, and they were busy telling everyone their part in it. People who jumped would be pulled into rafts. Anyone armed would be shot.

The pirates couldn’t fight it out. Shooting hostages would do no good. They would be in a real corner.

“Have the captains check out their loud-hailers,” Toad reminded Flip Haducek. “I want Somali speakers on those things.”

“Yessir.”

“We may have casualties,” Toad told his staff. “Passengers may jump into the water; we must be ready to rescue them. Innocent people may get shot. I know all that. Still, I think the benefit of rescuing these people and thwarting the pirates is worth the casualties, which we will do our very best to minimize. I want Recon marines to rappel onto that ship as soon as the pirates surrender. They are to check below deck for casualties and evacuate any wounded they find. Kill anyone who offers resistance.”

“Sir, Ward has its marines aboard.”

“Very good. Load up the Recon guys and let’s get this show under way.”

Colonel Zakhem had marines in helmets lining the flight deck walkways. Several platoons waited on deck behind the island for the flight deck to clear.

* * *

Watching the ships, Ospreys and helicopters through binoculars, Mustafa al-Said realized that the Americans were up to something, and whatever it was, it was going to happen soon.

He couldn’t shoot it out with the Americans. He couldn’t run. His only option was to threaten the hostages. He had serious misgivings, but no other options, so that is what he decided to do.

He gave terse orders. His men were to herd the passengers up on deck and line them up against the rails. They were to hide behind them, and shoot them if he gave the order.

Mustafa didn’t think it would work. He knew his men. Oh, they were perfectly willing to kill people, but they weren’t willing to die to win victory. After the hostages were dead, what then? The Americans would slaughter the pirates, and they all knew it. Still, maybe the Americans would chicken out. Maybe they didn’t have the stomach for blood.

He used the ship’s loudspeaker system to give the orders in Somali. In seconds he could hear shouts and screams and the sound of running feet.

This would work or it wouldn’t.

Mustafa had a man on the bridge take the two women out on the wing of the bridge and stand behind them. He grabbed the captain and led him to the other wing of the bridge. Jammed his rifle in his back.

* * *

USS Chosin Reservoir was a mile away from Sultan, making two knots, when a yeoman ran up to Toad on the flag bridge and handed him a message. Richard Ward was approaching the cruise ship from the other direction, which was bow on to her. Marines with rifles were all over the weather decks.

Toad took a deep breath, exhaled and glanced at the message. From Washington.

“Reference your message”-there was a date-time group-“notifying us of your plan to confront the pirates. Permission denied. Risks to noncombatants judged to be too great. Do not allow any of your vessels to approach within two miles of Sultan without permission from this headquarters. All flights to remain clear by at least two thousand yards.”

Toad Tarkington wadded up the message with one hand.

“Sir, lookouts report civilians are lining the rail of the cruise ship. Some pirates with weapons behind them.”

He could just ignore the order and proceed as if he never got it.

Even as he weighed it, he knew he wasn’t going to ignore a direct order from the National Command Authority. Wanted to … knew his plan would work …

God damn!

Haducek was standing beside him. “Tell the captain to veer off. Tell Ward to do the same. Tell them to take up station five miles on either flank of the cruise ship.”

“Jesus, Admiral. What-?”

Toad handed him the wadded-up message. “Just do it, Flip. Have the marines stand down.”

* * *

Mustafa heard the ringing of the engine room telephone as he watched the amphibious assault ship turn away and accelerate. Captain Penney heard it, too.

Penney wrenched himself from al-Said’s grasp and walked over to the phone. He grabbed it. “Captain.”

“Port aft pod has power. Use the bridge controls.”

“Thank you.”

Penney went to the power control station, advanced the power lever for the port aft engine, made sure the turn-rate controller was centered so he could see how much he would have to turn the engine to make the ship go straight. He felt the screw bite. Almost imperceptibly, but he felt it. Saw the RPM needle come off the peg.

* * *

“ Sultan is under way, sir.”

Toad bit his lip. Even with the ship under way, his show of force would have worked.

He took off his baseball cap and crushed it with his left hand. The flag lieutenant was standing a little distance away. Toad glanced at him. “I believe I’ll have a cup of coffee, Mr. Snodgrass.”

“Yes, sir.”

Afterward Snodgrass told his fellow officers, “You should have seen the old man. Ice water in his veins.”

ETHIOPIA, NOVEMBER 10

I settled myself into the earth and pulled the stock back into my shoulder, welding my cheek to the stock. The scope picture was right there, clear and crisp. I settled the crosshairs onto the target, a black circle inscribed on the side of a cardboard box with Magic Marker, and snicked off the safety.

The box was only two hundred yards out there. This rifle, a Sako TRG-42, was theoretically capable of putting a bullet into a one-inch circle at that range. No wind. If the shooter was capable of matching theory to practice.