back to the control unit, glad that
he wasn’t going to be out there paddling in the Russian Arctic.
* * *
With the Carrickfergus’s barge deck lowered, twin Zodiac FC470
boats were launched simultaneously. The black inflatable boats each
carried 10 mercenaries, making for a total of a 20-man assault force.
They were going in light, but it had been decided that sailing the
Carrickfergus into the cove could end catastrophically if the enemy
had another ambush prepared. Better to go in with the Zodiacs while
their mothership cut off entry and exit from the narrow channel.
The coxswain of each Zodiac steered the gas-powered engine,
taking them on a slow approach through the mouth of the cove. At the
head of each boat was a PKM machine gunner, ready to lay down some
cyclic fire if the need arose. The riflemen sat on the sides of the
Zodiacs, their eyes darting around, looking for targets. Rocky cliffs
lurched by on both sides of the mercenaries as the Zodiacs slipped
into the cove. Coxswains eased them around drifting sheets of ice.
Deckard looked up as Cody’s drone buzzed overhead like a giant
paper airplane. As expected, the terrain was barren, devoid of life.
Out this far, the only sort of person you ever saw on land was the
occasional impoverished Russian searching for and digging up mammoth
tusks for sale on the black market.
As the rubber boats edged around the rocks and ice, the
submarine graveyard came into view. The aquamarine waters parted as
the boats churned forward, revealing dozens of dark red and brown
rusted submarine hulls dead ahead.
Back in Tampa, SCOPE had done some analysis and determined that
most of the decaying husks were Tango-class attack submarines. Now
they were just fading vestiges of the Cold War, abandoned in a
forgotten corner of the globe.
The PKM gunner at the head of the Zodiac shifted, the black
barrel of his weapon sweeping across the submarines as he scanned for
signs of the enemy. The subs were in a state of obvious disarray,
some lying on their side, half in the water and half out of it.
Beyond the tangle of rusting metal was a dock and large industrial
crane.
“Six, this is Fapper-1.” Cody’s voice came over the command
net. “I just lost the drone, over.”
“What does that mean?” Deckard hissed in response.
“It had plenty of loiter time left. All of a sudden the engine
went down and it began to go into a spin. Then the video cut out. I
don’t know what went wrong. It could have been a gust of wind,
over.”
“Catch anything on video before it went down?”
“SHIT,” Cody cursed, his Tourette’s acting up again. “No,
nothing.”
Deckard wasn't about to abort the mission just because the drone
went down. They had gotten some good situational awareness from its
surveillance feed before the UAV crashed, at least. Now they had to
get in there and do the grunt work.
Once they were a hundred meters away, Deckard radioed to
Fedorchenko in the other Zodiac.
“Do you see any signs of the enemy ship?”
The Kazakh platoon sergeant turned and looked at him from the
other boat, which was cruising 10 meters off their right flank. His
dark eyes were wide as they drilled into Deckard. He shook his head
in reply.
“Carrickfergus,” Deckard said as he bumped up radio
channels from the assault net to the command net. “This is Six. No
sign of enemy activity. They were never here or we missed them. I’m
taking our element deeper into the AO to look for signs. Maybe there
is something we can use to pick up their trail again.”
“Understood, Six,” Sergeant Major Korgan replied from the
bridge of their ship.
The head of the cove was a tangle of rusted, twisted steel that
looked like it belonged on the set of a Mad Max film set in the ice
age. Deckard directed Fedorchenko to take his boat to the dock while
his team would explore the submarine graveyard. Deckard was already
having a bad feeling that this would be a dry hole.
Still, as they approached the nearest
he wasn’t going to be out there paddling in the Russian Arctic.
* * *
With the Carrickfergus’s barge deck lowered, twin Zodiac FC470
boats were launched simultaneously. The black inflatable boats each
carried 10 mercenaries, making for a total of a 20-man assault force.
They were going in light, but it had been decided that sailing the
Carrickfergus into the cove could end catastrophically if the enemy
had another ambush prepared. Better to go in with the Zodiacs while
their mothership cut off entry and exit from the narrow channel.
The coxswain of each Zodiac steered the gas-powered engine,
taking them on a slow approach through the mouth of the cove. At the
head of each boat was a PKM machine gunner, ready to lay down some
cyclic fire if the need arose. The riflemen sat on the sides of the
Zodiacs, their eyes darting around, looking for targets. Rocky cliffs
lurched by on both sides of the mercenaries as the Zodiacs slipped
into the cove. Coxswains eased them around drifting sheets of ice.
Deckard looked up as Cody’s drone buzzed overhead like a giant
paper airplane. As expected, the terrain was barren, devoid of life.
Out this far, the only sort of person you ever saw on land was the
occasional impoverished Russian searching for and digging up mammoth
tusks for sale on the black market.
As the rubber boats edged around the rocks and ice, the
submarine graveyard came into view. The aquamarine waters parted as
the boats churned forward, revealing dozens of dark red and brown
rusted submarine hulls dead ahead.
Back in Tampa, SCOPE had done some analysis and determined that
most of the decaying husks were Tango-class attack submarines. Now
they were just fading vestiges of the Cold War, abandoned in a
forgotten corner of the globe.
The PKM gunner at the head of the Zodiac shifted, the black
barrel of his weapon sweeping across the submarines as he scanned for
signs of the enemy. The subs were in a state of obvious disarray,
some lying on their side, half in the water and half out of it.
Beyond the tangle of rusting metal was a dock and large industrial
crane.
“Six, this is Fapper-1.” Cody’s voice came over the command
net. “I just lost the drone, over.”
“What does that mean?” Deckard hissed in response.
“It had plenty of loiter time left. All of a sudden the engine
went down and it began to go into a spin. Then the video cut out. I
don’t know what went wrong. It could have been a gust of wind,
over.”
“Catch anything on video before it went down?”
“SHIT,” Cody cursed, his Tourette’s acting up again. “No,
nothing.”
Deckard wasn't about to abort the mission just because the drone
went down. They had gotten some good situational awareness from its
surveillance feed before the UAV crashed, at least. Now they had to
get in there and do the grunt work.
Once they were a hundred meters away, Deckard radioed to
Fedorchenko in the other Zodiac.
“Do you see any signs of the enemy ship?”
The Kazakh platoon sergeant turned and looked at him from the
other boat, which was cruising 10 meters off their right flank. His
dark eyes were wide as they drilled into Deckard. He shook his head
in reply.
“Carrickfergus,” Deckard said as he bumped up radio
channels from the assault net to the command net. “This is Six. No
sign of enemy activity. They were never here or we missed them. I’m
taking our element deeper into the AO to look for signs. Maybe there
is something we can use to pick up their trail again.”
“Understood, Six,” Sergeant Major Korgan replied from the
bridge of their ship.
The head of the cove was a tangle of rusted, twisted steel that
looked like it belonged on the set of a Mad Max film set in the ice
age. Deckard directed Fedorchenko to take his boat to the dock while
his team would explore the submarine graveyard. Deckard was already
having a bad feeling that this would be a dry hole.
Still, as they approached the nearest
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