“Himura’s deployed Meisekimu,” said Freya. “He’s in the North Korean defense network, sending fake messages and orders. He’s tearing the country apart from the inside out.”
Hassan blanched. “It’s sickly brilliant,” he said. “Why fight when you can trick your enemy into destroying themselves?”
“It’s a tactic of cowards and liars,” growled Dalmar. “So… maybe we leave now?” said Vitaly. “We have seen all we have come to see?”
“Vitaly’s got a point,” said Alexis. “Half of coming to a party is knowing when to leave, especially when you ain’t invited.”
“We’ll never get a better opportunity to slip away,” added Hassan. “The Japanese fleet is in total disarray.”
Sun-Hi couldn’t tear her eyes away from the monitor, tears silently sliding down her face as she watched the burning city. Nobody else spoke for the longest time.
“So what are we doing, Cap?” asked Alexis as she looked up at Jonah. “You got that look about ’cha.”
“Anybody beside me itching to kill this motherfucker?” said Jonah as he watched the shrinking superyacht in the distance.
“I always have that itch,” grunted Dalmar. “I have scratched it many times and with many men.”
“I’m not big on the whole murder thing,” said Alexis with a glance towards Sun-Hi. “But I’m not big on sitting on our thumbs while whole cities get hammered to shit, either. You really think we got a shot at taking him down?”
“Get me aboard,” said Freya. “And I’ll get you Himura.”
“Sun-Hi — you got a guess where that ship is headed?” “Nampo is on the Taedong River,” answered Sun-Hi, pointing towards the monitor. “Leads to Pyongyang, our capital.”
“Given what we know about Himura’s technology, it’s all over if he reaches Pyongyang,” said Hassan. “It’s the center of their entire leadership and command structure. And they’ve got nukes.”
“I’m done playing defense. Let’s go fuck that guy up,” said Jonah, slapping a hand down on a darkened console. “We’ve gotten our asses kicked up one way and down the other. Statistically speaking, we’re due for a win. What do you say?”
“I do not believe that is how statistics work,” protested Hassan. “But I say we go.”
“This will be a good day. I shall bring many weapons,” said Dalmar with a sinister grin.
“Good,” said Jonah. “Vitaly — steer as close as you can. Dalmar and Freya, you’re with me. The rest of the crew will beat a fast retreat back to sea the moment we’re aboard. Find a quiet spot to stand by and wait for instructions. If you don’t hear from me in twenty minutes, move the hell on. We barely escaped our last encounter and the Scorpion is falling apart. So don’t be heroes.”
“We return as victors or we will not return at all,” said Dalmar. “This is as it should be.”
“That’s right,” said Jonah as he looked to each one of his crew in turn, satisfied that they understood. “If we fuck up or get captured, there will be no half-assed rescue attempts of any kind—and that’s final. Hassan, you’re in command until I’m back. Let’s do this thing.”
“Engine to full!” announced Alexis, increasing the throttle as the throaty diesels roared to full pitch.
“In position in three minutes!” shouted Vitaly from his console. Jonah checked the periscope monitor — the distant superyacht grew closer with each passing second as the Scorpion begun to chase her down. “We only have one chance, so get ready now!”
Jonah nodded, allowing himself a shadow of a proud smile. “Dalmar, Freya — let’s gear up.” He clutched his ribs as the trio ducked underneath one low hatch after another, Dalmar and Freya following at his heels as they made their way to the stern armory. His chest wound had begun to heal, and Hassan had exchanged the flutter valve for ten careful stitches to his pectoral. But it still hurt like hell, the pain fading as adrenaline coursed through his veins, even as the familiar sensation of fear crept up through the recesses of his exhausted mind. Arriving in the weapons locker, Jonah first threw heavy armor around his chest, velcroing it up tight against his broken ribs. Good, it’d hold them in place, maybe even stop a bullet to boot.
“You won’t be able to swim in that,” said Freya as she quizzically eyed Jonah’s armor.
Jonah yanked a short-barreled KRISS Vector .45-caliber submachine gun out of the armory locker and slung the strap around his shoulders. The futuristic-looking weapon was designed for a fast reload, reduced recoil, and a heavy, short-range knockdown load, a decent enough choice for a harebrained boarding scheme. He hadn’t trained with it as much as he would have liked — hell, he’d barely shot the thing before. But it’d do.
“I can’t swim with a busted rib, either,” he said as he slammed a heavy magazine into the receiver. “So thanks for that.”
Dalmar hefted his twin-tanked flamethrower from its cradle and onto his back, squeezing one massive shoulder after another into the heavy canvas straps. His smile widened, brilliant white teeth almost iridescent in the armory’s harsh lighting.
“Leave Florence,” Jonah ordered. “I’m not boarding a hostile ship with a walking napalm bomb.”
Dalmar stared at Jonah in shocked disbelief, disappointment etched deep on his face before it faded into an outright furrowed brow and angry frown.
“Alexis taught me a word for what you are,” he hissed, slamming the flamethrower back into its cradle. “This word is micromanager.” Still glaring at his captain, Dalmar lifted a massive Belgian-designed machine gun from the weapons locker instead, brandishing it before his critical eye. The fully automatic weapon drooped under the weight of the heavy belt-fed ammunition box slung just under the open bolt, holding no less than 200 high-powered rifle cartridges.
“You’re welcome to take up any of my managerial shortcomings with the Human Resources department,” said Jonah. “Did you name this one, too?”
“She is not worthy of a name,” snapped Dalmar as he wrapped two long, bullet-laden belts around his body, crossing his shoulders and chest like bandoliers. “Not like my beautiful Florence.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Nothing burns like a man.”
“So you’ve said. I assure you, I have not forgotten.”
Freya looked to the two men, uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot as though she didn’t know what to do.
“Grab something already,” ordered Jonah as he gestured to the veritable cornucopia of light arms.
“I don’t really know guns and stuff,” Freya admitted. Dalmar placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “The best weapon is the weapon best wielded,” he whispered. Freya looked to Jonah for a moment before finally reaching past the weapons and pulling a large, red-handled fire axe off the bulkhead. Dalmar grinned again, patting her muscled arm with one of his massive hands. “She has made an excellent choice. I believe she will kill many men today.”
“I’m just glad she’s on our side,” said Jonah, and patted his ribs.
Vitaly looked up from his console as Jonah, Dalmar, and Freya stormed into the command compartment. Jonah gripped the ladder with one hand, preparing to climb up the conning tower to the topmost hatch. He steeled himself, breathing deep, slowing his heart rate in preparation. And then he felt a tiny squeeze as Sun-Hi grasped his hand in hers. He looked down to see her staring up at him, eyes wide. “I knew that you are good man,” she whispered.