Somalia

They burst aboard with black balaclavas and unintelligible screams waving their guns in dangerous directions. Everyone they encountered hit the decking and lay as flat as possible. Pop, pop, pop went a semi-automatic weapon somewhere distantly forward. A scream and a sound like breaking glass followed by a wail of sirens Doppler shifted the length of the huge vessel. Smoke; the smell of ocean then an awful fearful silence.

John didn’t move but his mind and senses reached out in every direction desperately trying to locate his 6 year old daughter, Jenny. Where was she? Things seemed safe so he risked a look towards the door he’d just come through. Pop, pop, pop nearer this time. Flat again, heart racing and the sound of his own breathing in his ears; erratic. Please Lord, protect her little life. The wind gusted and the siren abruptly cut off.

The silence that followed was long and lonely. Time elongated. The captain had briefed them all on the possibility of piracy. They were all to cooperate fully; offering no resistance. Their course was supposed to keep them out of danger. But clearly the captain and his officers were wrong.

Organised crime in Somalia, having ravaged the country’s interior, turned its attention to the sea and the lucrative commercial trade pouring out of the Suez canal. Well resourced rebel fighters with careers beginning in childhood became pirates by attacking foreign ships with hand cannons, machetes and rifles. Such huge lumbering targets laden with treasure were hard to resist. It was the ransoms that made the effort worthwhile. And with each win, the pirates got bolder. This time they took on the largest cargo vessel ever built, the super tanker Knock Nevis - nearly half a kilometre long. It fell without a fight.

Without moving, John continued to search for some evidence of his daughter’s whereabouts. Was she smart enough to hide? She was so trusting and curious. Perhaps she was still in their cabin playing. Or perhaps one of the crew, learning of the danger early, had hidden her away safely. So to look for her would put them both in danger. But if she were wandering the deck, as she often did mid-morning, then she might become a target. What should he do? Lord, what should I do?

He longed to embrace her sweet wire frame and kiss the tiny face that reminded him so much of his wife. The profound forehead and serious mouth. And the smell of soapy skin and fresh pyjamas at bedtime. Always asking insightful questions like, Dad if the ship’s so big why doesn’t it sink? Something to do with density he had replied.

Two men hauled him to his feet roughly and pushed him forward. Caught by surprise he just managed to not wet his pants. They yelled and gesticulated that he should go, he went. Everyone was probably being found and contained. As he rounded the ships central structure he saw smoke leaking from a damaged door. There was a smudge of what looked like blood on the ground near a ladder. Pop, pop, pop. John jumped, that was near. His heart pounded. Is this it Lord? Where is my daughter?

The men pushed him into a narrow hall lit dimly from above by incandescent bulbs in think glass encasements. Everything was steel and crusted with paint. He hadn’t ever been to this part of the ship before. It was some kind of mechanical workshop with huge winches and tools for Titans. Around a corner and there was a tightly gathered group of men, bound and looking very afraid. The smell of fear and urine was present. One of the crew lay on the ground in a pool of blood moaning quietly. Four men dressed entirely in black stood watched and talked in some African language, one without a balaclava. Was he the leader? His face was scarred and tattooed as if he had given up caring anymore what others might think. There was hatred in is red-rimmed cloudy eyes.

John’s hands were roughly bound with what looked like green earth wire. It was tight and cut into his skin sharply. He wriggled back some movement as he was shoved together with the others. His fellow hostages watched him silently. The group accounted for maybe a third of the crew. Jenny was not among them.

He could the hear the ship’ huge engine throbbing from here which meant that they were still underway. The all pervasive smell of warm diesel drifted past and that greasy smell found in all mechanical workshops. One of the pirates was talking on a two-way radio. So they were well equipped.

The force of what began just an hour ago was beginning to hit home and he began to shake. Lord, protect my little girl. The man on the ground stopped moaning and became very still. One of bound men made a move to assist him but was stopped by a look and the barrel of a gun waved generally in his direction. John watched as the pirate used his foot to roll over the body. This is what death look like he thought. What will it feel like?

Soon shock would give way to anger and anger to hate. John could already feel hate seeping into his soul. How dare they threaten him and his daughter. How dare they kill that man. What right did they have? Lord, enact your vengeance. Protect your people. Please protect Jenny.

© Mark Wilson 2008