'Captain, I can see the patrol boat,' said Jenkins. 'And I'm not sure, but I think she sees us.'
'Get up close to that pier!' shouted Mitchell. 'Now!'
Mitchell brought up his tactical map and studied the patrol boat, red diamonds flashing over its dark outline displayed in his HUD.
A flickering light emanated from the end of the pier, and Mitchell zoomed in on that area, even as Jenkins said, 'Fire on the pier, Captain.'
'All right, everybody. Stand by. Let's see if they take the bait.'
Tanner and Phillips had used a small amount of C-4 to set off one of the fuel pallets on the pier before dropping back into the murky water. Tanner swam toward the crane, while Phillips worked his way around to the fuel barge.
The patrol boat was already en route to investigate. If Tanner were the captain of that Shanghai, he, too, would want to know why his gas station was on fire.
Tanner swam around the crane's floating platform, keeping the crane between him and the oncoming patrol boat. The crane operator and his assistant had run down to the edge of the barge for a better look at the fire, allowing Tanner to climb up onto the platform and race across it to the crane's cabin, where he placed his C-4 then dove into the water, swimming hard and fast back toward the pier.
A minute later he came up under one of the pilings and stole a breath.
He waited another thirty seconds, then began to grow tense. Abruptly, Phillips's head popped up a few meters behind him. 'We're all set. Come on!'
Together they swam along the pier, and by the time they reached the shore and huddled beside the first pair of pilings, the patrol boat was drawing up on the crane and barge.
'Ghost Lead, this is SEAL support. Get ready for a big salute to the Chinese who invented gunpowder!'
Tanner knew he'd catch hell for his glib remark over the radio, but he didn't care. He glanced over at Phillips, who was studying the patrol boat through his binoculars.
'They're almost lined up,' said Phillips.
'Good.'
'Don't move,' screamed someone in Mandarin.
Tanner glanced directly up into the eyes of a man, presumably a member of the fuel barge crew, who was pointing a pistol down at them. Where the hell had he come from? How had he been so quiet?
Though his Mandarin was rudimentary, Tanner knew enough to get by. 'All right, we will come with you.'
'No, you don't move.' The man glanced up and began screaming to those still aboard the fuel barge, something about him catching thieves who might be trying to hijack their shipment. He couldn't tell in the dark that they were Americans, especially while they wore their dive suit hoods.
Tanner exchanged a look with Phillips.
Mitchell realized with a start that a third individual was at the end of the pier with the two SEALs, and his attempts to contact SEAL Chief Tanner went unanswered.
He got on the network, reported the news, and General Keating chimed in, 'Mitchell, trust those SEALs to get the job done. Just get out of there, son! Move!'
'Jenkins, hit it! Everything she's got!' Mitchell ordered.
'But, Captain, they haven't—'
'I know. Just do it!'
'Sir,' called Diaz, who was wearing her own ENVGs. 'The patrol boat's slowing, and they've launched a Zodiac with six guys. They're heading for the pier. What the hell are those SEALs waiting for?'
'There's a third guy. Don't know who he is. But we're out of time.'
'Mitchell, Keating here,' cried the general. 'Remember those soldiers you took out? Well, we got new intel. Those guys were part of Admiral Cai's defense plan. And I got more bad news. Seems there's an R44 police chopper in the air — but there's a catch. We've intercepted their communications.
THIRTY-THREE
SEAL Chief Tanner wouldn't let some punk with a cheap pistol ruin his night. Phillips's eyes said likewise.
In unison, they squeezed the triggers on their remote detonators and rolled under the pilings, out of the barge worker's aim.
The guy fired, the shot ricocheting off the rocks behind them, just as the first pair of detonations resounded so loudly that even Tanner, a veteran of blowing stuff up, was awed by the initial cacophony and blast wave, which threw him and Phillips back against the rocks.
It was the fuel, all that fuel, whose sound and detonation Tanner could not have anticipated.
Then came the reverberation ripping through the pier like an earthquake, tearing up the farthest planks in succession as he and Phillips got back to their feet, dashed below the pier, and came up the other side, where the barge worker had turned to face the dozens of fireballs lighting up the entire spit.
Tanner summarily shot him, then he and his partner raced back into the woods, their backs warmed by fires.
After jogging a few dozen meters, Tanner stole a look back, saw some of the patrol boat's crew members jumping ship and swimming toward the shoreline, even as the Zodiac motored away from the explosions.
Tanner swore and hurried to catch up with Phillips, who had already found their secondary position and was ready for the next detonation.
Mitchell's mouth fell open, and he found himself clambering to his feet for a better look.
Fifty-five-gallon drums burst apart, catapulting others into the air, all part of a hellish fountain swelling up from the pier to spew orange and red showers of burning diesel fuel. Dozens of smaller bursts mushroomed up before walls of black smoke as the stench of fuel and hot metal finally reached them across the water.
SEAL Chief Tanner had been right about the gunpowder remark, but it was the Chinese who had also invented fireworks, and this display rivaled anything Mitchell had ever seen — in combat or otherwise.
The fuel barge itself finally went up in a single, massive blast, the intense, near-white light coming first, followed by a boom that made everyone aboard flinch as it echoed off the opposite shoreline.
Thousand of pieces of flaming debris shot high into the air, like a swarm of bottle rockets, then tumbled down into the dark water, immediately extinguished, the hissing steam fanning out in ringlets as the bow of the barge suddenly appeared behind the flames. That bow tipped up and began sinking, the rest of the boat either gone or simply unseen behind the raging fires.
The crew aboard the patrol boat, which had been gliding up toward the barge, was scrambling on the deck, the boat beginning to turn away from the catastrophe off their port bow.
