The Mogadishu Encounter

By Clinchandhill

In his third installment, commander James Mitchel once again sails the ocean onboard an American warship.

When Mitchel learns of a mysterious cargo on board the North Korean freighter, Dai Hong Dan, the American warship sails to intercept. Before the Williams reaches the North Korean ship, they are seized by Somalian pirates in the waters where U.S. and NATO warships have been patrolling off the Horn of Africa for years now in an effort to stop piracy.

At the suspicion of very dangerous cargo aboard the Dan rises, Mitchel and his colleagues take us on a thrilling ride where danger and the threat of nuclear war are imminent.

The Mogadishu Encounter is the latest and last adventure in the James Mitchel trilogy. A thriller inspired by true events.

Clinchandhill again brings together fact and fiction, drama, and dialogue that will keep the reader tied to the book from beginning to end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clinchandhill
• Release date: Oct 22, 2020

Clinchandhill

Clinchandhill, had long-discovered his passion for writing at a young age. Despite past career detours, his love for worldbuilding and the written word were rekindled into a furious blaze. He has since penned his acclaimed political thriller, Kursk, and its equally compelling sequels, 47 Hours and The Mogadishu Encounter.His irrefutable fascination for credible and true events is evident throughout all his fictional works, including this latest hard-hitting novels, Aldaraia, Lemuria and Atacama. Clinchandhill now writes full-time in the Netherlands, with his beautiful wife of 20 years. In his spare time, he enjoys sipping tea with a good book and delving into his own adventures out on open waters.

Book preview

1. Prologue

October 2007

The Indian Ocean, near the African Horn

Mayday, Mayday. This is the Panamanian cargo ship, Golden Nori. We’re being attacked by pirates. Mayday, Mayday, we are fourteen nautical miles off the coast. This is the cargo ship Golden Nori, and we’re under attack by pirates who are trying to board the ship.

Cargo Ship Golden Nori, this is the naval destroyer, USS Porter. We have received your distress call and are on an intercept course. Our ETA is little over two hours.

Thank you, USS Porter. Several small boats are trying to board. They have weapons. We’ll keep fighting them off with our water cannons, but we’re not sure how long we can manage. Please hurry.

Hold on tight. We’re on our way. The radio officer took off his headset and looked at the first officer next to him.

What do you want me to do, sir? the radio officer asked the XO.

The XO turned to the crew inside the blue-lit command center. Men, he addressed a dozen officers working their screens along the walls. Let’s keep our eyes on that ship, and let’s get there as fast as we can. Then he turned back to the radio officer. Keep talking to them and get regular updates on their status. We might need every bit of information we can get our hands on once we get there. Try to find out how many boats, men, kind of armament. Everything you can think of. I’ll inform the Captain.

Yes sir, the radio officer called out as he put his headset back on. The XO walked out of the command center through a large steel open door and into the beige painted hallway with gray doors.

Sir, a voice yelled from the command center. Lieutenant Parker!

The XO turned and stepped back into the command center. What is it, Ensign? he asked a young man, raising his arm and looking over his shoulder.

Look, sir. The young man lowered his arm and pointed at the screen in front of him. The screen – enclosed in buttons – showed the east African coast. With a swift roll of the trackball below his right hand, the black junior officer zoomed in on the Somalian coast. Black dots with numbers on the screen represented the US fleet in the Indian Ocean. First, he pointed at the dot that read ‘DDG-78’. Here we are. Then he moved his finger to a green dot that read ‘3FBX7.’ That’s the Golden Nori, sir. She’s heading south-south-west. On the screen, the Golden Nori slowly moved to a red dashed line drawn between them and the Somalian coastline near the Horn of Africa, south of the Socotra archipelago.

Damn. The XO rubbed his chin. How long?

At present speed, about twenty minutes, sir.

And our intercept time? the XO asked. The ensign shook his head and pointed at the screen where it read in red, ‘+2.00’.

The XO stayed silent for a short moment. Thanks, you did a great job, he broke his silence. With a few big steps, he hurried to the radio officer and tapped him on the shoulder. Tell them to reverse to their original course. Tell them we can’t help if they continue their way to shore. Tell them now! he almost shouted.

