Short, Bloody, and Expensive

(Author Note: The title is a line from a different draft I wrote a few years back. I didn't like the story, but I loved the line. So I crafted a new story around it to explore modern mercenaries.)

 

The security detail on the MH Zorn didn’t know they had been marked for death.

Newly built sandbagged weapon stations were manned fore and aft. A two-man mobile patrol slowly walked the catwalk lining the rail, occasionally tossing a hand grenade into the water to deter combat swimmers. In the dark they could hear the purr of outboard motors as teammates steered RHIBs around the perimeter beyond the torpedo nets.

200 kilometers away Captain Samuel Ellis watched the MH Zorn over the live feed from Viking Maritime’s stealth surveillance drone. MH Zorn had anchored yesterday morning in Secure Anchorage Area 3, five kilometers off Lagos harbor. They were being guarded by a port security team from Sparrow Security Solutions, known as ’Triple S’ in the industry, which was one of the more competent private military company (PMC) serving in the Nigerian civil war.

Too bad they picked the wrong contract, thought Captain Ellis. He had high professional respect for his fellow contractors’ skills, but he was not bothered in the slightest with what he planned to do to them tonight. It’s what you sign up for when you get in this business.

The MH Zorn was part of a convoy of seven ships anchored in SAA3. As the defenses on and around the ships were identified, an analyst back on Viking’s sea base Lilypad west of São Tomé, waiting in international waters, tagged them with a stylus. The symbols showed up on Ellis’s tactical plot and the plots of his wolfpack’s other four missile boats via secure datalinks as they sailed northwest in the Guinea Gulf.

Ellis frowned and spoke into his throat mic.

“Anybody else notice what I’m seeing?”

The merchants, three fully autonomous container ships filled with munitions and two minimally manned RO/RO’s loaded with heavy armor, had arrived two days ago escorted by a Turkish Istanbul-class frigate and an autonomous navy fleet support ship. The convoy had been met by three state-of-the-art stealthy corvettes manned by Triple S personnel and escorted into SAA3 while waiting for clearance to enter the harbor and offload.

Triple S held the security contract for Lagos’s semi-official port authority. Despite the war, nearly a hundred ships were at anchor off Africa’s largest city. Triple S had been hired to protect commercial traffic because piracy was rampant in the Guinea Gulf, along with oil smuggling, drug running, and other illicit activities.

“Ja,” said the captain of Valkyrie IV, “The frigate is still there and the corvettes are missing.” Captain Koch had summarized the problem nicely. A twenty-year veteran who had served on Type 212 submarines in the Deutsche Marine, he had a keen eye and didn’t miss much in tactical situations.

Intelligence had stressed the Turks would sail for home once the convoy was safely delivered. Yet the Turkish frigate with its VLS full of SAMs was still there protecting the convoy. Worse, the only Triple S craft visible were the RHIBs. The highly lethal corvettes were missing.

“Lilypad, Grizzly here,” Ellis radioed using his call sign, “do you have any update on the corvettes?” Lilypad managed the intelligence picture and logistical needs for Viking operations in and around the Niger Delta, using company resources when available, and coordinating the leasing of external assets as needed.

“Negative Grizzly. Last confirmed sighting was an EO satellite pass 18 hours ago. The 6-hour pass was blocked by cloud cover.”

A picture of the corvettes showed up in Ellis’s augmented reality glasses. “The last bread crumb we have is this social media post from a Tiple S contractor showing the three corvettes tied up next to the Turkish tender getting a fuel resupply. It's seven hours old.”

“Dammit Lilypad. We’ve known every move the convoy has made for the last two weeks since they passed Gibraltar, and four hours into our mission you lose situational awareness on the only assets which could fuck up this contract. Find them!” The corvettes were a serious threat to his mission.

Viking’s contract was straightforward and mandated the five merchant ships be destroyed before the convoy’s supplies could tip the balance of the fighting in eastern Nigeria. The sales manager had summed up the contract to Ellis once it was signed as “short, bloody, and expensive.” Just the way Ellis liked it.

With the contract signed, Viking Maritime was now on the hook to produce results. Success tonight was the key contingency to a massive follow-on contract for Viking Maritime to bring in a sizable portion of their considerable global naval forces, including their capital ships, to seize control of the entire Nigerian EEZ.

