The Command

“You son of a bitch,” Dan told the master opposite. He said to the petty officer beside him on the .50 mount, “All right, gunner. Lock and load.” At the same time he was setting the channel selector on the portable Saber radio they used for bridge to boat. “Faith, this is Blade Runner.”

“Faith, over. Hear you, Captain.”

“Stand clear while we adjust this bozo’s attitude.”

Cassidy rogered. When Dan saw the RHIB’s bow swinging clear, he told the gunner, “Give them a burst a hundred yards ahead of the bow.”

The sailor adjusted his helmet, cranked the charging handle, and swung the barrel. The OOD clanged the door shut. Dan stepped back, clamping his ears, and the belt jerked and six rounds went out duh duh duh duh duh duh, the smoking-hot empty casings, thick as his thumb and twice as long, rattling into the gratings. The tracers arced out, hesitated, then fell, pocking white gouts up across the blue sea.

Strong came out and stood in the angle of the splinter shield. Dan tried to ignore him. Dan, as commanding officer of Horn, was the on-scene commander here. Strong was the sea combatant commander, in overall charge of maritime intercept ops for all the ships of the task force. So the commodore was both there, and not there, in one of those military oxymorons, and Dan was both in charge, and not. Plus — he knew it was childish — the asshole had taken his chair. It was intensely irritating, and he snapped into the radio, “All right, he’s slowing. Get in there and get aboard before he changes his mind again. And stay where we can see you.”

Cassidy rogered, and both ships coasted to a halt on the ruffled sea.

Time passed. Horn picked up the swing, rocking with a heavy cadence that set something clanking back by the signal shelter. The sun was the upper element of a broiler oven. The gunner, bored or heat exhausted, slumped against the pyro locker, goggling at nothing. On the main deck the crew of the chain gun sprawled like dead men shot down where they’d stood. Dan waited for Strong to go below. But the commodore, casual in white shorts and short-sleeved shirt today, just stood smoking and looking across the water.

After an hour he said, “Your boys are taking their time.”

“Sir, they’re experienced men. Our senior chief over there has done over a hundred boardings.”

“Then he ought to be able to do them more quickly than this. Our team on Torrens have it down to half an hour.”

“Blade Runner, Faith.” Cassidy, on the radio.

“Blade Runner.”

“Cargo data.”

“Go,” Dan said. He turned the volume up so Strong could hear, as a courtesy, though he didn’t feel courteous. He felt like flinging him off the wing and letting the Aussie prick swim to Egypt.

“We’ve got a hell of a lot of dates here.”

“Copy dates, is that right? Like what camels eat?”

“Two hundred containers of them. Packed with Syrian dates. The paper covers it.”

“Okay, good work. Sign him off and come back.”

“No, no, no,” Strong said.

Dan said, “Wait one,” into the handheld. To Strong he said, “I’m going to let this one go.”

“No, you’re not. Dates, you say? Out of Jordan? They’re Iraqi.”

“The documentation shows they’re from Syria—”

“Fuck the documentation. They’re Iraqi. They’re famous for their dates. Which are contraband. They can’t export anything without UN clearance, and the only thing they’re cleared for is limited amounts under the oil for food program.”

Dan held his finger on the button, looking doubtfully across two hundred yards of water at a very large ship.

“Blade Runner, Faith.”

“Go, Faith.”

“These guys are not being cooperative. They’re shoving us aside and going back to the bridge and engine room.”

“Oh, no, they’re not. Keep them on the bow. If they give you trouble, cuff ’em.”

“They’re starting to play rough.”

“Use the degree of force necessary to control the situation.”

Strong cleared his throat, but didn’t actually say anything. “Roger,” Cassidy said, his voice muffled and distant. Then a clatter, as if he’d dropped the radio.

Dan reached past the commodore and pressed buttons on the 21MC. “OOD, Captain. Away the Blue Team, prepare to assist Gold Team. Exec to the bridge. Secure repairs on Blade Slinger and get it in the air.” He keyed the radio again. But Cassidy didn’t answer. He grabbed the lookout’s binoculars, and after a struggle with the sling, which got caught on their owner’s neck, got them focused where tiny figures struggled. As he watched, one broke away running. Another went after it, then both disappeared behind the superstructure.

Hotchkiss undogged the door. “Leave it open,” Dan told her, and yelled past her, “Goose her ahead, get us in close. We need the other team over there right away.”

Cassidy came back on the handheld, breathing hard. “Blade Runner, uh, boarding team had an incident… a runner, bound aft… got a man down.”

“We’ve got the Blue Team on its way, Sean. Who’s down? One of ours?”

“Well, they’re under control again now … Wait one. Uh-oh.”