Blue Water, Black Flag
***What follows is the first draft of the introduction. Have fun... and remeber... its the backbone draft. There is still a lot of fleshing out to do. Enjoy***
25 miles off the coast of somalia... Fikry Attallah's gastro intestinal system was in the advanced stage of rebellion. Wondering just what in the blue hell he was doin on this forsaken boat... he straightened himself up... and gargled some water from the canteen he brought.
The man shouting was Fikry's much older cousin... Muhammad. Apparently they had found their prey.
Up ahead... maybe 10 miles out was a huge yacht. Through the binoculars Fikry could see drunken bikini clad women on the upper decks. Briefly he considered that this whole kidnapping deal may be quite a bit easier than expected.
The 5 men on the small boat quickly broke out their weapons... SKS rifles and AK-47s... and took an intercept course towards the big yacht ahead. The mercruisers in the back bellowed smoke and eaisly lifted the little cruiser's bow.
As he handed Fikry his rifle... Muhammad said flatly, "Do not be afraid cousin. These people are cowards... they are bugs. They are fat and soft... pigs. Today is a good day."
It occured to Fikry that the ladies on the upper decks hadn't looked fat in his binoculars at all.
They're boat was coming up on the big yacht fast now... and the men began firing their rifles into the air and shouting threats. Just as he'd been told to expect... Fikry saw a flurry of activity on the decks of the big ship. But...
Wasn't it supposed to try to run?
It didn't appear to be running at all.
There was an explosion... wood... pain... hot... What happened?
Another massive explosion rocked their little boat... Men were running. What the hell was going on?
Suddenly it was all to clear. Their little boat was under fire! Some kind of artillery was blasting away... from the yacht???
It couldn't be...
Muhammad and two others were covered and trying to return fire... but they were hopelessly out of range for their small rifles.
Two huge shots rang out... both rocking the small cabin cruiser. Fikry was nearly tossed overboard when the second hit. Two men... well... parts of two men were strewn across the bow.. and Muhammad was curled up on the deck crying.
Through the searing pain, the blood, and the smoke.. Fikry saw the giant yacht approching. Two huge weapons were now mounted... both on the bow. On the upper decks he saw two men with large bore rifles... 50 bmgs perhaps... trained on him. And flying high above... He saw a black flag flapping proudly in the wind.
The 20 millimeter lahti... the bow gun now mounted on President Davis' Revenge... sent one last shell through the ruined cabin cruiser of the somali pirates.
The crew didn't know it was Fikry's first time on a boat. Nor did they care... as they left he and his still weeping cousin to the cruel merciless sea.
Captain Tyler looked back over the sinking wreckage disappearing in the distance... and grumble to his first mate, "Dammit Curt... if we keep sinkin' em... we ain't got nothin' to sell."
"Sorry Cap'... you know SEALS are more experienced at demolition than salvage."
"Cap'!" shouted the blonde from the fly bridge. "Sat phone! Its the company."
Curt and Tyler exchanged a knowing glance... and the old captain swore under his breath as he started to climbed up the ladder.