Read Online Starfish Prime (Blackfox Chronicles Book 2) by T.S. O'Neil - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: T.S. O'Neil
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sponson housing of one of the three hundred gallon fuel tanks and the aircraft was engulfed in flames as it plummeted earthward. There were no survivors.
The general finished reading the report and tossed it back on his desk. While reading it did not prove particularly cathartic, it did help steel his nerves for what lay ahead. One way or another, he was going to insure his son’s killer met a similar fate.
Chapter Nine - Getting Wet
Isla de Bartolomé, CO
It was late afternoon by the time they finally arrived at the small, scrub covered island. The diminutive palm tree covered atoll was a little more than two miles in diameter and was selected by the COLMAR because it provided a relatively deep-water anchorage. It was also otherwise uninhabited.
Duty on the island would have been an exercise in prolonged tedium were it not for the horseshoe shaped coral reef that sat the mere length of a football field offshore.
There were two moderately sandy beaches―one of which was located immediately adjacent to the pier. It proved suitable entry for both swimming and scuba diving.
A rutted gravel road led about three quarters of a mile from the pier to the approximate center of the island. There, the buil ders of the Forward Operating Base (FOB) had clustered ten C-huts among a grove of aged coconut palm trees, insuring both shade and a contingency source of food for the occupants.
Ramos and Michael quickly donned their dive equipment and wadded into the water in the bay adjacent to the dock. According to Ramos, there was a ledge over a deep drop off just outside the inlet.
The coral reef was composed of massive independent structures of multicolored, slow growing, calcium carbonate secreting living organisms. Ramos slowly swam to the ledge, dumped the air from his Buoyancy Compensator and submerged into the clear blue water; Michael followed closely behind. They glided over the edge of the coral cliff feeling not unlike a pilot does as an airplane flies over a canyon wall.
The two Marines plunged rapidly down along the reef wall. The cliff-like drop-off plummeted to over two hundred feet, se venty or more feet below recreational dive limits. But limits were for pussies, thought Michael as they plunged ever deeper to at least touch bottom before going about the more mundane task of hunting lobsters.
While descending rapidly, he felt the pressure within his face mask and ears increase. He blew air into his mask to equalize the pressure by pinching his nose and blowing while swallowing. He hadn’t been in the water for several months—the last time being when he and Char had visited Cozumel—otherwise, equalizing would have come more naturally.
Ramos pointed to a dark, narrow crevice beneath them. Michael swam into the opening thinking that Ramos had spotted a lobster or crab. He illuminated the coral outcroppings with his dive light and began closely studying the intricate coral patterns for telltale signs of just such a lurking crustacean. A six foot long reef shark, startled by the beam of light powerfully propelled itself over Michael’s left shoulder and into the open ocean.
The shark’s explosive departure momentarily startled M ichael. He looked at Ramos, and even with a regulator and mask obscuring his face, it was obvious that the man was laughing. You could have warned me, asshole, thought Michael, but nodded in acknowledgement of the well-played prank.
Michael brought his Hawaiian Sling up in front of him in o rder to parry off any attempt at a feeding strike, but the shark slowly swam away long the reef’s perimeter, seemingly uninterested in the two relatively ungainly trespassers. He checked his depth gauge and found that they had passed one hundred feet. He felt the light-headedness of nitrogen narcosis and knew that it would get worse the longer they lingered at depth.
Ramos signaled him and pointed to the reef. Under a large brain coral
The general finished reading the report and tossed it back on his desk. While reading it did not prove particularly cathartic, it did help steel his nerves for what lay ahead. One way or another, he was going to insure his son’s killer met a similar fate.
Chapter Nine - Getting Wet
Isla de Bartolomé, CO
It was late afternoon by the time they finally arrived at the small, scrub covered island. The diminutive palm tree covered atoll was a little more than two miles in diameter and was selected by the COLMAR because it provided a relatively deep-water anchorage. It was also otherwise uninhabited.
Duty on the island would have been an exercise in prolonged tedium were it not for the horseshoe shaped coral reef that sat the mere length of a football field offshore.
There were two moderately sandy beaches―one of which was located immediately adjacent to the pier. It proved suitable entry for both swimming and scuba diving.
A rutted gravel road led about three quarters of a mile from the pier to the approximate center of the island. There, the buil ders of the Forward Operating Base (FOB) had clustered ten C-huts among a grove of aged coconut palm trees, insuring both shade and a contingency source of food for the occupants.
Ramos and Michael quickly donned their dive equipment and wadded into the water in the bay adjacent to the dock. According to Ramos, there was a ledge over a deep drop off just outside the inlet.
The coral reef was composed of massive independent structures of multicolored, slow growing, calcium carbonate secreting living organisms. Ramos slowly swam to the ledge, dumped the air from his Buoyancy Compensator and submerged into the clear blue water; Michael followed closely behind. They glided over the edge of the coral cliff feeling not unlike a pilot does as an airplane flies over a canyon wall.
The two Marines plunged rapidly down along the reef wall. The cliff-like drop-off plummeted to over two hundred feet, se venty or more feet below recreational dive limits. But limits were for pussies, thought Michael as they plunged ever deeper to at least touch bottom before going about the more mundane task of hunting lobsters.
While descending rapidly, he felt the pressure within his face mask and ears increase. He blew air into his mask to equalize the pressure by pinching his nose and blowing while swallowing. He hadn’t been in the water for several months—the last time being when he and Char had visited Cozumel—otherwise, equalizing would have come more naturally.
Ramos pointed to a dark, narrow crevice beneath them. Michael swam into the opening thinking that Ramos had spotted a lobster or crab. He illuminated the coral outcroppings with his dive light and began closely studying the intricate coral patterns for telltale signs of just such a lurking crustacean. A six foot long reef shark, startled by the beam of light powerfully propelled itself over Michael’s left shoulder and into the open ocean.
The shark’s explosive departure momentarily startled M ichael. He looked at Ramos, and even with a regulator and mask obscuring his face, it was obvious that the man was laughing. You could have warned me, asshole, thought Michael, but nodded in acknowledgement of the well-played prank.
Michael brought his Hawaiian Sling up in front of him in o rder to parry off any attempt at a feeding strike, but the shark slowly swam away long the reef’s perimeter, seemingly uninterested in the two relatively ungainly trespassers. He checked his depth gauge and found that they had passed one hundred feet. He felt the light-headedness of nitrogen narcosis and knew that it would get worse the longer they lingered at depth.
Ramos signaled him and pointed to the reef. Under a large brain coral
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