marque.”
“What the hell is that?”
Will tapped a cigarette out of his pack and popped it between his
lips.
“You can’t smoke here,” Craig whined.
“Go fuck yourself,” Will said as he lit it up. “So here is
the deal: Back in the days of Sir Francis Drake and Captain Kidd,
letters of marque were issued by the king to commission and authorize
privateers to attack enemy vessels. They were government-sanctioned
pirates.”
“I hate to break it to you, but we had this little incident in
1776, and ever since we haven’t had a king,” Gary said, swatting
at cigarette smoke.
“But there is a historical precedent. President Madison
authorized letters of marque during the Second Barbary War off the
coast of Libya.”
“That has got to be the most obscure legal justification I’ve
ever heard,” Craig said.
“Are you kidding me?” Will asked as he exhaled another cloud
of smoke. “We break the law all the time in JSOC, we just do it
legally by exploiting loopholes and bypassing the intent of the law.
If anything, this is on far more solid legal ground. Letters of
marque are constitutional.”
“Who has the authorization to grant a letter of marque?”
Gary asked.
Will arched his eyebrows.
“Shit.”
“Run it up the flagpole,” Will said, turning back to his
terminal. “A lot has changed tonight. They will sign it.”
The men sitting around the table let out a collective sigh. Will
just chuckled as he scrolled through files on JWICS.
* * *
At daybreak, Otter spotted clouds of black smoke billowing in the
distance. It was becoming an all-too-familiar sight. After making
contact with Xyphon’s oil platform, they determined a rough heading
that took them straight to Kotelny Island.
Deckard stood next to Otter on the bridge, kitted up
except for his heavy snow-camo parka that he held in one hand. Xyphon
and the Russian government had been in touch via a cut out that
Deckard probably didn’t even want to know about. The Russian
military lost communications with their base on the island during the
night. When aircraft were scrambled, one of the MIG fighter jets was
shot down. Now they were requesting that Samruk scope the situation
out prior to Russian forces making an amphibious landing later that
day.
All the boys were jocked up down below. They were going to
execute a forced entry to the island, eliminate any enemies they
encountered, attempt to rescue any remaining Russian soldiers, and
report back to Xyphon with their status. If the base had been
compromised, the enemy might attempt to utilize the airstrip that the
Russian military had recently upgraded. Kotelny was a strategic base
during the Soviet era, but had been shut down at the end of the Cold
War. It was only with the opening of Arctic transit lines that the
Russians renewed their focus on the region, seeking to assert their
sovereignty and fossil fuel rights.
As the Carrickfergus neared the island, they could see
burning vehicles. They were Russian GAZ 3351s, treaded personnel
carriers made specifically for traveling across the Arctic’s snow
and ice.
“Somebody pushed their shit in all right,” Otter said, taking
a sip of spiked coffee as if it were just another day at the office.
Deckard stepped out of the bridge and climbed down a
ladder onto the barge deck. His men stood assembled and waiting. This
time they were not even going to dick around with the trucks.
Bringing them had been a huge mistake in the first place, one he
chalked up to his lack of experience in the Arctic. These weren’t
counterterrorism raids in Baghdad, and he should have adapted to his
environment better.
The Carrickfergus cracked through the sheets of ice as they
closed in on the island. The Samruk mercenaries almost looked robotic
in their Arctic gear. In addition to their snow camouflage and heavy
parkas, they each wore tinted SnoCross goggles, which also included a
nose protector. Without them, they would suffer from both frostbite
and snow
“What the hell is that?”
Will tapped a cigarette out of his pack and popped it between his
lips.
“You can’t smoke here,” Craig whined.
“Go fuck yourself,” Will said as he lit it up. “So here is
the deal: Back in the days of Sir Francis Drake and Captain Kidd,
letters of marque were issued by the king to commission and authorize
privateers to attack enemy vessels. They were government-sanctioned
pirates.”
“I hate to break it to you, but we had this little incident in
1776, and ever since we haven’t had a king,” Gary said, swatting
at cigarette smoke.
“But there is a historical precedent. President Madison
authorized letters of marque during the Second Barbary War off the
coast of Libya.”
“That has got to be the most obscure legal justification I’ve
ever heard,” Craig said.
“Are you kidding me?” Will asked as he exhaled another cloud
of smoke. “We break the law all the time in JSOC, we just do it
legally by exploiting loopholes and bypassing the intent of the law.
If anything, this is on far more solid legal ground. Letters of
marque are constitutional.”
“Who has the authorization to grant a letter of marque?”
Gary asked.
Will arched his eyebrows.
“Shit.”
“Run it up the flagpole,” Will said, turning back to his
terminal. “A lot has changed tonight. They will sign it.”
The men sitting around the table let out a collective sigh. Will
just chuckled as he scrolled through files on JWICS.
* * *
At daybreak, Otter spotted clouds of black smoke billowing in the
distance. It was becoming an all-too-familiar sight. After making
contact with Xyphon’s oil platform, they determined a rough heading
that took them straight to Kotelny Island.
Deckard stood next to Otter on the bridge, kitted up
except for his heavy snow-camo parka that he held in one hand. Xyphon
and the Russian government had been in touch via a cut out that
Deckard probably didn’t even want to know about. The Russian
military lost communications with their base on the island during the
night. When aircraft were scrambled, one of the MIG fighter jets was
shot down. Now they were requesting that Samruk scope the situation
out prior to Russian forces making an amphibious landing later that
day.
All the boys were jocked up down below. They were going to
execute a forced entry to the island, eliminate any enemies they
encountered, attempt to rescue any remaining Russian soldiers, and
report back to Xyphon with their status. If the base had been
compromised, the enemy might attempt to utilize the airstrip that the
Russian military had recently upgraded. Kotelny was a strategic base
during the Soviet era, but had been shut down at the end of the Cold
War. It was only with the opening of Arctic transit lines that the
Russians renewed their focus on the region, seeking to assert their
sovereignty and fossil fuel rights.
As the Carrickfergus neared the island, they could see
burning vehicles. They were Russian GAZ 3351s, treaded personnel
carriers made specifically for traveling across the Arctic’s snow
and ice.
“Somebody pushed their shit in all right,” Otter said, taking
a sip of spiked coffee as if it were just another day at the office.
Deckard stepped out of the bridge and climbed down a
ladder onto the barge deck. His men stood assembled and waiting. This
time they were not even going to dick around with the trucks.
Bringing them had been a huge mistake in the first place, one he
chalked up to his lack of experience in the Arctic. These weren’t
counterterrorism raids in Baghdad, and he should have adapted to his
environment better.
The Carrickfergus cracked through the sheets of ice as they
closed in on the island. The Samruk mercenaries almost looked robotic
in their Arctic gear. In addition to their snow camouflage and heavy
parkas, they each wore tinted SnoCross goggles, which also included a
nose protector. Without them, they would suffer from both frostbite
and snow
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