Whale Hunt -chap 21 <stripped>

“Those that fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it “-Winston Churchill

In this case, some soul survivors that did learn wreak havoc tracking some dark history.

History Snapshot:

In the late-1970s at the height of the cold war outside Leningrad, a small team of talented Russian nautical engineers from the Malachita Marine design bureau had a Christmas party.

Several bottles of smuggled French Cognac mysteriously appeared.

On the white clothed banquet table, they scribbled doodles and diagrams. Later in the alcohol hazed evening the scribbles evolved into a design. Commonplace in creative tech circles.

The difference here is; this was a top secret design bureau led by LV Chernopyatov, a brilliant marine engineer known internationally, not always politically correct in the Soviet bureaucracy.

That evening gave birth to one of the world’s most lethal under water weapons of the times. A virtually undetectable midget class submarine.

Double hulled, non-magnetic, Titanium, stealth technology of the day.

Length          28.2 m (92 ft 6 in)

Beam            4.8 m (15 ft 9 in)

Draught         5.1 m (16 ft 9 in)

Operational Depth 240 m (787 ft)            

Designed for special operations, engagement of surface ships in coastal waters, rugged, almost completely silent battery powered, a super-efficient electric and fast recharge system and a propeller design never seen before.

Code Name “Piranha”

The Soviet bureaucracy finally cleared the project in the mid-1980s, only a handful were operational in the early 90s and then the Soviet Union collapsed.

The Subs were cut into pieces, verified by NATO as non-operational.

The unemployed engineers barely survived on minimal government subsidies as monthly double-digit inflation plagued former Soviet Russia.

Just over a decade later, what was left of the original design team was living in luxury on the Persian Gulf just outside the coastal city Bandar Abbas.

Iran funded a secret program building midget and midsize submarines to patrol their rugged Island strewn coastline and narrow straits of Hormuz. Hidden in the coastal shipyard was an average looking warehouse several hundred meters long with a T shaped roof structure protruding out into the bay shallows.

The nautical engineers went back to the basics, with an upgrade and a few tricks in modular assembly, sections were prefabbed, liken to a high-tech Lego production. The new modular prefab meant these lethal submersibles could be exported in pieces with assembly teams meeting them on arrival.

The project was code named “Nahang“ (نهنگ) = Whale.

There was no shortage of rouge states and smuggling cartel clients lining up to throw down cash, gold and other high value commodities to insure a place in the production line.

It was the Americans that got a first hands on look at one of the ghost underwater machines.

The infamous LaZapta drug cartel run by the Diaz brothers enjoyed record profits from smuggling in a no weapons version of the Whale. Ultralight, fast, stealth, carried a payload of a several tons, it was the perfect smuggling machine until the captain ran it aground on a reef in Aruba. Rumours in Interpol circles were the coked-up Captain was running a shallow course, periscope up, fixated on a party yacht of nude swingers.

Months later, the submarine facility in Bandar Abbas suffered what was said to be a tragic accident. A lethal chemical reaction ignited the Titanium, Lithium and other rare-earth high-tech metals within the facilities. Titanium & Lithium fires are extremely toxic, super-hot and extremely difficult and dangerous to extinguish.

The chemical reaction that started the fire, was an implosion of some kind, based on back draft affect, a mystery to this day.

In certain Intel circles, murmurs & rumours circulated in military officers’ clubs of an elite Black Op’s team that swam in by night, laid in wait in that T shaped building for three days, setup some kind a chemical reaction vacuum, stole computer drives, assassinated engineers, security, including a university engineering class on internship.

There were no survivors.

Brandy gossip and Pint rumors, two of those commandos were injured during that mission, but there’s no medical records of any military personal ever receiving specialized treatment for those types of chemical burns nor Titanium debris wounds.

The Subs that did survive in the Persian Gulf eventually crossed paths with American and British hunter-killer submarines.

Encounters so top secret they can’t even be remotely mentioned herein.

Which brings us to where we are right now.

And for those following this storyline, you`re fly’n with the thrill & skill of Sophie.

Here’s a quick re-cap of our favorite Search & Rescue helicopter pilot.

Former French Army Captain, Combat helicopter pilot. Shot down three times, four crash landings, captured by the Taliban, escaped, and test pilot for the famed Anglo British-Italian Aero Space JV allowing her to fly the latest cool high-tech equipment. The engineers worship her flying skills, but no one from engineering wants to fly with her. They use data recorders and then plug it into flight simulators. Even that makes them flight sick.

Call sign ‘Fly Bitch’ she has it stenciled in bold black on her bright yellow helmet. Today its outlined in glitter nail polish.

She survives in a man’s world, respected and feared.

Has a long list of warnings, low-level flybys, violating air space, landing in restricted areas. Still has her license through some mystery political connections.

Attractive, in a female handsome way.

Loves bubble gum, has a collection of stuffed animals any little girl would die for. Donates her free time playing with kids of Autism and Downs syndrome.  

Gotta slight limp; she tries to cover scars from being badly burned on one side of her body and is missing a breast due to her combat injuries.

