The Tide_Dead Ashore

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  “You get smarter every day.”

  “Because of all those books Glenn lets me borrow,” Sadie said, missing Kara’s sarcasm.

  “Nice of him to keep you out my hair like that.”

  Sadie elbowed her playfully in the side. Then something furry pushed itself between them, tail wagging and big brown eyes pleading for her humans to get along with each other.

  “Oh, Maggie,” Kara said, bending down and rubbing the dog’s head. “Don’t you worry. I’m just joking around.”

  Sadie wailed in mock agony and held the spot where Kara had elbowed her. Her face scrunched up as if she were in ungodly amounts of pain, and she fell to the deck.

  Maggie’s tail whipped about madly. She attempted to heal Sadie with kisses. Sadie’s feigned hurt soon turned to uncontrollable laughter as she tried to restrain Maggie from slobbering all over her face.

  “Help me!” Sadie yelled.

  “You sleep in the bed you make!” Kara said with a laugh.

  “You sound like Dad.”

  “That’s not funny.” Still, Kara couldn’t withhold the slight smile. Another salt breeze tossed her hair about her face. She had to tie her hair back to keep it out of her eyes.

  Sadie got to her feet and stood beside Kara. Maggie sat on her haunches, head cocked as if wondering what her two human sisters were up to.

  “How long do you think we’ll be out here?” Sadie asked. “I miss the land.”

  Kara put an arm around her sister’s shoulder. She yearned to stretch her legs and go for a hike or run. “I know what you mean.”

  Then Sadie’s eyes became watery, and her lips curved into a slight frown. “I miss home.”

  “Me too,” Kara said softly.

  “I miss Mom.”

  Kara wrapped her arms tightly around her sister and pulled her in close. She rubbed Sadie’s back. When Sadie or Kara used to wake up from a nightmare, their mother would rub their backs just like that to coax them back to sleep. She would tell them everything would be fine. There were no monsters in their closet or under their beds.

  But there really were monsters in their closet. In their homes. Their neighborhoods. Everywhere they looked.

  Kara shuddered. Their mom was a monster now, too.

  Sadie’s warm tears seeped into Kara’s shirt. She imagined what her mom must look like. All covered in yellowed bone plates and long claws perfect for tearing flesh. No friendly, loving eyes. Just orbs riddled by hemorrhaged blood vessels, stained forever red. Strands of hair tangled between a crown of horns.

  Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried to push those thoughts aside. Maybe her mother was at peace. It was a horrible thing to wish one of your parents was dead, but now the alternative was far worse.

  For several minutes, Kara held her sister. Maggie squeezed between their legs, her ears drooping and golden fur tickling Kara. She gave the dog a reassuring scratch between her shoulders, and Maggie’s tail swept the deck. The dog had no idea what was happening to the world, and for that, Kara was envious. Maggie brought joy to their lives and licked away their tears, making the pain of losing their mother a little more bearable.

  It was then Kara realized she was doing something helpful. It might seem like such a small thing, but Sadie needed her. She needed her big sister to share the burden of witnessing what had happened to their mother. What had happened to countless others across the globe.

  Yes, it was such a little thing to Kara to offer a shoulder for Sadie to cry on. But Kara imagined what it would be like for Sadie to deal with all of this alone.

  Then Kara heard a low thumping over the crashing of waves. It was familiar. At least, she thought it was. The rhythmic beat seemed to fade as wind rushed over her.

  Maybe it had been her imagination. A shiver crept down her spine. It wasn’t from the cold.

  Sadie had composed herself but still leaned against Kara. She opened her mouth as if to say something.

  “Shhh,” Kara said. “I thought—”

  She stopped. Something over the horizon caught her attention. Spots in the sky, moving fast through the gray clouds. Too fast to be birds. Her heart climbed into her throat.

  “Sadie, we need to get inside. Now!”

  -4-

  Dom stood next to Thomas on the bridge. They had been discussing what the best path would be to avoid the storm ahead.

  “I think I’m picking something up,” Cliff said, hunched over his station.

