Volodya picked up on the plan in an instant. “You're younger, Sergeant. You do the climbing.”
McCormick scrambled up the wall of containers, using his gecko gloves to rapidly ascend the forty feet to the top. Meanwhile, Volodya thought quickly and radioed in, “Mr. Cortez, cough the next time Fong talks on his radio.”
He must have assumed that the next time Fong acknowledged an “all clear” signal from his guards, it would likely be the ones guarding our equipment on the deck, giving Volodya and McCormick a window to take out the Unit One soldiers.
A moment later, McCormick whispered, “About to get on top of the last container, waiting for your signal, Mr. Cortez.”
Two minutes passed. Finally, Fong lifted a hand to his earpiece, listening to a radio transmission, and said something brief in response. Then he turned to face us. “The helicopter will be here soon. We're moving to the deck.” He pointed to Douglas and Taleb and then to a collapsible medical litter in the corner. “You two carry your leader.”
As Douglas moved to lift me up, I coughed.
McCormick pushed himself to the top of the highest container and immediately moved to the side closest to the passageway. He held his submachine gun over the edge and opened fire on the surprised lookouts.
At the same time, Volodya rounded the corner on the deck level and began firing at the Unit One soldiers. The ten Unit One soldiers, fired upon from two sides, were all down dead in seven seconds without getting so much as a single shot off in return. Though all of the Lafayette Initiative members heard the gunfire over our radios, the Chinese belowdecks and on the bridge didn't hear the silenced weapons.
Volodya said quietly, “That’s for my comrade Jed Davidovich, you treacherous bastards.” Returning to the task at hand, he said, “McCormick, get back down here quickly, before the lookouts on the bridge see you.”
The American sergeant jumped off the container, caught himself on the wall with his gecko gloves, and then climbed down the rest of the way as if descending a ladder.
Meanwhile, Fong and six of his men escorted us up to the bow of the ship, where the massive container ship's helipad was located. We made our way silently, listening to Volodya and McCormick on the radio.
“You see it yet?” McCormick asked.
Volodya rummaged through the equipment strewn on the deck, the identical waterproof boxes containing food, water, first aid kits and the like. McCormick, his submachine gun raised, tried to cover the excavation activity from any encroaching Chinese patrols.
"Got it!" Volodya nearly shouted as he hefted the carrying case with the sniper rifle.
"Quiet, you goddamn Russki!" McCormick hissed.
As we ascended to the deck at the front of the ship, the whopping sound of a helicopter was faintly audible to the rear of the vessel. McCormick said over the radio, "Eyes on target, five miles out. Let's get moving, Sergeant!"
The two Lafayette Initiative commandos scrambled to the rear of the ship. McCormick lay prone and observed the approaching helicopter through the walkway railing as Volodya fiddled with his weapon.
"The goddamn computer's not booting!"
"What do you mean, the Longbow's not working?"
"It was just a prototype, the Chinese must have tossed it around too much."
A pause. Then, McCormick's voice rose above the din of the approaching helicopter. "Does the rifle part still work?"
I could hear Volodya's grin over the radio. "Maybe."
Volodya searched the rifle for a manual override while McCormick modified the rest of the plan on the fly. "The chopper is coming in too fast to reliably hit while it's still moving, so we wait til it goes into hover mode for the landing at the front of the ship. We scramble to the top of the control tower, kill whoever's there, then go after the chopper. The .50 caliber rifle round can knock out the engine, easy. We try to hit that, then if we miss or it doesn't work, we do a Hail Mary and try to get the pilot."
As I was carried up to the deck on a stretcher, I could only hope that Volodya had heard and understood the whole plan because his only response was, "Found the manual override, let's be going." Volodya's normally perfect American accent and diction were beginning to slip. Not a good sign.
We emerged onto the deck next to the helipad, and I found myself looking up into the clear, dark night sky. The helicopter was deafening now, having looped around in front of the ship.
McCormick and Volodya scaled the control tower in fifteen seconds. When they reached the top, they found two Unit One lookouts. One of them was anxiously scrutinizing the containers, doubtlessly keeping an eye out for the two men who were sneaking up behind him.
The other guard was keeping watch, checking to make sure that they were not ambushed. That guard spotted Volodya and McCormick.
He raised his gun to fire, but McCormick was far too well-trained to be beaten in a straight duel. The guard had his Ak-2000 rifle about halfway up when McCormick fired a three-round burst into the man's head.
The second guard whirled around at the sound of the shots, but he was also too slow to catch McCormick. However, since he was right at the edge of the railing-less control tower, McCormick's three-round burst to the chest threw the guard's body clear off the tower, crashing noisily into the container stack below.
Fong glanced over to see the source of the clanging noise and found himself looking at Sergeant McCormick atop the control tower, weapon at the ready. He screamed a warning in Chinese and hit the deck. Within two seconds, all ten Unit One soldiers on deck were firing at the top of the control tower.
McCormick returned fire, his silenced submachine gun inaudible over the roar of the Chinese rifles.
McCormick drew the Chinese fire, lying prone at the front of the roof of the tower. Meanwhile, at the back of the tower out of view of the Chinese, Volodya readied the now human-aimed Longbow.
The Chinese helicopter pilot miraculously seemed not to realize that a firefight was underway. The helicopter was still coming in for landing, slowly descending toward the helipad at the front of the ship.
Volodya had never fired this particular rifle under his own aim, and he no doubt pined for the familiar reliability of the Russian Dragunov, a pillar of his Spetsnaz days. He trained the scope at the helicopter and willed himself to ignore the Chinese bullets spanging off the front of the tower and whistling over his head.
Sergeant Ivanov had removed the silencer from the sniper rifle, hoping to maximize its penetrating power. Consequently, when he fired, the roar of the Longbow rose above the din of Ak-2000 fire and the thrum of the helicopter like a clarion call.
The .50 caliber bullet crashed into the armor plating of the helicopter's engine compartment.
And nothing happened.
McCormick shouted, “The chopper's armor must be hardened against .50 cal rounds! Go for the pilot!”
Volodya muttered a prayer from the barely-remembered Orthodox classes of his youth. The helicopter pilot must have heard the impact of the round, because he swiveled his craft around to face the threat. For the first time, I noticed that the helicopter had two chain guns slung under its stubby wings.
McCormick shouted, “Incoming!”
The chain guns resounded like a massive zipper, spraying hundreds of rounds at the tower, which disappeared in a cloud of sparks and shrapnel.
Despite the racket of the helicopter’s machine guns and the chatter of the Unit Zero soldiers’ Ak-2000’s, I heard a sound like a clarion call ring out over the din.
Volodya had fired his second round from the Longbow.
How he remained steady under the circumstances remains beyond me to this day. All I know is the glass cockpit of the helicopter must not have been reinforced as the engine compartment had been. The .50 caliber bullet smashed through the glass and nearly decapitated the Chinese pilot. The helicopter lurched forward toward the ship as the pilot's lifeless hand pushed his control stick forward.