The Story of K

'Adam!' He was brought 'back into the moment' by Jacques Sauveterre, the team-leader. Or more aptly introduced as 'Capitan Sauveterre', who, up until recently, served with the legendary 'Legion Etrangere' – the French Foreign Legion. Adam instinctively surveyed the horizon and saw the outline of the 'target'. The bulk of the large container ship was now visible on the horizon. Adam automatically grabbed his laser range-finder and dropped the revs.

'We're two klicks away.' He advised his team-leader over the lowered burble of the engine.

'Bon.' Came the curt, business-like acknowledgement. Jacques was all about 'business' Adam thought. Jesus, even he liked to 'cut loose' after an op. Maybe that was the 'Booty' still left inside him. He smiled at the eponymous nick-name given to serving and ex-members of the British Royal Marines.

After all, he conceded, there' no such thing as an 'ex-Marine', who are often addressed by other ex and serving members of the British armed forces as 'Boot Necks' or just plain 'Booty's'. He smiled for a moment as he somewhat begrudgingly conceded the current meaning of the word 'booty' to the rest of the Western world, thanks to Beyonce.

The name heralded back to the 'old' Royal Navy, when a detachment of Marines always accompanied His Majesty's ships as they held sway across the four corners of the globe in Admiral Nelson's navy. When there used to be a 'British Empire'. Marines then used to cut the tops off leather boots and wear them around their necks. Not as a gaudy fashion-statement, but to stop mutinous sailor's from slitting their throats whilst they guarded the ship's often-hated officers.

As the RIB stealthily crept nearer the unsuspecting vessel, Adam also became all about 'business'. This particular op was to rescue the daughter of a very wealthy Kenyan who had been rounded up by a particularly nasty group of Somalian pirate fuck-heads, because she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now, along with about twelve other terrified female hostages, their intel told him, she was being held in this shitty rusty container ship, probably in one of the lower holds, before being transferred to the southern Somalian coast-line to be handed over to Al Shabab, the established Islamic extremist group who still held sway in southern-Somalia. They would want lots and lots of money from her daddy, if they found out who he was, after they had had lots of fun with his daughter.

That wasn't going to happen. Lassiter silently vowed. Not on his watch. He subconsciously patted the Heckler and Koch P11 Underwater Pistol strapped to his wetsuit. The weapon could engage targets up to 15 meters underwater and had an effective range of 50 meters on dry land. It also had the added benefit of being almost completely silent. He knew. Unlike more than one or two of his now-deceased 'targets'.

Adam expertly steered the RIB on a course slightly ahead of, and north-west of the lumbering container ship, to allow for drift. They would be swimming 'onto target'. Sauveterre gave the '5 minute' signal. It was time to get 'tactical'. He nodded to the American, 'You stay wiz ze boat.'

'Aww man, you gotta be shittin' me!' The ex-Delta Force soldier complained. 'I gotta stay with the boat? Man, come on! You shoulda gotten a fuckin' SEAL for this shit! I'm ready to rock!' The ex-Foreign Legionnaire stared at him with cold black eyes. 'Ok Ok! I'll stay with the fuckin' boat.'

'500 meters. Don't forget.' Sauveterre reminded Broak.

'Yeah, yeah. If I see lights, I'm goin' under.' Broak wasn't relishing having to purposefully capsize the RIB in case of any searching spot-lights, then hang around under the cap-sized RIB using his re-breather waiting for them to return, or maybe the sharks. He also subconsciously patted his HKP11. 'Hey...' he addressed the team-leader. 'What if there's more than five sharks?' Broak was considering how many darts his pistol carried.

'Shoot ze biggest ones, zen use your knife.' Sauveterre answered dryly.

Broak considered his boss's instructions dryly. 'Yeah, my knife, of course. Why didn't I think of that? Ok, that's fine then. You fuck-tard!' He wisely kept his last comment to himself. Broak, along with the others looked inwards as they all heard the RIB's engines die.

'OK guys,' Lassiter addressed them, 'time to get wet.' He adjusted his face-mask and slipped over the side like a camouflaged dolphin. The others followed suite. Despite hating being in boats, Hanny was a phenomenal swimmer. Probably something to do with his South-African SAS training. They liked to make you swim across crocodile-infested lakes and rivers.

Adam was all-too aware of 'how things were underwater'. You got completely disoriented. Especially in the dark. Your best friend was your 'bubble-trail'. It showed you where the surface was. A thing all divers always needed to know. They swam at the pace of the slowest man, the fourth member of the team, another Legionnaire and friend of Sauveteere's, Philippe Cousteau. 'How the fuck can he have a name like 'Cousteau' and be a shit swimmer?' Adam pondered, recalling the legendary French underwater pioneer Jacques Cousteau. But, he had to admit, on dry land he was fucking frightening. His knife-throwing skills were 'off the chart'.