In more concrete terms, over one billion dollars in future contracts hung in the balance.

The missing corvettes and NATO frigate meant the contract just got a lot more complicated, and more dangerous. Not just that – and he daren’t tell anyone – but a cryptic text message from a trusted source also made Ellis strongly suspect his kid brother had signed a contract with Triple S and was on one of the corvettes.

Younger brothers are always such a pain in the ass.

“Lilypad, this is Grizzly again, do we have NATO authorization?” Captain Ellis asked. Like most major PMCs, they tried to avoid conflicts with NATO countries. It was bad for business. But it was not unheard of either. The overarching variable which usually guided decision making in these situations was money.

“Grizzly, this is Seawolf,” came the voice of Viking’s theatre commander, who was based on Lilypad, over the headset. “Working on final approvals with legal now so plan accordingly. We are also trying to lease an ocean reconnaissance satellite on the secondary market advertising free shutter time. The bid window closes in three minutes. We suspect the Turks are trying to run up the bid to block us.”

“Copy Seawolf,” --he thought it over for a moment-- “that means they know we’re out here. Might explain the corvettes going missing after getting resupplied.”

“That's a good bet, Grizzly. We’ll expand the stealth surveillance drone’s search box and hope we find something among all the ships out there to your north. Watch yourself, complete the mission, and close the deal. Strength!” Seawolf closed the transmission with Viking’s motto.

“Will do Seawolf. Fifteen minutes to launch position. Strength! Grizzly out.”

Ellis, his XO, and four crewmen sat strapped into specially modified molded impact seats mounted on shock absorbers on the bridge, their work stations spread around them. They all wore augmented reality glasses and headsets to talk to each other and the ship. Three crew members, two Ugandans and a Serb, worked below deck in the engine room. Like most bilge rats they kept to themselves.

The boat continued to power its way through the swells, the other four boats spread out behind Valkyrie I in echelon to port. He toggled the wolfpack’s encrypted frequency.

“Ladies and gentlemen. We’re fifteen minutes out. Latest intelligence suggests they know we’re coming,” --he paused for effect-- ”and we’re going to need to attack a NATO ship. Remember your training and we’ll make it through the night to enjoy the fat bonus we get tomorrow!” That brought a round of cheers.

The bow just then dipped into a trough and knifed through the next swell, green water crashing across the bow and the 25mm remote weapon station. Twin Pratt and Whitney turboshaft engines powered the craft through the swell and into the next trough just as lightning lit the night sky. A squall line was moving through the Gulf and conditions were deteriorating as rain started to rake the windshield.

Ellis suddenly grinned with almost maniacal glee. Tonight’s going to be money well earned. The contract was going a long way to paying off his home on the coast of Portugal.

The gray hair on his head and chest was soaked with sweat from the humidity. Years of contracts in tropical climates had given him a permanent deep brown tan and a sinewy frame. Rig of the day was casual. Everyone was dressed in shorts, flip flops, and survival vests over bare chests, except for the XO of course, who had a sports bra. Viking was only a stickler for proper uniforms if the employer demanded it, like cruise ship security contracts. In the heat, humidity, and stink of the Niger Delta, naval formalities stepped aside for practicality.

His headset came to life.

“Grizzly, this is Seawolf. We have successfully revised the mission in consultation with the client. They have reluctantly approved the contract’s NATO contingency option.” Ellis’s eyes cut right to look at his XO in the chair next to him. She had an absolutely murderous smile on her face under her glasses. She was Greek.

“That just caused the insurance and bonding minimums to triple,” she commented dryly. He nodded in agreement and shifted slightly in his seat from a sudden tingling of nerves. This was only the second time he had tangled directly with NATO. “Not to mention our danger pay doubles and we get to kill Turks,” she added in a very satisfied voice.

Seawolf continued, “We are in contact with Knightsbridge^[1] and the UAE liaison team.^[2] Knightsbridge has two anti-ship ballistic missiles based at the UAE’s logistic base in southern Mali. Working on the fine print now but we have a gentleman’s agreement and are sending the overflight and launch fees to Mali in anticipation. Once payment is cleared, we should have access to both missiles. They are being prepped for launch as we speak. Target for both missiles will be the frigate.”

“Keep us apprised Lilypad. Proceeding with the mission.”

