[Swordfish941]

Here's more from my book:

"Chief, for Christ's sake, will you hurry with the charts?"

"Johnny, please, will you hold your horses? I got the charts." said Chief. Chief was a british man in his mid forties with a slight cockney accent and a military tradition. His grandfather had fought in World War II, his father had fought in The Falkland Wars, and he had served two tours in Barsa. He had gotten his knowledge about boats from his years as a fisherman. He was a fisherman until the economy took a downturn. Now he had a cozy little job looking after the ship. He had a full beard with signs of graying and burly arms. Chief walked over to the table with an armful of charts.

"Now, we have just passed Slangkoppunt about fifteen ago." said Chief pointing at the tip of South Africa on a map with an unsharpened pencil. "I say if we increase the speed to 20 knots, we can arrive in Cape Town just in time for breakfast."

"Hold on a second. Greg said that we would arrive in Cape Town in four hours."

"Well, I guess mathematics wasn't a subject that Mr. Archer excelled in." Chief said lighting his pipe. Johnny pulled a Zune out of his pocket and put the headphones in. He started to search through his music library, looking for something to listen to. He decided on The Pixies. Johnny found it funny that an alternative rock band was named after a creature you'd find in a fairy tale.

The ship was old, but had been modified with modern technology. They had installed an automative drive system so that the boat didn't have to be manually operated all the time. The boat's weaponry was simple. It consisted of twin .50 caliber Browning machine guns mounted on the bow and a 40mm Bofors cannon mounted on the stern. Johnny turned the autodrive off and began to steer the boat, occasionally taking a sip from a styrofoam cup of coffee.