Giving me the thumbs up said all that needed to be said.
We had rehearsed and rehearsed until I could complete this mission in my sleep. Sure, it was my first true mission, but I had been involved in the desk-top planning for hundreds of others. Ok. Maybe not hundreds.
Bart and Marty stayed hidden near the stern of the ship.
I meandered, shrouded by the keel, starboard toward the bow.
At exactly 0400 we were to converge topside.
Giving the looters an entire hour to scavenger the remains had been the plan. It was a good one.
They did all the work.
We would reap all the rewards.
I pulled my knife from my ankle sheath on my left leg.
This clock was ticking.
I was to be the distraction. The marauders would turn to see me… Bart and Marty would finish them.
So, you ask… “Why did I have my diving knife out?”
Diving knives make quick work on the tubes of an air tank regulator.
A one-way spilt is far bigger than a three-way.
My fortune awaits.
Written for Writer’s Digest Flash Fiction Challenge #1: Today’s prompt is to write a story with no dialogue.