“Sorry I asked,” Henri said as he slowly lowered his hands but raised them again when Salkukoff made a rising gesture with the silenced business end of the Makarov.
“Now, shall we conclude our business, Colonel?” The gun came up toward Farbeaux’s head.
On the darkened bridge, the officer of the deck walked the ten steps to his communications console and removed the phone from its cradle after receiving the call.
“Bridge,” he said into the handset.
“Lieutenant Kaninen, we have just received a signal from Shiloh. She is slowing to make tight her towline to Simbirsk. Shiloh actual is asking for us to take up station aft of Simbirsk for rescue operations if needed.”
“Signal Shiloh. We will make the course correction immediately.”
“Aye,” came the reply.
“Slow to one-third. Helm, bring her hard over. Give Shiloh and Simbirsk a wide berth. We don’t need a collision. Thirty degrees starboard.”
“Aye, slow to one-third speed, helm at thirty, aye.”
Peter the Great outwardly looked as if she hadn’t slowed at all when she started her wide turn. The mighty ship heeled to the port side at nearly twenty-six knots, going heavily onto her side.
Inside the bridge, her crew grabbed handholds as the force of the turn nearly knocked them from their feet.
It was that way throughout the ship.
Henri knew he didn’t have the time or the correct distance to make the outcome of the next ten seconds any different from if he didn’t move at all. He waited as Salkukoff aimed for the spot right between his eyes.
The sudden roll to starboard at twenty-six knots slammed Henri into the bulkhead as the chair Salkukoff was sitting in nearly tipped over. The speed of the maneuver increased as Henri saw his opening. He quickly rebounded from the steel wall and used that momentum to sling himself into the Russian. The pistol silently discharged as the bullet missed the Frenchman’s head by an inch. The next round nearly shot his fingers off as he finally managed to grab the barrel of the hot weapon. Peter the Great straightened as she came perpendicular to Shiloh and Simbirsk, and then the cruiser went to full speed. The momentum of the acceleration threw both men from the chair to the deck as they fought for control of the gun.
Finally, the pistol came free after Henri used one of his elbows and jabbed the Russian in his face. The weapon flew across the cabin and clattered to the deck. Farbeaux started smashing his fists into the exposed face of Salkukoff. With every blow, the Frenchman felt the years of hate sliding away as justice was finally being meted out to the killer of Ukrainian children.
Peter the Great again made her turn to finally take up station to the aft side of the towed Simbirsk. As the final turn was completed, Henri felt his advantage slip away as, again, the momentum of the turn threw off the colonel’s balance and gave Salkukoff leverage. Salkukoff pushed Henri off for all he was worth. Farbeaux slid into a corner on the tiled deck. His head struck the bulkhead, and he momentarily saw stars. He heard the cabin door open and heard Salkukoff run. Henri quickly regained his senses and reached for the Makarov but couldn’t find it. He stood on shaky legs and then saw his own weapon on the bunk next to the dead body of Kreshenko. He grabbed for it and turned angrily toward the door and then gained the passageway.
The ship was vibrating heavily as Peter the Great’s engines went to full power. Farbeaux stumbled down the passageway until he came to an open door. He reached for the dogged latches, and then he heard the man behind him.
“The colonel said you were far more formidable a man than what I believed. I see his concerns were justified.”
The Frenchman turned and saw the large Russian commando as he stood in his black Nomex BDUs. His unsilenced pistol was aimed straight at Henri. He knew this time no hard maneuvering would avail his limited time here in this backward world. His eyes went to the Russian’s face, and he waited as the large captain withdrew his radio — the only Russian portables that had been unaffected by the EMP assault on everyone’s electronics.
“The situation has been corrected, Colonel,” the man said into the radio. “You may proceed to the boats, and I will join you shortly.”
Henri waited as the Russian placed his radio back onto his belt.
“Good-bye, Colonel Farbeaux,” he said as his finger started to pull the Makarov’s trigger.
The blast of weapon’s fire made the Frenchman flinch. He actually thought he could feel the red-hot bullet penetrate his Nomex. Henri felt no pain. As he looked up, he saw the Makarov slowly slide from the commando’s fingers and fall to the deck. The man himself turned to face the person that had just shot him in the back. Again, the loud report of a handgun sounded, and the body of the Russian jerked once more as he slowly slid down to the deck. The large body twitched once and then went still.
Henri looked up and saw Second Captain Dishlakov and two of his marines. The XO was still holding the smoking pistol he had just used to save Henri’s life. What was a little disconcerting to Farbeaux was the fact that the smoking Makarov was now pointing at him.
Dishlakov gestured one of the Russian marines forward, and he easily removed the gun from Henri’s grasp. The Frenchman watched as the XO angrily looked him over as he handed back the weapon to the second marine.
“Why have you come to my ship, Colonel Farbeaux?”
“To kill the man who’s now getting away,” he said as he watched the marine to his right. Henri knew that he would never make the move to get his gun back before the Russian made kindling out of his attempt.
“Where can Colonel Salkukoff run to? His only escape from our situation is aboard one of three vessels. And I don’t think he will find open arms waiting for him on either the Simbirsk or Shiloh. He has nowhere to go.” Dishlakov reached out and removed Farbeaux’s gun from the marine who had taken it from him. He smelled the barrel and then tossed it back to the Frenchman. Henri caught it but could not hide the surprise on his face.
“Captain Kreshenko is—”
“Dead, yes, I know. He is being attended to as we speak.”
Again, the Frenchman was taken off guard. He holstered his nine millimeter.
“He was murdered just as this piece of dung tried to murder me in my sleep. I wasn’t in my cabin but in the wardroom, writing to my wife and children. When I was finished, I saw this scum”—he kicked at the dead commando—“coming from my cabin. I followed him with company. Then we found you, Colonel.”
“I am sorry for the fact I didn’t get here on time.”
“What were your orders? I assume they came from Colonel Collins?”
“No, the colonel would not have been as stealthy as I. He would have just come across to Peter the Great shooting. That’s his way. Low threshold for injustice, you see.”