Sparks jumped from the metal-braced hull of the launch, and the windshield acquired a starred pattern of cracks. The pilot twisted the wheel, and the boat heeled over. The streamlined craft made a lunging portside rush while the gunner kept up the withering machine-gun fire.
Ryan and J.B. dropped flat to the deck. Glass smashed in the pilot housing, sheet metal crumpled and fiberglass was shot away. Mildred and Krysty cried out in anger and fear as they lay beneath the stream of slugs.
Not daring to raise his head, Ryan shouted, “Dean! Krysty! Jak! Everybody all right?”
The companions answered in nervous, profanity-seasoned affirmatives.
“What about you, Doc? Are you still with us?”
“Indeed!” came the older man’s angry response.
“Stay low!”
The cruiser’s speed increased again, cutting a liquid trough through the dark water. Ryan and J.B. raised their heads above the rail. The launch was roaring toward them again, this time approaching fast from starboard aft.
“I’m getting sick of this,” J.B. grated.
“Not much we can do about it,” Ryan replied grimly. “They’re faster, more maneuverable and they outgun us.”
“Yeah.” J.B.’s reply was a sarcastic drawl. He dipped his hand inside one of his capacious pockets and came up gripping a small, apple-sized metal sphere. “One of the little goodies I picked up in the commune’s armory.”
Ryan recognized it immediately as a V-40 mini-gren, the smallest hand grenade manufactured before the nukecaust. “Thing is so small, you’ll have to make a direct hit to do any damage.”
“That’s the idea.”
The launch roared up parallel with the cruiser’s port side, the engines roaring as though by the display of sheer speed and power, the people on board the smaller craft would be cowed into surrendering. Only a dozen or so feet separated the two boats.
J.B. rolled himself to port, took a deep breath, then rose to his knees. He unpinned the gren with his left hand, and his right arm swung up and out in a looping overhand throw. Ryan lifted himself from the deck so he could watch the arc and descent of the small object. He figured it would splash into the water just in front of the launch’s bow. Instead, with unerring and uncanny accuracy, J.B. bounced the gren off the curving windshield to drop on the boat’s deck.
A blast of orange flame erupted with an eardrum-slamming roar. Pieces of wood and chunks of metal rose into the air. The man behind the machine gun catapulted over the side, wreathed in a cocoon of fire.
The cruiser pulled away from the launch, leaving it to wallow in the surf. Ryan heard the screams of agony and terror from the mercs. Tongues of flame made a dazzling glow over the face of the sea.
J.B. stood and said with satisfaction, “And that is that.”
Krysty and Mildred came to the bow. Krysty’s high-boned face was pale, and she took Ryan’s hand in hers. “Close, lover,” she breathed.
Mildred hugged J.B. tightly. “Another trick out of those Captain Kangaroo pockets of yours,” she said with a grin. “One day I’ll have to take an inventory.”
“Who’s Captain Kangaroo?” Dean asked. “Another sailor, like that Popeye guy Doc mentioned?”
At the sound of his name, Doc peered out through the broken glass in the pilot housing. He reduced the speed of the cruiser, saying stiffly, “I believe my expert seamanship contributed a little something to our narrow escape.”
“Congrats, Doc,” Jak said dryly. “You drive good. Now drive to dry land.”
Doc held the cruiser’s stern straight for the concrete jetty. Turning the wheel, he ran alongside it, so close that the hull scraped the pilings. Then he reversed the engines, backed water into a smother of foaming spray. “How’s that for driving?” he asked with a prideful smile.
“More like ‘How’s that for showing off,’ ” Mildred retorted darkly.
As the cruiser bobbed in the shallows, Ryan and J.B. climbed out and secured it with a hawser, snugging the craft fast. They stood watch as the rest of the companions disembarked.
“Usual red alert,” Ryan said, holding the scattergun ready at waist level. “Lock and load.”
Doc drew his Le Mat, Jak his .357 Colt Python, Mildred her ZKR revolver and Dean unholstered his Browning Hi-Power blaster. He brought up the rear, behind the weaponless Krysty.