Antov booted open the doors to the Coms Room, and marched in yelling hell fire. 

"What the fuck is happening on that ship? Someone tell me why the fuck I can't reach half our God damned contractors," he roared, picking up a vacant office chair and tossing it over a bank of servers. Someone may have laughed at this comical gesture, but the fury in the Black Russian's eyes told them this was unwise.

"We're not sure sir. Coms went down with Hotel Three abruptly; we're trying to work out what the fuck happened ourselves, sir," Coms Chief Adrian Shepherd managed to rattle out. 

Sergei ran his thick palm fiercly over his hair, shaking his head violently. "This is not how R.E.S.C.U.E operates! For fuck sakes, we're a multi-billion dolar venture with the world's best fucking people. Get me hooked up to the Odessa teams, pronto." 

Adrian nodded nervously, and dived back into his keyboard. He slammed away at the keys, pausing occasionally to yell commands at the junior staff. The coms room, all computers and screens, became a frantic buzz of activity as each man did his best to steer clear of Antov's rage.

After several nerve warcking minutes, Adrian finally sighed and gave himself to his fate. "No idea sir. Hotel Three is off the radar, all com lines are dead. We're looking at a crash. Cipher Team is in the water, or worse."

Before he had even finished speaking, Antov had grabbed the nearest mic, squared in his administrative broadcast frequency and began yelling. It was a risky move, anywhere else in the world where radio communications were so easily monitored; out here, on the coasts of Somalia? Even if the pirates did intercept his words, there was fuck all they could do about it. 

"All teams, this is Sergei. Cipher are MIA, possible crash. Kingpin, Prophet and Cobra, you are to improvise the shit out of the situation. Fuck the plan; get those hostages out, and do it quickly. We've got pirate activity in the area, and they're likely coming to investigate the happenings on the Odessa. You are clear for lethal force, say again, you are clear for lethal force.

Osprey, Virus, I want those pirates stopped. This'll be a good opportunity to put more of them out of action, and at the same time, I don't want our hostage extraction getting hit from the ground. I'm sending up the Mi-24, she's ready and loaded for bear. I'm giving you full operational control of its inventory; do what you have to do.... what a fucking nightmare, let's just get this over with. Antov, out."

Turning from the Coms Room, and exiting the room, Sergei left for the armoury. Not really acknolwedging his surroundings as he went, he absent mindedly keyed his radio. "This is Antov, we have a possible bird in the water. Who've we got in the area?" 

A few seconds passed before a burst of static emitted from his earpiece, followed by a Frenchman's voice. "We've got a Sea king on the Ayatollah, but she's an hour away." 

Sergei paused to punch a random piece of the ship's internal metalwork. His fist came away bloody. "Understood, cancel the request," he replied with a heavy sigh. A few clicks on his headset later, and he spoke again, "Captain, take us to the Odessa. We've got men in the water, and fuck knows what else."

"Yes, Mister Antov," came the reply.

Sergei came to a rest at the armoury door, and hesitated. Why had he come here? Weapons weren't going to save his people. "Fucking crash," he murmured. "What a day this is shaping up to be."