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  “Why is it men get all the fun jobs?” Li asked.

  McCarter smiled. “Is this really your definition of fun?”

  “After working for Major Choi,” Li said, “this is much better.”

  * * *

  ON BOARD THE North Korean patrol boat, Major Choi was on the radio, speaking to the pilot of his remaining helicopter. The aircraft was returning from a wide-ranging patrol it carried out every couple days, and Choi had realized he could use the machine.

  He spoke to the pilot and explained the situation.

  “We saw the smoke, Major,” the pilot said. “I turned about, and we are already very close.”

  “Make for the harbor. I believe the strike force is attempting to commandeer one of our patrol boats to make their escape. We must prevent that. I am on board another vessel. We will make our way to intercept. If you spot these invaders, they must not be allowed to get away. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Major.”

  * * *

  THE HELICOPTER PILOT glanced at his partner. The man had heard the conversation on his own headset. Now he moved to the rear of the helicopter and slid open the side hatch, swinging out the chopper’s machine gun on its gimbal. He checked the ammunition belt and racked the weapon. Then he attached himself to the safety harness.

  He felt the helicopter slide as the pilot laid on the power and took the aircraft in a wide curve toward their new destination. Cold rain blasted in through the open hatch, soaking the Korean gunner. Below them the water was gray and choppy, visibility reduced by the constant rain that had settled in for the duration.

  “Ahead,” the pilot said. “There is smoke rising from the harbor.”

  The gunner leaned out his hatch, squinting against the rain. It took him a moment before he spotted the smoke. As the pilot swung the helicopter in a wide sweep, the extent of the smoke and now flame could be seen. The harbor hut was burning and so was the fuel supply. There were normally two boats based at the harbor. One was burning at its moorings.

  The gunner cast around and spotted the second boat, well clear of the harbor, moving out from the coast.

  “They have already taken one of the boats. I can see the second boat,” he called over his headset.

  The pilot confirmed the sighting. He made contact with Major Choi on the incoming patrol boat, reporting what they had seen.

  “Do not allow them to escape,” Choi said. His voice was taut with anger. “These criminals must not be allowed to evade us.” His final words were screamed out. “Stop them.”

  * * *

  ENCIZO CALLED, “HEADS UP. I hear a chopper.”

  The Phoenix Force commandos moved to the main deck and scanned the gray sky in all directions. They could hear the low sound. It seemed to be coming from more directions than one. Rising, then falling. Buffeted by the wind. Distorted by the constant rainstorm.

  “West...coming in from the west,” Manning said. He thrust out an arm. “There.”

  They all picked it up. A dark shape rapidly becoming larger as it swept down from its height and hurtled at them, low to the sea swell. It was an MD-500 Defender, the same model as the ones Phoenix Force had destroyed back at the site.

  “Bloody good pilot,” McCarter murmured in admiration. “Pity he’s not come to pick us up. And where the hell did he spring from? Did we miss it back at the base?”

  “Choi must have called it in,” Pak said. “Maybe diverted it from a regular patrol flight.”

  “Looks like he’s about to deliver something for us,” Hawkins suggested.

  Encizo swiveled the .50-caliber cannon around and started to track in on the helicopter as it came directly at them. The machine gun mounted in its side hatch opened fire, the slugs marching through the water as it closed in. A number of slugs chewed at the patrol boat’s transom, splintering wood in passing.

  Leading the thundering shape, Encizo waited for his chance and then triggered the cannon. As the helicopter flew over, Encizo turned the cannon on its swivel and followed the retreating aircraft. The thundering roar of the powerful weapon was deafening, even in the open. The tail end of his long burst clipped the chopper’s landing gear and the craft wobbled slightly before the pilot corrected.

  Kayo Pak ramped up the engine, pushing it faster through the water, though even he realized there was no way they could outrun the much faster helicopter.

  “Let him come around again and I’ll take him down,” Encizo vowed. “No way he’s going to outgun me.”

  “Hey, I think you’re going to get your chance,” Manning said.

  “Do you think Choi is on board?” Li asked.

  “We couldn’t be that lucky,” McCarter said.

  They saw the helicopter make a wide banking turn, then drop and sweep in across the waves for another pass. The machine gun opened up again, this time far earlier and the side gunner rode the line of slugs as it chopped through the water. The shooter had his range now and was prepared to use a great deal of ammunition to maintain his line of fire.

  * * *

  “I HAVE HIM,” the gunner yelled into his headset. “Hold your course.”

  The pilot maintained the line of flight, seeing the small patrol boat grow larger as the helicopter swept in. As the target expanded, the pilot saw the deck-mounted .50-caliber cannon locking in on his aircraft. He wanted to pull away, but he remained on course.

  “Quickly,” he yelled to his gunner. “Quickly now...”

  * * *

  RAFAEL ENCIZO WATCHED the helicopter, steady on his own trigger. The Cuban refused to be fazed by the stream of slugs slamming the water and marching closer. His eyes were fixed on the aircraft, the muzzle of the cannon barely moving.

  The wooden side rail of the boat exploded in a cloud of mashed timber, the slugs cutting across the deck directly in line with the waiting cannon.