“Copy that Grizzly. Your primary targets remain the merchants, we’ll take care of the frigate. The advance skimmers are approaching phase line green now.”

Viking had seeded the northern Gulf three nights ago with twenty long endurance, surface loitering, precision guided munitions (PGMs) dubbed ‘Wave Skimmers’.^[3] They had been slowly moving into position and were about to cross the phase line to start their final, high speed approach.

Skimmers operated as cooperative swarming surface assault craft loaded with 80kg of high explosive. They floated along on/near the surface like a jellyfish at slow speed until in position, with 95% of the craft underwater. Then the 3-meter long torpedo-shaped bomb rose up on four small hydrofoils and skimmed along the surface at 50+ knots working in collaboration with other skimmers to attack targets.

Captain Ellis used skimmers whenever he could, they were excellent in the close combat confines of the littorals. Tonight, each boat also had two skimmers acting as loyal wingmen in addition to those dropped at sea closer to the convoy.

But Ellis’s one true love, after his wife of 23 years, was his Valkyra-class missile boat. Another vessel unique to Viking Maritime’s naval registry, it was designed from the keel up for one reason - to hunt.^[4] The ship's sea handing abilities, weapon loadout, and next-gen human-machine interface was world class.

Ellis had commanded a flotilla of Valkyra’s for the last several months in the Niger Delta region. The pay was great and the fighting had been some of the fiercest he had ever encountered in his decade working as a mercenary. He had engaged in dozens of bloody skirmishes along the coast -- battles already lost to history except in the accountant’s ledger.

The forward weapon on Valkyrie I was a 25mm remote controlled weapon station. In a cross-box launcher behind the 25mm gun two small “Gull” loitering PGMs provided a limited aerial attack option. The bridge mast held the electronics and C-UAS laser dazzler.

But everything else was secondary to the boat’s primary design driver - the eight Kongsberg Naval Strike Missiles in twin launching boxes molded into the hull behind the bridge superstructure. Ship killers with a 185-kilometer range which gave the missile boat almost the same anti-ship striking power as the Type 26 Ellis had sailed on in the RCN.

Ellis scanned the tactical plot. If there were no complications, they would reach their launch points in a few minutes.

“Captain, contact!” called out a crewman. “We have multiple missiles incoming, range 30 kilometers. Looks like sea skimmers. Radar counts 16 vampires.”

“Extend the formation, keep going,” ordered Ellis all boats. “Weapons and countermeasures shift to computer controlled and fire at will.”

Here we go again. Combat always made his stomach sick with fear.

Or was it excitement?

# 

The wolfpack had been ambushed by two of the Triple S stealth corvettes just short of their launch position. The missile boats had been forced to continue forward in the face of the incoming missiles in order to get their own missiles off.

The two enemy corvettes were now retiring as fast as their catamaran hulls could take them, leaving chaos and destruction in their wake. The skirmish was over in under three terrible minutes. Ellis considered it a draw.

Three boats were sunk or damaged, one with all hands. But all five boats had gotten off their missiles in time before turning to try and escape. Forty anti-ship missiles were now racing at wave top height towards the convoy.

Ellis watched the enemy ships speeding away on the tactical plot. He knew if they stayed on their course they might escape. They had the speed and a good enough head start. He didn’t care. His code of honor demanded he seek retribution.

“All ahead full, course 033 degrees, let’s get after those two bastards,” he ordered before switching to the radio. “Koch! Stay and search for survivors. I’m taking control of all available wingmen and going after them.”

Valkyrie I’s stern dipped as it dug into the water, the boat pivoting on a dime. Ellis and his crew sat strapped in their shock absorber seats as they went slamming through the chop, gathering up and directing idling skimmers towards their new prey. The sleek hunters chased after the corvettes like hounds on the scent, with Valkyrie I racing behind them.

The nine skimmers settled into a wide semi-circle between the Valkyra and the corvettes, the wings further forward than the center, in a classic formation that dated back to the time of the Huns. They slowly gained on the corvettes. Five minutes passed, then ten.

“Sir, how long do we keep after them? At flank speed we are quickly reaching the fuel point where we have to turn back,” the XO delicately pointed out.

“Just a few more minutes. They’re headed for the coast. If we keep going the conditions are calmer in shallow water. We may not be able to catch them, but the skimmers can then run them down. We need only drive them.”