  “The storm front?” Thomas asked.

  “No, no, there’s something on the radar,” he replied. “It’s intermittent, like it’s coming in low.” He paused, studying the radar screen. “It’s gone again.”

  “Get a visual on it,” Dom said.

  Cliff pulled up a pair of binoculars. “Got it. Targets sighted. Three contacts incoming.”

  A cold wind blew through Dom’s insides. He took the binos from Cliff and looked to where the man had indicated the incoming targets. “Christ. Thomas, arm the surface-to-air-missiles.”

  “On it,” Thomas said without hesitation. He slid into the weapons station. “Just tell me where, Captain.”

  “Alert all crew to battle stations,” Dom said. “Prepare for emergency response and damage control. All Hunters report to the armory immediately. Code Red.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Cliff turned to the shipboard comms. “All hands on deck. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. Code Red. I repeat, Code Red.”

  “What are we looking at, Captain?” Thomas asked.

  “Three birds, at least,” Dom said. He studied the choppers. The trio skirted just above the water. The waves seemed to tickle their underbellies. Flying so low meant they were intentionally avoiding detection.

  The leader of the flight group appeared to be a light attack helicopter. Two small wings jutted from its triangular fuselage. From each hung a rocket pod and a light machine gun. Dom was almost positive it wasn’t Russian, but the two transport birds flying behind it were undoubtedly based on the Russian-made Mi-8 airframes. That didn’t necessarily mean they were Russian. Many other countries used those aircraft.

  But given the recent events in the Congo, Dom had a sneaking suspicion these might indeed have a close relationship to the Russians—or the FGL, to be precise. The two transport helicopters weren’t decked-out gunships like the attack chopper leading them. They were likely filled with either troops or cargo.

  “They haven’t tried to hail us, have they?” Dom asked.

  He feared he already knew the answer. No choppers flew that low with that many weapons because they were looking to make friends. Still, Dom didn’t want to start a fight if they could avoid it. They didn’t have the ordnance to waste. With many of their ship’s guns still damaged from their run-in with the Coast Guard, there wasn’t a great deal they could do. They only had a few SAMs left.

  If only we had had a couple more days. He had been planning to make repairs and resupply at Lajes.

  “No incoming hails, Captain,” Cliff said. “Shall I try to make contact?”

  “Do it.”

  Cliff clicked on the radio. “Unidentified aircraft, this is radio operator from the vessel intersecting your vector. Please respond.”

  No response. Just the hiss of static.

  Cliff repeated his hail.

  Dom didn’t expect any answer. Electricity coursed through his nerves, urging him to act. Fire now! a voice in his head cried. Blast them before they can make it anywhere close to the ship.

  But he couldn’t kill them in cold blood. Maybe they were running from something. It was unlikely but not impossible.

  His thoughts turned to his crew, the civilians they’d rescued, and his daughters. He’d rather blast a potentially hostile chopper out of the sky than risk their lives.

  “Thomas, let’s see if a quick warning turns them around.”

  “Gatling?”

  “Yes.”

  A moment later, the sawblade-like whine of the Gatling cut through the air over the bow
of the ship. The gun spewed rounds punctuated by orange tracer fire across the leading attack chopper’s cockpit, missing by less than a yard. Cliff repeated his request for contact over the comms.

  This time they got a response, but it wasn’t over the radio.

  Rockets flew from the attack chopper, trailing streamers of black smoke behind them. They pounded the deck, chewing up the metal. The ship shook, and Klaxons screeched on the bridge.

  Dom rocked forward. He caught himself on one of the consoles, and pain radiated from his healing leg wound.

  “Meredith,” Dom called over the comms, trying to keep panic from shaking his voice. Kara and Sadie should’ve stowed themselves somewhere safe as soon as the Code Red was called. But he couldn’t help his fatherly worry. “Have you seen my daughters?”

  “They’re safe in their quarters with Maggie,” she replied.

  Dom wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. But he knew this had only just begun. “Cliff, damage report?”

