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.