Sea of Greed

The two of them nodded, with Paul taking a seat behind and to the left, the controls for the missile panel in front of him, and Gamay right behind him, setting up behind another screen, with her hands on a joystick that would control the rapid-fire mini-gun NUMA labeled Close-Quarters Weapon.

“Range, four miles and closing,” Paul said. “We can hit them in thirty seconds.”

“We can’t hit them until we know for sure they’re not friendlies,” Kurt said. “Aviators from plenty of different militaries sometimes practice mock attack runs on civilian vessels. I’d rather not blast them out of the sky or force them to practice evasive maneuvers they’re not quite ready for.”

“So, we can’t fire until fired upon,” Gamay said. “Not sure I like the rules of this game.”

“Three miles,” Paul said.

Suddenly the radarscope went white as if it were picking up ten thousand helicopters.

“They’re jamming our radar,” Paul said.

“Keep your eyes on the video display,” Kurt said. “They can’t jam that.”

Paul glanced at the monitor. The camera system had the ability to track ranges. “Two miles, according to the camera. Speed one hundred and forty knots, heading right for us.”

Kurt let go of the throttle for a moment and pressed two buttons on the panel in front of him. The first was labeled Foils, the second was labeled Armor.

From the wide aft section of the Gryphon, a series of heavy plates moved forward, covering the windows and the vulnerable areas around the fuel tank. Meanwhile, beneath the vessel, a pair of wings deployed on thick hydraulic struts.

“One mile,” Paul said.

The armor clinked into place as a flash on the screen told everyone they were under attack.

“Rockets,” Paul said. “Unguided.”

Kurt turned the wheel hard and shoved the throttle forward. The Gryphon heaved over to starboard, picking up speed in the turn.

The first wave of rockets hit behind and to port. A second wave was so far off that the explosions sounded only like distant thunder.

With the hydrofoils fully extended, the turbine engine howling in full voice, the Gryphon was passing seventy knots and hitting eighty before the helicopters reacted.

“They’re turning and following,” Paul said. “More rockets inbound.”

This time, the spread of rockets hit much closer. The first four up ahead and the second wave were straddling the Gryphon. One hit the water to the left, two to the right, a fourth slamming into the armor on the aft deck.

The Gryphon shuddered and surged from the impact but emerged from the firestorm mostly unscathed.

• • •

ON BOARD the lead helicopter, Alexander Vastoga couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Direct hit,” the gunner said.

“No effect,” Vastoga said.

By now, the helicopters had overshot the speeding boat. Vastoga looked out the window as it vanished behind them. “Turn back and make another pass. We get nothing if that boat doesn’t go down.”

“It’s heading north,” the pilot of the second helicopter radioed. “Speed, ninety knots.”

Vastoga shook his head. The boat was almost as fast as his helicopters.

“Close within five hundred yards before you open fire,” he ordered.

“Rockets or guns?”

“Both!”

• • •

THE Gryphon was flying across the sea, but it could not escape the helicopters.

“They’re coming in again,” Paul said. “Staggered formation. One at our six o’clock, one farther off the port beam.”

“You have my permission to fire,” Kurt said.

“About time,” Gamay replied.

She’d already switched her scope to infrared, now she activated a targeting laser. The range, speed and distance of the helicopter moving in from the port side were quickly logged and computed.

“Just out of range,” she said.

“Paul?”

“Radar is still jammed. There’s no way for me to get a lock on them.”

The helicopter trailing them launched another spread of unguided rockets. Kurt weaved to starboard, but that set them on a direct line for the second helicopter and it unleashed all eight of its remaining rockets.

One hit the forward deck, sending a shock wave through the Gryphon. A second hit low on the side of the hull, but the explosion was a glancing blow and the hull maintained its integrity. The same could not be said for the ribbed Zodiac attached to the back deck. It was blasted to confetti when a third rocket hit.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Kurt said.

He cut the wheel again, this time turning hard directly toward the nearest helicopter.

As the range closed, the lights on Gamay’s screen flashed green and she opened fire.

Near the bow, lethal fire spat from an innocent-looking dome. Inside, a six-barreled Gatling gun unleashed a hundred and fifty shells in three seconds. Half of these found their mark and the helicopter was perforated from front to back. Both the pilot and the gunner were killed instantly, saving them from suffering in the explosion that followed.

“One down,” Kurt said. “One to go.”

The surviving helicopter crossed overhead, its own nose-mounted cannon rattling as it went.