by Randy Dutton
She fished it out of her pocket.
He used it to peer around the corners – first one side, then the other. “I think they’re pretty much out of ammo. They’ll have to change tactics. By the way, one of the plugged pistols injured the hand of another guard.”
“How many are left?”
“It was too dark to get a good count. I roughly estimate eight are dead or completely out of action – maybe four remain—”
The ship violently shuttered – knocking both off their feet while a metallic groan echoed through the ship’s steel.
Using the helm as support, they pulled themselves back up. She pursed her lips. “Sorry. I must have hit a reef on the starboard side. I’ll bet it ripped a hole in the hull—”
A ringing bell sounded through the pilot house.
“Yep. Flood alarm,” Pete flipped a switch to a red flashing light, which stopped the noise. “Sounds like an old telephone.”
“And confirms a hole,” she said.
“Think the ship’s crew will do damage control?”
“I doubt it, but we’ll know within the hour. How cold’s the water?”
“It’s glacier fed. We wouldn’t survive five minutes – not without survival suits or swimming to shore,” he said flatly. “Worst case, we settle her in shallow water along the shoreline.... I’ll go back to watch duty.”
Anna was frazzled. The gauntlet would have been easy in daytime and at lower speed, but at night, at full speed, her imagination played havoc on navigation. She glanced at the radar, and then steeled herself that, whatever happens later, they had to finish this mission.
“We’ve got to maneuver around a small peninsula,” she announced. “Hold on...here goes nothing!” She rapidly spun the wheel counterclockwise against mechanical resistance, heeling the ship hard to port.
An onshore breeze suddenly blew through the port side openings and temporarily cleared the interior’s fetid odor. The superstructure creaked with the sideward force that also caused loose items to roll around throughout the ship. Even the swept piles of blood-soaked glass and cartridges spread out with the new movement.
“This second turn’s sharper!” She straightened the course for just a moment before spinning the wheel clockwise. The ship groaned as its center of gravity shifted to starboard. The wind now raged through the starboard side, and the noise of loose items grew louder as the debris pile scattered and flowed across the bridge.
“One more time.... This last one’s not so bad!” she yelled over wind’s roar. This time she spun the wheel counterclockwise and, moments later, straightened out the course. The breeze through the bridge calmed. “That’s the worst of the gauntlet.”
“Nice driving, Babe.” He grabbed the broom and tried to corral the rolling shells.
“Thanks...but we’re still sinking.”
Pete wandered to the shot-up helm. “What’s our speed?”
She glanced at the gauge. “We started at 24 knots, now we’re doing 23, so the hole’s probably not too bad, but we’ll slow exponentially as we take on water.”
He brushed black hair strands out of her face and momentarily held his palm against her cheek. “We’ll make it.”
Tired as she was, her weak smile showed appreciation. “In two miles we turn hard to port into the dead-end fiord,” she said slowly, her darkened eyes flicking to the radar and back to Pete. Her tension was palpable, so Pete focused on security and let her concentrate on maneuvering.
She tapped the ship’s wheel incessantly while focusing on the blurry radar image. Six minutes later, her voice broke the silence. “The bluff’s radar reflection shows the shoreline, and a mountain in front.” Squinting, she saw an approaching black shadow accentuated by a snowfield on top. “Hold on, it’s going to be tight!” Hand-over-hand she spun the wheel hard.
The ship vibrated as the single propeller rotated in the knuckled water created by the sharp turn. Groans and clanking of loose items became louder. As she brought the rudder back to center, the noise dissipated.
She wiped her brow and loudly exhaled. “Finally, some relief! This channel’s much wider and we can keep a relatively straight trajectory...but we’re committed.” She put the ship back on autopilot and walked to the port side to breathe in the cool breeze. “We’ve got maybe a 30-minute respite to prepare.”
Pete peered out the starboard side, then moved toward the center. “Are you okay?”