The radio officer quickly put his headset back on, adjusted the microphone to his mouth, and spoke, 3FBX7, Golden Nori, this is the USS Porter, please respond.

The XO hurried out of the command center again. Some thirty feet into the corridor, he rushed up the open steel staircase where he entered another steel corridor. Fast-paced, he passed the with pipes laced beige walls. He followed the yellow-painted bumpers just above the floor, which protected the wall mount gearboxes. Then he stopped at the door with a simple brass nametag that said: ’Captain’ and knocked three times.

Yes, it sounded from inside.

The XO opened the door and stepped inside. Captain. Catching his breath, he closed his hands behind his back and gave a small nod.

The austere stateroom was furnished with a dark brown leather corner sofa on one side and, on the other side, an antique mahogany desk that served as a workplace.

At ease, Jim, the Captain spoke from behind his desk. I know it’s your first trip with us, but I can assure you, you can relax a bit.

The XO relaxed his arms again. Thank you, sir. We’re on our way to the distress call, Captain.

Any news?

The Nori has identified several smaller boats attacking, but no other numbers or details yet. But there’s another problem.

All right. The Captain rose from his seat.

They seem to have changed course and are heading back to Mogadishu Port.

That’s not good news, the Captain replied. When will she cross back into territorial waters?

A few minutes before we can intercept.

The Captain took a deep breath and thought for a moment. All right, Bill, you head back to your post and let me make a few calls. I’ll join you in a few minutes.

Sir, if you don’t mind?

What is it? the Captain asked.

‘There’s a chance we can identify the pirates on radar and take them out from here with rockets while they’re still in international waters."

The Captain gazed at the XO. And risk hitting the freighter? What’s the Nori carrying?

We do not know yet what she’s hauling, sir, but she’s an oil and chemical tanker so….

So, there’s a good chance that if she’s loaded, and we’re just a slight bit off, we’ll blow up the very ship we’re here to protect. Let me first make a few calls. I’ll be there soon.

Of course, sir. The XO jumped to attention before leaving the room. Almost running, the XO passed the hallways and went two flights up before stepping through the open doorway, onto the bridge. The 180-degree windows gave a wide view of the ocean from left to right. Vast rows of monitors, panels with blinking lights and knobs, and little room to move defined the bridge. Even the ceiling was filled with machinery. Especially remarkable was the twelve-inch black steering wheel – which wouldn’t have been misplaced in a minivan – that navigated the five-hundred feet tall ship. Through the windows, big waves showed, as the ship first dove into one of them, only to rise high back on top again, before diving into the next one. With every bounce, the four crewmen on deck bent through their knees and veered back up again.

The XO walked up to the Helmsman behind the wheel. How are we doing?

I think we're still making good time, sir, the Helmsman responded. Weather control says we’ve already seen the worst of it and should roll into easier waters within minutes now.

That’s great. Move on. He took the 1MC from the ceiling, stretched the spiral cord as he pulled it towards him, and turned a knob on the radio. How are you doing down there. Any news?

Sir, it sounded through the bridge speakers. Just now, I was speaking to the radio officer on the Nori who told me pirates had boarded the ship. A minute later, mid-sentence, contact was interrupted. I’ve been trying to get them back on comms, but nothing yet.

All right, thanks. Keep trying.

Captain on the bridge, a sailor called out when the XO hung back the mike. All sailors aboard the bridge briefly gave attention and saluted.

At ease, men, the Captain responded as he joined the XO.

You heard? the XO asked the Captain.

I did. That’s most unfortunate.

It is, the XO conformed.

The Captain took a few steps to the side, where he punched some keys next to a monitor. On the screen, two blips appeared next to the Somalian coastline. The Golden Nori, marked as number 3FBX7 on the screen, was straight on top of the dotted line.

Hmm, the Captain grunted. The good news is that the Somalian authorities have granted permission to continue the pursue and act within the territorial boundaries.

That’s a first, the XO responded.

I actually think it is. Never before during these operations, a United States ship has been granted permission to act inside territorial waters.

We should almost be able to see them anytime now, sir, the XO determined, looking at the screen. At that same time, the ship seemed to roll out from the big waves and slowly moved into calmer waters.

That’s better, the Captain said, stretching his legs a bit.

