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The same type of submachine gun SEALs used.
“Russian RPG in the bottom of the boat.”
“Fire!” said Da
SOMEHOW DAZHOU TI SENSED THAT THEY WERE UNDER FIRE before he heard or saw the gunfire. He immediately reached to the motor of the boat—they’d kept it off so they could make a silent approach—and started the engine. The four-stroke pancake motor, adapted from a motorcycle design, was located completely underwater, except for the air intake and exhaust. It coughed then caught with a roar, lifting the prow of the rubber assault boat forward in a rush. As it did, one of Dazhou’s men fell back against him; the captain pushed him back upright but the man slumped to the left, his face and arm riddled with bullets.
“There,” shouted one of the others, pointing. The guns began popping, the loud staccato competing with the roar of the engine. A stream of lead ripped against the wall of the boat, puncturing some of the cells but not enough to threaten its buoyancy. Another of Dazhou’s men leaned to the side, then fell into the water; Dazhou kept his sight fastened on the dock area ahead.
He’d thought there were no more than three people here, but obviously there were.
Something roared behind him, and part of the platform crumpled and fell into the water—the Barracuda began to fire its ca
THE FIRST SHELL LANDED ON THE DECK BELOW THEM, rumbling through the metal framework with a groaning screech. The ca
Meanwhile, the boat was continuing toward them. Da
“Liu, put a grenade on it if it gets close enough,” he told the sergeant as he ran in the direction of the ladder down to the dock. As he reached it, the enemy ship’s gun found its target once more and the platform rocked with three blows from the ca
“What the hell are you doing down there? Get up, get up,” yelled Da
“Boston where the hell are you?”
He, didn’t answer. Da
“Boston, where the hell are you?” he said again, firing a short burst in the direction of the boat.
Aboard “Pe
0553
Zen saw the flashes in the right side of his screen even though the radar was having the devil of a time picking up the low-lying ship near the oil platform. He changed the input to only optical and saw what looked like a Civil War-era Confederate ironclad with stubby, sharply angled wings on either side. A ca
Zen pushed left, moving to get the Flighthawk’s nose on the ca
And then the targeting screen abruptly disappeared. He was out of ammunition.
Off the coast of Brunei
0554
The ladder down to the dock extended from an open hatchway on the lower deck. It was completely exposed to fire from the water. Further down at the end of the deck a pair of close-set girders dropped to the edge of the platform; Da
He half-crawled, half-ran to the railing there, moving his large frame gingerly into the open space. His right hand started to slip as he swung around; his left boot missed the strut that ran between the two pier pieces. Da
“Boston!” he yelled as he neared the platform.
He heard a squelch or something over the circuit, but no answer. Da
“Boston?” he yelled, but still there was no answer.
VANITY HAD BROUGHT DAZHOU TI TO THIS POINT, AND VANITY now kept him from retreating. One of his men was dead, another overboard.
“Captain?” shouted his other crewman.
Dazhou didn’t answer. He knew he had made a grave mistake. They’d made it to the docking area, but there was no sense now going aboard; the Barracuda was pummeling it with shells.
And yet he wouldn’t throw the vessel into reverse.
Something moved in the water to the left of the dock and platform area. As he raised his gun to fire, a fresh round of bullets rained down from above. Dazhou turned his rifle upward abruptly and raked the spot; he continued to press the trigger even as the magazine was exhausted.
“All right,” he said in a whisper to himself. He reached for the motor, reengaging it. “All right”
Aboard “Pe
0557
Dog came out over the water just as Zen a
“Bring up one of the AMRAAM-pluses,” Dog told McNamara.
“Uh, Colonel? An AMRAAM against a ship?”
“You have a problem with that?”
“Uh, no, sir, if I can get the computer to allow it.”
“Use the manual setting if you have to.”
“Yes, sir.”
McNamara busied himself with the targeting screen. Though they were less than fifteen miles from the vessel, the radar had difficulty locating it, let alone getting a lock. Dog could see the vessel in the enhanced video screen. The gun had stopped firing, and smoke seeped from the opposite side.
“Got a lock:’ said McNamara finally.
“Fire.”
Off the coast of Brunei
0558
Dazhou had just pulled the small boat around to retreat when the missile or bomb struck the side of the ship. It plowed right through without igniting. Dazhou stared in disbelief, the sun glinting into his eyes.
It couldn’t have happened, he thought. He couldn’t have seen it.
And then the Barracuda’s stern slid down to the port side, bobbed upward, and then down, disappearing. The nose of his ship—his great, wonderful ship—rose from the water like the mouth of a shark getting ready to clamp on its prey. It stayed upright for a moment, locked in his stare, then slowly slipped away.