  “Gatling is down. No immediate signs of catastrophic structural damage. Engineers are containing the fires.”

  “Thomas, take those bastards out of the sky,” Dom said. “Now.”

  “You got it, Captain. Targets locked.” He pressed the execute command.

  Three missiles blasted out of the forward launcher. They burned low across the water. A spray of white mist exploded behind them. Dom’s vision narrowed on the missiles as they approached their targets. In perfect harmony, the choppers lifted from their formation, peeling away from each other. The missiles adjusted trajectories. Then the choppers shed a flurry of bright flares.

  “Damn it,” Thomas said, pounding his fist on the weapons control console. The targeting systems were confused by the flares, and they speared harmlessly past the choppers.

  “How many missiles left?” Dom asked.

  “Three,” Thomas growled.

  Sweat beaded across Dom’s forehead, and he fought to control his breathing. “Wait until they’re closer, then fire again.”

  They had a few Stingers in the armory the crew could operate. But the last thing Dom wanted to do was have his people up on the deck, unprotected, to fight back those birds.

  “How in the hell did they find us?” Thomas asked.

  “I’ll be sure to ask them once they’re at the bottom of the ocean,” Dom said. Without the Gatling gun, the ship was defenseless against any rocket salvos, but the choppers resumed formation and simply continued coming straight at the ship.

  “Why aren’t they firing?” Cliff asked.

  Then everything began to click. All the initial attack had done was eliminate the Gatling gun, an obvious and immediate threat to the choppers. Which meant the choppers’ goal wasn’t to simply destroy the Huntress. There was a reason they were coming in with a contingent of troops to risk a dangerous boarding. They wanted something on the ship.

  “I’ve got a lock again,” Thomas said.

  “Fire.”

  The last three missiles erupted from the launcher. Again the choppers unleashed their flares. The attack chopper swung through the air, and the missile intended for it skimmed over the water’s surface, barely missing. The closest transport chopper narrowly avoided its own fiery fate.

  The third was not so lucky. Smoke and fire swallowed the helicopter, its rotors bending and breaking. It spun, hitting the water sideways, and choppy gray waves finished the job the missile had started.

  Even as the chopper succumbed to the unforgiving might of the Atlantic, Dom felt no sense of victory.

  The worst, he knew, was yet to come.

  ***

  The crackle of flames sounded from somewhere above the cargo hold where Meredith, Miguel, Spencer, and Glenn were positioned at the ladders leading to the deck. Jenna, Andris, and Terrence had taken a Stinger to the stern of the ship, waiting to see if their anti-air intervention would be necessary. Meredith glanced at the others. Their eyes were glued to the hatch above them. They heard explosions along with something that sounded like strafing machine-gun fire. Each impact resonated through the bulkheads.

  “One transport chopper down,” Dom said over the comms. “Attack chopper still in the air. Second transport coming in low, likely to unload.”

  Meredith focused on the sounds above, ignoring her pounding pulse and her firing nerves. More clangs against steel. The sound of something crashing across the deck.

  “We are moving to intercept,” Andris said. “Stinger armed.”

  “Prioritize the attack chopper,” Dom said. “Take it out before it gets to you.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Andris replied.

  Meredith hated being blind to the action, but they had to defend this point. Going above deck with their rifles would be ineffective against a fully loaded attack chopper. It was a damn good way to be blasted to fish food by the chopper’s machine guns. All they could do was hope that Andris and his team knocked the helicopters out before they could unload their troops. If not, they would begin another waiting game as the boarders forced their way into the ship.

  “About to exit—”

  A resounding blast echoed through the Huntress. The metal deck beneath Meredith’s feet trembled, and she grabbed a stanchion to keep from falling.

  “Captain,” Andris called over the comms. “We had to retreat. It’s too hot. The ladder we tried to use to get above deck...it is gone. No longer any way up from the stern.”

  “Understood,” Dom said. “They’re probing for an entrance.” Meredith imagined his position. He would be watching helplessly from the bridge as the choppers circled the ship like sharks after a wounded fish. “See if you can get to the central superstructure.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Andris said.