Despite their slight 'encumbrance', the team made good time and surfaced some two hundred metres in front of the lumbering ship. They bobbed in line-astern as they ship approached. There – there was there point of entry. The sea-hold, a gaping hole in the side of the ship some fifteen metres above the waterline. The team dumped their fins, masks and tanks which drifted off before sinking, then awaited Adam's signal.

He allowed the ship to approach as near as he dare before firing his pneumatic climbing rope. It was a 'one shot' deal. Miss – and you're fucked. He didn't miss. He never missed. Pulling the thin strong propylene line taught he hung on for grim death as the hulking ship passed them by. All four were now securely 'short roped' onto each other. Then the 'Nantucket Sleigh Ride' began, as they were swept along in the slow, lumbering wake. Foot by foot, Adam pulled himself along the rope, his toil easing as the others got a hold.

Five minutes of agonising fore-arm pain later, Philippe was hauled into the sea-hold. As one, the team padded silently forward, like some grey dappled ghostly snake. Adam re-played the ship's layout in his 'memory-cam', stealing up metal ladders, turning left, then right. They saw no-one. Their luck was holding... so far.

Adam turned to the team-leader and gesticulated with his right hand towards the entrance of the stair-well which led to the lower-hold. The ghostly silent grey dappled snake of death slithered downwards. Then Adam froze. He heard coughing. The stench of cannabis coming from the corridor was almost overpowering. Adam risked a lightening peek around the corner of the stair-well. Good. Only one guard. The rest were probably on the upper-decks getting high as kites too. The slight problem was, he was about sixty metres away. Fuck.

With no other option on the table, Adam crouched and entered the dimly-lit gang-way. As he crept slowly forward he got a better look at the guard. AK 47 slung way too low off his shoulder and... Bonus! He was even wearing ear-phones. 'What a fuckin' amateur.' His 'target-control' mind told him.

The young kid was probably bopping away to Bob Marley or 'whoeverthefuck' as he got nearer. Whatever shit he was smoking must have been strong, as the guard coughed violently again. It was almost his last mortal action. As the kid coughed his spliff flew straight out onto the deck. He automatically stooped to collect it. Which was when his eyes met Adam's.

'Puff' The sound of Adam's gas-propelled HKP11 was the last thing he ever heard.

Thud! The kid's body hit the deck and convulsed a couple of times, making Adam freeze. He winced as the guard's AK47 clattered against the steel-plates. Adam waited until his body stopped moving, then glided forwards, followed by the other three-quarters of the 'snake'. Adam checked the kid's carotid artery. Satisfied that he had gone to meet Bob Marley, he began to slowly turn the heavy iron locking handle which, thankfully, had recently been greased. Then he pulled the heavy iron door open.

Like a wraith he glided into the dimly-lit hold, followed by Sauveterre and Hanny, who were 'weapons hot'. One good thing, Adam thought as he stole forward, on ops like this there were absolutely no 'Rules of Engagement' to be observed. Philippe was left guarding the door. The three operators crept down the narrow steps. Adam could hear loud sobbing from down below. He stopped on the stair-well, turned the ancient rusted circular switch to 'Off', killing the lights. This action immediately elicited unwelcome yells of horror from the already terrified hostages. But light is 'not good' for a covert aggressor. As one, the three men ripped open their pouches and quickly fitted their night-vision kit. Adam stealthily continued down, into a now weird 'green' world.

Reaching the bottom of the steps he paused to get his bearings. His senses acknowledging the capacious, cold, wet, diesel-infused space. Then his night-vision kit registered life. There they were. A row of dark shapes arrayed along the far wall. He silently motioned to his friends. The three frog-men then acted out the macabre slow-motion ballet of trained aggressors entering unknown hostile space the world over. Their bodies dancing around each other, their weapons covering every possible angle, low, high, left, right, as they cautiously progressed towards the captives.

Adam reached the first terrified woman. She stared at him with wide eyes. He took in her traditional African dress.

'Ana huna limusaeatadik!'

The terrified woman looked at him as though he was an alien from another world. 'You are here to help me?' she gasped.

'Yes, yes!' Adam replied thankfully. His Arabic was shit. 'We're here to rescue you. We have a boat waiting.'

'Oh thank you, thank you! Allah be praised...' the woman stared wailing. Adam panicked.

