thing might have driven right over us. If worse comes to worst I can set the crew, what's left of them, to bailing by hand. Should be able to make it to shore, at least, if not to port.
Most important to-
Thought incomplete, Nadif glanced up and said, 'Fuck!'
The container hadn't quite passed the halfway point of its outward swing when Mrs. Liu released the gantry's burden. One corner struck the gunwale and set the thing to a slow spin. In practice, this meant that it hit the boat below almost edge on, crushing several men under its nearly four tons of weight and smashing one side of the boat to below the waterline. One of the freely swinging doors was almost vertical when it struck. This chopped sloppily through a young pirate on all fours, amidships and through the middle of his body. Blood gushered out across the pirate's deck in both directions. The boy barely had time to register what had happened to him before a corner of the container cruched his skull like a soft boiled egg.
The container strike also listed the boat to port. Pressure from the Merciful's dance forced water in at a rate no practical pumps for a boat that size could have dealt with. The water added to the list until resistance from the water below, coupled with pressure from the Merciful above, plus the container induced list, capsized the smaller vessel.
Kosciusko smiled at the screaming below. He really didn't like pirates. Looking down, he said, 'See? I tolll' ya.' Into his radio he gave the order, 'Resume course. Full speed.'
'Any survivors?' Stauer asked, once Kosciusko had returned to the bridge.
'Doubt it,' the sailor answered, smiling. Turning to the helm he said, 'Keep a watch out for the other reported boat. Have the forward lookouts relieved and the new ones do the same.'
Unseen by anyone, blood from the sundered young pirate, as well as from various cuts, abrasions, compound fractures, and split skulls, seeped into the water around the ruin of the yacht.
When the container hit, it had thrown Nadif and the helmsman from the yacht's bridge into the water. The pirate skipper had gone under, at first, then surfaced to witness as the helmsman, screaming in panic, was forced under the wreck and lost. Nadif, an experienced seaman, was made of better stuff. Paddling frantically, he swam away from the ship. For a while, he seemed to be losing. But then, he had a chance, he knew, when he saw the merchant ship steer to its port.
If I can hang on until some wreckage surfaces too, I can make it. It's a long swim to shore but not an impossible one.
And then he felt a sharp tug from below.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The medics jumped and screamed with glee,
Rolled up their sleeves and smiled.
-Anonymous, 'Blood on the Risers'
D-1, three miles north-northeast of Nugaal, Ophir
'You all right, Little Joe?' Welch asked of the swaying Tex-Mex with the pack on his back and a chute rolled up and carried in his arms. Terry's pack was on his back, chute over his shoulder. He carried a stubby and conventional looking Russian-made 'Kashtan' submachine gun in his hands, a suppressor extending far past the barrel of the piece.
Venegas didn't answer right away, as if he hadn't quite understood the question. When he did answer, his voice sounded much weaker than normal. 'Hit my head on a rock, Terry. Helmet's only good for so much.'
'Can you make it to the drop-off point?' Welch asked.
'Not a lot of choice.'
'No,' Terry agreed, then lifted his goggles and consulted his watch. And not a lot of time until moonrise, so . . . 'Let's get moving.' He replaced the goggles and glanced again at Little Joe. 'Give me the chute,' he ordered. Looking around, his gaze came to rest on one of the other team members, Darrell Hammell, the Tennessee ridge runner generally known as 'Pigfucker.'
'Pigfucker, take Little Joe's rifle and helmet,' Welch said.
'Roger, sir,' Pigfucker replied.
'And Ryan, get his ruck.'
'Roger.'
'And . . . let's move. Little Joe, stick by me.'
'Roger.'
The short, thin column snaked and weaved its way up the rocky hillside. Slowly. Very slowly. They moved slowly enough, in fact, that Terry began to worry about getting to their hide for the day and camouflaging everything before sunrise. He turned his torso and head to look at Venegas, following close behind. No, he's not up to bearing his own load yet. Shit.
D-1, Bandar Qassim
The newly-indeed just-rising moon cast long shadows across the water. It didn't provide much light yet, though in places it made the waves sparkle.
The port wasn't really a natural harbor so much as a slight indentation into the land. It had been improved by man, however, by the addition of four jetties, though three of those actually formed one, long, dog-legged jetty jutting into the sea first to the northwest and then directly west.
Antoniewicz and Morales had stopped and surfaced once, before reaching the mouth of the major harbor, to get their bearings. Now, swimming near the mixed mud and sand bottom, they entered the outer port very near the long jetty, then turned east. Since no rivers drained into the sea at the port, or for that matter anywhere nearby,
