by Peter Dixon
He turned to look at Sarah, saw the apprehension on her face, and reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “I did this once before to that pirate whaler off Spain and nobody got hurt, remember?”
“But you rammed outside a harbor.”
“We’re committed now, so don’t give me a hard time.”
He lifted the binoculars and watched the clipper begin to move ahead. He swung the glasses on her stern and saw that the net was drifting free. He called to Sarah. “Gandara’s running for it, but it’s not going to do him any good. We’re too close now!”
Calculating a new intercept point, Benny made a slight course change. He knew the shoals would prevent Gandara from turning tail and outrunning him. He was set up for a perfect ninety-degree beam attack. If nothing went wrong, he had Lucky Dragon in a perfect position to slice open her hull. Then he remembered his promise to Billy. “I’ll do my best to take out his stern.”
The pounding of the tired Cummings diesel pushing Salvador to maximum speed, and the slamming of the hull into the chop sent an urgent vibration into the soles of Benny’s bare feet, adding to his growing excitement. He was fully charged, a human bomb of emotions set to explode. Benny wanted to scream out a savage, primal cry to lead his kids into combat, but held it back. They wanted him cool—their big daddy who would save them if anything went wrong.
He stared ahead. Something was going wrong for Gandara. The ship had slowed again and was swinging toward the net. He turned to the spotting binoculars and sighted on the clipper to see what the ship had turned toward, or away from. Through the lenses he saw the faint image of someone in the water swimming for the net. He couldn’t be sure who it was, but he had an awful feeling who the swimmer might be. Without thinking, he shouted out, “It’s Billy!”
Sarah shoved him aside and peered through the glasses. There was no doubt. The blond hair and beard that had tenderly brushed her cheek so often were his. They were close enough now that she was able to tell he was sprinting, and between strokes, looking over his shoulder. She moved the glasses a fraction of an inch to see what he was escaping from. On the bow of the clipper stood the tall dark man they had seen on the clipper’s bridge when it was docked at Puntarenas. With a gasp, Sarah realized he was holding a rifle to his shoulder and the barrel was aimed at Billy.
Billy had no doubt that Gandara would fire. As best he could while holding the camera, he made a surface dive and continued swimming underwater until his need for air drove him to the surface. He sucked in a deep breath and dove again. He was beginning to pant from his desperate exertion. He had to stay on the surface longer and longer between dives, offering Gandara a better target. A second before he made his next plunge, bullets splattered the water around him. Then something slammed against his side and he froze with terror, thinking he had been shot. Off to his left he saw the dark graceful bulk of a dolphin. It was Chatter. She shoved against him and he grabbed her dorsal fin. Billy felt her muscular body quiver against him. She began towing him so rapidly he almost lost his grip. She surfaced to blow and inhale, and bullets pocked the water beside them. He took a deep breath and down they went, deeper this time, until his ears pained from the pressure.
Rocha stood on the engine cover staring at Gandara with shocked disbelief. His eyes jumped from Billy and the dolphin to the captain firing the rifle. He tried to figure out what the hell was going on. With the next explosive roar of the automatic weapon he knew that Gandara was trying to kill Billy. Into his mind came the roar of another gun—a handgun he had fired. For a brief moment he saw Yolanda sprawled on the parking lot blacktop, her blood and brains seeping from a massive hole in what had been the left of the side of her skull.
Rocha shook off the horror of what he had done and jumped from the engine cover. He grabbed the skiff’s wheel, jammed the throttle full-forward, and sent the skiff racing for Billy. The bewildered deckhand yelled over the pounding engine, “What the hell is this all about?”
“Something you want no part of,” Rocha yelled. “Lie down on the deck and stay there, unless you want to get killed!”
“I wanna know what’s going on!” he demanded.
Rocha spun and drove his shoulder into the deckhand’s chest. He struck with all the hostility and anger that had been building so long within him, and knocked the boatman over the side. He took the wheel and glanced between Billy and the captain, who was slamming a fresh magazine into the rifle.
“Oh, God. No!” Rocha cried out as he saw Billy’s hand slip from the dolphin’s fin. There was more sadness to his wail than anger. Billy, he could see, was exhausted, and before the dolphin could take him under again Gandara would have the rifle loaded. He had to shield Billy with the skiff, so he turned the boat to send it between his friend and the captain’s aim. He screamed at Gandara, trying to divert his attention. “No! Don’t!”
