Nelson DeMille - The Cuban Affair

The Maine cut to starboard, held course for a few seconds, then cut to port again. Jack was running a tight zigzag, which hopefully was too erratic for the radar-controlled guns to keep up with. But that didn’t stop the Stenka from trying, and I could see the guns on his forward deck lighting up, and now and then I saw the point of impact on the water where the multiple rounds hit and exploded, then I heard the faint sound of his guns, like rolling thunder on the horizon.

There was nothing more to see here, and I started to climb down the tower as The Maine kept changing course quickly at twenty-five knots, making the boat roll hard from side to side. I nearly lost my grip a few times, but I got down to the side rail and jumped onto the deck and shoulder-rolled to starboard with the deck, then rolled to port when The Maine quickly changed course.

I couldn’t stand, so I scrambled into the cabin on my hands and knees and pulled myself into the chair where Sara had been. I assumed Jack had ordered her below.

Jack was standing at the helm, so I let him keep the wheel because he seemed to know what he was doing, and what he was doing was cutting the throttle as he changed course, then opening the throttle, so he was varying our speed and our course at the same time. He was also singing a duet with Bobby Darin: “Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear, and he—”

“Jack, shut the fuck up!”

“Okay.”

I had no idea if the fire-control radar system was sophisticated enough to keep up with the changing target, but if those twin cannons were also employed as anti-aircraft weapons, they could react quickly. And yet we hadn’t been hit yet.

Jack glanced at me. “You got any suggestions?”

“Yeah. Don’t get hit.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll take the helm.”

“I got the rhythm and I don’t want to lose it.”

“Okay... Tell me when you get tired.”

“We don’t have that long.”

All of a sudden, a deafening explosion cut through the noise of the sea and the engine, followed by another explosion that shook the boat and knocked me to the deck.

Jack shouted, “We’ve been hit!”

I could see down the steps, and saw smoke and fire in the lower cabin. I got to my feet, grabbed a flashlight and the fire extinguisher from the bulkhead, and charged down the steps into the smoke. The only good news was that the entertainment system was silent.

I didn’t see Sara or Felipe, but I did see that the galley was ablaze and I emptied the fire extinguisher at the flames, then grabbed the galley extinguisher and emptied that, which killed the fire. The smoke was thick, but I could see a gaping hole in the starboard hull of the lower cabin, and smoke coming through the door of the starboard stateroom where the second round must have hit. The wind was streaming in through the hole above the galley, dissipating the smoke, and I ran into the starboard stateroom, which was dark.

There was a six-inch hole in the hull above the berth, which was empty, but then my flashlight fell on Felipe, who was on the floor. I didn’t see blood and I saw his chest heaving, so I left the room and kicked open the door of the portside stateroom. Sara was curled up on the floor and I knelt beside her. “You okay?”

She looked up at me, eyes wide, but didn’t reply.

“Get a life vest on and come to the bottom of the stairs, but stay below until you hear from me. Understood?”

She nodded.

I was about to leave, but I asked her, “Where’s your Glock?”

She didn’t reply so I shined my light around the stateroom and saw the Glock on the berth. I didn’t want her using it on herself, so I took it and said, “Felipe is in the other stateroom. See if he needs help.” I added, “There’s a first aid kit on the bulkhead in the head — the bathroom. Okay?”

She nodded and started to get to her feet.

I left the stateroom, stood under the hatch, and emptied the Glock into the Plexiglas to vent the smoke.

I went up to the cabin where Jack was still standing at the helm, and I saw he was lighting a cigarette with his magical Zippo, while turning the wheel left and right. He asked, “How’s it look below?”

“Under control.”

“Everybody okay?”

“Felipe might not be.” I told him, “Go below and check him out. Get the first aid kit, and get life jackets on everybody.”

“We abandoning ship?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s still floating, Mac.”

“It’s a fucking target, Jack.”

“So you wanna get eaten by a shark, or you wanna die in an explosion? Which?”

“I want to get into the water before the Stenka blows up The Maine.”

“Okay. You think we’ll be picked up by a luxury liner or by the Stenka?”

“Go below!”

“Don’t forget the sharks.”

He moved aside, I took the wheel, and he retreated below.

I continued the evasive action, cutting the wheel from port to starboard, and I also varied the time between turns. I left the throttle alone, so we were making maximum speed in the hard turns, but the maneuver caused the boat to heel sharply. I didn’t know how best to confuse the radar that was directing the guns, but I had to assume there was some mechanical lag time between the radar locking on and the gun turret moving left or right as the twin guns elevated or lowered to follow the radar-acquired target. Also, there’d be some lag time as the projectiles traveled four thousand meters. I also didn’t know if the guns were fired automatically with the lock-on, or if they were command-fired by the captain or a gunner. All I knew for sure was that the twin 30mm cannons could be outmaneuvered. That’s why we were still alive. But we’d gotten hit, and the odds were that was going to happen again.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t see any rounds impacting on the water, and just as I thought the asshole may have run out of ammunition, I heard what sounded like a flock of wild geese with rockets up their asses streaking overhead. Shit!

Jack stuck his head up the stairwell and said, “Felipe’s okay. But he has a suggestion.”

“What?”

“Transmit a surrender to the Stenka, come around, and head toward him.” He added, “He says he’ll do it in Spanish.”

“Tell him to go fuck himself in English.”

“Sara sort of told him that already.”

“Good.”

Jack also informed me, “It’s a fucking mess down here.”

“Everybody have life jackets?”

“Yeah.”

“Everybody topside.”

“You want a drink?”

“Later. Move it.”

Jack, Sara, and Felipe came into the cabin and I said, “Go out to the deck, and if we get hit again and if there’s a fire, or if we start taking water, we all go over the side.”

Sara said to me, “I told you, I will not let them capture me.”

I assured her, “They won’t see you in the water.”

She seemed to recall my spiel on our sunset cruise and said, “I will not be eaten by sharks.”

Felipe looked like he was in a daze, but he said to me, “You have to surrender. I’ll transmit—”

“Forget it!” We seemed to be running out of bad options — surrender, abandon ship, get eaten by sharks, or get blown up. And when you run out of bad options, it’s okay to do nothing and let fate do something. I said, “Move out to the deck—”

I heard the explosion at the same time that I saw it, and the top of the bow erupted into a ball of fire. Debris flew into the windshield and I instinctively ducked as I held on to the wheel and held the boat in a sharp port turn.

I stood and looked at the damage. A hole the size of a pie plate had appeared in the white fiberglass bow deck a few feet in front of the hatch. If anyone had been in the cabin below, they’d be dead or badly injured.