“Grizzly, this is Seawolf. We have some initial BDA. Our cyber operations sub-contractor in Milan reported servers on all five merchant ships just went off-line but we’ve momentarily lost the feed to the maritime surveillance drone so can’t confirm success, trying to get that back now. We are asking for search and rescue support for your crews from UN forces.”

“Copy that Seawolf. We’ll turn back in the next five minutes if there is no change in the tactical situation. Grizzly out.” He cut the circuit to Lilypad.

The trailing corvette made the first mistake, its captain unnerved by the pursuing skimmers. The ship turned hard to starboard to try and unmask its 76mm gun and knock out some of its pursuers. But in doing so, the ship bled off vital speed, and the skimmers mercilessly closed the gap while moving as one to stay out of the gun’s engagement envelope. The captain realized his mistake and turned away again with a roar.

“They’re doomed, focus on the lead ship,” Ellis ordered the helmsman. The boat’s battle management system had shown him the hit probability for the skimmers on target one. Six of the nine skimmers peeled away to run down the laggard while three stayed on the lead.

Two minutes later, a flurry of skimmers slammed into the trailing ship. Massive secondary explosions blew the ship apart and it disappeared beneath the waves in seconds. One skimmer was left with no target, and made a long arching turn to port to catch up and continue pursuit with its three brethren.

That left the second corvette. Ellis was not going to let it escape.

The enemy started a rolling zigzag to confuse the skimmers.

But with each zigzag the skimmers matched course and closed some distance. Ellis watched on his glasses as the four remaining skimmers homed in on their prey, two chasing it from the rear, two anticipating the next zigzag maneuver and cutting wide to the flank.

The rear skimmers struck first, the first impacting directly on the stern. Ellis saw the flash in the darkness. The ship lifted up out of the air, the bow driven into a swell. Forward momentum stopped almost instantly. As the ship settled back in the water with a splash, the second skimmer hit aft starboard, followed by the third slamming into the side just below the main gun to port. The ship’s CIWS managed to hit the 4th. The ship settled low in the water as crewmembers started to abandon ship.

Ellis closed the distance to finish the kill with the 25mm.

A familiar warning tone warbled in all their ears.

“Sir we have new missiles inbound, range 49 kilometers, bearing 030 degrees, same speed and profile as before.”

“Shit!” said the XO in realization. “The third corvette.” She was right, and now they were back on the defensive.

The third corvette had been moored in an estuary hard against the bank, draped with camouflage netting from overhanging cover. The captain waited until the first two ships had made their attack and retreated towards the coast before getting underway.

“We can’t outrun them. Head for the sinking corvette and try and screen us. Come left to 020 degrees. Weapons free to engage missiles.” The boat shifted direction and sped forward in a race between space and time, the 25mm gun swinging to starboard.

Ellis watched the symbols creep closer as the burning corvette loomed in front of them. Suddenly the 25mm started firing, tracers disappearing into the night, casings crashing off the deck into the sea. The C-UAS laser dazzler also fired pulses of light trying to blind warhead seekers. There was an explosion, then a second much closer as two missiles were destroyed.

Symbols continued to drop off the screen. It wasn’t enough.

They were a kilometer from the burning ship. It's going to be close!” was Ellis’s last thought before the boat’s computer took over. The defensive system could process information faster than any human and could see a missile was going to hit the boat.

The boat’s AI acted autonomously to save as much of the crew as it could.

All six bridge crewmen had their harnesses cinched tight and before they knew what was happening, six small hatches in the roof blew and the ejector seats launched them out of the boat via extending launch rails and up into the sky, moments before the missile struck.

The bilge rats died at their posts. 

# 

The roar of the ejector seat contrasted with the sudden shock of wind and rain pelting him as Ellis launched skyward with massive G forces. Before he could orient himself, the emergency chute in his seat deployed and he found himself floating back down to the water, still strapped to his seat. He looked around trying to get his bearings.

It was pitch black and pouring rain, limiting his visibility. Below him his boat was almost already gone. A kilometer to his left was the burning corvette. He twisted left, then right, and counted five blinking emergency strobe lights.

Just then the corvette’s still active CIWS fired a burst from its gatling gun. A stream of tracers reached out like a bright red finger with a terrible ripping sound and vaporized his XO hanging helplessly under her chute.

