Byron had already told the deckhands to cast off the lines. Detweiller sat waiting for his orders, his hands on the sticks. Byron looked out the port. "Lines all clear, sir!"
"Back her out, pilot," Sam said.
Detweiller eased the sticks from neutral, pulling them toward him. The giant wheels began turning, and the vessel slid by the dock.
There was smoke all around the launch of the Rex. It was swept quickly away, revealing a blackened boat. It wasn't moving, so perhaps it had been badly damaged. But three inches of duraluminum armored it. It could take a hell of a lot of punishment. Maybe the crew was just stunned by the explosions.
Now the Rex Grandissimus was halfway out of the darkened strait. It shone whitely, then became pale as the sun slid all the way behind the mountains. Twilight fell on the lake. The sky darkened. The mass of closely packed stars and gas sheets in the sky began to glow as the sunlight faded. By the time complete night came, the light above would be as bright as a full moon on a cloudless Earth.
The two launches were smudges of paleness. The Rex was a greater whiteness, like an albino whale seen just before it burst through the surface of the sea.
So, old John had decided to attack while the Not For Hire was tied up for recharging. He was not turning back. He'd take his punishment whether he liked it or not.
How had John known that the boat was tied up? Easy to explain. Somewhere up on the mountain on a ledge above the mouth of the strait was a lone observer with a transceiver. That would also explain the readiness of the Rex's defenses against Petroski's attack.
Sam spoke quietly to the pilot. Detweiller stopped the vessel, then turned her toward the Rex and applied full speed ahead. Byron said, "What should the Post No Bills do?"
Sam waited a moment to reply while he watched the arc traced by the rockets from the cave. But surprise was dead now. John knew that the missiles came from his now usurped cave. Before the rockets had gone halfway, flames spurted from the Rex, and trails of fire rose from it. The two packs met about fifty feet above the boat, and the roar rolled across The River. Smoke covered the vessel and was whisked away.
If the Rex had been hit, it could not be determined from this distance.
John's rockets would not have hit so many of his unless they, too, had heat-seekers in their noses. Which meant that the enemy did have some of the devices. Apparently, John had had some manufactured. But how many did he have? Whatever their number, some had been sacrificed to stop the attack.
A second covey darted from the cave. This time, they were met halfway, and a flame-centered cloud spread out to be swiftly dissipated. Almost before that happened, a third flight shot from the Rex. Its arc ended against the cliff. Some had hit the cave itself, though. Flame belched like gas from a dragon's mouth. Mark off thirty good men and women.
Now the leviathans headed toward each other. Sam could see one light in it, that from the control room. Like his boat, it was blacked-out except for the one illumination needed.
The lookout reported that the enemy launch had resumed motion.
"Neither of his launches originally had torpedo tubes," Sam said to Byron. "But John may have fitted them with tubes. I'm betting he has. Where is his other launch, by the way?"
A moment later, the lookout reported that it was now detected. It must have just emerged from the stern launching compartment.
The Post No Bills was cutting toward the Rex. It had two torpedoes set to go and four waiting.
The Gascon was racing toward the motherboat, under orders to get into her compartment and take on torpedoes. Sam doubted that it could be gotten aboard soon enough.
"There goes the smaller enemy launch, sir," the lookout said. "Headed toward the Bills."
Sam told Byron to order the Gascon to assist its sister boat.
Four rockets sprang from the Rex. An explosion announced the end of one curve. A moment later, Admiral Anderson spoke over the radio. "That bird knocked us silly, sir. But we're on our way again. No damage to the boat—that I know about."
The Gascon, firing rockets at the enemy launch, swung about it. Little spurts of flame showed that their machine guns were operating. The other enemy launch continued doggedly toward the Bills, shedding warheads and bullets alike. The distance between the two larger vessels, as estimated by the eye, was five hundred feet. Neither was loosing its rockets. Evidently they were waiting until they got within close range.
The Gascon was circling behind the enemy now. Plunkett's voice came. "I'm going to ram."
"Don't be a fool!" Sam shouted, in his fear bypassing Byron, who should have relayed the message.
"Is that an order, sir?" Plunkett said calmly. "The crew has left—at my orders, sir. I think that I can wreck the enemy's propellers."
"This is the captain!" Sam said. "I order you not to do that! I don't want you to kill yourself!"
There was no answer. The smaller of the two white objects crept upon the stern of the bigger. At least, it seemed to be moving slowly. Actually it was overtaking the slower craft at about fifteen miles an hour. Not much speed, but the weight of the heavy armor-plated boat gave it a fearful amount of energy.
"Gascon and enemy launch closed, sir," the lookout said.
"I can see that, hear it, too," Sam said, looking through his night glasses.
All motion of the Gascon had stopped completely except for its drift with the current. The other launch was slowing down. Now it had stopped.
"By Jesus!" Sam said. "He did it! Poor bastard!"
"Maybe he ain't hurt," Joe said. "He voud've been thtrapped in."
The Post No Bills was closing in. It came within perhaps a hundred feet of its target. Then it swung sharply away. Several seconds later, the enemy boat rose in water and flames and came down in pieces.
"He torpedoed it!" Sam yelled with exultation. "Good old Anderson! He torpedoed it!"
Byron said coolly, "Good show, that."
"NFH! Anderson! What are my orders?"
"Find out if Plunkett's all right," Sam said. "And if the Gascon is still serviceable. And pick up the men who jumped."
"Sir, the Rex is an estimated fifty-two hundred feet away," the lookout said.
"Okay, Admiral," Sam said to Byron. "You take over the cannons."
Byron said, "Yes, sir," and he turned to the intercom. Sam heard him giving orders to the fore port-cannon lieutenant, but his eyes were on the launches. If the Gascon was operable, it could be used to harass the Rex with its small rockets. There wasn't enough time to fit it with torpedoes.
Byron, standing by the intercom, was repeating the range as the gunnery lookout reported it.
"Forty-nine hundred. Forty-seven hundred. Forty-five hundred."
"That's going to be a hell of a shock to John," Sam said to Joe Miller. "He doesn't know we have cannons."
"Fire!"
Sam counted the seconds. Then he swore. The first shell had missed.
The second struck, apparently just by the waterline near the fore. But the Rex continued steadily toward its enemy.
"Bring her around so we can give them a broadside from the port," he told Detweiller.
Both cannons spoke now. Columns of smoke roiled out from the Rex. A large fire was burning on the flight deck. Still, the boat came on. And now it was close enough to launch its larger rockets.
"Enemy within twenty-six hundred feet," the gunnery lookout said.
"Are the big birds ready?" Sam said to Byron.
"Yes, sir, all."
"Tell the officers to fire as soon as the Rex does."
Byron relayed the order. He had no sooner quit speaking than Sam saw a multitude of flames on the Rex. The coveys met about 450 feet away, headlong in the air. The explosions deafened Sam.