Page 62

61

Aboard the Oregon

Max wore a comms set as he stood on the deck, his eyes fixed on the wobbling tilt-rotor, its Gatling gun retracted back into its belly for landing. Designed to fly on two engines, the tilt-rotor yawed and slewed in the air like a drunken seagull, trailing a plume of black smoke from its dead starboard motor. How Gomez managed to keep the bird in the air for as long as he had was anyone’s guess.

Three red-shirted firefighters stood by the Oregon ’s landing deck, extinguishers and firehoses gripped in their hands. The red team lead, Jesse Benson, was a tall, lanky former senior chief on the USS Ronald Reagan .

Dr. Huxley stood next to them carrying an emergency medical kit, as did her physician assistant, Amy Forrester.

“Gomez, you go ahead and ditch if you need to,” Max said. “We’ll pull you out of the drink before your feet get wet.”

“Can’t do it,” Gomez said over the comms. “My insurance rates will go up.”

“Juan?” Max asked. He was worried Gomez was pushing it too far. The AW looked more like a tumbling leaf than a helicopter attempting a landing.

“He’s the captain. I just pass out the salted peanuts.”

“You ready down there?” Gomez asked.

“Bring her in,” Max said. He watched Gomez maneuver the shuddering bird into its glide path.

Three minutes later, the roaring AW thudded onto the retractable steel landing deck in a smoking whirlwind. The red shirts attacked the red-hot engine cowling with clouds of white CO 2 as Linc, Juan, Murph, and Gomez dashed out of the craft.

It wasn’t the prettiest landing Gomez had ever made, Max thought, but probably his best.

★

Juan sat in the Kirk Chair, his eyes fixed on the Island of Sorrows looming on the big forward screen, the Vendor’s three-story HQ centered in the view. They were five miles away.

The Oregon was skimming along at flank speed, more than sixty knots, and throwing an incredible wake behind it.

Cabrillo had already briefed Max and the op center crew on the flight back to the Oregon . Their goal was to return to the island as quickly as possible and mount an assault on the Vendor’s HQ to capture or neutralize him before he fled.

Max confirmed the departure of the first helicopter with Juan, but after that no other aircraft or boat appeared on his radar screen. There was a better than even chance they’d catch the Vendor with his pants down and wrap his operation up with a pretty red bow.

Murph was back at the weapons station and Linc headed down to the team room. Linc was briefing the Gundogs, giving them the layout of the island, expected resistance, and a warning about the moat of land mines surrounding the building. He also provided a physical description of the Vendor. The Oregon ’s special operators would most likely be the ones to lay hands on the arms merchant and haul him back in chains.

Alarms suddenly screamed.

“Missile lock,” Murph said. The Oregon ’s radar system automatically flashed three tracks racing toward them on one of the big LCD wall screens.

“Thirty seconds to impact.”

“Helm, evasive maneuvers,” Juan said calmly. He had studied the Vendor’s earlier assault on the Oregon . This attack was playing out much the same way. He wondered if these missiles carried torpedoes as well.

“Aye, Chairman.”

The Oregon ’s Kashtan anti-aircraft system sped into action, dropping its plates and launching four missiles. Deck mortars thumped giant clouds of radar-confusing chaff into the air. The LaWS laser fired up—but Cabrillo knew it would have no effect.

Seconds later, the three incoming warheads were destroyed by the Kashtan.

“Torps in the water?” Cabrillo asked.

“None,” Murph said.

“Helm, take us straight to the island,” Cabrillo said. “Wepps, stay frosty.”

“Aye,” the two men replied.

Two miles from the island, the HQ building roared with cannon fire.

Stoney’s eyes had caught it just as Juan ordered, “Hard to port.” The ship leaned into its turn just as an explosion geysered into the Oregon ’s foaming wake, a near miss.

“Wepps, level that building,” Cabrillo ordered. “Helm, evasive maneuvers.”

Murph grinned, his fingers flying across his command console.

Moments later, the Oregon ’s own auto-firing 120mm cannon opened up, along with its rail gun throwing giant tungsten rods at five thousand miles per hour—the equivalent kinetic energy of a sixteen-inch naval shell.

Thanks to the Oregon ’s automated targeting and firing systems, every shell and rod slammed into its target despite the ship’s violent turns. Murph’s first shot silenced the island’s cannon. Subsequent rounds targeted missile and machine-gun batteries.

Two minutes after Juan gave the order to fire, the Vendor’s headquarters building was a smoking ruin.