“Kelly, are we still on course?”
“Yes, sir,” Kelly said. “Collision course dead ahead.”
“What’s our ETA?”
“Thirty minutes, maybe, if we can stay afloat that long.”
The man rubbed his face in his hands and shook his head. Blake could see him peering through spread fingers at the base of the engine-order telegraph. Maria edged closer, staring at him curiously.
Blake suddenly realized what the man was staring at. “Get back,” he said, motioning to Maria with the gun.
Cordoba stayed on one knee, rubbing his face a few more seconds to clear his head, then lunged for Sergeant Rivero’s combat knife butted up against the base of the telegraph. He picked it up, swept Maria up in front of him with his left arm, and held the knife to her throat.
Blake jerked his hand up, tried to get off a shot in the scuffle, but his hand was so swollen he was afraid he’d hit Maria.
Maria shrieked, and Jorge pulled her closer, the razor sharp blade almost touching her throat. “Shut up, damn you, shut up.”
He backed away from the telegraph stand, the combat knife at her throat. Maria backed up in step with him. “Now, get over here and stop this thing.”
“You can’t stop it from here,” Blake said. “The controls are jammed in the engine room.”
“That’s not what you said before. You’re lying!”
“No, I swear I’m not,” Blake said, struggling to his feet. “Don’t hurt her.”
Jorge smirked. “Your word as an officer and a gentleman, no doubt. Throw the gun over here.”
“No,” Blake said. “I can’t give you the gun, but I promise not to shoot if you don’t hurt her.”
“Then throw it away,” Jorge said. “Throw it over the side, or I swear to you I’ll kill her.” He moved the blade closer. “I have nothing to lose.”
“Okay, okay. Just don’t hurt her.” It was easy to make a bad decision under fire, and Blake felt instantly that he was making one. He snapped the safety on and tossed Cordoba’s gun spinning out the open door. He heard a slight plunk, like a fish breaking the surface.
“Take me to the engine room,” Jorge said.
“You can’t go there,” Blake said. “It’s flooded. The controls are jammed.”
“Liar! Take me there, or I’ll kill her.”
“He’s telling you the truth,” Kelly said. “Please don’t hurt her.”
He studied their faces for a long minute. “Then turn away from the island, head back out to sea.”
Blake turned and looked out the bridge window. The atoll now loomed ahead, looking more like a small island. “We’re too close to land, there’s not enough turning radius.”
Jorge looked at them again, another long minute. “Then you don’t leave me any choice,” he said. He backed away and headed for the open door to the starboard bridge wing. Maria backed up with him in unison, her eyes wide.
“What are you doing?” Blake said, stepping forward.
“Don’t try to follow me.”
Blake followed them out on the bridge wing and watched the man in the rumpled business suit descend quickly to the weather deck pulling Maria stumbling with him. Blake started down the ladder. The man looked over his shoulder and gathered Maria in tightly to him with the knife still at her throat. He turned and walked quickly in the direction of the idling helicopter.
“No!” Blake shouted. He ran down the ladder to the weather deck and nearly stumbled over the shredded body of Sergeant Rivero. He glanced around for Rivero’s M-16 and saw it lying in the shade of the superstructure, twisted out of shape. He stepped around the body and started toward them, holding his left side.
Jorge turned around. “Stay back, damn you, stay back!”
“Please, for God’s sake, let her go,” Kelly said, running up behind Blake.
Jorge turned and dragged Maria toward the helicopter with Blake maintaining a ten-foot distance. Jorge stepped over the body of Michael Gaines and turned at the starboard door of the helicopter.
“I told you to stay back. I’ll kill her!”
Blake backed up a conciliatory step, and Jorge slid backwards into the helicopter, pulling Maria in from behind. Blake could see two thin red lines on her throat where the blade had touched her. Jorge slid the door of the Blackhawk closed and locked it. Blake started toward the helicopter, and Jorge pointed the knife at the side of Maria’s neck. Blake stepped back. Jorge looked awkwardly around and seemed to be studying the controls as if trying to remember. He laid the knife down and grasped one control with his left hand and another with his right. The engines whined, and the rotors spun. The heavy Blackhawk tilted clumsily to the right, then lifted up with a shudder.