“No. I’m dead tired. I feel nauseous and trapped.” She drifted back to him by the helm. “And yet, we’re winning...I think. Sven said the plankton—”
A ghostly upside-down shadow suddenly caught Pete’s attention. It was descending in front of the shattered pilot house window. In front of two barely illuminated eyes and a greased painted face, a gun barrel was aiming through the hole.
With no time to yell, Pete’s left hand instinctively shoved Anna to port, the opposing force launching his body to starboard.
Pop, pop, pop... Rounds whizzed between their bodies, the slugs thudding into sheet metal.
In midflight, Pete twisted his body to raise his right hand. Before crashing onto the hard deck, Pete unleashed his UMP9 in the direction of the muzzle flashes.
Pop, pop, pop...
Tucking his head to his left shoulder, he stopped firing and dropped his right shoulder into a roll, but his momentum wasn’t enough. He was on his hip in the eerily silent pilot house when a guard rushed through the starboard door swinging something long.
With his left leg under him, Pete raised his right leg. Whang! The titanium prosthetic absorbed most of the steel pipe’s impact, and deflected it downward to strike Pete’s UMP. Knocked out of his hand, the pistol skidded away.
Pete gasped in sensor-generated pain. Without a rolling momentum, he fell backward onto the deck. His arms stretched to regain stability and find a weapon.
The guard was raising the pipe for a finishing blow when Pete’s right hand found the small fire extinguisher he had relocated near the starboard door when making his bombs. Flat on his back, Pete blasted a powerful powdery stream into the assailant’s face. The man’s howling scream reverberated through the pilot house, and was followed by the pipe clanging on the deck. The man’s hands covered his face as he tried wiping off the white dust.
Pete used the momentary reprieve to grasp the pocketed 9mm pistol with his left hand. He fired.
Pop, pop.
The rounds passed through the jacket’s heavy fabric and penetrated the guard’s lungs, turning his scream into a burbling of escaping air. Pete pulled the pistol from his shredded pocket and put another round in the staggering guard’s sternum, knocking the man further backward through the door. Rolling onto his left side, Pete fired a slightly higher fourth round into the forehead, toppling the man backward over the railing and into the icy dark water.
Meanwhile, another guard had come in from the port bridge wing. He stomped on and pinned Anna’s left hand as she reached for her fallen UMP. The large man had a malevolent sneer and a sharp kitchen knife, which reflected the ambient light. As he knelt down to impale her, she rolled up on her shoulders, pushed off with her right leg, and kicked him in the temple with her boot toe. It only slightly disoriented him, but gave her an extra moment to grab her belt with her right hand.
With most of his weight still on her hand, the slightly dazed guard again raised the knife, ready to plunge it into her chest.
Her blade cleared the scabbard first. Bringing her leg down for momentum, the sword whipped in an arc.
Crack! The sword severed the knife-wielding hand at the wrist. The knife clanked harmlessly on the deck next to a twitching and bloodied hand.
The flexible metal blade waggled slightly as she readied it for a second strike. It was unnecessary. The guard reeled backward from the shock, gripping the blood-spurting stump.
With her hand free from his boot, she arched her back and sprang onto her feet. Now in a slightly crouched, defensive posture with the raised sword, she faced the big m
an whose eyes rounded with fear. Ignoring his implied request for mercy, her left foot extended into his ribcage. The force propelled him backward through the door and against the railing. With a martial arts cry, she lunged forward and placed a flying kick to his upper chest, toppling him over the rail and into the water.
Having landed in a crouched position, she took a deep breath and charged back into the bridge. Holding the bloodied sword in her raised right hand, she snatched up the machine pistol in her injured left. Like a frenzied animal, Anna’s eyes were wild and her rapid breathing was generating small condensation puffs. Readying for another threat, she rotated a full circle with the barrel leveled.
Across the bridge, Pete was pulling himself up against the starboard door.
Anna, sensing this had been the guards’ last desperate offensive, walked briskly to the bridge center. She aimed at the corridor doorway and fired.
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop.