Holy shit, it thinks we’re a drone swarm!” shot through Ellis’s mind in a panic.

The CIWS fired another burst, then another, killing two more crew in quick succession. It killed a fourth crewman dangling helplessly like a practice target as Ellis screamed in terror and frustration. Instinctively Ellis hit his harness release buckle and plunged downward in freefall as a line of tracers cut through where he had just been, destroying his seat. 

#

He never remembered hitting the water. From that height it was like landing on concrete. Both legs instantly shattered and he was knocked unconscious. His PFD inflated and his emergency satellite locator beacon activated the moment it was submerged in salt water. Near him a boot with a leg still attached hit the water, the largest piece left of crewman six who was killed by the last burst from the robotic gatling gun. 

#

First Ellis felt the heaviness of consciousness as the drugs released their grip on him. Next, he heard speaking, then slowly recognized it as French. He flinched, then tried to pretend he was still asleep, but the movement was noticed. The language switched to English.

“Ah good you’re awake. Hello Captain Ellis, can you hear me?”

Ellis feigned still being unconscious. A hand shook his bed.

“Hello, are you there.” There was a pause and he could feel the man moving to his side.

SMACK!

A hand slapped his face so hard it rocked his head sideways. His eyes shot open and he tried to rise up, only to find he was strapped and handcuffed to the bed.

He was looking at a man in uniform and another man in a doctor’s coat who looked scandalized by what had just happened.

The doctor spoke in rapid French to the man in uniform who waved him off. The doctor turned away in disgust. Ellis could tell they were in some sort of medical ward.

“There you are Captain Ellis. Welcome aboard.” The man smiled. “My name is Roland. I am a DGSE officer assigned to this ship and I would like to welcome you on behalf of the French navy.”

Ellis’s eyes grew wide. Oh crap. I’m on a NATO ship. Roland was clearly reading his thoughts and nodded knowingly, then pulled up a tablet from his side. Ellis tried his voice.

“I am requesting counselor access from the closest Canadian embassy,” he managed to croak out. Roland snorted.

“I see you clearly appreciate your situation, which is understandably very precarious.” He unlocked the tablet and tapped the screen. “The Turkish Ministry of Defense has been badgering my superiors for the last 18 hours. They want your head. As I understand it, they are flying a team to Accra to escort you back to Turkey.”

He held up the tablet and started a video. Ellis watched a recording from Viking Maritime’s stealth drone. It was playing at 2x speed. He saw the Turkish frigate dump its anchor and start an emergency underway. A dozen missiles shot out of the VLS and its CIWS started firing. Then a massive geyser exploded only meters to port, rocking the ship into a heavy tilt, as the first ASBM just missed. The ship had barely righted itself when the second ASBM stuck square on the flight deck, momentarily whiting out the screen from the explosion, and slicing the frigate neatly in two. Ellis glanced at Roland.

“How did you get this?”

“We intercept all your video feeds. I was watching your attack in real time. It was very exciting.” Ellis scowled and turned back to the video.

In seconds the frigate’s stern disappeared. The bow rose out of the water and tilted skyward, the playback speed lending an almost comical touch as it slipped under the waves.

“All hands. One hundred and twenty-one crewmembers of a valuable NATO ally were killed. We don’t take this lightly,” Roland said, stressing ‘valuable’ for emphasis.

Then the missiles and skimmers arrived on the video, which zoomed out to capture the entire convoy. Twenty-three separate missiles struck the five merchants and the autonomous fleet supply ship. Ellis could see skimmers hitting the torpedo nets and tumbling in all directions, some slamming into ships, adding to the conflagration.

Massive secondary explosions detonated inside the freighters full of munitions sending debris for kilometers in every direction. The first RO/RO turned turtle in seconds, the second cracked in two and both bow and stern slipped into the Gulf.

“You have much to account for Captain Ellis.” Roland signaled to two ratings, who came forward with a waiting wheelchair. Two French marines stood behind them, weapons at port arms. Ellis was uncuffed from the bed and placed rather roughly into the wheelchair.

Ellis was wheeled up to the flight deck of an amphibious assault ship with the marines and the DGSE officer behind him. Ellis realized it was the French Mistral-class helicopter carrier which led the UN-mandated humanitarian naval task force in the Guinea Gulf.