Gym cut and CrossFit trained. Crude, rude, foul mouthed, vulgar, brash and no friends.

Except the Malta Search & Rescue Lifeguard Captain, DJ, and his best mate the Malta Police Chief Constable, Ryan, they’re close to her, understand her, see her soul, there for her tears & fears, feel her in ways others can’t. But then again, takes one to know one. “In da Club” in a manner of speaking.

The two former British SAS Counter Intel Officers are familiar with these souls for they themselves dwell in this space, albeit express it a bit differently, or not.

Call them ‘Soul Survivor’s’. And that’s what’s in play right here, right now.

Linosa Island-Mediterranean

35°50'54.7"N 12°53'21.0"E

Sunrise:

Altitude: 300m

Speed: 362 Kmh

Sunrise is dark burnt orange due to a sandstorm drift from North Africa.

Climate change fuels these mostly daytime storms in a rage through the night and fine sand particles drift over the Mediterranean. In dawn illumines, flashes & glows of lighting on the Southern horizon, dark thunderheads silhouettes etched in distance.  

Sophie is chewing lime green bubble gum today, scraggily dish water blond hair hanging out the side of her helmet, streaming music of a new Girls Indie Rock Band she found online.

Smooth head-bob to rhythmic beats, blowing bubbles that look like green goo.

She’s irritated, yet calm and cool, hasn’t had a shower two days, slept at the aircraft hangar on a fold out cot while on 24hr call, had an online chat fight with her girlfriend last night and got blocked from the App… Again.

She’s flying a new sleek Italian Stallion powered by British ceramic twin Jets. It’s a test model, not fully certified for commercial use, yet.

Some pilots say this helicopter is a bit to raw, overpowered, but not for Sophie.

DJ in the Co-Pilot seat, e-tablet between his legs, checking the radar display, glancing at the SAT NAV screen. Every once in while slightly leaning a bit to one side scratching his right buttocks, some days those micro splinters of graphite and titanium itch a bit even though most of the debris was removed leaving a circular scar his wife teases him about.

Chief Ryan aft in the cargo bay seated erect on what looks like a rolled neoprene yoga mat, legs crossed in the yoga Padmasana Position, Lotus Pose, fingers steady in a mudra. Tuned out, focusing his breath from his core. The dark blue purplish spatter marks on the inside of his left arm he laughs off as a birth mark, is the remnants of a chemical burn, leftovers from several skin graphs and plastic surgeries.

They’re on a Whale hunt.

Three weeks ago DJ’s Jr. Lifeguard Izi, in her daily Lifeguard logs, described seeing a periscope several times in shallow waters around Malta. When DJ approached the Navy Commander, he basically laughed it off as coming from a 16-year-old girl, Jr. Lifeguard, just isn’t credible. Until DJ and Chief Ryan asked Izi to draw a picture, they new exactly what it was.

Shortly after the Izi sightings, Chief Ryan’s Special Police Squad made a bust at the port, €50 million in cash and several tons of some the most valuable refined strategic rare earth metals worth about double the price of gold and more.

An hour after that police raid, a private banker from Liechtenstein was assassinated at a yacht club dinner party at point blank range. No one could properly identify the assassin, but DJ and Ryan suspect it’s a woman Aka; Coco, former special forces from Cuba, she’s the personal terminator for the Cartel Boss, their former counter Intel nemesis of the past who operates the most lucrative rare earth minerals trade and money laundering machine ever known, using bonded and slave labor in Africa, helping to fuel the Mediterranean migrant smuggling crises.

The Cartel king pin, a double agent back in the day, tried to set up DJ and Ryan to be killed several times.

That was then, this is now.  

Through the barrage of SAT images and AI scanning software, DJ and Ryan locked on to a shadowy shape just North of Libya, looked like a smudge, or a flaw on SAT overlay software.

History, experience, a ghost of the past. It’s still a question, revenge, justice, or liken to a professional sport for this crew.

It helps to have an unofficial nod from the Malta PM and security cabinet, an off the record just make it go away, we’ll deal with any political fallout.

Sophie calls out on Intercom.

“10 Minutes”

Greengoo bubble gum pop

Ryan, eyes open, yawns, leans forward, casually unzips a long oval bag revealing a 50-calibre sniper’s rifle and begins assembling in a clam cool series of motions like he could do it blind folded.

Linosa in sight, approaching from the East, long Sea roles with a few white caps and a few crosswind blast but Sophie knows how to smooth it in a power glide & ride.

DJ has just finished a download, current SAT images, zooms in, enhances with contrast software on e-tablet. North side Linosa has a little fade due to the Satellite position, that side of the Island is a Nature Preserve and a deep cove, wind protected by steep volcanic jagged cliffs. He highlights the position and lifts the e-tablet for Sophie to see, there’s a strange shadow in that cove.

Sophie nods, with a cat like sneer-grin & winks.

Greengoo bubble pop

Ryan has the 50-calibre assembled. 2 ten shot magazines velcroid strapped on his vest and one loaded, Armor piercing incendiary rounds. As DJ glances aft, he flashes back. His best mate Chief Ryan saved his life several times in some of the worse and cursed places on earth.

