“Roger, wilco,” Mikhail answered.
After scanning for possible threats and spotting none, Chris took a knee on the deck and undid the latch. Then he unrolled the Jacob’s ladder over the starboard side. “Infidel and Sunshine, the starboard ladder is ready for boarding. I’ll cover you from here.”
“Roger,” Hannah said, “Starboard ladder ready for boarding. You’re covering.”
“About damn time,” Sonny said.
From Chris’s current position, he had to look three ways to cover all possible approaches from Xander and his men: forward, aft, and up. “I’m moving aft for a better tactical view.”
After shifting locations, he had most of the ship in front of him without having to bend his neck back and forth, up and down and risk missing something.
“Infidel boarding,” Hannah said.
Chris hoped Hannah made it on board before Xander and his men appeared. Suddenly, there was movement. Whiteface, carrying an AK, appeared on the port side of the bridge. Chris covered him. It was the same guy who was with Animus in London.
Whiteface looked down at the port side of the ship and the sea and then returned back inside the bridge. Soon, Whiteface stepped outside on the starboard side. Chris placed the red dot of his scope on the profile of Whiteface’s upper body while simultaneously placing his finger snugly on the trigger. As Whiteface walked toward the edge of the ship, Chris followed with his red dot, tracking the side of his upper body. Chris held his breath to stop his lungs from moving, reducing the wobble of the red dot. Whiteface bent over the rails and looked down at the water, near where Hannah and Sonny were.
Chris squeezed the trigger slowly. He tried not to anticipate the quiet pop from the sound-suppressed barrel or the recoil of the butt into his shoulder. He tried not to think about when the shot would fire. It was best to be surprised. Pop. The sound was no louder than a kid’s BB gun. Whiteface jerked, and he twisted toward the bow as if to see who hit him, but he was facing the opposite direction of where the shot had come from, and he seemed confused. Pop. Chris shot him in the back.
Whiteface’s back arched before he dropped to the deck, crying out in Russian for help. “Po-masch!” He dropped his weapon and crawled for the bridge, but Chris covered him with the red dot and fired again, this time hitting him on his uninjured side. He stopped crawling.
“Ivan!” Animus’s voice called out.
Ivan is no more.
Chris had focused so tightly on the bridge that he had to open his field of view again to possible enemy combatants on the rest of the starboard side. Hannah’s head rose above the Jacob’s ladder, and he assumed Sonny was directly below her.
An armed man hopped out of the starboard hatch of the bridge, stoking Chris’s pulse and breathing rates. “Armed man, bridge, starboard wing,” Chris reported over his radio.
Chris aimed at him, but he ducked before Chris could pull the trigger or Hannah could acquire him. Chris’s heart and breathing sped up. Then more appeared.
“More armed men, same location. No Xander yet,” Chris said into his mic.
He tried to figure who was the most senior of the men present in order to take him out first and weaken the remaining members, but it wasn’t clear who was senior. Adrenaline dumped into Chris’s system as he decided to take out the greatest threat first. But they all seemed equally threatening. While his mind raced trying to pick out the best target, the armed men spotted Chris.
Hannah, who was on deck by now, took a shot and missed as Sonny crawled up onto the ship.
Chris’s panic rose. He had wasted precious time choosing a target, and now he wanted to shoot any and all threats. The darkness of warfare covered more and more of his light as a pastor. Gunfire erupted from the starboard wing of the bridge, and the heat of the rounds clapped the air near him. With his mind hazy and his vision blurred, it became a Herculean effort to focus on target. He knew his life and the lives of his teammates were in danger, so he jerked the trigger, hoping to hit one of the enemy combatants, but he missed.
“Take cover,” he warned the others. The SOG trio ran toward the bulkhead and took refuge from the shit storm that rained down.
“How many?” Sonny asked.
“Five or six,” Chris answered.
“Xander is still the prize,” Hannah reminded them. As if they could forget.
Chris took a slow breath. He had failed to take an effective shot so far, but he shook off the discouragement. It was history, and there was nothing he could accomplish now by dwelling on it. The only thing he had any control over was the here and now.