“Oh, dear God,” Kelly said. “Stop him, stop him. He’s going to kill her.”
“He’s going to kill us all,” Blake said. He could see in the man’s eyes that he was quite insane.
The Blackhawk lifted off and hovered awkwardly over the fantail. Blake stood with his hand on his wound, staring at Maria’s face, white and terror-stricken, looking down on him from the port window. A flash of pain in his side almost sent him to his knees. He pressed down on the wound to stem the pain and felt the outline of Laurie’s little blood-soaked picture in his torn pocket. He looked up, and Maria’s tiny face became the face of his daughter. He took a flying run and leaped for the helicopter as it lifted off the fantail.
He looped his right arm through the stub wing support on the port side and heard Kelly’s scream fading in the background as the Blackhawk lifted up and away, weaving erratically. Looking down, he saw the Latin Star shrinking like a toy boat and broke into the cold nausea of instant regret. The Blackhawk dipped, then climbed, then dipped again. Blinded by the pain in his side, he managed to bring his left arm up enough to give the window a single blow with his fist. Maria jerked and stared at him with a dumbfounded look. Grimacing, he motioned for her to unlock the door. She frantically searched for the lock while Jorge fumbled with the controls, seemingly oblivious to everything else.
The Blackhawk gained altitude, its engines coughing and sputtering. Blake estimated that they were 100 feet above the water now. Maria found the door latch and slid the door open. Jorge glanced at them but couldn’t react, his hands full of controls. Blake pulled her out the door as Jorge pushed forward on the stick between his legs, sending the sputtering helicopter higher. They fell like sky divers, screaming through the air toward the calm surface of the ocean, the world a spiral of blue and green.
Blake lost sight of Maria, tried to position himself to go in feet first. A green swell rose up to meet him as he plunged through the shiny surface and descended a dozen feet into the inky depths, water roaring in his ears. Black water swirled around him as he struggled upward, his lungs pounding inside his chest, the salt water in his wound excruciating. The water felt incredibly warm as he broke the surface, spitting and gasping. He shook the salt water from his eyes and glanced around for Maria. A gentle swell lifted him up, and he could see her fifty yards away, floating in her life jacket, her head lolling. He filled his lungs and plunged forward, knifing through the thick water with long strokes with his right arm, short paddling strokes with his left, ignoring the pain that wracked his side.
He reached Maria and saw that she was unconscious. Diving from that distance in a life jacket would do it. He tilted her head back to keep her mouth out of the water, and looked up, trying to spot the helicopter. The Blackhawk was still climbing, a tiny, coughing green speck against the eastern sky. He looked at the ship. It was listing to starboard now and seemed to be barely moving. Kelly was standing on the fantail, staring, frozen.
“Jump!” His voice sounded weak, floating over the water, deadened against the swells. He heard the helicopter’s engines cough, quit, and start again.
He cupped his hands. “Jump!”
Kelly stood there, staring in their direction.
Blake waved his right arm frantically. He looked up at the stutterin
g helicopter and knew he wouldn’t have enough time.
He pushed himself up out of the water and shouted again. “Kelly! Jump, goddamn it. Jump!”
Kelly cupped her hands around her eyes and squinted in his direction. She raised her hand and pointed at something nearby. Blake twisted around and saw dark glossy dorsal fins circling fifty yards off. He thought about the blood from the open wound in his side. He looked up at the dark form hovering over the ship. He pointed and screamed, “Jump!”
Kelly looked up, and Blake could see her make the decision. She ran to the weather rail, slipped her life jacket off, threw it over the side and dived in after it. She came to the surface, looped her arm through one shoulder strap and started to swim toward Blake.
Blake watched Kelly’s long, clean strokes moving toward him, pulling for her. He looked up at the Blackhawk. It seemed to be unmoving, hanging suspended in the sky, but she was still dangerously close to the ship. Hurry, Kelly, hurry. The engines stuttered, then fired and spun at full throttle. The Blackhawk tilted forward and came down in a wavering line, headed straight for the Latin Star.
