He spoke to Byron. "Do you think we could blast those bastards out of that cave?"
The exec took a long look. "I think so. Of course, if their missile supply is exhausted, there's no use wasting ours on them."
"I don't see any in the tubes," Sam said. "But they might be keeping them out of sight, hoping we'll come back to attack. Let's go back and make sure. I don't want those hyenas laughing at us."
Byron raised his eyebrows. Evidently he thought it was foolish to risk more hits. He said, "Yes, sir," and went back to the intercom. Sam told Detweiller what he wanted. And while the Not For Hire turned again, the rocket crews readied for their mission.
Byron gave his report in a flat cool voice. Twenty dead. Thirty-two badly wounded. Eleven of the wounded could be patched up and returned to duty. One steam machine gun, one rocket battery, and one cannon were destroyed. The rockets and the cannon shells had blown up also, doing more damage than the missiles themselves. There were two large holes in the flight deck, and the cabins in the lowest tier of the pilothouse had been blown out. Enough of the structure of the base remained to ensure stability. This couldn't be guaranteed if another rocket hit the structure. Their firepower was reduced, but the boat's performance was not affected.
Worst of all, the radar antennas had been destroyed.
A lookout told Sam that new rockets were being put into the tubes by the men in the cave.
"Byron, start firing when I give the word!" Sam said.
The exec relayed the order to sight in on the opening. The boat was now eight hundred yards from the base of the cliff. Sam told Detweiller to spin it, presenting its starboard side. He should then let the current carry it away until the starboard cannon batteries had fired. These were one 88-millimeter cannon, much more accurate than the rockets, and the compressed air cannon.
At Sam's relayed order, the 88-millimeter belched fire, smoke, and thunder, and the other whooshed. One shell struck just above the opening; the other struck just below. No second round was necessary. The rockets in the cave must have been set off by the lower explosion. They went up in a cloud from which spewed fragments that could have been bodies.
When the smoke cleared, only some twisted metal could be seen.
"I think we can take it for granted they're wiped out," Sam said. He felt gratified. The enemy were not human beings. They were things that could kill him and had to be killed before they could do so.
"Take her back to the center about a quarter-mile from the pass," Sam said. "Byron, order the helicopter brought up."
"King John is using his, too," Byron said. He pointed at the opening. Sam saw it, hanging about two thousand feet up, a tiny machine framed in the dark gate of the strait.
"I don't want John to see what we're doing," he said. "Tell Petroski to get rid of it."
Sam called in de Marbot. The instructions took two minutes. De Marbot saluted and went off to carry out the plan.
Petroski, the copter pilot, warmed up the motor, and took off with his two machine-gunners. The fuselage was fitted with ten small heat-seeking missiles, some of which, it was hoped, would down the enemy machine while others would strike the Rex.
Sam watched it as it climbed slowly, burdened with its deadly load. It took a while to climb up above the altitude of the craft in the mouth of the pass. Sam asked the Frenchman how he was coming. De Marbot, in the stern, replied that both launches were almost filled with rockets. He could leave in a few minutes.
"I'll give the word when the coast is clear," Sam said.
Petroski's machine finally quit climbing. The other copter was still in its original position. Vftien its pilot saw the big all-white chopper moving to get above it, he spun his machine around and fled.
The radar operator, now posted as lookout, said, "Enemy aircraft is moving at an estimated eighty-five miles per hour."
"Then it's faster than ours," Sam said. "It's not carrying near as much weight. Byron, tell de Marbot he can go ahead."
The huge hatch had been open for some time. The larger of the launches, Post No Bills, slid out of the water-filled compartment, kicking up a white wake. It turned and headed toward the shore. Close behind it came the After You, Gascon. Both were loaded with rockets, dismantled launching apparatus, and marines.
Petroski's voice came from the set. "The enemy has gone around the bend. I'm going up another two thousand feet before I go around."
While Sam waited for another report, he watched the launches. Their noses were against the low bank now, and men were jumping out of them into the water. They quickly waded ashore and began off-loading the weapons and equipment. Each man would then carry a forty-pound missile or part of a disassembled launcher.
"John must have sent men up first with tackles and ropes," Sam said. "Then he must have winched those heavy rockets from the deck of the Rex. It would've been at night, of course, so the Virolanders wouldn't see them. It must've been a hell of a job. Too bad we don't have time to place heavy rockets. But those light rockets can do plenty of damage if they hit the right places on the Rex."
He rubbed his hands and blew out a cloud of smoke from his cigar.
"There's nothing like turning the tables on old John. Using his own trap to trap him."
"If we have time," Byron said. "What if the Rex comes barreling out of the strait before our weapons are situated?"
"That could happen, but it ain't likely," Sam said, frowning. "Once John reenters the pass, he can only go straight ahead. There isn't room to turn around, even if he spins on one wheel. For all he knows, we might be waiting for him, just outside the exit, out of radar sight, and out of sonar detection, too. We could blast his ass off as he comes around."
"Maybe he could back up," Joe said.
"With two cannon and fifty rockets aiming at the pilothouse and four torpedoes at the hull?"
Sam snorted.
"Anyway, I'd like to see you trying to run that boat in reverse in that current with only thirty feet to spare on each side. Detweiller couldn't do it. Even I couldn't do it!"
They waited. Sam watched the long line of marines, each man loaded with a silvery cylinder or a piece of equipment. .Presently, de Marbot reported by walkie-talkie.
"I've found the path."
"I see you waving your arm," Sam said. "It should take you about an hour to get to the cave. It's not so high up but the path must be a long one."
"We'll go as fast as possible," the Frenchman said. "But we can't go too fast if the trail is narrow."
"I trust your judgment."
"Petroski's speaking again," the operator said. Sam could hear the pilot before he got to the radio.
"We've dropped to the surface," Petroski said. "I decided to come in at the height of the control room. They'll pick us up on the radar as soon as we get around the last bend. But I'm counting on shaking them up, spoiling their aim. Six rockets for the pilothouse, six for the chopper, whether it's in the air or the flight deck."
Petroski sounded happy. He was a wild Pole who had flown for the RAF against Hitler. After the war, he had refused to live in communist Poland and so had emigrated to Canada and earned his living first as a bush pilot and later as a police copter pilot.
"Hot damn!" Petroski bellowed. "The boat's just outside the entrance! Its nose is pointed straight at me. Only a quarter-mile to go! Wish me luck!"
The roar of motor and vanes was heavy, but his excited voice rode above that.
"Fire six!" Two seconds. Then, "Dead on! Missed the control room but blew the smokestacks all to hell! Can't see through the smoke! Pulling up now! Flak all over the place! Can't see through the smoke! Oh, oh! There's the chopper, on the flight deck! I'll..."