'Shssssh...! Jesus Christ!' He placed his finger firmly against her mouth to accentuate the need for complete silence. The woman stared back at him even more wild-eyed. He attempted to soothe her by touching her arm. She shrieked. Fuck! Hanny shot a look of alarm at Sauveterre.

'Is she here?' Sauveterre demanded of Adam. Adam responded by quickly checking along the line with his torch...

'Nine – no, ten – no, eleven – no, twelve, hold on... eleven...' Adam re-shone his torch in the face of the frightened girl. 'Are you Anasa?' He stared impatiently as the terrified girl eventually nodded. 'I have the package.' He answered.

'Bon. Now let's go.' Sauveterre ordered. Adam's sea-knife flashed as he sliced through the girl's rope bindings. Hanny grabbed her arm and strode quickly away with her, followed by Sauveterre. Adam froze. 'Hey!' he yelled after them. Sauveterre turned. Adam simply gestured at the other twelve terrified hostages. 'They go too.'

'No room.' Was the simple answer.

'Fuck that!' Adam responded forcefully. Sauveterre halted and turned. 'Jacques, for fuck's sake, we can't leave them. The RIB can hold them, trust me I know. We'll just have to go over the side and hang on to the ropes for the ride home.' Sauveterre considered his team-mates forcefully put option of escape. He was about to turn away when Adam spoke again. 'Justice Pour Tous? For fuck's sake!'

Sauveterre conceded. 'Oui. Justice Pour Tous. Quickly. Annie...' he addressed the South African, 'You don't let 'er out of your sight. D'accord?'

'Oui' Hanny responded bluntly. Adam and Sauveterre began freeing the others, pleading with them to remain silent. The message was received, loud and clear. Using intermittent torch-light, they guided the gaggle of hostages up the iron stairs, flinching at every sound they made, as it could mean certain death. Hanny reached the top of the gang-way and nodded to a very relieved looking Philippe. Adam checked his watch. Thirteen minutes. Good? Bad? Who the fuck knew? They didn't happen to have a copy of the terrorists guard roster handy, to tell them when to expect the next guy due on shift. Extreme caution continued to be the order of the day.

All was going well. They almost had all of the freed hostages up when, 'clang!' Everyone froze at the sound of an opening iron door followed by loud, un-cautious approaching foot-steps. The Somalian pirate turned the corner into the corridor, completely oblivious, at first, to the gaggle of escaping hostages and armed ex-special forces operators crouched in front of him. His eyes finally registered all was not well. His eyes grew about as big as Gene Wilder's as he began un-slinging his AK47 around his body.

'Puff'. The powerful dart took him fully in the neck. Hanny watched him fall, as if in slow-motion. Then, catastrophe. The stricken terrorist's fingers convulsed around his trigger, loosing off a burst of high-velocity 7.62mm rounds on 'fully automatic' as his dying body hit the deck. The noise was deafening.

The noise subsided more quickly than the lingering pungent unforgettable smell of cordite. Adam quickly did a head-count. 'We are fucking leaving. NOW!' he yelled as he took the lead, heading back to the sea-hold. Hanny broke radio-silence... 'D'Artagnan Base this is Porthos... We have the package plus twelve friendlies. We are in CONTACT – Unknown number of hostiles – Immediate extraction required...' followed by the unwelcome addition no Watch Keeper the world over wants to hear, 'This will be a hot extract - Out!' 500 metres away Tyler Broak copied the message and gunned the RIB's engines.

Thirty two miles away, somewhere on the Somalian coast, a French AS532 Cougar medium lift helicopter began winding up. Two minutes later it noisily climbed into the sky above the Indian Ocean.

'D'Artagnan Base this is Papa One – Twelve minutes to target – over'. The Dutch pilot relayed. The troop-carrier clattered into the cloudy sky, followed by a smaller, more ominous shape.

'D'Artagnan Base this is Rapier One. Airborne – out'. The eyes of the German pilot of the US Apache ground attack helicopter followed the larger shape of the Cougar as it climbed into the dark Somalian sky. The armament it carried could wipe out a small fleet, if necessary. The two helicopters sped away into the clouds.

The home of Officer Burgham, Nassau County

'Whoo hoo! Ride him Cowgirl!' The big blonde cop yelled in ecstasy as his 'Cowgirl' enthusiastically 'rode' his erect manhood. Splash (aka Officer Todd Burgham, Nassau County State Police) looked up at Julie as she straddled him. 'Man this chick is fuckin' wild!' he joyously thought, as he engaged in yet more of the most 'off the chart' vigorous sex he had ever, ever experienced.

