JonDLundyn Parker #2 20
June 1st 2007 20:32
.Chapter 20.
The General and Roscoe were finning strongly toward the cruiser. It was a swim of about one and a half kilometres but the tide, which was quite strong, was racing with them. The wind on the other hand was blowing strongly against the tide so it kicked up large white caps, which camouflaged their approach. Both men had ditched their guns and were only armed with knives and grenades. And their bare hands. The General looked across at Roscoe finning in a seemingly idle kick that belied the strength of his ex footballers leg strength. His huge gorilla like paws hung limp as appendages to his gigantic arms bulging with powerful corded muscles. Despite his mild manner he was a killing machine the General thought. He could have used two or three like him in Malaya, Borneo and Korea. Still he had done pretty well with the men he had at the time. He was a leader and a teacher. He taught men how to kill ruthlessly and then led them into battle. Just like now.
As the two men entered the bay where the cruiser was anchored they slowed down their approach. Dropping below the water by exhaling and making their way silently forward. They reached the anchor chain without being seen and they hung there briefly tying their fins, masks and snorkels to the chain. This would also prevent a sudden opportunity to haul up anchor to depart. Then they slowly paddled to the dolphin board at the rear of the boat.
A small swim ladder hung from it and as the general was about to haul himself out of the water he sensed the movement of someone on the rear deck. Both he and Roscoe swiftly, silently moved to the side of the boat. Treading water, breathing shallow, keeping quiet. A man appeared on the dolphin board. He stopped hoisted his Uzzi on a sling to a position behind his back and unbuttoned his fly. Just as he was making his strongest water he felt himself hauled sharply into the water. He had no time to cry out as the General’s blade slid into his throat, level with the artery. With a practised turn of the wrist, the knife blade was reversed and then, a painless slice as the man’s life ended, his blood gushing from the fatal cut. His bowels opened and with his hand still clutching his member he drifted toward the bottom of the bay.
The General and Roscoe were finning strongly toward the cruiser. It was a swim of about one and a half kilometres but the tide, which was quite strong, was racing with them. The wind on the other hand was blowing strongly against the tide so it kicked up large white caps, which camouflaged their approach. Both men had ditched their guns and were only armed with knives and grenades. And their bare hands. The General looked across at Roscoe finning in a seemingly idle kick that belied the strength of his ex footballers leg strength. His huge gorilla like paws hung limp as appendages to his gigantic arms bulging with powerful corded muscles. Despite his mild manner he was a killing machine the General thought. He could have used two or three like him in Malaya, Borneo and Korea. Still he had done pretty well with the men he had at the time. He was a leader and a teacher. He taught men how to kill ruthlessly and then led them into battle. Just like now.
As the two men entered the bay where the cruiser was anchored they slowed down their approach. Dropping below the water by exhaling and making their way silently forward. They reached the anchor chain without being seen and they hung there briefly tying their fins, masks and snorkels to the chain. This would also prevent a sudden opportunity to haul up anchor to depart. Then they slowly paddled to the dolphin board at the rear of the boat.
A small swim ladder hung from it and as the general was about to haul himself out of the water he sensed the movement of someone on the rear deck. Both he and Roscoe swiftly, silently moved to the side of the boat. Treading water, breathing shallow, keeping quiet. A man appeared on the dolphin board. He stopped hoisted his Uzzi on a sling to a position behind his back and unbuttoned his fly. Just as he was making his strongest water he felt himself hauled sharply into the water. He had no time to cry out as the General’s blade slid into his throat, level with the artery. With a practised turn of the wrist, the knife blade was reversed and then, a painless slice as the man’s life ended, his blood gushing from the fatal cut. His bowels opened and with his hand still clutching his member he drifted toward the bottom of the bay.
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