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Ensign Dunbar glanced at his men. Jankowski shrugged, but Levine nodded. “I wouldn’t want to kill my engine in this wind. That lobster boat will slide sideways to the wind in no time.”
Dunbar ground his teeth – he should have thought of that.
“Okay,” he said through the loudspeaker, “maintain your head into the wind, but if you accelerate without our permission, we will consider it a hostile act.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the lobster boat’s captain replied over his loudspeaker. He sounded annoyed. “I only need a couple of knots to maintain my heading. If you can hurry the hell up, I’d really appreciate it. The boatyard has men coming in early to work on my boat so I can get out fishing tomorrow.”
The lobster boat slowed to a crawl, barely making headway against the wind. Dunbar flipped on the spotlight, which showed the captain standing in the pilothouse, shielding his eyes from the glare.
Dunbar turned to the radio setting. “Big Eyes, SB One. We are about to board and search a lobster boat. It is the only boat we have seen and it came from the direction of the gunshots we heard earlier.”
On the Vigilant, Captain O’Brien turned to her XO. “How far away are they?”
Lt. Commander Hillson checked the radar return from the IFF. “Little more than a mile, Captain.”
O’Brien nodded. “Pilot! Set a course to intercept. Military speed.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Petty Officer First Class Cynthia Foster replied briskly, and the Vigilant’s engine roared to life.
“SB One, this is Big Eyes,” O’Brien said into the mic. “We are coming to join you. Wait for us to arrive before you board. Confirm.”
“Big Eyes, SB One confirms will wait for you before we board. ETA?”
“Five minutes, SB One.” O’Brien cut the transmission. “Battle stations! I want everyone in vests and everyone armed. Radar, do you have them yet?”
“Not yet, Captain. I think they’re behind that headland, about ten degrees off our port bow. Once we clear that, we should see them.”
O’Brien nodded and settled in her chair, resisting the impulse to rub her injured shoulder, and nagged by the thought that there was something…something she forgot to do. It was right there, just out of her mind’s reach. Dammit, she hated when she did that.
______________
Ensign Dunbar turned to his crew. “We’re waiting until Mother gets here before we board. Sit tight, keep your eyes open.”
On the .30 caliber machine gun, Jankowski frowned. Their small boat was, well, small. And damn low in the water. They had already drifted so close to the lobster boat that he had to angle the gun barrel up to shoot over the side rail. If the lobster boat captain ducked down, he would be unable to hit him.
“Hey, Skipper,” he said softly. “We’re too close! Back us away so I can bring my gun to bear.”
Dunbar frowned, looking first at Jankowski, then the lobster boat, then back to the machine gunner again. Suddenly the bad geometry fell into place and he hurriedly put the engines in reverse.
Unfortunately, he was not the only one who saw it. Jean-Philippe LeBlanc had been watching the small boat as it came closer and closer. The sailor at the wheel looked young, very young, and LeBlanc figured he might not have a lot of experience with small boats in rough weather. The small boat was being pulled by the tide, but pushed in the opposite direction by the wind. It was tricky to maintain your position in those conditions, and the Coast Guard sailor had overcompensated and given the little boat too much throttle.
And now the little craft was close to the Celeste. Too close.
LeBlanc turned in the pilothouse so his back was to the Coast Guard boat, calling to his brother and Doug Tynman. “Get ready, I’m going to shoot as soon as I turn!”
In the work area, Guy and Tynman glanced at each other, both swallowing nervously. Tynman blessed himself, making the sign of the cross. Guy settled for wiping cold sweat off his forehead. They both flicked the safeties off on their rifles. “Go for the machine gun first,” Guy reminded them both. Tynman nodded stiffly, too nervous to speak.
In one quick motion, Jean-Philippe picked up his rifle and, crouching low and swinging around, brought the gun up to his shoulder in one smooth motion and panned across the Coast Guard small boat, which was located slightly below him. Jankowski saw him first, his eyes widening. He instinctively pulled the trigger on the machine gun, but the bullets shredded the superstructure above LeBlanc’s head, accomplishing nothing other than annihilating part of the windscreen. Try as he might, Jankowski could not bring his weapon to bear.
