Chapter 77
Aboard the Baktun
“Itold you before I don’t trust the Chinese—and you know I hate them,” Stokes said as he waved Fierro toward his cabin. “The filthy vermin cost me my career.”
“It is what it is, my friend,” the tall Colombian said as he stepped through the door.
“We now have the world’s most powerful weapon, Fierro. Let’s use it. Don’t give it to the enemy.”
“You forget your place, Capitán. It’s my weapon, not yours. And I’ll do with it as I please.”
Stokes shut the door behind him. Bose’s Sikh bodyguard stepped out from behind a curtain before Fierro could turn around.
The Sikh’s powerful hands gripped the side of Fierro’s head and squeezed it like a vise.
The squirming Colombian clawed at the larger man’s powerful hands, but couldn’t move.
The big bodyguard spun Fierro around to face Stokes.
“What is the meaning of this, Stokes?” Fierro howled.
Stokes stepped close enough to smell the panicked Colombian’s souring breath.
“You may have financed Project Q, Fierro, but you clearly don’t appreciate the magnitude of my sweet orchid’s invention. Perhaps you should relinquish it to someone who does.”
“And I suppose that’s you?” Fierro hissed as the Sikh’s hands pressed harder.
“Who else, old boy? I’m a warrior, born for battle. Not a foppish dilettante with delusions of grandeur.”
Fierro’s eyes flared with rage.
“I will have you—”
Snap!
Fierro’s neck cracked like a dry twig inside the fatal torque of the Sikh’s twisting hands. He relaxed his grip, dropping the Colombian to the steel deck with a dull thud.
“Nicely done,” Stokes said.
The silent Sikh nodded curtly to the captain.
Stokes and Bose both previously agreed they had no need for Fierro, and every need to control Project Q.
And now they did.
Stokes felt a sudden surge of power. And control.
But both evaporated with the first explosion high in the rigging—and sent Stokes running for the CIC.
The second explosion cracked overhead seconds later as he raced along the corridor. He was breathless by the time he reached the combat center.
“Status!”
★
Aboard Peng’s helicopter
Peng was strapped into the copilot’s seat for the short hop from the Fuzhou to the Baktun. He wore body armor over his civilian clothes and a semi-auto 9-millimeter pistol on his hip.
The helo’s actual copilot was strapped in the back along with a dozen burly Marines kitted out in body armor and QBZ-191 bullpup rifles.
Peng’s eyes were fixed on the Baktun’s helo deck when suddenly the air cracked with a blistering light high up near the Baktun’s satellite mast. The cockpit shuddered with the shock wave.
“Hang on,” the pilot shouted. “Diving low.”
The pilot shoved the cyclic forward and stomped his anti-torque pedals, rolling a hard left while shoving the collective down, dropping the airframe below the roiling shrapnel cloud.
“Dumping flares.”
Peng’s face was bathed in a sheen of sweat when the pilot called out, “Jinking,” yanking the cyclic left and right, weaving the aircraft violently, trying to avoid any kind of radar lock.
Peng felt his body strain against the harness when another shell cracked over the Baktun, rocking the sky with shock waves and shrapnel.
Peng’s vision narrowed as the pilot continued his high-g maneuvers. He reached for the mic to call Zhao and issue an attack order, but he couldn’t reach it.
★
Aboard the Oregon
As soon as Cabrillo gave Murphy his marching orders, he turned to Stoney.
“Helm, set a course for the Baktun—midships. Flank speed.”
“Sir?”
“Run it right down his throat.”
Max could hardly contain his glee.
“Everybody hold on.” Eric slammed the throttles and whipped the joystick. Moments later, the Oregon stepped into a sharp turn, then rocketed at full speed toward the Baktun.
“What’s the play?” Linda asked. “You really going to ram her?”
“Our orders were we couldn’t sink the Baktun. Doesn’t mean we can’t ruffle her skirts.”
Linda scowled with confusion as the first explosion ripped above the Baktun.
“Haven’t had this much fun since wakeboarding on the Mekong,” Max said, recalling his days as a swift boat captain.
“They’re establishing a satellite uplink,” Hali said.
“First shot’s a miss,” Linda said.
The op center held its collective breath. Seconds later, the second round exploded. Everyone saw the Baktun’s satellite mast torn apart like bird shot through a sheet of tinfoil.
“Satellite signal dead.” Hali smiled.
The op center cheered.
“Great shot, Wepps,” Juan said.
“Chairman,” Linda shouted. “Missile launch!”
★
Aboard the Fuzhou
Captain Zhao heard the first airburst over the Baktun and watched her pilot’s swift evasive response to the explosion.
Her initial reaction was that the Americans had elected to fire at her ship, but she quickly dismissed the idea.
The Americans would have used much more powerful ordnance against her mighty vessel.
The second explosion two seconds later infuriated her. The dogs were trying to damage or sink the Baktun, no doubt to capture or destroy the AGI program.
Zhao didn’t radio Peng for instructions. He had already given her permission to destroy the American ship if they threatened the Fuzhou or the AGI program.
Zhao shouted orders as a third round passed harmlessly overhead.
“Helm, flank speed.”
“Aye.”
“Weapons station, launch Eagle Strike.”