Below the waterline, the explosion ruptured the caulk sealing the propeller shaft. Mediterranean seawater rushed through the crack, widening it as the pressure carved away the aged sealant. White smoke began to pour from the engine compartment as seawater flooded the engine room.
“We’re losing speed!” Beau shouted. He whirled the wheel to port. The water carrier, with its waning momentum, sailed out of the smoke barrier. The slowing boat was once again separated by the smoke screen from the Algerian patrol craft.
Duncan knew they only had a few minutes before the wind dissipated the protective barriers. Without forward momentum, the smoke from the kerosene was at the whim of the light wind coming from the south. It would curl upward and mark their location rather than hide them. So much for changing his life-insurance policy.
The engine coughed, sputtered to life again for a few seconds, coughed twice more, and died. The water carrier coasted another thirty yards before it stopped.
“We’re DIW, Captain!” shouted Beau. He left the wheel and scrambled down the ladder. The boat began to wallow from side to side as low waves hit it. The squeech of the radio sounded louder without the competing noise of the diesel.
Fifty yards to starboard, the first smoke screen was fading. Duncan was surprised to see the crossing southern wind carry the smoke from the burning kerosene to feed the last barrier Beau had started. But the stern was sinking, and it was only a matter of minutes before the barrels would tumble into the sea. Already seawater lapped at the bottoms of the barrels.
Ahead of them and to starboard, clear visibility reigned.
“Monkey!” Beau shouted. “Get below and hand out the life jackets!”
On the starboard side of the boat, Duncan hurried forward to where Beau stood beside H.J. and Bud.
“Well, I have to say, Duncan. This is another fine mess that you’ve gotten us into,” Beau said, imitating the voice of the chubby member of the old Laurel and Hardy comedy team.
“I think you’re right. The radio?”
Beau pointed to the bridge. From the speaker came the same steady jamming signal. “Hasn’t let up. They knew we were on it and I don’t expect them to give us an opportunity to get back on the air.”
President Alneuf emerged from below, a bright yellow life jacket tied on him.
“Your man, Captain Duncan, does he ever take no for an answer?”
President Alneuf asked as he pulled the straps on his life jacket tighter.
“Mr. President, I’m sorry, but it’s only a matter of minutes before the patrol craft comes through the screen. Our engine’s gone. We’re taking water and we’re sinking.”
Overhead, a sonic boom broke the conversation as two jets roared by.
“Damn!” said Beau. “Mig-29s. Not enough the Algerian Navy is trying to blow us out of the water. Now the Algerian Air Force wants some of our ass.” “Captain!” shouted Mcdonald. “Look!”
From the east, at low level, another four aircraft could be seen headed inbound toward the water carrier.
“Shit! Just send their entire gawldamn Air Force at us, why don’t they,” griped Beau.
The two Mig-29s turned right in attack formation, and came out of the turn to line up on the water carrier.
“Well, look’s who’s back,” Beau said, pointing to the Algerian patrol craft as it rounded the edge of the smoke screen two miles away. “At least we made them take the long way around.”
A puff of smoke rose from the bow-mounted gun. The shell passed overhead and exploded harmlessly inside the fading, older smoke screen.
The stern of the water carrier entered the sea. The burning barrels of kerosene tumbled off. The smoke abruptly stopped as the barrels disappeared beneath the waves.
The Mig-29s roared in with cannons firing. Three-foot high sea sprays marked the path as the shells rushed toward the water carrier. Two thirty-millimeter shells hit the small boat amidships, rupturing the water tank. Fresh water poured onto the deck and ran overboard. When Duncan looked up, two Guardsmen were gone. The loss of ballast caused the water carrier to rise slightly, but seawater continued to flow into the boat belowdecks.
The noise of the Kebir, as it increased speed, came across the water.
The next shell missed the water carrier by less than twenty yards.
Water showered the deck.
“I’d give them one more miss before that piss-poor bunch of gunners have our range,” Beau said.
“Here they come again!” shouted Monkey, pointing to the two Mig-29s in another tight right turn.
A massive concussion rocked the water carrier as the Algerian patrol craft exploded. Algerian sailors jumped from its smoking hulk into burning oil that was spreading quickly across the top of the sea. Their dying screams reached the water carrier.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, but I like it. God!” Beau shouted, looking up. “Do the same with those aircraft.”
The lead Mig-29 finished his turn, his wingman lined up perfectly to the right with a thirty-meter altitude separation.
With cannons firing, they bored down on the unarmed water carrier.
Navy SEALs filled the air with small-arms fire.
Behind the two Mig-29s, four F/A-18 Hornets appeared over the smoke screen. Four Sidewinder missiles, already in the air, led the attack.
Three of the air-to-air missiles traveled up the tailpipes of two Mig-29s. The airburst of the lead Mig sent burning debris raining into the sea and onto the water carrier. The SEALs and Palace Guards threw themselves to the deck, hands over their heads. The disintegrating wingman passed over the water carrier, spinning end over end. Duncan felt the heat as it passed overhead, barely missing the forward mast on its downward spiral. A burning cartwheel, the Algerian fighter jet slammed into the water near the Algerian Kebir, killing the few survivors who had swum clear of the burning oil.
Beau looked back up at the sky. “God, good job. Next time, could you get here a little sooner?”
The F/A-18s, gray blurs, roared past the water carrier. Dun can pulled himself up to the bridge and grabbed the microphone. The jamming signal had disappeared with the destruction of the patrol craft.
“This is Big Apple. Do you read?”
“Big Apple, this is Friendly Ranger. Nice reception committee you had for us.”
“Are you the F/A 18 pilots above us?”
“No, we’re the four-engine-jobber that took out that ship. We’re just a little old EP-3E four-engine turboprop, trying to make do in a jet-engine world. We’re heading in now. What is your situation?”
“We’re dead in the water. Sinking slowly. I estimate about ten minutes before we’re treading water.”
“That’s not too good. We’re about seven minutes out.”
The Hornets flew by wiggling their wings.
“I forgive them for Tailhook,” H.J. said, crossing herself.
“Tailhook hell! I may kiss my first man when I see them,” Beau added.
“Never can tell, Commander. Some of those pilots may be women.”
“They can have head-of-the-line privilege.”
“Big Apple, we’ll drop a life raft, water, and food. Rescue is on its way. Two Royal Navy helicopters are inbound to provide transport back to the bird farm. Should have you out of there within the hour and back on board, sipping hot soup.”
“Hey, Duncan! Ask them if we can go to a British ship. I feel like something stronger than Navy coffee.”
Duncan grinned at Beau. “We won’t be on the ship long enough to have a cup of coffee before they have us out and headed toward some recovery site ashore.”