In SAS training, Ryan always had marksmanship awards. The top sniper training officer likened his skills to Miyamoto Musashi, the master Japanese Samurai who authored the legendary Book of Five Rings.

In summary, you gotta irritated fly bitch on the hunt, two former SAS counter Intel officers that know the Cartel boss from the past, a Search & Rescue Lifeguard Captain that knows how to find what he’s look’n for in this vast aqua space and a Police Chief sniper that don’t miss in rough weather.

Someone is gonna have a bad day here.

“5 minutes”

Greengoo bubble pop

Helmut on, Ryan tethers in with 2 carabiners, adjust his sport shooting glasses a little tighter and slides open the starboard door.

Scent of kerosene jet fuel exhaust, the low pitch scream of turbines.

Ryan extends a thick bungee cord from the upper corners of the doorway and the rest the weapon on it. Most helicopter snipers try to fully stabilize a rifle with a series crossed straps.

Ryan likes a little drift so can sweep the shot, a tad old school some would say.

Ryan on intercom “Check, Check”.

DJ “Copy”

Sophie “ Bringing us in on a South sweep 5k out from Porto Linosa, Hard to starboard West side approach to the North side catching some of that cross gust for lift to about 200m over Baia Del Conte cove above the target, drift for few seconds, I don’t know how long I can hold it there”.

Ryan “Copy, call out on the crosswind gust on approach and keep an eye out any for spotters/snipers on the cliffs.

DJ & Sophie “Copy, Copy”

Porto Linosa, heading Westward,

Hard to Starboard-Westside, descending.

Greengoo bubble pop.

“Altitude 60m”

“Cross@50”

Sophie hugs the coastline, rotor pitch changes, the aircraft vibrates and bucks from cross winds turbulence.

“Cross@40Kph”

“Alt 45m & Steady”

Greengoo bubble pop

“3 minutes”! the adrenaline in her voice.

“60 seconds, Cross @ 32”!

“Alt 10m”!

Greengoo bubble pop

The aircraft pitches in a sharp low turn North bound blowing water vapor off the Sea surface. She’s full throttle, low & hot inbound.

“Cross 20”!

“10 Seconds”!

Greengoo bubble pop

DJ “Spotter 2 O’clock low 2nd outcrop”!

Ryan leans forward, aims downward, a mechanical pop sound emanates through the turbine scream, DJ sees a glimpse of faded rose coloured vapor spray, fleck like debris cascading and a rifle twirling in the air.

“Climb, 5,4,3,2,1”

Greengoo bubble pop

She catches the cross wind, uses it for lift, turns the helicopter sideways and seems to flutter the machine like a hummingbird in the wind gust staying stationary about 200 meters over the cove at a 50 degree angle line of sight.

There it is, the Whale, surfaced, recharging, taken a break before an underwater run to European territory waters.

A human shape stands at the conning tower with binoculars, two mechanical pops, it explodes, binoculars split in half tossed in the wind. 4 more shots to the periscope mast and the comm’s antennas and 3 shots to the rudder.

Reload-

A bow hatch opens, DJ calls out “Sniper on Fore Deck”!

Sophie pitches port towards cliffs, the dashboard lights up with anti collision lights and the auto warning voice kicks in, “warning-collision- pull-up, pull-up” turbines screaming.

Greengoo bubble pop

 She catches one of those crosswind gust off the cliff, the helicopter lifts ascent pulling 4G’s, making structural noises, creaks & groans that don’t sound healthy.

Greengoo bubble pop

Altitude 400m hard to starboard descending in a sideways free fall, DJ can see bird nest with eggs on the side of the cliff. She catches an updraft gust for lift, stalls and drifts backwards.

Ryan takes the shot, bow sniper virtually disappears, leaving a smear on foredeck, plus he puts 2 rounds in the dive planes on each side and empties the magazine in a pattern stern to bow.

Greengoo bubble pop

Sophie has that bad girl grin, throttles up, and heads out to Sea.

4 Days Later:

07:30 Lifeguard Central Station Malta:

DJ’s calls the morning meeting to order, assigns the work detail for both coast and boat crews, tourist numbers, events, weather, Search & Rescue logs from the day before.

“Today the Commander from Frontex is here, European Border & Security with a few words about what to look out for and some of the challenges they’re facing”.

The unruly rescue squad hems & haws a bit as a paper airplane zooms across the room.

“Lets show a little respect here, Sophie take the ear buds out and listen up please”!

DJ nods to the Frontex Commander,

The Commander goes through his presentation of how to report incidents and how Frontex is here to help. After the presentation he ask the squad “Any questions, anything to report”?

Silence-

16-year-old orange freckled red head Izi raises her hand.

“I saw a submarine periscope close to shore and reported it”.

The calm cool Lifeguard Captain shrugs his shoulders, “Ya we checked that out, it was a stray Whale"

Chief Constable Ryan nods.

The Border Commander turns and looks at Sophie.

Cat like sneer-grin, shoulder shrug.

Pinkgoo bubble gum pop*