Piranha

What Juan was looking for was an M908, a high-explosive, obstacle-reduction round. It was designed to blow apart concrete bunkers. It should do nicely on the side of the ship if he could find one.

He pulled himself up on top of the crates and started making his way back, using the flashlight on his phone to check the markings.

He got a quarter of the way into the container before he found one marked “M908.” He flipped the lid open and saw four giant shells nestled into their cradles, each weighing thirty pounds. He’d have to make do with two.

He slung his assault rifle over his back and hoisted two of the shells, one under each arm. He made his way back to the container door.

After carefully putting the shells down on top of a crate, he lowered himself to the floor, making sure to keep the door between him and the stairway. With the shells in hand again, he called out to Linc.

“Cover me!”

Juan dashed back toward Linc, knowing that if a stray round hit either of the warheads, there wouldn’t be enough of him left to scrape off the tank treads.

He knelt beside Linc next to the tank closest to the cargo door.

“Getting in the tank will be tricky,” Juan said.

“Too bad you didn’t find any belts for that fifty-cal,” Linc said, giving the machine gun mounted on the tank’s turret a longing look.

“Sorry. I had my hands full as it was.”

Linc nodded. As soon as Juan fired his shots, Linc leaped onto the front of the Abrams, flipped the driver’s hatch up, and hopped inside, leaving only his upper body exposed. When he had the stern door above them sighted, Juan put the two shells on the turret and climbed up.

He opened the commander’s hatch and lowered the first shell into the commander’s seat. As he turned to retrieve the second shell, he saw the bow door above them slam open. Sailors poured through, their rifles at the ready.

Juan grabbed the shell and clambered through the hatch as gunfire rained down on them. One of the rounds grazed his shoulder, causing him to drop the shell. He cringed as it hit the floor, but the fuse didn’t detonate.

Juan dropped inside and pulled the hatch closed behind him. He snugged it tight and engaged the locking latch, designed to prevent infantry from opening the hatch from the outside and tossing grenades in.

He put pressure on his shoulder to stop the bleeding while he checked his phone and saw that Max had come through. When they’d gotten stuck in the hold, he’d texted Max to cast off with the Oregon and that he and Linc would get out somehow and make it back to the ship. Juan had already had the idea of using one of the tanks to make their getaway, so he’d asked Max to contact their co

Max’s message said No need to contact CIA. Found this one on the Internet.

When Juan opened the attachment, he saw that it was a PDF of a sca

He rapidly scrolled to the start-up sequence. His eyes flicked back and forth as they flew through the instructions. It seemed straightforward. He located the proper switches and started the engine.

The turbine behind him spooled to life with a whine that made it sound as if they were about to make a moon launch. Juan looked out of the viewport to see that the guards who had flooded into the cargo bay had stopped in their tracks, watching the tank with caution as its jet engine roar filled the hold.

Juan put on a headset hanging next to the commander’s station.

“You with me?” he said.

“Loud and clear,” Linc responded. “It’s a tight fit but comfy. Like sitting in a recliner. I can’t see much, so you’ll have to let me know when to move.”

“Believe me, you’ll know.”

Juan secured one shell in the magazine and loaded the other into the breech, a process as easy as shoving the shell in and slamming the back closed, which allows the Abrams to fire six rounds a minute.

Once the 1500-horsepower turbine warmed up and was at full speed, he settled into the gu

Juan grabbed the two sticks controlling the turret and tested them out. The turret spun on its axis as easily as turning in his office chair. The guards outside tumbled off and ran for cover.

He put his eyes up to the gu

“Get ready, Linc,” he said. “This is going to shake you a bit.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

Juan pulled the trigger.

The gun fired with a thunderous blast, rocking the Abrams backward, and was followed instantaneously by an even bigger explosion as the shell blew out the hull of the tanker.

The gaping hole now in the side of the ship sucked the smoke out, letting the lights from outside filter in.

“Let her rip,” Juan said into his mic.

“You got it.”

For a moment, the tank remained stationary as it tugged on the tie-down chains, but Linc gu

When the tank reached the gaping opening, its armor bent the jagged steel edges back as if ripping through an aluminum can.

The Abrams plunged six feet down onto the dock, slamming Juan into the seat when the tank hit the concrete.

The Abrams charged forward across the fifty feet separating the ship from the warehouse, Linc putting on speed as it approached the building’s garage door. It blasted through without slowing, sending the door flying across the bare warehouse floor. The sequence was repeated when they ripped through the front door on the other side of the building. Getting through the chain-link fence wouldn’t be any harder.

“Unless the Venezuelans can find someone to drive one of those other tanks,” Linc said, “there’s not much they can do to stop us.”

Linc’s comment gave Juan a devilish idea. “Hold up when we get to the fence.”

Linc pulled to a stop at the fence. Sailors outside surrounded them, peppering the side of the tank with bullets to no effect. Juan flipped through the manual until he found what he was looking for.

He keyed on the external loudspeaker and addressed the men outside in Spanish. “Hello out there, amigos. I just want to give you fair warning. Anyone who doesn’t get off that ship in the next sixty seconds is going to have a very bad day.”

He let go of the mic switch and spun the turret around until it was facing back the way they’d come. Through the two destroyed doors of the warehouse, he had a perfect view of the interior of the cargo hold.

He set the sight dead center on the ammunition container.

One of the sailors outside saw what was about to happen and yelled into a walkie-talkie. Men began careening in panic down the tanker’s gangway.

“I can’t see anything from up here,” Linc said, “but are you pla

“Might as well wipe out their smuggling operation while we have the chance,” Juan answered.

“I’m all for that. Saves us another trip.”

Juan loaded the second shell into the ca

When sixty seconds ended, the ship looked as empty as the famous ghost ship Mary Celeste. Juan again pulled the trigger.

The ca

The ammo detonated with a blast that dwarfed anything up to this point. The cargo bay disappeared in a flash of white flame, an enormous mushroom cloud rising above the dock. The warehouse next to it was blown down by the explosion. Even wearing the headset muffs, Juan’s ears rang.