She side-stepped in front of the Captain’s cabin door and fired until the magazine was empty.
Pop, pop, pop.
While replacing the clip, she looked more closely at the battle scene. The only dead body was the one hanging upside down in front of the center window.
“Are you okay?” Pete asked softly while staggering to the map table and grabbing its edge for support.
“I’m fine,” came her terse response. Her tone softened. “And you?”
Pete now was up, but standing with all his weight on his left leg. “Damn jerk broke my right leg!” He started reloading his automatic. “There’s a painful downside to having sensors on a prosthetic.... At least it’s momentary. Remind me to have the docs put an upper limit on sensor input.”
“Can you walk?”
“Poorly, but I’ll manage.”
He glanced at the severed hand, the blood-splattered railing, and then the hole-ridden doors. His eyes narrowed. “Why shoot through the doors?”
“Just in case it was a four- or five-point attack.” She pulled the chair jammed under the knob and yanked the corridor door open. “Nothing.” Her voice intoned disappointment. She closed and locked it.
She opened the captain’s stateroom door. A man lay flat on his back with two seeping holes in his chest. His right hand still gripped a butcher knife. The captain’s stateroom interior door was swinging on one hinge.
“You’ve got great instincts, Babe! I guess this shows they’re out of ammo. That’s a relief!” He hobbled over to each bridge wing to check for more guards.
“Should make things easier.” She wiped blood off the sword with a rag. Removing her belt, she reinserted the sword into its sheath and put the stiffened belt back on. She flexed her scraped left hand, and grimaced while massaging it.
“Wish I knew how many guards are left,” she grumbled and then nonchalantly picked up the severed hand and flung it over the railing.
“Few if any, by my count.... By the way, Babe, you looked like an Angelina Jolie movie poster a moment ago...machine gun in one hand, a bloodied sword raised in the other.”
“Yeah.” Anna grinned. “And I kind of felt like Lara Croft, too. The Tomb Raider plots were too contrived, but very motivational to a girl wanting to excel at martial arts.”
“So much for a rest.” She grumbled, then returned to the navigation board. “We’re coming up to a really tight 150-meter squeeze. I’ll stay as far to the left as possible, partly because it’s shallow on the right with a broad peninsula, the highway and an airfield. If someone wants to hit us, this is where they’d do it.”
Chapter 107
June 13, 2100 hours
Green Dream
Pete started limping towards the port bridge wing. “I’m going to retrieve that sniper gun from the armory. It’s the only thing with range, and it’s armor piercing,”
“No, I’ll get it!” she said adamantly. “The weight’s too much for your leg.” She handed him the cell phone. Pistol in hand she went to the bridge wing, scanned for guards, and went down the metal stairs.
Pete looked over at Sven’s penetrating stare. He walked over and ripped off the tape.
“Thanks,” Sven said.
“One obnoxious word, and that includes calling me ‘Petey,’ and it goes back on, with tape over the eyes as punishment!” Pete turned on the cell phone – no signal.
“You’re in charge,” Sven said sarcastically.
Pete looked past the bow to the horizon. Headlights were lining up to illuminate their eventual passage. His thoughts were anxious. Hurry up Anna, we’re going to need that thing!
A minute later he could hear Anna struggling with the unwieldy weapon in the stairway. He limped over as she pushed up the long barrel for him to grab. In another minute she hoisted up the bipod. A boxy carrying case remained slung over her shoulder and a noise cancellation headset was wrapped around her neck.
“Let’s get that weapon set up on top of the pilot house,” he said. “I’d rather force them to split their targets.”
Panting, she nodded and climbed the ladder to the top. He passed up the heavy sniper rifle. As she reached down for the bipod, he asked, “What’s in the box?”
“A Tracking Point scope.... I found it in the closet,” she responded with a slight grin.
Pete’s smile went much wider. “Tag and Shoot target tracking? Really? Great! That should compensate for the lateral movement.”
