port.”
Olivia didn’t attempt to correct the helo’s direction. She knew they wouldn’t run out to sea. This was a stupid diversion. In order to escape they would have to come closer to land, go overboard and hope to make it to shore.
“Commander, did you hear me? I said he headed out to sea.”
She said nothing, keeping her eyes on the phosphorus trail.
“They’ve turned, headed straight in to shore.” She saw the turn to starboard at the same time Crenshaw called it out.
They were close to BINGO so Olivia slowed air speed to conserve fuel. The last thing she wanted was to abort the chase because of low fuel.
“Call it in, Crenshaw. We’ll need rescue air and seat. These guys have no intention of being taken.”
She listened to him report their position. The rescue helo monitoring their radio had already changed course. Its crew also included a gunner but he was armed with only a light caliber rifle.
Olivia maneuvered to a direct line in front of the boat’s course at an altitude of twenty-five feet. She could and would drop to ten feet in front of them to effect a stop.
“Another go-fast on the screen.”
Olivia glanced at the glowing green screen. The muscles in her back and thighs tensed uncomfortably.
“A thousand yards out. There.” Crenshaw pointed to the blip.
“It’s not our interceptors,” Defoe said. “They aren’t close yet.”
Olivia’s mind worked feverously. Two boats. What were they doing? Attempting a rescue? The second boat should be running, making an escape. She had a visual on the go-fast in front of her. It moved to starboard and she adjusted course to compensate. On the screen the second boat moved at full speed on a direct intersect with the boat approaching her. Her mind quickly ran through possible scenarios.
Ambush.
“Shit!” Her left arm strained at the pitch stick, forcing the helo to climb faster than any manual recommended. The orange bird’s black nose rose, the powerful Turbomeca engines strained to do as she asked. Her right hand worked the cyclic stick, increasing speed and pulling to port at the same time. The turbo shaft groaned. She felt each shudder and vibration of the machinery as if it were part of her. Her left foot jammed against the pedal. The rotors’ whomp, whomp, whomp throbbed in her temples.
“Can the blades take it?” Crenshaw’s breathing sounded like he was running a marathon.
“We’re about to find out.”
“Muzzle fire from the second go-fast,” Turner called out.
The go-fast a few yards from them exploded into a ball of flame reaching fifty feet into the night sky. The helicopter rocked in the turbulence from the blast’s percussion. Olivia let loose every profanity she knew as debris struck the helo. She and Crenshaw struggled for long moments before they had full control again.
“Way to go, Commander,” Defoe shouted when she leveled the bird and turned to a position that would allow Turner to fire on the second go-fast.
“Permission to fire?”
“Granted. Make it count,” she ordered.
The missile whooshed away. Good. He’d gone right for the big stuff.
“HITRON 9 fired on and missile away,” Crenshaw told Jacksonville OPS in rapid-fire speech. She heard “All craft assist HITRON 9” in response.
Turner fired a volley from the machine gun for good measure. She watched tracers zip off into the night. They all watched as the second boat exploded into its own fireball.
“BINGO in seven minutes,” Crenshaw said, switching on the helo’s high-powered search light.
Olivia turned her full attention to the water and flew the prescribed pattern to locate survivors. The Dolphin’s autopilot could be used for this but with so much debris she preferred to control the stick. Floating with chunks of the boat were heavily taped plastic bags.
“What’s your ETA?” she asked the rescue helo.
“Ten minutes,” the pilot snapped back. “Will my swimmers be going in the water?”
“So far that’s a
Olivia didn’t attempt to correct the helo’s direction. She knew they wouldn’t run out to sea. This was a stupid diversion. In order to escape they would have to come closer to land, go overboard and hope to make it to shore.
“Commander, did you hear me? I said he headed out to sea.”
She said nothing, keeping her eyes on the phosphorus trail.
“They’ve turned, headed straight in to shore.” She saw the turn to starboard at the same time Crenshaw called it out.
They were close to BINGO so Olivia slowed air speed to conserve fuel. The last thing she wanted was to abort the chase because of low fuel.
“Call it in, Crenshaw. We’ll need rescue air and seat. These guys have no intention of being taken.”
She listened to him report their position. The rescue helo monitoring their radio had already changed course. Its crew also included a gunner but he was armed with only a light caliber rifle.
Olivia maneuvered to a direct line in front of the boat’s course at an altitude of twenty-five feet. She could and would drop to ten feet in front of them to effect a stop.
“Another go-fast on the screen.”
Olivia glanced at the glowing green screen. The muscles in her back and thighs tensed uncomfortably.
“A thousand yards out. There.” Crenshaw pointed to the blip.
“It’s not our interceptors,” Defoe said. “They aren’t close yet.”
Olivia’s mind worked feverously. Two boats. What were they doing? Attempting a rescue? The second boat should be running, making an escape. She had a visual on the go-fast in front of her. It moved to starboard and she adjusted course to compensate. On the screen the second boat moved at full speed on a direct intersect with the boat approaching her. Her mind quickly ran through possible scenarios.
Ambush.
“Shit!” Her left arm strained at the pitch stick, forcing the helo to climb faster than any manual recommended. The orange bird’s black nose rose, the powerful Turbomeca engines strained to do as she asked. Her right hand worked the cyclic stick, increasing speed and pulling to port at the same time. The turbo shaft groaned. She felt each shudder and vibration of the machinery as if it were part of her. Her left foot jammed against the pedal. The rotors’ whomp, whomp, whomp throbbed in her temples.
“Can the blades take it?” Crenshaw’s breathing sounded like he was running a marathon.
“We’re about to find out.”
“Muzzle fire from the second go-fast,” Turner called out.
The go-fast a few yards from them exploded into a ball of flame reaching fifty feet into the night sky. The helicopter rocked in the turbulence from the blast’s percussion. Olivia let loose every profanity she knew as debris struck the helo. She and Crenshaw struggled for long moments before they had full control again.
“Way to go, Commander,” Defoe shouted when she leveled the bird and turned to a position that would allow Turner to fire on the second go-fast.
“Permission to fire?”
“Granted. Make it count,” she ordered.
The missile whooshed away. Good. He’d gone right for the big stuff.
“HITRON 9 fired on and missile away,” Crenshaw told Jacksonville OPS in rapid-fire speech. She heard “All craft assist HITRON 9” in response.
Turner fired a volley from the machine gun for good measure. She watched tracers zip off into the night. They all watched as the second boat exploded into its own fireball.
“BINGO in seven minutes,” Crenshaw said, switching on the helo’s high-powered search light.
Olivia turned her full attention to the water and flew the prescribed pattern to locate survivors. The Dolphin’s autopilot could be used for this but with so much debris she preferred to control the stick. Floating with chunks of the boat were heavily taped plastic bags.
“What’s your ETA?” she asked the rescue helo.
“Ten minutes,” the pilot snapped back. “Will my swimmers be going in the water?”
“So far that’s a
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