Billy heard Rocha’s yell and saw the skiff charging for him. He realized that Rocha was attempting to block Gandara’s fire with the boat’s hull, and a sudden swell of gratitude surged within him. The skiff thundered toward him and he kicked away from its bow. The engine’s booming throb stopped and the boat slowed. He gave Rocha a wave of thanks and threw the camera to him. Rocha caught it and waved back. Then came the sharp brrrupp of the automatic rifle and wood splinters exploded from the skiff’s hull. Billy looked up at Rocha as he took three bullets in the chest. He was slammed back as if struck by a sledgehammer and driven against the wheel. Rocha’s wide dark eyes betrayed his disbelieving shock. He made an unintelligible sound, then shook his head as if denying death, and fell across the engine cover. A profound sadness swept over Billy, darkening his heart. He wanted to cry, to kill, to rip apart Rocha’s slayer with his hands. But most of all he wanted to give Rocha his life back. He would live the rest of his days knowing that Rocha had died to save his life. He turned away from the skiff and found Chatter. Overcome by Rocha’s death, he put his arms around the dolphin and allowed his head to sink against her side.
When the last spent brass cartridge case was ejected onto the deck and the rifle clicked empty, Gandara reloaded. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Santos and the pilot running across the bridge. He noticed that the mate clutched an assault rifle and Lessing was wearing his army Colt .45. He liked the mate’s fierce look.
“Mr. Lessing, you will take off and intercept Salvador. And you, Santos, you will fire down on the bridge. Do anything necessary to stop her. We only have a few minutes, so hurry.”
Arnold looked at the captain with disbelief. He had heard similar orders many times before. Was it in Cambodia, Laos, Afghanistan? They’re breaking through, go get ’em. We’re evacuating Quan-Trang. Take the gunship. They’re in the open, you can’t miss! He could still see bodies blown apart and flung across the open rice fields in a bloody aerial butchery.
“Hold on a minute!” Arnold shouted. “They’re civilians! And this isn’t any damn war.”
Gandara shoved the rifle muzzle into the pilot’s belly. “It’s my war, Mr. Lessing, and I intend to win it.”
He turned to the mate. “Santos, you are the one man I can always trust and depend upon. See that he does as I say.”
“A sus ordenes, Louis,” the mate responded, daring to use the captain’s first name.
“Thank you, old friend.”
Gandara watched Santos prod the pilot up the ladder leading to the bridge heliport. I have a chance now, he thought. And I have been lucky for too many years to be defeated by a boy and a dolphin.
He turned to look for Billy. What he saw shook his momentary feeling of confidence. Less than a half mile ahead of the clipper, the Refugio Shoals showed white water.
Gandara ran aft. As he passed the ladder to the helicopter pad, he glanced up and saw Arnold climbing into the cockpit. Santos was freeing the clips that would release the machine, and Gandara called to him, “You must kill a few or they won’t stop. Remember that, Santos!”
The mate waved his understanding and Gandara ran on for the stern thinking, Now for the n
iño.
The captain sprinted across the aft deck and saw a chase boat still hanging from its davit. He climbed aboard, placed the rifle carefully on a thwart, and yelled at the second mate, “Lower me at once!”
He pressed the starter and had the outboard motor running before the speedboat hit the water. As the hull slapped into the sea, Gandara glanced at the bridge and saw that the helicopter’s rotor blades were beginning to spin.
Salvador raced on for the clipper—an old rusting wooden-hulled minesweeper challenging a solid modern ship—and the tension among the captain and crew mounted as they converged on Lucky Dragon.
Benny lifted the glasses and held his focus on the helicopter. He saw an armed man wearing a cartridge bandolier by the skids and another in the pilot’s seat. They’re going to strafe us, he realized with dread.
Benny yelled at the crew gathered along the bridge railing, “Everybody inside the wheelhouse and stay away from the windows!”
“Benny, what is it?” Sarah asked.
“They’re sending up their chopper to shoot the hell out of us!”
“Where’s Billy…?”
“Still in the water with his dolphin! Now get under cover or I’ll throw you overboard to join him!”
