The aircraft slowed to 80 knots and stood off a few hundred yards from the still burning boat. Todd initiated an easy turn to the left as the crewmen circled their prey, assessing the situation. After verifying only one survivor, still splashing water in the air like a madman, Todd was satisfied.
“OK, guys, we’re going to reverse to the right. Petty Officer Jason, get ready.”
“Aye, sir.”
Rolling out of his right turn, Todd continued, “Target is one o’clock coming to two… Petty Officer Jason, your target is a single individual in the water next to the wreckage.”
“Tally, sir.”
“You are cleared to open fire. We’re gonna stay about 100 meters off.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Enrique was incensed. When are the fucking Yanquis going to rescue me! he thought.
He watched the helicopter circle lazily around him. Surely they had spotted him with all the water he was throwing into the air. He hated the Americans, hated their rich Coast Guard sailors who offered him clean bottled water and good food in their cookie-cutter blue uniforms — after they had boarded his go-fast boat five years ago. Yes, it was jealousy. They had so damn much, stealing resources and money as they did everywhere around the world. And the sailors looked down on him, including the women sailors in their blue coverall uniforms. That was an unbearable insult, and Enrique would one day avenge the dishonor. He could kill the weaklings with his bare hands, and given the opportunity after they rescued him, he would.
In the distance he saw the helicopter turn away from him. Turning away?
He couldn’t believe the helicopter was leaving him to die! That feeling quickly subsided when it turned around and flew back toward him. Finally, the cocksuckers! As the aircraft drew near, he scanned nervously for sharks. Hurry up, dammit!
He saw the aircraft approach, but it did not slow down. He could clearly see the pilot, and behind him, the gunner — with his gun pointed. With clarity Enrique saw what was going to happen…
The Yankees are going to shoot me like a dog!
In a frenzied state of terror, his hands worked to open the vest toggles. As he moved to duck underwater, he took a last look at the helicopter and realized it was too late.
Santa Maria! Ayudame!
Enrique Martinez’ last image was a flash from the side of the gray aircraft.
The M240 spit a stream of bullets that churned up the water around the man and covered him in spray. After two full seconds of fire the gunner stopped and watched for movement. From his left seat, Todd had to look across the cockpit to see the target.
“See any movement?”
“No, sir.”
“Roger, we’ll do another circle. Petty Officer Mike, you want some target practice?”
“Yes, sir!” the GAU-21 gunner crowed.
Todd reversed his turn to the left and answered, “OK, your target is the floating boat hulk. Mark, you’ve got the aircraft. Have a Tally?”
“I’ve got the aircraft. Tallyho.” Mark replied, taking the controls and keeping the turn in.
Todd kept control of the tactical situation. “Your target is nine o’clock coming to ten. Let’s stay off about 500 meters, Mark. Petty Officer Mike, call Tally.”
“Tally,” the gunner answered.
“Roger, open fire.”
A tongue of flame leapt from the 50 caliber barrel with a deafening chainsaw sound and cordite smell that filled the cabin. Splashes bloomed next to the hulk as the heavy rounds punched big holes in the fiberglass hull. The gunner fired several bursts, tearing the floating bow to pieces before it slipped below the waves.
Todd was back on the MIDS display as he keyed the mike to transmit to the E-2. “Tango Lima, Delta Charlie is splash-one complete. Standing by for steering to track one-one-eight-two.”
The E-2 rogered the transmission and sent Todd steering directions to his next assigned target, the trawler 40 miles south. He would need the three remaining Hellfires to sink this larger and heavier vessel, with the GAU and M240 to complete the job.
The Sierra accelerated as it turned southeast. It left behind floating pieces of fiberglass — and slicks of blood.
CHAPTER 6
Stretched out on a lounge chair with his eyes shielded by his Wayfarer shades, Trench surveyed the scene at the resort pool. The college girls he had slept with last night were not out yet, and he wondered what he should do when they showed up. Play it cool and chivalrously buy them a drink at the cabana? Hug them as friends and spend some time before making an excuse to leave? Which one to hug first? Hug, hell, he was in bed with them six hours ago! Two of them — a first, even for Trench.
Coach, lounging next to him, could have had the redhead, but he had bagged out. Fine, head on back, loser. And now Coach wanted the details. As Trench relived the night, many of them were fuzzy — and he couldn’t remember much anyway. He remembered the girls were completely blotto and literally bounced off the walls in silly hysterics in the early evening, but were mercifully still passed out when he slipped out in the morning. After the ouzo shots, however, he wasn’t sure about all that had happened—Did I do it with both of them? — and he didn’t like it. His head was still throbbing, and lying out in the sun wasn’t helping, but in his image-is-everything world he had to show the JOs what a stud he was, 24/7. Even to all-talk-and-no-action Coach.
“What do you want to do today?” Coach asked.
“I dunno… Dry out. Go back to the ship. Get a sunburn. Get laid.”
“In that order?”
Trench took a swig of water. “You had your chance, man.”
Coach said nothing. The other squadron pilots were playing water volleyball in the pool, which was lined with tourists sunning themselves in lounge chairs.
Trench noticed Macho come into the pool area from the jungle path. “Oh, shit,” he groaned. “Here comes Nurse Ratched.” Behind her was a girl, tall and trim… and Macho was talking to her! Together they walked up to the group of Firebird pilots poolside, and it appeared Macho was introducing the girl to them. She shook hands with each one.
Trench propped himself up on his elbows to see better. “You gotta be shittin’ me,” he muttered.
Coach was watching, too. “You think that’s the new guy?” They observed her for a few moments: long legs, flowing dark hair, and then a shot of the goods once she removed her beach cover-up.
“Whoo, baby,” Trench answered, a small smile forming on his lips.
Shane was excited to meet her new squadronmates. She just knew Tiffany was going to be her new BFF, and meeting these fleet aviators wasn’t as bad as they said it would be at Intel Officer school. They seemed nice, and clearly Commander Wilson was an inspirational leader. And surrounding them was a tropical paradise the like of which she only seen in the movies. She couldn’t wait to tell her mother.
“You ‘girls’ done with volleyball?” Macho asked the men.
“Just waiting to thump you,” Irish said in retort. “Let’s go!”
Macho whipped off her t-shirt and jumped in the water, while Irish smiled at Shane. “C’mon, Fung, you’re on our team!”
Shane looked about, nervous. Fearful of showing too much at this first meeting, she should have insisted on remaining at the condo. Boys looked at her body differently than they did other girls, had since middle school. She couldn’t help her height or what God gave her. Yes, her girlfriends always said, you are blessed, but there are worse problems for a girl to have. Shane Duncan, though, wanted to be known for her professional ability, and this first impression was not the one she had wanted to make.