Blake frantically waved her toward him, watching the helicopter descend. When they were 100 yards apart, the Blackhawk flew into the open number three cargo hold, sheared the rotors off and drove into thirty-six tons of ether. An orange ball rose up out of the hold, followed by a deafening blast that shattered the air.
Shards of sizzling steel spiraled crazily upward through the dense black smoke where they hung suspended in the air, then tumbled into the sea, sending up wisps of steam.
“Dive,” Blake shouted, “Go deep!” He slipped Maria out of her life jacket and pulled her down. Kelly followed him from where she was. The water around them was shot with tons of hissing shrapnel as they dived. Twelve feet beneath the surface, the second blast came. Twenty-four tons of dimethyl ketone went through a chemical transformation, releasing energy. The effect was like a nuclear depth charge.
Blake broke through the surface, sputtering and gasping, in time to see the Latin Star lift up out of the water and break in half like a rotten log. He looked at Maria and couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive. Treading water, he managed to get his life jacket back on her frail body and glanced around for Kelly.
He saw her floating on her back 100 yards away and swam to her. He lifted her head up and saw that her ears and nose were bleeding. He found her life jacket, slipped it around her shoulders, and towed her away from the burning hulk, back to where Maria was floating.
He felt heat on his neck and looked back toward the ship. A burning oil slick was spreading toward them. He pulled Maria closer and hooked the shoulder straps of the two life jackets together. He needed a rope, something to tow them with. He took off his belt, looped it between the two shoulder straps and started towing them toward the island, swimming with one arm.
The sharks had apparently decided it was a rough neighborhood and quit, but about ten minutes into the swim, Blake knew he was in trouble. His shoulders began to ache, and his arms felt like lead. He wondered if he could make it. He had to. It would be ludicrous to drown a mile from shore after all they’d been through. The dull ache in his shoulders spread to his arms and legs. He forced himself to think of other things, to blot out the pain in his body, and stroked grimly on, narrowing the gap.
He felt something tear into his leg, a razor sharp coral formation beneath the surface, and knew he was close. Fifty feet farther, his knees felt something spongy. He crawled up on the sandy shore, got to his feet and pulled Kelly and Maria up on the beach with him. He turned and looked toward the sea, shivering in the tropical sun. The bow half of the Latin Star was gone, only the stern half remained, floating upended with the red and white stars of the ensign flag snapping in the breeze. He watched a trail of flame lick its way up the ensign staff and consume the flag as the stern of the Latin Star slid slowly beneath the waves. He looked down at the coral sand beneath his feet. Land. A heavy darkness fell over him. He twisted on the sand and went down into blackness.
“Wake up, Lieutenant,” Daniel Blake heard a distant voice say. He opened his eyes and stared up at the white ceiling he’d seen every morning for the last eight days. It still felt strange. He stretched, shaking the stupor out of his brain. He couldn’t seem to get enough sleep lately.
“What is it this time, Nurse Ratched? Another sleeping pill?”
“Watch your mouth, sweetie, or it’ll be another enema.” The tall, redheaded nurse grinned. “You have a visitor.”
“Who might that be?” The only visitor he’d had so far was his mother who’d brought him the fresh picture of Laurie on his nightstand. He hadn’t seen his three-year-old daughter yet. Kids that young weren’t allowed.
“You don’t know?”
Blake could tell by the look on her face that the visitor was female. It was the voyeuristic look all women got when they thought they saw a match. It wouldn’t be Vicki. She hadn’t even called. He hadn’t expected her to. He scooted up.
The nurse came around to the side of Blake’s bed and stood grinning down on him, plumping his pillow, primly efficient. “She looks capable of introducing herself.”
The nurse slipped out, and the door closed behind her. Blake stared at the door. It opened part way, and Dana Kelly’s face appeared. “Hi!” She walked in and stood there beaming at him, resplendent in tailored dress blues. Blake had never seen her dressed up before. She looked radiant. His sleepy eyes took her in. Short auburn hair in a soft wave, brown eyes aglow, golden skin scrubbed to a healthy sheen. Even with the fading purple bruise on her chin, he thought she looked perfect in her uniform.
