raised the Kalashnikov to his shoulder. At the same time he brought the radio close to his lips.
“You are listening?”
“Yes.”
“Take your men off the wings. Now. Or I will shoot the captain. I will kill another every minute until you leave or you kill me.”
“Yusuf, I’m not bluffing. I can’t.”
“Take a moment, Sergeant. Be sure.”
“I haven’t got a moment. Neither do you. Put the gun down.”
On both dark ends of the bridge, the doors unsealed. The wind whistled again.
At the end of the Kalashnikov, Drozdov dropped his arms.
Yusuf had run through the blood of his clansmen, sworn to walk through Robow’s in revenge. In the next seconds, there would be more blood at his feet, the hostages’, Guleed’s, his own, perhaps the Americans’. Air gushed into the bridge from the doors cracking open; the soldiers would be next to rush in. They would spill all to take this ship and their machines back. Suleiman had not slowed them. Yusuf could not stop them.
The American had said it. If Yusuf did not surrender, he was a dead man. If he did give up, if he betrayed his clan, his vows, Qandala, his kin, he would surely be a living dead man.
There was only one choice. Spill one man’s blood. It may stop more. It had worked before.
The radio said, “One last time. Put all your guns down. Come out.”
Guleed shook his head in fast, frightened trembles. “They’ll kill us.”
The port door opened wide enough for a big soldier, eyes hidden behind goggles, to fill the frame. The soldier did not enter but pointed his weapon at Guleed’s back.
Yusuf screamed at the soldier, “No!”
His Kalashnikov flamed inside the dark bridge.
Drozdov shuddered, every round of the long blast tearing him until he buckled at the foot of the captain’s chair.
Chapter 47
LB yanked Quincy out of the doorway and down. Doc slammed the door just before a burst from an AK shattered the window-pane. Bullets blistered over their heads, banging the rail. Glass shards showered the ducking PJs.
“Now!” Wally’s radio voice cut across the gunfire. “Throw!”
From his back, Quincy pulled the pin to toss a flashbang through the busted window. LB shut his eyes behind the goggles and clapped hands over his ears.
The first detonation thumped deep in the steel. A second followed instantly.
Quincy scrambled off the deck, quick as a tiger. LB opened his eyes, gathering himself to move fast. Doc pulled the door wide open. Coils of smoke spilled out. Wally bulled into the cloud first, his M4 immediately sparking. Quincy moved in his wake, angling toward the windshield and hostages. LB jumped to his feet to rush into the bridge.
His goggles pierced the mist, every detail left hazy but identifiable. Emerald beams slashed back and forth, searching. The last traces of the grenades’ roars rang in the metal surfaces. Near the windshield, a Somali staggered, stunned and blind. From ten feet away Quincy pinned his chest with the IR beam, put a fast pop on the dot, then plugged him again as he fell. Another Somali lurched near the hostages, hunched and holding his head. Before LB could target this one, the pirate pulled his trigger to loose a wild arc of bullets, intending to die firing into the hostages. All of the sailors pressed chests to the floor, flattened by the grenades and gunfire. The pirate had no bearings in the smoke, deaf to the hostages shrieking at his feet. His first volley dented the wall behind them and blasted out a windshield pane, spattering glass on the crew. LB whipped his IR beam to the pirate’s chest and fired. The Somali wobbled from two speed rounds to the breast but did not go down. Fading, the pirate lowered the gun’s muzzle as his last act and raked the gun blazing into the hostages. From the chart table, Doc finished him with two more rounds to the rib cage. The Kalashnikov fell silent with the pirate. With more Somalis alive on the bridge, LB tore his attention from the wailing, injured hostages.
Bathed in the lights of the dashboard, another stumbling pirate went down to Wally’s M4. Folding to his knees, the pirate let off a quick burst. Across the room Quincy whirled, stung. LB put two more rounds in the dropping pirate from close range. This last Somali collapsed in a heap beside the first pirate killed when Wally charged the room.
The bridge echoed like a spent bell. The PJs stabbed their targeting beams into every corner of the room.