With that, Race quickly drew his own SIG and opened fire on the two Nazi crew members standing on the stem platform of the Pibber.
As he fired, they ducked for cover, and as they did so Doogie quickly pulled his Jet Raider alongside the speeding Pib and leapt up onto its elevated foredeck.
Race watched in amazement as Doogie found his footing on the Pibber's roofed forward section and took two bounding steps aft, dancing up onto the roof of the gunboat's wheelhouse and then leaping down onto its open stem plat form and blasting the two Nazi crew members to kingdom come with his SIG.
'Professor! Get over here! I need you to man this gun!' Doogie jabbed a finger at the Pibber's turret-mounted 20 cannon.
Race skimmed across the river's surface, heading for the Pibber.
On board the Pibber, Doogie scooped up a G-11 from one of the fallen Nazis and took the wheel, firing up at the Mosquito helicopter above him while still maintaining his furious speed.
Race came alongside the speeding Pibber.
He brought his Jet Raider in close to the fast-moving patrol boat, trying desperately to keep control as the river-bike bounced wildly on the Pib's side wash.
Race rode grimly, trying to keep up with the Pibber, his eyes locked onto the speeding gunboat's side handrail, three feet away.
That was all he wanted. To get his hands on that rail.
Just then a wave of bullet holes cut across the Pib's side-right in front of him.
He spun instantly.
And saw another Pibber skipping across the water toward him, with five more Nazis on its deck!
It was coming right for him.
And it wasn't slowing down.
It was going to ram Doogie's Pibber, whether Race was in the way or not!
Race turned to look at Doogie's boat again, his eyes zeroing in on the handrail once again.
Do it! his mind screamed.
Race leapt off the Jet Raider, grabbed hold of the handrail, his legs dragging through the water behind him; He quickly swung his legs up and over the rail just as— crunch!—the second gunboat slammed into the port-side rail of Doogie's Pibber.
Race rolled across the deck as the entire boat under him jolted wildly.
'Professor! Over here!' Doogie yelled.
Race was still lying flat on his belly on the deck. He looked up quickly, saw Doogie standing in the wheelhouse waving him over when suddenly a pair of combat boots thudded down into his field of vision, cutting off his view of Doogie.
At exactly the same moment as the boots landed on the deck—bam!—a gun went off and the owner of the boots dropped instantly, his bug-eyed face landing on the deck tight in front of Race a single bullet hole gouged in the middle of his forehead, In the background behind the dead Nazi Race saw Doogie standing with his G-11 extended in his good right arm.
Christ, Race thought, as he saw the second Pibber along just beyond the handrail of his own boat-saw the four Nazis arrayed along its deck, readying themselves to board him.
He snapped to look out in the other direction and saw one of the large helipad barges closing in from the other side, cutting off the escape boxing them in.
This is not good, he said to himself.
Doogie was obviously thinking the same thing.
He swung their Pibber left, ramming it into the Nazi boat had, causing all of the commandos on its stem deck to lose their balance for an instant, buying himself the precious few seconds he needed to raise his G-11 and fire.
But he didn't fire at the deck of the Nazi Pibber, principally because he didn't have enough time to bing his gun that fat around, Rather, he trained it at the bow of the Nazi boat—where no Nazis were standing.
'What the hell are you doing!' Race yelled.
Doogie's G-11 roared to life.
An extended burst, maybe two dozen shots.
Sparks flew up instantly all around the steel anchor at the bow of the Nazi Pibbet.
And then suddenly—smack!—the small metal latch securing the Pibber's anchor to its housing was hit by Doogie's fire and the anchor was dislodged from the deck and went plunging off the side of the Pibber's bow and into the rushing water below, its nylon rope shooting rapidly over the side as it did so.
The four Nazis on the Pibber saw their anchor drop, turned back to face Doogie and Race with their G-11s up.
And then it happened.
Whatever it snagged on—a submerged tree root, or maybe just a whole goddamned submerged tree—Race never knew, but whatever it was, that anchor must have snagged on something big.
