JonDLundyn Parker #2 21/2
June 7th 2007 08:57
Ramid had the throttle of the Southwind wide open, he was balanced on the balls of his feet, taking in the movement of the boat as it crashed from wave top to wave top. The centre console held a chart plotter with a world C-map interfaced with a GPS. He had a course plotted back to Iryanjaia and though the Southwind could be driven with a small self steering device, for the moment he preferred to hand steer. The concentration required helped clear his mind. He had a lot of thinking to do and plans to make. He would need to face the wives of his troops who were now all widows. Every man he had bought on this mission was dead. The last of his personal guard blown up in their beds. Who would have thought that taking a wild pot shot or two at what seemed like a private aircraft would culminate in such annihilation? Who was it that was on that plane? He had seen it hit and ditch in the sea. Good flying to avoid the missile, then, anyone of a thousands of trained pilots could do that. Whoever survived the crash was mean and mad. Grenades! Murderous knife work! They had targeted a professional band that was for sure. Instead of all the surviving men of his private guard being on a voyage home to their wives with glory in their hearts, it was now up to him to take home the news.
Luckily the Southwind had been refuelled, serviced and packed with spare food water and fuel. It was an escape pod. Sitting in the game chair of the charter boat, he had been trying to get up high enough to get a signal on his cell phone. The whoomp of the first grenades going off had signalled him into action. Sliding down the stainless steel stairs, he had landed softly a cat on the timber deck just as the second lot of grenades went off. He had not thought any more of attack but only of escape. His men must be all dead and it was now up to him to save himself for further work. The Southwind had drifted clear of the mother ship quickly once the painter was released and he was more than four hundred metres away when he started his twin one hundred and fifty horse out-boards. With the wind streaming his eyes into cold tears he had headed due north out of the bay of death.
Luckily the Southwind had been refuelled, serviced and packed with spare food water and fuel. It was an escape pod. Sitting in the game chair of the charter boat, he had been trying to get up high enough to get a signal on his cell phone. The whoomp of the first grenades going off had signalled him into action. Sliding down the stainless steel stairs, he had landed softly a cat on the timber deck just as the second lot of grenades went off. He had not thought any more of attack but only of escape. His men must be all dead and it was now up to him to save himself for further work. The Southwind had drifted clear of the mother ship quickly once the painter was released and he was more than four hundred metres away when he started his twin one hundred and fifty horse out-boards. With the wind streaming his eyes into cold tears he had headed due north out of the bay of death.
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