Julie was, well... pretty insatiable. She was a 'sex-o-holic' and he fuckin' loved it. He found out soon after first met her, as he somewhat nervously walked up the steps to her condo. She opened the door wearing a sheer black negligee complete with black fur trim, and 'to die for' underwear. He had officially won the lottery, he thought happily as he followed her into her house. That was only six weeks ago and he had had an almost permanent erection ever since! And tonight was no different.

Julie was a very happy cowgirl right now. Ok, so Splash was just about the biggest, dumbest cop she had ever met, but his cock was just fuckin' fantastic. She couldn't get enough of it either... 'Cowgirl', 'Deep Stick'... it was all, all good. Her only problem was that he was just too damned big. In addition to 'Deep Throat', role-play and a little BDSM, when she was in a particularly naughty mood Julie enjoyed anal sex from time to time. But she didn't like too much pain. So she had to improvise. Fortunately she did have an extensive collection of 'toys'. She reached behind her and grabbed one of her favourites which she handed to Splash with a naughty wink.

'Oh baby... really? Wow!' he remarked gratefully. He took what looked like an expensive crystal ornament from her and watched her glide off the bed and bend over the dresser.

'Oh Officer, I've been a really naughty girl...' Splash drooled as he drank in the fantastically erotic sight of her bending over the dresser. He loved the outfit she was wearing tonight. Black leather knee-high boots, black fish-net stockings, black lace elbow-high gloves and a skin-tight black PVC dress, which the designers had obviously not finished, as the front of the dress finished just underneath her gorgeous perky breasts, which were fully on display for his pleasure. The dress also came with a full-length two-way zipper in the back. Her gorgeous titties looked fantastic in his dresser mirror, he thought.

'Well now, Ma'am. There seems to be a problem here.' He used his most officious 'cop voice'.

'Oh really Officer? What's that?' She asked, feigning innocence.

'The zipper on your dress...'

'Yes Officer?' she goaded.

'Well, it's not quite 'regulation'. I'm afraid you happen to be in violation of Nassau County Dress Code 7625 Ma'am.' God he loved 'cop' games!

'Oh no Officer.' She wiggled her curvy ass at him teasingly. 'What are you going to do...?'

'Well, Ma'am, I should write you a ticket for a hundred dollar fine right now.'

'Oh I don't have a hundred on me Officer.'

'Well maybe...' He stood behind her caressing her hips with his huge hands.

'Maybe what Officer?'

'I might be able to reduce the fine if I do this...' He grasped the zipper at the bottom of her dress and slowly pulled it. She parted her legs for him. The tight PVC dress enticingly displayed her stocking tops.

'Is that all right Officer?' she asked coyly.

'Well Ma'am, I'm still not too sure. I mean the law is the law after all.'

'Oh I'm so sorry Officer. I didn't mean to be a bad girl... really.'

'Well Ma'am, you should have thought about that before you flagrantly violated Dress Code 7625 now, shouldn't you?'

'Yes, I'm sorry Officer. I promise I won't ever do it again... well,' she added teasingly, 'not for a while anyways.'

'I'm sorry Ma'am, you're just going have to deal with consequences of your actions.' He pulled the zipper a little higher, revealing her sheer black panties.

'Oh Officer! Now what are you going to do? Ohhhh!' Julie closed her eyes as she felt his tongue exploring her stockings. His mouth explored her everywhere. His huge hands pushed her creamy ass wide apart as he buried his tongue between her thighs. 'Oh Officer are you going to lick my pussy? Ohhhh my God!' his tongue answered her question.

'I think we could maybe reduce your fine a little if we did this.' Officer Burgham announced lasciviously as spread cold lube all over the crystal ornament.

'Did what officer? Ohhh!' Julie then felt his fingers roughly pull her panties wide apart. His urgent tongue began probing her hot tight asshole. 'Ohhh Officer. Did they teach you that at cop school too?'

'No Ma'am they sure didn't!' he replied enthusiastically. Julie then flinched as she felt the cold crystal anal teaser invading her. He slowly pushed it into her, then withdrew it even more slowly, the conical shape of the crystal anal intruder delivering the most exquisite, the most intimate pleasure.

'Ohhh Officer!' Julie squirmed in rapturous delight as the toy did its work. 'Harder Officer... harder!' He complied with her demand, thrusting the crystal intruder more vigorously inside her forbidden heaven. Then something on the dresser caught his eye.

'Ma'am, I'm really sorry, but...'

'But what Officer?' Julie gasped. 'Ohhhh fuck! That is so nice.' He stood back to enjoy the fantastically erotic view of her, bent over the dresser now 'wearing' a black glossy 'butt plug'.