The cruiser cut a ghastly green trail through the dark night of the ocean as it steamed towards its destination. Blacked out, nearly impossible to see but for its wake, it sped onward, lookouts keeping a sharp eye out for other vessels. The radar systems that would normally have detected the approach of another ship were off, the ship nearly blind in its pursuit of stealth. It would be most distasteful if the mission, which required the international community to not be able to discern the identity of those behind the operation, at least not at first.
Captain Henry Ramage glared at the door as someone knocked at it. The amount of paperwork that he had to go through was truly staggering, and every increase in communications capability and bandwidth seemed to only increase the number of forms and reports he was required to make. “Enter!” he shouted, glancing at the clock above the hatch as he did. 2018, nearly time.
“Begging your leave sir, but we've received a broadcast message from headquarters,” reported Midshipman James Patrick, stumbling slightly as he entered the captain's quarters and saluted. “Lieutenant Bolitho said to tell you it mentioned an ore carrier about fifty nautical miles northwest of our position sir.”
“Good, its nice to see that those back on shore haven't managed to completely louse things up already,” commented the captain. “You didn't respond to the message, I hope?” he added dryly. Broadcast messages, being made to the fleet at large rather than to a ship in particular, were not supposed to be responded to in order to frustrate traffic analysis and code breaking efforts, but the crew was new and the operation would have to be scrubbed if some raw recruit had accidentally responded.
“No sir. One of the warrants was about to, but Lieutenant Bolitho put a stop to him,” responded the midshipman. Odd that a warrant would do that, they've been around long enough to know better. One of the unofficial, yet obligatory through tradition and custom, duties of the warrants was to train the midshipmen to their duties, so that, although the warrants would continue to have the expert knowledge of their systems, the midshipmen would, after passing their examinations, have sufficient knowledge of all the ships systems to be good seamen.
“Very well, I will be up to the bridge in a minute. Report back to the lieutenant that he is to beat to quarters,” stated Captain Ramage as he pushed back from his desk. Not even twenty seconds later, the electronic gongs announcing General Quarters began their clang over the general broadcast speakers of the ship. Throwing on his green watchcoat, he strode out of his cabin and up to the bridge, passed by several seaman running to their stations.
Lieutenant Bolitho stood at the bridge, near the helm, listening as reports came in from the various departments reporting readiness. As the third lieutenant, Adam Aubrey, raced into the bridge, his uniform askew and hair all mussed up from sleep, First Lieutenant Bolitho turned around and saluted. “The ship is at quarters and condition Zed has been set throughout the ship sir.”
“Thank you Lieutenant,” said Captain Ramage, returning the salute. “What do the sniffers report?”
“No radars scanning us sir. If there's anything out there, they're under strict EMCON as well,” reported Bolitho.
“Very well. Lieutenant Aubrey?” he queried, turning around to look at the hapless officer as he did so. His uniform had become more presentable, the captain's question having interrupted his frantic attempt to straighten his uniform.
“Yes, sir?” Attracting a captain's attention and being singled out like this could be either a very good thing or a very bad thing. Given his current state of disarray, it was likely to be the latter.
“There is an ore carrier fifty nautical miles to the northwest of our position, which our government has directed us to capture. Gather a boarding party from the crew and take one of the Super Frelon's to board it; the other will go along with you equipped with a jamming pod to prevent the ship or crew from making a call for help. You are to take it quickly and without revealing your nationality, nor permitting them to make radio or satellite transmissions. Once you have done so, sail the ship back to port at Testudo,” he recited, having read the secret orders sheet dozens of time this voyage.
“Aye aye sir!”
Aubrey wondered if anyone aboard the carrier knew that they were coming. There was no air search radar picking them up according to the radar warning receiver, but the Super Frelon was certainly not a stealthy helicopter when it came to acoustics. For the fourteenth time he checked his shotgun, making sure that a round was chambered and the drum full, glancing at the boarding party to ensure they were alert and ready to go. They were, of course, but the action helped to calm his nerves.
The helicopter lurched suddenly as it entered into a hover above the merchant ship's deck. A thumbs up from the pilot; the other helicopter was jamming and they were ready to proceed. The crew chief tossed the fast ropes to the deck of the ship below. Gripping the foremost in his hands, Aubrey leapt out, and began the drop to the deck, leading his men as tradition demanded of all officers.
