Hassan emerged next to Jonah, clutching his arms around his chest in the sudden chill. Jonah ignored him, drawing the binoculars to his eyes as he scanned the sea. There it was, dead ahead — the closest of the orange life rafts, dozens more now visible as they drifted in clusters around the burning assault ship and sinking carrier. Alexis’ ocean of stranded sailors had finally materialized before them.
“It goes against my every instinct as a doctor to say this, but we’re in no position to take on survivors,” said Hassan with a shiver. “We have no food — our medical supplies are all but gone — and you and I both know this crew is hanging on by a thread.”
Jonah lowered the binoculars from his eyes. “Those aren’t survivors,” he intoned, his voice low and gravelly as he handed the binoculars to the doctor.
He’d seen death before, even inflicted it himself. But not like this — the closest life raft was half sunk, orange rubber shredded. There were a handful of lifeless bodies onboard, maybe six or eight, less than a quarter of the raft’s capacity. Piled on top of each other, the corpses moved in an eerie, serpentine facsimile of life, animated by the choppy waves. It was impossible to tell where the remains of one sailor ended and another began. They’d been all but torn apart by a merciless onslaught of high-caliber bullets, arms and legs separated from sockets, heads and torsos burst and leaking. A school of a thousand flitting silverfish danced in seeping blood and viscera, feeding, as the gruesome wash flowed from the raft and into the cold ocean.
“This is a massacre, a war crime,” Hassan hissed as the inflatable raft gently knocked against the hull of the Scorpion, the bloody tableau left to swirl in their slow wake. “Who would machine-gun unarmed men as they fled to the sea?”
Jonah chewed down the lump in his throat, taking the binoculars back to slowly scan one life raft after another. He confirmed they’d seen but a fraction of the butchery. Every other raft in sight bore the same shredded, bloody, half-flooded hallmarks of a deliberate, systemic execution.
“There could still be survivors inside,” said Jonah, pointing to the looming carrier. “So long as she’s floating, there’s a chance. No turning back now.”
“We have a satellite phone,” said Hassan. “Can’t we call someone with the resources to actually make a difference?”
“You’re welcome to try and navigate the Japanese Navy telephone directory at two bucks a minute. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll have a menu option for this — you know, press five if you’ve just witnessed the largest naval atrocity in Japanese history.”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Jonah,” snapped Hassan. “What difference can we possibly make?”
Jonah pointed across the waters towards the tilting Japanese helicopter carrier. “We can save that ship.”
The interior of the command compartment was dead silent. The crew watched as Jonah stooped over Vitaly’s console and initiated a marine architecture subroutine. He glanced between the images on the periscope monitor and the computer program. Within moments he had sketched out a rough pixilated outline of the disabled carrier, digitally reproducing the sixty-degree angle, and estimating interior flooding. Finished, he flipped the monitor feed onto the command compartment viewers, showing everyone the ad hoc 3D model of the Japanese flagship.
“She’s at a sixty-degree list, and on fire in multiple compartments,” said Jonah. “Power is likely off-line, as are network systems and all primary and auxiliary pumping stations. She’s bad off, but I think we can right her.”
Exclamations of disbelief erupted from every corner of the command compartment. “Give him a moment to explain!” said Hassan, trying in vain to silence the crew.
“I may not be an expert, but that carrier looks properly fucked,” interrupted Alexis, pointing at the screen.
“No — he might be onto something,” said Marissa as she furrowed her brow. “What’s the salvage value? I bet we could get a hundred million dollars if we keep her from sinking. Double that if we can somehow tow her to a Japanese port. But even if we don’t get paid, it still might get us off the Japanese government’s shit list.”
“What is shit list?” asked Sun-Hi, cocking her head.
“Ask Jonah,” said Marissa. “He’s on all of ’em. Especially mine.”
“Nobody ever try this with military ship,” warned Vitaly. “Survivors may view boarding party as pirates.”
“This isn’t a cash grab,” said Jonah. “If there are survivors, they’re hunkered down; they’re not going to start shooting at someone willing to help. The way I see it, we don’t have to save the whole ship. If we can get control of the central systems and get a single generator back online, we can re-start the pumps, roll her back upright. Maybe even get some of the fires under control. It’d give the Japanese time to mobilize their own salvage teams. In the meantime, keeping that ship afloat may be the only chance any survivors have.”
Alexis sputtered. “But the scale! She has to be a hundred times the size of the Scorpion!”
“You’re going to have to trust me, Alexis. This… is what I do.”
“What you used to do,” pointed out Marissa. “Back when you were working for my dad. And that was a long time ago, Jonah.”
Vitaly slowed the Scorpion to a shuddering halt as she approached the tilting deck of the Japanese carrier. Ash fell from the sky like snow, drifting from the billowing columns of smoke and fire enveloping the burning assault ship to their stern. Jonah and his crew slowly took in the destruction through the periscope feed. The submarine jolted as it first knocked against the side of the steep flight deck, the tilting control tower above looming over them like a cliff. Marissa took the periscope from Jonah, aiming the optic down the vast length of the carrier.
“What are we doing?” whispered Hassan, too quiet for anyone to hear but Jonah.
“The right thing — I hope,” whispered Jonah. But he didn’t know who he was trying to convince, the doctor or himself. He cleared his throat, stepping up to address the crew. “Alexis and Vitaly — you’re with me. Hassan will take command of the Scorpion. We’re boarding the carrier in ten minutes.”
Jonah wanted the doctor by his side — hell, he needed him. But he knew Hassan wouldn’t be able to pass a stricken sailor without stopping to try and save a life. There wouldn’t be time on this mission. His crew would be up against fire and steel and the ocean itself. A place with no room for mercy if they were to have any hope of succeeding.
CHAPTER 12
Vitaly was last to arrive in the forward armory. The Russian helmsmen had insisted on fussing over the Scorpion’s trim and ballast to his own exacting specifications before reluctantly relinquishing the post to Dalmar. Not that Dalmar could do much more than punch the button that opened the main hatch — the pirate’s experience at the helm was nonexistent, due equally to his impatient temperament and generalized disinterest. Vitaly might be able to talk Dalmar through the simple stuff on the radio in case of emergency, but that would be about the limit of what they could expect. As much as Jonah would have preferred to leave Vitaly at the helm, there wasn’t any other choice— he’d need his best crew member on hand to have any shot in hell at saving the carrier.
“Touch nothing!” yelled Vitaly down the main corridor. He waved his arms to punctuate his demand as he entered the forward armory. Both Dalmar and Hassan shouted back in unison, pointing out that they’d heard him clearly the first six times.