Sean rolled away and used the momentum to spring to his feet. Before he completed the move the man was on him, raining iron blows to his head and chest. Sean reacted defensively with a series of blocks and feints, giving him a little time to assess vulnerabilities. His opponent was taller, bigger and faster than Sean and he knew all the moves. He was a ferocious fighter and Sean felt the first stirrings of alarm. He wasn’t defeated yet and in the past he had survived worse attacks than this. But the feeling of dread, once begun, was difficult to shake off.
Sean did not see where the next blow came from. It sent him reeling and he deliberately fell and rolled underneath the wooden table. He continued rolling until he was on the other side, then rose and grasped the table legs. He swung the table towards his attacker, presenting the surface like a shield against the rain of blows. What happened next stunned Sean to his core.
The wood split and a closed fist appeared through the table top, stopping just inches from Sean’s face. The sight of the fist appearing through what should have been an impenetrable shield came as a shock. Instinctively he fell back, bringing the table down with him. As he fell, the splintered wood closed like a vice around the arm of the attacker and drew him down also.
Sean kicked at the legs in front of him, smashing his boots against a knee cap. In a normal man this would be incapacitating, but all Sean heard was a grunt of pain. The man was desperately trying to withdraw his arm from the table, when Sean had an idea. Now on his back, Sean grabbed hold of the arm and pushed it hard up and away from him. The splintered jaws of the hole dug deep into the flesh. As the man groaned in pain again, Sean yanked the arm downward as hard as he could. He was rewarded by the smack of the man’s head against the table top. Sean was about to yank the arm sideways in the hope of dislocating the shoulder blade, when the fist he was holding opened and grabbed him around the throat.
Sean could not believe how strong this man was. The grip around his neck was like nothing he had experienced before. Sean’s breathing became ragged as his throat was compressed. He lashed out with his boots again and heard another grunt as he connected with a shinbone. In the background he registered Natasha’s cries of anguish.
As his breathing slowed, Sean knew he had only seconds left. He could not see much because his eyesight had started to shut down from the lack of oxygen. Sean lifted his legs and positioned his boots underneath the remains of the table. He jerked his legs straight and felt the pressure on his throat increase. He pushed again and slowly felt the man being lifted off the ground. Another huge effort and both man and table described an arc above him. The man landed heavily. Sean quickly got to his feet. The man looked ridiculous with the remains of the table on top of him, arm still thrust through it.
Sean grabbed the arm again just above the wrist and holding it up straight, landed a hard kick connecting with the triceps. There was a snapping sound. Remarkably this only provoked another grunt.
Sean looked around quickly. The other two men were still lying prone on the floor. Natasha reappeared with a large knife from the kitchen which she held out desperately to Sean.
He did not feel like smiling at all, but he could see from Natasha’s white face that she needed some reassurance. Then he saw Natasha’s face change, her mouth about to open with a warning.
It was too late. Sean looked back in time to see one of the prone men withdraw a gun, swinging it around to aim at Sean. Natasha started to move. Whether it was to protect Sean, or to try and wrench the gun away, Sean didn’t know. But he knew he would not be able to get to the gunman in time.
On board the submarine USS Cheyenne the sonar operator spoke into the mile. ‘Con, Sonar. Target roughly 3500 yards, heading 287 degrees. It’s too quiet to get a signature, but the chances are it’s Cetus.’
‘How did it get so close without us noticing?’
‘No idea Captain’ came the reply. ‘Maybe he was lying in wait?’
Captain Sheering snapped on the mike. ‘Fire Control, prepare to launch from tubes 2 and 4. Steer 302 degrees. Make full revolutions. I want to put this thermal layer between us.’
He looked over at his Executive Officer. ‘Any other ideas, John?’ he asked quietly.
The XO paused. ‘We could make this an each way bet’ he said thoughtfully.
Captain Sheering thumbed the mike. ‘Wire guide 2, but make 4 autonomous. Make both active terminal homing.’
The first torpedo would spool a control wire out of the back while it was running and the fire control team could manage its speed and direction until it acquired the target. The second torpedo would be left to its own devices to find and hunt down their attacker — the ‘each way bet’.
‘Con, navigation. Leaving the thermal incline now.’
Immediately Sheering felt the vibration lessen. The XO looked at him quizzically.
‘It’s working John — that layer of warm current is acting like a filter to the sound beam that’s coming our way. It’s spreading it out, like a prism splits up white light.’
The Captain was rewarded by a look of awe from his Executive Officer. Ten seconds later the officer’s expression changed to alarm when they suddenly ran into a wall of vibration that made the whole sub hum.
‘I want to keep that warm current between us.’ The Captain looked across at his XO. ‘It’s important to keep a perspective on this John — it won’t last forever. But while it does we need to change our depth to take into account any vertical or horizontal changes the bastard makes. If he goes up, we go down. If he goes left, we go right.’
‘Like playing round the mulberry bush, sir?’
‘Correct John. Order navigation to follow this current on the opposite side to Cetus. If he crosses over, we cross back. If he goes along one side, we go along the other.’
‘Got that Captain.’ The XO relayed the instructions.
Captain Sheering thumbed the mike again. ‘Give me a report every 30 seconds.’
‘Yes sir’ responded the Fire Control technician. ‘Target moving north. Sir…’, the man stopped to check the readout. ‘It’s moving so fast!’
‘Keep an eye on the son of a bitch, Jones, we mustn’t lose it!’
Sean scooped up the chair beside him. In one movement he twisted like a shot putter at the Olympics and let the chair fly. Immediately he heard a shot and a second later felt a searing pain in his side. The chair missed the gun hand completely, but one of the legs connected with the gunman’s left eye. The man screamed and brought his arm up to protect his face. Sean’s boot connected with the man’s jaw and the gun went spinning away towards the door.
Sean raced after it and picked it up. Keeping one eye on the gunman he righted a chair and made Natasha sit. He then went to each of the men, using the plastic cuffs to tie their hands and legs together.
The table-top man was last. Sean had him down as the leader, Schaeffer. He approached from the side. The man’s eyes were closed and he appeared to be unconscious. Sean began to strap a plastic cuff around his broken arm. While Sean was engaged, Schaeffer’s eyes opened a millimetre, swivelled slowly and focused on Sean. At that moment, the hairs on the back of Sean’s neck literally stood up on end, but the man was already swinging his other good arm. The power of the punch knocked Sean to the floor and then he was on top of him, swinging with his good fist.