  The line went silent, but the sounds of the helicopters circling above never ceased. In her mind’s eye, Meredith saw the attack chopper looking for any sign of the ship’s defenders, ready to mow them down with a spat of gunfire.

  “Contacts boarding!” Dom’s voice boomed over the comms.

  The sounds of boots hitting the deck above rang out. Meredith tried to count the impacts. One...two...three...

  She knew Dom was probably tracking them as well. He’d give them a report. But she counted anyway. It gave her something to do. Otherwise, she would start worrying about the others hidden in their quarters and the med bay.

  ...seven...eight...

  Then the throaty bark of machine guns ricocheted through the deck.

  “Shit!” Dom said. “They’re firing into the bridge. We saw twelve soldiers board. Might be more, but we can’t get a visual.”

  “Copy,” Miguel said. He flexed his prosthetic fingers then curled them around his rifle again. They tapped along its sides with a mechanical clack. He pressed the stock of his rifle into his shoulder and leaned over the crate where he was hunkered down, aiming at the hatch leading to the upper deck. “Get ready, Alpha team.”

  “Those boys won’t know what hit ’em,” Glenn rumbled.

  “Twelve of them, huh?” Meredith asked. “I call the first six.”

  She tried to match the bravado of Miguel, Spencer, and Glenn. She knew it was all a front. Sure, they were brave. But that didn’t mean they felt no fear when confronted with daunting odds. It only meant they were willing to face those odds anyway.

  “Greedy?” Miguel asked, glancing at her.

  Meredith touched her scarred ear. “I figure I owe them some lead.”

  “I’ve got plenty to give,” Spencer said, shouldering his rifle.

  The boot steps above clanged frantically. Meredith’s finger hovered near the trigger guard, and she had to remind herself to keep breathing. For a moment, all was quiet except for the drone of hovering choppers.

  Then the hatch imploded, followed by a flash of brilliant light and serpentine tendrils of smoke. Soldiers rushed in. They wore mottled gray fatigues and masks. She recognized the suppressed AS Val rifles they carried—a favorite of Russian Special Forces.

  One by one, the atta
ckers filtered through the hatch into the darkened bay. Meredith sighted the first one up. She followed the man’s body as he swiveled, his gun sweeping over the shadows and crates, the empty Zodiac, and the cables swinging from a pulley system. They would let a few of the bastards in before they opened fire—take them down while they were still exposed.

  She waited, taking long, slow breaths.

  Then Miguel whispered the command through the comm link. “Fire.”

  The rifle bucked against her shoulder. A short burst took the first attacker down. Miguel, Spencer, and Glenn’s marks crumpled without a sound. Everything else faded as her world became her rifle’s sights. She caught the next attacker lowering himself through the hatch. Rounds riddled his legs and torso. He fell backward, rifle clattering next to him, limbs sprawled.

  Miguel and Glenn each brought down another. The bodies littered the deck entrance to the cargo bay. Another man leaned into the hatch. Meredith fired. This time, the shots pinged against the bulkhead, barely missing. Gunfire pierced the cargo hold in response, and she was forced to duck.

  The ambush was over. Their positions were known, and the skirmish began in earnest. Meredith’s heart hammered. She pressed as close to the crate as she could, willing herself to become smaller. She leaned out and traded another round of shots.

  She pictured the civilians all hunkered in their cabins, frightened by the gunfire. Defenseless. As long as the attackers were stuck on the other side of that hatch, those people would be safe. And once Andris, Jenna, and Terrence took down the attack chopper, they would be clear to pin these guys down from above, leaving them no room to escape.

  Then the attackers’ guns went silent.

  The moment of quiet stretched for several seemingly long seconds. Unease settled in Meredith’s gut. Something wasn’t right. She maintained her aim, waiting for someone to fire on them again.

  But no one did.

  Have they moved on? Meredith wondered. Maybe going for an alternate entrance?

  Her question was answered soon enough. A small cylinder bounced into the middle of the cargo hold.

  Stun grenade, she realized too late.