Chapter 16

“Diego Garcia, Diego Garcia, Diego Garcia. Convoy of Sailing Vessels.”

“Sailing Vessel convoy. State your intentions.”

“Diego Garcia, convoy intends to sail in company of DDG64 on her return to Rota. Permissions filed with United States State Department, Department of the Navy and Captain of DDG64. Request permission to enter lagoon.”

“Wait one.”

“Yessir.”

There was a considerable wait.

“Sailing Convoy, sailing convoy, Change to 103.9. Repeat. Change to 103.9.”

All down the line, the boats confirmed the change.

“Sailing Vessel Flint. Sailing Vessel Flint. You are cleared. All other vessels anchor west side.”

So ... we motored through between Anniversary and West Islands and my cellphone buzzed ... vibrated actually. “Hello?”

An anonymous voice directed me to tie-up at the Brit Club dock. “You will be met.”

The Brit Club dock is a tiny affair, more a place for RIB inflatables than a 90 foot catamaran. I easily could have straddled the platform between my hulls ... if there hadn’t been a formidable looking patrol craft already on the port side of the dock. An armed pair of officers boarded without so much as a by-your-leave while an enlisted crew set about securing the Flint to the float.

“Assemble your crew,” one of the officers demanded.

I pitched him over the side.

The other one backed into JW. He was fumbling with the snap on his holster. That resulted in one of JW’s practiced moves.

“Don’t kill him, JW.” I said.

“Spoilsport!” JW said, “Can I hurt him?”

“No.”

“Just a little?”

“No,” I turned to the dry officer, “Look you. You are guilty of piracy ... boarding without permission.

“But ... but ... but ... we’re officers in the United States Navy.”

“That’s a New Zealand flag we’re flying. Give me one good reason we don’t hang you by the neck until dead.”

Stymied.

The enlisted crew, finished tying us up, sent a Chief Petty Officer to the gangway. He proved ... once again ... that enlisted can pee a round hole in snow, while officers write their whole names.

“Permission to board,” He saluted the NZ flag and me.

“Come aboard, Chief.” I said, “Got any idea what’s going on?”

“Speak privately, ma’am?”

I motioned at the patio doors, “Precede me Chief.”

“And disrespect a lady,” he said, “Never.”

I went first ... grinning. I shut the patio doors and locked them. I made a pot of coffee. The business of making the beverage gave the Chief time to look around. I poured and made a show of sipping mine ... black. First sniffing, he sipped ... and sighed. Getting comfy in the salon, I looked the question.

“The deal is that the Marines want to install a file below deck in the night. There’s a spy here. So far, he’s happy relaying what he learns to the Somalis. The Navy wants to forget the Marines, arm your ship, requisition you and your crew, commission your family ... you get the idea?”

“What kind of arms?”

“Well ... that was easy. Three .50 cal machine guns, three M30 106.7 mm (4.2 inch, or “Four-deuce”) heavy mortars, several dozen RPG 7 rocket-propelled grenades and one 3omm modified Soviet aircraft cannon.

“For personal protection, a few M4’s unless you’d rather have AK’s and all of it old enough to be Vietnam era. Perfect internally but shabby.”

He took a breath. “Training included. Every thing disguised as life rafts and a spare dinghy or two.”

Now, there were two unarmed and dripping wet officers standing politely out side. JW watching.

“That sounds like fun.” I said. The fuzz finally cleared, “Wait? 3omm modified Soviet aircraft cannon?”

“Armory people get bored.” The Chief said. “On liberty, somebody “found” a couple of Pakistani Mig 19’s just laying around and stripped the six machine cannon and ammo, because “they were interesting.” Someone built a tripod mount and someone else figured out how to hook them up to radar. Accurate as all be-dammed. Some one else built a reloading press and dies for 30mm A-10 ammo ... and then ... when it was operational ... the Admiral confiscated all six.”

“Okaaay,” I drawled. “Does the Admiral know?”

“Of course not.”

I grinned. “Have at it, Chief.”

“Yes. ma’am. The DD64 won’t leave until you do.”

When he finished, I opened the patio doors and invited the wet pair in.

The Chief saluted ... me ... not the drippers ... and left to organize the outfitting ... at night ... as quietly as possible.

The officers still wanted to assemble the crew.

I asked. They received.

“Who is she?” the driest asked.

“Our spy.”