Hell Ship by David Wood

Bones—Dane grimaced around his regulator at the thought of his teammate’s nickname—was busy rapping the butt of his dive knife against his air tank.
    Yes , thought Dane, flashing an eager thumb’s up. Time to go. Let’s get the hell out of here.
     
    Just a few minutes after Maddock and Bones slipped below the surface, Willis glimpsed a dark speck on the horizon. He immediately pointed it out to Professor and in the sixty or so seconds it took for the latter to retrieve a pair of binoculars, the little dark spot grew larger; large enough for both men to recognize that it was another boat and that it was headed right for their position.
    “ Think we ought to prepare to repel boarders?” Willis asked, with only a little bit of sarcasm in his tone.
    “Darn it. Forgot to pack the cutlasses,” Professor answered in the same uneasy tone.
    They had kept a constant lookout during the search, mindful of the fact that their presence in internationally disputed waters might make them a target for a search or shakedown by military patrol, or worse, they might attract the notice of pirates rumored to be operating out of secret bases in the Spratly Islands. Unfortunately, their options for dealing with such an encounter were limited. They had made the difficult decision to limit their shipboard arsenal to a couple of rifles and one pistol apiece—enough, Maddock had explained, to fend off an opportunistic attack by poorly organized pirates, but not so much that an official Chinese or Vietnamese naval interdiction might lead to arrest, capture, or worse.
    In the binocul ars, the approaching vessel was revealed to be a sleek motor yacht, modern and far too expensive for outlaw mariners, though definitely not military. The radar put its approach speed at twenty-one knots. With divers in the water, running wasn’t an option, but even if the men remaining aboard Jacinta had been inclined to try, the yacht would have been able to easily overtake them.
    “How are we gonna play this, Prof?” Willis asked, nervously.
    Professor lowered his glasses. He wasn’t particularly bothered by the prospect of violence, but like any other SEAL, there was one thing that he was afraid of: failure…blowing the mission, letting his country and his swim buddies down.
    “W-W-M-D,” he muttered. What would Maddock do ? “Okay, let’s break out the rifles. Maybe if they know they we’re not toothless, they’ll hold back long enough to let Maddock and Bones finish the dive.”
    Willis nodded and went off to retrieve the weapons while Professor maintained his vigil with the binoculars. He could see the silhouettes of men moving about on the approaching vessel, but little else. After a few more minutes, the yacht veered to port, and if the diminishing froth of its wake was any indication, cut its engines. Even as it coasted to a stop, a smaller vessel—Professor recognized it as a Zodiac, a civilian version of the Rigid Inflatable Boat that the SEALs often used—pulled out from sheltered side of the yacht and turned toward the Jacinta . There were five occupants, all wearing dark tactical gear and carrying assault weapons.
    “Well, that answers one question,” Professor said, under his breath.
    Willis returned a moment later with a rifle in each hand. He held one out to Professor, but before the other man could take it, there was a loud cracking sound, like someone smashing a hammer into the side of the boat. The bulkhead just behind them exploded in a spray of wood and fiberglass, and a couple seconds later, the report of a high-powered rifle echoed across the water.
    Both men threw themselves flat on the deck, but Professor knew the shooter had missed on purpose; it was a warning shot from a sniper on the yacht, covering fire to protect the men on the assault boat.
    Professor ’s heart sank. They were outnumbered, outgunned…helpless. Worse, there was no way to warn Maddock and Bones about what would be waiting for them back on the