“I’m staying with you.”
Benny shrugged, lifted the glasses, and spotted the chase boat roaring away from the clipper. He immediately recognized the tall black-bearded man who was steering one-handed and holding an assault rifle with the other. There was nothing he could do now…unless…. Benny reached for the lanyard that activated the ship’s horn and pulled the cord.
The loud, piercing sound of Salvador’s klaxon reached Billy. Two miles off he saw the gray minesweeper racing for Lucky Dragon. She was throwing a wide wake, and his heart soared with the hope he’d live to see day’s end after all. Over the far-off blare of the klaxon he heard the high-pitched whine of an outboard and spun. Gandara was charging toward him. Panic came again as he tried to decide what to do. Climb in the seine skiff and attempt to escape? No. The boat was too slow, and he’d be a perfect target. Keep swimming for the net? Maybe. Would Gandara send the speedboat over the corkline and foul the propeller? Probably. But it might slow him down.
Billy called for Chatter. The dolphin came alongside and he grabbed her fin. He pointed to the net and urged, “That way, Chatter. Go on!”
She began towing him toward the net, and Billy looked over his shoulder. Beyond the speedboat he saw the helicopter’s rotor blades spinning. He watched Santos step back from the copter’s skids and move cautiously around the front of the cabin to the passenger door. Now it’s Arnold’s turn to come after me.
Arnold’s hand gripping the control stick was trembling more from fear than from the vibration of the engine. In a second he would have maximum takeoff power. In a second, Santos would be climbing into the cabin. Arnold couldn’t wait even that long. He twisted the control stick, changing the blade’s pitch, and the helicopter leaped off the bridge. He glanced down and saw Santos swing the rifle upward. Then the rotor blade’s downwash lashed the mate, knocking him backward. He sprawled on the helipad and dropped the rifle. As Santos came to his feet Arnold turned the helicopter back toward the bridge. He flew directly at Santos. With a look of terror, the mate flung himself aside and leaped to safety. As Arnold thundered by, he saw Santos falling. He hit the railing, then dropped into the water below. Arnold laughed, reached for a can of beer, and thought, That’s one for the good guys, but if I ever land on that ship again, it’s good-bye Junior Birdman. Now what? He glanced at the fuel gauges. The tanks were full. He had two hours’ flying time, enough to reach shore with twenty minutes to spare. He decided to stick around for a few minutes and see how the war ended.
The corkline was still thirty yards away, and Billy knew that the speedboat would be upon them before they reached the net. He looked back, saw Gandara lift the rifle and fire.
The slamming, bouncing boat spoiled Gandara’s aim and the bullets went wild. The rifle flew out of his hands and landed in the boat. Then Chatter dove, taking Billy down with her. They stayed underwater until the dolphin surfaced beside the corkline and Billy pulled himself over the rim. He began swimming into the wide enclosure, hoping that this time the net hadn’t trapped any sharks. He looked back and saw Gandara racing toward Chatter. She was outside the corkline and right in the boat’s path. Billy screamed at the confused dolphin, knowing that the sound of the snarling propeller was jumbling her senses. “Chatter, come on! Jump! Jump the net!”
The dolphin hesitated as if the low-floating corkline was too much for her. Billy sprinted to help her over the net and pleaded, “Chatter, jump!”
He was sure Chatter would be rammed, and grabbed for her. At the last possible second, with the chase boat only yards away, she made a low, effortless leap over the corkline. As he seized her fin he saw Gandara wasn’t going to slow for the net. The bow slammed across the corkline and the heavy propeller shaft snagged on the cable, stopping the boat as if it had hit a wall. Gandara was catapulted out of the driver’s seat and flung through the air to land in the sea. He hit hard ten feet forward of the bow and Billy thought, I’ve got to get that rifle.
As Billy sprinted for the boat, Gandara shook off the impact. The distance between them was too great, and Billy knew he couldn’t get the weapon in time.
