The Socotra Incident by Richard Fox Page A

through Ritter’s body as the Osprey jerked away from beneath his feet and he swung into the darkness. He twirled around the rope, the heat friction burning through his gloves. He saw nothing but darkness and running lights from the Osprey whirling around him as voices yelled from the radio at his ear.
    He got one leg coiled around the rope and slammed his other boot on top of the rope to lock him in place. He looked down and saw nothing but water beneath him and the ship ten feet from the dangling end of the rope.
    He looked up at the Osprey and the SEAL with the sniper rifle waving at him frantically. What was he supposed to do? Climb up the rope with an extra fifty pounds of gear in gravity’s favor?
    Forearms trembled against the rope, and Ritter wasn’t sure whether exhaustion or adrenaline was causing the tremors.
    The loose end of the rope crept closer to the ship. A SEAL reached over the railing and hauled the rope onto the deck. Ritter loosened his grip and slid down very slowly. His body rebelled at the idea of abandoning the little safety the rope offered. He looked up again at the SEAL in the Osprey, who had his hands on the latch holding the rope to the aircraft.
    The son of a bitch was about to release the rope and drop him to the deck.
    Ritter’s grip lessened, and his decent accelerated. Heat burned against his thighs and boot as he slid against the rope. His feet slammed into the deck, and he lost his grip. The rest of his body crashed against the rusty steel with the grace of a sack of potatoes. He looked down at his body and found his leg still entwined with the rope; then he saw the rope’s hook fall past the deck on its way into the ocean.
    Ritter tried to kick his way free from the rope as the slack length uncoiled and hissed over the railing to follow the hook on its journey to the ocean’s depths.
    The boot slammed down on the rope just as it went taut against Ritter leg. His savior reached down and separated Ritter from the weighted line. The loose rope slithered over the deck, a kraken’s tentacle that wouldn’t claim anyone this day.
    The SEAL, the fire truck who’d been the first down the rope and had saved Ritter, grabbed Ritter’s vest with both hands and hauled Ritter to his feet. A hand, the size of a dinner plate, smacked against Ritter’s helmet.
    “You okay?” the SEAL yelled over the sound of the retreating Osprey.
    Ritter nodded as he reset his helmet. The SEAL yanked him forward and half pulled, half guided him toward an open hatch. The ship was silent but for the crash of waves against the hull as SEALs swarmed over the deck. The plan was for half the assault force to take the bridge; the rest to secure the engine room, seemed to be proceeding without opposition.
    Ritter stepped into the hatchway and found Mike and a SEAL setting up a satellite radio. The communications man looked up at Ritter.
    “Well?” he said.
    “Well what?” Ritter answered.
    Mike shook his head and grabbed the intercom box dummy corded to Ritter’s chest rig. A flip of a switch later, and static burst into Ritter’s ears.
    “Why isn’t Spook One answering me?” Devereaux asked through the radio.
    Ritter keyed his mike.
    “This is Spook One.” His call sign for the mission was as apt as it was unoriginal.
    “Bridge is secure—one prisoner. No other contact. I need you in the hold right fucking now,” Devereux said.
    One prisoner? This ship should have been full of armed Somali pirates eager to protect the biggest prize they’d ever heard of.
    Ritter keyed his mike.
    “Spook One, en route.” He looked at Mike. “You go to the bridge. I’ll be there soonest,” he said.
    The SEAL with the radio pointed down the stairway for Ritter’s benefit.
    Ritter sped down the stairs, the SCAR ready in his hands. All the lights in the ship were on, doors open and swaying with the motion of the ship. Spent bullet casings rolled across the deck like roaches scurrying for cover.
    He scooped up one of