“How?”
“They just stole some jet skis from X-treme Rentals!”
Chapter Fifty-One
Sam kept racing south, trying to put as much distance between him and the faster, more agile, high performance jet skis.
He overtook the Columbia Gorge — a recreated, historical, sternwheeler — packed to the brim with tourists who stood on its distinctive red, white, and blue tri-decks, reliving the Columbia River’s rich history of paddle steamers.
As they reached the entrance to the Columbia Gorge, four jet skis split up to target them from four separate angles.
Sam glanced over his shoulder. “What do you want to do about them?”
Guinevere shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll deal with it when they get closer.”
“That won’t be long.”
“I know. But right now, we have big problems to deal with first.”
“Really?” Sam asked, “Who?”
He glanced backward along the valley, watching stoically as two tiny black dots in the distance slowly grew into the recognizable shape of two military helicopters.
In the valley, the sound of the jet ski engines were suddenly overtaken by the downward whoop, whoop of two Sikorsky helicopters.
Sam cursed. His eyes searched the natural landscape as the Columbia flowed through the ancient gorge, looking for some sort of natural feature such as a cave or rock system in which to take cover.
Finding none, he said, “We’re in big trouble. It’s impossible to outrun those.”
The sliding door of the first helicopter opened up and a single soldier started to fire rifle shots at them. They were difficult shots to take in a moving helicopter. Sam jolted the jetboat in sharp, irregular movements, adding to the sniper’s difficulty. The shots went wide, but it wouldn’t take much for them to get lucky.
Guinevere didn’t give up so easily. “I’m going below decks to see if these guys have something we can use. Maybe we can set up a smoke screen for a bit of cover.”
Sam said, “Good idea. Go!”
Guinevere came back up thirty seconds later, a big grin on her porcelain face. “This thing’s equipped with an R2D2!”
Sam said, “You’re kidding me!”
The Phalanx CIWS was a close-in weapon system for defense against anti-ship missiles, helicopters, and armored boats. It consisted of a radar-guided 20 mm Vulcan cannon mounted on a swiveling base. Because of its distinctive barrel-shaped radome, along with its automated nature of operation, the Phalanx CIWS units were nicknamed, "R2-D2" after the famous droid character from the Star Wars films.
The lines in Sam’s face deepened and his piercing blue eyes seemed to darken. He spoke with unequivocal frankness. “You know those are US Navy choppers, we can’t just shoot them down!”
Guinevere said, “It’s going to be them or us, if we wait much longer.”
He raced deeper into the narrowing gorge. To the right, Multnomah Falls came into view. It was the highest waterfall in the state of Oregon, its distinctive 620-foot waterfall spanning two tiers of basalt cliffs, and a large historic bridge in the middle.
Sam turned to face Guinevere and said, without hesitation, “Then, I’m afraid it’s going to have to be us.”
“All right, but I haven’t come all this way just to get killed by our own people, so what are we going to do about it?”
“Hang on,” he said. “Keep them distracted with a few warning shots. I’ve got to make another phone call.”
Guinevere drew her Walther 99 handgun. It was unlikely to cause any damage to the military helicopter or its crew, but just in case, she still aimed wide.
Sam took his cell phone and called the Secretary of Defense.
The secretary picked up on the first ring. “Mr. Reilly?”
“Good morning, ma’am. I need your help.”
The Secretary said, “What trouble have you gotten yourself into?”
“I stole a Navy jetboat on display in Portland, Oregon. I’m now racing up the Columbia River being pursued by a pair of Sikorsky helicopters, which keep shooting at me.”
“What do you need?”
“Ma’am, I’d be really appreciative if you could contact the Navy and get them to call off their birds.”
“Mr. Reilly, if you did indeed steal a US Navy rapid attack boat and the Navy sent two attack birds to get it back, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“What are you saying, ma’am?”
“I’m saying, if Elise hadn’t contacted me twenty minutes ago and informed me that you did something really stupid like steal one of the Navy’s latest attack boats, the Navy wouldn’t have sent two Sikorsky helicopters to take pot shots at you, they would have sent a pair of McDonnell Douglas F-15 Eagles from the Oregon 142nd Air National Guard — and they would have put a couple AIM-9 Sidewinders into you on sight — game over.”
Sam lips curled upward with incredulity. “The two birds aren’t our’s?”
“No, Mr. Reilly. It looks like they’re owned by your new-found friends.”
Sam said, “I have your permission to take them out, ma’am?”
“Mr. Reilly, if someone is shooting on one of our Navy’s attack boats, I see it not only as your right, but your duty to take them out!”
Sam grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
Guinevere exchanged glances with him. “What did she say?”
Sam grinned. “She says, they’re not our birds, and you have her permission to destroy those helicopters.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Guinevere stared at the R2D2 unit.
The basis of the system was a 20 mm M61 Vulcan Gatling gun autocannon, linked to a Ku-band fire control radar system for acquiring and tracking targets. It also included one of the modern upgrades involving a FLIR — forward-looking infrared — sensor to make the weapon effective against surface targets. This proven system was combined with a purpose-made mounting, capable of fast elevation and traverse speeds, to track incoming targets. An entirely self-contained unit, the mounting houses the gun, an automated fire-control system and all other major components, enabling it to automatically search for, detect, track, engage, and confirm kills using its computer-controlled radar system.
She’d used the system on a British vessel years ago. It wasn’t new, but the computer technology had been upgraded to the point where the weapon teetered tentatively close to AI territory, with the system performing every task, and the operator simply pressing the authority to kill button.
Guinevere didn’t need to check with anyone.
She pressed the start button, and the R2D2 unit came alive. Its dome-shaped Ku-band fire control radar system rose out of the aft section of the attack boat.
It located two targets immediately.
The M61 Vulcan Gatling gun automatically altered its elevation, traversing slowly to track the first helicopter.
The R2D2 target monitor fixed on the first target.
CONFIRM TARGETS?
Guinevere pressed the confirm button.
DESTROY ACQUIRED TARGETS?
Guinevere didn’t hesitate. She pressed the authorize- to-kill button, without which the weapon would have been classed as completely AI — Artificial Intelligence — the sort of weapon that frightened most civilized nations. Its implication was clear. You’re ultimately delegating the decision to kill to a machine. A machine that doesn’t have a measure of moral understanding or mercy.
An instant later, the machine came alive.
The 20 mm M61 Vulcan Gatling gun fired on the Sikorsky helicopter closest to them. 20 mm armor-piercing tungsten penetrator rounds left the autocannon’s barrel at a speed of 3,600 feet per second, and at a rate of 3000 rounds per minute.