“Uh huh but only within 1200 meters.... Gotta go. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
From inside the pilot house, he could hear her setting the weapon onto the bipod. Pete closed the starboard door, turned off all the deck lights, turned on one interior red night light that wouldn’t give him away, and put his remaining UMP9 magazines on the shelf, next to his firing position. I wonder what kind of fire power they have?
Pete called up through the shattered starboard window. “Anna, does that scope have infrared?”
“Thankfully, yes...and a great rangefinder,” Anna responded from behind the upper solid metal railing just above him.
“We could have used it for navigating the fiord.”
“Hindsight.”
“See if they have similar hardware,” he suggested.
“Scanning. We’re out about 3,000 meters and closing fast.”
“Go for the heavy guns first. I’ll have to turn to port when we’re about 600 meters out, so if you can take them out before then, you’ll have a calmer shot over the bow. I’ll try to keep the ship moving in straight lines to improve—”
Crack! The 20mm rifle’s noise-suppressed shot reverberated through the pilot house.
Pete used ship’s binoculars to see if there was any effect. A mounted Anzio gun was doing back flips behind a vehicle. A man was sitting on the ground shaking his hands, apparently knocked off the vehicle by the impact. “Nice shooting!”
Crack! A second later, another shot went through a vehicle engine block causing steam to vent out of the hood.
The white flashes of small arms fire erupted from shore.
“UMP9s don’t have the range, guys,” Pete commented facetiously. He staggered for a quick look back on the port side, just in case someone was using this as an opportunity to attack – nothing. He rushed back to the helm.
“Coming up for the turn in five!” Pete called out. He sniffed the air and tracked the familiar odor to a nearby trashcan. His concerned eyes momentarily looked up toward Anna as if the steel overhead was transparent.
Crack! Another vehicle’s lights went out.
Pete refocused his attention and turned off the autopilot and spun the wheel. The speed gauge read 21 knots. He sighed. “Ship’s getting heavier,” he grumbled.
As the ship started turning to port, Pete saw several men rushing to the squeeze point that would come in 1,200 meters.
Pete kept the ship hugging the western shoreline. He knew he could keep the ship about 300 meters off the right bank until the squeeze. He wasn’t just worried about their small arms fire, he wanted the gre
ater distance to keep the phytoplankton cylinders less vulnerable to rupture from light weapons, but at the squeeze they’d only have 100 meters. There, many weapons might be effective. His UMP9 was needed in the fight.
Crack. Another shot caused a third vehicle to erupt into a fireball.
“Damn she’s good.”
Flashes of light came from the shore, now in front and to his right. Slugs pinged all around the pilot house. Some rounds hit metal framing and the remaining window glass. Shots ricocheted everywhere.
Sven, still bound and vulnerable, just smirked.
“Turning in five, four—” he called out loudly.
Crack!
“...two...” A fourth vehicle erupted. “...one.”
He turned to starboard, took careful sighting with the ship’s bow and set the auto pilot. God, I hope I set the right course! Any drift to the left and we scrape rock. He rushed to the starboard window and fired his pistol at flashes of light. Anna’s UMP9 opened up as well.
The ship now was in the narrowest channel. The bridge was greeted by a hail of small gun fire pinging all around. But gunshot victims screaming from the closing shoreline also punctuated the night, as he and Anna hit their marks. Vehicle flames illuminated the opposition as the sinking ship passed.
Suddenly, the ship shuttered and light metallic scraping reverberated through the hull’s port side. Back at the helm, he took off the auto pilot and made a slight adjustment to starboard. The flames were passing behind them. Thirty seconds later, nearly everything was quiet except for the thrumming engine.
Thank God, we’ve cleared the squeeze! Pete’s thoughts were upbeat. We’ve got about six kilometers of wider water before the channel narrows again to about 400 meters. Pete turned the autopilot back on. Only heavy weapons would pose a risk now. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Anna, we’re going to make it! Only four more nautical miles until the mudflat.... Anna?”
Chapter 108
June 13, 2130 hours
Green Dream