“Xander and his men have less room up there to maneuver than we do down here,” Chris said, getting his focus back. “We can whittle them down from where we are before making an assault.”
Sonny nodded. “Smoke ’em.”
“Let’s do it,” Hannah said.
“If Hannah can stay here and keep an eye on this hatch and the main deck,” Sonny said, “it’ll free up you and me to home in on the bastards near the bridge.”
Hannah grinned. “My pleasure
It was a wise move, and it could help Chris ensure he followed the advice of his veteran SEAL mentor, a shooting guru named Ron Hickok. Don’t show your face twice in the same spot unless you want to get it shot off. Because Chris had already been spotted aft, he moved forward. Sonny moved forward, too. Chris covered port and Sonny took starboard.
Thick black pipes ran along the length of the deck, and Chris lay down beside them, using them to provide partial cover and concealment. He slithered into a better position while watching the bridge and its starboard and port wings. More than anything, he hoped to spot Xander and take him out.
A spiky-haired man with an AK neared the rail and looked around. He seemed to have spotted Sonny, but Sonny’s rifle spit twice and Spike dropped.
Hannah’s rifle sounded. “Good night,” she said quietly, as if to herself, but her voice transmitted over the radio, and then a man yelped.
Chris settled into a stable position, an advantage of being prone, which would aid his accuracy. Several people were inside the pilothouse on the bridge, but the windows were tinted and it was difficult to see who was inside. Outside, on the starboard side, someone hung his AK out and sprayed below. None of the shots zipped anywhere close to Sonny—yet. Chris put his red dot on the man’s shoulder and squeezed. The shooter’s shirt quivered slightly, showing Chris where he’d struck his target. The shooter almost released his weapon as he pulled away, back into the bridge.
Sonny reached the port side and went aft.
An aggressive gunman came out the port side then, aiming his weapon toward the bow, looking for trouble but failing to notice Chris lying down between the pipes. Chris’s red dot aligned over the man’s chest, and his finger applied pressure to the trigger. The recoil of the rifle pushed his shoulder, signaling the deed was done. The aggressive shooter sank out of sight.
Sonny aimed at a target near the bridge. Chris couldn’t see who Sonny was shooting at, but he heard the pop.
Someone on the port side backed into Chris’s view. Chris plugged him between the shoulder blades, and the man dropped.
Then the shooting stopped. Everything became quiet—too quiet.
Chris slithered toward the superstructure, and a bullet punched through the glass of the pilothouse window. Tang! The projectile struck a metal pipe next to Chris, the surprise of the shot jolting him. He dispensed with the slithering, hopped to his feet, and sprinted out of the line of fire. His body tilted as he ran, and he realized the ship was turning. Tang! A second bullet just missed his foot.
Chris joined Sonny and Hannah next to the port hatch out of the line of fire. There was Sideburns in a puddle of blood. “He told me I was too late,” Chris said.
The ship straightened its course, and the deck leveled off. They were less than two klicks away from the Shah Deniz Alpha oil rig now. Chris had read that the rig’s legs had to stretch a hundred meters below the water to touch bot
tom, and on top of those legs, thirteen meters above water, rested the platform that carried the drilling and production facilities with housing for well over a hundred crewmembers.
“Xander is on a direct collision course with Shah Deniz Alpha,” Chris said.
“That’s how he plans to interrupt the flow of gas through the South Caucasus Pipeline,” Hannah said. “And he’ll kill all the crewmembers onboard the Shan Deniz Alpha in the process.”
24
_______
Moving in for the assault, Chris hurried to the nearest ladder, and Hannah and Sonny followed. When he aimed his weapon up at the port side of the bridge, there was no one there. Expecting the enemy to appear at any moment, he observed the hazard spots with his M4 as he climbed the ladder, but no one showed.
“Something’s wrong,” Chris whispered.
They ascended several levels until they reached the hatch leading to the bridge. Chris positioned himself next to the hatch with Hannah and Sonny forming the train behind him. He glanced back at Hannah, who had a flash-bang device at the ready so when Chris opened the hatch, she could toss it in and stun whoever was inside. He pulled on the handle, but it didn’t move, so he pulled harder. Still no luck. Then he used both hands to crank on it, but nothing changed. Then he heard it. From inside the bridge came a hissing sound.
