“Colonel? You there?” Boston came back on the line.
“We’re here.”
“We’re going to try and cut through some of the metal. There’s two decks between you.”
“The tunnel to the boat’s mangled,” said Danny. “That’s not going to work. You’re going to have to come from the outside. There’s a hatch like the one on the inside. You can blow it.”
“With you guys inside?”
“There’s no other way.”
“Shit. All right,” said Boston. “We have diving gear on the Ospreys. They’re holding ten minutes south. Can you hold out?”
“We don’t have much choice,” said Danny. He glanced at the water, which was now up above their chests. There was no way they were going to get anyone into a wet suit and into the water quickly enough to get them out. But that was their only hope.
Unless…
“Stand by,” Danny told Boston. “I need to talk to Turk.”
Turk couldn’t quite believe what Danny wanted him to do.
“I see the container on the infrared scan,” he said, “but just barely. It’s up against the hull.”
“Barely’s all you need,” said Danny.
“Slicing off the end of the canister is going to take at least two passes,” said Turk. “And the gun has to cycle through between them. We’re looking at five minutes for the whole process, and that’s optimistic.”
“Then get moving,” said Danny.
“There’s gotta be another way. Something safer—”
“Believe me, if there was, we’d be doing it.”
“Listen, Colonel—”
“That’s an order.”
“Coming to course,” said Turk mechanically. “Stand by.”
He needed to climb another 5,000 feet to increase his length of time on target long enough to make the shot. The plan was basically to use the rail gun as a can opener, poking holes in the end of the compartment where they were trapped. Turk would have to drive over sixty rounds through the top of the end cap, destroying it.
It was beyond a long shot. Even explaining to the computer what he wanted to do was difficult; Turk ended up having to forgo the audio AI interface and hand designate a linear target across the top of the cylinder.
Four passes, declared the computer. Ten minutes.
Danny had estimated they had only five minutes of air.
They’d have even less once he started shooting.
“Recompute for two passes,” Turk told the computer.
“Not possible within safety limits,” it responded.
“Screw safety limits.”
“Unknown command.”
“Compute two passes.”
“Two passes computed.”
The computer divided the shooting sequence neatly in half. This meant that the rail gun’s temperature would run into the red zone twice.
Turk decided he would change the sequence, taking a few less shots the first time but making sure he had enough left for the second run. It might not be better statistically, but he believed it would let him get more bullets onto the target even if the gun overheated so badly that it failed.
He leveled off as he hit his altitude mark with another minute’s flight time, to the point where he had to start his gun run.
What if he missed? He’d be killing Danny and the other trooper in the cabin with him.
The plane is not going to miss. It never does. And I’m going to get them out.
Was that the sort of debate that Breanna had with herself before sending Stoner? What if he can’t get him out? What should he do?
No. She hadn’t debated at all. She thought he should die. It was only a miracle that he’d managed to get out of there alive.
“Colonel, stand clear,” said Turk. “Get as far away from the end of that tube thing as you can.”
“Come on. Do it.”
“Two passes. First set of bullets will—”
“Just go for it, Turk. I don’t need a play by play.”
Turk took a deep breath, then bit the side of his cheek as the computer prompted him to nose down and start firing.
The bullets from the rail gun came so quickly they seemed to be a saw blade, loud and violent, slapping as well as slicing the end of the compartment. The LED lights at the top and sides remained on, casting the round tube in a strangely yellow and brown glow. Steam flashed from the end of the compartment as the hot metal slugs cooled rapidly as they passed through the water and into the bed of the ocean and reef below. The roar and vibration pitched Danny around, throwing him and Guzman into the deep end of the compartment.
Struggling back to the air pocket, Danny realized they had only a few minutes left. Air gushed out the top holes while water flowed in at the bottom; Turk’s shots had made the dire situation even worse.
“When the next wave of bullets hit,” he told Guzman. “Take a deep breath and swim for it.”
Guzman didn’t hear a word. Danny tried to mimic what they should do. Guzman looked at him in a daze, then finally nodded his head.
That would have to do, thought Danny, leaning his head back to get more air.
Turk saw the fishing boats moving in the small screen on the left side of his console, but he had no time to deal with that. The computer counted down the sequence to the shot.
“Three… two… one…”
He pressed his finger on the trigger, riding the aircraft along the course laid out by the computer.
“Warning!” said the computer as he neared the halfway mark. “Weapon temperature above optimum.”
“Yeah,” he muttered.
“Unknown command.”
Turk held his course, continuing to fire. Shells rammed down the rail one after another, generating momentum as well as heat. The aircraft was pushing right, fighting against the trim adjustments the computer made to compensate.
“Warning, weapon temperature approaching critical.”
A caution screen popped in front of Turk’s view. A semicircular graph ghosted in front of him, showing the weapon temperature going from green on the left through yellow and into red.
Another graph and warning appeared below, showing fuselage temperature. He was in yellow, edging toward red.
Too hot and the fuel tanks might flash.
“Safety precautions off,” said Turk. “AI off. Full pilot control, authorization four-four-two-Mako.”
The screen turned red, blinking its most dire warning.
Gotta get Danny out, thought Turk, his finger plastered on the trigger.
As the shells burst through the edge of the compartment, Danny pulled off his helmet and dropped it into the water. With as deep a breath as he could manage, he dove toward the turmoil, hoping to push through as the firing stopped. But the water was so agitated it threw him back before he managed more than a stroke. He slammed against the bulkhead on the ship’s end and surfaced, gasping for air.
Guzman bobbed next to him, arms flailing, chin barely above the water. As Danny pointed toward the end of the compartment, urging Guzman to try again, the compartment shifted and began to fall, rolling away from the ship. Danny grabbed Guzman’s arm and pushed toward the outer end, hoping the shells from the Tigershark had opened the way.
The water churned as if swirled by a propeller. Danny grabbed hold of the panel on his left and pushed toward the still steaming mass. The shock waves and bubbles of air pushed him toward the top of the compartment and away from the end. He fought back, pushing and groping toward what he hoped was an opening.