Here you go, sir. The XO gave the Captain a pair of binoculars he took from a case and picked one up for himself. They both looked over the ocean.

There she is, the XO called out. One o’clock.

I see her, the Captain confirmed. And it looks like she’s towing two smaller boats behind her. That means the pirates have indeed already boarded.

From the looks of it, they’ve also powered down and are adrift, the XO added. The Captain nodded as both men took down their binoculars.

Take us within a quarter-mile, the Captain ordered the Helmsman.

What now? the XO asked the Captain.

Now we wait. It won’t be long.

For a few minutes, the men stayed silent as the USS porter sailed towards the Golden Nori until she became visible for the naked eye.

Bring us in nice and easy, the Captain ordered.

Golden Nori at a quarter-mile, Captain, the Helmsman spoke.

Thank you, Helmsman, the Captain replied. Hold your position and mirror their course and speed, should she decide to go somewhere.

Comms to the bridge, it sounded through the speakers.

The Captain took the 1MC from the ceiling. Captain speaking, go ahead.

I have a communication from the Nori, sir. They are demanding to speak with the Captain, in bad English, that is.

There you’ll have it, the Captain addressed the XO. Then he pushed the button on the 1MC. All right, son. Put them through.

Here she comes, sir.

The Captain waited for a few moments before pushing the button and speaking into the 1MC again. This is the Captain of the United States Destroyer, Porter speaking. Who am I talking to?

For a moment, there wasn’t a single sound on the bridge except for the heavy breathing of the officers waiting anxiously.

A crackling sound came through the speakers, followed by a barely understandable: Call me Libaax. I am now Captain of this ship.

What can we do for you? the Captain replied.

This ship we control, and all people and cargo is our hostage.

I see, the Captain responded. And what is it you want, Libaax? When he let go of the 1MC button, he turned to the XO. Do we already know what cargo’s on board that ship?

The XO punched some keys on the keyboard, mounted below a screen on a console. Let me see. Uhm…. She’s a chemical tanker, and there are four chemicals listed on the manifest. Benzene is the only one listed as highly flammable as a hydrocarbon.

Do we know where the benzene is stored? the Captain asked, looking through his binoculars again.

No, sir, we don’t. The manifest doesn’t say. Are you thinking of….

Captain Porter, the voice sounded again through the speakers. We have control over twenty-three crew members and the cargo. We will blow up this ship if you don’t pay one million dollars.

The Captain laid down his binoculars and thought for a second.

What do you want to do, Captain? the XO asked.

What’s the distance between those two skiffs and the tanker? the Captain responded.

Uhm…. The XO looked through his binoculars. About one hundred feet, sir.

All right, prepare the Mark 45 to fire on those skiffs on my command.

Yes sir. The XO gave a tiny nod and started relaying orders.

The Captain pushed the button on the 1MC again. Libaax. He paused for a second. I think you better listen to me, son. You have exactly three minutes to release the ship, get back into your boats, and leave. We won't harm you if you do. If you should decide to stay and play this out, I will first destroy your boats and then come for you. He let go of the button again and looked at his watch. Are you ready to fire?

We are, the XO answered. But we cannot be a hundred percent certain not to damage the Nori. If the skiff carries a considerable amount of fuel, it could explode and hit the tanker.

I understand. Let’s hope we don’t need to fire.

What do you think they’ll do? the XO asked.

That depends on how much they need the money. If there’s some kind of village elder behind this and he’s back home waiting for his money, well…. In that case, there’s no turning back for the pirates. If they return empty-handed, they will probably all be killed.

So, it’s a suicide mission? the XO asked.

The Captain tilted his head and sighed. Not really. They could surrender and go to jail. Both men took their binoculars and looked to see if there was any movement. There wasn’t any.

Captain Porter, Libaax sounded again. I will kill a crew member every hour starting in one hour if you don’t get me my money.

The Captain pushed the button. I’m sorry, son, but that’s the wrong answer. He let go of the button and hung up the 1MC.

Captain Porter… It sounded through the speakers. Captain Porter.

Shut that down for now and take out those two boats.