“Sounds like they’re welding the hatches shut,” he said. “Let’s find another way in.”
Resuming point, Chris returned to the same ladder they had just climbed and went back down to the deck below where he found a hatch and opened it. He leaned into the opening with his eyes and his weapon, leaving the rest of his body behind the cover of the metal bulkhead. Xander and Animus were in the passageway. Chris trained his red dot on Xander, but before Xander turned and noticed Chris’s presence, Animus stepped in front of the man, as if to shield him from Chris’s fire. Chris squeezed, and Animus returned fire. Chris’s shot struck Animus’s flesh, and Animus’s shot harmlessly hit the metal bulkhead.
Chris followed up decisively with another round, striking Animus between the shoulders. He fell with a gasp, but Xander had disappeared.
Ron Hickok’s voice sounded in Chris’s memory. Sometimes the enemy will play dead on you. Shoot him until he’s dead. Then you never have to worry about him surprising you—or worse—surprising your buddies.
Chris put a security round in Animus’s head, then stepped over his body to the spot where Xander had disappeared. The SEAL in Chris wanted to cheer, and the pastor in Chris wanted to say a prayer, but it was the SEAL who reasoned that he still had to get Xander. It looked like this passageway ran from starboard to port. Rather than present himself in the same upper location of the passageway, Chris dropped to a knee and leaned over. No one was there.
The sound of footsteps scampered away. Chris’s first impulse was to pursue, but maybe the footsteps were from one of Xander’s thugs and Xander was waiting around the corner to ambush Chris and his team.
Chris took a deep breath to calm himself, but it seemed to have little effect as he proceeded into the passageway. He didn’t hear Hannah and Sonny behind him, but somehow he sensed they were there.
The passageway provided little room to maneuver on either side, making Chris feel trapped. If a foe came at him, the only way to escape would be forward, through the foe. Adrenaline unloaded into his arteries and his vision became crisp as the red dot of his sight covered danger zones. He searched for trip wires in front or a pressure release mat on the deck that could trigger a booby trap, but there were none.
When he reached intersecting passageways at the centerline of the ship, he looked for Xander, but no luck. He looked through the passageway which led to a ladder that reached up to the rear hatch of the bridge. As much as he wanted to chase Xander, the ship had to be stopped. Chris swiftly closed the distance to the ladder and ascended.
On the bridge he discovered the bodies of men who appeared to be the captain and his crew. Nearby was Whiteface in a puddle of blood. If he was playing dead, he could surprise Chris, or worse, surprise Hannah and Sonny. Chris eliminated the possibility of surprises coming from Whiteface.
Then Chris peeled right, knowing Hannah would peel left and Sonny would take the center of the bridge. There was a bullet hole in the windshield where someone had fired at Chris minutes earlier. He searched for surviving enemies.
“Starboard hatch is welded shut.” Although Chris and his crew wouldn’t be able to exit through the starboard side, it also meant no one from the starboard side would be able to enter.
Hannah tried to open the port hatch. “This door is welded shut, too.”
Sonny jerked at the ship’s throttle, but it didn’t move. Then he attempted to turn the wheel, but it didn’t budge, either. “They welded the damn throttle and wheel, too. Now we can’t stop or steer the ship!”
Chris took a try at the throttle and wheel, just to make sure—not even a wiggle. The ship ran at a speed of ten knots, aimed at the Shah Deniz Alpha oil rig, one and a half klicks away. “Maybe we can’t stop the ship, but we can get Xander.”
“Do you have a death wish or something?” Hannah asked. “We need to get off now… before the ship crashes.”
“Can’t let him get away,” Chris said.
“Hannah is right,” Sonny said. “If Xander wants to go down with the ship, let him. If he surfaces, we’ll be waiting for him.”
Hannah’s chocolate-brown eyes had a soothing effect on him as she locked them on his. “What’s the best way to get off the ship?” she asked.
Chris could be reckless with his own life, but he couldn’t be reckless with theirs. Like Sonny had said, Xander would either go down with the ship, or they would catch him when he surfaced.
