doorway. Throat in full battle cry, Guleed leveled his Kalashnikov into the hallway. He braced the rifle at his hip, laying down a withering cover fire. The boy swung the flaming muzzle left and right; the soldiers must have been on both sides. Yusuf rounded the banister in time to hear Guleed shout above the gun, “Go, go!”
The first rounds made Guleed backpedal, but nothing more. He leaned forward into the blows as if into an ocean wave. The Americans struck the boy again, staggering him without silencing the Kalashnikov.
Yusuf took the last image of his young cousin with him into the stairwells below, Guleed screaming the name of Allah alongside their clan, Harti of the Darood.
Chapter 49
There seemed hardly a place on the ship without blood splashed on it.
LB gazed down at the bullet-riddled Somali boy. Jamie shifted back and forth, both legs hurting. The young PJ flicked an open hand at the body.
“What kind of son of a bitch sends out a kid to get shot up so he can run off?”
From where he slumped against a wall, Sandoval agreed, cursing in Spanish.
Wally took LB aside. “Take care of Sandoval and Jamie. Defend the bridge. Get one of the crew to stop the freighter. I’ll radio when I’m done.” He strode for the stairs leading down.
LB halted him.
“Move aside,” Wally said. “I’ve got orders.”
“And whoever gave you those orders wasn’t thinking you’d have to chase him down by yourself on a dark freighter with how many wounds in you? Let me organize a search party; it’s a big ship. We’ll do it right. But if Raage is gone, he’s gone.”
“Do it right. Is that LB talking?”
LB ignored the jibe. Wally was hurt, tired, and not his cheerful self.
“And another thing. We’ve got to find Iris Cherlina, maybe before he does. You can’t do that and hunt him down by yourself.”
While Wally weighed this, LB added one more reason. “PJs don’t work alone.”
Wally nodded. LB rapped him lightly on the good shoulder. Quickly he stepped beside Jamie to loop the young PJ’s arm across his shoulder. “Let’s get you fixed up.” To Sandoval, he said, “I’ll send Dow and Mouse down for you.”
“Roger, LB.”
LB helped Jamie up the flight of steps to the pilothouse, Wally following. Inside the bridge, Quincy rushed over to lay the young PJ against a wall. Quincy set to cutting away both pants legs to dress the thigh wounds. Jamie, with two bullets through him, reached for the med ruck to grab bandages for Quincy’s dripping hand. LB dispatched Dow and Mouse to fetch Sandoval up the stairs.
The bridge had shed the last of the flashbang smoke. LB and Wally crossed to the huddle of hostages. Two Filipinos wore Doc’s gauze around their arms; a third held still while Mouse swathed his head. The chest-wounded Russian was already bandaged and plugged into a saline drip held up by a dazed shipmate. The pair of dead crewmen lay covered, one by a cloth from the coffee table, the other under a shirt from one of his Pinoy mates. Most of the hostages were still fuzzy from the flashbangs. Wally knelt before one Russian who looked clearheaded.
“Can you drive the ship?”
The man tapped his ear. “What?”
Wally leaned close. “Can you drive the ship?”
The officer raised the finger, understanding. “Yes.”
“I want it stopped. Can you put it in neutral or something?”
“Of course.”
The tall officer unfolded from the sheen of broken glass on the floor. “I am Razvan. Chief engineer.”
LB said, “We can hear you. Don’t shout.”
“Sorry.”
LB escorted the tall engineer around the dashboard. The ship’s captain lay ruined there. Razvan hesitated.
“Can he be moved?”
Wally joined LB to lift the captain away. LB had watched and listened to this man’s death; it had been gutsy. The lightness of the corpse, like a sack of sticks, saddened him. Such an end should reside in a man somehow, leave him weightier. This was LB’s fear, the fear of every warrior—to die well but yet be insignificant. They carried the captain behind the map table, and LB dragged down several long paper charts to cover him.
He walked to where Jamie rested against a wall.
“Can you stand?”
“Sure.”
“Take the port wing. Quincy, put him on his feet.” LB pointed at the big PJ’s bandaged wrist. “How’s the hand?”
“Good to go.”
“Mouse, you’re on the starboard wing.”
“Roger.”
“Dow, stay with the bridge. Keep an eye on Sandy and the hostages. Call Nicholas. Have them stand off close on starboard until we bring them in for evac. Doc,