  It seemed the helicopter was going to pass over again; it was coming in so close...

  And then Encizo’s finger stroked back on the trigger and the machine gun began to hammer out .50-caliber shells, the large brass casings pouring from the ejection port to bounce off the splintered deck planks.

  Encizo was enveloped in a haze of shredded wood and swirling smoke. The insane roar of the helicopter drowned out every other sound as it shot over the boat. The howl of its engine and the powerful downdraft from the beating rotors engulfed them all.

  McCarter had pushed Li to the deck, stepping out to add autofire from his P90 as the helicopter filled his eye line. The FN hammered out streams of 5.7 mm slugs at the underside of the aircraft; McCarter had no idea whether his shots had any effect on the chopper, or those coming from the rest of Phoenix Force.

  In the seconds the helicopter was over the boat, Encizo had swung his big .50-caliber cannon in a 360-degree turn and continued hammering away at it. The deck at his feet was littered with more hot shell casings.

  The helicopter took a hard turn away, then appeared to hover for seconds as the nose came up—it might backslide and fall across the boat. Smoke began to issue from the engine compartment and the smooth roar became irregular. The hard beat was broken by ragged coughs. Flame showed from the engine cowling.

  The mounted cannon fired up again, Encizo taking advantage of the close target. He raked the helicopter until the cannon ran out of ammunition and fell silent.

  Ragged holes peppered the fuselage. The side gunner had fallen back inside the helicopter, his weapon drooping and silent.

  More flame erupted, then thick black smoke. The engine stuttered, coughed and fell silent. The chopper dropped slowly, turning on its side before slamming hard into the choppy water. One of the long rotor blades snapped, the broken section spinning across the water. The stricken helicopter settled and began to sink, displaced water bubbling around it. Leaking fuel created multicolored ri
ngs on the surface.

  “If Choi doesn’t have insurance, he’s going to be getting a big bill,” Hawkins murmured.

  “Hey,” James called out and ran across the deck.

  Encizo was on his knees, hands still gripping the big cannon’s firing handles. His head was down on his chest, and the gleam of blood showed across the side of his head and down one side of his body. As James neared him, Encizo let go of the gun and sprawled across the deck.

  McCarter joined him, calling for Manning and Hawkins to stand watch.

  “Get us out of here,” McCarter yelled to Pak and the Korean pushed the throttle levers to maximum, bringing the boat around the downed chopper as it slid out of sight, leaving trails of smoke and oil rings on the surface.

  James was on his knees beside Encizo, turning the Cuban on his back. As the team medic began to check Encizo for wounds, McCarter stood over them, reloading his P90.

  “You want to move him under cover?” he asked.

  “Let me see how bad he’s hurt first,” James said.

  “Can I do anything?” Li asked, standing at McCarter’s side, her face taut with concern.

  “Landis is a trained medic,” McCarter told her. “He can handle it.”

  Li shook her head and moved forward, kneeling by Encizo. She raised his head and laid it across her lap, stroking hair away from his face. Encizo, half-conscious, stared up at her and managed a smile.

  “Okay, I never thought of that,” McCarter conceded.

  James had seen the ragged tears in Encizo’s camou jacket. Down the left side from shoulder to waist. He peeled the jacket open and cut Encizo’s clothing away with his combat knife.

  “Looks like he caught some flak,” James said as he inspected Encizo’s flesh. “We can move him under cover now,” he said.

  With help Encizo was carried beneath the wheelhouse and laid out on the deck so James could tend to his patient. The Cuban had lost blood before James was able to seal the wounds, using his limited medical supplies.

  Hawkins had been checking out the equipment lockers fixed to the deck and found additional ammunition boxes for the .50-caliber cannon. He tossed the empty magazine overboard and loaded a fresh one, feeding the loaded heavy belt into place and then racking back the lever to prime the big machine gun.

  “You think we’re in the clear?” Kayo Pak asked from his position at the wheel.

  McCarter had been looking out beyond the boat, watching and waiting for any sign of the U.S. Navy sub. At that moment all he could see was water and the rain that showed no sign of slacking off. Behind them the North Korean land mass had receded into the gray light.

  “Kayo, mate, I have no bloody idea.”

  Manning had moved to the stern to check the damage. He called from his position. “Something on the port bow.”

  “Hold our course until we identify,” McCarter said to Pak, slapping him on the shoulder as he moved to join Manning.

  Li glanced up from where she had resumed her position with Encizo. James didn’t even raise his head from tending to Encizo’s wounds.

  “I see it,” McCarter acknowledged as he stood beside Manning.

  “I’m no sailor,” Manning said, “but that’s not a submarine.”

  “No, it bloody isn’t,” McCarter said. “It’s another North Korean patrol boat. A big one and it’s heading right for us.”

  * * *

  CHOI HAD WITNESSED the helicopter go down, had heard the frantic voice of the pilot and the solid sound of gunfire. He had seen the incident and shook his head in disbelief.

  How many more disasters could be heaped on his head?

  The North Korean military was supposed to be the best. Without equal. Constant training. Obedience to the state. All these things placed them above any other military force. Yet these invaders, small in number, seemed to best his people at every turn.