LeBlanc shot him from less than twenty feet, catching him in the throat and blowing out his spinal cord.
Guy got off the second shot just as Levine was snatching up his rifle. At that distance, he couldn’t miss. And didn’t. A round smashed the Seaman’s shoulder, spinning him part way around and dropping him to the deck. He wasn’t dead yet, but was out of the fight.
Tynman fired just as Ensign Dunbar hit the throttle to full speed. The inflatable leapt forward, striking the lobster boat at an angle and bouncing off to end up parallel to the larger boat, pointing at the stern. The twin outboard engines roared and the boat shot forward with enough force that Dunbar would have fallen backwards if he hadn’t been holding onto the wheel so tight. Bullets zipped past him left and right, one nicking the inflatable and puncturing one of the air cells. Dunbar wheeled left and right, forcing the boat to skid sideways first in one direction, then another. More fire came in and he suddenly realized that the police light bar was still on, making him an easy target. He flicked it off and the little craft plunged into darkness. Then he yanked the wheel to the right and went deeper into the inlet, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the lobster boat.
After about thirty seconds he stopped the boat dead in the water, then leaned over and violently threw up everything in his stomach. Spots swarmed in his eyes and he felt a rush of queasy lightheadedness sweep over him. There was a plastic bottle of water near him. Pulling it from its holder, he poured half of it over his face and drank the rest.
Jankowski was dead. His eyes were staring at nothing and the hole through his neck was large enough to drive a car through. He lay in a pool of his own blood, which rippled back and forth as the wind rocked the boat.
Levine was still alive and conscious, but bleeding profusely. “Did Jank get hit? I thought I saw him get hit.” He moaned in pain. “Is all that my blood? Is it mine?”
Dunbar put an Israeli combat bandage on Levine’s mangled shoulder and pressed it hard into the wound. Levine screamed, then his eyes rolled up into his head. Dunbar searched for a pulse and found it, but it was weak and uneven. Dunbar sank back on his haunches, emotionally drained and at a loss for what to do. Then he recalled one of his instructors telling him that the time would come when everything had gone to shit and his life and the life of his crew depended on what he would do next.
“And when you’re standing there,” the instructor had told them, “stunned and bewildered and don’t know what to do, do this: Stop! Take two deep breaths. Look at your immediate options and then DO SOMETHING!”
Numbly, Dunbar staggered back to the center console and picked up the radio mic.
“Big Eyes, they shot us,” he croaked. “Jankowski’s dead and Levine is hurt bad. I broke contact with the lobster boat. I am returning to your location, but if I see the lobster boat, I will engage.”
On the Vigilant, Captain O’Brien touched her headset. “Small Boat One, negative! Do NOT go after the lobster boat. We are almost there. I repeat, do not go after the boat!”
There was no reply from the small boat.
“Shit,” Lt. Commander Hillson said. “He’s moving. The IFF is moving fast, headed back down the inlet towards us.” Which meant that the lobster boat was between the IFF signal and the Vigilant.
O’Brien touched her headset. “Master Chief, are you on the autocannon?”
�
�Here, Captain, and ready,” he replied immediately.
“Keep your eyes peeled. We should be seeing the lobster boat any moment. Master Chief, they’ve already shot up the small boat and killed Jankowski. Ensign Dunbar may be trying to chase them down. I would like to neutralize the target before Dunbar gets into their range.” She had just told him that it was okay to blow the lobster boat out of the water as soon as he saw it. Not exactly standard Coast Guard protocol.
Master Chief Ramirez’s voice was calm and matter-of-fact. “Shouldn’t be a problem, Skipper. If you give me a radar bearing and distance, I may be able to render them, uh, harmless before they even see us.”
O’Brien glanced at Lt. Commander Hillson and raised a questioning eyebrow. Hillson nodded.
“Very good, Master Chief,” she radioed. “Lt. Commander Hillson will keep you advised.” She racked the microphone and peered through the windscreen. In the space of a few minutes she had one dead sailor, one critically injured sailor, and one very junior officer who might be in way over his head.
