Nelson DeMille - The Cuban Affair

“And we’re going to shoot back.”

She had no comment, and I had nothing to add, but Jack said, “We’ll both be moving and shooting from unstable platforms.”

Sara comprehended that and nodded.

I added, “It’s sort of like a drive-by shooting on a bad patch of road, and both drive-bys are moving toward each other, so it won’t last long, and when we pass in the night, he has to turn around to pursue, but he loses a lot of speed in the turn, and we’re still making twenty-five knots.” That, of course, assumed his twin machine guns didn’t kill us all.

Again she nodded, but didn’t comment.

I looked at the radar screen and saw that we were about five nautical miles from the Stenka, who was in pursuit, but who hadn’t gained any ground on us, so maybe he wasn’t able to get full speed out of his engines — or he was lying back, waiting to see if I made another crazy move.

The Zhuk was coming at me full barrel, though he was heading into the wind and waves, and maybe not making twenty-five knots. In any case, our closing speed was maybe forty knots and we would meet in about five minutes.

I asked Jack, “What’s the ammo situation for the AR?”

“I got ten empty mags that need reloading.”

“See if you can do that in three minutes. And get yourself into a firing position through the forward hatch.”

He disappeared below and I said to Sara, “I need you to go below, get a Kevlar vest, and bring one for me.” I handed her my Glock. “And get fresh magazines for this.”

She nodded and disappeared below.

The Maine didn’t have an anemometer, so I couldn’t measure the wind speed or direction, but I was guessing the winds were about twenty knots, still blowing westerly, and I could see that the waves were cresting at about six feet and not breaking over the bow. But the bow was rising on each wave, and Jack would only have a clear shot ahead when the bow pitched down. The good news was that the Zhuk had the same problem with his twin machine guns mounted on his forward deck.

I looked at the radar screen and saw that the Zhuk was now three nautical miles ahead and still coming straight at us. He was playing chicken with me, which was my game — or more likely he thought that I understood I was finished and I was going to surrender. But if he thought that, he was being too rational.

I saw the vent hatch rise up on the bow, and I expected to see Jack squeezing himself up with his AR-15, but it was Felipe whose head and shoulders appeared, and I could see he had the five-round automatic shotgun that was loaded with deer slugs. This may be the worst and most inaccurate weapon you can have in this situation, but it was better than a.38 revolver, and maybe even better than a Hail Mary.

Felipe looked back at me and gave me a thumbs-up. Apparently he’d come to the only conclusion he could come to. Or he’d had a chat with Sara, who’d straightened him out. I knew Felipe was standing on something in the lower cabin, and I hoped it wasn’t Jack’s shoulders. But where was Jack?

I looked at the radar. We were about two nautical miles from meeting the Zhuk. I couldn’t see him in the dark and stormy sea, and he couldn’t see me, but we both knew, thanks to technology, that we were on a collision course. In a minute or two, we’d both revert to something less sophisticated — bullets and balls.

I glanced again at the radar and saw that the Stenka was still about five nautical miles behind us. He couldn’t turn his 120-foot boat as fast as I could turn, so I guessed that the Stenka captain, knowing he had more speed than his prey, was just waiting to see if I broke to port or starboard — then, when he got in range, he could open up with his radar-controlled cannons without taking a chance of hitting the Zhuk. Or, like the Zhuk captain, the Stenka captain was thinking I was going to raise the white flag. I mean, why else would I be heading toward the Zhuk?

Jack appeared from below carrying a canvas bag of loaded magazines and the AR-15. He shouted over the wind and breaking waves, “I’m going up the tower!”

Meaning the tuna tower, which was eight feet above the cabin roof and about twenty feet above the water.

I didn’t think that was a good idea, with the tower swaying about 20 degrees from side to side, but he’d have the advantage of not having the bow rising and falling in his line of fire. I would never order a man to do that, but before I could think of a reason why he shouldn’t become the best target on the boat, he disappeared onto the deck and climbed up the side rungs to the tower. “Good luck.”

Sara came up the staircase wearing a Kevlar vest and carrying another one that she handed to me.

I put on the vest and motioned to the windshield, which had three separate framed windows that could swing out on hinges and lock-arms. “Unlatch the window on the left, and when I give you the word, push it out, and it’ll lock into place. You stand in the stairwell and take aim out the window.”

She nodded and unlatched the window over the stairwell, then drew the Glock from her waistband.

“Don’t fire when the bow starts to rise.” I was going to add, “You might hit Felipe,” but I figured she was smart enough to know that, so why mention it?

I glanced at the radar. The blip that was the Zhuk was about five hundred yards from us, dead ahead. Felipe was still standing in the hatch, his elbows on the bow deck, and the shotgun aimed straight ahead. Jack would be at the top of the tower by now, and Sara was standing beside me with the Glock in her hand and extra mags in her pockets, waiting for the word to fire. I was at the helm.

The Zhuk captain must have realized that I was not running to him to surrender my ship and crew, and I saw the double flash of his twin machine guns, then the streak of green tracer rounds that went very high because his bow was rising, but his gunner adjusted — or overadjusted as his bow fell — and the next streak of tracers went into the water about a hundred yards in front of The Maine.

The tracers showed where the Zhuk was, and I could hear Jack popping off a rapid succession of single shots from his firing perch.

Felipe couldn’t see much from the pitching bow, but he did see the tracers, and he got off five rounds as the bow settled down, then reloaded as the bow rose, and waited to fire again.

Jack was popping off rounds as though he could see the target, and maybe he could from up there, but I couldn’t see the Zhuk and I glanced at my radar. The blip was so close that I should be able to see him. I looked out the rain-splattered windshield and there he was — a black silhouette on the black horizon, and coming fast.

I called to Sara, “Fire!”

She moved quickly to the window, pushed it out, and raised the Glock with both hands as I’d taught her. The wind and rain were streaming through the open window, and as the bow dropped she emptied the nine rounds in a few seconds, but instead of dropping below the windshield to reload, she stared straight ahead at the oncoming ship.

“Bastards!”

“Get down!”

I saw that Felipe hadn’t been hit by enemy fire — or friendly fire — and he was firing at the Zhuk, which I noticed was not firing back. And the only reason for that would be because the gunner had been hit. In fact, I heard Jack shouting at the top of his lungs, “Got him! Got that asshole!”

The twin guns would have an armored shield, but Jack had the high ground and apparently he’d scored a hit. The Zhuk, however, had no shortage of gunners, and as we got within a hundred yards of him, the twin guns opened up again, and the tracers went high as his bow rose. But this gunner didn’t overcorrect, and he kept a steady stream of rounds coming, and as his bow settled down, so did the tracers, and suddenly the cabin was filled with the sound of breaking glass and impacting bullets.