It was night time again, and the flight deck was active. An NH90 sat there, its blades spinning. He was wheeled forward, both legs in casts with pins sticking out, an IV in his right arm. Five other prisoners stood glumly on the deck wearing cloth sacks on their heads with their hands zip tied behind them, guarded by marines. Nine body bags lay on the deck.  Ellis stared.

Roland walked up next to him and stood there silently, savoring the moment.

“Where are you sending us?” Ellis asked. He could tell two of the prisoners were Viking by their clothing, and three were Triple S.

“Accra,” said Roland bluntly. Ellis’s stomach dropped. “There you will be turned over,” --he paused for dramatic effect--” to your various embassies.” Ellis’s head turned up sharply.

Roland shrugged; theatrics gone. “Most of you are citizens of NATO or EU countries, so extrajudicial renditions are problematic. Besides, our NATO ally inserted themselves into the war. And there's the matter that both mercenary groups were operating under valid contracts conforming to the PMC code of conduct, which provides you with certain rights.” He took a sip from a bottle of water and continued.

“Then there is the delicate fact that our nation has employed the services of both your companies in the past with satisfactory results, and might need to do so again in the future. Paris desires to maintain good professional relations.”

He made a thin-lipped smile that pinched his face. “Besides, if the French nation can’t turn the occasional blind eye to a dog of war, how could we ever continue to recruit for the Legion, no?”

With that he turned to the flight deck island and signaled someone forward. Four men left the shelter of the island carrying a stretcher, a fifth holding an IV. They walked past Ellis. The man’s face was covered by blankets but the man’s exposed arm with the IV had a tattoo.

Ellis sucked in his breath and looked at Roland. The DGSE officer smiled a slightly more sincere smile and imperceptibly nodded.

“Goodbye Captain Ellis. Let's hope we don’t meet again.” Roland turned and walked away after signaling to the marines to load the prisoners. 

#

The helicopter lifted off for the coast. Ellis had been unceremoniously placed on the body bags next to the man on the stretcher. He tiredly patted the man’s shoulder with his cuffed hands once they were flying. The other prisoners sat on the floor, guarded by unsmiling French marines.

The man on the stretcher slowly opened his eyes and settled them on Ellis. He stared at Ellis for a minute before speaking, Ellis impassively staring back at him.

“You idiot, you almost fucking killed me. Mom’s going to be pissed.”

Ellis chuckled. “Please. Mom’s the one who told me you were here and to look out for you. Besides, your company blew up my boat. I’d call it even.”

“She always did like you best.” His brother paused. “How many of your crew survived?”

“Just me as far as I can tell.” He remembered the tracers and sound of them hitting the bodies hanging there helplessly. He shuddered.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” He looked out the helicopter door at the receding French ship. “Nine months.”

“Nine months?” His brother asked.

“I’m guessing it will be nine months until the legs are better and I’m back.” He looked at his brother. “In the meantime, want to stay at my place in Portugal? Mom was planning to fly out from Calgary for a summer holiday.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Yeah. Great view of the ocean. I planted some fruit trees. Sheryl will love to see you, as will the kids. And while we rest up, maybe I can convince you to change companies. We got a great dental plan.”

“You hoser.” His brother winced. It hurt for him to laugh.

Ellis chuckled in reply and it hurt for him as well.

---

^[1] Knightsbridge International is a British-registered PMC which provides “global space-based intelligence and communication support, and long-range rocket and missile systems for the discerning client.”

^[2] The UAE supported the northern tribes in the war. The Turks backed Boko Haram. The Chinese backed the Ibo, Viking’s client, so they could gain access to the oil fields. The other two factions were backed by the Russians and Germans. Every faction used PMCs to conduct the bulk of the fighting. Global conflict had been completely outsourced to the professionals and the willing.

^[3] The PGM was a proprietary Viking design produced at one of their floating manufacturing facilities in the Pacific, carved from the hull of a decommissioned ULCC moored in Ulithi atoll. Only a few PMCs had achieved the level of monopolistic vertical integration in the manufacturing process enjoyed by Viking for regulated munitions.

^[4] The Valkyra-class missile boat was designed for Viking Maritime by Trumpy Naval Design AS headquartered in Bergen, Norway. The ships were manufactured in Recife, Brazil, and outfitted at Viking’s logistical depot in Eilat, Israel.