“Foster!” she snapped at the Pilot. “Can’t you make this boat go faster?”
______________
Jacob and Calvin were drifting down the center of the channel, pushed along by a six-knot storm tide that was swollen with rainwater and rushing eastward towards the ocean. Calvin’s wetsuit gave him buoyancy and kept him from the worst effects of the frigid water, but Jacob’s makeshift wetsuit was only delaying the inevitable hypothermia. How long that delay was might make all the difference, but in the meantime, Jacob was cold and getting colder.
Holding onto his brother with one hand, Jacob was doing the sidestroke with his other, gamely trying to move them closer to shore. The on-again, off-again rain was momentarily off again and he could actually see some lights on land a few hundred yards away. But they might as well have been on the far side of the moon. No matter how hard he tried to swim, he didn’t seem to make any headway, and the effort was exhausting him. He was shivering and could barely feel his hands and feet. Finally, he just held onto his brother with both hands and let the current drag them relentlessly towards the sea.
At one point, a small motorboat of some kind went roaring past them, not more than one hundred feet away. Jacob croaked out a call for help, but the boat disappeared into the darkness. A few minutes later he heard it go back the other way, towards the ocean, but it was moving fast and Jacob was too cold and tired to even shout.
Then there was a searchlight in the distance, followed by the sound of shooting; not a rifle, but something big and noisy.
It didn’t matter. They were too far away, and Jacob was resigned to the fact that he was going to die this night.
They drifted on, propelled by the outgoing tide, Jacob with his arms wrapped around Calvin’s chest, holding him so his head was clear of the water. Calvin drifted to a muddy consciousness once, moaning with pain and thrashing about.
“Cal, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” Jacob said, trying to sooth his little brother.
“Wha-?” Calvin coughed, then took a deep breath. Jacob wondered how much water he might have swallowed. “Jacob? Jacob?” His voice was sluggish and weak.
“Cal, it’s okay. I’ve got you, okay? Nothin’ to worry about,” Jacob crooned in his ear and tightened his grip.
“Where…where?” Calvin tried to ask, but had to cough again.
Jacob laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, immensely happy that he was no longer alone in the storm. “W – w– well,” he managed through chattering teeth, “we’re in the water. Fucking LeBlanc sh – sh – shot you, but I don’t think it’s bad,” he lied. “Anyway, we’re in the reach, off Cats Cove, I think. Or maybe we’re past it.” He paused for breath. “How are you feeling?”
Calvin coughed weakly, then groaned in pain. “Hurts like a bastard,” he breathed. He turned his head to see his brother. “You?”
“Cold,” Jacob said bluntly. “Really fu– fucking cold.”
“Huh. Can we make it to shore?”
Jacob shook his head. “Tried. No good. Current’s got us.”
“Oh,” Calvin said, then he fell silent.
Neither boy spoke for several minutes, just watched the lights go by on the shore. The rain held off, but the wind increased, making the surface choppy with the result that both of them were constantly slapped by waves and choking on salt water.
Jacob kept flexing his hands, trying to bring back some feeling in them. It wasn’t working.
“Dad must be looking for us,” Calvin said softly.
“I know,” Jacob said.
Calvin laughed weakly. “Hope he finds us.”
Then, Calvin suddenly stiffened in Jacob’s grasp.
“What?” Jacob said, alarmed.
Calvin peered into the darkness. “Did you hear that?
Chapter 62
Brothers
LeBlanc pushed the Celeste as hard as he could, all the while keeping an eye out for the small Coast Guard boat in case it came at him from behind. They were so close to the ocean now, close to the maze of little islands and shoals that hugged the coastline. He knew them like the back of his hand, but he’d bet good money the Coast Guard didn’t.
Guy stuck his head into the pilothouse. “See anything?”
“Nope,” LeBlanc grunted.
Guy wiped the salt water and rainwater off his face. “Think Jacques made it okay?” He didn’t ask if they were going to turn around and search for him. No need to ask.