Gandara’s hands were already grasping the gunwale when Chatter attacked. Before he could muscle over the side, the dolphin rammed him, driving the captain into the water. He drew his knife and slashed at the dolphin, but she nimbly avoided the thrust and turned aside. Seizing the moment, Gandara scrambled into the boat and grabbed the rifle. Billy looked up and saw the captain aiming the muzzle at him. Then something more compelling than killing Billy diverted Gandara’s attention and he looked off. Billy followed the captain’s astonished glance and saw Salvador speeding for the clipper on a beam attack. He knew there was not a chance in hell that the minesweeper would fail to ram the clipper. Gandara also saw that his ship was doomed and turned to Billy. “You did this, niño!”
As Gandara lifted his rifle, the rattling whomp-whomp of the helicopter roared out of the sky. An instant later the diving, blue-gray cabin of the Hughes filled his vision. The chopper skimmed so low over Gandara that he had to dive aside or be decapitated by a landing skid. His abrupt, defensive reflex sent him tumbling over the boat’s side. He hit the water violently, dropping the rifle. He looked wildly about and saw Billy not more than five feet away. Gandara lunged at him, and his knife flashed in the late-afternoon sun. The bright reflection of light off the stainless-steel blade warned Billy, and he twisted away from Gandara’s explosive thrust. As Billy retreated, the captain slashed and stabbed at him again and again. His enormous exertion, and the weight of his sodden clothes, quickly exhausted the captain. Billy kept backing away, waiting for his chance. He knew the signs of impending drowning from his beach-lifeguarding days. Gandara was already winded. Seconds later his hips dropped, and he began struggling to keep his chin above water.
It happened quickly. His rage changed abruptly to the shocked look of a man facing death. Gandara faltered and turned back toward the boat. After a few ineffectual strokes he began sinking. Still holding the knife, Gandara slid underwater, his hands clawing ineffectually until they disappeared below the surface.
Billy’s mind raced. “It would be so easy to turn my back,” he thought. “But I’m a lifeguard, a waterman…I can’t let him go like that.”
He dove along the wavering wall of drifting net. Ten feet below, Billy saw the blurred outline of Gandara entangled in the slack nylon webbing. He would drown, like the thousands of dolphins he had slaughtered. Billy reached him and began pulling the mesh away from the drowning man. The captain sensed Billy by his side. He raised his knife, made a final weak thrust, and went limp.
Billy’s desperate need for oxygen was so great he came close to unconsciousness. He took Gandara’s knife, cut through the final strand that held the c
aptain, and began slowly swimming him for the surface. Billy knew he wasn’t going to make it, and decided to let Gandara go. Before he relaxed his grip, Chatter appeared at his side, offering her fin. He took hold of the dolphin, and she began towing the two humans upward. Sunlight streamed down on them, and Billy looked up. The chase boat was there, still caught in the corkline.
They reached the surface, and Billy grabbed the side of the boat. He felt a faint motion from the man he held and looked into Gandara’s face. His eyelids quivered, and Billy knew he would survive. He worked him around to the boat’s stern. Holding the captain by the hair, he used the outboard’s propeller housing as a step and climbed aboard. With a one…two…three, Billy pulled the man over the transom and let him collapse on the deck.
Arnold made one more pass over Billy and Gandara. He gave the kid a mock salute and turned the helicopter toward the coast, hoping he had the fuel to make it back to land. With a wry smile he muttered, “Billy, if you survive the next few years, you’ll be one hell of a man. Good on you, son.”
The sound of Salvador’s klaxon boomed across the water, and Billy spun around to look for the ship. She was bearing down on the clipper, only moments away from colliding.
Braced for the impact, Benny steered the minesweeper toward Lucky Dragon. After all the years of being denied this battle, he let his frustration erupt in a wild roar that boomed over Salvador’s pounding engines.
He felt Sarah’s hand on his arm. She was gesturing frantically at a speedboat floating by the net. With a start, Benny saw Billy standing above Gandara, waving at them. He felt cheated and muttered, “Wouldn’t you know it. The kid got him first.”
He looked ahead to the clipper that loomed large and ominous in front of Salvador’s onrushing bow. The ship was so close now that Benny could see the crew dashing away from the railing in a frantic attempt to escape the point of impact. Like a flash of light illuminating his basic nature, Benny realized he was attacking more than the ship’s dark hull. There were men on her deck, and there was his crew, who might bleed and die in the tangle of ripped and crumpled steel. Benny realized his thrust for vengeance was wrong. He spun the wheel and yelled to the bridge, “Full reverse!”