His eyes melted into a smile. He was surprised at how much he’d missed her. “Well, if it isn’t Petty Officer third . . .” he looked at her sleeve and raised his eyebrows, “excuse me, Petty Officer second class Dana Kelly.” He grinned. “Congratulations.”
Kelly shrugged. “Thanks.”
She came closer to the bed, and the soft look in her eyes shifted to one of concern. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine, really.”
“What’s taking them so long to release you?”
Blake glanced down at his taped rib cage. “I was wrong about the rib,” he said. “He didn’t miss.”
“Yeah, I heard it was a miracle you didn’t puncture your lung with all that jumping around.” She let out a relieved sigh and looked around and nodded. “Anyway, you’re home now. How does it feel to be back in San Diego?”
“I haven’t seen much of it yet, but it feels good to be home,” Blake said. “I can’t wait to get out of here, though.”
“Be thankful it’s a military hospital,” Kelly said. “I belonged to an HMO once. They’d have you out of here in one day, dead or dying.”
He smiled. “When did you get out?”
“Yesterday. The nurses surprised me with this.” She nodded to her new stripe. “They had it all sewn on and pressed and everything.”
“Yesterday? Why didn’t you come to see me?”
Kelly shrugged. “I didn’t know whether I should. You being an officer and all.”
Blake snorted. “That’s ridiculous.” He looked at her, and his face softened into a smile. “You look great. How do you feel?”
“Fine. A little hearing loss in my right ear still, but it’s coming back.”
“I’m glad,” Blake said. The volume on the television surged. He glanced up at the standard hospital set bracketed to the wall. An image flickered across the screen of an aerial view of a bomb blast. A camera was slowly panning the remains of what had once been a luxurious estate in South America.
“What’s happening in the outside world?” Kelly asked.
“Some drug biggie got it in Colombia,” Blake said. “Some guy named Guy-ar-do. Wiped out his whole family. I’ve been following it.”
“Why? I thought that sort of thing happened all the time down there.”
“Not on this level. There’s a big flap. According to CNN, the Colo
mbian Navy may have had something to do with it. Some collusion with some bad guys in Brazil or somewhere. Loaned them a bomb or something. Strange bedfellows.”
“I wonder if it had anything to do with that ship,” Kelly said, “and that nut who wanted to sink it so bad?”
“Who knows?” Blake said.
“The sailors that picked us up on that Colombian frigate didn’t seem like the type. Great bunch of guys. When I told them what you did to save the ship and to save Maria, they were thunderstruck. You weren’t awake to see it, but they treated you like a god. Wounded American officer risks his life to save little Colombian girl, and all that. Word got up to their captain, and he talked to your captain. I hear old Hammer just grunted. It was Commander Mayfield who wrote up the recommendation. Made the captain sign it.”
“What recommendation?”
“You didn’t know? You’re up for the Navy Commendation Medal.”
“You must be joking,” Blake said.
“No, I’m not. You’re a hero. They’re saying that you single-handedly broke the back of the biggest drug cartel in South America.”
Blake shook his head. “Politics as usual. It must be funding time in Congress.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they need something they can point to, to get more money to fight the drug war.”
“They’re retiring the Carlyle. Too much damage. She was overdue anyway,” Kelly said. “I hear you’re going to be the next operations officer of the Duncan, that Perry-class guided-missile frigate. I guess that means a promotion for you too, huh? Full lieutenant. Word is that puts you on the path to command. I know you’ll have your own ship someday.”
“A general court-martial would be more appropriate.”
“Now why would you say a thing like that?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? I lost seven people out of a nine-person boarding party. You and I were the only ones to come back.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Kelly said, “You were given an impossible job to do, and you did it. You saved my neck, that’s for sure. And don’t forget about Maria. You brought her back, too.” She got a distant look. “I wonder how she’s doing?”
Point of Honor Page 37
