Ryan threw down the weapon and ran out into the water, heading toward the flagship. He ejected the empty clip from the SIG-Sauer, pocketed it and shoved a fresh one in.
A pirate on a water bike roared at Ryan, bringing his blaster to bear.
Lifting the SIG-Sauer, Ryan shot the man in the face from ten feet out. The water bike spun out of control, the throttle stuck even after the dead man toppled from the craft. It slammed into a nearby outboard, striking the engine. Both vehicles erupted in a black-and-orange explosion.
Ryan slogged through the water, ignoring the heat wave that roiled over him. Twin white spumes spurted out from the rear of the flagship.
“Dad!” Dean yelled. He maintained a low profile as he fired the Hi-Power at the pirates following Ryan into the river. “Hurry!”
Donovan hauled himself aboard the flagship, dripping wet and slipping across the deck. J.B. stood on the flying deck, working the controls. Only one of the other Foundation men had made it to the vessel.
Ryan ran as best he could, his breath burning his lungs. The river, even with the gentle current here, made the going hard. The water rose to his chest by the time he reached the flagship. He reached up and caught the built-in stepladder, then pulled himself aboard.
Donovan emerged from belowdecks.
“You find it?” Ryan asked.
“It’s there.”
“Hang on,” J.B. roared over the twin diesels.
Ryan nearly fell as the Armorer threw the engines to full ahead, too much weight shifting to his wounded leg. His boots, filled with water, hampered his movements, as well.
Already mired by the weight of the space-station section aboard, the boat wallowed in the river like a mud pig on a hot day as the screws churned the water. Then it gained speed as it moved forward, rising inches as the hull hydroplaned.
Several of the pirates made their way toward the vessel.
Taking the brief respite to reload the Steyr, Ryan shouldered the rifle and started firing. He aimed for people, as well as exposed engines, creating instant havoc among the pirates.
Bullets holed the flagship and chopped long splinters from the deck, revealing the white wood beneath. More bullets whined off the brasswork and cracked through the Plexiglas windows on the flying deck.
Ryan reloaded and watched J.B. shove the shotgun forward. The Armorer fired, then grabbed for the wheel again.
“Dean, Jak,” Ryan called out.
“Yeah, Dad,” Dean answered.
“Yeah,” Jak said.
“Hold the position here. I’m going up topside with J.B.” Both youths nodded, and he crossed the deck as fast as he was able. Bullets chased him up the ladder to the flying deck.
Once there, Ryan peered out at the harbor. Several of the pirates’ vessels sat stranded in the water, put out of commission by Jak, Dean and the Foundation men. But several more of them cut through the water. Seven of the boats formed a blockade line across the narrow mouth of the harbor. The pirates aboard them opened up with their weapons, creating a sheet of bullets that slapped into the flagship in a savage tattoo.
The remaining pieces of the Plexiglas windows on the flying bridge disintegrated, and the frame warped under the sustained assault.
“Dark night!” J.B. said, removing his beloved fedora.
“If your hat gets a hole in it,” Ryan observed, “it’ll probably be in your head, too.” He took the time to reload the Steyr.
“On the off chance it isn’t,” the Armorer said, “I want to keep the hat of a piece. What do you want to do with the blockade?” He kept the lever at half speed but maintained the course toward the boats.
“Pick the weakest point,” Ryan said, “then run over them.”
“Could lose this boat,” J.B. warned.
“Stay in this harbor much longer,” Ryan said, “they’ll shoot it out from under us anyway. They’re picking up on accuracy.”
“Noticed that. Do it now?”
“Now.” Ryan pulled the Steyr into position, staying only enough above the edge of the Plexiglas window to see his targets. He kept the rifle’s barrel off the frame, trying to keep it steady with his body.