Lassiter was well aware of the danger they were in. But he was also even more sure of the aim of the other boat’s machine gunner, and pointed up at the bullets splattering a foot above him. He knew what to do. Reverse course, change direction of the boat — he understood that. The bullets trailed down the side toward the stern. Without another thought, Lassiter drew himself onto his knees and launched his body through the shattered bulkhead, landing at the sailor’s feet. Pulling himself up to a crouch, he saw another boat coming at them from the bow. He grasped the sailor’s arm, shouting as he jerked his fist in the opposite direction. The boat heeled sharply in reply to their rudder.
The spray of machine gun bullets that had passed over Lassiter’s head had also swept their bow clear of gunners. The boat charging at them behind a steady flow of shells was now unchallenged, maintaining both a closing course and a steady rate of fire.
Cobb appeared now in front of the pilothouse, moving in a crouch toward one of the guns. Reaching it, he stood just long enough to shove away the gunner’s body. Then he slid in behind the small armor shield, checked the ammunition belt, and, satisfied, commenced fire on the oncoming boat.
Their wheel was over tight, the boat reversing course just as Cobb wanted. The attacking boat was unable to slow down, and as it passed, Cobb and another gunner stitched it with deadly accuracy.
Lassiter admired their shooting and cheered above the din. The deck of the passing craft became a helpless target for an instant, its gunner now unable to return Cobb’s fire. The pilothouse glass of the opposing vessel burst out. One of Lassiter’s men fired an antitank missile at close range. The other boat’s bulkhead disappeared much the same as that of their own boat moments ago. But this time when Lassiter looked closely there was no one upright inside. It was pilotless. The boat slewed one way, then the other, its speed still full. For some inexplicable reason, it turned sharply to the right. As it leaned hard into the turn, it also headed directly for one of the piers. At full speed it jammed beneath the dock, shearing off the upper deck. There was a flash, an explosion, and both the boat and the dock disintegrated.
Lassiter recognized a screaming beside him that increased in pitch. He turned, feeling the man at the wheel clawing blindly at his arm. Blood covered the man’s face. Lassiter pushed him away roughly, grasping the wheel himself.
A powerful explosion near the stern jolted him. The boat shuddered convulsively. Lassiter could feel they were losing speed. Then he saw the first boat, the one that had been turning only a second before, begin to bear down on them. In seconds it made a pass, guns bracketing them. Catching sight of her empty missile canister, Lassiter realized what had hit them.
He had no steering control. In the next instant, it was also obvious that they were slowing so much that they had no power. They were dead in the water with their attacker bearing down on them! Sporadic fire from weapons still functioning did nothing to slow down the oncoming boat. A steady stream of fire encircled them.
Cobb, his ammunition expended, watched helplessly as the killer bore down on them. There was nowhere to move or hide. All he could do was fall forward, face down on the deck. He saw Lassiter do the same in what was left of the pilothouse. Yet in the most revealing location, Keradin stood, arms folded, seeming to welcome death.
But as suddenly as the incessant pounding had begun, it ceased. Cobb waited. There was no reason the other boat should stop firing. He counted — one… two… three… four… five. Nothing. He looked up cautiously! A section of deck was bent upward in front of him, blocking his vision. He got to his knees, crawling slowly as if his executioner were waiting on the other side. Peering out at where the other boat should be, he saw a flaming hulk. From stem to stern, the Soviet boat was in flames.
Looking to the rear, the answer became immediately obvious. A Turkish boat, one of those that had been dockside when they had first come by the piers, was cruising slowly no more than a hundred yards off their bow, pouring small-arms fire into the hulk that seconds before had been bearing down to finish them off. Her missile canisters on the port side were empty. She had made a direct hit on the Russians’ fuel tanks.
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.