Volodya was attempting to match that distance. From a moving boat. Firing at a moving target. On a moving ship. No human could have incorporated all of those factors into his aim. But a computer could.
Volodya had designated the target two seconds earlier and pushed a button indicating that the Longbow's computer could fire the gun when ready.
The computer took a digital photograph through the sight. Advanced recognition algorithms identified the individual in the target reticle while various other sensors on the weapon detected regular disturbances to the aim such as the bobbing of the vessel on the ocean, the relative motion of the target, the gravitational pull of the Earth at this particular point on the globe, and even Volodya's strong heartbeat, detected through the trigger grip.
The computer calculated the shot near instantaneously, and then the system waited for Volodya to point the weapon at the right spot, providing visual cues in the scope itself on the optimal aiming spot. When the computer detected that the weapon was pointed at that spot, it made the decision to fire.
Another two and a half seconds passed after the shot had interrupted Douglas's question as the .50 caliber bullet traversed the one and a half miles to the target. The bullet was in the air long enough that Volodya recovered from the recoil of the rifle and was actually looking at the guard again when the round impacted.
“Charlie down.” Even Taleb was a little shocked, his voice gaining a note of astonishment to contrast with his normal flat, emotionless tone.
Volodya was less reticent. “Christ, I hit him right between the eyes! Probably would have split the damn binoculars in two if he hadn’t moved them away from his face!”
Douglas said sharply, “The only eyes you need to worry about are your own, keep them pointed at that damn ship. See if we need to put down any other lookouts as we approach.”
Another thirty seconds passed. The ship loomed like a cliff. Then Taleb said, “Another lookout, walking atop the control tower. He sees us. Take the shot.”
Volodya didn't even bother to confirm that he had heard. Seconds later, the Longbow fired another perfect shot and the guard collapsed.
“Shit, he had a friend.” We all looked to see another guard walking over from the portion of the control tower that we couldn't see because of our angle. Volodya quickly lined up another shot. We were under a mile away now, close enough that I could see the man retrieve a radio from his web gear. Just as he opened his mouth speak, the Longbow fired. The bullet's arrival interrupted his transmission, but a paranoid commander would probably sound the alarm after such a suspicious incident.
Douglas made a snap decision. “Full throttle, Priest.” The boat accelerated to maximum speed. Even the specially designed pump-jet engine made a very noticeable drone at high power settings, but we needed to get aboard as quickly as possible more than we needed to stay silent. “Volodya, fire at anyone who so much as glances in our direction.”
“Yes, sir.” Volodya fired twice more before we reached the side of the ship. The shots happened so fast that I didn't even see his targets until after they were down. When we finally reached the side of the ship, Priest placed a magnetic anchor on the hull to keep our boat attached.
Everyone had gecko gloves and similar gecko pads for our shoes. We all climbed the ship easily, as if going up a ladder. McCormick and Priest were the first to reach the deck, and I looked up in time to see McCormick firing his silenced submachine gun.
Shit. My heartrate spiked and my head swam. I paused momentarily in my climb and, luckily, everyone else was ahead of me, so they didn't see my hesitation. No one else showed even a hint of fear.
McCormick ceased firing. “Deck passageway clear.” We all ascended to the deck as quickly as possible. We were near the rear of the ship on the right side, and I could see three dead guards on the passageway leading to the front of the ship. The passageway ran the length of the ship next to the orderly mounds of shipping containers filled with ammunition.
We broke into our assigned two-man teams: Douglas and Taleb, McCormick and Volodya, Grant and Priest, Brook and Jed, Dietrich and I.
McCormick and Volodya headed to the front of the ship along the passageway. Their task was to kill any guards discovered en route, then proceed down into the ship from the front, working their way backward to the control tower. Dietrich and I, the least experienced shooters, remained where we were on the passageway, ready to guard our route down to the boat and ensure that no PLA guards made off with it. The other three teams walked to the very rear of the boat. Brook and Jed were tasked with clearing out the crew living quarters while Grant, Priest, Douglas and Taleb took over the bridge.
Dietrich and I divided our attention. He looked toward the rear of the ship, the likeliest direction of an approaching guard, and I looked toward the front. Most of my attention was occupied listening in to the progress of the other teams.
I heard McCormick report, “Front clear, checking out the left side of the boat.” A moment later, “Contact.” Then, Volodya noted, “Two more lookouts down on the left side. Left side clear.”
Douglas whispered, “No one in the stairwell, proceeding up the tower.”
Brook and Jed, heading the opposite direction, reached the galley. I imagined Brook slowly gripping the bulkhead door and creeping into the room. Brook said quietly, “Galley clear, no one in sight. Proceeding to crew quarters.”
Dietrich, his radio off, whispered to me, “Something's wrong.”
I gripped my submachine gun like a talisman and thumbed my radio into listen-only mode. “What do you mean?”
“There's no one in the galley.”
“So?”
“No sailors or guards getting coffee? None at all?”
My stomach froze.
From deep within the ship, shots rang out. Not silenced shots from our submachine guns, but the distinctive boom of an Ak-2000. I instinctively looked to the control tower.
Douglas whispered, “Brook, report.”
The gunfire continued.
In a louder voice, Douglas demanded, “Brook, report in goddamn—”
Brook shouted, “Jed's down, say again, Jed's down! It's a fucking trap, get out of the—”
He was cut off by another burst of Ak-2000 fire, followed by silence. Miss Hereford, I thought, feeling the harsh pang of guilt come over me.
Before Douglas could respond to Brook’s last radio message, Priest's voice came over the radio. “Put down your weapons and they won't kill you.”
Grant, incensed at the death of his SAS friend, screamed, “YOU FUCKING TRAITOR, I'LL KILL—”
A silenced shot this time, though I didn't hear it so much as infer it. Priest came back on the radio in a shakier voice. “Douglas, Taleb, don't be fools. I don't want to kill either of you. I'm giving you a chance to survive this.”
Dietrich said, his radio still off, “Mr. Cortez, we may want to call McCormick and Volodya and tell them to get back here. We might need to leave quickly.”
I turned full around to look at Dietrich, dazed by the turn of events. Dietrich was still facing the rear of the ship, his submachine gun up and aimed. I said, “What can we do?”
Dietrich began, “I think—”
He was interrupted by a gunshot, this time on the deck behind me. I felt an impact, fire lancing out from my back, traversing up and down my body, and I fell to the deck.
I saw Dietrich spin around and fire his submachine gun in several short bursts. Then I saw a Chinese soldier run out from a door behind Dietrich and smash a rifle butt into the German's head. Dietrich went down hard, and then the world disappeared as pain blacked out the rest of the world.