Kevin Miller - Declared Hostile

Enrique, pants down around his ankles and sitting on the toilet, held a lighter flame to the end of his own joint and puffed. A terrific shock, accompanied by an ear-splitting boom, jolted him off the seat. His body bounced against the thin fiberglass of the head as toilet water splashed everywhere. Stunned and on all fours, he felt the boat pitch and roll out of control. His first thought was that Jorge had run into a floating log or some other piece of flotsam. Warm blood ran down Enrique’s forehead into his right eye socket, and he felt pain in his right knee. A loud screeeee emanated from the fantail, and he headed aft as the hull continued to roll. At the hatch opening, he recoiled in horror — the severed leg of Jorge lay on the steps.

Jorge!

Three of the four engines were burning. The one still running on the port side was chugging and bucking hard in its housing as it ate itself trying to provide horsepower to the propeller. Wide-eyed with fear, he stepped over his partner’s leg and entered the cockpit. Jorge was slumped motionless over the wheel, and his head and shoulders, peppered with shrapnel, formed a bloody mess that stopped abruptly where his back met the seat. The deck was awash with seawater as the boat turned to the right under the power of its one malfunctioning engine.

The heat from the fires, coupled with the gore of his partner’s body, drove Enrique over the side, but not before he grabbed a waterskiing vest for flotation. When he hit the water, he frantically backstroked away from the burning derelict.

The blood!

In his haste to get off the boat, he had forgotten he was bleeding heavily, and that fact filled him with more terror than seeing Jorge’s body in pieces. He jerked his head to the left and to the right in search of the shark fins he knew were only minutes away.

Then, he heard a strange noise. From the south and coming out of the sun, he saw a helicopter approaching. Rescue! He thanked God for his good fortune, and as the aircraft approached, he got into the vest, clipped it secure, and began to wave and shout.

“ Aqui! Aqui! ”

He watched the helicopter veer to the right and continue, not slowing down. It was a military helicopter, painted gray, and it appeared to be an American design. Yes, he had seen helicopters of this type flown by the American Coast Guard, but painted in the characteristic white and orange scheme. He splashed water up in the air to catch the pilot’s attention. As the helicopter flew past, he saw the pilot looking at him. And behind the pilot was a gunner — also looking at him.

As they approached the boat’s burning hulk, Lieutenant Todd keyed the ICS. “Thanks, Mark, I’ve got the aircraft.”

“You’ve got the aircraft,” Mark replied.

Todd now addressed the gunners behind him. “Guys, we are coming inbound for an assessment pass. Be ready to return fire. Bringing him down the right side.”

“Roger, sir,” Petty Officer Mike answered.

On the FLIR Mark saw movement. After a few seconds, he keyed the ICS. “Looks like we have a survivor.”

Todd lifted his visor and spotted splashing in the water near the hulk. “Oh, yeah, visual on the survivor. Don’t see any small arms. The boat looks like it’s toast.”

The aircraft slowed to 80 knots and stood off a few hundred yards from the still burning boat. Todd initiated an easy turn to the left as the crewmen circled their prey, assessing the situation. After verifying only one survivor, still splashing water in the air like a madman, Todd was satisfied.

“OK, guys, we’re going to reverse to the right. Petty Officer Jason, get ready.”

“Aye, sir.”

Rolling out of his right turn, Todd continued, “Target is one o’clock coming to two… Petty Officer Jason, your target is a single individual in the water next to the wreckage.”

“Tally, sir.”

“You are cleared to open fire. We’re gonna stay about 100 meters off.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Enrique was incensed. When are the fucking Yanquis going to rescue me! he thought.

He watched the helicopter circle lazily around him. Surely they had spotted him with all the water he was throwing into the air. He hated the Americans, hated their rich Coast Guard sailors who offered him clean bottled water and good food in their cookie-cutter blue uniforms — after they had boarded his go-fast boat five years ago. Yes, it was jealousy. They had so damn much, stealing resources and money as they did everywhere around the world. And the sailors looked down on him, including the women sailors in their blue coverall uniforms. That was an unbearable insult, and Enrique would one day avenge the dishonor. He could kill the weaklings with his bare hands, and given the opportunity after they rescued him, he would.

In the distance he saw the helicopter turn away from him. Turning away?

He couldn’t believe the helicopter was leaving him to die! That feeling quickly subsided when it turned around and flew back toward him. Finally, the cocksuckers! As the aircraft drew near, he scanned nervously for sharks. Hurry up, dammit!

He saw the aircraft approach, but it did not slow down. He could clearly see the pilot, and behind him, the gunner — with his gun pointed. With clarity Enrique saw what was going to happen…

The Yankees are going to shoot me like a dog!

In a frenzied state of terror, his hands worked to open the vest toggles. As he moved to duck underwater, he took a last look at the helicopter and realized it was too late.

Santa Maria! Ayudame!

Enrique Martinez’ last image was a flash from the side of the gray aircraft.

The M240 spit a stream of bullets that churned up the water around the man and covered him in spray. After two full seconds of fire the gunner stopped and watched for movement. From his left seat, Todd had to look across the cockpit to see the target.

“See any movement?”

“No, sir.”

“Roger, we’ll do another circle. Petty Officer Mike, you want some target practice?”

“Yes, sir!” the GAU-21 gunner crowed.

Todd reversed his turn to the left and answered, “OK, your target is the floating boat hulk. Mark, you’ve got the aircraft. Have a Tally?”

“I’ve got the aircraft. Tallyho.” Mark replied, taking the controls and keeping the turn in.

Todd kept control of the tactical situation. “Your target is nine o’clock coming to ten. Let’s stay off about 500 meters, Mark. Petty Officer Mike, call Tally.”

“Tally,” the gunner answered.

“Roger, open fire.”

A tongue of flame leapt from the 50 caliber barrel with a deafening chainsaw sound and cordite smell that filled the cabin. Splashes bloomed next to the hulk as the heavy rounds punched big holes in the fiberglass hull. The gunner fired several bursts, tearing the floating bow to pieces before it slipped below the waves.

Todd was back on the MIDS display as he keyed the mike to transmit to the E-2. “Tango Lima, Delta Charlie is splash-one complete. Standing by for steering to track one-one-eight-two.”

The E-2 rogered the transmission and sent Todd steering directions to his next assigned target, the trawler 40 miles south. He would need the three remaining Hellfires to sink this larger and heavier vessel, with the GAU and M240 to complete the job.

The Sierra accelerated as it turned southeast. It left behind floating pieces of fiberglass — and slicks of blood.

Stretched out on a lounge chair with his eyes shielded by his Wayfarer shades, Trench surveyed the scene at the resort pool. The college girls he had slept with last night were not out yet, and he wondered what he should do when they showed up. Play it cool and chivalrously buy them a drink at the cabana? Hug them as friends and spend some time before making an excuse to leave? Which one to hug first? Hug, hell, he was in bed with them six hours ago! Two of them — a first, even for Trench.