Joe Frye nodded. “So I can tell my commanders to let the troops off the leash then. Permanent hunting season, no bag limit. They’ll like that. The boys in the jungle down there have seen some pretty bad things and they’re aching for a chance to do something about it.”
The Ambassador gave a feral grin. “Indeed so. Our troops will hold the Christian towns and villages and teach them to defend themselves. Yours can start chasing the bad guys. And, Sir Martyn, we must all help you push hard against the terrorists operating across your borders.”
The feral grin grew more savage. “We’ve been pushed far enough. Its time for a Crusade.”
CHAPTER FIVE: MELEE
Molar Fishing Vessel “Karma “. South China Sea
The Karma appeared no different from hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Motor Fishing Vessels, the MFVs that plied the rich fishing ground of the South China Sea. The reefs and atolls were a fertile breeding area for enough different types of fish to keep an astounding large number of people alive and the most discerning gourmets satisfied.
Karma had a black hull, a large white eye painted each side so the ship could sec her way and a green superstructure aft. The bows reared high, the seas might be rich but they could also be treacherous. To make money fishing meant getting the catch home and that meant weathering storms. In the old days, Karma would have been a sailing ship and her hull design still had that legacy but she was a modern ship powered by a diesel. Karma was indeed almost identical to the MFVs, only she wasn’t one of them. She and her crew were pirates.
It had started over a year before, when Karma was still a relatively honest fisherman. It had been a bad cruise, the fish hadn’t been running and her hold was empty. Her captain had seen another fishing boat, on her way home, heavy in the water with a rich catch. Nobody could remember how they’d decided to do it but they’d boarded the other ship, thrown the crew over the side and watched them drown. Then they’d trans-shipped the cargo and opened the sea-cocks on their victim. She’d gone down quickly, just another casualty of the sea. They’d got a good price for the cargo as well, and it was a lot less work to take another ship’s cargo than catch their own. Soon, the Karma \s crew had almost forgotten how to fish.
Then, they’d been contacted by somebody who represented somebody else who then represented somebody else even further away. It was suggested that a mutually beneficial arrangement could be made. It suited somebody back along the chain to support the piracy and that support could make the career of a pirate much more profitable. They’d talked and the deal had been struck. The others gave the Karma guns to fight with and ammunition and a cheap navigation radar to spot their prey. In exchange, the Karma gave half her take to the people. Sometimes, they kept their victim afloat when the others wanted a ship and for that extra risk the rewards were generous. But, more than money, the Karma ‘s crew was now fighting for Islam as well and if they died, they would get the rewards of a holy warrior.
The radar had been showing a contact for some hours, probably not a fishing boat, its course and behavior was wrong. Very small though, perhaps a small craft in transit with a cargo between coastal villages. There was another possibility, one that made Captain Ismail lick his lips. It could be a pleasure yacht loaded with luxury goods. Even if they killed the occupants and sank the ship, the pickings would be good. There was another, thing that made the small contact an even more enticing prey, if it was a pleasure yacht, there could be women on board.
There she was. Small and white, almost certainly a yacht. He focused his binoculars on the craft. Prominent bridge forward, open area on top. Raked goalpost mast with a small radar on top at the rear of the bridge, still well forward. Chrome railings at the bow, catching and reflecting the sun. Long open area aft of the bridge with high sides and what appeared to be a seat aft and another set of chrome rails. There was a very faint trace of smoke, bluish, from that area. It was probably a barbecue and the occupants of the yacht were cooking a meal.
A luxury sports fishing vessel then, perhaps from Sydney or Melbourne or Darwin. And ripe for the plucking. Then a movement back on the bows caught his eye. Yes! There was a woman stretched out on the bows, sunbathing. That proved it, even without the blonde hair that had caught his eye. Asian women didn’t sunbathe, to have a suntan was the mark of the lower class, somebody who had to work in the hot sun instead of paying others to do it. They had to be Australian, ripe for the plucking indeed. Ismail signaled his helmsman to push the throttles on Karma forward, it was time to close in for the kill.
“Come on baby, come to momma.” Captain Vichai was watching the MFV pick up speed and close on him. His patrol craft had a lot better radar than she appeared to have and he’d been watching the MFV shadow them for some hours now. At first she’d looked like an honest MFV, but an honest MFV went with the fish, not with surface radar contacts. “Come on baby, Momma’s waiting.” Vichai had trained at the US Coast Guard Academy and he thought in American as often as Thai these days. Helped when working with Australians of course.
The MFV was less than a hundred meters away when she swung broadside to the pleasure craft. There was a crackle of rifle tire and a series of splashes in the water ahead of the yacht. The MFV wasn’t so very much bigger than the yacht, in fact the two craft were probably about the same length, but the rifle fire had been designed to give the intimidation power Karma lacked in size. Vichai glanced forward, up on the bows, Lillee had rolled off her couch and was now huddled behind the armor plate for protection. “GO” he yelled. On the gun-deck aft, his chief kicked a retaining latch and the sides of the yacht flew open. Flew was the right word, they were spring-loaded and it would take four strong men to return them to the “conceal” position.
What they revealed was a pirate’s worst nightmare, a 35 millimeter BOER. Made by Bharat Ordnance under license from the Swiss Oerlikon company. It was a single mount, self-contained and powered by a diesel generator. The yacht, or to use her proper name PCQ-83, had been specially reinforced to carry the gun and now she justified the investment. In theory, the BOER hurled 900 rounds a minute, in reality her 112 round magazines limited that to a much lower sustained figure.
It didn’t matter because the effect of the seven-second burst on Karma was catastrophic. The magazine was loaded with alternating rounds, one high explosive, the next armor-piercing incendiary and they tore the ship’s heart out. The gunner had started on the engine room, the armor-piercing shells ripping into the machinery and shattering the cylinder block of the big diesel. The explosive shells tore apart the fuel feed system spraying raw diesel into the air. Diesel doesn’t burn easily, but sprayed in a fine mist into the air and then lashed with incendiary ammunition, it catches fire well enough. Within a second the engine room was an inferno.