Undercover by James Felix

Author:James Felix [A novella by James Felix]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Nelson entered the bridge through the briefing room situated at the rear. He found it deserted. The computers all still looked on, but he could tell the boat was slowing down. A bank of radar systems, navigation consoles, and the steering and speed controls occupied the front of the wide cabin. Doors either side led out to the observation wings. He scanned the bridge for the radio mic. The equipment looked complicated and a world away from the compact comms kit he used in the army.

He picked up the handset.

Renard and Tilbrook burst breathlessly through the starboard wing door. Ahead of him, thousands of steel containers filled the vast space all the way to the bow.

“Any idea how this radio works?” Nelson asked.

Both Renard and Tilbrook shrugged.

“The pirates will probably come here first,” said Renard.

Nelson nodded and keyed the mic. “Mayday—mayday this is the container ship Nexus. We are being boarded by pirates.”

Silence.

Nelson wiped the sweat from his brow.

“What if the captain gave up trying to get through?” asked Tilbrook, both hands splayed across the control panel as he gazed through the forward windows.

Nelson held the mic to his mouth.

The speakers crackled.

“Nexus. This is the NATO warship, Valhalla. What is your status, over?”

Nelson breathed out. “Valhalla. We are a large container ship. Five small boats attacked us, and pirates are boarding now, over.”

“Nexus. Is your crew in a secure location, over?”

“Valhalla. The crew are safe. I am part of the security force. Three of us remain. Over.”

Silence.

“Where is the captain, over?”

“Unknown, Valhalla. Suspect he and the crew are in the citadel.”

Silence.

“Nexus. We have your position. The nearest armed support is two hours away. Recommend you hide and wait for help to arrive, over.”

“Copy that, Valhalla. Nexus, out.” Nelson replaced the handset. “Looks like we need to wait this one out, fellas.”

The forward windows starred as bullets hammered into the glass.

Nelson threw his arm in front of his face, but the screen held. A pirate with a black shemagh clambered up a ladder and pointed his AK47 at the bridge.

“Out the back,” Nelson urged.

“I’ve got nay weapon,” Tilbrook said.

Nelson handed the stocky Scotsman the AR15 with two remaining magazines and drew his backup SIG. The three men bustled through the door into the briefing room at the rear of the bridge. The sound of gunfire continued. And glass smashing—excited shouts in Somali echoed after them.

Nelson slammed the briefing room door and slid the deadbolt across. “That should buy us a few minutes,” he said, leading the way along the narrow, twisting passageways towards the citadel. He zipped down stairway after stairway using the elbow-and-ankle technique Ahmed had taught him.

A shemagh-wearing pirate appeared from inside the mess hall, his AK47 slung around him as he tore into half a loaf of bread. Even behind the scarf, the man appeared skinny.

Nelson pointed his SIG.

Tilbrook and Renard shouted challenges at the pirate.

The pirate dropped the bread.

“Don’t do it,” yelled Nelson.

The pirate hauled his slung Kalashnikov around to the front of his body.

Nelson took a pace forwards, finger on trigger, eyes on his target.

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