Part 22 (1/2)
”I know this. Watch, my friend.”
The black-hulled vessel was turning radically to starboard. As she did so, the s.h.i.+p heeled in the opposite direction, the same way a car rolls away from a turn on a flat road, which artificially raised the waterline on the vulnerable portside.
Some enterprising officers aboard fired signal flares, hoping to decoy the missile away, but all the missile's microchip brain cared about was the enormous blip that occupied the center of its radar seeker head. It noted that the s.h.i.+p's heading was changing slightly, and altered its own course accordingly. Half a mile from the target, the Harpoon lurched upward from its ten-foot alt.i.tude in its programmed ”pop-up” terminal maneuver. The troopers aboard the Fucik instantly fired an even dozen SAMs. Three locked onto the Harpoon's engine exhaust plume, but were unable to turn rapidly enough to hit the incoming missile, and continued past it. The Harpoon tipped over and dove.
PENGUIN 8.
”All right . . .” the pilot whispered. There was no stopping it now.
The missile struck the Fucik's hull six feet above the waterline, slightly abaft the bridge. The warhead exploded at once, but the missile body kept moving forward, spreading two hundred pounds of jet fuel that fireballed into the lowest cargo deck. In an instant, the s.h.i.+p disappeared behind a wall of smoke. Three paratroopers, thrown off their feet by the impact, accidentally triggered their SAMs straight up.
”Tacco, your bird hit just fine. We got warhead detonation. Looks like . . .” The pilot's eyes strained at his binoculars to a.s.sess the damage.
MV JULIUS FUCIK.
”Rudder amids.h.i.+ps!” Kherov had expected to be knocked from his feet, but the missile was a small one, and Julius Fucik still had thirty-five thousand tons of ma.s.s. He ran out to the bridge wing to survey the damage. As the s.h.i.+p returned to an even keel, the ragged hole in her side rose ten feet from the lapping waves. Smoke poured from the hole. There was fire aboard, but the s.h.i.+p should not flood from the blow, the captain judged. There was only one danger. Kherov rapidly gave orders to his damage-control teams, and the General sent one of his own officers to a.s.sist. A hundred of the paratroopers had been trained over the last ten days in s.h.i.+pboard firefighting. They would now put what they had learned to use.
PENGUIN 8.
The Fucik emerged at twenty knots from the smoke, a fifteen-foot hole in the s.h.i.+p's side. Smoke poured from the opening, but the pilot knew at once that the damage would not be fatal. He could see hundreds of men on the upper deck, some of them already running toward ladders to fight the fire below.
”Where are those fighters?” the pilot asked. The tactical coordinator didn't answer. He switched his radio circuits.
”Penguin Eight, this is Cobra One. I got two birds. Our missiles are all gone, but we both got a full load of twenty-mike-mike. I can give you two pa.s.ses, then we gotta bingo to Scotland.”
”That's a roge, Cobra Lead. The target has some helos spooling up. Watch out for hand-held SAMs. I seen 'em fire about twenty of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.”
”Roger that, Penguin. Any further word of Keflavik?”
”We're gonna have to find a new home for a while.”
”Roger, copy. Okay, keep clear, we're coming in from up-sun, on the deck.”
The Orion continued to orbit three miles out. Her pilot didn't see the fighters until they started firing. The two Eagles were a few feet apart, perhaps twenty feet over the water as their noses sparkled with the flash from their 20mm rotary cannon.
MV JULIUS FUCIK.
n.o.body aboard saw them come in. A moment later, the water around the Fucik's side turned to froth from short-falling rounds, then her main deck was hidden with dust. A sudden orange fireball announced the explosion of one of the Russian helicopters, and burning jet fuel splattered over the bridge, narrowly missing the General and captain.
”What was that?” Kherov gasped.
”American fighters. They came in very low. They must only have their cannon, else they'd have bombed us already. It is not over yet, my captain.”
The fighters split, pa.s.sing left and right of the s.h.i.+p, which continued to move at twenty knots in a wide circle. No SAMs followed the Eagles away, and both turned, re-formed, and closed on the Fucik's bow. The next target was the superstructure. A moment later, the freighter's bridge was peppered with several hundred rounds. Every window was blown away, and most of the bridge crew killed, but the s.h.i.+p's watertight integrity hadn't been damaged a whit.
Kherov surveyed the carnage. His helmsman had been blown apart by a half-dozen exploding bullets and every man present on the bridge was dead. It took a second for him to overcome the shock and notice a crippling pain in his own abdomen, his dark jacket darkening further with blood.
”You are hit, Captain.” Only the General had had the instinct to duck behind something solid. He looked at the eight mutilated bodies in the pilothouse and wondered once again why he was so lucky.
”I must get the s.h.i.+p to port. Go aft. Tell the first officer to continue landing operations. You, Comrade General, supervise the fires topside. We must get my s.h.i.+p to port.”
”I will send you help.” The General ran out the door as Kherov went to the wheel.
KEFLAVIK, ICELAND.
”Stop, hold it right here!” Edwards screamed.
”What now, Lieutenant?” the sergeant demanded. He stopped the jeep by the BOQ parking lot.
”Let's get my car. This jeep's too friggin' conspicuous.” The lieutenant jumped out of the jeep, pulling his car keys from his pants pocket. The Marines just looked at each other for a moment before running after him.
His car was a ten-year-old Volvo that he'd purchased from a departing officer a few months before. It had seen rugged service on Iceland's mainly unpaved roads, and it showed. ”Well, get in!”
”Sir, what the h.e.l.l are we doing, exactly?”
”Look, Sarge, we gotta clear the area. What if Ivan's got helicopters? What do you suppose a jeep looks like from the air?”