By Mack Maloney
Modern Pirates of the Caribbean
Terror stalks the Bahamas. anyone is killing filthy rich seagoing travelers, leaving no clues to the identification of the marauders and no hint in their victims’ our bodies. The Bahamian police are baffled, and whilst a Coast defend boat is found on a reef, its officials murdered, tourism professionals become aware of they want open air aid, or this crime wave will damage the islands’ largest business.
workforce Whiskey, U.S. soldiers-turned-pirate-hunters, have tangled with Somali pirates, retrieved hundreds of thousands of greenbacks of stolen shipment and thwarted different high-seas piracy. They run to floor a gang of ruthless Caribbean pirates, yet earlier than they could tie up the free ends, they've got unfinished enterprise to settle with Asia’s pirate kingpin. once they go back, they face a risk extra lethal than any piracy, a plot that’ll blow the Caribbean sky excessive, until the pirate hunters can do what even the U.S. army can't . . .
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Modern Pirates of the Caribbean
Terror stalks the Bahamas. a person is killing prosperous seagoing travelers, leaving no clues to the identification of the marauders and no hint in their victims’ our bodies. The Bahamian police are baffled, and while a Coast defend boat is stumbled on on a reef, its officials murdered, tourism experts detect they wish open air aid, or this crime wave will spoil the islands’ largest company.
crew Whiskey, U. S. soldiers-turned-pirate-hunters, have tangled with Somali pirates, retrieved thousands of bucks of stolen shipment and thwarted different high-seas piracy. They run to flooring a gang of ruthless Caribbean pirates, yet ahead of they could tie up the free ends, they've got unfinished enterprise to settle with Asia’s pirate kingpin. after they go back, they face a chance extra lethal than any piracy, a plot that’ll blow the Caribbean sky excessive, until the pirate hunters can do what even the U. S. army can't . . .
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Extra info for Operation Caribe (Pirate Hunters)
Sam was already on the back of our truck, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves from the trauma pack. ’ He laid his hand on the boy’s head. . ’ I went to his other side. The kid’s clothes were in shreds and it was easy to see the huge slit down his left thigh. It looked like a sausage that had split in a frying-pan. Most of his flesh was peppered with fragments of broken stone. His hair and face were caked with blood, sweat and sand. We didn’t have any fluids to get into him. There was nothing we could do but plug up the holes and try to stop him losing any more blood.
I followed him. I wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or the rebels were recruiting pygmies, but he didn’t cast much of a shadow. My foresight slowly passed his feet from behind, and as it got about three body widths ahead, I fired a longer, six-round burst. Rounds plucked at the sand around him, and he went down. More shouting. I looked down into the compound again. Frankenstein was getting Davy and some others to relieve the government troops of their RPG launchers and rounds. Standish exited the building, followed closely by the youngest of the women I’d seen by the crates.
The noise of eight weapons opening simultaneously was deafening. I was buffeted by shockwaves from the RPGs, then the hot back-blast washed over me. Gravel splattered me. My nose filled with the acrid smell of cordite and spent propellant. My eardrums zinged. I put another double-tap into the lead vehicle as one of the grenades hit home about three back. Its headlights swerved and the dustcloud it threw up obscured the set I was aiming for. Next thing I saw, my vehicle, too, was swerving. It went into a complete roll not more than twenty metres from the wall.