Death delivers

Captain Robert Shumaker stood on the bridge of the ship scanning the horizon for bad things that could end his life. These bad things had tried to kill him countless times before, but nonetheless he was still alive. But the day wasn't over yet.

He insisted his crew call him Bob, as if it would help the morale and efficiency of the ancient trawler, a relic from the last war now that was now reduced to smuggling stolen electronics from secret coves in Messina to his contact off Albania. Once again they would be meeting the man tonight to deliver the goods. The man with no name who paid cash.

The Ionian sea was smooth that night and yet the crew was anxious, they kept checking their weapons and pacing, ready to smoke any pirates or criminals that tried to approach the ship.

Tom Carter, the radio operator, looked up at Bob and took a drag from his cigarette: "Bob, we just got the signal, the meet is in four hours, he sent me the coordinates, we need to turn north at a 020 heading."

"Sounds good" Bob said, "Any threats reported?"

"Not yet," Tom replied, but Bob heard the fear in his voice, the last exchange was a mess, the other contact told them the wrong coordinates, then a Greek military chopper flew over and the crew nearly opened fire on it. It could have been bad, very bad.

In an instant the fear turned real. He spotted a skiff headed at his port side at top speed immediately followed by staccato bursts of gunfire, it sounded like fifty caliber and was getting closer. He pulled the alarm and shouted for the men to take cover and open fire. As he frantically turned the ship starboard and pushed the power levers to max, he saw it, the unmistakable flash of an RPG. The missile was incoming. It was a very bad thing.