The XO nodded at an officer who shut down communications. Then he picked up what looked like an old black telephone horn and pushed a green button below it. You’re cleared to fire at your discretion, he spoke out loud and put the horn back.

Absolute silence returned to the bridge as the Captain, and the XO took their binoculars, and all other eyes were focused at the rear of the Golden Nori.

On the USS Porter's deck, the five-inch, 62-caliber Mk 45 lightweight gun first turned his flat-panel turret – designed to reduce its radar signature. Once facing the direction of the tanker, it raised its twenty-two-foot barrel. A second later, a loud bang sounded as the gun fired, followed by the empty shell thrusted from the turret onto the deck. Barely two seconds after, a second shot followed.

On the bridge, everyone waited in anticipation as the seventy-pound bullets traveled towards the tanker. A few seconds later, the first one hit the skiff that was furthest away from the tanker. Wooden debris flew through the air immediately, followed by an explosion and a fireball rising into the sky. Loud cheering filled the bridge, high fives were exchanged, and applause sounded. Immediately after, the second bullet finished the job and exploded in the center of the debris.

Now we wait, the Captain said, looking at his watch. For five long minutes, the bridge stayed almost silent. Everyone with access to a pair of binoculars watched the rear of the freighter, where the remaining skiff floated in between small pieces of burning debris. Crew members without binoculars watched the 1MC hanging from the ceiling. Nothing happened at the back of the Nori, and there was no sound from the comms.

Do you want to try and reach them? the XO asked the Captain.

The Captain shook his head. They had their chance. Prepare another round to fire at the remaining skiff.

For a second, the XO kept his face locked onto the Captains’.

You may fire when ready, the captain said.

The XO turned, picked up the phone, and relayed the order.

All eyes were focused on the stern of the freighter. Seconds later, a low blow sounded, followed by a tremble through the metal of the ship. A few seconds later, a new fireball formed behind the Golden Nori. With a loud explosion, the second boat blew out of the water. Again applause sounded, and more high fives were exchanged.

That’s step one, the Captain spoke to the XO when the bridge calmed down again.

What’s step two?

Step two is the hard part. We wait. We give them a few minutes before we open communications again. Knowing the pirates in these waters were in for a long haul.

2. The James E. Williams

October 15, 2007

The Indian ocean. South of the Horn of Africa

The Arleigh Burke-class destroyer, James E. Williams – DDG 95 – was named after the native American, Navy chief, boatswain's mate, who was awarded the Medal of Honor during the Vietnam War. He was also considered to be the most decorated man ever enlisted in the history of the US Navy.

Now his five-hundred feet long, 9000-ton heavy namesake was assigned to the operation ‘Enduring Freedom’ and tasked with what the US defined as ‘combating militant Islamism and piracy in the Horn of Africa.’

In February 2007, United States President George W. Bush proclaimed the United States Africa Command's establishment. A compliment of about 2.000 servicemen and women from the United States military and allied countries, responsible for helping maintain the stability in the area of Sudan, Djibouti, Ethiopia, Eritrea, the Seychelles, Kenya, and Somalia.

The absence of a stable government and the rule of law in war-torn Somalia was evidently tied to the increase of maritime dumping, illegal international fishing, and the piracy of merchant vessels. The threat of piracy in the area had doubled in the last year. Almost 200 attacks were already reported in 2007, with more than 30 successful hijackings.

Now the, in December 2004, commissioned destroyer, James E. Williams, was on its way to the Somalian area just outside the territorial waters, south of the Horn of Africa. Its mission: the protection of merchant ships.

On deck of the destroyer, Commander James E. Mitchel overlooked the waters with his binoculars.

For the past few years, the handsome, tough-looking Mitchel had been in a rough patch. The tall, dark blond-haired Commander with his reddish three-day beard felt he had seen it all in his mid-forties. After his involvement with the Kursk disaster in 2000, he chose a more secure life. In 2002, he accepted a post as an intelligence officer at the US embassy in Caracas, Venezuela. Although he’d never had a combat function, it was his luck to get drawn into a presidential coup, and again he needed to put his life and career on the line. After doing this, again and again, his wife, Nathalie, had given him a choice. Give up his life as a career military, or risk his marriage.

They didn’t make it and broke up. His daughter – Catherine, seventeen years old – chose