“We can jump off the fantail,” Chris said. He radioed Mikhail and told him they were coming and to contact the oil rig to inform them the ship was about to crash into them. “We only have about five minutes before the ship hits.”
Chris, Hannah, and Sonny moved tactically out of the bridge, down the ladder and then into the passageway they’d just come from. Chris was careful not to take Sonny and Hannah into an ambush, but he still had to hurry.
When they reached the fantail, Mikhail was still dutifully in the go-fast, following behind. Chris warned Mikhail they were about to jump before turning to Hannah. “Right before you leap, start inflating your vest so you don’t sink like a rock with all your gear when you hit the water.”
She nodded.
“Go,” he said.
She popped the CO2 cartridge in her vest and jumped, followed by Sonny.
As Chris turned and observed the deck, there was still no sign of Xander.
Where are you?
He ground his teeth and pulled his own cord, puncturing the CO2 cartridge to fill his vest with air, and he jumped. His mind cleared of everything except what he was doing, and he felt like a lead weight had been lifted. It was liberating.
Splash! He sank underwater, but his submersion was only temporary and he floated toward the surface. The first thing he checked was whether Hannah was okay. She was. Sonny was afloat, too.
Mikhail brought the boat up alongside them and helped Sonny out of the water and onboard first. Then Sonny and Mikhail helped Hannah and Chris aboard.
The ship was less than five minutes away from hitting the oil rig.
Before Chris could ask Mikhail if he was able to contact someone on the rig to warn them, he noticed Mikhail’s face was pale. “Are you okay?” Chris asked.
“While you had your shootout, I ran into a little shootout of my own,” Mikhail said.
“What happened?” Hannah asked.
“A yacht started following the ship,” Mikhail said. “Then it rammed me and tried to knock me off course. I figured they were working for Xander. When I didn’t change course, a gunman started shooting. So I shot back and took out the gunman and the pilot, and now they’re both dead in the water.” Mikhail chuckled. “Ow, that rattles my stones to laugh.”
He turned awkwardly, and Chris didn’t understand what was going on until Mikhail collapsed on the deck. Chris dropped to his knees beside him and opened his assault vest. Hannah took the wheel while Sonny trained his weapon on the ship.
Between Mikhail’s neck and shoulder was a bloody mess. The round must’ve entered between his neck and the opening of the collar on his inflatable bullet-resistant vest. The whole front of his shirt was soaked with blood.
Chris pulled out Mikhail’s blowout kit, removed a QuickClot Combat Gauze packet, and unbuttoned Mikhail’s shirt to see exactly where the bullet entry was. There was a dark hole covered with blood, and Chris pressed part of his hand against it to stop the bleeding while using his fingers to open the packet. Then he removed the gauze and used his finger to poke it into the wound, applying direct pressure with his hand between pokes. Chris had similarly patched up a fallen Teammate in Iraq, who’d howled out in pain, but Mikhail made no sound. His eyes were open, but he didn’t speak.
Shit, I’m losing him.
“Mikhail, how you doing?” Chris asked.
After stuffing the hemostatic gauze as deep as it would go, packing the wound, he used his hand to apply direct pressure with the remaining gauze. He leaned over and put his cheek close to Mikhail’s lips to feel his breath, but there was none.
“Mikhail, talk to me. Talk to me, buddy.”
Clank, clank, clank! It sounded like metal baseball bats striking the hull of the go-fast, but the sonic snap that sounded over Chris’s head confirmed they were bullets. Sonny leaned into his rifle, the barrel spitting hate up at one of Xander’s men on the tanker, who shrieked like a bird as he fired his AK down at them. Sonny muted him.
Chris maintained direct pressure for a couple of minutes until the bleeding stopped. Mikhail had closed his eyes. He’d lost a lot of blood and was still unresponsive. Chris reached into the blowout kit and pulled out a gray package containing an Israeli-designed military trauma bandage. He tore it open and pulled out the bandage, careful not to touch the sterile pad. After applying the pad to the gauze-packed wound, he wrapped the tail of the bandage around Mikhail’s torso and clipped the excess with the pressure applicator.
From Russia Without Love Page 18