“Ours is but to do or die. Yes, I know, Bob. A fitting quote for us naval men at sea,” the commander grinned. He then came to a decision. “However, inform COMOPS we have a possible Russian contact and are pursuing. If negative we’ll disengage and head for the Falklands.”
“Aye, Captain,” the XO replied.
The captain turned to his helmsman.
“Right, standard rudder. Course two-seven-zero. Full ahead. Make your depth 300.”
HMS Ambush patrolled the seas for several hours where they thought the faint hostile signal might have come from. They met no further contact and Captain Curtis eventually gave the order to change course for the Falklands.
15
As Ryder and his group drew out into the open waters of the lake, the sails and masts creaking, the wind dropped dramatically and reduced their speed to less than five knots. At that rate he feared it would be daybreak before they reached the top end of the lake. To make matters worse, what little wind they did have was a headwind, making it necessary to tack continuously to gain any sort of headway. Everyone, including Grace, worked hard to get every ounce of speed out of the sails. Ryder prayed the wind would not drop altogether. To be left exposed and unable to move come daylight could prove disastrous.
The hours passed as they slowly beat their way up the wide crescent-shaped lake with no sign of a freshening wind. Eventually light began to percolate over the mountains, silhouetted on the starboard side, throwing a pale orange glow across the still waters. Checking the GPS, together with the map, the group agreed that they were now within four klicks of the intended landing point. If only the wind would freshen, they could be there in less than an hour.
The sun peeked out over the mountain ridge, bathing the whole lake in a soft light, unmasking other sail boats on the water closer to the shore. Through the early morning haze, Ryder studied the boats fishing well away, busily hauling in nets and paying no attention to the lugger in the middle. He swung his binoculars back down the lake and suddenly froze.
“Steamer!”
They all turned and focused on the murky outline not far away in the distance. A dark column of smoke billowed from a tall central funnel.
Was this the result of taking the lugger or just a coincidence? Either way could mean trouble. They were about to find out. “Spread out – look busy. They’re either gonna pass close or board,” said Ryder, praying for the former. “Make sure your pistols are handy.”
They moved away to take up vantage points on the deck and tried to look busy. Ryder prepared for the worst.
The steamer kept coming. Eventually the squat, low-sided craft came up parallel to the lugger, with only yards between them. Then, to everyone’s relief, it continued on. Ryder waved as they watched the steamer draw away, the lugger bobbing in its wake on the windless lake. The steamer was loaded on deck with logs, but ominously there were also five green-uniformed, armed soldiers lounging against the logs with a man at the wheel in the small cabin, all scrutinizing the fishing boat and occupants as it passed.
But jubilation quickly disappeared when the steamer, now several hundred yards in front, suddenly began to turn and head back. There could be little doubt something had interested them and now they were probably going to board.
The knot in Ryder’s stomach tightened, but a cold calmness followed as he firmly gripped the butt of his pistol. “The bastards are going to board. Prepare yourselves.”
The others spread out amongst the pots and nets ready to dive for cover should trouble begin. Their hands gripped pistols hidden beneath their clothes. Grace, in the wheelhouse, nervously clutched the handle of her SIG tucked in a side pocket and waited. She did not want to die, but if it was her time, she would go down fighting.
The steamer approached, slued around and drew up alongside the lugger. A soldier jumped aboard, AK-47 slung over his shoulder, whilst the other soldiers looked on with curiosity. The man turned to Chol, the nearest, and asked to see ID papers. He handed them over and waited, looking calm. The soldier carefully studied the papers, looked him steadily in the eye, then handed them back. He moved to Ryder, who kept his head down when asked to show his papers, praying his disguise would work. He handed them over and confirmed he was the captain when questioned and hoped he would not have to produce proof.
Thankfully the Korean handed the papers back, turned to the wheelhouse and rested his eyes appreciatively on Grace. He looked her up and down for a long moment clearly admiring what he saw and then stepped into the small cabin.
“Papers,” he demanded, holding out a hand.
Grace handed them over. He was uncomfortably close and she could smell his pungent odour. He studied the papers, then said, “I have a cousin who lives in Sinhung. Where are you from in Sinhung?” He was fishing for a slip-up, but, thankfully, Grace had been through the town and had the place well covered from the briefings.
“Chong Road.”
“What district?”
“Second Administration.”
“You work in munitions?”
“No, the chemical factory.”
He seemed satisfied, but Grace could tell he had something else on his mind. She gripped the handle of the pistol in her pocket. Then, without warning, he reached out and fondled her breasts, then pushed her against the cabin wall, groping at the rest of her body. For a few seconds Grace froze until she felt his hands attempting to pull down her trousers. In a panic, she squeezed the trigger of the SIG. A muffled explosion filled the cabin and the soldier slumped to the deck, blood flowing from a hole in his stomach.
In the meantime, Ryder had edged his way from the bow to the wheelhouse, looked in and saw Grace, panic-stricken, backed up against the wall. Quickly entering, he saw the soldier writhing on the deck and reaching for his side holster. Ryder drew his pistol, silencer attached, and shot the man through the head, praying the solid wall at the rear of the wheelhouse prevented anyone on the steamer from seeing or hearing what had just happened.
The soldiers on the steamer shouted for their colleague to come out of the wheelhouse.
Suddenly, at that moment, the wind improved with strong gusts billowing the sails, propelling the lugger forward at such a speed that it took everyone by surprise.
In those vital few seconds, the steamer fell slightly astern. Ryder, knowing there could be no turning back now and with no time to tell the others what had happened, shot out of the wheelhouse, pistol raised and fired at the soldiers by the logs. Song, Bom and Chol, although taken by surprise, did not hesitate to follow suit and the joint fusillade took out all four men on the steamer before they knew what had hit them.
Ryder levelled his pistol as best he could in the bobbing craft at the man frozen with fear in the steamer’s wheelhouse, now more than ten yards off the lugger’s stern. He let loose almost half a clip before finally, and luckily, dropping him through the shattered wheelhouse screen. The whole episode was over in a matter of seconds.
The sail boat drew swiftly away from the steamer, cutting smoothly through the steel grey waters under a fifteen knot following wind. Ryder entered the wheelhouse, almost stumbling over the dead soldier, as he looked at Grace still in shock against the wall. He took the wheel, steadied the lugger and then turned his attention to a shivering Grace. He said nothing to her, just held her gently, understanding the trauma she had just experienced. Grace broke down and sobbed.