  How could that be?

  He wished he could stand face-to-face with this invasive team and find out who they were.

  Despite himself he found he held a grudging respect for their fighting skills.

  They had proved superior with the unexpected strike against the research facility, resulting in so many deaths and the total destruction of the lab.

  If he had been a religious man, he might have accepted the gods were conspiring against him.

  He turned to the patrol boat captain. “Now it is up to us,” he said.

  The captain agreed, shouting orders to his crew. The patrol boat surged forward, the powerful motor winding up as the helmsman pushed the throttle to the limit.

  “Man the gun,” the captain screamed. “Sink that boat.”

  No prisoners, Choi thought. We will bury them all at sea.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  SURRENDER OR DIE

  “This could be embarrassing,” Manning said.

  “We’re all loaded up here,” Hawkins called. “What is it they say in these situations? Put a shot across the bows?”

  “Pretty big bows compared to ours,” McCarter pointed out.

  “Below the waterline, then,” Hawkins persisted.

  McCarter wiped rain from his face, watching the approaching patrol boat.

  “Those patrol craft move faster than we can,” Pak called from the wheelhouse. “Steel construction. Pretty heavy. That’s why they sit low in the water. Not a clever design but they are powerful boats.”

  “So we use that...” McCarter muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

  Manning glanced at the Briton as McCarter leaned against the side rail, staring at the oncoming patrol boat.

  “Kayo, what drives her?” McCarter asked. “Propulsion wise—single or twin screw?”

  “Just the one,” Pak said.

  “What about ordnance?”

  “Same specification we have. But fixed on the bow deck. Difference is it can only traverse left and right, or straight ahead. Wheelhouse gets in the way and won’t let it fire over the stern.”

  “That’s what I was hoping,” McCarter said.

  “I can hear the gear wheels turning,” Manning said. “Tell me, great leader.”

  “If that bugger gets in range, he can hit us hard with that .50-caliber. We’re sitting on a big wooden packing case. Look how that chopper chewed us up, and he was only using a small-caliber gun.”

  “Yeah, and that boat over there is made of steel. No way we can do much harm.”

  “Maybe not. But if we could stall that thing and leave it floating while we sail away...”

  “How?”

  “You might think this is a wild idea.”

  Manning turned his face to the falling rain for a moment. “Damn,” he said, “not a flying pig in sight.”

  “Kayo swings us around the rear of that tin can. Brings her up close.”

  “You’re starting to interest me. But only vaguely.”

  McCarter pointed at the big .50 Hawkins was manning.

  “Look at the size of those .50-caliber shells. They are big, ugly and capable of tearing things apart. We burn off the full magazine against the propeller. Hit it with nonstop .50-cals. Enough hits could either distort the blades or maybe even blow holes in them. We keep up the pace. Have a second ammo box ready. Keep hitting that prop until it gives.”

  Manning thought about it for a few seconds. He turned to check out the big .50.

  “We’d have to come close to the stern in a turn. Give Rankin his shot before we move away.”

  “This baby can deliver about 650 rounds a minute,” Hawkins said. “I can open fire once we swing in close and keep the hammer down. All I need is for you guys to keep those North Korean heads down while we pass.”

  “Any good me pointing out this might be a bad idea?” James said.

&n
bsp; “The alternative is no better,” Li said. “I don’t want to give myself up. Or give that boat the chance to shoot at us.”

  “You hear all this, Kayo?” McCarter asked.

  “Every scary word,” Pak said. “But Li’s thoughts persuade me, it’s a choice worth making.”

  “Bring us around,” McCarter said. “Keep us at a distance until we can put them ahead of us, then swing in to their stern. Close as you can.”

  The patrol boat began to circle, staying clear of the other vessel’s course. Pak had a steady hand and he persuaded the smaller craft to maintain a deceptive run.

  * * *

  “WHAT ARE THEY doing?” Choi asked. “They cannot outrun us.”

  The patrol boat captain said, “Trying to maneuver out of our path. Staying away from our weapon.”

  “Do they believe they can keep that up?”

  The captain smiled. “Let them try,” he said. “We will keep them in our sights until the right moment.”

  Choi watched the smaller craft as it veered around the patrol boat. His thoughts were at odds with the captain’s. Whoever was piloting the other vessel seemed to be making deliberate moves.

  What, he wondered, were they trying to achieve?

  His thoughts were disturbed when the patrol boat’s machine gun opened up, sending a stream of .50-caliber shells at the smaller craft.

  * * *

  “LI, STAY WITH FREDO,” James directed. “He’s stable now. Nothing else I can do, until we get him on board the sub. He just needs to be kept still.”

  Encizo opened his eyes and said, “The patient can hear what you’re saying.”

  “Don’t argue with the doctor,” James said. “Stay still. No liquor or greasy food, and no flirting with the nurse.”

  “See what I have to put up with? He’s such a party pooper,” Encizo protested weakly. “This goes on all the time. Day in, day out.”

  “He doesn’t mean it.” James grinned. “It’s just the meds talking.”

  “Don’t go and get yourself shot, amigo,” Encizo said. “I might need more loving care and attention.”