Charles Taylor - First Salvo

The Turkish boat turned in their direction. Pulling within range of her fire-fighting hoses, she arched a stream of water toward them. Sailors on her deck were pointing at them, but Cobb could not understand what attracted their attention. Facing amidship, he saw Lassiter’s huge U.S. flag still fluttering atop the mast. And at the base, still chained, stood the defiant Keradin, arms folded, smoke from their burning boat occasionally shrouding his head. No doubt the Turks were sure that he was the brave little craft’s captain.

Verra! She was still below, and they were sinking stern first. He had to get her! How long had they been involved in the running battle? No more than three or four minutes.

He covered the space to the pilothouse in a few steps. It was a shambles. Three bodies sprawled on the deck. Lassiter was one of them, a hole in his chest, a surprised expression on his lifeless face. A bloodied sailor was leaning against the remains of the control panel. “I hit the button for auto washdown — nothing. Those tanks can go any second now!”

“I’m going after the girl,” Cobb shouted. “Smash that chain.” He pointed in Keradin’s direction, handing the sailor his pistol. “I want him more than ever now. If he tries anything, shoot him in the knees.”

Cobb leaped for the hatchway leading below the pilothouse. At the base of the ladder, he saw Verra struggling to climb up. Her face was covered with blood; one arm hung at her side. The boat shuddered and heaved to port, taking an instant angle of almost twenty degrees. She stumbled against the bulkhead, falling to her knees.

“I’m coming,” he bellowed, taking the rungs three at a time. Kneeling, he wiped her face with a towel she had been carrying. There was a deep cut on her forehead, the skin hanging over her eye. With his fingers, Cobb pressed the flap of skin back against her forehead and wrapped the towel tightly around her head. Her left arm was broken, no doubt about that, but it and the head cut seemed to be the only injuries.

She mumbled something about a shell ripping out the outer bulkhead where she’d been but her words were distant, incoherent. “Never mind now,” Cobb said sharply. “We’re sinking — understand?”

She looked up at him through cloudy eyes and nodded. “There’s a Turkish boat coming alongside. We’ll try to get on that. If we can’t, we have to jump. Do you hear me?” he shouted.

Again she nodded, mumbling inaudibly.

“I’m going to stay with you like I promised. You’re not going to be left.” He pulled her good arm around his shoulder and stumbled back up the ladder. It was difficult going. The angle of the sinking boat seemed to increase with each rung. Nearing the top, a sailor leaned down and, putting his hands under Verra’s arms, lifted her bodily through the hatch onto the deck. As Cobb stumbled to the top and leaped through the hatch, the boat heaved again, the bow slowly rising into the air. She was going to go down by the stern!

The sailor had released Keradin. His gun never wavered from the general, who watched with disdain. It had been made abundantly clear to him that they did not intend to lose him at this point, or allow him to escape on his own. Keradin also was quite sure of the sailor’s promise to shoot him if the opportunity presented itself. He had decided once again to take his chances.

The Turkish boat could not come closer, fearing for herself if either of Lassiter’s tanks blew. With hoses playing at the flames on the stern in an effort to slow their advance to those outside the demolished pilothouse, the Turks gestured frantically for the survivors to jump. Nets had been lowered over the side.

Cobb stared grimly at Keradin. Again he reminded himself that they had come too far to take a chance on the general’s either escaping or dying now. Cobb led him to the bow of the boat, waving his arms wildly to draw the Turks’ attention. When he was sure they were watching, he turned the general slightly and caught him firmly on the side of the jaw with a roundhouse punch. As Keradin staggered backward, Cobb pointed first at him and then at the Turks, hoping they would understand his intentions. Then he pushed the general over the side, again gesturing at the spot where the body had hit the water. Two Turkish sailors immediately leaped over the side and swam for Keradin.

“Give me a hand when we’re in the water,” Cobb shouted to a sailor. Then, facing Verra, he wrapped his arms tightly around her and without a word, jumped over the side. On the surface, the sailor was beside him. Each slid a hand under her arms and struck out for the Turkish boat.

From its deck, they witnessed the death of Lassiter’s craft. She slipped by the stern deeper into the water, bubbles swarming furiously around her, flames reaching the tip of the bow. Then the boat and Lassiter were gone.

Cobb studied Verra’s features closely. Even with the bandage covering part of her forehead, he admired how naturally lovely she was. Her hair, blonde and soft looking, had been pulled back by one of the nurses and tied in a ponytail. Her face was definitely Slavic, cheekbones high and accentuated even more by the rainbow bruises on the side where the stitches had been taken. Her mouth was wide, her lips full, slightly parted now as she slept. Christ, how he hated to leave her.

He held her hand, occasionally stroking it as he had been doing since he came in to sit with her. Tough! That’s what she was — tough to be able to hold up so well after what she had been through over the last fifteen hours.

Her eyes fluttered open, looking first at him, lips opening slightly in a smile, then scanning the room. “Cobb…”

“Right here. I’ve been here, right beside you, since they fixed you up.”

“Where are we? Who…?”

He hushed her with a finger to her lips. “Shh, it’s all right. We’re in Istanbul. You’re in a hospital. You got a busted arm when that bulkhead caved in on you, and they stuck a couple of stitches in that cut on your head. But other than that, you’re fine. A few days and—”

“Do we have a few days?”

“Sure you do. An attaché from the American Embassy has already been over. He’ll take good care of you until you’re able to—”

“Cobb, no. You promised you’d take me away.”

He hesitated. “You’ll be in American custody.”

“And you — where are you going?”

“I have to get back. Lassiter’s dead. And Keradin — I have to get him back to my boss who’s on a carrier somewhere near Malta. I’ve got another boat, a loaner from the Turks. It’s still too dangerous to fly with Keradin until we’re back in our own airspace.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “Our other carrier, Saratoga , will provide air cover on the rest of the run. She’s east of Cyprus now.”

“Why are you going back on your promise?” Her eyes above the classic cheekbones were damp. She pushed his hand away. Her expression was sheer disappointment.

“But you’ll be under American control here.”

“If the Russians decide they want Turkey, they will take it very quickly. There will be no questions about that, no time for American officials to worry about an injured Polish girl.” She turned away from him. “Maybe twenty-four hours from now, when you are back secure within your airspace or whatever you want to call it, I may be under their control again.” She turned back, expressive eyes narrowed, half accusing, half imploring. “Is that how you keep your promises, Cobb? I kept mine.”

He remained silent, caught in her gaze. “I don’t know how we’ll get you out of here.”

“I’ll walk out. I don’t need your help, just your word.”

“It’ll still be dangerous, even with air cover. They could—”