The Devil's Waters

CHAPTER 37





A head popped around the corner. Wally peppered the steel in front of it with a quick burst, striking sparks turned green in his NVGs. The pirate ducked away.

“Targets on our six!”

Behind him, LB brought the Zastava around. Without night goggles, he could fire only at shadows. “What’ve you got?”

“Don’t know. Someone took a look at us. Jamie.”

“Sir.”

“How many in front of us?”

“I count four.”

Another drip of blood dribbled down Wally’s left arm, collecting in the cloth at his elbow.

Four Somalis in front. Maybe two or three behind. This was what Wally had feared, getting jammed up in the corridor. He couldn’t pull his eyes from the infrared sight to check his watch, but the minutes were trickling away. Somehow, they had to advance.

One more blast of crazily aimed rounds burst from the pirates ahead. The bullets ricocheted against the floor, rail, and overhang, tattooing the steel. LB stumbled backward into Wally.

“Jamie’s hit!”

Wally called, “How bad?”

“In the thigh,” Jamie answered, pained. “I think it’s clean through. I’m good.”

LB helped the young PJ back to his feet. Wally cursed under the ringing in his ears.

They were going to get chewed up in this passageway. No cover. Two wounds already, both lucky. Outgunned. An enemy more interested in standoff than in combat. LB without body armor, not even a helmet.

“Jamie, can you move?”

“Roger.”

“How many flashbangs you got?”

“Two.”

Wally chanced a quick look at his watch: 0137.

There wasn’t a choice. The corridor was a death trap, either by bullets or in thirty-three minutes by a Predator’s missile. They had to move against the pirates.

“Give them both to LB.” Wally dug an elbow behind him into LB’s rump. “On your mark, you throw. The two of you clear the corridor. I’ll guard your six.”

“Roger.”

Wally spoke into the radio. “Doc.”

“Juggler, go.”

“Get ready.”

“You okay?”

“Do it. On my mark.”

“Roger.”

Wally reached under his chin to unstrap his helmet and the attached NVGs. LB would need them to see through the smoke after the grenades’ flash.

“LB, take these.”

Before Wally could undo the strap, with a last look through the lenses, a green figure stepped into the mouth of the corridor at the bow. Wally, with a hand off the M4, could not shoot. A volley blazed from the muzzle of the pirate’s AK. Wally threw himself prone on the deck, Jamie and LB following. All the rounds whizzed high; the gust had been hurried and poorly aimed. Wally put both hands on his weapon to answer. He swung the needle-thin beam for the Somali’s chest.

The pirate with the Kalashnikov leaped aside to reveal another figure behind him.

This one, a big man, balanced an RPG on his shoulder.

Before Wally could squeeze off a shot, his night goggles flared, blinding him with the exhaust of the rocket’s launch.

He had only a moment to dive across LB.