“And if we try to swim in or take a raft, it’ll be like going through a washing machine.” Jonah scratched his chin. “Only with more razor-sharp coral. The Japanese used to love these islands back in World War II. They’d sit back in gun bunkers and cut Marines to ribbons by the hundreds as they tried to land.”
“There are also many shark,” deadpanned Vitaly.
“Our enemy picked this location well,” said Dalmar. “Any ideas?” said Jonah. “There’s got to be an answer other than turning around and giving up.”
“We make our enemy come to us,” said Dalmar. “We burn the jungle to the ground, drive them to the sea.”
Alexis thought about the idea for a second. “If an entire volcano couldn’t burn the island down, I doubt we could do it. Besides… what about all the jungle animals? It would be super sad if they all lost their homes, right?”
“One way in, one way out,” said Jonah. “So, unless anybody brought a jetpack, we’re stuck going through the front door.”
Dalmar crossed his thick arms, a frown on his face. He was clearly disappointed in Alexis’ criticism of his idea. “A flamethrower is more practical than a jetpack.”
“We can’t even approach the harbor submerged,” said Alexis. “All the nautical charts show it’s too shallow. They’re going to see us coming from a mile away.”
“So it’s settled — we’re going right in through the front door,” said Jonah.
“Because the last thing they’ll expect is a full frontal assault at high noon?” protested Hassan angrily. “I say nothing is settled — certainly not this front door business.”
“Let’s go through this all again,” said Marissa, flipping back through the charts and photos. “There has to be something we missed — another way past the breakers. We’ll check everything if we have to: nautical maps, surveillance photos, satellite imagery, tidal data—”
“Give me some credit, Doc,” said Jonah as he scrutinized the data on another screen. “The harbor is deep enough for a low-tide approach, barely. And the timing is good; it will start coming back in just fifteen minutes before dawn. We’ll go old school — run the submarine awash, put the armed team on the deck and slide the bow of the Scorpion right up onto the sand. I don’t trust the dock; we’d probably knock the whole thing down if we approached at speed. Dalmar, Hassan, Alexis, and myself will hit the beach.”
Alexis gulped as she heard her name mentioned. “And if we get in over our heads?” she said. “You know, with bullets and stuff?”
Jonah sighed, pausing before he spoke, staring at every member of the crew in the eyes, lingering on each one. “Retreat,” he finally said. “Vitaly will pilot the Scorpion back out to sea, run submerged towards Indonesia, and find a quiet place to scuttle her. We’ll split up and scatter. Each of us will have to find our own way from there. But know this — if we run, we’ll have to continue running… forever. They’ll never stop hunting us.”
“What if we can’t make it back to the submarine in time?”
“Then you’re out of luck,” said Jonah. “If this goes to hell, anyone who can’t get back before the Scorpion makes it off the beach is on their own.”
“But things always go wrong,” mumbled Vitaly.
“I know it’s not much of a backup plan,” said Jonah. “But it’s the only one I got.”
“I’m coming,” said Marissa, her voice firm. “I’m joining your landing party.”
“Not this time,” said Jonah. “I’ve seen you with a rifle and you’re goddamn useless.” Marissa started to protest, but he stopped her with a single look — Jonah wasn’t angry, wasn’t teasing, wasn’t punishing her. There was something sad in his eyes, like they might not see each other ever again. Alexis figured both knew better than most what that felt like.
“I have compulsory military training,” said Sun-Hi. “I will storm beach with you.”
Jonah just shook his head. Alexis didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know exactly what he was thinking. One of the refugees has to survive, or everything — all of this — we’ve done is for nothing. She felt a sick feeling deep in her stomach, realizing Jonah still hadn’t had a chance to tell Sun-Hi the terrible fate of her friends and fellow refugees. It would have to wait, at least for now.
“You really think we’ll catch them by surprise?” asked Hassan.
“Yes,” said Jonah. “Vitaly found this site by data-mining North Korean and Japanese radar telemetry. Nobody else had access to both datasets, and, whoever deployed those weapons, designed them as all but invisible. They have no reason to think anybody would find them.”
“I only have one question,” said Dalmar, glaring at Jonah. “Do you have time for a shower? I find your odor most disagreeable.”
“We’ll make time,” said Marissa, pointing down the access corridor before Jonah could respond on his own behalf.
“I will gather arms for the landing party,” announced Dalmar. “They will be my least polite weapons.”
“Should we grab body armor, too?” asked Alexis.
“Not unless you want to sink like a goddamn rock,” said Jonah as Marissa shuffled him away. “No armor.”
“I put Scorpion in position for suicide run… again,” grumbled Vitaly.
“Come,” said Hassan to Alexis. “We must prepare.”
Jonah just grinned and squirmed as Marissa shoved him out of command compartment, herding him towards the stern of the submarine. Alexis could only stare ahead into space, a thousand terrible visions of what might await them on the island racing through her mind.
The conning tower of the Scorpion rose through foamy waters and into the predawn light. Vitaly steered for the mile-distant shoreline, the open harbor flanked by white-topped breakers and coral shoals. Jonah emerged from the deck hatch first. He pulled himself over the lip and onto the deck, rifle slung around his back as he walked towards the bow.
Hassan went up the ladder next, pausing to reach down and help Alexis up and out of the submarine. She blinked, eyes adjusting to the rush of wind, her skin and clothes already wet from the leaping ocean spray on either side.
Jonah stood alone at the bow, completely exposed, binoculars in hand as he surveyed the looming black shoreline. Above them, Dalmar rose from conning tower hatch, briefly reaching into the tower to retrieve a massive sniper rifle measuring nearly as long as he was tall. He flipped open the bipod stabilizing legs and rested it at the edge of the tower, covering the party from his nest above. Hassan and Alexis retreated towards the stern, taking up positions behind the thick metal hull of the conning tower. She flopped down to her belly on the soaking deck, warm tropical waters wicking into the heavy fabrics of her dark blue coveralls.
The doctor shot her a tight-lipped glance, thick with concern. He held his black assault rifle reluctantly, nothing like the ease with which he carried a medical kit.
Alexis was equally uncomfortable. The short-barreled M-4 variant in her hands was no 10–22 pinker or pump-action skeet shooter, and outside of some target shooting from the back deck of the Scorpion, she’d barely trained with the assault rifle.
She tried to remind herself that she was already a killer, albeit a reluctant one. She shuddered. She’d never forget the Scorpion’s previous engineer, the man with the gaunt face and glinting knife, the look of hatred on his face when he lunged at her. But even worse was his wide-eyed surprise when she stitched five shots across his chest with Hassan’s 9mm.