Jean-Philippe glanced at him grimly, but said nothing. Jacques hadn’t been wearing a life preserver when he went overboard. Worse, he had his thick-soled, heavy work boots on. They’d fill with water and drag him down within minutes, if not seconds. They’d been in thirty feet of water when Jacques went over. If he could kick off his boots right away, he might have made it to the surface. But if he didn’t, well…
“Where are we going?” Guy asked.
“Canada,” his brother said. “I know some folks up Nova Scotia way. We can hide there for a while. Got enough money to tide us over for a bit.”
Guy chewed his lower lip. “They’ll be lookin’ for us.”
LeBlanc shrugged. “No turning back now.”
Guy had nothing to say to that. Shoulders slumped, he returned to the work area to keep a lookout.
Jean-Philippe LeBlanc turned his attention back to the dark water in front of him, and the salvation of open ocean creeping closer with every passing minute.
Five minutes later a powerful searchlight pinned the Celeste in its glare.
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“Captain, unidentified boat on radar!” Lt. Commander Hillson shouted. “Looks like she was hugging the shore and just moved into the central channel.”
“Can you see it with the night glasses?” O’Brien asked.
“Not yet. Soon, I think.”
“Position of the small boat?” she inquired.
Hillson checked his display. “IFF puts them on the other side of the unidentified boat, but moving fast. Also, looks like it’s more on the north side of the channel.”
O’Brien touched her headset. “Master Chief Ramirez, we have an unidentified boat coming up on the port beam. Can you see it through your targeting optics?”
At his station, Master Chief Ramirez fiddled with the settings to the virtual reality headset. As always, he was amazed at its versatility. At first he didn’t see anything, so he switched to infrared and an image blossomed, just under a mile away. Marking that site, he switched back to enhanced night vision, but whatever it was, it was still out of sight.
“Captain, I can see it on infrared, but not yet on enhanced optics. Should be within optical range very soon. It is within range of the Bushmaster. Do you wish me to engage?”
“Not yet, Master Chief, but I want to know when you can see her with the optics. Let’s make sure this is the right boat before we ruin their day,” O’Brien said. “And Master Chief, Dunbar and his small boat are out there, probably on our starb
oard beam. Make sure you know what you’re shooting at. Pilot, keep us on this course, but slow us down to ten knots. XO, please keep tabs on the unidentified boat by radar. Tell me if she changes course or speed.”
Captain O’Brien changed frequency to talk to the Small Boat. “SB One, this is Big Eyes. Do you have a visual on the lobster boat?”
Dunbar came back immediately. “Big Eyes, SB One. No. Repeat, no.”
“SB One, Big Eyes. We are slowing down and waiting in the center of the channel. Have an unidentified boat on radar a mile away. We are letting it come to us. Be advised that you are within range of our chain gun and should move your position to the northern side of the channel. North side. You should attempt to get behind us as soon as possible.”
“Big Eyes, SB One. Confirm move to north side of channel and haul ass. Please be advised that Seaman Levine is still bleeding. Any chance of a helicopter pick-up?”
O’Brien looked at Lt. Commander Hillson, raising her eyes in question. He shrugged, then turned to the Comms Officer, who nodded and got on her radio to call the Coast Guard base.
“Mr. Dunbar,” O’Brien said. “We’ll check again on the ‘copter. Just get back here as soon as you can so the Health Services Tech can stabilize him.” She cut the connection.
Across the room the Comms Officer caught Captain O’Brien’s eye and gave a thumbs down. The helicopter was still grounded due to wind. O’Brien frowned and shook her head. “XO, get the HS Tech up here. Tell him he’s got a gunshot wound coming in with loss of blood.” She wondered then if she should turn north and save a few minutes by intercepting Dunbar’s small boat, but rejected it. If she turned away, the lobster boat might make it to open ocean. That was unacceptable; those bastards had killed too many Coasties to get away now. No, she would count on Dunbar to bring Levine to the Vigilant.
“Captain, I have a visual on the boat. It is a lobster boat,” Master Chief Ramirez reported. “From this angle I cannot see its name.”
North Harbor Page 39